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"Friends "Written By: Karina
Series: Friends Pairings: 2+6 Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence. Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing or the characters. That’s the way it is. Warnings: Not a death fic despite how it starts.
Aussie spelling and unbetaed. Summary: When Milliardo Peacecraft is abducted
and left to die a solitary death Duo Maxwell decides to take a hand
in the proceedings.
Chapter 53 The man was… right. How could that be? The man was right… about everything. It was all wrong that this man should know him so well. They were strangers… one time enemies. Were they enemies now? He did not know this man, merely knew of him, and now, in light of words spoken around a fire in a decrepit old cabin on a mountainside, he had to wonder how accurate his thoughts of who and what Zechs Marquise were. It surely was not possible for the man to know him so well, not when Marquise was such an unknown element to him. Unknown, an enigma… how was anyone supposed to understand a man who tried to destroy the Earth? He just… did not understand. It was Quatre who could read people like a book, not Marquise. It was Quatre who knew him inside and out; the dark places in his soul. It was only Quatre. The war left scars on everyone, some people bore deeper scars than others, as was the way of war. But it was the way of war for people to be hurt, and not merely physically. Everyone who survived war was changed by it, but some people emerged from chaos profoundly changed. Who was this Zechs Marquise? Was this man before him the same man who had fired on the planet? Who was this man sheltered in the darkness of the tent, a shadowy shape given little substance save for moon silver hair shimmering gold in the ruddy glow of the fire. What made Marquise such an expert on him? On all of them! Marquise made him wonder if he knew who Trowa Barton was. Did he understand himself? Did he understand why he kept the name that was not his own? Did he ever have a family somewhere in the murky past that was his life? He had no family; no blood relations that he could name. No faces from the past, no memories of people before the mercenaries. He was… he was… a conglomerate of…. He was nobody. He had no name, he had no past, no life before conflict became his existence. No name before he took a dead man's name. What did that make him? But he had friends and they were people he could rely on. He knew he could rely on them; trust them, because they had lived as he had lived. Just as Zechs had said. They had lived as he had, breathed as he had, survived as he had. They understood what it was to survive. The closest of his friends had become his lover. What would he do if Quatre ever left him? What was he without his friends? He had been solitary, alone, before he had met them. Nameless, a non entity; good for killing and nothing else. He needed a sense of identity, of belonging… a family. A friend had become his lover and another had become his sister. Catherine treated him like a sister, claimed she was his sister; begged him to have DNA tests done to prove it; she was that sure. But he was not sure. He was afraid to be tested and have it confirmed that he was, indeed, alone, bereft of family. He was afraid to find out and that made him a coward… didn't it? There were others though, who did not expect him to push his personal envelope of comfort. He worked closely with both Wu Fei and Heero and they worked well together. He felt secure in their presence, knowing he could trust them when they were on missions, and when they were away from work, to watch his back. They were friends he could trust, who trusted him in exactly the way he trusted them. They understood each other and did not expect more from him than he was willing to give. Likewise he did not expect more from them than they were willing to give on a daily basis. And Duo… Duo was different. Quatre had refused to let go of Duo, holding on to him even when he had clearly not wanted anyone to be near. He had been willing to step back, to allow Duo to fly the leash but Quatre had been different. Quatre had let Duo go, yes; Quatre had not grappled with him and held him against his will. No, Quatre had seemed to understand Duo in a way none of the others had, certainly he had not understood what drove the braided man. He had thought Quatre to be too clingy, that he would hold Duo back. But Quatre had backed off, though he had not for an instant left his friend. He had not abandoned him, being there when he was needed without a word needing to be spoken. Quatre had that ability to know when he was needed. He desperately wanted to go home to Quatre. This mission would end badly. He could feel the ominous shadows surrounding Marquise and he knew those shadows would fall upon anyone who associated themselves with the man. It was just a part of who and what Marquise was… a walking disaster waiting to happen. Shadows… what superstitious rubbish. Leftover remnants from his days as a mercenary. They, those hard bitten men and women who had raised him, indoctrinating him into the life of war, said you could feel the shadow of Death when it was near. They claimed you could see it. You could go into a fight and know before you started who would not come from the conflagration alive. They said many things, those long dead individuals, and most of it was superstitious rubbish designed to… what? It had frightened the socks off him when he was younger and perhaps that was exactly what they had intended to do. Mercenary bands were not for the weak or faint of heart. They tested you, tried your resolve and your courage, your skills…. If you survived then you passed and they accepted you amidst their ranks… if you died, well. You might be fortunate enough to be buried in hallowed ground and not in some ditch in a field. Might. He had had enough of this. It was time to dig out the chopper and get the hell off this mountain and get that man and his disturbing insight away from him. ————————————- What was he to do now? It was unthinkable! He could not tell the man to shut up, he was talking drivel because… because every word he had said was true. Horribly true. How could one who was the enemy rip his world apart with mere words? He had always known words were powerful things but delivered in that low, husky voice these words had held great power. The truth behind them weighted each word so that they fell upon his ears with the force of a sledge hammer to back them. How could Marquise know him? How could the enemy know him so very well? He was the enemy. He had been the enemy during the war and he was the enemy now. That was why they were out here in the snow, because Marquise had stirred the political pot yet again and landed them all in trouble. But… what exactly had Marquise done to earn the wrath of who ever had tried to murder him? Not that there were not enough people around who hated the man after his actions during the war. Was it left over baggage from the war? Or was it, perhaps, something new? Something Marquise was involved in that would bring about a new round of conflict, a new round of death and destruction. Had the man not tired enough of the blood and the killing? His fingers automatically closed around the metal mug, the warmth of the metal hot enough to remind him of how numbingly cold he was. Hot broth, field rations; wholesome if not exactly tasty and warming his innards with each sip. He did not see who handed him the cup, he was still staring into the flames. He did not wish to look up, to see who watched who, who might watch him with eyes that knew what he was feeling. What he was thinking. He needed to get out. He needed to get out of the cabin, away from the monster in the tent. He needed to get away from… everything. The soup seemed to be scalding hot but he drank it as quickly as possible. He needed to go before anyone noticed he was trembling and realized it was not from the cold. He needed an excuse to leave and once he finished the broth he would get out into the snow. He could hide out there, throwing himself into mind and body numbing digging. He could dig until his body screamed at him to stop, until his mind went blessedly numb and he needed that now. He desperately wanted not to think. Even Chang Wu Fei could wish to run away. The work of digging the machine out of the snow had to be done so they could get off the flank of the mountain and leave that terror of a man, that enemy, with those best suited to handle him. He could go home then. Home… to his empty flat. Home to his job which, if he dared to think about it, was all that he had to hold on to. No, no. Poison. That man's words were like poison. Virulent, insidious, invasive poison. He had to get some air. He had to stop thinking. ————————- He had friends. He had… friends. It was deepest irony that perhaps his greatest friend had once been his enemy. What was he planning to do with his life? And why? Why was he doing it? He had considered marrying…. No, he had considered courting a woman who was from a background so different to his own that… That he… . Was that…? Was that why…? Was that all it was? Was that why he thought to court her? To marry her? Because her life was so different to his own? Why did he think he was good enough to associate with Relena Peacecraft? Why did he think he was acceptable in her social circle? Was it because she had a family? She had had something far closer to a normal family life than he could ever hope to claim. Little Miss Rich Girl, spoilt and indulged and with ideals bigger than the planet. Scion of a murdered family, unknowing of who she was; what she was, but reared with position and privileges as a Princess would have been. Her family had known who she was. No one knew who he was. Not even himself. Certainly polite society did not know what to make of him. They looked at him and he knew what they were thinking. He knew what they were seeing. Outsider. Pretender. They were thinking he was dangerous. And they were right. He was dangerous. They looked at him and considered him to be little more controllable than a rabid dog. They expected Relena to leash him, muzzle him, and if not tame him then discard him and put him down as one did with rabid animals. Could the Princess tame the beast? Even Chang had looked at him as though he was out of his mind when he had told him he was intending to respond to Relena's advances. Why did she like him? What was there to like about him? Was he that darkly dangerous, mysterious figure girls dreamed about? Was that all it was? If he breathed out of turn, one day, they would rip him apart and there would be nothing he could do about it. No one would care. No one who was in any position to do anything about it would care to take action. They were outsiders wherever they went. Few in the ESUN would truly accept them for what they were. There would always be jaundiced eyes watching them; waiting for them to falter. Waiting for them to make a mistake. Marquise knew it and would not want his sister involved… but he had not told him not to seek out that slender chance of a life. Why? Why had he not told him to get away from his sister? The man had done so much to protect the young woman, more than Relena ever suspected. He had been very careful to keep her safe, both before, during and after the war. Perhaps he was doing more now to protect her than he ever had in the past. Marquise had made the decision to free Lucrezia Noin, to separate her from him once and for all… for her own protection. He had decided it was better for her to hate him than for her to die at the hands of those who would use her against him. A hard step to take but he had made it and he would not go back. Heero knew him well enough to know he would not return to her. Marquise had not told him to get away from his sister. The man had left that decision to him. A friend offered advice and then stood back and waited. Watching and waiting, ready to offer support in what ever was decided. He watched Barton and Chang leave, his soup growing cool in the mug in his hands. He needed to leave too. To help dig out the machine. To run diagnostics and ensure it was operational. They needed to get off this mountain, but what would they return to? He had to get out. To think.
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