Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Burnout ❯ Chapter 9 ( Chapter 10 )

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Chapter nine

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"Quatre, you truly are a foolish boy." Mr. Winner said not looking at his son. "What were you thinking? Running off like that? Very irresponsible of you. You have responsibilities here that you must fulfill. You can't do that if you're dead!"

"Father. . ." The blonde boy started before he was cut off.

"Quatre, I don't want to listen to your excuses, nor do I want to listen to your childish foolishness. I simply want obedience."

"I do what I feel I must." Quatre said slowly, his gaze focused on the cream colored carpet. "What my heart tells me I must. . ."

"That's bull shit, Quatre and you know it." His father slammed his fist on the large mahogany desk, causing the blonde to jump slightly. "I won't stand for your insubordination!"

"Father, I. . ."

"You will cease in your war games, boy. You will return back to school."

Quatre sighed, grimacing slightly. His hand stole up to his chest as his father's anger bombarded him. "Father, please. . ." he pleaded, as he began to feel dizzy.

"Quatre, you are almost an adult, it's about time that you began to act like one and that means realizing that you are unable to fix the problems of the world."

The blonde boy's balance wavered slightly, "I. . ."

"Son," Mr. Winner frowned as he moved his eyes to the window. "I know you don't realize how much you mean to this family. But that is no excuse for your behavior."

Quatre started to make a gagging sound as he began to choke on his own breath. The youth doubled over in his pain.

"I want you to return to your room." Mr. Winner dismissed him abruptly. "I want you to contemplate what I'm trying to get across to you, and prepare to return to school in the morning." He turned, "Is that understood, Son?" he raised an eyebrow towards the boy when he received no response. "Quatre?"

"I. . .I. . ." The small blonde pitched forward.

"Quatre!"

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"Hiiro, I've gotta get my Gundam!" Duo insisted for the um-teenth time. "Who knows what OZ will do with Deathscythe. . ."

"It's irrelevant." Hiiro announced.

"What!?" Duo gapped, "Hiiro, how can you say that? It's my Gundam! MY GUNDAM!!"

"The Scientists have been captured and are being held inside the Mobile Suit Manufacturing Plant on the moon." Hiiro frowned. He handed some documents and photos to the braided boy that lay propped up on some pillows in a hospital bed. "They're building new Gundams for OZ."

Duo's face paled, "Ones that surpass our own Gundams. . ."

Hiiro's Prussian eyes narrowed with certainty. "I'll eliminate all obstacles."

Duo looked at him, a look of awe and dread crossed his face. "Oh, Hiiro. . ." he sighed in dismay. "So, what are we going to do?" The braided boy asked as he flipped through the papers.

Hiiro sat on the edge of the hospital bed, next to the wounded boy, "We aren't going to do anything." He began. Duo opened his mouth to protest, but a groan of pain was the only thing that came out. A shadow of a small smile crossed the Japanese boy's face, "You need to worry about getting better. You can attend school here. Registration has already been taken care of in your name."

"While you go and attack an OZ base single handedly?" The braided boy frowned, "I don't think so, Hiiro. You need back up."

"It's not like I'm going to be attacking head on." Hiiro smirked, "Infiltration, unnoticed."

"What I do best!" Duo pleaded, "Common, Hiiro. Let me come too!"

The dark haired boy shook his head, "Duo, you can barely stand. You'd be more of a liability then of a help."

"I know." The boy relented with a grimace. "With all that is going on, I am going to need time to recover."

"I'll be okay." Hiiro reassured, though he really didn't know why he bothered. It wasn't as if he cared about the American. "I'll go in, and destroy the base after I execute the Doctors. It'll be a piece of cake."

Duo didn't look very convinced, but he nodded his agreement none the less.

"Rest, Duo." Hiiro said gently, "Get better."

"I will, Hiiro." The braided boy agreed as the Japanese boy grabbed his knapsack and headed towards the door. A solitary tear slid from his amethyst eye as the door closed, "Just don't over do it. Huh? Like you're going to listen. . ." He snorted bitterly and pulled himself to the large glass window for one last glimpse of the reckless pilot, "What am I thinking? Of course you're going to over do it . . . you always do."

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Trowa didn't like the situation. Each of the five scientists had been captured, and was being forced by Lady Une to make a Mobile Suit superior to the Gundams. They were grumbling a lot, however, they were complying. If Hiiro caught wind of this, he would definitely come to rectify the situation, and that might complicate things.

What was more, he had heard from Instructor H. that Quatre had reached a high point in his training and would no longer be the same person. `What's happened to you, Quat?' the banged boy thought worriedly. Frustrated, Trowa tried to block out the thoughts of the little blonde. `I can't be distracted at a time like this.' He glared at himself in his bathroom mirror, "Quatre is a soldier, and he can take care of himself." He told himself sternly.

`Yes,' replied his voice of reason, `But what if they found out your feelings? Your distractions? They could have done something as a result.'

Trowa shook his head, "No!" He banged the bathroom counter, with his fist "I can't be thinking like that!!!" He told himself, "Quatre will be okay!!!"

A knock at his quarter's door startled him. He quickly washed his sweaty face and assured himself that his stoic mask was in place before he exited the bathroom, crossed the bedroom and answered the persistent visitor.

OZ Lt. Nickole was there.

Trowa's eyebrow quirked in mild irritation. "Sir?"

"Colonel Une wishes to see you." The Lt. said bitterly. Trowa nodded slightly in acknowledgment. "She's in the main hanger."

The banged boy closed his door and walked towards the main hanger.

"BARTON!" Nickole shouted after him.

Trowa stopped.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" The older man glared down at the teenager.

"No, sir." Trowa said simply.

"You didn't salute me, soldier."

"I didn't feel the need." Trowa said with a hint of smugness. "I take my orders from Colonel Une. She is the only one I'll salute."

"You punk!" Nickole snarled, grabbing the banged boy's collar. "I don't care what the Colonel says, I know you're a Gundam pilot!"

"You're welcome to try and prove it." Trowa smirked. "Now if you'll excuse me, I believe Colonel Une is waiting for me." He pushed past the OZ soldier before pausing, "Oh, and Lt. . ." He called back. "If you do take on the challenge of proving your accusations towards me, I wish you luck."

"You wish me luck?" the soldier's glare deepened.

"You'll need it if you're to find something that's not there."

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Quatre's eyes slowly fluttered open into the waiting gaze of the Doctor from L4. "Are you okay?" she asked, concern written on her face.

The blonde groaned and tried to pull himself into a sitting position. "Hai. . . what happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." She frowned as the bedroom door opened abruptly, startling both of them.

Quatre peered around the doctor and saw that his father stood in the doorway. "Father. . .?" He questioned.

"Quatre!" Mr. Winner sighed with relief. With long strides he was at his son's bedside. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, sir." The heir smiled faintly.

"Hn." His father grunted before turning to the Doctor. "Well, Iria?"

She sighed, "Father, I don't know anything more then I did the first, second or third times you've asked me. Please, just be patient."

"Iria, you know how important it is that Quatre be in the best of health."

"Yes, father." She sighed again. The feelings of an old argument stirring once again, hung in the air.

Quatre frowned slightly, his hand stealing to his chest, before scooting his way over to the edge of the bed. With a quiet yelp, his bare feet came in contact with cold hard wood flooring.

"Quatre, what the hell do you think you're doing?" His father demanded, placing a restrictive hand on the boy's shoulder.

"If you must know," Quatre glared, shrugging the hand away. "I'm going to the bathroom."

"Quatre. . ."

"Let him go, Father." Iria advised.

"He can't speak to me like that." Mr. Winner protested.

The doctor looked towards where the small blonde had disappeared, "I think our bickering gets to him." She said thoughtfully.

"How so?" her father inquired.

She looked up at him and then down towards the floor. "Like it did to Mother."

"You mean. . ." His father got a horrified look on his face.

Iria nodded, "Yes, I believe he's an empath."

"No. . ." Mr. Winner denied, "It can't be. . . That was just a unique thing about her. . ."

"And it looks like our dear little Quatre has inherited it."

"If that were true, then he wouldn't be able to kill. It would cause him too much pain. . ."

"It does cause me pain." Quatre's quiet voice answered, "But it also gives me the strength to protect others, so that they don't feel sorrow. . ." He looked up at his father, "Why didn't you ever tell me that Mother had an Uchuu no Kokoro?"

"A what?"

"The sense to feel others!" Quatre clarified impatiently, before turning towards Iria, "And why didn't you tell me you were one of my sisters?"

"It never seemed appropriate." The older Winner sibling replied to both questions. "Honestly, there was no point in letting you know about Mother, unless you had developed the same sense. And as for myself," She shrugged, "It seemed as though you had enough stress." She smiled kindly, "I would never do anything to harm you, my dearest little Quatre."

"Iria. . ." He sighed calmer as his eldest sister wrapped her arms around his thin body in a loving embrace.

"We're all routing for you, Quatre." She encouraged him, "And Father's no exception." She whispered, a slight giggle in her voice.

"Iria, what are you telling him?" Mr. Winner demanded.

"Nothing, Father." She chided, "You're being paranoid."

"Iria. . ."

She smiled, "I must go." She announced, "but I shall return later." She turned to her little brother as he collapsed tiredly onto the bed, "Get some rest, Quatre. I'm really glad you're home."

"Thanks, Iria." He said sleepily.

"Father." She said sternly, "Don't go jumping down his throat. He doesn't need that. He needs rest and some peace and quiet." She smirked, "Doctor's orders."

"Fine, If that's what the doctor orders, however, that does not excuse his behaviors and they will need to be addressed."

"And they will be." She assured him, "In a few days." Reluctantly, Mr. Winner agreed.

They both turned towards the youngest of the family to find him fast asleep. His dreams, for once, seemingly peaceful.

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To be continued. . .