Warnings: Violence, angst, slash.

Pairings: 2+4+2, next chapter 4x2 and finally 1x5

Disclaimer: If I did own Gundam Wing, I swear that I would share and no one would ever have to write a disclaimer for their fanfic (er, unless it made money, I'd hafta get my little cut too…hehe). Anyway, I do not own Gundam Wing or these two luscious bishies and am using them without permission. Please do not sue.

AN: *bowing very low* Gomen nasai - I am very sorry that this has taken so long. First came the holidays, then everyone got very sick and…this chapter was depressing and hard to write, but necessary to the plot. There will be two more chapters, both much lighter and filled with lemony goodness.

One more thing, it's quite possible that I've gone completely AU here with the details of Duo's history, although I know some of the points are true. Up until this point I've tried to keep everything in this story *possible* (if unlikely) and as realistic as possible (except the safehouse thing and that's so accepted in the fandom I decided it didn't count ^_~). I wasn't sure with some of the detail here, but it's the overall concept that is important.

And, finally, heartfelt thanks to everyone who has reviewed. You truly are what have kept me going!

Chess

Part V - White King Threatened

by Xellas M.

Quatre had never imagined that there could exist a place like the slums of L-2. He had driven through poor cities during his brief stay on Earth; in fact their current safe house could hardly be categorized as being on "the good side of town". On Earth, the streets were filthy, the people made cruel through the desperation of poverty.

The slums of L-2 were entirely different. There was no actual dirt or grime to be found. Resources were too precious, especially in a poor place like this, for anything at all to be left unused. The buildings were sturdy and practically unmarked by vandals. In fact, a picture taken of this place would not look very different from the colony in which Quatre had grown up. As long as there weren't any people in it, anyway.

That was all on the surface. The blond's empathic sense told him a different story. This was a place where people were born and died without any happiness in their lives, a place where there was no one to deal justice to the predators because they were the ones who owned everything. No one was left who cared enough to intervene. Even the clean, carefully circulated artificial air seemed saturated with pain and hopelessness.

And Duo had grown up here, had done more than survive. He had gotten away. Quatre had always respected his fellow-pilot, but as his understanding grew that feeling matured into something that went beyond admiration. The Arabian knew that it wouldn't require his mixed gift of empathy for the atmosphere here to break someone and break him quickly. He very much wanted to know what his violet-eyed friend was feeling, but he did not dare lower his protective barriers to find out.

Duo was out of practice, he realized as he and Quatre walked down streets that had once been so familiar. Look everywhere, always be alert, but whatever you do, don't stop to think about anything you see. To survive here was to adopt the mindset of an animal, rely on instinct and focus solely on food, shelter and clothing.

He could hear a woman crying pitifully somewhere nearby. Reminding himself that the same woman would probably not think twice before slitting his throat did not make the sound go away.

With a guilty start, he glanced at his companion, wondering how he was dealing with such a new environment. The Arabian definitely looked queasy. This was not good on several levels. He had brought Quatre to this place hoping it would help the blond to understand him a little better. He should have realized that this was no place for the emotionally sensitive Winner heir. Not only that, but everything about Quatre marked him as an outsider. Very soon the pair would attract the wrong kind of attention and while they would probably be in no real danger, they could not afford to blow their cover.

"Quatre, are you feeling OK? I'm beginning to think this was a very bad idea."

"I'm alright. I'm a Gundam pilot, I can handle it." The smaller man smiled, but somehow it wasn't very convincing. "I just can't believe you survived this."

"I got lucky. I had a good friend who helped me out for awhile, then after he died Sister Helen found me."

As Duo spoke, they passed a little girl slumped against a building, apparently asleep. She did not look more than six years old, but the braided pilot knew from experience how hunger and even worse things could affect a small child. He could not stop himself from turning his back on the street to look at her, ignoring the portion of his brain that warned him against such a foolish action.

Quatre watched as his concerned friend leaned over the girl and brushed strands of dark and dirty hair from her face. The little one did not stir. The Gundam pilots had come too late to help her, even if they would have been able to. The Arabian could not completely stifle a dry laugh at the irony - it seemed the only people who cared at all about the nameless child's death were a couple of terrorists who just happened to be in the area. He found himself fighting back an attack of hysteria.

"Look, this was a bad idea, let's just go - " Duo began, but cut himself off abruptly.

The blond began to ask the reason why but stopped when the touch of cold metal against his neck answered the unspoken question. The braided pilot looked over to see a very large man standing behind Quatre, the edge of a knife held against his neck.

Duo and Quatre exchanged a quick glance. Words were not necessary in this situation; their eyes expressed a single thought:

*Not here.*

They had to take care of this situation somewhere more private. For all that the few people loitering in the street probably appeared to have suddenly been struck blind, deaf and dumb, not a one of them would hesitate if local law enforcement, or Oz for that matter, if questioned directly. There was no reason they should.

"Please don't hurt me!" The little blond somehow managed to make himself look even smaller. His blue eyes widened in fear.

"Just hand over your money, nicely, and you'll have nothing to worry about." Their assailant answered, the clichéd phrase delivered in a voice tinged with desperation.

Duo caught the quavering note in the rough voice, and then noticed that the man's pale but dirty skin was practically dripping with sweat. He barely stopped himself from exhaling with relief. Despite his age, the man was inexperienced. The attack was made out of need, probably for drugs of some kind. If his mind was clouded by withdrawal, it would be relatively easy to lure him out of sight.

"You're not going to cut his throat out here, in broad daylight." The American pilot replied mildly.

The knife dug a little more sharply into Quatre's neck and a bit of blood began to show around the edges. The smaller man let out a whimper and squirmed as though in abject terror, proving once and for all that Trowa wasn't the only Gundam pilot capable of playing a role.

The would-be thief's eyes widened for a moment as he glanced around quickly. "Of course not." He said, laughing. "That's why we're going to go play somewhere else." With that, he walked backwards towards the nearest alley, dragging the blond in front of him as a shield.

Duo followed the pair, concerned. Although it seemed everything was going according to plan, fighting a junkie was not like fighting an Oz soldier. The soldier's moves would be practiced, predictable. There was no guarantee that the addict would not suddenly decide it would be easier to steal money from a corpse.

Quatre, however, had less experience with this type of assailant and was therefore less worried. The moment the trio were safely out of sight of the street, he immediately gripped the sensitive nerve that lay hidden in the webbing between his captor's thumb and hand. Hard.

Unfortunately, the man was either too wired or too desperate to feel the jolt of pain that would have forced any normal person to drop the weapon.

Things could have gone very badly from that point. But the mugger was inexperienced, he was edgy, and his victim's struggle made him angry as well.

"That was really fucking stupid!" He snapped as he pushed the unresisting Quatre face first into a wall and began searching his pockets for money. A brief moment of real fear flashed through the Arabian man's small frame.

However, in moving Quatre, the addict had taken the knife away from his victim's neck for the merest fraction of an instant. It wasn't gone for very long, but it was long enough for Shinigami to move in and quietly slip a dagger between his ribs. His violet eyes cold, the God of Death calmly wiped the blood from his dagger onto the dead man's shirt before slipping it back into his clothing.

When he was finished, Duo looked down at the man he had just killed. Emotion slowly resurfaced on his expressive features even as the adrenaline slowed it's fierce rush through Quatre's system.

The empath did not need to lower his barriers to understand the feeling in his friend's amazing eyes. Quatre spoke softly. "The Romans had a word, I don't remember what it was. It doesn't translate to anything, but it was the feeling a wealthy Citizen would have upon meeting someone less fortunate. The understanding that it was nothing more than sheer dumb luck that made one man rich and another poor."

"There but for the grace of God go I." Duo recited. "Sister Helen used to say that all the time. Now I finally understand what she meant. But I already am a murderer, no better than he was." He sighed. "We're almost there, let's go."

No one noticed the quiet pair emerge and continue their journey; what was out of sight was best forgotten.

Within a few minutes, the pair found themselves standing in front of a building. It did not look any different from its neighbors. Prostitutes of both genders lounged around the entrance, a display of every conceivable level of personal debasement.

"This is it…this way." Duo said as he abruptly pushed Quatre into the small space between that building and its neighbor. The pair weren't alone in the narrow area, but the braided young man hardly glanced at the woman giving her customer an expert, if unenthusiastic, blowjob only a few feet away.

The American young man sighed and glanced down at his watch. From the looks of things, it would only take a couple more minutes before the whore's customer finished and he would finally be able to show Quatre what it was they had traveled through space to see. Although the trip had already proved to be a Bad Idea, there was no point in not following through and making the most of it. He glanced at the beautiful man standing next to him and smiled. Then again, maybe it would be worth it, after all.

It took several hours before the prostitute finished, her client paid, and the pair left. At least that is what it felt like to Quatre. He had seen that act Allah alone knew how many times during the course of his "education" and it had never bothered him before, but this had been disgusting. How any man could satisfy himself like an animal with someone who obviously did not want to be there was beyond him. Worse yet, naturally the woman hadn't swallowed and they had left a nasty mess on the sidewalk. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes from the slimy mess.

"Finally." Duo breathed. He led Quatre further between the two buildings, carefully stepping over the small, sticky stain in the way. At last he found what he was looking for and directed his companion's gaze downward.

The Arabian man stared at a large cross etched deeply into the cement sidewalk. He blinked, not understanding. The two simple cuts had been made long after the cement had dried, the sharp edges told him that much. But they must have been done before the buildings had been raised, as the whorehouse actually sat on top of the base of the cross. But why? Who in this benighted place would take the time or effort to do such a thing, and why that symbol?

Duo answered the unspoken question. "About seven years ago, only one building stood here. This was the site of the Maxwell Church. When the armies came, I had to do something to save everyone. All I knew how to do was steal, so I went to find a mobile suit of my own. I was too late." He paused. The deep sorrow he tried so hard not to show but that everyone somehow knew was there was now plainly visible. Tears, the first the blond had ever seen Shinigami shed, gathered in his eyes to fall silently.

"No one even remembers them, not anymore. All those children, they didn't deserve to die. And Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, they spent their whole lives just trying to help. They never hurt anyone!

"I was young, I thought that if I could only do something, they wouldn't be forgotten. So I made that cross, just like the one Sister Helen had given me."

Quatre realized that it must have taken days, weeks even, for the small boy using who-knew-what makeshift tools to cut into the colony-strength molded cement. Longer still, for the vulnerable, younger Duo would not have been able to work very long at a single sitting.

"They would be very proud of you." It sounded trite, even to Quatre's own ears, but he truly meant it.

The American pilot laughed sarcastically. "Thanks, but I sincerely doubt that. They were nonviolent people and would never understand."

Quatre just nodded; he had never really gotten over his father's rejection.

"But I had to *do* something, you know? Everyone who has ever gotten close to me has died. I know in my head that I was just a kid, that it wasn't my fault…but there's still a part of me that is trying to make up for it somehow." Duo looked away as he made this admission. This was where Quatre would lose all respect for him. How could he be the empath's equal if he wasn't even strong enough to look out for the people who had needed him?

Tears filled bright blue eyes as the smaller man listened to his friend speak. He thought of his own past, of the feelings of self-pity he had harbored growing up alone. It was pathetic, really. All that time he had been clothed, fed, safe. He knew without question he could never have survived here.

"I think you are the strongest person I've ever known." He whispered.

Duo smiled at that, but the smile turned once more into self-mockery as he stared at the crude carving on the pavement. "I wasn't strong enough." He paused, but before Quatre could reply, the American shook his head as though dismissing the thought as useless.

"Some date, hey? Never let it be said that Duo Maxwell doesn't know how to show a gentleman a good time. Let's get out of here, there are some fairly decent clubs on the other side of town - "

"Duo," Quatre cut in, "thank you for bringing me here. I am very glad that you did."

The words were simple and sincere, and released some of the pain that had sprung in Duo's chest released by the memories. Brushing away a final tear that he would never admit he'd shed, he let a real smile surface as they left the only memorial to the Maxwell Church.

* * * * *

~ End Part V.