Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Death Throws ❯ Record 2.3 ( Chapter 8 )

Death Throws: Record 2.3

By: Kiamirei

~I don't own Gundam Wing. Feel free to review this fanfic or email me. I forgot to name last

chapter. Oh well….

THE WORLD COMES CRASHING DOWN

For a self-proclaimed Shinigami, and for others, the world as it had been known had come crashing down all around them. Duo ran into his room and took out a canvas drawstring bag from under his bed. Frantically, he opened up the closet and tore all his articles of clothing off of their hangers, and dropped them onto the bed. He picked them up, one after the other, and eventually discarded everything but his most unobtrusive garments. The former pilot had begun wearing clothing with color over the last few months, but now he would take only black and dark-colored things. The ones he deemed acceptable were thrown into the bag, along with his laptop. His next destination was the bathroom, where he seized his toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, and brush, ran back to his room, and threw them in the bag also. Next, the American lifted up the mattress, revealing two fully loaded guns. One he hid in his clothing, and one he tossed into the bag along with the extra bullets that had also been hidden. A sound behind him made him whip around, gun pointed straight ahead of him. He breathed a sight of relief, seeing that it was only Hilde, and replaced the weapon to where it had been.

"Oh. It's only you, Hilde. You scared me. Do you mind helping me pack?"

"Y-you're leaving?"

"Of course. I have to; they know my name already in this place, and they're going to be very suspicious. Maybe I could stay awhile longer, convince the neighbors that I'm not the terrorist they're hunting, despite having the same name, but it would only be putting off the inevitable. They're going to get our pictures eventually, and then I'd have to leave anyway, but it would be even harder. You understand, don't you?" His violet eyes looked troubled, and Hilde smiled sadly.

"I understand. But…"

"But what?"

"Well…I was hoping…that maybe…."

Duo stood up straight and shook his head.

"No. There's no way you're coming with me. It's way too dangerous!"

Now Hilde looked angry, and the boy winced. When she was mad, anyone with any sense was afraid.

"Duo Maxwell, don't you dare give me that shit! I was a soldier too!"

"Still! Don't you get it? People are going to be chasing after me now until the day I die!"

"And you don't think I can defend myself? You doubt my ability to blow the brains out of anyone foolish enough to try to hurt me?"

"That's not it! I just-"

"You just what? You don't think me able to keep up with you? Think I'll get in your way? Or is it that you just don't want me around anymore?" Hilde was upset, and not too proud to show it.

"That's not true," Duo said quietly. "It's only…I don't want to see you get hurt."

Hilde sighed and wrapped her arms around him. "Duo, you always want to protect me. But who protects you?"

"No one. I've known how to kill since I was a child. I don't need protection."

"I know, but maybe I can be of some help anyway. Please? I don't want to be alone again."

"We'll probably never come back here."

"I know."

"And we'll probably never settle down in one place for more than a month or so."

"I know."

"And we'll probably have hoards of people following us everywhere."

"I know."

"And we'll probably have people trying to kill us day and night."

"I know."

"And once they get our pictures we're really going to have to run."

"Duo, I know. But I want to stay with you. I'm not stupid enough to believe I could follow you once you started to run, but I'll sure as hell try. And anyway, people here have seen me with you already. So in a way, it's safer for me to tag along, right?"

"Are you sure? It's going to be hell from now on."

"Positive. What do I have to stay for, without you?"

"Hilde, you're an angel. Let's eat lunch, and then I'll destroy all of our files while you pack your things. Insurance, bank accounts, paperwork from our job, our driver's licenses, any mention of us anywhere, passports…it all has to go, and we leave as soon as possible."

She smiled and held him tighter, trying to ignore the fear she saw in his eyes. Because if even Duo was scared…

* * * *

Quatre's sisters were very, very angry with him.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Sara, the eldest, demanded. "Don't you think we deserved to know?"

"I-I-"

"That's right," put in Adalia. "Especially when it's something this important!"

The five sisters that lived at the estate with him had surrounded Quatre Winner, and all of them had seen the news. Sara and Adalia were very vocal about it, but the other three -Reiko, Alejondra, and Isis- had not said a word, which was even worse.

"I'm sorry," he explained, "but…I just didn't want you to know. I'm not proud of what I've done. I-I killed a lot of people…I didn't want you to hate me. I really am sorry. It was wrong of me."

"Damn right it was wrong!" Sara answered. "Do you know how many problems this causes for us? Already, Allison and Julie have cut all ties with the family, and our business is going to plummet! What would father say?"

Quatre hung his head in shame. His father would be furious, and hold the situation up as an example of why war was wrong and why he had been an idiot to get involved in it. But Quatre would never get to hear what the man had to say, because he was dead. He closed his eyes, forcing back tears; he would be strong, like Wufei, and would control himself, like Trowa and Heero always did. But Sara could see his reaction anyway, and knew that the last remark had been just one step over the line. She hugged him tightly, and the expressions of the other four girls softened considerably.

"I'm sorry, Quatre," she said. "I shouldn't have said that. The fact that you were a Gundam pilot can't make us stop loving you. But you really should have told us. Cheer up. Father would understand, I'm sure of it."

"No, he wouldn't," the boy said bitterly. "You were right about that. And you're right that all I've done is caused problems. I should go, for both my own safety and yours. Maybe we can try to save our business."

"Nonsense. You may have been an idiot, but we're not letting you go off on your own," Adalia told him. Reiko, Alejondra, and Isis agreed, and Quatre smiled for the first time that day.

Just then, another one of his sisters, Kikyo, burst into the room.

"Quatre, you fool! What the hell have you done?" she raged.

He sighed. It was going to be a long day, indeed.

* * * *

Wufei was almost alone on the subway, a small suitcase at his feet. It was late at night, and he had boarded the train from a point in town where no one would ask him any questions. The day before, he had gotten rid of all the files that either had his name on it or gave any sign that he had once been living in the city, and made reservations at a hotel in a completely different country. He was going to lay low for a while, at least until he decided what to do. The Chinese boy was well aware that he was in no state to be making big decisions.

From the moment that he had heard his name on the news, he had been asking dozens of questions to himself. How had this happened? How did someone get a hold of the identities of the Gundam pilots? What was he going to do now? Would he ever be able to settle down again? What were the other four pilots doing? Were they okay? Was Nataku safe? Should he get Nataku? What would the real Nataku have to say? What would happen now? When would pictures -and there very likely would be pictures, he knew, despite all the caution they had used- of he and the other pilots be made public? Would he be killed, and did justice demand that he accept that?

He shook his head, commanding himself to calm down and go over the questions he had in his mind slowly. There was only a small list of people, to his knowledge, that had the information that had been made public only a few days ago: Lady Une, Sally Po, Lucrezia Noin, Relena Peacecraft, and Trowa's sister. But Lady Une would never do such a thing, because she knew that it would cause chaos, and the same went for Noin and Sally. It was possible that Catherine knew about everything that had been broadcasted, but Wufei could not imagine Trowa telling her that information, and the prospect was extremely unlikely. Zechs knew, too, but no one knew where the man was. Most did not even believe him to be alive, but Wufei had seen Heero self-destruct and live through it, and had heard about Trowa living through the self-sacrifice that had been intended to save Heero's life and snap Quatre back into reality. No one had expected those two to be alive, either, so until he confirmed for himself that Zechs had died, Wufei would not believe the stories of his demise. That only left Relena, but that girl, also, knew what the consequences would be if the names of the Gundam pilots were released. However, under the circumstances, he believed her to be the most one most likely to have leaked the information out; perhaps not deliberately, perhaps it had been an accident, but it was most likely her, all the same.

He decided that once he arrived at the hotel, he would run a quick search of news articles and files to make sure that none of the other pilots had been harmed. He had ignored them for long enough; they would need each other now, and he would welcome their friendship if it was offered this time. However, he would not try to actually find them; it had always been one of their unwritten rules that when a pilot did not want to be found, the others would not look for him. The likelihood of being able to live in any one area for extended lengths of time was very slim, but he would deal with it. For the moment, he would leave Nataku alone. As much as he despised peace, this was not a good excuse to start blowing things up. Then there was the problem of what judgment would come his way, and what he should do when it did. Wufei held no illusions anymore. There was only justice and strength, and those two ideals, the last ideals, must be upheld. Would it be required to accept what punishment the Earth and colonies demanded? Or would it be acceptable to attempt to defend himself, should the need arise? He did not know, and put the question out of his mind; he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Wufei also had to admit that as much as he hated peace, it was better than the life that now lay ahead of him. Briefly, he wondered if it would just be better to commit suicide, but knew as soon as the thought formed that such an action would be weak. He would kill himself only if it was needed in a mission or would save the lives of one of the other four pilots. But the boy still had no idea what was going to become of him, and did not like the lost feeling that it came with one bit. He looked at his hands and saw that they were shaking despite all his efforts to keep them still, and angrily sat on them.

Nataku, I need you right now, he thought to himself. I miss you. Please guide me.

* * * *

Heero had found out about the news, of course. Luckily, no one knew his name in the dirty city that he lived in, and so he could afford to sit and continue to do nothing until photos of he and the other pilots were released, which was inevitable. Vaguely he knew that a year ago he would never have smashed his laptop, and would have started looking for the person responsible for the new state his life was going to be in soon. A year ago, he would have looked for the "reliable source" that the TV station had spoken to, along with the "someone who knew very much about the Gundam pilots" referred to by this source, and killed whoever the search turned up.

"Then again," he muttered, "a year ago I never would have moved to this shitty place."

But it did not matter. Let others do what they would; Heero Yuy was going to keep on living as he had been. He was done with fighting, done with Gundams, and done with people. The former pilot of Wing Zero would not run until they made him.

* * * *

He had stayed in the L5 area, and at first had tried to find a respectable job. Then he decided to stop kidding himself; the boy did not care enough to have a good job. Instead he did odd jobs here and there: sometimes he washed a car or two, once he sold cocaine he had stolen from some poor fool, from time to time he worked as a janitor for a filthy little grocery store near to where he lived, now and then he simply stole money off of people, on occasion he worked at a gas station, and myriad other small occupations that he did only once or twice, and that would pay just enough to live on. He had even worked as a prostitute one or two nights. It had not been much of a life, but he had not cared and had had no initiative to make it into anything actually worth caring about in the first place.

However, the news story had changed everything. Although only a few people knew his name, Trowa was aware that he could take no chances. It was time to disappear. From the boy's own experiences, the best place to hide was in plain sight, as when he had infiltrated OZ's ranks, gaining the trust of Lady Une, who had been one of his foremost enemies at the time. This was no different. The public would be crying for his punishment, or even for his death, and he did not feel like accepting it. Trowa had been a terrorist, it was true, but that was behind him, and for the first time had been learning what it meant to live -if that was what he had been doing could be called- for himself. His entire life had been spent in the service of someone else; first the mercenaries, then the scientists who had fucked with his life during the war, and then Catherine. He would not die for people who had no idea just what he had done for them. It was partly because of him that OZ had not taken over, not that he was proud of the part he had taken.

The boy thought up a plan easily, and spent the remainder of the day removing all proof of his existence with a stolen laptop; he had destroyed his own a few days after he had begun to stay with Catherine. Then he changed clothes. He had been wearing fairly decent garments, given his surroundings, but those would not do anymore. Now he wore dusty black jeans with a hole in the knee, a ratty pair of shoes, black leather gloves with the fingers torn off, and a brown, long-sleeved shirt that had mud on it. Hidden inside his clothing were two loaded guns. Then he gave himself a buzz-cut, getting rid of the bangs that were so easily recognizable. Looking in the mirror of the grimy apartment he had owned, he decided he looked shabby enough.

After all, he thought. It's been five days since I last shaved and took a shower.

After smashing the laptop and throwing half of the parts in the garbage, half out the window, he left the apartment for good. He found the next item he wanted -a medium-sized cardboard box- in a dumpster, and in the dead of night walked from the slums he had been residing in to a better part of the city. Trowa picked the spot he wanted, a place on a street right next to an alleyway where there was a man in a condition similar to his own lying sprawled out on the sidewalk. He put he box down about thirty feet away from the man and lay down with his head within it; it was impossible for a passerby to see inside of it unless they squatted down on the ground.

The former pilot of Heavyarms allowed himself to fall asleep. It was safe enough; no one noticed the homeless, after all.

* * * *