Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Missing Pieces ❯ Two ( Chapter 2 )

Missing Pieces

By Anne Olsen

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. I promise to return when I'm finished, honest.

Thanks to: Bast for beta reading and Maureen for her support and comments. The ending of this scene was all their fault really. Well it was mine, but they thought it was a good idea and who am I to argue *looks innocent.

This fic was originally going to be two chapters not three but...*points at Bast. She made me do it. All her fault. *grins. Chapter three soon, promise.

Feedback to: anneo@paradise.net.nz

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Chapter Two

Quatre bit down on his lower lip as he tried to shift his thoughts away from Duo. The American was berating himself over the fact he hadn't told Heero how he felt, trying not too successfully to justify his non action by convincing himself those feelings weren't returned. The blond mentally shook his head. He knew that scenario all too well. Duo needed to tell Heero, to show him the truth. At least their relationship had a chance of a future, at least Duo hadn't killed his chance of happiness by attempting to destroy the person he loved.

Heero and Duo were incomplete without each other; he knew that from the emotions he'd picked up from each of them, although he wondered how much Heero had admitted to himself. He suspected that the Japanese pilot knew there was a part of him missing and that it had something to do with Duo, but wondered if he'd gotten as far as putting two and two together. Not being within the parameters of the assigned mission, it wouldn't warrant the attention it needed.

Quatre sighed. Being Gundam pilots had brought them together, showing them their future, but would the war be over in time for that future to become a reality? They'd each given so much, to the extent that the well was in danger of running dry. The reality of the slight blond teenager he saw reflected in the mirror no longer meshed with his own self image. It was so easy to forget who they were; fifteen year olds pushed into adulthood and the responsibilities it entailed before they'd had a chance to experience childhood.

He shifted his focus to memorisation of the route they were taking, McKenzie shoving him, none too gently, from behind as they left the cell. He hoped Duo was okay. Even at this distance, he could sense the intensity of the other pilot's emotions as they threatened to break through the shielding he was attempting to construct. Every few minutes McKenzie would pause, under a different pretext each time, and his hands would brush over the blond, the touch generating a shiver of disgust that he was finding hard not to show. Coupled with the sensations of lust radiating from the OZ Captain and Quatre felt his stomach churn as he struggled against the urge to vomit.

Trowa's was the touch he had yearned for, still yearned for, not that of this OZ soldier.

Keep your hands off me! The clammy touch of McKenzie's bare skin, long fingers brushing against his own as the man pretended to check the security of the handcuffs, was making it harder to shut off the empathic emissions. The soldier with them deliberately glanced in the opposite direction, making a show of examining the pattern of bricks in the old underground bunker, as his superior ran his hand through Quatre's hair, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.

Quatre mentally screamed; slamming down empathic shields as he struggled to maintain control. Not for the first time, he wished he could control this cursed ability. He could still feel his link with Duo, and the other pilot's despair, worse than anything he'd previously sensed from Deathscythe's pilot, threatened to overwhelm him, to shatter the illusion of control he was attempting to project.

He gritted his teeth, wishing either Duo or the OZ soldier would give him some respite. One he could handle, just, but both simultaneously…He was drowning, reaching for a life raft which didn't exist.

If McKenzie received the impression he'd won in any shape or form they were both royally screwed, as Duo would say. Quatre allowed himself a small smile. Duo was certainly rubbing off on him. A short time ago he would have never used those words, even to himself.

Duo.

Thank Allah. For some reason the onslaught from the braided pilot had suddenly ceased. Maybe his ability had decided to give him some respite? He only hoped it was a positive sign; there was no way he was going to entertain the notion that it meant something untoward had happened to his friend.

The blond edged forward beyond his captor's grasp, trying to put some distance between himself and McKenzie. If he could only keep their physical contact at a minimum, he might survive this.

"I won't need your assistance any longer, Corporal." McKenzie came to a halt, indicating that the soldier accompanying them should leave. The other OZ soldier had left a few minutes before, sent to check on the progress being made on the Gundams. From what Quatre could gather, they were having problems with access. He'd disabled entry to Sandrock's controls before he'd surrendered and he knew Duo had rigged Deathscythe to only answer to his own entry code upon start up.

The Corporal hesitated, and McKenzie rolled his eyes. "He's only a kid, Wilkins. Gundam pilots don't seem as much of a threat without their mecha to hide behind." The dark haired man opened the door, and pushed Quatre inside. "I don't want to be disturbed for at least half an hour. Do not enter unless I call for you. There's a bonus in it for you for keeping your mouth shut regarding anything you might overhear. Got it?"

The man nodded, smirking. "You don't have to tell me twice, sir. I lost friends in the last Gundam attack. They might be kids but they deserve what they get." He hesitated, obviously wondering if he had overstepped his boundaries in speaking to his superior. "In my opinion, sir."

McKenzie nodded. "I'm pleased we understand each other, Corporal." The door closed behind him with an ominous thump, and he stood for a moment, his cold green eyes giving Quatre the once over. Green, the same colour as Trowa's but lacking the depth of his would be lovers. When he and Trowa had shared furtive glances, there had always been tenderness, a reflection of warmth in the other pilot's eyes. Why hadn't he told him how he felt?

The blond glanced away, not wanting to be reminded again of what would probably never be, taking in his surroundings as he tried to ascertain whether there was anything present in the room that could be used as a weapon against his captor. The room was small but well furnished; reflecting the man's position in the chain of command on the base. Quatre froze as he noticed the large bed in the corner.

Allah, this was the man's living quarters. Please don't let my space heart be right. He'd wanted his first time to be with Trowa, not like this.

He turned his head to eyeball McKenzie, taking care to hide his fear, the total lack of inflection in his voice projecting an air of indifference. "I'm not going to give you the information you require," he informed the OZ soldier.

The older man's tone matched his own. "You seem to forget that you are the one in handcuffs, not I." He raised an eyebrow, his mouth turning up in a grin, and Quatre shivered in spite of himself. Even if he weren't empathic he would have no problem recognising McKenzie's intentions. "Feisty, aren't you? Should increase the fun side of what I have in mind."

McKenzie glanced at his watch as he removed his jacket, placing it and his gun holster on the sturdy wooden table near the door. "Come here, Blondie. Do you have a name? If we are going to…share…we can start by you giving me some information. It's only right."

"My name is 04. I am a Gundam pilot," Quatre informed him. "And there is nothing right about this situation." McKenzie took two steps towards him and he backed away, halting as his progress was hindered by something hard pressing into his spine. If he could only get his hands free somehow, and get hold of the gun maybe…If only he still had his lockpicks. He mentally calculated the distance between his captor and his abandoned weapon, moving slowly forward, only be brought to a suddenly stop as the cuffs lodged between the rails at the end of the bed and refused to move.

He pulled as McKenzie moved closer, trying frantically to free himself but to no avail. He moved his head to one side, trying to avoid the unwanted touch, trying to ignore the sensation of lustful wanting which the man was projecting.

"I'm. Not. Going. To. Give. You. What. You. Want," he ground out through clenched teeth. Allah, this was too intense. He couldn't breathe. He had to get free.

"Relax," McKenzie told him in a silky tone. "It will be much easier if you relax." His left hand traced a pattern reminiscent of a spider's web over Quatre's face, and he responded by turning his head and letting out a string of Arabic.

McKenzie slapped him across the face, the sting of the blow bringing tears to the blond's eyes. "You little bastard. Co operate and maybe I'll go easier on your friend." He ran his hand slowly through Quatre's hair, before clenching a handful in his fist, using it to force Quatre to face him.

Keep your hands off him. Quatre fought the impulse to spit in the man's face, instead trying to focus on finding a way out, a way to rescue Duo before this filth could get anywhere near him.

"His hair is quite lovely, don't you think? I'd imagine it's not as fine as yours, more body to it." McKenzie traced his free hand though the air, outlining what was obviously supposed to be Duo as he pursed his lips together in an appreciative wolf whistle. "You Gundam pilots are certainly lookers," he continued, licking the spittle forming on the corner of his mouth, then swallowing in an exaggerated gesture. "I imagine I'll have just as much fun with 02 as I'm about to have with you."

Quatre pulled away from McKenzie, wincing as a few strands of hair remained in the man's fist. No way was Duo going to be subjected to this; not while he could do anything to prevent it. He swallowed hard before speaking, a tone of resignation in his voice. "If I cooperate will you leave my friend alone?"

McKenzie smirked and took a step back, running his eyes over Quatre, his body language reminiscent of an animal taking final stock of his prey before moving in for the kill. "But of course."

You don't lie well. "How do I know you'll leave him alone if I do what you want?" he asked, searching the Captain for any sign of weakness he could exploit.

"You'll just have to trust me." McKenzie's hands hovered over his belt then fell to his side, the muscles in his forearm twitching slightly as he mulled over his next move.

Quatre pulled at his handcuffs, knowing he was helpless in his present position, unable to do anything but wait. The ball for the moment, was in McKenzie's court, but if he could get that ball back into motion, the game could still go either way.

The blond stopped struggling, holding perfectly still, as he locked eyes with his captor. "You'll have to tell me what to do. I'll do anything as long as you promise not to hurt me." He dropped his voice down to a whisper, allowing a small whimper escape from his lips. "Please…"

"I knew you'd see the light, sooner or later." McKenzie moved closer, running his hands over Quatre's chest through his shirt. "Most people do, eventually. It's just a case of finding their weakness; amazing how often people will fold when you threaten someone they care about."

Quatre bit his lip, forcing himself not to react to McKenzie's touch as his hands moved lower, pausing on his belt buckle. One deft movement, and he felt the security of the firmness around his waist disappear. The blond glanced downwards, noticing in a detached manner, the soft material of his boxers now showing through the open zipper.

McKenzie pulled at the fabric, frowning as the undergarment moved a few inches downwards then came to a halt.

Quatre let out a sigh. "They're caught on the bedrail in the handcuffs," he pointed out helpfully, noticing the large bulge in the other man's trousers. McKenzie was becoming impatient. The blond wriggled, running his tongue over his lips provocatively, noticing with satisfaction the groan the action produced from his companion.

McKenzie hesitated, then removed a small set of keys from his trouser pocket, leaning over to remove the tight cuffs from Quatre's wrists. "You promised to behave," he reminded the blond. "If you don't I can send one of the guards to bring your friend to join in our game."

Quatre nodded, giving a gesture of understanding as he moved away from the bed, rubbing his wrists, glad to finally be free of the cursed cuffs. He made a show of wincing in pain, gasping as his legs suddenly seemed unable to support him.

McKenzie frowned, dropping the keys on the table next to his gun, before moving back to help the pilot to his feet. That frown changed to a look of surprise as Quatre swung his legs around in a move Heero had taught him, grasping the steel railing he'd been leaning against moments before with both hands for support.

His captor went down in one fluid motion and Quatre let go of the railing, thrusting his body towards the table and the only weapon in the room. McKenzie was on his feet almost instantly, diving for the gun at the same moment as the Gundam pilot felt his shoulder connect with thump with sharp edge of the wooden table.

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TBC