Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Never Alone ❯ Never Alone ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wind and I make no money from this or any other story I write.

Pairings: 2+5

Category: Angst

Rating: PG

Warnings: A bit of blood but nothing too awful.

Title: Never Alone

Author: yellowhorde

Note: This was inspired by a challenge issued at GW500. The challenge word was Thanksgiving.

Day 10

Words: 1145

NEVER ALONE

Your life meant nothing.

Wufei coughed violently, painfully, and felt a hot trickle of blood. His body was one gigantic mass of pain. Bruises bloomed darkly along every exposed inch of flesh and breathing was becoming difficult.

Despite the blood, the pain, the ringing in his ears, he smiled grimly. He would die as he had lived the last year of his life - as a warrior, strong and proud. Fighting for a just and noble cause.

But why exactly were you fighting? His tired mind whispered. Revenge? Justice? What did you actually accomplish? Anything? Nothing?

Wearily, Wufei mentally turned from these thoughts having no answer that would quiet the small nagging questions that echoed through his mind. He had accomplished something. He had. By fighting he was honoring the memory of his child-bride Meilan, who had died protecting those she loved. By fighting he found justice for the people of his colony who had been sentenced to die at the hands of the Alliance.

Another wracking cough, more blood. His breath rattled in and out of his lungs as he struggled to breathe. The choking fumes of smoke and burning metal, all that was left of the motorcycle he had stolen upon escaping the detention center, greased his throat and churned his stomach. Nausea threatened to engulf him but he fought it back grimly. There was nothing honorable in doing that.

A small sound, the scrapping of shoes against gravel, was heard and if Wufei had been able to, he would have swiveled his head to face the intruder. He imagined that it was one of the soldiers who had blasted his escape vehicle out from under him. In a way, he was almost hoping it was. His pain was almost unbearable and he feared that if he lingered much longer in this life, he would dishonor himself by shedding tears. Tears for those he had lost, for himself, for a world collapsing in on itself, so bent on self-destruction that it was a wonder the human race still existed at all.

Laughing blue eyes and an impish grin flashed through Wufei's mind and he found himself wishing that he could have said goodbye to the American pilot before leaving on this mission. Had it really been three days ago? Of course, any such interaction between them would have come out stiff and formal, as usual, but it would have been better than saying nothing at all.

Another scrapping of gravel, closer now, and through the corner of his eyes, he saw a pair of black clad legs and matching shoes. The outline was definitely that of a man, though it was obvious by the style of clothes that it wasn't one of the soldiers who had been in hot pursuit only a short while ago. With the burning remains of the motorcycle at the stranger's back, it was impossible for Wufei to make out facial features. And yet there was something so familiar about him. The way he moved, smooth cat-like grace, as he knelt down besides him. The scent of his cologne, rich, earthy and warm, rode the hot breeze that tugged at the tattered remains of his clothes, and pushed invisible fingers through his raven hair.

Something long and rope-like slithered over the man's shoulder and lightly tapped against Wufei's cheek. Though his vision was dim and spotted he could see that it was a braided length of brown hair. His breath snagged in his throat and he rolled his eyes up only to see the familiar face of one of his fellow Gundam pilots.

"M-Maxwell…" Wufei croaked, but didn't have the strength for more. Relief spilled over in the form of tears and he was helpless to stop them from falling. And for once, he didn't care. Suddenly he knew that he wasn't ready to die. Not yet. Not until he was able to tell his fellow soldier, his friend, how he felt…if only he could…

He licked his lips and tried again. "Maxwell, I-"

"Shush. No talking, Wufei," Duo murmured, his voice pitched low and hoarse. He smiled tremulously and placed one warm hand upon Wufei's brow. "I've contacted the others and told them our position. We'll have you out of here in no time. Promise."

Duo did what he could to aid and comfort him by applying field dressings over several of the bleeding wounds, but they both knew that further treatment would be impossible unless he was taken to a hospital or other medical facility. Having exhausted his scant medical knowledge, he then eased Wufei's head onto his lap and clutched his semi-automatic machine gun in his hands; dark blue eyes scanning the dark for the soldiers he knew were on the way.

"I took out the soldiers that had been after you," Duo announced softly, "but not before one of them made some sort of radio transmission. So unless I'm mistaken, I think we're going to have more company real soon."

His usually cheerful mask had fallen away to reveal a depth of worry and concern that, under different circumstances, would have angered Wufei. He didn't need anyone worrying about him. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Except it was painfully obvious that at this moment, he wasn't capable of anything. And if anyone were to worry about him, wasn't it better to be this man than any other?

He coughed again, twisting in pain. When it passed, he rested his cheek against Duo's thigh and inhaled the scent of the man he had dreamed of for so long. The gods had answered his unspoken plea and sent him the help he needed in the form of a beautiful angel - an angel of Death.

And it was enough.

Finally, after many minutes, Wufei's grip on consciousness began to slip. Sounds began to fade and a crushing wave of tiredness filled him. The pain faded, growing distant and unimportant. His vision was rapidly gobbled up by ever widening patches of nothing. He didn't know what awaited him on the other side of this darkness, didn't know if he would ever wake up again. But he would not be entering it alone.

I'm not alone, he thought dimly, never alone.

And he found comfort in that fact.

Gathering up the last remains of his strength, he reached out one hand and brushed his fingers along one of Duo's hands, gripped so tightly on the butt of his semi-automatic that his knuckles were white half-moons under his skin. Duo glanced down at the hesitant touch and smiled down reassuringly at him.

"Yes, Wufei?"

"Duo…" Wufei whispered, his voice so soft, the other pilot had to lean closer in order to hear him. "Thank you."

"Anytime, man." Duo replied, and his eyes were overly bright in the orange glow of the crackling flames. "That's what friends are for."

THE END