Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Prisoner of War ❯ Crossing the Lines ( Chapter 17 )

Note: Wow, no update in a long while . . . Sorry peoplez, I've been busy. If anyone's still reading this, I love you! ^_^ I had a pep band game last night. We lost, but it was still a blast because hey, it's pep band! I got music stuck in my head for Goddess knows how long. I had a concert on Thursday, which gave me a wonderful idea about what's going to happen in TLM. *Evil grin* no spoiling of course because I may as well post it here. And it's not just about marching band (TLM), but it's actually covering high school. Pairings? 1+2+1, and of course 3+4+3 (officially now). Yay! I don't own Gundam Wing, but if I did a certain little blonde girl will finally realize a lot of things, or she'd mysteriously disappears . . . This chapter is a little weird, but it kind of did some wonders for my plot.

Chapter Seventeen

Surreptitious shadows danced across the earth and trees, cast by a pair of dark, raven wings. And glowing, emerald eyes gleamed almost sinisterly, spying on potential prey. Even in the brilliance of the afternoon sun, the large machine crafted out of pure gundanium alloy seemed to radiate vibes of exactly how it looked, morbid and simply dark. A promise of death clung closely to the mobile suit, hugging it like a second skin, and perhaps it was. It was the pilot inside was the one that had captured most interest however. Dark lilac glimmered lowly in the dim light of the gundam, determined, and the same, merciless glint skimmed the surface warningly, hid behind a façade of a smile. All the while, his long, chestnut tresses with streaks of dark gold gliding through varying shades of brown was gathered and twisted into a lengthy, three-part braid, swinging well past his waist.

"Hey guys!" not resisting the evil smirk sweeping comfortably across his lips, Duo gazed knowingly at the four. `Oh what they must be thinking about right now . . .' The same, smooth tenor sounded again, "Didn't think I was going to miss out on some fun, didja?"

"Duo . . ." the Japanese pilot remained impassive as he utter the single term in an emotionless voice. As much as Heero had expected the braided baka to be a gundam pilot, shock still unwilling flooded his through his veins at that point, nearly causing him to freeze right before a battle. Frosty blue eyes flashed, "You're on time."

The others watched in uncomfortable astonishment as the pair of close "friends" met each other as soldiers and allies. `Even though this seems like a real conversation, whatever they say to each other seems to have a completely different meaning behind empty words. Duo was the person in Heero's gundam earlier!'

"Well, if we're through with introductions, I believe that there's some Ozzies with some death wishes we need to grant," with the familiar smirk placidly set on his lips, the braided youth prepared himself for battle both mentally and physically. `Ruthless . . . We are ruthless in battle.' And the combat commenced fiercely as the first casualties' screams pierced the air.

Deathscythe slipped into the foliage in waiting, acutely observing the battle scene for an opportunity to strike. `Destroy as much as you can while watching the backs of the other pilots. Provide distractions.' Heavy artillery fire sounded in the atmosphere, and the silence that was there before it disappeared. The peace was gone, and so were the boys that were fooling around and joking.

As best as a large gundam could, it hid in the dank shade of trees, lying in wait. With the added security of hyper jammers incasing the advanced, mobile suit, Deathscythe could easily destroy without the enemy's notice before it was too late. And Duo remembered so clearly the oppression his home was in when he was so young; he remembered everything about his brief brush with a childhood. `No more, Heero. I won't let them win. I've found you again, and I'm fighting right besides everyone; we are protecting each other.'

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Oz soldier's point of view . . .

And so another battle begins with those gundam pilots. This time something is definitely different though because this time - I would be fighting against them. I have never known anyone to survive a brutal attack, left with broken pieces to face the consequences. The only faint rumors murmured around about a survivor was when they lost, or if they were not actually in mobile suits. Sometimes I entertain myself with the fact that they aren't human just fighting machines crafted to wreak havoc on our peace.

While I genuinely believe in our cause, the most reason for me to be part of the war is the thought of family behind. I wonder if those have ever had to suffer like I had . . . And I wonder if they can feel anything at all. Coming from a poor home, the only things I were blessed with was a loving family. We had to get by somehow, surviving by each day. I appreciate a caring family more than I would all the wealth in the world. Maybe those pilots never had one, never experienced love, and maybe that's why they have chosen to destroy the lives of others. I can't imagine an enemy so ruthless could actually be human.

I decided to join our forces and contribute in what little way possible for ultimate peace. I send most of my money home to help support my parents and siblings. In the end, I wouldn't mind which side wins out as long as there's freedom and peace. And so I watch everything happen before me along the sidelines because I won't actually participate in that physical strife. Still, this battle could be my last.

Fighting is a chore. Even my commander agrees, and I can see it in his weary eyes that he really does not expect victory. I caught a brief glimpse of dark brown eyes glittering a few minutes earlier. They seemed to shine with - hope? Something was up, and something wasn't right. The good news was our side was the ones that had planned it.

What was my job really? I was told I would be in intelligence for the remainder of the wars, trying to figure out and thwart enemy interference before it was too late. In a sense, I had fought with these men before only miles away. Their systems were far to complex for any hacker or warrant officer sent on the case. Essentially, my job is to just sit around helplessly and watch soldiers fall and be forgotten in twisted carcasses strewn about the field. Mirthless humor . . .

I see those large mobile suits now, just beyond the horizon. They are symbols of death in my opinion. Clacking fingertips ceased to utter a noise, and I could have sworn that I had saw those around me doing the same, staring transfixed at them. To myself, it was the first time I had ever wondered about them, what they looked like, their ages, personalities . . . Why now? Maybe it's because they are all together this time, and it just seems to fit perfectly. And it just looks so right.

Eyes solely fixated at the grim sight, my fingers flitted about the keyboard, pretending to do the work I was hired for. It wasn't until the sound of teenage voices flooding the room that I became aware of the computer in front of me. There was surprisingly no one else around in the entire lab area, only me and around fifty computers. Who was talking then? Startled eyes suddenly registered the monitor screen, displaying in full view pilots . . . But they're just babies! Why are they piloting mobile suits?

It was only after I heard the braided boy's words that I realized that they were the enemies that were considered so dangerous… But they're just babies! The face of evil so vividly painted in my mind dispersed with immediacy as I stared transfixed at them. Calling my commander crossed my mind hazily, but I didn't want to. It was like a motherly sense had crept up on me, and I had a desire to protect those children. Society has had to resort to using mere children to fight a war they shouldn't even understand. That thought angered me. Even so, they were the enemy, and I should not want to protect them.

They eyes spoke a completely different story, and I noticed it only now. Weary of battle, bloodshed, they had already seen too much in their short lives and more than most in ten lifetimes. And I realize dumbly that they had seen it all. The soldiers in the Oz confederation had only experienced battle for those few moments before dying. And those gundam pilots had seen it all. I wonder if they feel guilty for the deaths that they have caused. Did they ever have nightmares? I know I would. I can't imagine or bear the thought of obliterating life, so how could they continue to do so?

The smallest trace of guilt lined those intense violet orbs, and I felt myself drawn in amazement towards the young, braided teenager dressed in black. He was the only one out of the group that seemed remotely normal, acted his age. Battle hadn't begun yet, and somehow I was waiting for a change in his attitude once it had commenced. I felt excited and anxious to see the fighting from their point of view. How different would it be? They were supposably the best of the best pilots in the universe. Surprising how easily we can be defeated by boys.

My attention turned to the Japanese teenager, and involuntarily I shuddered at his icy eyes. They were an exquisite shade of dark blue, cold but beautiful, and I wondered if my previous thoughts were true. Are they human? They must be because otherwise that Japanese boy wouldn't have something to hide beneath the ice. I don't know how many times I can recall when I witness a broken soldier, and their eyes were so empty, hollow. It frightened me to think that you can loose all hope and feeling like that. That's what war can do to someone, and yet we push on to fight, to continue this massacre of humanity and not just life. I pray to whatever God is up there that I will not have to become that way, nor anyone else.

Dark brown spikes messily hid parts of his face, looking perfectly tousled perhaps in movement, wind, or both. In surprise I saw the small glance he shot to the braided boy when he thought no one was looking . . . His eyes just seemed to soften in the tiniest way, and some emotion seeped through the crack of ice. I smiled softly in amazement and wondered exactly how close the two boys were. I'm not even sure they know yet. In my heart I hoped that they would find out before it was too late. And in my subconscious there was a miniscule spark of hope that they would prevail in the battle.

My gaze caught the Chinese boy in another gundam. Obsidian eyes peered at the two others knowingly, and his black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, resting at the nape of his neck. I pondered how much he knew about the Japanese and American's relationship, perhaps more than they knew. His glance broke and locked on the battle ready to begin, fists gripping the controls tighter. The grimace was plain in his eyes, but duty called. He didn't want to kill, but he had to fight.

A pair of aquamarine eyes stared in affliction at the imminent swarms of mecha nearing the five. I heard him murmured the words, "Allah forgive me," so quietly, and his eyes closed momentarily . . . almost as if pain was overwhelming him. He turned to face the final kid out of the whole group. Emerald eyes softened, and at the same time, a fierce sense of protectiveness flooded the depths. I could almost see the invisible set of arms reaching out to embrace the Arabic, and hear the silent words of comfort being whispered. And I suddenly knew that they were more than merely good friends. I could see their love, feel it. I think it gave everyone a sense of serenity at such a chaotic moment.

And so the fighting began, and those boys disappeared from existence. In their stead were five men, skilled in every which way to be gundam pilots. I wondered what they had to go through to achieve their level in skill because it far surpassed any I have ever seen. If this weren't real life, it would have made the most compelling story. Watching things from a damn computer screen often made it seem false, and it only nurtured my fantasy that there was no war. If only that were true.

My old thoughts returned with fervor; I could see the enjoyment in battle from them. I suppose it's only human, right? After all, how many times have we experienced bloodlust? The braided one called himself the God of Death, and I couldn't see why until the first kill of the night. They could very well have been adults trapped in a child's body, and it became more and more of a possibility with each, passing second. It wasn't until danger lurked around the corner that I had been surprised yet again. I marveled at their incredibly abilities…especially the Japanese youth's. The way he moved perfectly in sync with the large mecha. His reactions were almost faster than his gundam itself . . . What had they gone through to achieve this? I saw him fight without passion, nothing skimming across his youthful face. And yet sometimes I can see a glimmer of darkness flash in his eyes, but mostly it was just blank. He didn't even flinch when he was in some kind of trepidation.

There was a weak spot in his defenses, or it could have been just too much to handle, I'm not sure. Either way I could nearly fell his gundam jolt from impact. Another mobile suit had managed to land a blow. Both pilot and mecha were okay except for the small trickle of blood progressing down the Japanese boy's face. I heard a quiet curse he had muttered under his breath, intended for himself, "Kuso," he had muttered softly.

Suddenly the vid-screen in the boy's gundam turned on, revealing the braided American I had noticed earlier. Though the maniacal grin stretched across his boyish features, concern was clear in the amethyst gaze. And I watched in sudden interest, attention focused on the odd pair. "Hey, Heero!" he greeted. So that was his name . . . "You okay there?"

"I'm fine, 02," Heero had emphasized the other's obvious code name while speaking in otherwise monotone. `Why so concerned, 02?'

"Yeah from that blood coming out of your face I'd say you're just peachy keen," sarcasm dripped on every syllable of his sentence. `Because you're my friend . . . Duh!'

I don't know what it was, but I started to encrypt my own words in from theirs. From subtle body language (I'm a wanna-be psychiatrist, did I mention?) it seemed more like the real words they wanted to say. I don't understand why it would be so hard to simply put it in that way. Maybe there were simply unwritten rules of conduct. I noticed those flickered glances and changes in their eyes, and it became almost fun to figure it all out. Maybe by the end, I'd figured out their relationship. Then if I could, I would have given them a piece of my mind whether they wanted to hear it or not. Don't they understand that this is a war? That they could be dead the next second? If anything, they should be more open instead of so extremely, painfully careful. Would it be so bad? Ugh, men . . .

My attention returned to the exchange of words on hand, "Just a cut, nothing major," nonchalantly, Heero responded. `I am just "peachy keen." Baka . . .'

"Sure!" the braided pilot joked, "I just hope you don't get it all over your precious laptop or something." `It takes one to know one . . .' he seemed to whistle innocently before ruining the effect with another one of those smirks.

`So you admit it?' the Japanese youth pointed out from observation.

`As long as you do,' shrugged the boy with dark lilac eyes, smiling slightly even at that.

Somehow I thought a "hn" grunt would suit this Heero well. `If we were both idiots, neither of us would realize it.'

`How would you know how idiots think?' the braided boy quipped, merriment shimmering in his eyes.

`We "smart people" study you,' the dark-haired one retorted. `Goodbye, 02, and use this for real emergencies.'

`Is flicking you off considered an emergency?' he inquired hopefully, laughing at the annoyed expression crossing the other's face.

I saw this Heero person turn off his vid-screen, and the image of the joker dissipated from his gundam, but by the expression that had crept on his face, surely not his mind or was it heart? I found myself smiling in soft wonder again, daring to hope because I'm a romantic at heart. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, fantasying about the enemies' lives. After all, it should only matter if we won or not.

Their brutal attacks were once again met with almost zero resistance on our parts. These boys were more than good, and I couldn't help but speculate what their limits were. It wasn't until I had seen the true face of those pilots that those questions entered my mind. And as pathetic as it was to say it, those mere children were far more mature than so many I had known and perhaps even me. While continuous thoughts ran through my mind, I still watched the battle with a keen interest. Part of me was amazed, enraptured by the fluid movements of mecha, the explosions, and it really did seem only like a dream. Emotions were on high as I watched my comrades fall and the purpose and determination shining in the eyes of those that handed them their deaths.

This nightmare however was overwhelming, so sad, miserable, real. I could hear the last screams dispersing in the air, shrieking in fear and horror more than pain. The intercom crackled with thousands of cries and protests, shouting commands. All along I could only think of how hopeless this battle was. How could those men out there just die like that? It was like their lives never really amounted to anything. And no matter how much they tried, how much they trained - those pilots would always best them. Some tried to jump out of their mobile suit before doom had befallen them, and yet most only landed in a mangled corpse of flesh and bone, sprawled and convulsing on the Earth. All along it was right outside my window, and it hit me then that in a short while I would probably become like them. Color drained from my face. I would be forgotten with the rest of them. What kind of death is this? Is there any justice?

Despair filled me to the brim, more than it has in any past battle, and a cruel smile touched my lips as I thought of my ignorance just a year ago. I had never known what war was about, and it was more terrible than anyone could ever imagine. How can there be peace after we have seen this much? How? When I know every scream is forever engraved in my damn memory, and I can't forget it! If I do...history WILL repeat itself. No, I can't let this misery be repeated ever again. But peace cannot exist without war. As easy as it is to say this, it's definitely not so easy to live through it even once. I pray to whatever God is left out there to stop this suffering from happening again, to our children, grandchildren, and the people after us. How can we stop it? As a society, we are too afraid to tell them the truth, to protect them. Innocence is rarer these days, but I supposed everything has a downside.

I have never had to kill anyone, and I still don't understand how anyone could. And my gaze is once again glued to those boys. For the pilot called 02, he was cackling, feeling a thrill from the rush of battle that I didn't understand. He enjoyed the fight, didn't he? He called himself Death. A fresh wave of fury washed over me, and I wondered for the fiftieth time how they could enjoy killing. And so blinded by my anger, I didn't see the small trace of pain, the wisp of sorrow and loneness I knew too well in his eyes. Are soldiers any better than murderers? It was what they were. Soldier was just a sugarcoated title for those killers. And I really did want to hate them. And I almost succeeded, too, if it not for the scene I had witness the next moment.

My hand clasped against my mouth, muffling a gasp of disbelief, and my eyes widened in horror even as my mind registered that this was a *good* thing. A Taurus had somehow managed to slip into the foliage seemingly unnoticed by the pilot of the gundam, Heero. I could see the steady beam cannon being aimed at the Japanese youth, the one that had the capability to cripple a gundam. One shot was enough to stun the boy. And the rest would finish it. He had fell into a trap, and I was pretty sure he was aware of it, too. Why then?! Why did he knowingly go to fight in an area that he knew was a trap? Was he suicidal? He could die! I heard the braided American utter a cry of protest that went unheeded. After the lone shout, three more simultaneously joined in to shriek his name after realizing what had happened. There was chance of rewinding time now, however.

From the look of steely determination on his face, the boy didn't care. He was set to do what he had to do. And I was stunned by such courage in a conviction, his selfless act. Who could have expected a mere child to be more selfless than all of our soldiers? Didn't he have a family? Didn't he have anything to live for? And I saw his last glance over to the violet-eyed Shinigami, but there was no hesitation.

"Dumbshit pilot!" 02 had screamed. "Hang on," he muttered, and those cobalt eyes hardened. I saw the effort he put into it, rapidly switching gears, thrusting his controls with one, singular thought set on his mind. And I felt trapped, not knowing what I should hope for.

Suddenly I saw the most unexpected thing. The braided teenager had managed to muster enough strength in his gundam's scythe to relocate a surprised Leo directly in front of the blast, utilizing the staff as if it were a baseball bat. It hit full on, and yet the pilot was still smart enough to know the total after effects of such a powerful beam to allow the remaining energy to hit his most defensive side. He grunted in strain, arms hurting from the difficult maneuver, but he had accomplished his goal, and his eyes shut momentarily in relief, catching his breath. His gundam shuddered from impact but quickly recharged from the shock and rushed over to the Arabian's own mecha, whom was helping Heero.

He panted heavily, fully subjecting the Japanese to his glare under jagged, brown bangs, "Yuy . . ." he spoke in a low, warning voice, "you are so God-damned stupid!" before stalking off to fight the remaining battle.

I had never seen anyone so angry, but the relief still remained in his eyes. Moments before his desperate last-straw attempt, I could see the ghastly white painting over his heart-shaped face, and the looming shadow of fear haunting dark lilac. A more subtle reaction startled Heero's own features as well when he had seen what the baka was prepared to do. I suppose to a guy like him, it was much more than what it seemed to be. Shocked, pure and simple, edged his face, laced his eyes, mouth slightly agape. I think they are both insane. Yet the altruistic acts were so sweet, only making me wonder more. And by seeing them as vulnerable, I finally realized then that they were as much a victim of war as we were.

There are no winners in war, and everyone has to be a victim to something. It was a sad truth, and this was an even sadder world. How much could these wars affect Earth? Would it change at all? Then all of this pain would have been for absolutely nothing. I pushed those rueful thoughts out of my mind, hoping to just concentrate on the present, live for however long I can.

It seemed like one of the gundams, piloted by the guy with gravity defying hair, had ran out ammunition. Perplexed eyes observed him discard his beam in his left hand, instead began to use the beam saber instead. His grace even in a large mecha such as this was more than noticeable. I watched in awe as he pulled a complicated flip in the air, avoiding an attempted blow and landing in the perfect place to kill the pilot that dared to try it.

"How are you holding up?" the blonde Arabic suddenly appeared on his intercom, and I saw the young pilot smile faintly.

"90% complete with the mission, no ammo, all engines in check, minor burns on left," he reported in a quiet voice, emerald eyes intently focused on the other boy's face.

The blonde smiled lightly at his response, "I meant you - Trowa . . ." His name was said in affection, and it made me smile just a little to watch the pair that was actually seizing the day, carpe diem. I could only wish for the best of luck to them. Being able to find happiness these days is rare, and this enemy deserved some, too. What kind of a childhood would a soldier experience anyhow?

And I saw those orbs light up in surprise, the good kind, "I'm fine, just fine," I could almost hear the "now" being added after it.

My thoughts were confirmed as I saw a slight blush rise to his cheeks. "Good to hear," he smiled again. "Good luck with the rest of it."

"Same to you, Quatre," the soldier replied before the image flickered off.

The almost laughable thing about it was that while they had spoken, both had been able to fight automatically, fending off and destroying mobile suits. They were more than just good soldiers; they were truly the best of the best, and I had yet to see any pilot able to match their skills with the exception of each other. It wasn't until I looked at the clock that I realized how long this battle had been. Hours of time had past, and I could see very few of our mobile suits still alive from the brutal retaliation. This fight was no different than any other. But it was only then that in my mind flashed the glint in my commander's eyes. And I froze right then and there as I heard a cold voice behind me.

"Are those the gundam pilots?" in his quiet, smooth voice, I turned around to face none other than Treize Khushrenada himself... He gave me a chilling smile as a pair of ice blue eyes gleamed darkly.

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Replies to Reviews-

Shella-chan- Hi! Thank you so much for giving me another review. It can really boost my self-esteem. ^_^ Wow, Ryan's actually online. I'm not actually going initiate a conversation because he's usually like can't talk, sorry. Not that anyone would care . . . but you know. I think I'm going to see Drumline today at 4:20. I've been wanting to see it since Spring, to see how realistic it is compared to real marching band. I heard from Derek and Mandi that it's not very realistic, but some things are on the mark. I hope this wasn't an awfully long wait for this chapter. I'm so lazy . . . And I'm tired again. Just five more school days until Winter Break (yes!) . . . I can hold out that long. Well, anyway, thanks again!

Dewshine- Hey! How are you? Good, I hope. It's been a while since I actually updated . . . I'm lazy, what can I say? Life is going just peachy. My best friend Mara (I have another one) and I have decided to start that study group thing. No, it's not for school. We're not too fond of studying for things like that. It's for Wicca because I seriously need to get into that more. I had a pep band game last night that was really fun. It would have been more fun if my lips weren't bright red from blisters, tightness, that burning sensation, and chapped. It's not that great if you play brass, you know. My dinner was basically a pretzel with cheese, and that wasn't very filling or too healthy. But I had a nice lunch today! Thank you so much for the review! And you'll get to see what the reactions are after the battle next chapter. I'll try to post it sooner . . .

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I'll make this quick. I hope you peoplez like the chapter, because it wasn't so fun editing it. Why did I have to write ellipses wrong the first time? Anyway, I'll try to be faster about updates and all that stuff. Thanks for reading!