Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Reprieve ❯ chapter 7 ( Chapter 7 )

Chapter Seven

Wufei didn't wait for Shenlong to power down. He allowed the Gundanium to settle, opened the hatch and hurled himself over the gap between cockpit and platform, scaling down the side just as the doors opened and Baz and crew came rushing in. He nodded in understanding to the gangly man on his way past but had no time for words. The mechanic seemed to understand, waving a hand in the general direction of the infirmary. And that was where Wufei let his feet take him as he let his blood cool, let his mind release the battle lust, let his heart finally feel again.

He had not expected it to be so…hard. He could not count the amount of times he had climbed into that Gundam, settled in the chair now molded to his shape, utilized weapons and destroyed life. No mind could keep count. And yet…it had never been hard before. In retrospect it had been too easy; too simple to claim so much in the name of justice. But was it justice he sought, or revenge for a wife he never had the chance to know. Was he fighting to claim a dream, or to lose sight of one? Wufei was no longer sure, knowing only that in pursuit of a dream in some form, past or present, he had lost reality. The reality was that life was not easy. Was not simple. It was…hard.

He curled his fingers into fists, aware of a trembling settling there; early signs of fatigue. He had pushed too hard and had known before he ever left the ship that he would. In battle he never held back, expecting the same from his enemies. Only then could justice prevail; could the strong triumph over the weak. And yet…Wufei did not feel so strong. He felt weak and could not truly understand how he was still alive. Why had he not yet been defeated?

He was beginning to realize defeat was not about who won or lost. Defeat was something else. Something like pressing that little red button on the side of your Gundam, knowing you're not going to get out, but knowing it's worth it. Wufei was beginning to wonder if was so weak after all and knew there was one person who just might have the answers.

The door was open. In the semi-darkness within Wufei could make out the slim shadow of Sally Po leaning over the large bed, fiddling with tubes, wires, nonsensical equipment that had no little and yet so much to do with life.

"That was fast."

"They were weak." He moved to Sally's side, not bothering to help her; she knew her job well and did not need his assistance. At the moment he would probably be more of a hindrance than help anyway. He was tired.

"And you were?"

An odd question, but expected. They had had many such conversations. Sally understood him in a way he had never dared to hope he could be. His own family had failed to see what he needed, but the moment he met the doctor she seemed…strong. Weak and yet determined…defeated and yet not.

"Not defeated."

Sally finally released the network she had been fingering and turned to look at him. It was strange, the way her eyes roamed over speck of visible skin, and then scanned the rest as if you could see it too, and yet, again, it was expected. It was who she was. Who they were together. A…team…of sorts.

"Not defeated," she finally agreed, and there was a light in her eyes. "And I think, for the first time, victorious."

Wufei wondered about that, watching the way her fingers reached out for one final caress down a slender piece of clear tubing before she patted him gently on the shoulder and left the room. Again, she showed such trust I him with such a fragile prize. He would have to soon find a way to repay her; to show he some sign of trust and appreciation in return.

But for now his attention was for another. Moving to the end of the bed, Wufei picked up the small chart and scanned its contents. Only one new addition; an infection in the blood, easy to flush out with a prescribed set of drugs and the right care. Suspected origin in the shattered arm. Glancing aside, Wufei noticed said arm was freshly bandaged, splinted and once again resting away from the rest of the body on its own little pillow. Wufei found himself smiling at that; fresh bandages…a clean slate to try again.

Gently sitting beside the unconscious body, Wufei grabbed an IV from the wall and set it up, carefully inserting it into his arm. He looked at the job in quiet approval. This was not weak; it was smart. He inched closer to the still body, grabbed a pen from the cage above their heads and bent to work.

It was some time later that Howard came in, looking tired, worn…old. Wufei frowned up at him as the lights glowed faintly. He had never before thought of Howard as old.

"Your Doc. Po says it's just an infection…"

Wufei decided it was best not to comment on the `your' bit. He just nodded, motioning to the chart on the end of the bed. Howard picked it up, eyes scanning the contents. He seemed to understand most of it, and Wufei again found himself questioning what had taken place here that a captain and mechanic was so well-versed on medicine and its applications. It did not make for pleasant thoughts.

"I've stowed your friends away on the other side of the ship and pass worded all the doors within this section."

"They're not my friends. Password?"

Howard seemed a little startled, but sat on the side of the bed, fingers pulling gently through the messy bangs of his `kid' as he replied.

"I think you may be surprised just how many friends you have Chang Wufei. Do not scorn a gift freely given. Raven."

Raven. An interesting choice. He had expected Scythe.

"I do not believe any gift is freely given."

Howard only smiled wanly at that, not taking his eyes from Duo.

"Do you not?"

With one feather-light kiss to the forehead, Howard was gone, the lights dead, darkness Wufei's only companion in the near-silence. He looked at the place he knew Duo lay as Howard's words echoed in his mind. Eventually he lay down, hand once again reaching out to rest on smooth skin, fingertips sensing the slow beat beneath. There was no one to hear, but Wufei still whispered, as if the very walls were listening.

"Did you give me my life for free, Duo Maxwell? Is there nothing you want in return?"

The heart under his fingers continued beating, the monitor nearby beeping, but no reply came forth.

*

"This ship is…"

"Big."

Quatre turned to face Trowa, startled. Of all the things he might have said to describe the Shadowdiver, that was not one of them, and yet he found it incredibly apt.

They had been politely shown to a room Quatre was guessing was as far away from the other pilots as it was physically possible to get. He was basing his assumption on the directions they had taken from the cargo bay, but his heart was telling him he was right to do so. Something on the Shadowdiver just wasn't quite right, and it wasn't that Quatre suspected everything on board was illegal in some way. It was more a thickness in the air that while not harmful or of any real immediate concern, spoke of a history he was not sure he could tolerate. The walls of this ship remembered, and they were talking to his heart.

A hand came down upon his shoulder and his own hand instinctively rose to cover it in thanks for offered comfort. Then Quatre realized it was Trowa's hand offering comfort and he felt his face turn a dusky pink, heat infusing his body. Trowa had never reached out before.

"You're sure we should have left the Gundam's like that?" Quatre believed the Sweepers could be trusted, but he also knew his own kindness had led him astray before. Trowa had more experience with these kinds of people, and Quatre trusted Trowa's judgment, often over his own.

"They are accustomed to dealing with Gundanium; they have rebuilt two that we know were completely destroyed a fortnight ago. They also want to see the Gundam's succeed; they are not about to harm either Gundam, or their pilots. Both are too valuable to their cause, whatever that might be."

Quatre, too, was wondering just what their cause was. It was obvious the Sweepers were closely linked to the Gundam pilot 02, and now apparently 05, but the extent of their interaction had been greatly under exaggerated. Add to that the fact 02 rarely connected to the network, rarely took missions with anyone besides 01, at least in the past, and one had to wonder if they were indeed fighting for the same reasons. Fighting the same war, yes, but to what end?

"Where do you think 05 went?" Quatre had sensed an overpowering sense of worry on the ship the moment he had left his Gundam. He had his own suspicions as to the cause, but if keeping them to himself meant getting a half decent conversation out of Trowa…Quatre could handle that.

"I believe 02 was more severely injured than even these… Sweepers… believed."

And Trowa thought 05 had rushed off to help? Quatre had never really met 05, it was true, but the little he had seen of him had led him to believe it was Heero Yuy the second, obsessed with the mission, determined to be victorious, blind to all humanity. And yet, at the same time, he had known they were not the same. No two people are the same, and there was something more to both pilots. Those extra things, however were the things Quatre had believed neither would ever acknowledge.

"Do you want to explore?" Quatre asked and saw a glittering response in the single visible iris. Yes, Trowa wanted out of their little prison and into the great unknown. Winking cheekily, Quatre pulled a small screwdriver from his back pocket and motioned for Trowa to give him a leg up, screwdriver head pointing at the vent above their heads. A faint ghost of a smile touched Trowa's lips and then Quatre was flying, face headed for the roof.

A few quick flicks of the wrist and screws were raining, clattering softly on the metal floor. Quatre made sure to be as quiet as possible as he removed the grate, positive they had a guard of some sort outside the door. Then he was being lifted a little higher, climbing into the ventilation shaft, reaching down a hand to haul Trowa in behind. Such a simple thing, and yet his pulse raced.

Quatre had a map in his head and immediately began heading back to the cargo bay. They were not halfway there when they came across something curious indeed. Scratched into the wall of the shaft were small arrows, each with a distance written above and a set of initials at the end of each arrowhead. Quatre looked to Trowa, stumped.

"Distance and location," Trowa explained quickly and something in his tone revealed he was as surprised as Quatre. Someone had mapped the entire ship at some point, and judging by what they were looking at, they had not been very old.

They moved on, following the initials to cb. They were not a hundred meters from their destination when they came to a T-piece. Trowa was going to continue to the cargo bay when Quatre reached out a hand and grabbed his foot, hauling him toward the opposite wall. There, pointing in the opposite direction was another arrow, this own fresher, reading 500 and DM. A shiver ran down Quatre's spine as he brushed his fingertips over the lettering, almost feeling the hand as it worked a fine metal pin into the cold steel, making it remember…DM. 02. Quatre knew they were the same. He did not know how, or why, only that they were.

Quatre didn't bother to tell Trowa, sensing his fried already knew, or had guessed along the same lines. So their tracking began anew, this time following the ever-decreasing numerical and the constant initial until at last the ended, and the vent came to a vague grid. No light shone in from above. The soft rhythm of a heart monitor was the only sound.

Quatre was about to attack the new vent with his screwdriver when a new sound caught his attention; the gentle rustling of sheets. He put his face to the grate, aware of Trowa doing the same and waited, hoping his eyes would adjust a little more to the darkness.

"Fei?...." Barely a whisper, almost inaudible, then stronger. "Wufei?"

Chang Wufei, Quatre's mind supplied, pilot of 05, which meant…if all other assumptions were correct this voice belonged to DM. 02. Bingo.

More rustling and suddenly there was soft light. Quatre and Trowa found themselves looking through a labyrinth of metal baskets and chambers onto the biggest bed either had ever seen. Sprawled out directly below was the familiar form of 05, sound asleep and looking far friendlier than in his Gundam, and what Quatre swore was a dead body. At least at first.

When it moved he decided he had to reconsider his evaluation. A long chestnut braid was tossed carelessly over the back of a pillow. The visible skin was sunken and bruised a dark purple despite the time that had passed since those tiny white fingers had hit the self destruct switch. The arms looked broken at best, the ribs bound in stiff white gauze. Tubes were everywhere, a spider's web filling the room. Cobalt eyes blinked, tired, weary, lost and alone. They drifted to the hand on his chest that was not his own and Quatre felt his own heart constrict at the sight. He suddenly felt an intruder to this place.

Suddenly, with more care than Quatre had ever seen before, the boy he suspected was pilot 02 lifted the arm that looked the worse for ware into his lap. Quatre could make out vague black marks he guessed were writing.

"I don't need a why for the past because I have a why for the future. Get well soon…Fei." Pilot 02, DM, looked suspiciously like he wanted to cry, and at the same time Quatre knew he wouldn't. It was as if he were incapable of it. Quatre, on the other hand, had no such problem and felt the tears welling. He wished someone would give him a message like that! And yet, in a way, was that not what Trowa was doing simply be being by his side? Quatre didn't need the words, only the presence.

"You know…" pilot 02 spoke softly, conversationally. "The cat can smell the rat a mile away." And he looked up, through the maze of tubing and wire netting, straight through the vent at the white faces peering in. "I would leave, now, before I get mad and decide to break Howard's rules. Again."

It was that `again' Quatre didn't think he liked the sound of. They had indeed intruded on something they were not supposed to see, or hear. They left, as silently as they had come, if a little more rushed.