Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Revenge of the Heart ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimers: I don't own Gundam Wing, Sunrise and Bandai do (dammit why can't I remember that other unimportant company?). Anyway don't sue me if you do, well, I'm broke, so you'll still be screwed and I'll still be writing! I don't own em!! Enough with the disclaimer already!! Storytime!!

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Revenge of the Heart

Chapter 3

Quatre awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the window and hitting him full in the face. He sat up and yawned loudly while stretching. He gazed around the room and gave a smile of lazy satisfaction. "Saturday," he thought, "Nothing to do in the office, just stay home and enjoy a weekend of gorgeous weather!"

He hoped the weatherman had been accurate in his prediction that last night's thunderstorm was the only drenching the weekend would have. He stretched again and got to his feet. Padding over to the french doors, he flung them open and stepped out onto the balcony that was still wet from last night's downpour. He smiled again and closed his blue-green eyes, inhaling deeply the scent of rain and fresh earth mixed with the salty tang blown in on the wind from the ocean. "Never get that on the colonies," it was an enriching aroma unique only to earth. Quatre stared out at the ocean, an endless expanse of blue that stretched so far it seemed to touch the sky.

He watched the gulls fly in from over the waters and land on the shore to pick and fight amongst themselves for the bits and pieces of dead shellfish and other carrion that had been washed up from last nights storm; he smiled and chuckled at their antics. He continued his observation until one of the few clouds that was in the sky passed over the sun. Quatre watched as the light-dimming shadow swept towards him from the ocean and up the estate. It hadn't seemed any different than any other time the sky was overcast but the moment the shadow touched the shore, the entire flock lifted from the sand in an explosion of beating wings, flying up to beach to the north. The chirping of the songbirds in the shrubs ceased and he felt cold suddenly. He shivered and was more than ever aware of his bare feet on the still wet concrete. He turned to go back inside and his eyes fell on the balcony that was next over and felt a chill run down his spine. It was the balcony of the green room. Memories of the dream last night came back to him and he remembered the different details. The expression on the girls face; first of terror and then hatred, calling him a murderer and stabbing him. He shuddered at the memory and the strange cloud that had darkened the sky was blown away by the wind and everything seemed to return to normal. Quatre shook his head to clear it and turned to go back inside. "I'm not gonna' let some dream ruin my weekend." He said out loud and tried to believe it.

In his room he pulled off the PJ pants he had slept in and yanked on a pair of faded blue jeans. After spending a lifetime in dress clothes he had been eternally grateful to his old friend Trowa for his gift of three pairs of Levi's on his 17th birthday. They were now the only items that made up his wardrobe when he wasn't in the office. Along with the jeans, he donned a light blue cotton shirt and a pair of old worn boots. He didn't bother with combing his hair and ran a hand through his platinum locks a few times before throwing open the door and slamming straight into Clara Mullens, the head housekeeper that took care of the wing of the mansion that Quatre stayed in. The jolt upset her and the bucket filled with various cleaning supplies and they clattered to the floor. "Oh I'm sorry, Mrs. Mullens!" He said and dropped to his knees to gather the objects and put them back in the bucket. He had quickly cleaned up the mess and stood, handing the pail back to her.

"Oh thank you Mr. Winner." The old woman said and patted his shoulder before tucking a loose strand of gray hair back into the neat bun tightly wound on the top of her head. "Going out today I see." At the young mans nod she smiled even brighter and said, "Well it's good to see you getting some fresh air! You have a nice time and be careful!" And then pushed back into him to straighten his quarters.

Quatre watched her go and smiled. The old woman must be pushing seventy but she still ran the servants with an iron fist and even Rashid was nervous in her company, but she treated Quatre like a grandson. He headed down the wide, arched hallway where his nose picked up a pleasant aroma, and made his way to the kitchen where the smells and sounds of breakfast were originating. He passed through the swinging double doors and smiled at the group of men that had been known as the Maguanac Corps. They were seated around a long wooden table and awaiting his arrival. He took his usual seat next to Rashid and was handed a plate full of steaming food. He listened and relaxed as the usual conversation began and Rashid filled him in on the weeks running activities of the estate. He listened and offered his own input, nodded at the appropriate times and by the time he had consumed his meal Rashid had said his piece. Quatre wished him a nice day and bolted from the kitchen. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Rashid's constant briefing and keeping him up-to-date, but on the weekends, he just wished the man could skip it.

He made his way out the back of the mansion and walked a 500 meters to the stables where the horses were housed. Mr. Mullens, Clara's husband, already had Galahad, the huge Clydesdale that he had saved from the slaughter-house three years ago, saddled and ready for an excursion along the beach. The gigantic stallion had been underfed and overworked on an old-fashioned farm all of his life and when he was five years old he was near death and had been sold to some dog food factory that Quatre had been purchasing as a side business. He had seen the poor animal with open sores and protruding ribs and his heart had gone out to it. He had ordered the pathetic beast to be taken to his home and Mr. Mullens had nearly killed himself nursing the monster back from the brink of death. It had been nearly a year and a half before Galahad was fully recovered and Quatre and Mr. Mullins had spent the next year getting the horse to the point where it didn't shy away from people in fear, even then it only let the two men touch him. Quatre had been pleased with Galahad's progress but when he was restored he hadn't known what to do with him. There wasn't much of a need for a two-thousand pound stallion on a billionaires estate.

Quatre had been leading the animal along the beach by a halter one day when the thought had occurred to him to see if he couldn't ride it for a stretch. He had begun leading it to a point on the beach where there was a large rock protruding from the sand that he could stand on to mount him when the horse suddenly dropped down to its knees and laid on its stomach. At first Quatre had thought it was ill again but instead the horse turned its head and looked at him with its huge brown eyes. Get on, it had seemed to say. Quatre had cautiously slipped his leg over the horse and had taken a firm seat and the animal rose to its feet. Quatre had barely had time to get a grip on the horses mane when it had began running along the shore with its Arabian master clinging for dear life, without a saddle or stirrups and whooping in glee. Galahad had run along the shore for over three miles before stopping and catching his breath. Quatre couldn't believe what had happened and when the horse was rested he had trotted back the entire way to the stables finally stopping before a wide mouthed Rashid and Mr. Mullens. From that day Quatre had made it a weekly routine to ride the stallion at least every other day and on the weekends despite Mr. Mullens constant insistence that the animal was more suited to pulling a heavy load than carrying around a rider.

Quatre had greeted Mr. Mullens and taken the reins to lead the horse from the stables. He stopped a hundred feet away, put his foot in the stirrup, and hoisted himself into the saddle. Galahad whickered, and stamped his feet, chomping at the bit Quatre held so firmly with the reins. A grin of anticipation crossed the former pilots face as he maneuvered the horse in the direction of the open fields of high grasses that would eventually lead them to the beach. He held the horse back for a little longer and then eased his hold on the reins. Galahad didn't have to be instructed to move at all, he took off in a ground shaking thunder of hooves past the stables and the elderly attendant with Quatre laughing his head off in joy.

Horse and rider streaked across the wide fields, the animal sailing through the grasses and plants that, at points, were high enough to reach Quatre's chest. Galahad and his burden pounded through the waving jungle at breakneck speed interrupted by the occasional fence that the animal cleared with amazing grace and ease for his size. A brisk wind had started to blow in from the ocean again and blew against them with all the force it could muster. Quatre kicked Galahad and steered him in the direction of the high cliffs that he usually saved going to until last. The animal slowed his pace to an easy canter and made his way past a large grove of trees and bushes and up the steeply sloped path that leveled out on one of the cliffs that ended in a sheer drop to the rocky shore nearly 200 feet below. He stopped Galahad about twelve meters from the edge and sat back in the saddle and let the wind blow over him and through his hair. He breathed the salty fragrance and sighed in pleasure. All his senses were wonderfully alive, he felt as though everything were magnified. The scent of the ocean air, the golden rays of the sun warming the fabric of his clothes and pleasantly warming his skin beneath, the sounds of the breakers against the beach rock and Galahad's heavy breathing, and the deep, beautiful blue of the ocean. "Beautiful earth." He thought to himself. He was preparing to turn Galahad back in the direction he had come from and take him for a run on the sand when the feeling struck him with the force of a fist slamming into his gut.

"It's here." Was the thought that came into his mind. The feeling. The hatred. The sense of pure malice that he had so often felt in his office but had never discovered the source. He looked around in panic.

Run. Was the first thought that came into his mind and seeming to hear the mental warning, Galahad tried to comply. Quatre had to pull the reins with all his might to keep the animal from bolting. He jerked his head from the left to the right trying to find where it was coming from. He opened his mind and explored his surroundings with the powers that had increased since his days as a pilot. A cold fear gripped his heart. It was everywhere. The hatred was all around him, equally present no matter where he searched, he began to panic. Then he heard it, a cry of warning, he recognized it as Samir, one of the Maguanacs. "Master Quatre, RUN!!" He didn't have to be told twice, not since the war had he felt so terrified.

He let loose the superhuman hold he had been maintaining on Galahad's reins and the animal reared up on his hind legs from the sudden release adding to Quatre's terror. The desert prince was barely able to keep his seat and grip on the reins before the stallion slammed his front hooves back on the ground and began running away from the cliff. Quatre hunched forward and screamed, "Go boy, GO!!!!" As the ominous hatred seemed to magnify a thousand times over, suddenly he saw everything in slow motion.

A shot rang out in a huge explosion. Quatre turned his head to the direction it had come from, his gaze finding the grove of trees they had passed earlier and were streaking by. Just as he was focusing a searing burning sensation invaded his side. He heard a cry fill his surroundings and was shocked to realize it came from his own throat. His right hand abandoned its grip on the reins to clutch his side where the increasing pain emanated and felt something warm and sticky cover his palm, "Blood." He thought before he slipped from the saddle and crashed to the ground rolling over and over until coming to a stop at the base of the footpath. He hit his head at some point and his world began to dim and spin crazily, the last thing he heard was the high pitched, feminine scream of horror and despair like that of a trapped animal, "NOOOOOOOO!" And then his world passed into darkness.