Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Survival ❯ One Step Forward, Two Steps Back ( Chapter 6 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Hey, this was after I stopped running with it and started to come up with an actual plot/plan beyond vagaries…

January 16th 197 - Monday - Amsterdam

“Chaos?”

“Father,” Duo greeted cheerfully, glancing up from the papers he was shuffling. “You should be in bed.”

“Sophie had a nightmare,” the priest returned dismissively. “What are you doing?”

“Checking in on what bills you've been paying,” the young man admitted unabashedly. “Seeing if I can't cut them down a little.” He grinned at the incredulous look the other gave him. “I'm from L2, Father, and any blueblood colony brat can teach the toughest misers how to penny pinch. Although of course,” he taped a paper with a pencil, “I think I'm starting to see why old Father Maxwell never complained about my dislike of bathing. And why the good sister romanticized candles so much.”

Father Espen chuckled a little at that, coming to look over the boy's shoulder. He'd penciled a few things into the margins of the last few months' bills. “We get enough from the state that I can afford to keep my children clean.”

Chaos shrugged a bit. “I was thinking Amos is old enough to wash with me and the rest of Luc's lot in the communal shower the Devils've got set up. He's thirteen, and he can't fit in a tub with the little ones anymore.”

“…I don't want that boy getting in with the gangs, Chaos,” the priest started quietly. “I've been trying to get him an education, I've almost worked out an apprenticeship for him for this summer, and-”

“And that boy knows I'll slap his mouth the moment he says more than hi, bye, please, or thank-you with any gang member besides me,” Duo interrupted, “and worse if I ever find out he does anything more extensive than `how do you do?' Well, maybe not if it was Nolan, but you know Nolan, the kid doesn't care about anything but books, and I hear he lived here for a while at one point too.”

The priest pursed his lips. “He did, before Luc pulled Melissa into creating the Devils with him.” He sighed. “I know Nolan is a good boy and it's good for Amos to have a friend his own age. I know that altogether the Devils are not up to any trouble, but the reputation matters. I don't want Amos to come across any roadblocks in his life because of something questionable in his history; the Lord knows how hard the boy will have to fight for a good place in life to start with. And if he finds a way to simply make it by now when he still has the chance to gain an education, I could never forgive myself.”

The American teen shook his head. “Believe me, Father, gang life is the last thing I want for him either. Honestly, I'd love to see him following your footsteps, but the problem with that,” he gestured at the cluttered desk, “is that there isn't any money in it.” Sighing, he dropped his pencil on top of everything. “I never want that boy to learn how to fight. Someone jumps him, he'd better get licked.”

“That's an odd thing to want,” Espen noted clinically.

“Anyone that touches him has a date with their maker, if you catch my meaning.” He scooted back his chair and stood. “Take a look at all that once you're more awake; you might be able to scrape a little extra next month and buy the kids some books.” He pushed the chair back in and hugged the old priest. “And get some rest, Father; you're going to get sick if you don't stay careful of your health.”

The Dutchman returned the hug warmly, then watched the boy walk away. He doubted he was really the sixteen years of age he claimed, and knew enough about his childhood to know that Chaos doubted it too, but he was more responsible than most middle-aged men he knew… “Chaos?” When the almost pretty, blue-eyed boy turned back to look at him, he couldn't help but ask, “Why don't you ever try to get an honest job? I know you don't have a social security number, but so many places don't care anymore…”

The boy paused, seeming to fight with himself for a moment before shaking his head. “I'm… I couldn't, Father,” he decided eventually. “It's too dangerous…” He shrugged a little. “And I like the thrill. …I like to fight.” He paused again before muttering, in English, “some people, they fight so long they're scared to stop. Can't stop thinkin' `bout what might be waiting around the corner for you if you don't keep your edge.”

“Honest men don't have anything waiting around the corner for them, Chaos,” the priest returned softly. “You're a good boy. You take care of people. Defending the Devils, as your new family, is fine enough, but the gambling and theft… that doesn't have to stay, Kay. You could live honestly, start out on a clean slate.”

Chaos chuckled darkly. “Father, my slate's so dirty it couldn't ever be made clean again.” His smile was sad. “Don't worry about me. Just get yourself some sleep.”

And with that, he was gone.

***

January 26th 197 - Thursday - Brussels

There was a delicate giggle behind him, “Milliardo, are you in the same room as me?”

Milliardo turned in his chair and smiled apologetically at his little sister, who was giving him a skeptical look. “Technically?” he offered.

She laughed again and came over to see what he was doing. “Show me.”

She always took such a study to everything now… she really had meant it when she told him she had come with the intent to learn. The attention she gave every topic he brought up, the way she never seemed to forget a single detail… Relena would make an excellent queen, once a stable system was established. “Just daydreaming, truthfully,” he admitted with a sigh, leaning back in his chair and spreading his hands. “I'm sorry, Lena… What had you been saying?”

She rolled her eyes, seemingly annoyed, but grinning at the same time. Holding out the menu for the little café a block away from the complex, she suggested, “Roast beef?”

***

Jerusalem, Israel

“I'm really sorry to be doing this…” There was a sound of a gun cocking. “But I'm going to have to ask you to step back inside the building, doctor.”

Dr. Samuel Srona froze in the middle of locking the door to his clinic. “My wallet's in my back pocket,” he muttered quietly. “There should be a couple hundred in there… but the rest is in the bank.”

The young man seemed to pause, licking his lips. “That's not what I meant, doctor. My friend… he was hurt in the war, but we can't go to a hospital.” He swallowed. “There are rumors about you in the underground, that you don't care which side your patients fought on.”

Samuel started to turn, trying to remember what time it was. Moira's going to kill me… He hadn't made it to dinner on time all week. “Where is your fri-”

A hand slammed hard into his shoulder, forcing him up against the wall. “Can I trust you, doctor? Can I trust that you won't try and turn me in once you see my face?”

Sam found himself fighting the temptation to laugh. These boys were so touchy sometimes… “Christ, kid,” he muttered, “All I want is for less people to be hurting.” This seemed to be an obsession point with half his patients anymore; he'd worked out what speech to do over a year ago. He was in the business of helping the less fortunate with this after all, but he wasn't looking for the types who would shoot him as soon as let him treat. “I'm not going to turn you in for the Peacecrafts to execute, not after I patch you up. And besides, if you're worried that a reward would tempt me, keep in mind that I make more money in a year than you could dream of.” The candid arrogance was usually a good touch, made them less skittish. He shrugged his shoulders a bit uncomfortably. “Where's your friend?”

The boy actually laughed, full-throated, as he let him go. “I already took him in through the back door… And you'd be surprised at how much I know about money.”

Sam stared in shock at the old heir to the fabulously wealthy Winner Corporation. The gundam pilot. “Good Lord…” He fumbled for his keys to open the door back up. No wonder the kid was so uptight; the new government didn't have the clearest of pictures for most of the gundam pilots, but all they'd had to do for Winner was ransack a few of his sisters' houses for his school photos. “How bad off is your friend?”

“I'm not sure… he was in a partial cockpit explosion that last battle…” He sounded hesitant.

So his friend was another gundam pilot.

“Normally he heals fast… he's the type to reset his own bones… but I think his leg is deeply infected.” He paused again. “He hasn't been able to put weight at all for almost three days.” When the doctor gave him an accusatory look, Quatre just glared back. “He refused to let me bring him before now, and he can still kick my ass even if he can't walk!”

This time it was Sam's turn to laugh, and he did, throwing his clinic door back open. The little blonde's affronted look was just priceless… the topic even more so. “Well, let's see what I can do, then…”

***

Amsterdam

Duo actually tried to grin crazily at the kid who opened the door for him. He hadn't thought Cal even had anyone younger than eighteen in his group… but then, Hilde had been recruited by OZ with no fuss at fifteen, so it really shouldn't have surprised him that some of the soldiers Cal kept were young. “Boo.”

“What the fuck you doing here?” the Slinger brat demanded, shuffling his feet a little apprehensively. Another guy stood nearby, and altogether obviously was even closer to bolting. Duo fought the urge to roll his eyes. Doesn't even have the guts to talk back to me. Honestly, he hated soldiers…

“Not to rip your den to pieces, so don't go starting rumors,” he returned sarcastically. “I'm a chaperone service tonight; Demitri wanted me to take his little sister and nephew-to-be home.” He raised his brows. “Real worried about her, all alone in a pit of Slingers n' all…”

“So why didn't the brother come?”

“Maybe a group of Slingers spooks him a bit,” Duo tossed out casually, before meeting the guy's eyes solidly. “Or maybe he just knows you all know better than to fuck with me.”

When he took a challenging step forward, the guy practically leaped back. “I'll go find Cal,” he muttered, racing off and leaving his jittery friend to guard the door.

“You do that!” Duo called after him, leaning into the doorframe and looking to the other Slinger. “Hi.” When the kid on tightened his grip on his blade, the ex-pilot muttered, “Relax, I don't bite.” When he still got no response, he added, “Hard.” When he still got no response, he rolled his eyes. “Ah, come on, smile or something, huh? I'm trying, you know…”

He just looked at him with the sort of confused look that made Duo wonder if he was speaking the right language. It wasn't like he hadn't learned enough of them during his training… but he was pretty sure he'd been using Dutch…

“So I finally have the honor of meeting the infamous Chaos…” announced a muscular, blonde man as he came to the door. Sin was a step behind him.

“And I suppose I have the honor of meeting the infamous Cal Slinger?” Duo returned half questioningly. They guy was muscular, but he'd taken down heavier men. He looked like he was around twenty-five, was blonde, blue eyed… And actually, despite the differences in their builds, he looked a lot like Luc. But then, so did Sin.

“I'm not sure how you've managed to stay in this city for four months and never see me,” the other man returned, also half questioning.

“Never saw reason to,” Duo returned with a shrug. With a slight flourish, he produced a pint of Ben & Jerry's from his coat. “Triple mudslide fudge,” he told Sin, twirling the carton on one finger and pulling a squeeze bottle of strawberry sauce from seemingly nowhere, to the untrained eye. “And the works. Your brother's half afraid that if he sent me for you any later you'd catch your death from the weather, but he still told me to fetch some ice cream before I came.” He raised a brow. “What I'm wondering is how much of it is him wanting to avoid wrath, and how much is bribery.”

Sin giggled, jumping forward and snatching the treat, as Cal laughed appreciatively. “You did interrupt a showing of Mayday Affairs.”

Duo tilted his head questioningly, tucking a spoon behind her ear. “That's a chick flick, I'm assuming?”

“It's good!” she protested, pulling the spoon out of her hair and yanking off the lid on the ice cream. “You should let me stay another twenty minutes and-”

“If we're much later, Demetri might have a fit and go tell Luc I must've gotten ambushed trying to unkidnap you from a group of Slingers,” Duo noted pointedly, drizzling the strawberry sauce over the very chocolate ice cream. “And that's just a mess I don't think I'm ready to deal with.” He met Cal's eyes. “You know she's safe with me; can we go?”

“You interest me,” Cal said instead, pursing his lips. “You move like you're ex-military. Which faction?”

“War's over a year done,” Duo sneered. “What does it matter?”

Cal shrugged. “Most of me and mine are ex-military too. Luc's just got a bunch of street rats fighting for a piece of sidewalk. Why did you decide to ambush mine instead of his?”

“Maybe I don't like a guy who names his gang after himself,” snapped the other. “And maybe I liked being a street rat more than I liked the war.” The Slingers' count of ex-soldiers had been one of the first reasons he ruled them out. He shifted his weight and felt everyone tense… then relaxed again and shrugged. “But then, maybe I just like being called a Devil. Has a sort of fun ring to it.” Moving backwards, he tugged at Sin's coat. “Can we go now?”

Cal gave him a roguish sort of grin. “Sure, kid. Like you said, I know she's safe if you're watching her… Maybe bring her up here instead of to the church, next time.”

Duo shrugged again as Sin stood on tip-toe to kiss her lover good-bye. “I'll think about it.”

“Don't think,” muttered the other, fiddling with a switchblade. “Just do.” He tossed the weapon in his general direction, and Duo caught it by the blade before he could consider why Cal would risk upsetting him… before it occurred to him that it would have landed two feet to his right, in the floor. The older man just grinned. “See?”

Duo scowled and threw the thing back at its owner hard, intentionally embedding it in the wall a scarce inch away from the blonde's ear. Well, where his ear was, before he had dodged. “See?” he returned mockingly. He snorted, tugging at Sin's coat again and stepping off the porch and out into the snow. “I said I'd think about it.”

***

Jerusalem

Quatre jumped when something landed in his lap, realizing he'd fallen asleep… and blinked at the rather hot plastic… something.

“Come on, kid,” the doctor teased gently, looking up from his stool, which happened to be sitting in between the cot Heero was on, and a counter with a microwave. “I thought every teenager was supposed to recognize microwaved burritos. When was the last time you ate?”

Quatre ripped the packaging open and sunk his teeth deep into the refried beans and tortilla medley of things… that still tasted vaguely like plastic. “Can't remember,” he mumbled around his food. His stomach suddenly felt so empty… Wiping at his mouth, he admitted, “Can't exactly go into a store and buy anything…. Even if I had money.” He jammed the rest of the thing in his mouth and swallowed hard before licking his fingers. “The clerk will have called the cops three seconds after I stepped through the door.”

“Ah.” The doctor threw another two burritos in the microwave. “It might help if you could get some hair dye… Some contacts. A tan.” He smirked a bit. “I could give you some astronomical amounts of carotene and you wouldn't be pale anymore, but you'd look sorta like Ernie.”

“Ernie?”

“You know, Sesame Street? Bert and Ernie?” He smiled. “My little granddaughter… she loves that show. Well, not Bert and Ernie so much. She's more of a Cookie Monster fan.”

Quatre grinned back. “Everybody loves Cookie Monster… And believe me, if I could get my hand on some hair dye, I'd do it.”

“Ah, that cabinet, over there,” the older man revealed, pointing to it then gesturing to the gray in his hair. “My wife, she keeps trying to get me to get rid of this… I think I make her look old by starting to age myself. But I don't really care too much; the gray's part of who I am, now.”

Quatre smiled appreciatively, standing and going to the cabinet. “Thank-you… You're trying so hard to help us…” He looked to Heero worriedly.

“Yeah,” admitted the doctor seriously, looking back to his patient. “Three more days and he probably would have been dead. We can avoid amputation most times these days, the drugs have been so specialized… but he'll always have a limp. And it'll be a long time still before he can do that, I had to excise a good amount of necrotic tissue.” He tilted his head. “I'd suggest coloring his hair too.” He mimed the pilot's facial features maybe an inch above them. “His color's wrong for it, but his face, his build… he's Asian. Give him black hair, a cane, maybe a couple gray highlights… Nobody would ever know it was him unless they were right in his face. You, though…” He tilted his head. “Have you considered trying to get any prostaglandins?” At Quatre's questioning look, he shrugged. “It's a drug they use sometimes for glaucoma patients… It usually does the trick, but it turns your eyes brown for at least a few months. Sometimes, it's permanent.” He met his eyes seriously. “I would suggest looking into that, with those bright blues of yours.”

“Do you know where I could get some?”

“I'll ask a friend of mine tomorrow,” he replied almost dismissively, hitting the microwave door to open the second it dinged. “I met him back in med school. He's an ophthalmologist a few miles down the street.” He tossed the burritos at Quatre and stood. “Can I trust you not to bring trouble here tonight? Your friend needs to sleep, and I don't want the Peacecraft Regime breathing down my neck any more than you do. My wife's going to be raising all sorts of hell by now, I'm over two hours late to dinner.”

“I won't cause any trouble,” Quatre reassured him, ripping into another packet of reheated burrito. “I can sleep here, right?”

“Sure thing kid. Do me a favor and use the shower down the hall too.” He pulled his coat on. “I'll see you in the morning. I usually get here first, but if I don't, try not to panic my nurse. She's used to the rougher sort coming through, but… you're a bit of a shock.” He grinned at the teenager's amused expression. “Good-night. There's a couch in my office that I nap on sometimes. It's my recommendation for the night.

Quatre chuckled a little, his mouth full of food. “Thank-you… Good-night.”

It was the best day he'd had in a year.

***

Amsterdam

“So what's your problem?” asked Sin plaintively.

Duo rolled his shoulders a little. “Keep in mind that I didn't pick his gang. He's dangerous.”

Sin snorted and took another bite of ice cream. “You're dangerous.”

“Yeah, but I don't think I'm a threat to my existence yet,” he returned sarcastically, burying his hands deeper into his pockets. It really was cold… “If I bought some hair dye, would you help me redo my roots?”

“You hair's not black?” She seemed genuinely surprised.

“Not really, no. Will you, though? I can't get just the roots on my own, and I don't feel like redoing the red, else I'd just redo my whole head.”

“Alright,” she agreed cheerfully, digging her spoon back into her treat. “It won't make my hands black, will it?”

He chuckled a bit. “The kits come with gloves, Rina.”

“Shh!” She looked around surreptitiously. “I don't care when we're in the church, but-”

“There's no one within earshot,” the boy reassured her.

“How can you tell for sure?” she demanded hotly.

“Just trust me, there isn't. That kind of thing is my specialty.”

“So's everything else,” the little blonde grumbled.

He laughed again, softly. “No… Believe it or not, most of my friends in the war could seriously kick my ass.”

Sin started giggling. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, I think it was everyone's favorite diversion tactic: hit Chaos.”

“Diversion tactic?”

“Yeah… the weird thing is, it actually worked.” He jogged down the steps that led to the old hostel the Devils had renovated into a proper den, and opened the door for her. “Come on, before we freeze…” Sin rushed through the door obligingly and Duo followed, stamping his feet hard on the entry rug… before realizing the main room was full, and Luc was standing there staring at him.

Oh shit… he caught Sin pausing in his peripheral, then relaxing as Luc gestured at her… though the gesture was to move away from Duo. So she's not caught… but what am I in trouble for…? He looked around the room, and there was some definitive confusion in some faces, disgust in others… What the hell…? Aloud, he asked, “What's going on?”

Luc pursed his lips. “Chaos… I have a question.”

Oh shit, they figured out who I was…

“What the hell,”

Oh God...

He held up a very dirty, very long braid of chestnut brown hair, “is this?”

Duo blinked at his old braid for a minute. “Um…” In the back of his mind, a little voice was sighing in relief… another was laughing hysterically at the situation. The rest of him was trying hard to figure out what to say, and failing miserably. “That's mine.”

A few sort of bewildered chuckles sounded around the room as Luc rolled his eyes. “I know it's yours,” he returned acidly. “Laura found it by your bed, halfway out of your backpack. What I'm asking is whose was it, and why do you have it?”

“Uh…” He brushed up his bangs than ran his hand over the back of his head to tug at his ponytail, which, while nowhere near the length of the braid, was starting to get abnormally long. “It's mine…” At Luc's very level look he chuckled a little more nervously and held up his hands in a sort of surrender motion. “Swear to God…”

“Chaos,” Shov muttered from off to one side, “This is really fuckin' weird.”

“I think it's more awkward than weird,” the old pilot returned, shrugging uncomfortably.

“Then explain to me how it's just awkward, boy, because I'm getting really creeped out here,” Luc growled dangerously.

“Um… I didn't cut my hair until seven months ago?” Everyone was still looking at him funny. “Like… maybe someone cut it when I was a baby, but nobody ever put scissors to it since I was at least three… But then I was on the run and I didn't want Zechs to find me, so I cut it off…”

Duo didn't bother counting how many jaws dropped at that one, instead pulling his ponytail over his shoulder and combing his fingers through it nervously. It was only something like an inch shy of his bellybutton, really, but he wasn't sure if he could make himself cut it up again… “I just couldn't…” Hell, he still slept with it wrapped around his hands… “I'm starting over, but I couldn't burn it because…” He wasn't ready to really let go of everything just yet… His fingers slid through the end of the ponytail and he buried them high up again. “It's… it's who I was…” Sister Helen had given him the braid… He shook his head, finally paying mind to the voice that was screaming at him to just shut up. Silence ensued, and he just continued to fiddle, not meeting anyone's eyes.

Sin was the one who broke the shocked silence. “So that's your original hair color, huh?”

“Yep,” he muttered with some forced cheer, still focusing on the hair still attached to his head. The ends were really split… it wouldn't be so much of an issue to take off a couple inches… And really, hair was just hair in the end, he put a higher value on his survival… But…

“Shit,” Luc muttered quietly, eying the plait. “I don't know if I've ever heard of a girl with hair this long…”

It had almost been to his knees when he'd finally done it… “Zechs' is longer?” he offered.

Everyone just started laughing at that, and the atmosphere returned to its normal, casual tone. Duo laughed too, taking his piece of history back from Luc and heading back to the closet he slept in these days.

***

February 15th 197 - Wednesday - Jerusalem

Quatre wandered the night, feeling somewhat carefree. It was about three in the morning and he didn't expect to see anyone, and even if someone caught a glimpse of him, it shouldn't matter. His hair was colored a rich, chocolate brown, and it had grown enough in the past fifteen months that he could almost manage a ponytail like Wufei had had. The good doctor had insisted on Heero staying in the clinic for the past three weeks, and Heero was hardly in any condition to argue. Mrs. Srona had also insisted on cutting their hair so it looked half decent instead of a year past the need of a trim.

They needed to move soon, though. Dr. Srona and his wife, the charming nurse named Nina… they were good people, and didn't deserve whatever trouble might come down on their heads if it was found that they had helped two gundam pilots. Quatre made it a point to stay away from them now for the most part, only coming in to visit with Heero and sometimes the doctor late at night. He wasn't going to bring the world crashing down on their heads, after so much kindness…

He rubbed irritably at his eyes; they itched like crazy these days. The drops he put in them were hellish in some ways, but they were doing the trick; his bright blue eyes were gone, replaced by soft honey caramel ones. And when the doctor's wife had trimmed his hair, she had spun him about and looked at the tags on his raggedy shirt and jeans before returning a few hours later with a few changes of clothes for both he and Heero. The months of life on the run had gotten rid of what baby fat was left on his cheeks, and he'd somehow managed to grow a few inches during that time, so he actually looked like any respectable, middle class eighteen-year-old. He smirked. Now if only my face wasn't on all those wanted posters… Still, he felt safer than he had since the destruction of Peacemillion.

Later, he would scream at himself for daring to be so relaxed. The sound of a shoe scuffing only gave him a moment's warning, and by then the piece of old t-shirt drenched in chloroform was already over his nose and mouth.