Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Taking Flight ❯ Stable but Critical ( Chapter 3 )

Chapter 03 - Stable but Critical

"Stupid, weak Maxwell! Injustice!"

//…// denotes thought.

***

//"Red… Dead… Bled… I don't remember painting my room red…. I'm not in my room; my room doesn't have straps…. There are straps holding me in. Straps… Traps… straps normally aren't uncomfortable, but now they hurt a lot. It's too dark. My eyes are closed. My eyelids look red.

"I hear drums. Thrum, thrum… The drums are slow and quiet. I don't hear much else. They don't really sound like drums… whoever is playing them is really slow. Thrum, thrum… Thrum, thrum… The drums only play one rhythm. I wish they would play something else.

"Someone is yelling. I think two people are, but they're hard to hear. They sound really far away. The drums are too loud. Someone is yelling my name. That's funny. I don't think I did anything to get into trouble. Yeah, two people are yelling. I don't want to hear them. Yelling doesn't sound nice. Lights.

"There are lights flashing. I'm too tired to open my eyes. I think the lights are red. My eyelids would look yellower otherwise. Yellower is a funny word. It rhymes with mellower. Purple is a color word too, but I don't think it rhymes with anything. Schlurple.

"No one is yelling anymore, or maybe I can't hear them. The drums are too loud. Loud… cloud… Clouds look cold. I'm cold. I don't like the cold. Clouds are white. They look pretty too. There are no clouds on the colonies. Maybe clouds are made of marshmallows. Maybe the moon really is made of cheese. It looks like moldy cheese. The dust is like mold too. Cheese is good. Moon is a funny word. Mooning. Marshmallows are white, like feathers.

"Feathers… white… black… black… black….

"My eyelids look black, or maybe I can't see them. Wufei asked me if I was blind once. I'm cold. The cold isn't from outside. Wufei asked me if I was deaf too. Maybe I am. I can't hear drums anymore."//

***

The cockpit of the Gundam Deathscythe opened slowly to the desert air, letting harsh, white light spill into the cockpit. Even as the battle raged on around him, one pilot knelt down and lifted Duo's bloody, limp, unresponsive form from the tomb-like enclosure. His head and limbs hung flaccidly, jaw slack, and his hair fell toward the ground as lifelessly as the mechanical graveyard surrounding the pilots. The Gundam Wing Zero knelt silently nearby, mechanical eyes blindly surveying the scene.

For each pilot, the events following Duo's fall were blurry at best, some more so than others. Minutes or hours later, Duo's body was placed on a stretcher, fresh blood staining the pale, pristine surface. Doctors frantically yelled out orders. "Blood transfusion," "fading fast," "ER," "surgery…"

Quatre, Trowa, and Wufei somehow ended up in the waiting room while Duo's life remained in the unknown doctors' hands. The gentler boy was caught in wails of guilt, repeating over and over again how this was all his fault.

"Hardly." Wufei snorted, though the softer tone of his voice betrayed his worry.

In the emergency room, Duo was hooked up to scores of machines as doctors worked frantically to save him. "He's not going to make it; he's lost too much blood" seemed to be the general opinion of the skilled group, but whatever hope kept them working was plainly not reflected in Duo's pale, slack face.

//"I can't hear drums anymore…"//

***

Early one morning in a small, off-white room, buttery sunlight filtered through a pair of cream-colored curtains and cascaded across both the white tile floor and an equally clean hospital bed. A sleeping form filled it, lying on his stomach, head facing the center of the room. With a groan and a sigh, sleeping Duo's eyes fluttered open from their rest.

"Finally, you're awake." Came a stern feminine voice. Duo tried to turn his head to find its source, but stopped when pain shot up and down his spine. "Don't get up. Your injury has only been stabilized, not healed. We don't have access to many modern tools in this valley."

Duo sighed again and relaxed, resting his body. Even in a warm room in the middle of the desert, he was cold. Duo could never seem to escape the cold.

"If you're up to it," the woman continued, "two of your friends are waiting for you outside: a blonde boy and a Chinese fellow. I'll need to change your bandages soon, but they've been waiting quite a while."

Duo cringed as the blurred events that nearly led to his death came back to him in one gigantic, cold, mental slap in the face. He stayed silent, giving her no answer.

"…Mr. Maxwell?"

Quietly and muffled from face down on the pillow came Duo's airy response. "I don't want to hear it."

"Hear what?"

"If they come in… Wu's just gonna yell. Quatre… I don't know, probably just stand there, tell me how I endangered everyone if he says anything…" Duo clarified though he was tired and felt as though his head was floating.

The doctor stood and walked in front of the bed, putting her covered legs in Duo's view. She carefully placed two pills in his mouth before he could protest. Still, he nearly gagged as he choked them down, only noticing that she was offering him water as well after they were swallowed. "Tylenol, pain reliever," the doctor explained. "By the time it kicks in, you'll need it."

Once again, a sigh was the only response he gave. Duo felt lousy; the more awake he became, the more masks of his personality he retrieved from oblivion, but the lousier he felt both from physical pain and guilt.

The doctor swept several strands of brunette hair behind her ears, tucking them into her loose bun. It was fortunate that Duo's gaze was directed elsewhere; he didn't need a reminder of Lady Une to top off his wonderful day. "You gave the medical staff a real scare with that stunt of yours, young man." She scolded him like a mother, though without a trace of real concern or affection. "We expected the team to arrive with injuries, but we never expected to find-"

Duo didn't have time to ask what she meant, nor did the doctor have time to finish her sentence. The door slammed open and Wufei stormed in, rings under his eyes and anger written all over his face. Behind him was a nurse telling him, "Sir, you can't go in there!"

The doctor dismissed the nurse, leaving Wufei to rant and yell by Duo's bedside about his weakness and stupidity. Spit flew as Wufei's face reddened like a ripening cherry and Duo lay silently on his stomach, wincing every once in a while. Duo was cold; he was always cold.

Quatre entered the room, bags under his eyes as well. He approached the doctor, not needing to read her nametag. "Doctor Arwel, I would like to thank you again for saving Duo's life. Tell me, how is he doing?"

"His condition is stable for now," she replied. Quatre's hopeful expression dimmed slightly at the last two words. "But he'll need to go into surgery as soon as possible. We should be ready for him late tonight."

"Aren't you going to wait to make sure he doesn't reject the transfusion?" Quatre asked, mildly surprised.

"No, we don't need to; your friend is very lucky. He has a very rare blood type, but one our hospital has enough of." The doctor replied.

The way the doctor avoided details seemed strange to Quatre, but before he had a chance to respond Dr. Arwel had turned her indigo eyes toward the scene Wufei was making at Duo's bedside.

"…Is your friend always like this?" the middle-aged doctor asked.

"Duo? No, normally we can't get him to be quiet." Quatre replied.

"No, I mean your other friend, the Chinese."

"Oh!" Quatre smiled. "Yes, that's completely normal. I can never seem to get those two to cooperate. Honestly, I'm somewhat angry at Duo myself."

Dr. Arwell checked her watch. "The medication should have kicked in by now." She walked into the ranting Wufei's line of sight, and then told him, "Sir, if you're nearly done, I need to tend to my patient now. I'll require that you give me enough space and silence to do so."

Wufei lifted his raging gaze to Dr. Arwel's calm visage hidden behind a pair of spectacles. His mouth opened but, catching a pleading look from Quatre, decided against telling Dr. Arwel what he thought about the strength of women. Instead, he finished his previous rant with four words as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Stupid, weak, Maxwell! Injustice!" With that, he "hmphed" and leaned against a shadowed wall.

Despite the medication, the severe pain of Duo's injury still made him cringe. He coughed once or twice, still trying to relax on the bed. Doctor Arwel twisted the cap off a brown bottle whose label read "Peroxide" in large blue letters.

"Mr. Maxwell," Arwel addressed him, "I'll need your cooperation for this procedure. It will hurt you far more than me." She gathered several basic tools and placed them at the ready in a stainless steel tray. Even after having been explained to hours earlier about the lack of access to modern medical equipment and medicines in the valley, Quatre still had to consciously shut his mouth to keep from voicing his concern about the tactless tools Dr. Arwel had chosen.

As she began to slit Duo's bloody bandages, Quatre averted his eyes, not wishing to catch sight of the horrible wound he knew lay beneath. Wufei looked on, eyes blank to Duo's worsening injury. The solitary dragon had never gotten along with the one whom he called the braided baka, but a part of him pitied his comrade. Maxwell had continued his fight despite a terrible wound that threatened his very life. There was a morbid sort of honor in the fact that he put up with such constant pain, if not for the sake of the mission then for the sake of his four companions, whether or not they ever thanked him for it. If Duo had died the night before, Wufei would have regretted that the last thing he told Maxwell was intended as an insult. He vividly remembered threatening the braided menace that if he didn't wake up, the boy's ancestors would surely disown him with disgust in his weakness. Wufei pondered the possibility that Duo might not have even heard him then. Lost in his own thoughts, Wufei merely continued blankly watching Duo's convulsing form as slight pressure from the shifting bandages threatened to make him cry out. His swollen, inflamed back no doubt pained him more than any war injury Wufei had ever received. Survival of such a thing commanded a grudging sort of respect, even if the survivor did everything in the book to make such respect difficult to pay.

The bandages completely off, Duo was given a few moments to rest, during which Dr. Arwel was sure to warn him of the next step. "Mr. Maxwell, even with the Tylenol I gave you, this will still hurt. We need to be sure to disinfect your wound again; there is a nasty fever running around the village and I'm sure you don't want to catch that on top of this."

Duo smirked, laughed weakly, tried to put on his trademark grin, and opened his mouth to toss a joke, but choked halfway through his breath.

//"Pitiful, weak, Maxwell."// Wufei thought, finally turning his gaze away.

"Don't bite your tongue off," the doctor told him tonelessly, as if irritated by Duo's childish antics. She gave him a rubbery plastic stick. "Bite down on this if you need to."

Neither Wufei nor Quatre needed to watch to imagine Duo's pain as the hissing peroxide flowed over their clownish comrade's back. A muffled scream escaped Duo's clenched teeth. It took every ounce of his already lacking self-control to keep from thrashing around and probably causing himself more harm. After the first dose of stinging pain faded and Duo had a short chance to rest, a second wave of peroxide was poured over the offending area. Though it fizzed slightly less than before, the experience was no less painful. The anguish on Quatre's face was far more apparent than on that of the Chinese, but no less sincere.

//"Stupid, Maxwell. You put us all in danger."// Wufei had hated Deathscythe's pilot almost instinctively after their first meeting (though he tried to keep his opinion to himself), but he was one of the five and as necessary a part of the team as any other. Wufei had to respect Duo's skill if nothing else.

Three times, four, five times the wave of pain washed over Duo before Dr. Arwel was satisfied and began to prepare the new bandages.

As Duo's winces began to taper off, Wufei snorted, "Stop acting like such a woman, Maxwell." So much for respect.

Quatre glanced sadly at the Chinese man only to be met with a silencing glare.

Dr. Arwel wiped off the leftover liquid, and then carefully applied ointment with her gloved hands. Finishing that, she stood back to assess her uncompleted work before moving to a PA speaker on the wall and holding down a large cream button. "Beth, have any of my nurses checked out of the special care unit yet? I need assistance in room 23."

"What for?" Quatre asked good-naturedly.

"Re-bandaging Mr. Maxwell." She quickly replied.

Wufei made an odd snorting sound that barely resembled a laugh at the word "Mr."

"Sorry, Seren'. They're all checked in; Mia came in just a minute ago. We have at least 30 patients in critical with that nasty burning fever, ya know." Beth replied detachedly through the electronic box.

"Alright, I'll make due, then." Dr. Arwel responded, releasing the button and returning to contemplate her next move.

"…30 patients in critical?" Quatre repeated carefully. "With all due respect, Doctor, shouldn't you be there instead of bandaging Duo?"

Doctor Arwel replied nonchalantly, "Your friend is a type D, young man. He'll need close surveillance from now until his surgery is over to be sure he does not slip back into the critical state. We have him on video surveillance, but as you can see, we're quite under-handed at the moment."

"I don't understand. What is a type D?" Quatre continued as Dr. Arwel measured bandages.

"It's a very rare blood type, almost unheard of in most parts of the world. I happen to be the leading medical authority on the type D." She responded immediately, sounding as though she had said this many times before.

This intrigued Duo. He had always thought himself to have type B blood, but never needed a transfusion before and wasn't old enough to donate. Come to think of it, young Duo Maxwell didn't even have a medical record, yet another reason why his background was difficult to trace. Still, with 30 people in critical and himself only needing a fresh bandage, Duo wondered why the doctor would spend so much time caring for him-or not caring as the case may be.

"You won't be… running any kinds of… tests, will you?" Duo asked her with difficulty. The other members of the room looked at him as though they had just remembered that he could speak.

"What sort of tests do you mean, Mr. Maxwell?" Dr. Arwel questioned him.

"You know," Duo clarified with a joking tone, pulling a cocky grin over his pale face and continuing as flippantly as he could muster, "like turning me into your personal lab rat or something, like trying to sew on an extra head or two more arms, something like that."

Wufei smirked. "An extra head might do you some good, Maxwell. At least then maybe one of them could watch your back for you."

"…Not funny, 'Fei." Duo told him even as he let out a soft chuckle, but suddenly grimaced at another twinge of pain, then nausea. "Urg… Hey, doctor lady, you might want to get a bucket or something. God, I think I'm going to be sick…"

Dr. Arwel shook her head. "There are none to be had in the surgery wing; they're all being used in the sick rooms. I'll get you a bag after I'm finished here." She began to cover the ugly dark welts with the pristine bandages she had prepared.

It was painful for Quatre to see his friend like this, so hurt and frail. Even now, the emergency of the night before seemed to still be playing in the cherubic youth's mind. Duo's life was still in danger, though Quatre far preferred the braided boy's feeble attempts at lightening the mood to the lonely image that had flashed across his Gundam's screen. Quatre shuddered at the memory of all that blood. He had never noticed how… red blood was before. Red isn't a color that could possibly have been invented. It was so vibrant, alive, even as it died….

Quatre shook his head to clear his distressing thoughts. Where had that come from? Such a wandering of the mind was typical of his more flippant comrade. Even so, the danger they all had experienced the night before was still very real. Duo's injury was only stabilized after all, and so very many things could go wrong in surgery….

The homely, buttery glow of the cream-walled room did little to soften the sickly tones of the highlighted figure on the bed. It was hard to believe that this barely conscious boy had only hours before been their witty, happy, annoying Duo. It was a glaring reminder of their mortality, their frailty, and that even the one among them who never seemed to frown could still break down. The cheery sun that brightened all of the pilots' dark and dreary lives had been torn from the sky and nearly lost forever beneath the black horizon.

If Quatre judged by his icy exterior, it would seem that Wufei didn't care in the least about Duo's pain, but since Trowa had left early that morning to join Heero in repairing the Gundams (and perhaps to get a little sleep), it had been Wufei by Quatre's side in the waiting room, offering silent condolence with his motionless presence.

Truly, Wufei did care whether Duo lived or died. More than that, Wufei cared that he was in so much pain. He would never show this weakness of companionship to Maxwell, however. The braided baka would just use that as yet another thing to tease him about. Wufei grumbled out loud.

Still in the process of being bandaged, Duo suddenly seemed to remember something. "…Hey, guys? You remembered to pick up my stuff, right?" he asked with difficulty. "I'm itching to get my hands back on my projects."

//"Maxwell's projects."// Wufei curled his upper lip and rolled his eyes as he thought. Those electronic menaces that Maxwell called "projects" caused more damage on a regular basis than they were supposedly designed to prevent.

"They're with the rest of our cargo, Duo." Quatre replied before Wufei, already dangerously close to spouting off another rant, could edge a word in.

"Speaking of which," the doctor suddenly remembered something of importance as she finished with the last of Duo's spotless wrappings, "I'll need to see the vehicle Mr. Maxwell arrived in to accurately judge the source of his problem."

Duo couldn't help but leave his mouth agape as what she was asking sunk in, but his fellow pilots didn't seem to have a problem. Quatre nodded before saying, "Very well, then. An associate of yours showed us the warehouse when we arrived. Come with me, then."

"…Quatre, what…" Duo began with effort, but was interrupted by Wufei.

"Doctor Arwel is one of J's contacts. Heero told us while you were incapacitated."

Relaxing back into the lumpy hospital bed as best he could, Duo sighed, "whatever," and turned his head toward the window and away from his companions.

"I'm really sorry to be leaving you like this, Duo, but Doctor Arwel made it clear earlier that the best way to discover the source of your injury is to begin where it most likely formed…" Quatre explained sincerely, but trailed off, as he received no confirming reply from Duo. With little more (including Doctor Arwel fetching a bag for the bedridden boy) and no less, the three people exited Duo's room, leaving him to lay in silence once more. He felt cold.

***

The engine of the jeep that Quatre, Wufei, and Doctor Arwel rode in across the oasis purred lowly as they made their slow way along the cracked concrete streets that late morning. High, natural sandstone cliffs rose all around the populated oasis valley, and though it was several bumpy miles by road from the hospital at one end to the mostly abandoned business district at the other, the boys had yet to count more than one or two motor vehicles along the entire route. More curious than the sparse housing and sparser population around this beautiful oasis was the peculiar behavior of the few residents they passed on the streets. With untrusting glances directed at the pilots, most of the inhabitants skirted nervously around the slow-traveling jeep. Though neither Quatre nor Wufei had much time to take in the settlement between arriving late the previous night and the ensuing waiting room tension, it still seemed peculiar that a place such as this could exist in the modern world.

Catching the violet gaze of another timid local, Quatre lifted the corners of his mouth to smile, but was greeted only with a disapproving, almost hateful scowl. As he made to inquire Dr. Arwel about the collective behavior of the residents, she instead launched into a somewhat unnecessary description of the village's natural sandstone barriers. When she came to speak about the terrible reception any communications from outside had, Wufei pulled to a stop in the gray, uninhabited district, home to numerous run down warehouses and abandoned upstart businesses. They exited the vehicle together and walked around the side where Wufei knocked several times in rhythm. A few moments later, Trowa answered the door, nodding as they entered. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and bags under his eyes, but seemed no less awake than the three people he hurriedly urged through the door and into a narrow hallway. His right hand over the handle of his gun, he looked around outside before pulling the door shut once more.

"It's good to see you, Trowa." Quatre greeted him. "Did you get enough sleep?"

Trowa answered with a silent nod before quietly asking, "Why is she here?" indicating the doctor.

"I must see the vehicle Mr. Maxwell arrived in so that I might assess the source of his injury." Doctor Arwel replied without waiting for one of her escorts to relay her intentions. "Only then may I determine how this can be avoided in the future."

"With all due respect, Doctor," Quatre began, "Duo only needs to tell us earlier when something is bothering him in order for us to avoid this unfortunate circumstance."

With all the air of an expert explaining quantum physics to a reluctant child, Doctor Arwel shook her head. "If you wish to have Mr. Maxwell back among you in less than two months, I must see where he will be spending much of his… more active time. If I am not allowed to assess this, you will have to wait until he is completely healed to prevent… complications. At the very best, I can have him back to you in several days, but only if I can draw up a list of instructions for him to follow while not under my care."

At this, Trowa sighed reluctantly and leaned over to whisper so only Quatre would hear, "Two months is out of the question. Quatre, Heero says our window opens in a week, stays open only three days. He hasn't found another reasonable one yet."

Quatre's expression became troubled, "What would Duo think? This is his information we'd be giving out. Whether or not she's one of J's contacts, do we really have the right to be giving her information that she could sell to OZ?"

"We don't really have a choice at this point. We need Duo back in a week in time for our next mission. Heero can only obtain so much information through his computer. We need Duo to sneak in and get the rest." Trowa replied. "There is no way we can do this without Duo."

Quatre pondered this for a few moments, then sighed, defeated, and turned to Doctor Arwel and spoke in a commanding tone he normally reserved for the battlefield, "You will be allowed to view the cockpit of Duo's 'vehicle.' While you are escorted to and from what assessments you must make, we will be armed. Take what measurements you need and however much time you need. Do not touch any of the controls or turn the power on. You will not be permitted to commit any of your findings to a physical or electronic recording. You will be monitored at all times. Wufei will search you now and before you leave." He then paused and continued in his usual angelic tone, "Is this alright with you?"

She nodded and Wufei began his search. He found only a small clipboard, some paper, a few writing utensils, her watch, her pager, and a small container of aspirin, all of which he confiscated. After nodding to Quatre and Trowa to tell them he was finished, Wufei opened the door to the main area of the warehouse and held it.

All five Gundams stood upright in a line in the huge warehouse, beginning with Nataku (sparking in various places, but nothing serious), then Heavyarms (untouched), Sandrock (the most damaged, but apparently Trowa had started at the more obvious repairs), Deathscythe Hell (not as damaged as one would expect), and finally Wing Zero (on which Heero was now working). Various tools and pieces of electronic equipment were scattered around them, though a passable path still ran from one end of the warehouse to the other. Wufei walked past the first three Gundams swiftly, Trowa, Quatre, and Arwel in tow. A (; a) loaded handgun was in each of the pilots' possession. As they came within view of Heero, typing on his ever-present laptop, the monotonous boy glanced out of the corner of his eye at the approaching group. Though it went unnoticed, he looked over the doctor with obvious dislike. As she was directed into Duo's cockpit, the angry knot in Heero's stomach twisted once more, though he was glad that the other three pilots had enough sense to carry handguns and send Trowa up with her.

Though Quatre had initially volunteered to climb up to Deathscythe's cockpit to make sure the doctor didn't try anything, Trowa's insistence that he be the one to take her up came as an unexpected and welcome relief. Duo's Gundam still hadn't been cleaned of all the blood he had left there, and the empathetic youth admitted to himself (if no one else) that being forced again to imagine Duo's shock at the moment that had nearly cost him his life would be an unpleasant event at the very least. As Arwel disappeared into the dark hole in Deathscythe's front, Quatre had to curb the desire to look away, the dreadful memories of less than a day ago returning fresh to his mind and making him suddenly very aware of every fleck of red around the room. Trowa's Gundam, a patch of rust on the wall, a label here and there, and Wufei who for some reason always reminded Quatre of the color red; all came to broadcast the lonely, agonizing image of Duo's limp form made small against a background of red. He shuddered.

It took Arwel what seemed like an eternity to obtain the measurements she needed before the doctor exited Deathscythe's cockpit with a noticeable frown; during which time Wufei had wandered across the warehouse to busy himself with minor repairs to his Gundam, leaving Quatre without any choice but to crane his neck back for several hours. Through Trowa scarcely moved an inch; the milder boy quickly took to rocking back and forth on his feet, slowly shifting his weight from one leg to the other. If it weren't for his constant mental insistence that this was all for Duo's health, Quatre might have insisted that these obscure rituals be put to a halt and that they all return to Duo's side, though such an idle way of spending a perfectly good day would doubtless be met with opposition by Mr. Perfect Soldier himself, perhaps as well as the other three antisocial pilots.

With a sigh and a nod, Arwel and Trowa descended via wire from the damaged Gundam and joined Quatre before walking toward the exit. As the (they) passed Nataku, Wufei joined them. The door to the makeshift Gundam hangar clicked shut with a tiny swoosh of air, locking the constant clicks of Heero's laptop inside the eerily quiet room. Wufei searched her again and upon finding nothing returned her other items.

"I want to make it clear to you," Quatre began again in that serious, battle-mode tone, "that you are not even now to record your findings to a solid source. I hope what information you gathered will be useful, but only in the proportional gatherings we will allow you to leave with."

Arwel nodded in acknowledgement, if with a hint of contempt showing in her eyes. "I only care for the well-being of your Mr. Maxwell and my findings will only be put to use in relation to his health." Checking her watch, she again smoothed a benevolent look over her care-worn features and sighed. "After three hours away from the hospital, I had better return to my patients. They don't heal themselves…."

"I will escort you there." Wufei offered firmly, leaving no room for negotiation on the part of Doctor Arwel or his fellow pilots.

A tentative hand was placed on his shoulder, causing the stern boy to twitch reflectively before returning to his usual countenance. "I would like to go with you," Quatre's soft tones drifted past Wufei's ears, "to see how Duo is doing."

No one needed to ask Trowa; the silent boy wordlessly offered to drive.

"Very well, visiting hours extend until 7, which is four hours from now. He isn't scheduled for surgery until then, so you may see him off if you'd like." Arwel told them.

Of the three, only Quatre had words to go with his nod. "Thank you, Doctor."

"None is necessary." She replied, though as the four exited the building, locking it behind them and arming the alarm, Quatre couldn't help but wonder about the lack of benevolence in her tone.

***

Duo was becoming restless. The afternoon was slowly and uneventfully wearing away, and the only visitor Duo had since the doctor left with Quatre and Wufei was a cranky male nurse coming in to help him go to the bathroom, which had been an unpleasant experience to say the least. At least he had brought a pencil and paper at the braided boy's request, though the yellow notepad he had received was now completely covered with the detailed design of a small mechanical object which was intended to be yet another leap in his already revolutionary thermal weapons theories. The new compact fuel cell would greatly enhance his Gundam's thermal energy output: an important feature, considering that the energy plane of his beam scythe had the greatest surface area of all the pilot's weapons and tended to use up large amounts of energy in extremely short periods of time.

//"At least I've kept my mind busy… until now."// He admitted with mild humor. Placing his pencil on the metal tray next to him and looking over the encoded notes on his paper, Duo wondered mutely whether or not Quatre knew where he stored the odd spare parts that he used to bring his little projects to life, and whether or not Quatre would have time to retrieve those parts, let alone be able to calculate the subtle differences between each of them. To Duo, it had become almost second-nature and he could blindly shuffle through boxes of "junk"-as Wufei called it-and put his chosen creation together in record time all without needing to look. Still, with only a dull pencil and a now completely full pad of old, brittle paper to entertain him, Duo's hands felt as unbearably empty as his mind felt idle. Duo didn't like the feeling, contrary to what his demeanor commonly led people to believe. He rubbed his hands together, trying to exercise the chill out of them

There were a few silvery coins on the tray as well, Duo suddenly noticed as his hand brushed one to produce the unmistakable sound of metal money. Though L2 had been quite behind in the times, it was hard to find a place in the middle class and above sections of the colonies where transactions weren't handled almost exclusively with the scanning of cards linked directly to one's bank account. This extreme liquidity of one's assets had in fact led to a majority of his home colony's deterioration as people found it easier to spend all that they had. Real money, as it had come to be called, had become something of a novelty. With the advanced security features of "the card" compared to the non-traceable nature of paper and metal assets, only those who dabbled in shady business trafficked largely in real money.

Suddenly aware of a salty dryness in his mouth and an intense, if unwise, craving for anything sweet, greasy, or otherwise unhealthy, Duo lifted several of the coins and counted them, then ripped a small piece of unmarked paper off the edge of one of his drawings and hastily scrawled an IOU for the amount. Even though he knew that it probably wasn't a good idea, visions of crisp, delicious carbonated beverages seemed to call to him from down the hall. Every hospital had soda machines, Duo believed, and the deities of dispensing were sure to smile upon the thirsty and bored.

With the notepad already dropped unceremoniously onto the floor, Duo moved his arms beneath him and slowly pushed up, expecting to be met with loud protests from his dully-aching back. He didn't expect nearly enough. With a soft whimper of surprise, Duo relaxed his efforts, and he vaguely wondered if perhaps the severity of his injury was still escalating despite the best efforts of, well, at least one doctor. Then again, remembering the lack of concern in Doctor Arwel's voice he truly wondered for a moment if she was trying. …But she was a doctor, it was her job to try, so wasn't she?

Duo shook the thoughts from his mind and raised his expectations of pain for another attempt. Shifting all of the muscle tension in his body to his arms and legs, Duo succeeded in getting both sets of limbs beneath him and pushing himself onto his hands and knees. His loose back quickly bent too far downward and he winced, but swung his legs onto the floor and was standing in a second. Duo blinked twice as his hands left the soft bed. Standing straight, he was in far less pain than lying idly on the hospital bed. He nodded to himself, then slowly shifted his weight to his left leg and bent his right knee in anticipation of a step. Pain lanced through the right side of his back as he bent forward, curving his spine and moving too quickly. Duo winced again. "Alright," he coached himself, "maybe moving my back isn't the smartest idea right now…" With that in mind, he began to waddle out of the range of the surveillance camera, keeping his back as stiff as possible. //"They won't miss me if I'm only gone a minute,"// he thought as he stopped at his doorway and looked up and down the hall. To his left were several closed doors whose numbers steadily increased before the hallway ended abruptly, and to his right the numbers decreased and the hallway continued before curving left, but not before branching off several times. He turned right and shuffled across the shiny, cream-colored, linoleum floor as quickly as he could without causing himself undue pain. With a smirk he thanked whatever power ruled the universe that Wufei was not around-nor any of the other pilots for that matter-to see him doing his best impression of a starved, sickly penguin. Though Duo hadn't had a chance to see his reflection in any surface other than the dull metal tray beside his bed, he knew from the sweat plastering loose strands of his chestnut hair to the back of his neck and face that he must indeed look quite pale and sickly. The smelly bag, which Duo had made the already cranky male nurse carry out, was evidence to just how sick he had felt only three hours ago. Now, of course, at least his stomach was feeling quite a bit better.

Turning the branched corner (which, after looking down each way Duo realized that both led to the front doors of the hospital), Duo's eyes lit up with triumph as the pale green glow of a running soda machine could be seen filling a vending-machine-occupied alcove with its radiance. //"Mountain Dew, jackpot."// He thought and waddled slightly faster with anticipation. Feeling more mischievous than guilty over knowing that being full of sugar and caffeine while restricted to a hospital bed was probably not a pleasant combination, Duo hastily shoved the change, 15 cents more than the soda cost, into the machine and hit the top button. There was a short delay, and then two silver coins and a small, slightly moist green can with red letters clattered to the bottom of the machine, leaving Duo with another dilemma. How exactly was he supposed to bend down to retrieve the tantalizing liquid? //"…Baka…"// Duo told himself, rolling his eyes and knowing he really should have thought of that earlier.

***

Heero Yuy sat atop the cockpit door of his currently immobile mobile suit, the previously cold metal beneath his legs warmed with extended contact with his body. Seemingly random letters and numbers flashed and scrolled before his eyes as he typed uninterrupted only minutes after everyone had abandoned the warehouse except him.

…And him.

Suddenly, Heero stopped typing. His gaze never shifted as his hands came to rest before the laptop's sensitive keys. //"What's wrong…?"// He asked himself. Silence, that was what kept him from concentrating. Though he quickly arrived at that conclusion, the reason for why noise, or lack thereof, would cause him such mental unrest remained undefined. It had never mattered in the past. //"No,"// his thoughts quickly shifted tracks, //"there is no reason for noise to matter as I repair my Gundam. It must be something else."//

Heero resumed typing, though slower than usual, his keystrokes forced and nearly devoid of the superhuman ease in which Heero usually executed his duties.

Though he told anyone who needed telling that he preferred silence to the background noise of the other pilots and their chats, work, and the infamous quarrels Duo seemed to incite at every turn, Heero had in fact grown accustomed to it. In its absence, the place seemed far too large, quiet, empty….

//"…Dead."// His eyes widened at the word that crept unwished for into his thoughts. Heero shook his head to clear it, ending up blurring his vision for a moment or two when he stopped. Shinigami, that was what Duo called himself: the God of Death. How was it that he had come to be the liveliest of them all? Even Quatre's friendly tones could never match Duo's jovial inclinations. Was it really possible for Death to die?

Heero nearly shook his head again in frustration as these thoughts bombarded him in the silence of the nearly warehouse. Even though all five Gundams were housed inside, there was still plenty of space left, open space for things to leap into. A small metal object fell as Heero finally shifted, clattering as it struck the floor far below. The chilling echoes it threw into the air were nearly as sharp as the impact at first, but faded, and faded, and faded until the stagnant air around Heero's now motionless form closed in around him with renewed pressure. It smelled, sometimes faintly and sometimes strongly, of dust, rust, oil, metal…

//"…And blood."// Heero finished the thought, eyes flicking over to the open cockpit door of the Gundam Deathscythe. They pried the darkness where Heero knew the flaking and peeling stains of Duo's blood-a hard concept to grasp even though the Perfect Soldier understood that everyone could bleed-would still be. No one else, besides Trowa, had spent much time in the makeshift Gundam hangar, and no one had offered to clean the mess. Even though Heero couldn't afford to admit that it bothered him, he still hadn't been able to bring himself to look inside that dark hole since he had pried Duo's cooling form from its death grip almost a day ago. …Had it already been that long?

Heero once again attempted to clear his thoughts. He had not felt guilty for Duo's bad decision at any point since his injury was exposed and he wasn't about to now. Any further thoughts on the technicalities of the subject and what they might mean, including the irksome presence of one of J's contacts (a meeting with whom that, being a part of the mission, Heero had decided he would simply "put up with"), would have to be ignored for the time being, or at least until Heero's mind could be put at ease.

He closed the laptop with a quick snap of his wrist, in doing so activating the various defenses he had wired into it. Though he was reluctant to leave the warehouse without human guards, Heero quickly reassured himself that the various security features he had installed the previous night would be more than enough to prevent any sort of entry. Various lethal and non-lethal traps (with unconventional disarmament triggers) covered every doorway, window, and possible weak point in the building. It had been quite a project adapting his usual safety precautions to fit an area this large, but fortunately it had only taken a few hours.

Heero had decided; he would visit the hospital, if only to assess for himself when Duo might be able to return.

***

//"Maybe if I bend down and stand up real quick…"// the braided hospital patient wondered as he stood in front of his warming can of soda. It had taken more than just a few minutes for him to come to that final conclusion, having a difficult time concentrating now that his medication seemed to be starting to wear off. //"Damn, I need to pay more attention to health booklets… Did it say quick movement was the best idea in a situation like this or the worst?"// Chuckling a bit at the fact he had just agreed with one of Wufei's lectures ("You don't pay nearly enough attention, Maxwell! Even the strongest warriors will face defeat if they don't pay attention, though to honor you among those warriors would be a disgrace to all those who fight!), well, part of it, Duo decided that it would be best to try moving slowly first. At least then he could pull back up if he needed to.

He took a deep breath (wincing slightly at the pressure and settling for only a half deep breath) and bent his knees, bracing himself against the glowing front of the machine with his hands. As he began to bend his back, however, a muffled cry of surprise escaped his lips and he quickly pushed back up, expelling air like he had been punched hard in the gut. He took several quick, shallow breaths and shut his eyes tightly. A fresh wave of hot and cold rippled over his body and left Duo more severely aware of his back injury than ever before.

//"Wrong answer… God, I can't take much more of this…"// Duo clenched his teeth against the new pain, vaguely recognizing as the numbness faded that his ribs might possibly be broken; it felt as though one each on both sides was trying to poke through his back. //"Uhg… That's a new one… Heh, let's try option number two, then!"// He took another shaky breath, tightened his eyebrows and his grip on the machine, and quickly bent down with his right hand outstretched to reach the soda can.

Duo's fingers had clamped over the cool, slightly moist surface, but he didn't notice. Shock was his only expression as his knees buckled and his hand tightened over the can, minimally at first, but the moment before he collapsed, every ounce of Duo's strength was subconsciously transferred to the last order his mind had given and soda began to spray from the ruptured aluminum alloy. As Duo's shock-stricken face collided against the machine, giving his skin a sickly green glow, he released his hold and slid to the floor. The can, which had been knocked out of the black dispenser, twirled and shot around on the floor, propelled by the cold, bright yellow liquid still spraying from its ruptured end.

//"Pain…"// It was all Duo knew. He had experienced this pain before, but only for a moment before fading into blessed nothingness. This time, however, no welcome relief came and Duo was left to quiver alone in shock on the lemon-lime soaked floor. A coppery smell filled his nostrils, though his mind blocked it out in favor of relaying the more immediate shock of the mind-numbing pain.

The fluid around him became orange as snaking tendrils of scarlet diffused and spread before claiming the water and dying it red.

***

Doctor Arwel stepped out of the jeep moments after Wufei brought it to a stop in front of the normally brilliant white building. As the sun began its slow decent behind the high canyon walls, its west-facing front was dyed with a rainbow of beautiful colors: blue, green, yellow, orange, red… //"Red…"// Quatre recalled his previous thoughts with a shudder, a pang spearing his heart. Soon the valley would be bathed in the shadow of its hours-premature sunset and the cool air of a desert night. The cherubic boy turned from the sight of oncoming night only to hear Arwel courteously tell them that she would meet them at seven …if they decided to stay that long.

Quatre had only opened his mouth to tell her of course he would be staying as long as he could when her pager began to beep.

With a hasty, "Excuse me," Doctor Arwel lifted the faintly glowing, sleek black object so she could see. Her eyes widened as she whispered in surprised tones, "Room 23!?" and took off running into the hospital.

Quatre and Wufei met each other's gaze for a moment before Quatre exclaimed with a gasp, "That's Duo's room!" When they looked back toward the hospital doors a second later, Doctor Arwel was out of sight, although one of the doors had just closed with a sharp slam.

Needing no further provocation, the two idle boys immediately leapt from the vehicle and tore into the building, taking a sharp right. Maintaining slightly more control, Trowa quickly drove to the back of the building for a parking spot before jumping out and sprinting back toward the front.

Wufei was in the lead in the race to Duo's room, but a pool of stagnant dark liquid emerging from an angled snack corridor caught his eye. He slid to a stop after it and peered back around the corner. What he saw widened his eyes to a point no mortal should be able to achieve.

Quatre barely had time to react as he skittered along the floor, attempting to stop, turned the corner sharply to avoid crashing into Wufei, and slid to the end of the acutely angled snack alcove only to crash into a vending machine on the end after catching his shoes on the edge of the dry floor beyond the liquid, and then he landed heavily on the floor. With a groan of protest caused by his aching head, Quatre lifted one warm hand to the ailing area and looked back toward Wufei to silently ask what the matter was. His eyes were never raised high enough to meet those of the Chinese man, however, for Quatre caught sight instead of the bleeding braided boy before him. Quatre's lips parted in a stunned gasp, jaw dropping at the sight. Wufei had been spared the majority of the gruesome details as he saw Duo only from the front. Quatre, however, had been granted an exclusive view of exactly what caused Duo such pain. His bandages were soaked through with blood just as his hospital gown had soaked up the orange, yellow, and dark red stains around him. A half-full, half-crushed can of Mountain Dew lay wedged between two vending machines to the side. …And what was that odd shaped lump on Duo's left side?

All of this information passed through Quatre's mind in less than a second. The moment after the image flew past his eyes, Quatre scrambled to his feet and over to Duo, splashing blood-tainted soda with his frantic steps before kneeling at Duo's side. "Oh no, Duo! What happened!?" He yelled, slightly panicked, even as his throat constricted to gag at the terrible, sour, coppery odor wafting around him. As he looked down, the source of the odd bloody lump in Duo's hospital gown could be seen through the slit in the back, poking out of a tear in his bandages. A smooth, curved, sharp, whitish, bloody piece of bone had pierced through the gory swelling of Duo's back and his bandages and was slowly allowing blood to trickle down the saturated cloth. Several bits of glistening, blood soaked, reddish-black fuzz poked out with the arched bone. None of it helped the injury to look any less painful. The spear in Quatre's heart gave a sharp twist and he flinched, his messy right hand jerking up and clenching over his pink shirt an inch or two below his collarbone.

Duo had drawn himself somehow into a tight ball and was quivering; eyes clamped shut and mouth positioned as if trying to scream, but no sound came. It was then that Quatre realized that Duo wasn't breathing.

"By Allah! Wufei, get Doctor Arwel, hurry!" Quatre yelled, then reached toward Duo with his left hand, but hesitated short of touching him. His uneasiness at the color and sharp smell of red was quickly overcome and he tightly took Duo's shoulders and shook him gently, but firmly. "You have to breathe, Duo!"

The physical contact seemed to knock Duo back to his senses, although at the moment they all screamed with pain. He managed a shuddery gasp, and then let loose a hollow, desperate scream. Quatre nearly covered his ears, but was so relieved that it took so little to restart Duo's breath that he didn't bother.

"Duo, you're going to be alright. Everything is going to be just fine. Duo…. You're going to be all right. You have to be alright…" Quatre whispered over and over again, fearful, painful tears threatening to overflow his eyes.

Duo continued to gasp for air and whimper, choking at each breath. The concerned blonde was at a loss for what else he could do, and was visibly troubled by his friend's labored breathing. The considerable swelling and mild throbbing of Duo's gruesome injury had seemed to intensify greatly, and Quatre felt utterly useless as his helpless companion withered and convulsed on the floor.

***

As Wufei whirled around the corner and into Duo's room, he was greeted with pandemonium not unlike his own disagreements with Maxwell over the function of blaring music. Several worried nurses stood idly around as Doctor Arwel paced back and forth, clenching and unclenching her fists and yelling to anyone and everyone within earshot about how much of an idiot "Mr. Maxwell" had to be to get up and go wandering around with an injury like that. Apparently, the bulky, ornery male nurse in one corner had discovered Duo's absence while coming in to administer another dose of pain relievers less than a minute ago.

"I agree with you entirely," Wufei said, alerting everyone in the small, darkening room of his presence and commanding their attention. An ear-splitting male scream echoed down the hallway, interrupting the Chinese pilot as he spoke, "but right now Maxwell needs help. Follow me!" With that, he sprinted back out the door, a horde of medical personnel in his wake.

Arwel arrived on the scene only moments later, just as Trowa could be seen racing through the glass double doors at the entrance. The headlight of a motorcycle flashed behind him as the vehicle turned.

"Stretcher!" she yelled to her nurses, though two had already run for one. "Out of my way!" She pushed Quatre aside and crouched next to Duo's tortured form, taking his pulse. A scowl stretched across her face before she yelled, "Hurry up!" back to the rushing medical staff. Without her needing to instruct them, other nurses had gone for IV's and other equipment, fetching them from one of the numerous medical supply closets along the corridor.

Tentatively from where he had fallen when the doctor pushed him aside, Quatre asked, "Is there anything at all I can do to help?"

"Stay out of my way." She told him with a hint of hostility in her voice. She was looking over Duo's withering figure in frenzy, examining him for obvious complications and the source of his injury. Doctor Arwel's gaze immediately strayed to his back and she bent over him, spying the sickle-shaped bone protruding from it. Her eyes went wide for a moment before her scowl deepened, seeming to add decades to her already middle-aged features. Though Wufei's range of facial expressions was nearly as limited as Heero Yuy's, miniscule changes appeared in his visage to form an expression only his closest companions would be able to distinguish from his usual frown. It was the same face he had worn the entire exhausting night before.

As the nurses returned with the medical equipment they quickly, yet carefully loaded the whimpering Duo Maxwell onto the stretcher, the front door swung open and a thin young visitor walked slowly in, turning down the excited hallway.

"Get him into surgery, now!" Doctor Arwel shouted and the frantic nurses rushed down the hall, leaving Quatre, Trowa, and Wufei to stand helplessly around the dark pool. The footsteps of the visitor came to a stop only a few feet away from their turned backs. A silent moment stretched as the frenzied group of nurses rounded a corner, one struggling not to slip as she held a plastic mask over Duo's agonized face.

"Trowa, Quatre, Wufei." Came a male monotone from behind the three pilots. "What is Duo's status?"

Quatre breathed in sharply and whirled around at the voice. Wufei and Trowa were slower to turn their heads, eyes sagging. "You… You came-…" Quatre stuttered, surprised.

"Where is Duo?" Heero interrupted him without changing the tone of his voice. His breath smelled strongly of peppermint, a natural remedy for headaches of which Quatre's mind took the moment to remind him as he stared. An after image of Duo's stricken form and echoes of his cries still played over and over in his mind like a bad B-movie, rendering Quatre temporarily unable to utter more than a few broken syllables.

Everyone bleeds, everyone feels pain, but Heero's pupils shrunk slightly as he noticed the blonde boy's bloody right hand clenched over his staining pink shirt so tightly that his knuckles might be mistaken for bones. His breathing was irregular and his eyes unfocused. Heero quickly scanned the pilot's face, noting muscle tension where the open-faced boy was more likely to show it. //"Pain."// Heero realized with only minimal surprise. //"Quatre is in pain as well."//

"Maxwell is in surgery," Wufei offered, but with understandably less enthusiasm than that with which he would normally announce any one of Duo's many faults (in Wufei's eyes).

"He was found on the floor in this alcove in a state of obvious emergency." Trowa continued for him. "From the mess he left, it can be reasonably concluded that he lost a great deal of blood. A second transfusion quite possibly might be required-…"

"How long do you estimate it will take before Duo can rejoin us?" Heero interrupted again without showing the slightest fluctuation in tone, facial expression, or body language. "Our window of opportunity opens in less than a week and the Gundam Deathscythe Hell has not been repaired."

Stricken as he was by the prickling, stabbing pain that seemed to envelop his heart, Quatre's emotions were dealt a crushing blow at what he perceived as Heero's lack of understanding. Duo wasn't just some Gundam part that could be ready and functioning for another mission after only a few hours. Quatre remembered a story Duo had told him about Heero setting his leg after breaking it. The retelling had been amusing at the time, but now it just twisted a new pain deep in the cherubic youth's stomach. None of them but apparently Heero could set their own bones and be ready to go again! Yet with the sliver of bone he had seen puncturing Duo's back and the black, stringy flesh around it, plus how long Duo had finally admitted it had been bothering him, it seemed entirely, sickeningly, horribly likely that their Shinigami was already knocking on Death's door. With that information-which Quatre and Duo had already been forced to share-Heero should have at least known if not understood.

"Duo…" Quatre began, "By Allah, Heero! I'm not even sure if he's going to make it this time!"

"Hn." Came Heero's monotonous reply: unexpressive, emotionless. It wasn't his "what do you mean?" "hn," not his "life goes on," "hn," let alone an "I understand what you mean and I wish to express my most sincere apologies for not communicating this sooner, and also for failing to sit by Duo's side while I still had the chance," "hn." Any of those responses would have been the product of Quatre's imagination, if not merely wishful thinking.

Exasperation dominated Quatre's already despairing tones. "Heero, what do I have to say to make you understand? By Allah, Duo-might-die! We're not just Gundam parts that can be replaced at a convenient moment; we're real people, and once we're gone-…"

"I know, Quatre." Heero's cold, emotionless, mechanical voice replied, though looking up into his eyes, desperately searching for mercy, pity, anything that would tell him Heero wished for Duo's health for the same reasons the other three pilots did, Quatre thought he caught a glimmer of understanding. Perhaps it really was his imagination, even though they all knew to some degree that Heero Yuy wasn't truly the heartless machine he pretended to be. Perhaps, though, Quatre had caught the fleeting end of a tiny slip of the Perfect Soldier's iron mask, one that if Quatre didn't possess such a gift for reading people, he might not have caught at all.

Heero glanced calculatingly at the pool of blood and spilt soda, then as swiftly as he arrived, brushed past the three pilots and began to walk toward the emergency room. After a few tense, silent, confused, contemplating moments, those pilots wordlessly followed their languid unofficial leader.

Silence was a state that Trowa had come to both adore and abhor. It could mean many things, both wonderful and terrible. Silence meant rest, slumber, quiet moments to contemplate finer things, and the thrilling moment while performing death-defying stunts right after the audience took its collective gasp and right before he would flawlessly land any number and type of flip and jump in any condition. It meant the moment Catherine threw her knife and Trowa watched the stunned people, unafraid of what might happen should her aim be slightly off. Those moments of silence were the moments he lived for.

Silence could mean other things as well, dark and terrible things. Silence meant moments alone to sit and revisit unpleasant memories, unbearable cold pressing in from all sides, Heavyarms standing alone after slaughtering scores of soldiers on a "successful" mission. Silence meant graveyards, black roses, and gravestones.

Silence meant death.

This silence, gratefully, extended only around the four pilots. Four was a funny way of describing them, even though Trowa the Clown rarely laughed. It was more ironic than funny, really, that should they lose Duo (another hard concept to grasp) they would now count each other: one, three, four, five. Who could possibly fill the role of their witty Pilot 02? Who other than Duo himself could ever push Heero precisely to the point of receiving a bullet through his head without Wing's pilot actually pulling the trigger? Who but their annoying Maxwell could possibly get under Wufei's skin so effortlessly just to provide an entertaining show for the remaining three to enjoy? Who else could light up Quatre's face with laughter every time he told a great joke? Would there ever be any other who could cause the empty pits of Trowa's heart to bubble with restrained joy every time Duo flashed that cocky grin of his? Who other than Duo could ever make a room come alive just by stepping into it?

One, three, four, five… Without two, counting just doesn't seem right.

//"This is injustice."// Wufei's thoughts repeated the familiar word, idly tacking two more in front of it, but the phrase died as it reached his throat. He couldn't bring himself to speak, to break the fragile silence between the four pilots, as if it were somehow a delicate chi spell cradling Maxwell's worthless-priceless-life. Would the Shinigami that the young man so readily claimed to be truly come to claim him this night? Once again, Wufei regretted that the last thing he had said to Duo was an insult. The liveliest one among them, the one who claimed to be Death, would he really leave them all this time? Was it possible? Could life without Duo's annoying-joyful-antics even be imagined? Could Wufei ever forgive himself for leaving the braided baka-genius-vulnerable twice when all that the boy really needed was someone to protect him and understand? Why hadn't Wufei listened?

First, Wufei had argued for Duo to continue to follow their mission two days ago-only two days?-when the pilots had first discovered his injury. Wufei's pride had kept him from seeing that Maxwell didn't need a lesson that day; he needed… companionship. The following day, Wufei had argued with Duo for hours trying to get him to fall back as their energy supplies and endurance ran low. Wufei blamed himself for forcing him to turn, blinded by anger, at exactly the wrong moment, thereby single-handedly causing Maxwell's near-death. Now, only hours earlier, Wufei had left Maxwell's room when he should have stayed to watch over the braided menace. Whatever had happened in the mean time could have been prevented entirely if someone had stayed, Wufei most of all.

//"That makes three failures, not two."// Wufei noted, smiling sorely as the Duo-like tones he thought in brought renewed guilt to churn in his already unsettled stomach. One, two, three. Pilot 02… Would he still be able to feel indifference as OZ called him "Pilot 05" when their numbers must be counted sans the number two? One, three, four, five… It didn't seem just.

//"One, three, four, five…"// Quatre's thoughts echoed, though he still hadn't noticed the death grip in which his right hand-the foreign blood now cooling on his skin-had grasped his shirt. //"It doesn't feel right to count without two… Without Duo… It isn't possible, it just can't happen… It won't, it can't…"// His vision blurred and Quatre blinked, releasing a tiny, crystaline tear to shatter into millions of shards on the cream floor below.

Noticing this, Trowa placed a consoling hand upon the smaller boy's shoulder. Wide, scared, nebulous sea foam green orbs met compassionate, sad emeralds for a long moment before the two exchanged a comforting embrace, still walking slowly down the hospital corridors. "Shhh…" Trowa reassured Quatre's tearful form, whispering almost inaudibly. "Everything will be alright, it has to. Shhh…." Although Trowa didn't truly understand, or perhaps even believe his words, Quatre quieted, yet remained secure in Trowa's hold.

Wufei cursed silently in Chinese at Trowa's words, but his own reaction confused him. Why should he be angry with Trowa for breaking their silence when Wufei blamed Duo's current position entirely on himself?

Heero stopped at the window into the surgery room, though it took the three other pilots several seconds longer to realize that they had arrived. The thick glass muffled what little sound they could hear. Various monitors beeping erratically lined the room and more sprung to life as frantic nurses hooked the squirming boy up to them. Two lumbering nurses (the largest ones in the room) fought to keep Duo laying flat on his stomach while all he seemed to want to do was curl into a ball. Whimpers and sometimes weakened half-screams could be heard clearly from inside.

"He's in shock; someone ready the depressants!" Doctor Arwel's voice yelled above the racket. No one outside the room could see where she was amidst the throng of people. Apparently the nurse who had undertaken the task didn't complete it quite as satisfactorily as the doctor would have likes. "No, we can't use one that powerful! It could very well stop his breathing!" There was a pause as a particularly heart-rending scream released from Duo's undoubtedly sore throat.

Heero clearly saw the bone protruding from Duo's back, the regular throbbing of the swelling on his back now that the bandages had been removed. More than anything else, the skin seemed… stretched. If he would have picked up the habit, Heero's eyebrows might have perked as he surveyed Duo with morbid curiosity.

"There's no time, scalpel!" Arwel's voice rose again. "And I thought I told someone to close that curtain!" A thin, blonde nurse jerked the thin, cream sheets over the only visual portal into the white-walled room. Heero silently swore, //"Omae o korosu,"// directing his threat toward the doctor with every intention of eventually carrying it out. What a sweet mission that would be.

One more barrier, one more veil had been set between the pilots and their joyful, if sassy, companion. They couldn't help but wonder if perhaps this foreshadowed the final black veil, but none of them could bear to allow the idea to develop into worded thought.

//"Everything will be alright. It has to be…"//

Though a direct line of sight to what went on within was denied them, the glaring operating table lights still spread blurry shadows across the ruffled curtain. Indecipherable conversations and jumbled orders floated past the pilots' ears, but each was more confused than the last. Finally, a thick quiet filled the room. It lasted only a bare moment, though no one looking back would believe it took anything less than eternity. Then, like a woeful cry of a falling celestial being, one last mournful shriek lashed out through the entire building and beyond. A large shadow rose up the still curtains before falling as the scream faded away to nothingness once more. Silence washed over the room and the pilots as pale light filtered down from iridescent tubes to wash over three pallid, stunned faces and a fourth that seemed not to have noticed at all.

[End Chapter 3]

AN: Alright, I know I said I'd probably be able to begin work/update on the 17th of June (almost a month ago, gomen! >.<), but unfortunately life stuck it's ugly butt in the way. When setting a probable update date, I forgot to mention that my beta reader would be heading for Australia from the 18th or so until the beginning of July. Therefore, he had absolutely no chance to do his job amidst the packing, the flight, and the lack of computer access while exploring down under. What I'm posting now is the result of him reading over the chapter and doing only one round of edits. If mistakes are still present, oh well. I needed to get this out.

Some of you may have noticed (if you looked hard enough) that I had the unfinished version of this story hidden-posted on Mediaminer.org for the benefit of my betas. I really, really, seriously hope everyone that did take note of that also took note of the fact that I didn't want just anyone reading it. If you already read it, you may want to read it again. Like I said, this chapter went through a few revisions and ended up the size of all previous installments combined. This was a tasty big piece of candy I handed you today. ;) Hope you liked the yummy, evil cliffhanger! (The one cliffhanger… TO RULE THEM ALL!!!) Er, sorry there… LegendaryFrog came out with a new flash movie on Newgrounds.com. It is seriously hilarious! XD [End Shameless Plug for LegendaryFrog]

I'd like to thank my main beta, Rya, for fetching me Vegemite from down under and being so quick to beta this for me under pressure! Thanks much! I think you did an awesome job from what I skimmed.

And I'd also like to thank Momo-chan (plot slave extraordinaire) for putting up with me for endless plot discussion nights! You're the best, and without you this chapter probably would have been delayed at least another month or so. ^_^;; Just don't suddenly disappear from the face of the computer screen for weeks on end again, alright? …Or at least tell me where you're going. I'll pack a laptop and join you!

Also thanks to Jasper the cat for his impossibly cute meow, Ginger the cat for her major huggable-ness, and the both of them for only fighting and breaking my concentration twice tonight. ^_^;;

I will now take the time to reply to reviewers on both Fanfiction.net and Mediaminer.org. Fanfiction.net people go first 'cuz I got more reviews there. ^_^

LilI: Sorry it's a bit hard to understand. Hopefully the next chapter will explain a bit. ^_^

Ketami: Poor Duo is right! And things only get worse for him. Muahahahaha… I feel so evil.

Zeionia: You double posted, but thanks. ^_^ Double posts still make me look more credible. Ah, I love it when people mention the plot. I spend hours every night just tossing and turning over what I'll weave in next. (And other things, but we won't go into that ^_^;;) Glad to see my willful torture isn't executed in vain!

Kate (kittenhug): Meep! 0.0 And here we have the first Fanfiction.net death threat of the story! ^_^ Happy to know my eternal torment is contagious.

And now, Mediaminer!

neko satan: Wow, I gathered that at least a few people enjoyed this from the fanfiction.net reactions, but to say that I am the best you've read so far… **Sniffles, starry eyes** I will do my best to uphold the high standards that you demand! As for your demon minions… 0.0 Meep! **Hides and immediately begins work on chapter 4**

duos_deathscythe: I hope this is quick enough for you! I'm always happy to do my part for the less sane portion of the world. ;)

Jako: O.O …Wow, I mean, wow… I had no idea that this story meant this much to you… Thank you so much for your kind review! Thusly, I'll gladly fuel your obsession with this extra large bit and many more to come! Thanks for the uber-hard kick in the pants to get updating. ^_^

To all readers and potential reviewers, know this: without reviews, I cannot feed the muses. Without the muses, I have no inspiration. Without inspiration, my brain craps on the carpet, and that's just not fun to clean up. Plus it leaves me strangely without the ability to update. Imagine that! So if all you non-reviewing readers out there want a new chapter (and even those who have already reviewed), stuff a review in a shoe and throw it in my general direction, then wait 1 week to 6 months for a reply, depending on how many other shoes are hailing my way. ;) No reviews, no update! :P Few reviews, long wait for update! Lots of reviews, quick update. ^_^ You're smart readers. Now can please I get one of you to do my Calculus homework? @_@