Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Side of Angels ❯ Chapter 4
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
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Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Title: The Side of Angels
Pairing: 13x5 Treize/Wufei
Warning: Violence. Angst.
Thanks to beta Goddess, Marilyn. This is chapter is finally betaed!
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Their suite was quiet when Treize got home, afternoon sunlight filtering through the wall-to-wall windows, filling the room with warm sunshine.
Closing the door behind himself, Treize glanced around, not seeing or sensing his lover anywhere within these rooms. The tiny knot in his heart tightened. He chastised himself; no doubt the boy was still at his studio.
Treize had came home early, after receiving news of the assassination of Sultan Winner, cutting short the vid-conference he held with Duke Dermail. This had not please the Duke, who wanted to discuss the ramifications of the assassination further. Dermail was please with this new development. He never liked the Sultan, and believed young Quatre would be easier to control, while Treize just wanted to come home to his lover. He had a sudden urge to see his lover.
Treize looked around the empty room and sighed. There was a time when Wufei would have waited in their suite for him to come home; there were times when as he opened the door he was assaulted by an armful of beautiful, naked boy. It inevitably made for a lovely evening, just thinking about make his skin flush.
For the past few weeks though, Wufei had shut himself up in his studio, diligently working on his new painting, and Treize knew better than to bother his lover there. He had no desire to get his head bitten off. Like most artists, Wufei could be moody, even down right volatile, when interrupted during work, especially when the work was not going well.
He stilled missed his lovely, naked boy though.
Undoing the clasp of his cape, Treize walked towards his bedroom, intending to change into something more comfortable. Despite the popular opinion of his subordinates, Treize did not live in his uniform.
A flash of something shiny caught his eye and he turned - there, on the desk, washed in a patch of sunlight, shining brightly, was a circle of translucent pearls.
Treize stilled, staring at the luminous circle of pearls. The sight of it delivered a punch to his gut. He couldn't move, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Slowly, he recovered himself, and moved cautiously across the floor and to where the pearls nestled. With a hand that was determinedly steady, he picked them up.
They were beautiful in their luminescence, for all that they weren't real, and Treize's eyes stung for looking into them too long.
It was like waking up unwillingly from a dream; it was like being expelled from paradise. Something raw uncoiled inside his chest and expanded outwards until it was all he could feel. He couldn't breath. Treize grabbed onto the desk for support. The truth was like a knife stabbed into his heart.
He could admit, now, that he hadn't really expected Wufei to be here when he rushed back home today. But for a while it had been nice to lie to himself, to pretend it was just a normal afternoon when he had left work early to be with his lover.
Except the truth was, the lover had left him, and he had been waiting for this day for weeks. Had been waiting for this day, in fact, since that bright, sunny afternoon when Wufei walked into his life, perfect as though he just walked out a painting, beautiful, alluring, everything Treize ever wanted, all his secret dreams come true.
He knew then it would all end in disaster.
But, still, he couldn't stop himself from falling in love, couldn't stop himself falling into the abyss from the first time he looked into those midnight eyes.
So he pushed his suspicions aside. When Dorothy failed to catch any of Wufei's alleged assailants, failed to even find traces of then; when Wufei refused to submit his paintings to Lady Noventa's exhibition, even if it could have made his career; when every time he brought up Wufei's past, his lover would change the subject… Treize had closed his eyes and resolutely ignored all those signs.
Until something happened that he couldn't ignore.
Someone had tapped into his computer and tampered with his files; only a handful people had access to his private rooms and only one hadn't been through an extensive background check. Treize had no longer been able to pretend his suspicions were only paranoia, brought on by the unexpected happiness of having Wufei in his life, so he had planted false information in a few important files and set up a test.
It was a simple test. Wufei failed spectacularly.
Prince Quatre and Princess Relena's engagement party had turned into a bloodbath. The Sultan was dead, and so were quite a few terrorists, bodyguards, secret agents of various organisations, and party guests. It was pure luck Milliard wasn't among them.
So when Treize had come home this afternoon, he knew Wufei wouldn't be waiting for him.
He never knew it would hurt so much to be proved right.
Wufei had lied to him. With his shining eyes, with his teasing smile, with the assurance of love in his touch and promises of forever in his kiss… Wufei had lied to him.
The bracelet bounced off the wall and skittered across the carpet until it stopped at the leg of a chair.
Treize strode out of the room; he couldn't stand being in that room, still littered with Wufei's things, a minute longer, but the rest of the estate didn't prove to be any better. Everywhere he went he was reminded of the lover he had lost, despite the fact that Wufei had only been living with him for a few short months. Treize didn't know if he could ever again enter the rose garden without being reminded of all the lazy afternoons they had spent there.
Somehow he found himself on the threshold of Wufei's studio, looking beyond the door as if it were a scene from another life. And it was.
Nothing was changed inside, with its stacks of paintings to one side and the easel in the centre of the room.
He could still see Wufei standing in front that easel, wearing only a pair of old jeans that was splattered by colour paints, holding a brush in one hand and a palette in the other, eyes locked onto the canvas, brows furrowed in concentration.
That painting was still there, covered by a white sheet.
Slowly, almost unwillingly, Treize ventured inside, stood in front of the painting and pulled off the sheet.
It took his breath away. The colours seemed to flow, pearl grey, emerald green, soft gold, palest yellow, the colour of dreams, the colour of a fairytale, unreal, like mist floating through fingers, unsubstantial. Sometimes the dreams were broken by a splash of harsh red anger, deep purple betrayal, or the endless, impenetrable black of despair.
Treize stood there, stunned by the emotions evoked by the painting. He couldn't move, couldn't take his eyes off it, just stood and gazed at the splendour for what must have been hours.
When he left the studio, he went back to his chambers and retrieved the bracelet from the floor.
The high-quality screen showed a corner of a white room. A lonely figure huddled on a bed of sky blue, curling into himself, the small body all but disappearing into the huge bed, radiating misery and despair.
Lady Une turned the screen off in disgust.
Wufei had not moved from that position since being delivered back into his room from his torture session, two days ago.
Une turned towards the woman sitting across her desk. "As you can see, this behaviour can not be allowed to go on."
"You're too harsh on him," Sally protested.
"You're too soft on him," Une retorted. "I am well aware of your attachment to the boy. I had hoped it wouldn't affect your judgement."
"My judgement has not been affected. It had only been two days. For all his training, Wufei is still a teenager, still young enough to believe in love," Sally argued. "He needs time to heal, Une. Press him, you'll break him. Surely that cannot be what you want."
Une leaned back in her chair, playing with the pencil in her hand. "Unfortunately, time is a luxury I can not afford. The truth is, I need him on his feet now." She looked across to Sally, eyes solemn. "I have received some disturbing information about Tsubarov. It seemed that he wasn't the sole creator of those `Mobile Suits' as he proclaimed. I need all the available personnel I have to get to the bottom of this, hopefully before a war breaks out."
"What about Duo? He's just been released from medical and cleared for duty. Every indication said the treatment he underwent was a success."
And you say your judgement wasn't affected? Une mused in amusement. You'd not try to throw your little Dragon into the fray had he just came out of attitude adjustment.
"It was," Une agreed. She must admit that Duo's new attitude was both refreshing and gratifying. "But still, he hasn't gone through a field test yet. I don't feel comfortable putting him in a mission without someone watching over him. Wufei would be best…" She lifted a hand to halt Sally's protest. "It will be good for him."
Une turned on the screen with a click of the remote, and the sky blue bed and the miserable little figure reappeared. "What he needs now is work, a distraction that will take his mind off Khushrenada, not too much time alone to lick his wounds."
This sounded too risky to Sally, and she shook her head. "I don't like this. You cannot send someone as depressed as Wufei is into dangerous situations." The temptation might just prove to be too much to resist.
Une cocked her head, contemplating. "I understand your fears, but I think you're underestimating him. There is a healthy desire for life deep inside that broken heart, it only needed a brush of death to bring it out. Khushrenada did much to damage him, but Wufei won't be broken so easily."
Sally still looked worried, and Une found herself reconsidering her decision that had allowed Sally to get so close to the boy. "My mind is made up," she said firmly. "Tell me, in your medical opinion, is Wufei physically fit for a mission?"
Sally nodded reluctantly, "The… session…with Dr. J has left very little physical damage. He is fit."
"Then we'll send him out."
After dismissing Sally, Une turned her attention back to the screen. She wasn't surprised to see the other woman came into view a few minutes later. Sally would do all she could make sure Wufei was ready to face a new mission, of that Une had no doubt.
Une turned off the screen and returned to the files she had been studying. She was glad that Wufei had been cleared of all suspicion; he had been a valuable operative to Angels, and she'd hate to lose him. But it was evident that someone inside Angels was passing information to the outside, and that irritated her.
What's more, she had the feeling that there was more to this game than what was appearing on the surface. A shadow party - perhaps more than one - was using the Angels to achieve their own ends.
Une's lips thinned; she never liked to be a pawn in somebody else's chess game.
Opening her mail program, Une sent off an urgent command for Trowa to report back immediately. She had a feeling she'd be needing him soon.
The bed dipped as another body lay down beside him, slender fingers brushing away the long strands of dark hair that stuck to his tear-stained cheek. Wufei turned and hid his face in the pillow, and the other body moved with him, warm and curving, moulding itself along his back, enfolding him a comforting embrace.
A gentle kiss was pressed into his hair, piercing him to the heart and bringing on a fresh burst of tears. He sobbed into the pillow as a hand smoothed down his arm, soothing him. Soft whispers of comforting words in his ear made him cry harder, shaking with the force of his sobs and feeling his heart had been broken into pieces.
It was a long time before the tears abated and he could breathe again. Still shaky and tired, although no more tears would come, he turned in Sally's arms, still miserable, but a little more himself after his crying fit.
"He set me up," he whispered, more to himself than to Sally. It hurt to say those words, worse than just having it engraved into his brain.
Sally touched his cheek, but didn't say anything.
Wufei sighed, settling closer to Sally with his head on her shoulders. Any other day he'd be ashamed of himself for being so weak, so needy, but for now he just didn't care. He closed his eyes, right hand unconsciously rubbing over left wrist; bare skin greeted him.
It was the last thing Meiran had ever given him, the only connection he had to his past, and Treize had probably thrown it away as a bad reminder. But still, despite everything Treize did, Wufei couldn't imagine him doing something so…callous.
Treize had looked at him like he was the most precious thing on earth, had kissed him with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. How could Treize do any of these things, if he didn't feel something for Wufei?
He knew it was wishful thinking, but he couldn't help himself. Memory took him back to every lingering look, every tender smile that Treize had given him, everything that had served to convinced him of Treize's love.
It had felt wonderful. To be loved.
Wufei had known it was too good to be true. He had always known he wasn't worthy of love, especially the love of someone like Treize, someone who was meant for better things, someone who shone so brightly that all others paled beside him.
But he wanted so much to believe in Treize that he had refused to see the truth.
The truth was that all the while Wufei was agonizing over lies and betrayal, struggling between his head and his heart, and hoping against hope that everything would turn out well, Treize was playing a game of one-upmanship, that whether to Une or to Treize, Wufei was only a pawn in their games.
Treize had set him up and ensured that in failing his assignment, he'd be punished by his superior, but Wufei could hardly blame Treize for this act. Not after he had given Une the proof of Treize's connection to the terrorists, an action that ensured Treize's death in the near future.
Treize's death. His heart tore at the thought of Treize dying; he couldn't bear to think about the part he had played in bring Treize's guilt to light. Une was right to have him interrogated; given the chance again, he was sure he would have lied to protect Treize.
Even if Treize was a murderer, an aspiring dictator who wanted to turn the world upside down, even if he had broken Wufei's heart and stomped on the pieces.
Treize was still beautiful and noble and brilliant and amazing, and Wufei was still in love with him, still so desperately, so pathetically missing him. Missing him so much that he wished he could die…
He had completely lost his objectivity during the mission, too weak to resist the yearning of his heart. As a result, the Sultan was dead because of Wufei's incompetence; Heero was dead because of Wufei's selfishness; seven of his fellow agents died because of Wufei's unwillingness to see what was in front of him. The world was one step closer to war and it was all Wufei's fault.
Wufei choked, he couldn't breathe; it was suffocating. A slender hand rubbing over his chest as fresh tears welled up in his eyes. He wouldn't cry again; the last burst had left him exhausted, so he just laid his head back on the pillow, letting the warmth of his friend soothe his damaged soul.
It was good that Sally was here. He had been so alone in the past two days, so hollow inside, small and insignificant, drifting in a vast sea of emptiness. He could see the loneliness ahead of him, stretching out endlessly; without Sally's warm presence anchoring him, he would be lost.
The moon was pale beyond the half-draped window, hanging high in the velvety night sky. The moonlight washed half of room in its silver rays, while the rest remained in shadows.
The huge bed was near the window, moonlight spreading over it and the sleeping boy who lay inside, illuminating the delicately chiselled features, the lines and curves of the naked body, half covered under the folds of the rumpled sheets, beautiful like a finely carved Greek statue.
Trowa sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at angelic face. His hand reached out to stroke the blonde hair, painted silver by the moonlight, but stopped just short of touching it.
Trowa stood and prepared to walk away, but a hand caught his retreating wrist just as he turned. Trowa looked back in surprise, meeting a pair of wide-open liquid eyes. The guileless eyes caught Trowa in their thrall; he felt an insistent tug on his wrist and another hand came up around his neck, pulling his head down. He resisted, but a pair of warm, mobile lips soon had him drowning in a sweetly fervent kiss.
It was long time before the need for oxygen made it necessary for them to disengage. Trowa sat down beside Quatre, watching as his lover sighed softly, a sweet smile curving the soft looking lips, pale lashes fluttering half shut in satisfaction.
Trowa couldn't resist; he rubbed his finger over the tender flesh of the lower lip and a little wet tongue darted out and swept across the finger. Trowa stilled abruptly. "I have to go," he declared.
His finger was caught between Quatre's teeth, a sharp bite into flesh immediately soothed by the wet tongue running along its length. Wide eyes opened and locked onto his gaze as Quatre smoothly and deliberately drew the long finger into the pretty little mouth.
Trowa inhaled sharply, pulling his hand back. "Quatre," he remonstrated. Standing up, he repeated, "I have to leave. Lady Une recalled me."
But a stubborn glint entered Quatre's eyes. The boy threw his arms around Trowa's neck and drew himself up, the warm length of that naked body pressed along Trowa's body, making him shiver. Trowa's arms automatically came around the slim waist, and the boy tightened his hold, clinging to him.
"Don't go." A harsh whisper in Trowa's ear, urgent and demanding. "Don't leave me." The slender thighs parted and clamped around Trowa's waist. When Trowa gave no reply, the voice wavered, tears brimming beneath the pale lashes, "Pleeeease, Trowa…" A tremble wracked the pale body, arms around his neck wrapped tighter. "She'll kill you. I know she'll kill you. Pleeeease…"
Trowa pressed his forehead against the boy's, trying to soothe his agitated lover. "Quatre… She'll surely kill me if I do not go back as ordered."
"I'll protect you," came the earnest response. "Stay here and no one will dare to hurt what's mine!"
Trowa shook his head. "You can't protect me from Lady Une."
"I CAN!" The porcelain cheeks were flushed with excitement. "I can protect you. I can protect my family and my Kingdom and everything I care about." Such sincerity in that earnest gaze, a secret brimming to came out. "I have this new weapon… It's called 'Mobile Suits'…"
Trowa's spine stiffened. "Mobile suits?"
The boy's head nodded vigorously. "Yes!! A new invention. A most powerful weapon! When I equip an army with them, no one will dare to cross me ever again! I'm making very good progress, Trowa; soon we won't be afraid of anything."
Trowa closed his eyes as he buried his face in the silky hair of his lover, his arms tightening around the supple body. Opening them again, he looked into the hopeful, expectant eyes. "I still have to go, Quatre."
"Shhhh…." He pressed a finger on the protesting lips. "I'll be back. Une won't kill me." The liquid eyes blinked at him in doubt, so he captured the sweet lips in a persuasive kiss. "I promise."
Several breathless kisses later, the boy finally agreed. "All right, but…" he licked his lips, imploring Trowa with those wide eyes, "stay this night?"
Trowa sighed and gave in gracefully, following his lover into the welcoming embrace of the huge, feather bed.
Marching along the brightly lit corridors of the Angels complex, Wufei gazed directly ahead, face impassive, moving forward with a single-minded purposefulness that would have fooled almost anyone.
Pity it wouldn't fool the woman he was called into a meeting with.
In truth, he had little idea how he had come to be on his way to Lady Une's office. He scarcely remembered hearing her voice on the communicator, and only when he closed the door behind himself did he realise that he had gotten up and dressed as soon as he had his orders.
Une had indeed trained him well.
Standing in front of the familiar door of Une's office, he took a moment to compose himself before knocking, compressing and sealing every emotion into a box inside his
The door opened and he stepped inside.
Une was sitting behind her desk. She gave Wufei a sharp nod as he came in the door, indicating for him to sit down.
Someone else was already in a chair in front of her, and even from the back, the long braid denoted that someone's identity to be Duo Maxwell. On hearing the door open, he turned around and gave Wufei a long, cool gaze before dismissing him.
Wufei sat down, shooting a curious glance at the other boy, a sense of wrongness tickling at the back of his mind.
Maxwell bore the scrutiny well; the heart-shaped face looked blank and those violet eyes were void of emotion. He sat perfectly still, ramrod straight, wearing his trademark black ensemble, but without the priest's collar or the golden cross dangling in front of his chest.
Wufei frowned, alarmed by the change of attitude obvious in his colleague. He hadn't seen Maxwell since before his ill-fated mission with Treize. What could have happened that would have caused…
Une called his attention back to herself. "You have a new mission." She began to rattle off the main points. It was a straightforward assassination, usually handled by Heero and his team of highly trained professionals.
Of course. Wufei could have hit himself. Heero…
A wave of unexpected grief swept over him and he bit the inside of his cheeks until they bled.
"Any questions?" Une asked after she finished speaking.
"No," both of them replied.
"This mission requires the two of you to work as a team. Wufei is in charge." Une's eyes trained on Maxwell. "You'll follow his lead. Any objections?"
No protest. Not even after Une had given him a perfect opening. Guilt rose into Wufei's throat and he turned his eyes away from the other boy. He couldn't look into Maxwell's face with Heero's blood on his hands.
"Good, then you may leave."
Since he wasn't dismissed, Wufei stayed in his seat and watched as Maxwell stood and walked out.
He even walked differently, tall and straight and silent, instead of the quick and bouncy step that characterised the boy's boundless energy. It was like a wall had come down, boxing him inside, cutting him off from the rest from the world.
As soon as the door closed, Wufei turned back to Une. His brows drew together as he considered the best way to frame the question. He didn't want to get Maxwell into trouble, although he was sure Une had missed nothing in the boy's changed behaviour.
"Maxwell doesn't seem like himself," that should be an obvious, safe observation. "Perhaps he shouldn't be involved in a new mission so soon."
"Do you not trust Duo's abilities?"
"I have great respect in Maxwell's abilities," Wufei countered, "but Heero's death is still too fresh in his mind. It'd be better if…"
There was a strange glint in Une's eyes as she interrupted him. "Heero's death? What made you think Heero was dead?"
Wufei jerked his head sharply, his eyes burning into Une's face. "I remember," he replied slowly, choosing each word with care, "that you told me so just after I woke up in the White Room."
A corner of Une's lips turned up in cool amusement. "Is that what I said?"
Wufei stared at her, then comprehension dawned, and with it came a surge of hot rage that almost choked him. He replied with deliberation. "No, you told me that he was shot sixteen times."
"Exactly," Une commended. "With your training and experience, you should have known better than to assume facts, Dragon."
Wufei bit down to stop angry retort that wanted to burst out. Of course, he should have known better; having betrayed the man he loved and coming out of drug induced inertia only to find himself strapped down in the dreaded torture chamber, he should have had the presence of mind to analyse every word that came from the mouth of someone who was supposed to be his ally. His fingers itched to wring Une's neck. The worst thing was, Wufei admitted to himself, that she was right.
"If Heero isn't dead," he asked, keeping his voice even with difficulty, "then how is he?"
"Heero is currently in a coma. The doctors are tentatively hopeful of his recovery."
Wufei nodded. It wasn't the best news, but at least Heero was alive. Then another question reared its head. If Maxwell's apparent apathy wasn't caused by grief, then what was wrong with him?
"What about Maxwell? Has something happened to him?"
Somewhat unexpectedly, Une gave him a straight answer. "He underwent a new programme of attitude adjustment as part of his retraining."
"Was object of the retraining to turn him into a robot?" Wufei asked sarcastically.
"The object was to turn him into a obedient and efficient Angels operative." Une gave him a stern glare. "I expect my operatives to obey orders and perform to the best of their abilities. Duo was failing in both. I had to curb his wild behaviour before he could cause a disaster. Would you rather I retired him?"
"No," Wufei answered truthfully, "but he might have, if he was in his right mind."
Une smiled, "That's still a possibility. I want you to keep an eye on him on this mission. As I said, the programme he underwent was new and experimental. There might be side effects we did not anticipate. I want you to gave me a detailed report on him after the mission, everything from his reaction time, to his skill level, to the number of times he blinked."
"Very well." A beat, then, "Did you order him to keep an eye on me, too?"
"Of course." Une looked genuinely amused. "You let emotion affect your judgement in your last mission, which has left serious damage to your psyche. I need to know if you can still do the job, or if I'll need to…"
"Put you under the same treatment that Duo went through," Une continued, without missing a beat.
Wufei paled at the obvious threat; death he did not fear, but to be brainwashed into an emotionless, obedient automaton? That was another thing entirely.
Une smiled, and relented a little. "However, I see no reason we shouldn't anticipate a more successful mission this time. I have faith in you. Treize has always been a master at deception, and I do not entirely blame you for succumbing to his charm…"
Wufei's eyes widened at those words; it was, for Une, a remarkably sympathetic lecture. He couldn't help but wonder at the catch.
"…but I trust that you did not let him cripple you so badly that you'll be useless to me. And after you get back, we can talk about your off-site housing application."
Offsite accommodation. No more cold, impersonal whiteness of his room, no more claustrophobic atmosphere of the Angels compound. Somewhere where he had at least the illusion of privacy, somewhere he could escape from all of this.
Wufei almost smiled; the candy and the whip. Une wasn't always cruel to her operatives; she threw them a bone now or then.
He thanked her politely and closed the door quietly behind him.
Wufei was so used to thinking of Heero as invincible that he almost didn't recognise the pale and frail figure in the bed, surrounded by half a dozen machines, with tubes and wires stuck all over his body. He looked so young, and for the first time in years, Wufei remembered Heero was still a teenager.
But he was alive, and that was more than Wufei could have hoped for. Taking one limp hand into his own, the warmth of the hand reassured him, and he rubbed his thumb over the callused palm.
It wasn't over yet. Heero still had to come out of his coma; Une won't keep him on the life machine indefinitely. But for now, at least, there was hope. And after all was said and done, Wufei still believed in Heero's strength.
"It's time," a familiar voice, if not familiar tone, called from the door. Wufei dropped Heero's hand and turned around, finding Maxwell standing there, watching him with unreadable eyes. "We need to get ready."
Those eyes were starting to make him feel uncomfortable. "Don't you want to come in?"
A sharp glance swept over the room, taking in the patient, the bed and everything else inside. "What purpose would it serve?" Maxwell asked, voice cool and even.
Nothing, he supposed. Not after what Une had done.
Wufei ground his teeth, feeling a headache coming on. He tried again. "Heero would have appreciated your visit," and you used to care for him.
"Heero is in a coma. He has no awareness of anything going on around him. We should leave." Maxwell turned around to go, not sparing one backward glance for the boy who lay on the bed. "We have a mission."
A wave of despair washed over Wufei as he watched Maxwell's retreating back. The boy he had known was gone. Everything that made Duo Maxwell unique and special had been removed, leaving behind only an empty shell.
Was this what Une wanted? Was this going to happen to every one of them? Wufei clenched his hands so hard his fingernails bit into his palm. He'd die before he let it happen to him.
Casting one last glance at Heero, Wufei walked out the room.
A young Chinese boy stared defiantly out from the screen, black eyes flashing with fire.
Dorothy smiled in satisfaction, finger tracing the outline of that oval face. It had been a good chase; it had taken much time and all her connections to track down the pretty little boy. But now that she had his life laid open at her fingertips, it was proving to be an interesting read.
Change Wufei was born in Northern China, into the head family of the Dragon Clan. A child prodigy, he showed a promising talent in painting. At age twelve, the village where he lived became the unfortunate causality in a border war. His whole Clan was wiped out, but somehow Wufei had survived. At age thirteen, he was charged with four counts of murder and sentenced to die.
The police report stated that Wufei had killed three men with his sword, and another with his bare hands, presumably because the sword was stuck between one of his victim's ribs.
The pictures taken at the crime scene were chilling. The bodies were strewn all over the alley where the crime occurred, limbs sticking out at strange angles, a severed head rolled near a trash can, empty eyes staring out to heaven. Blood splattered everywhere.
Dorothy's pulse quickened as she examined the photographs, the heat of arousal burning in her belly. Her hand slipped down between her legs, rubbing hard; she was hot all over.
Her eyes moved to Wufei's arrest photo. The boy's clothes were in tatters, evidence of a hard fight. He was also covered in blood. There was a long slash across his cheek, and his face was grim. The thirteen-year-old eyes that stared out from the photograph were old and hard.
Dorothy shivered, but not from fear. "Blood thirsty little thing," she sighed, feeling a keen sense of lose at the missed opportunity. "It's such a pity we didn't get to know each other better."
There was a knock on the door and Dorothy frowned in annoyance. She withdrew her hand and closed the files, then gave permission to enter.
A figure slipped soundlessly into the room.
"Oh, it's you," Dorothy smirked. "Tell me, how was his Excellency today?"
The night was too quiet. Treize could hear the sound of his own breathing. He lay still on his back, in a bed that seemed too large and cold, arms aching for someone to hold. The pillow still smelled faintly of the scent of his lover, bring up all too clearly the memories of the feel of that warm, supple body, the long silky hair that brushed over his skin when they tangled together; the smooth expanse of that luscious skin as he ran his hands over the bronzed back…
Treize groaned and squirmed in the bed, turning his head, and saw Wufei's bracelet sitting on his nightstand. Reaching out, Treize took it down, smoothing it over his own wrist, the rubber cord stretched and the pearls separated from each other. His fingers caressed the smooth surface of the beads, the soft pads of his fingertips catching the fractures that resulted from the crash with a wall.
It must have meant something that the boy left it to him. Treize had to believe that, putting his faith into that circle of fragile pearls.
He had to believe that whatever it was between them had been real, because if it wasn't, then Treize had never met a young painter with dark midnight eyes who glowed golden under the sun; never fallen in love with that beautiful boy who had promised him forever; never been kissed within a inch of his life by that sweet, delicious little mouth; never seen and heard and felt his lover tremble and quiver and moan and gasp and scream under his body...
Warmth spread in his groin and his body was flushed with arousal; there were too many memories in this bed, making him lie rigid, cock hard, and craving his lover so badly he could taste it in his mouth. Treize took himself in hand and brought himself to a quick, empty climax.
He had to see Wufei again, not only to ask the boy if everything had been a lie, not only to see if he had indeed been a fool to hope, as he did even now. Deep in his heart, he knew that this thing between them wasn't finished.
Treize had always believed in destiny, and the first time he looked into Wufei's eyes, he knew their fates had been irretrievably linked. Those dark eyes had seared into his soul, and it jolted something deep inside him, a long forgotten memory. In that moment of recognition, he knew they were fated for each other.
They would see each other again. He was sure of it.
But it was hard to hold onto his faith, when the past betrayal was still so fresh a wound, when all inquires into Wufei's whereabouts turned out blank. There was no birth certificate, no social security number, no school records, no medical records, in short, nothing to prove that Wufei ever existed except for the reminders he left behind.
Something pricked at the edge of Treize's consciousness, a fleeting memory of Wufei's dark eyes, old wisdom in such a young face. Treize stopped breathing, afraid that anything would chase away the thread of recollection, but the idea took hold and solidified. With a curse, Treize shot up from the bed and ran to his wardrobe.
There was an old trunk inside his huge walk-in wardrobe where he kept his treasured possessions, keepsakes and mementos from his past. Opening the lid, he fumbled through the objects inside, flinging out bits and pieces as he searched. Finally, at the bottom of the trunk, he found what he was looking for, a small rectangular watercolour, lying forgotten under a piece of cloth.
It was the picture of a boy; a young Chinese boy, no more than thirteen years of age, with slanted dark eyes and a small, ironic smile too old for his face. And there, in the corner of the painting, signed in Chinese, was the name of the artist - Wufei.
"Dragon," Treize whispered. A single tear leaked from the corner of his eye, landing on the painting. "My dragon…"
The mission was classified as PL2, which meant that Wufei and Duo had only been given the broad outline of the mission beforehand, and handed the details, such as target name, blueprints of the building and plan of execution, just one hour before the mission began. It made information leak much more difficult.
Wufei was not surprise to see who the target was. He had been expecting it.
So far everything was progressing according to plan. They had no trouble getting into the appointed place. The estate was large and security was tight, as befit the high position of the target, but Wufei and Duo were well prepared. They slipped into the target's bedroom under the cover of darkness…
Treize turned, hearing movement behind him. Still lost in memory, he was completely unable to suppress the hope in his voice. "Dragon?"
A human shadow detached itself from the wall and Treize didn't even see the gun in the other man's hand before the bullet hit him.
He looked down in astonishment. There was a hole in his chest and blood was pouring from it rapidly. He stumbled, no longer in control of his legs, the ground coming up to meet him as his crashed to the floor.
Quiet steps sounded, then a pair of dark boots stopped in front his face. With the last of his strength, Treize looked up and saw a familiar face…
Then all he knew was blackness.
