Sandstorm - Chapter Five
Nov. 9th, 2004 10:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
misanagiI'm taking a moment from the stupid evil evssay from hell I have to write for tomorrow to post this. (Didn't I say I would, _blackster_?) Will post on the MLs some time tomorrow.
Summary: Years after the war, the world is still wondering about the identities of the mysterious Gundam pilots. Now they have an answer. ( No pairings yet. Angst, violence. R )
Previous parts here
Thanks toharaamis and darthanne for the beta.
Chapter Five
They had been able to enter the house undetected. Heero didn’t question how Duo had managed to contact the Maguanacs, but whatever he had done was worth it because they had created a distraction, allowing the two of them and Trowa to sneak in through the roof. There wasn't much security inside the house, so they were able to get to Quatre's study without a problem. They had been told that that was the room in which Quatre had spent the last few days, plus they knew it was where he used to handle all important affairs. It was the best place to start.
The state of the room wasn't what Heero expected. He knew that Quatre had been less than well, and that he had been drinking, but that hadn't prepared him to see the proof staring him in the face. The study smelled of alcohol. Quatre had probably spilled some of the liquor on the carpet, making the scent linger. Heero could see at least five empty bottles of wine and brandy in different places, and in addition to that, the room was a mess. There were papers and folders strewn all over the desk and the floor, making the place look as it had been hit by a hurricane. If this chaos had been caused by external forces, it wouldn't have been so unnerving. However, knowing that it was a reflection of Quatre's state of mind was unsettling.
Remembering the testimony he had heard from Preventer Johansen, Heero tried to recreate what had happened here just a few hours before. According to that story, Quatre hadn't had the time to do much else than grab his weapons and head for the door. Yet, Quatre had always been a very meticulous person, so, no matter how disastrous the room looked, Heero knew that it was filled with clues, and some of them had probably been laid by Quatre himself.
"This can't be good." Duo sounded like he usually did, but there was worry hidden in his voice. He was standing near the door, looking at the room and shaking his head slightly.
Trowa walked to the large desk and sat on the leather chair behind it. He put his palms on top of the desk and looked around. "He didn't know he was going to be kidnapped," he stated after a moment.
Heero crossed his arms above his chest and leaned on the bookcase, waiting patiently for Trowa to elaborate.
"I don't care how desperate or depressed he was. If Quatre had had even the slightest suspicion that something was going to happen that required his intervention, he wouldn't have drunk so much." Trowa glared at the wine bottle near his right hand, as if it was responsible for Quatre's disappearance. "He thought he was done. These papers," he said waving some crumbled documents from the desk, "are money and property transfers." He let the papers fall on the table. "Quatre finished all his business before locking himself in this room and drinking himself into oblivion."
"If he had known that he had one last thing to do, he wouldn't have rendered himself incompetent," said Heero, following Trowa's line of thought.
"So he gave up." Duo sighed. "He was just waiting for Une to take him to jail. He never expected that last turn of events." He gave a sad chuckle. "Fate picks /this/ time to show Quatre he can't predict everything."
"Even the best tactician can be fooled by fate," replied Trowa.
Heero narrowed his eyes. Every mission had a number of variables that couldn't be predicted and also unexpected difficulties. The job of a good strategist wasn't only to find the most efficient way to complete the mission but also to reduce the number of loose variables to the minimum at all times, keeping casualties to the lowest. A tactician moved soldiers like pieces on a chess board, protecting those vital to him but also knowing that sometimes sacrifices were necessary. However, humans couldn't work as cold machines, and every decision or play would be questioned by the soldiers, even if they never voiced their doubts. Thus, a great strategist wasn't only one who knew the game, but one who also knew the players.
Quatre had been moving them without their knowledge, but it was safe to presume that he also knew that his closest friends were the biggest variable in the game. The question was whether he had been able to predict them.
"You're glaring at space, Heero. What's on your mind?"
He looked at Duo. "A few months ago Quatre contacted me. He said he needed to keep some documents secured, so he asked me to make him a vault that would be impossible to hack or destroy."
Duo looked confused. "That makes no sense. Quatre would have been perfectly able to do that himself. Why ask you?"
"He said he didn't have the time, and he required someone he could trust," answered Heero.
"I guess that makes sense. He was always very busy running WEI and working as a Colony representative." Duo sat on one of the chairs on front of the desk and turned it so he was facing Heero.
"I thought it was an acceptable explanation, so I built him the vault. A couple of days after it was delivered, Quatre resigned as Colony representative and started avoiding my calls."
"What are you trying to get at, Heero?" Trowa was looking at him, a slight fear hidden in his eyes by the urge to know more about Quatre’s situation.
Heero didn’t answer and silently looked around the room. After finding what he was searching for he glanced at Trowa. "Where would you hide a fifty cubical centimeter gundanium vault in this room?"
"Behind the bookca..." Trowa trailed off as he understood what Heero was trying to say.
Heero nodded once and without much effort, he pushed the bookcase away from the wall, making a simple small gundanium door visible. "The vault is not only made of gundanium, but it also has an internal defense mechanism. Any attempt to open it by force would result in the immediate destruction of the vault and any documents held inside. I designed the password protected program," Heero grinned, "and not even you would be able to get past it. This vault can only be opened by two people: Quatre, who knows the twelve digit musical encoded password, which needs to be changed weekly, and has the correct voice print..."
"And the person who built it," finished Duo.
Not bothering to confirm Duo's statement, Heero crouched on the floor and started typing in the commands to open the vault. Moments later a simple beep announced that access was granted, and Heero opened the door.
"What the fuck?" Duo crouched next to Heero to get a better look at the contents of the vault.
Every picture Quatre had taken with any of the ex-pilots was stashed in an orderly fashion inside the vault. Heero took one of the piles and noticed that Duo had pulled out the other, handing half of the photos to Trowa. Every picture had a date on the back, written in Quatre's elegant handwriting.
There was one Heero clearly remembered. Quatre and Relena had had to go to one of the L4 colonies for a meeting, and Heero had traveled with them. Heero and Quatre had spent most of their time together, since Relena seemed to be busier than Quatre was. They hadn't done anything special and had hardly left the hotel, but they had talked. In only a couple of days they had shared those conversations only good friends can have; from the meaning of life to their favorite vegetable. Relena had convinced them to let her take a picture, and that was the one Heero was holding.
Relena had a copy in her living room. Heero had never understood why she liked that picture so much. She had plenty of pictures of Heero and Quatre, but she always said that this one was special. Heero had thought that there was nothing different about it, but now he was able to see something: Quatre's eyes were sparkling. The mouth might be the same as was in all the magazine pictures taken of him, but his eyes said that it was a true smile. And even more amazing was Heero's expression. He was smiling, not at the camera, but somewhere beyond it; at the person holding it. Relena.
"There is a letter here, addressed to us."
Heero lifted his eyes from the picture to stare at Trowa who was holding a white envelope in his hands. There, in the same elegant handwriting, Heero could read four names. "Open it."
Trowa carefully opened the letter, making sure that the envelope wasn't torn. He unfolded the papers inside and spared a look at his friends before beginning to read.
/"There is no polite way to address this letter, and if I know you well, I'm sure you don't care about formalities; so forgive me if I'm rude and direct.
If you are reading this I have been arrested and, as I suspected, you have come to my home hoping to find out more about what happened, and maybe even some answers.
I have to admit that there is much I ignore. A trustable source warned me about certain members of the press getting very close to discovering my role in the wars, and their plans to go public with it. I met with these people and was pleased to find out that they only knew about one of us: me. After trying various times to intercept the news, I finally realized that there was no stopping the bomb, so I decided to buy time instead, enough time to keep as many people as I could from being affected by it.
When I first decided to pilot Sandrock, I knew that there would be many sacrifices to be made, and I was ready to make them all. We all had a greater objective in mind, and that was peace. If we have learned one thing from the Marimeia incident, it is that peace is a fragile thing, especially in a world that is only just learning how to live with it. You fought beside me, you made sacrifices of your own, because you knew that it would be worth it. I'm afraid there is one last sacrifice we have to make, and that is for me to stay imprisoned.
We didn't fight for so long to see things crumble at our feet after the battle has been won. Remember that if you do something rash now, it would all have been for nothing.
I know it's selfish, and I might have no right, but I need to ask a favor from you: Don't turn yourselves in. Yes, I can read you that well. There is really no need for all of us to go to jail, and there might come a day when one of you will be needed on the outside. I have to ask you to stay away. It is impossible to tell when someone will put two and two together, and I don't want you to get involved in my problems. I'll be happy if I know that you will be living your lives, not worrying about me. I know what you are thinking, but the guilt you are feeling is unfounded, and it will go away with time. I know I hurt you with my coldness and avoidance these last few months, and I hope that you can forgive me, but believe that I had the best intentions at heart.
Heero, I didn't lie to you. My most precious possessions lie in this vault.
Please, take care.
Your friend,
- Quatre"/
Trowa closed the letter, and Heero could tell that he was trying hard not to crush it in his hand. Duo was quiet, his lips pressed into a thin line. Heero took one last look at the picture and glared at Quatre's image; "You really are a true tactician."
* * *
Quatre resisted the urge to groan. He wasn't sure what, but there was something that told him that he needed to stay quiet and pretend to be asleep, at least for the time being. He wasn't one to doubt a sense that had gotten him through the war.
His head spun and in the course of a second, his memories of the last week crashed down on him: The news cast, the alcohol, Lady Une's face, the shooting, the trunk, the strong smell of cigarettes, the whispered thanks from that Preventer he had saved, the last dinner he'd had with Sulamita, and the taste of the first sip of Casillero del Diablo, as he waited for the inevitable.
He bit the inside of his mouth and forced his thoughts to calm. There would be time to let his mind wander wildly later, but now he needed to concentrate. He noticed that he was in a sitting position, but he didn't try to move. Quatre had managed to keep his breathing stable, even when the dizziness overtook him, which made him marvel at his own self control. Ignoring the sound of his own breathing, Quatre concentrated on the noises of the room. It was quiet; too quiet for his taste. He decided to hold that thought for a moment; the important thing was that he now knew that he was alone.
Confident that no one would see him, Quatre opened his eyes and braced himself for the inevitable sting that would follow when he was faced with the light, but nothing happened. He blinked a couple of times, and his eyelashes brushed the fabric over his eyes. He had been blindfolded.
Moving his hands carefully, he was able to hear the clicking of the handcuffs against the metal of the chair. His hands were cuffed between the bars on the back of the chair. His back had been resting on his arms, and as soon as he moved, he could feel his limbs awakening painfully.
His feet had been bound, each one to a foot of the chair. Quatre tried to stand or move the chair but it wouldn't budge. It was probably nailed to the ground. He stopped moving and tried to find a comfortable position. Leaving wasn't much of an option at the moment. He was barely keeping himself from vomiting, and with every motion he felt his brain crashing against the walls of his skull.
Of course, he couldn't complain, not even to himself, since it all had been his fault. One thing kept repeating itself in his head over and over; 'stupid, Quatre Winner, you are stupid.' Quatre thought about the events of the last few days, not believing the sea of self pity in which he had allowed himself to drown. Had he been so blind that he hadn't even been able to think rationally? No, rationality had nothing to do with what he had done. He had finished his work and with that, he had let his sanity take a short leave, and a depressive part of himself – that he didn't even know existed – had taken over. The alcohol should have been enough warning. Quatre had always tried to stay away from it, not only because it fogged the mind, but also because he had no taste for it. Where had that rational part of himself been when he had ingested bottle after bottle?
And that wasn't the worst of it. Quatre had made the most fatal mistake a soldier could make: he had let his guard down. Wasn't he being detained for being a Gundam Pilot? A high skilled soldier? He should have known better; he should have remembered that even when the battle seemed lost, and one had already surrendered, there was always the chance of the unexpected, and a soldier needed to be prepared. Quatre laughed bitterly at himself; 'Stupid'.
His throat was on fire and his mouth was dry. He tried not to think about the thirst. After having had to endure long and hard journeys in the desert, he knew that the key to deal with thirst, at least for a little while, was to keep his mind distracted.
Forcing himself to focus on important things, Quatre tapped his foot on the ground. He had been wearing black moccasins when he entered his studio that night to hear the newscast. The sole was made of wood, and it would make a distinctive sound when he walked on the marble floor of Winner Enterprises' offices. Quatre tapped again. The sound was muffled, but the surface he hit was even. Concrete, he concluded. That could explain the unusual silence.
Since he had first arrived on Earth, Quatre had learnt that nothing was ever quiet. Nature was full of sounds, and if one knew how to listen, those sounds could tell everything one needed to know. Silence could tell him things too. He was probably in a basement, locked up below ground level, where the sounds of the exterior would be muffled by the rich soil. The concrete floor might indicate that the room had concrete walls as well, and that they were serving as another sound barrier.
Unfortunately, the kidnappers had forced Quatre into the trunk of one of their cars and had sedated him immediately. He hadn't been able to hear the sounds before he had woken up in that silent room, and that isolated him from the world more than the blindfold ever could.
He let out a frustrated sigh. It was really ridiculous how easily he had been taken down. If he hadn't been suffering from an alcoholic overdose, he would have been able to hear the kidnappers entering his house, no matter how silent they thought they were. But no, he had been too busy sleeping in his drunken state to notice that anything was wrong until that Preventer had come into the room. His name was Mark, if Quatre remembered correctly, and he was a good man. Not many would have thought of coming to warn him. What Mark had done not only showed courage but also kindness and intelligence. That was a lot more than Quatre could say about the way he himself had acted. It was frustrating to think about it; he felt like someone had just thrown a bucket of cold water over his head.
However, this wasn't the time to beat himself up over his past mistakes; he was sure that he was going to find the time to do that later. Now, he needed to concentrate on not making any more, and hopefully finding a way to escape. He was at too much of a disadvantage at the moment, so he would just have to wait until he knew enough to make his move.
Waiting wasn't good. Quatre had an active mind, even when his head felt like it was splitting in two thanks to the hangover, so it was very difficult for him to relax. His thoughts were wandering to a place he didn't want them to go. He already felt bad enough, physically and emotionally.
But it was impossible not to. They were his friends, his comrades, the closest people to him... and he had hurt them. Quatre didn't want to admit it to himself, but that had been the main reason for his drinking. Thinking about them was too painful. The guilt was always there, and the liquor seemed to be a good way to evade it. He should have known that one could never escape his conscience for too long, since it was never truly left behind.
Guilt was never a good feeling, but Quatre preferred living with the guilt of having hurt his friends rather than knowing that his neglect could cause them to end up in jail. There was no point in all of them being locked up. Quatre was perfectly able to face the consequences of his acts alone and take responsibility for the rest if necessary.
It was true that they hadn't become a team until the final stages of the war, and that until then, they had only had a shaky feeling of camaraderie, not friendship. They had fought alone for very long and had done things their way. Quatre didn't care that what each pilot had done in that time technically wasn't his responsibility. For him, the fact that they all had put their lives in his hands at the end was enough to make it his duty to take care of them, and it made him accountable for their future acts as well as their past.
Even with all that had happened, Quatre couldn't be more grateful that the press hadn't discovered the identity of any other pilot. After he had learnt that Sharon Parker, the most respectable reporter on Earth and the colonies, was getting really close to finding out about his role as a Gundam Pilot, he had done what he could to conceal as much information as possible. However, Sharon had managed to get some information Quatre hadn't been able to stop and he hadn't even been able figure out where it had come from. He had tried to use his influence to stop the news, but there was no bribe or threat that would make the reporter change her mind. In the end, he had settled for using every means he could to delay the news as much as possible and had managed to do it successfully for a few months. Quatre had used that time to make sure that everyone he cared about wouldn't be affected by Sharon's newscast. He had worked sixteen hours a day, transferring all his assets and WEI into the capable hands of two of his sisters: Sulamita and Fatima.
Whatever time wasn't used for dealing with WEI affairs, Quatre would spend making sure that all the remaining information about the other Gundam Pilots was well concealed. After the news of his role in the war was released, many would try to find whatever information they could about the other four mysterious pilots, so Quatre made it a priority to make sure that their search would prove futile. Furthermore, he isolated himself from the pilots and any mutual friends they had. He couldn't afford anyone associating him with them; it was too risky. He thought about getting rid of all the physical evidence he had of his friendship with the other pilots, but in the end, he couldn't make himself burn something so precious to him. Instead, he hid it in a secure place. As much as he felt it was needed, he couldn't cut his ties with his friends, not without at least saying goodbye. That was why he had left the letter; they at least deserved an explanation.
The noise of a door opening brought Quatre back to the present. He raised his head and remained still, waiting patiently for whatever would happen.
Even from behind his blindfold, Quatre could perceive the light invading the room. He couldn't see anything, but the soft orange glow that filtered through the dark fabric was enough to let him know that he was no longer in the dark.
The door was shut immediately, and the intruder walked closer to Quatre. The steps were slow, and that made Quatre think that the intruder was looking at him, trying to analyze him. He thought about saying something to put the intruder off balance but decided that it was better to wait and let the other speak first.
"It's good to see that you are conscious," said the intruder. Quatre recognized the voice immediately. It was the man who had threatened to kill every Preventer in his home if Quatre didn't surrender; the one who had captured him. "We were starting to get worried. We weren't sure if the sedative we gave you would have a negative reaction to all the booze you had drunk."
Quatre remained silent. He knew those words were only meant to provoke him, and Quatre wouldn't give the man the satisfaction.
"Since you are better now," continued the man after waiting for a while, "I guess I can start the questioning. There is no use in wasting time."
So they were looking for information, not money. There were so many reasons why someone would want to kidnap him that Quatre wasn't really sure what their motives were. Now he did, and that gave him his first advantage over his enemy.
"We know that you were a Gundam Pilot during the wars-"
"The whole world knows that," interrupted Quatre, speaking for the first time. "In case you missed it, there was a newscast about it a few days ago."
The man snorted. "Well aren't you just a little cocky for being chained to a chair? If I were you I would stay silent until instructed to do otherwise."
Quatre thought for a moment that following the man's advice might be the sensible thing to do. His voice was raspy, and his throat was burning. Every word he spoke made his throat hurt even more. That was it, he would never drink again. "Thanks for your advice," replied Quatre, stubbornly. "It's very much appreciated."
A fist clashed with Quatre's jaw, sending his head back. He let out a hiss and gritted his teeth against the pain. "Now listen, kid. I might have some respect for you, but I won't hesitate to use force to get the information I need. What I'm doing is too important."
Quatre cleared his throat painfully and wet his dry lips. "What's this very important thing that you are doing that justifies killing so many Preventer officers?"
"I would have thought that a Gundam Pilot would know that some lives are expendable when fighting for a greater cause."
The man's words hit him harder than the fist had done. The fact that he had killed during the war didn't mean that every life he had taken didn't weigh on his conscience. He had covered his hands with blood, hoping to create a world where no one would ever have to do that again. The peace that had followed the wars wasn't perfect, but at least it was a start. However, peace wasn't a time period, it was a state of mind, and many people still lived in war. This man was proof of it.
"We are fighting for a just cause," continued the man, "and we need your help."
"That's what they always say," replied Quatre. The arrogant tone was no longer in his voice, and those last words were delivered with extreme sadness. "That's what they always think."
"We are not playing!" the man sounded angry. "We are not a silly rebel group. We are fighting for freedom!"
"I know you are," replied Quatre. "At least that's what you believe." Quatre didn't want to argue with the man. He didn't doubt that the man was convinced that everything he did was for the greater good, and faith like that couldn't be shattered by a few words. However, Quatre also had his beliefs, and he wouldn't betray them, no matter what.
"We need you to give us all the information necessary to re-build the Gundam known as Zero."
"No." The word left Quatre’s lips before he could even think about the request. It was an automated response, but it had been the right one. There was no way he was telling the man anything that would help him bring another era of war, and rebuilding Zero would definitely do that.
Quatre felt a hand grasp his chin, forcing his head back. "Don't be stupid, kid. I will get this information no matter how hard you try to resist."
A smile found its way to Quatre's lips. He closed his eyes, not caring that it didn't really make a difference. "Let's begin then, and you will find out just how stubborn I can be."
* * *
TBC
_____
I still owe some mails and LJ replies to some of you, I'll catch up soon, I promise.
_blackster_?) Will post on the MLs some time tomorrow. Summary: Years after the war, the world is still wondering about the identities of the mysterious Gundam pilots. Now they have an answer. ( No pairings yet. Angst, violence. R )
Previous parts here
Thanks to
haraamis and darthanne for the beta.Chapter Five
They had been able to enter the house undetected. Heero didn’t question how Duo had managed to contact the Maguanacs, but whatever he had done was worth it because they had created a distraction, allowing the two of them and Trowa to sneak in through the roof. There wasn't much security inside the house, so they were able to get to Quatre's study without a problem. They had been told that that was the room in which Quatre had spent the last few days, plus they knew it was where he used to handle all important affairs. It was the best place to start.
The state of the room wasn't what Heero expected. He knew that Quatre had been less than well, and that he had been drinking, but that hadn't prepared him to see the proof staring him in the face. The study smelled of alcohol. Quatre had probably spilled some of the liquor on the carpet, making the scent linger. Heero could see at least five empty bottles of wine and brandy in different places, and in addition to that, the room was a mess. There were papers and folders strewn all over the desk and the floor, making the place look as it had been hit by a hurricane. If this chaos had been caused by external forces, it wouldn't have been so unnerving. However, knowing that it was a reflection of Quatre's state of mind was unsettling.
Remembering the testimony he had heard from Preventer Johansen, Heero tried to recreate what had happened here just a few hours before. According to that story, Quatre hadn't had the time to do much else than grab his weapons and head for the door. Yet, Quatre had always been a very meticulous person, so, no matter how disastrous the room looked, Heero knew that it was filled with clues, and some of them had probably been laid by Quatre himself.
"This can't be good." Duo sounded like he usually did, but there was worry hidden in his voice. He was standing near the door, looking at the room and shaking his head slightly.
Trowa walked to the large desk and sat on the leather chair behind it. He put his palms on top of the desk and looked around. "He didn't know he was going to be kidnapped," he stated after a moment.
Heero crossed his arms above his chest and leaned on the bookcase, waiting patiently for Trowa to elaborate.
"I don't care how desperate or depressed he was. If Quatre had had even the slightest suspicion that something was going to happen that required his intervention, he wouldn't have drunk so much." Trowa glared at the wine bottle near his right hand, as if it was responsible for Quatre's disappearance. "He thought he was done. These papers," he said waving some crumbled documents from the desk, "are money and property transfers." He let the papers fall on the table. "Quatre finished all his business before locking himself in this room and drinking himself into oblivion."
"If he had known that he had one last thing to do, he wouldn't have rendered himself incompetent," said Heero, following Trowa's line of thought.
"So he gave up." Duo sighed. "He was just waiting for Une to take him to jail. He never expected that last turn of events." He gave a sad chuckle. "Fate picks /this/ time to show Quatre he can't predict everything."
"Even the best tactician can be fooled by fate," replied Trowa.
Heero narrowed his eyes. Every mission had a number of variables that couldn't be predicted and also unexpected difficulties. The job of a good strategist wasn't only to find the most efficient way to complete the mission but also to reduce the number of loose variables to the minimum at all times, keeping casualties to the lowest. A tactician moved soldiers like pieces on a chess board, protecting those vital to him but also knowing that sometimes sacrifices were necessary. However, humans couldn't work as cold machines, and every decision or play would be questioned by the soldiers, even if they never voiced their doubts. Thus, a great strategist wasn't only one who knew the game, but one who also knew the players.
Quatre had been moving them without their knowledge, but it was safe to presume that he also knew that his closest friends were the biggest variable in the game. The question was whether he had been able to predict them.
"You're glaring at space, Heero. What's on your mind?"
He looked at Duo. "A few months ago Quatre contacted me. He said he needed to keep some documents secured, so he asked me to make him a vault that would be impossible to hack or destroy."
Duo looked confused. "That makes no sense. Quatre would have been perfectly able to do that himself. Why ask you?"
"He said he didn't have the time, and he required someone he could trust," answered Heero.
"I guess that makes sense. He was always very busy running WEI and working as a Colony representative." Duo sat on one of the chairs on front of the desk and turned it so he was facing Heero.
"I thought it was an acceptable explanation, so I built him the vault. A couple of days after it was delivered, Quatre resigned as Colony representative and started avoiding my calls."
"What are you trying to get at, Heero?" Trowa was looking at him, a slight fear hidden in his eyes by the urge to know more about Quatre’s situation.
Heero didn’t answer and silently looked around the room. After finding what he was searching for he glanced at Trowa. "Where would you hide a fifty cubical centimeter gundanium vault in this room?"
"Behind the bookca..." Trowa trailed off as he understood what Heero was trying to say.
Heero nodded once and without much effort, he pushed the bookcase away from the wall, making a simple small gundanium door visible. "The vault is not only made of gundanium, but it also has an internal defense mechanism. Any attempt to open it by force would result in the immediate destruction of the vault and any documents held inside. I designed the password protected program," Heero grinned, "and not even you would be able to get past it. This vault can only be opened by two people: Quatre, who knows the twelve digit musical encoded password, which needs to be changed weekly, and has the correct voice print..."
"And the person who built it," finished Duo.
Not bothering to confirm Duo's statement, Heero crouched on the floor and started typing in the commands to open the vault. Moments later a simple beep announced that access was granted, and Heero opened the door.
"What the fuck?" Duo crouched next to Heero to get a better look at the contents of the vault.
Every picture Quatre had taken with any of the ex-pilots was stashed in an orderly fashion inside the vault. Heero took one of the piles and noticed that Duo had pulled out the other, handing half of the photos to Trowa. Every picture had a date on the back, written in Quatre's elegant handwriting.
There was one Heero clearly remembered. Quatre and Relena had had to go to one of the L4 colonies for a meeting, and Heero had traveled with them. Heero and Quatre had spent most of their time together, since Relena seemed to be busier than Quatre was. They hadn't done anything special and had hardly left the hotel, but they had talked. In only a couple of days they had shared those conversations only good friends can have; from the meaning of life to their favorite vegetable. Relena had convinced them to let her take a picture, and that was the one Heero was holding.
Relena had a copy in her living room. Heero had never understood why she liked that picture so much. She had plenty of pictures of Heero and Quatre, but she always said that this one was special. Heero had thought that there was nothing different about it, but now he was able to see something: Quatre's eyes were sparkling. The mouth might be the same as was in all the magazine pictures taken of him, but his eyes said that it was a true smile. And even more amazing was Heero's expression. He was smiling, not at the camera, but somewhere beyond it; at the person holding it. Relena.
"There is a letter here, addressed to us."
Heero lifted his eyes from the picture to stare at Trowa who was holding a white envelope in his hands. There, in the same elegant handwriting, Heero could read four names. "Open it."
Trowa carefully opened the letter, making sure that the envelope wasn't torn. He unfolded the papers inside and spared a look at his friends before beginning to read.
/"There is no polite way to address this letter, and if I know you well, I'm sure you don't care about formalities; so forgive me if I'm rude and direct.
If you are reading this I have been arrested and, as I suspected, you have come to my home hoping to find out more about what happened, and maybe even some answers.
I have to admit that there is much I ignore. A trustable source warned me about certain members of the press getting very close to discovering my role in the wars, and their plans to go public with it. I met with these people and was pleased to find out that they only knew about one of us: me. After trying various times to intercept the news, I finally realized that there was no stopping the bomb, so I decided to buy time instead, enough time to keep as many people as I could from being affected by it.
When I first decided to pilot Sandrock, I knew that there would be many sacrifices to be made, and I was ready to make them all. We all had a greater objective in mind, and that was peace. If we have learned one thing from the Marimeia incident, it is that peace is a fragile thing, especially in a world that is only just learning how to live with it. You fought beside me, you made sacrifices of your own, because you knew that it would be worth it. I'm afraid there is one last sacrifice we have to make, and that is for me to stay imprisoned.
We didn't fight for so long to see things crumble at our feet after the battle has been won. Remember that if you do something rash now, it would all have been for nothing.
I know it's selfish, and I might have no right, but I need to ask a favor from you: Don't turn yourselves in. Yes, I can read you that well. There is really no need for all of us to go to jail, and there might come a day when one of you will be needed on the outside. I have to ask you to stay away. It is impossible to tell when someone will put two and two together, and I don't want you to get involved in my problems. I'll be happy if I know that you will be living your lives, not worrying about me. I know what you are thinking, but the guilt you are feeling is unfounded, and it will go away with time. I know I hurt you with my coldness and avoidance these last few months, and I hope that you can forgive me, but believe that I had the best intentions at heart.
Heero, I didn't lie to you. My most precious possessions lie in this vault.
Please, take care.
Your friend,
- Quatre"/
Trowa closed the letter, and Heero could tell that he was trying hard not to crush it in his hand. Duo was quiet, his lips pressed into a thin line. Heero took one last look at the picture and glared at Quatre's image; "You really are a true tactician."
* * *
Quatre resisted the urge to groan. He wasn't sure what, but there was something that told him that he needed to stay quiet and pretend to be asleep, at least for the time being. He wasn't one to doubt a sense that had gotten him through the war.
His head spun and in the course of a second, his memories of the last week crashed down on him: The news cast, the alcohol, Lady Une's face, the shooting, the trunk, the strong smell of cigarettes, the whispered thanks from that Preventer he had saved, the last dinner he'd had with Sulamita, and the taste of the first sip of Casillero del Diablo, as he waited for the inevitable.
He bit the inside of his mouth and forced his thoughts to calm. There would be time to let his mind wander wildly later, but now he needed to concentrate. He noticed that he was in a sitting position, but he didn't try to move. Quatre had managed to keep his breathing stable, even when the dizziness overtook him, which made him marvel at his own self control. Ignoring the sound of his own breathing, Quatre concentrated on the noises of the room. It was quiet; too quiet for his taste. He decided to hold that thought for a moment; the important thing was that he now knew that he was alone.
Confident that no one would see him, Quatre opened his eyes and braced himself for the inevitable sting that would follow when he was faced with the light, but nothing happened. He blinked a couple of times, and his eyelashes brushed the fabric over his eyes. He had been blindfolded.
Moving his hands carefully, he was able to hear the clicking of the handcuffs against the metal of the chair. His hands were cuffed between the bars on the back of the chair. His back had been resting on his arms, and as soon as he moved, he could feel his limbs awakening painfully.
His feet had been bound, each one to a foot of the chair. Quatre tried to stand or move the chair but it wouldn't budge. It was probably nailed to the ground. He stopped moving and tried to find a comfortable position. Leaving wasn't much of an option at the moment. He was barely keeping himself from vomiting, and with every motion he felt his brain crashing against the walls of his skull.
Of course, he couldn't complain, not even to himself, since it all had been his fault. One thing kept repeating itself in his head over and over; 'stupid, Quatre Winner, you are stupid.' Quatre thought about the events of the last few days, not believing the sea of self pity in which he had allowed himself to drown. Had he been so blind that he hadn't even been able to think rationally? No, rationality had nothing to do with what he had done. He had finished his work and with that, he had let his sanity take a short leave, and a depressive part of himself – that he didn't even know existed – had taken over. The alcohol should have been enough warning. Quatre had always tried to stay away from it, not only because it fogged the mind, but also because he had no taste for it. Where had that rational part of himself been when he had ingested bottle after bottle?
And that wasn't the worst of it. Quatre had made the most fatal mistake a soldier could make: he had let his guard down. Wasn't he being detained for being a Gundam Pilot? A high skilled soldier? He should have known better; he should have remembered that even when the battle seemed lost, and one had already surrendered, there was always the chance of the unexpected, and a soldier needed to be prepared. Quatre laughed bitterly at himself; 'Stupid'.
His throat was on fire and his mouth was dry. He tried not to think about the thirst. After having had to endure long and hard journeys in the desert, he knew that the key to deal with thirst, at least for a little while, was to keep his mind distracted.
Forcing himself to focus on important things, Quatre tapped his foot on the ground. He had been wearing black moccasins when he entered his studio that night to hear the newscast. The sole was made of wood, and it would make a distinctive sound when he walked on the marble floor of Winner Enterprises' offices. Quatre tapped again. The sound was muffled, but the surface he hit was even. Concrete, he concluded. That could explain the unusual silence.
Since he had first arrived on Earth, Quatre had learnt that nothing was ever quiet. Nature was full of sounds, and if one knew how to listen, those sounds could tell everything one needed to know. Silence could tell him things too. He was probably in a basement, locked up below ground level, where the sounds of the exterior would be muffled by the rich soil. The concrete floor might indicate that the room had concrete walls as well, and that they were serving as another sound barrier.
Unfortunately, the kidnappers had forced Quatre into the trunk of one of their cars and had sedated him immediately. He hadn't been able to hear the sounds before he had woken up in that silent room, and that isolated him from the world more than the blindfold ever could.
He let out a frustrated sigh. It was really ridiculous how easily he had been taken down. If he hadn't been suffering from an alcoholic overdose, he would have been able to hear the kidnappers entering his house, no matter how silent they thought they were. But no, he had been too busy sleeping in his drunken state to notice that anything was wrong until that Preventer had come into the room. His name was Mark, if Quatre remembered correctly, and he was a good man. Not many would have thought of coming to warn him. What Mark had done not only showed courage but also kindness and intelligence. That was a lot more than Quatre could say about the way he himself had acted. It was frustrating to think about it; he felt like someone had just thrown a bucket of cold water over his head.
However, this wasn't the time to beat himself up over his past mistakes; he was sure that he was going to find the time to do that later. Now, he needed to concentrate on not making any more, and hopefully finding a way to escape. He was at too much of a disadvantage at the moment, so he would just have to wait until he knew enough to make his move.
Waiting wasn't good. Quatre had an active mind, even when his head felt like it was splitting in two thanks to the hangover, so it was very difficult for him to relax. His thoughts were wandering to a place he didn't want them to go. He already felt bad enough, physically and emotionally.
But it was impossible not to. They were his friends, his comrades, the closest people to him... and he had hurt them. Quatre didn't want to admit it to himself, but that had been the main reason for his drinking. Thinking about them was too painful. The guilt was always there, and the liquor seemed to be a good way to evade it. He should have known that one could never escape his conscience for too long, since it was never truly left behind.
Guilt was never a good feeling, but Quatre preferred living with the guilt of having hurt his friends rather than knowing that his neglect could cause them to end up in jail. There was no point in all of them being locked up. Quatre was perfectly able to face the consequences of his acts alone and take responsibility for the rest if necessary.
It was true that they hadn't become a team until the final stages of the war, and that until then, they had only had a shaky feeling of camaraderie, not friendship. They had fought alone for very long and had done things their way. Quatre didn't care that what each pilot had done in that time technically wasn't his responsibility. For him, the fact that they all had put their lives in his hands at the end was enough to make it his duty to take care of them, and it made him accountable for their future acts as well as their past.
Even with all that had happened, Quatre couldn't be more grateful that the press hadn't discovered the identity of any other pilot. After he had learnt that Sharon Parker, the most respectable reporter on Earth and the colonies, was getting really close to finding out about his role as a Gundam Pilot, he had done what he could to conceal as much information as possible. However, Sharon had managed to get some information Quatre hadn't been able to stop and he hadn't even been able figure out where it had come from. He had tried to use his influence to stop the news, but there was no bribe or threat that would make the reporter change her mind. In the end, he had settled for using every means he could to delay the news as much as possible and had managed to do it successfully for a few months. Quatre had used that time to make sure that everyone he cared about wouldn't be affected by Sharon's newscast. He had worked sixteen hours a day, transferring all his assets and WEI into the capable hands of two of his sisters: Sulamita and Fatima.
Whatever time wasn't used for dealing with WEI affairs, Quatre would spend making sure that all the remaining information about the other Gundam Pilots was well concealed. After the news of his role in the war was released, many would try to find whatever information they could about the other four mysterious pilots, so Quatre made it a priority to make sure that their search would prove futile. Furthermore, he isolated himself from the pilots and any mutual friends they had. He couldn't afford anyone associating him with them; it was too risky. He thought about getting rid of all the physical evidence he had of his friendship with the other pilots, but in the end, he couldn't make himself burn something so precious to him. Instead, he hid it in a secure place. As much as he felt it was needed, he couldn't cut his ties with his friends, not without at least saying goodbye. That was why he had left the letter; they at least deserved an explanation.
The noise of a door opening brought Quatre back to the present. He raised his head and remained still, waiting patiently for whatever would happen.
Even from behind his blindfold, Quatre could perceive the light invading the room. He couldn't see anything, but the soft orange glow that filtered through the dark fabric was enough to let him know that he was no longer in the dark.
The door was shut immediately, and the intruder walked closer to Quatre. The steps were slow, and that made Quatre think that the intruder was looking at him, trying to analyze him. He thought about saying something to put the intruder off balance but decided that it was better to wait and let the other speak first.
"It's good to see that you are conscious," said the intruder. Quatre recognized the voice immediately. It was the man who had threatened to kill every Preventer in his home if Quatre didn't surrender; the one who had captured him. "We were starting to get worried. We weren't sure if the sedative we gave you would have a negative reaction to all the booze you had drunk."
Quatre remained silent. He knew those words were only meant to provoke him, and Quatre wouldn't give the man the satisfaction.
"Since you are better now," continued the man after waiting for a while, "I guess I can start the questioning. There is no use in wasting time."
So they were looking for information, not money. There were so many reasons why someone would want to kidnap him that Quatre wasn't really sure what their motives were. Now he did, and that gave him his first advantage over his enemy.
"We know that you were a Gundam Pilot during the wars-"
"The whole world knows that," interrupted Quatre, speaking for the first time. "In case you missed it, there was a newscast about it a few days ago."
The man snorted. "Well aren't you just a little cocky for being chained to a chair? If I were you I would stay silent until instructed to do otherwise."
Quatre thought for a moment that following the man's advice might be the sensible thing to do. His voice was raspy, and his throat was burning. Every word he spoke made his throat hurt even more. That was it, he would never drink again. "Thanks for your advice," replied Quatre, stubbornly. "It's very much appreciated."
A fist clashed with Quatre's jaw, sending his head back. He let out a hiss and gritted his teeth against the pain. "Now listen, kid. I might have some respect for you, but I won't hesitate to use force to get the information I need. What I'm doing is too important."
Quatre cleared his throat painfully and wet his dry lips. "What's this very important thing that you are doing that justifies killing so many Preventer officers?"
"I would have thought that a Gundam Pilot would know that some lives are expendable when fighting for a greater cause."
The man's words hit him harder than the fist had done. The fact that he had killed during the war didn't mean that every life he had taken didn't weigh on his conscience. He had covered his hands with blood, hoping to create a world where no one would ever have to do that again. The peace that had followed the wars wasn't perfect, but at least it was a start. However, peace wasn't a time period, it was a state of mind, and many people still lived in war. This man was proof of it.
"We are fighting for a just cause," continued the man, "and we need your help."
"That's what they always say," replied Quatre. The arrogant tone was no longer in his voice, and those last words were delivered with extreme sadness. "That's what they always think."
"We are not playing!" the man sounded angry. "We are not a silly rebel group. We are fighting for freedom!"
"I know you are," replied Quatre. "At least that's what you believe." Quatre didn't want to argue with the man. He didn't doubt that the man was convinced that everything he did was for the greater good, and faith like that couldn't be shattered by a few words. However, Quatre also had his beliefs, and he wouldn't betray them, no matter what.
"We need you to give us all the information necessary to re-build the Gundam known as Zero."
"No." The word left Quatre’s lips before he could even think about the request. It was an automated response, but it had been the right one. There was no way he was telling the man anything that would help him bring another era of war, and rebuilding Zero would definitely do that.
Quatre felt a hand grasp his chin, forcing his head back. "Don't be stupid, kid. I will get this information no matter how hard you try to resist."
A smile found its way to Quatre's lips. He closed his eyes, not caring that it didn't really make a difference. "Let's begin then, and you will find out just how stubborn I can be."
* * *
TBC
_____
I still owe some mails and LJ replies to some of you, I'll catch up soon, I promise.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-11-10 05:37 pm (UTC)I am absolutely enjoying this.
The story is marvellous and definitely keeping me on tenterhooks.
The way Quatre took charge of the situation and traded his life for the safety of the others in chapter 3 - so very him! Loved the way it was told from the witness' pov.
The securing of the photoes were such a nice touch, and the "musical" code for the safe? Genius!
You illustrate all the different scenes very well - to name a few -the tension in the retelling of the kipnapping, the electricity in the political arena, the astute observation Quatre made while in captivity.
"Let's begin then, and you will find out just how stubborn I can be."
LOL! yeah! give them hell Q!
And Dorothy's entered the scene! YAY! I love your Dorothy.
Go, Missy!
no subject
Date: 2004-11-10 05:45 pm (UTC)Poor Q; out of the frying pan and into the fire, eh?
no subject
Date: 2004-11-10 10:28 pm (UTC)You wrote this chapter so well. Reading it was like watching an episode of 'Spys and Espionage'. *Chuckles* I know that is a poor analogy, but it is the best I can think of at the moment.
There are a few sentences and dialogue that jumped out at me and made me alternate between wanting to kill Quatre, cheer him on and simply adore him. When you can evoke such reactions from the reader, that is definitely the signs of a good story.
There's a lot I would like to comment on, especially the way you were able to effectively put us inside his head, finally giving a glimpse into his reasoning for doing all that he did. But this:
A smile found its way to Quatre's lips. He closed his eyes, not caring that it didn't really make a difference. "Let's begin then, and you will find out just how stubborn I can be."
....really did it for me, showing me that despite his previous error in simply 'giving up', Quatre still has plenty of fight left in him.
Love that line and all that it suggests of Quatre's character!
Thank you for sharing. I definitely look forward to the next chapter.
*Hugs*
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 01:48 am (UTC)The way Quatre took charge of the situation and traded his life for the safety of the others in chapter 3 - so very him! Loved the way it was told from the witness' pov.
Thanks. I wanted to have an outsider's POV because it helps to show the characters in a different light.
The securing of the photoes were such a nice touch, and the "musical" code for the safe? Genius!
Yay you noticed the musical code. I don't know why but I didn't think anyone would.
And Dorothy's entered the scene! YAY! I love your Dorothy.
Thanks! I like Dorothy a lot, she's fun to play with. There'll be more of her in later chapters.
Thanks a lot for the feedback. *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 01:52 am (UTC)I'll try to post more soon but I have a couple of things to write first.
*love the icon*
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 02:00 am (UTC)There are a few sentences and dialogue that jumped out at me and made me alternate between wanting to kill Quatre, cheer him on and simply adore him.
Yay! that's what I was going for, I'm glad it came through ok.
Thanks a lot for the feedback, you are so nice, and all you said makes me thing that I managed to write Quatre's scene the way I wanted.
*hugs* thanks a lot!
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 02:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 02:58 am (UTC)Thanks a lot for the feedback.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 05:42 pm (UTC)It was so unusual it got my attention immediately. Also it's something Quatre would do! Or at least Heero thot that Quatre would do.
Yay! more Dorothy! ^__^
And you're very welcome! Always a pleasure ^_^