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"Bone Gate"Written By:Nix
Winter and LunarGeography
Rating: R Warnings: Angst, spooky occult stuff, and boys
who are not what they seemed to be. Post EW Archive: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3244342/1/
, http://www.therck.org, Disclaimer: No infringement of the copyright of Gundam Wing is intended. This story is purely for entertainment purposes. Summary: After Endless Waltz, the pilots are separated by the fears of the new government. But all is not well with the G-boys. Old enemies may be pulling strings from somewhere unimaginably far behind the scenes, and old friends may not be what they seem. *xxx*: Thoughts [xxx]: Text on screen
Chapter 6 ~*Quatre*~ The shuttle was in the middle of docking, and Quatre was about to start screaming. He wasn't certain he'd be able to stop if he did, though. Too many painful things, and his head was throbbing... Beginning with watching Duo fall, hearing the talking heads speculate on why he did it and what it meant... Then the e-mail to Trowa, agonizing but necessary. Duo's death would hurt Trowa immensely, as the braided pilot was the only other person to nurture the fragile self that had been buried beneath the trauma and harsh necessities of Trowa's life. Quatre would do anything to ease Trowa's hurt, anything at all, and it was important to ensure Trowa knew that. [Trowa - I know that I took you for granted and left you alone too long. I don't deserve your forgiveness, and I won't presume to ask for it. But I do cherish you, though I doubt you can believe it, and if ever there is anything you desire that I can help you achieve, please ask. Anything. I would break every law of Allah and man to give you peace. I won't push you for anything more than you are willing to give me. I know you will need to look into Duo's death. Please let me help you. I won't impose my feelings on you. Just let me help. All of my love, After he'd hit send, he wished he that he had something in his stomach so he could properly be sick. Dry heaving was miserable. Next, he was surprised at boarding to see his executive assistant standing there with a duffel. Convincing the man he didn't have to join Quatre had been difficult. There really wasn't a polite or refined way to say that he would be depending on the local L2 staff to handle matters, because only a native had the expertise to navigate the complex system of bribes necessary to get anything at all done. In the end, he had to give up on tact and issue an outright order. He hadn't been able to convince Amihan and Aisha that they didn't need to join him, and orders were not an option. Aisha, he suspected, was honestly there to support him. She seemed sincere when she said that Family did not allow Family to face this kind of tragedy alone. Aisha was quick and clever, devastatingly sarcastic, and while she had been initially wary of him, she did seem to be warming. Amihan, though... Immediately post launch Amihan had insisted that both she and Aisha would wear the hajib, the traditional head wrapping, while on L2. Neither habitually wore it on L4 or while traveling on Earth, but Amihan had begun talking about "the kind of people" that lived on L2 and had gotten progressively more insulting. She never crossed the line of speaking ill of the dead, but the implications about Duo, as an L2 native... Aisha had given him a thoughtful look when she'd caught him grinding his teeth, and changed the topic. Finally, they disembarked, and Quatre insisted on going through the proper customs and immigration lines. It was clear that he could bribe his way out of all of it, and in other places, he might have taken advantage of the streamlining the Winner name could invoke. But here, he felt it was a good thing to set an example and play by the rules. Even if it meant his head would literally explode, splattering all over the cheap linoleum. So he was sweating and rumpled, carrying most of his sisters' bags, and at the end of his rope when he walked through the sliding doors into the shuttle port lobby – and into a miracle. Trowa. It was Trowa. Here, on L2, and waiting for him. Had he received Quatre's e-mail and forgiven him? Or had he simply known Quatre would come here, and not seen any need for talking or making plans? His body dropped the bags and was running forward without any input at all from his head. Trowa was here. Trowa had gotten even taller in the last year! He leaped leapt for his lover, throwing himself forward and up. A sudden, heart-seizing moment of fear – Was Trowa willing to be touched, here and now? He could be skittish in crowds. And he might be unwilling to embrace Quatre immediately after so long a parting. But Quatre's heart had outpaced his head, and he'd made his leap, and the forward momentum could not be stopped. And Trowa caught him, as Trowa always had. Quatre's doubts led to a moment of hesitation before he wrapped arms and legs around the man who was the axis of his soul. He reached for the kiss, desperate, eyes closed to block out anything in the world that might not be Trowa. There was only Trowa's body, taller, more muscled than before, Trowa's taste, Trowa's arm under his ass, supporting him. Quatre wished more than anything that he could impale himself on Trowa here and now, so every possible inch of skin would be touching, inside and out.
"What the hell do you have to be depressive about?
What's so bad that you can't talk to your friends?" Rachel asked,
leaning against the door to Duo's room. She was an older mechanic,
short white hair that stood right up on end. She'd helped build the
first Deathscythe and been a friend for a long time. "Why do
you think you need pills, Duo-boy?"
Trowa's moments all blended together in gray and shades
of black. A bright spot had been selecting a cup of tea for Quatre,
knowing that Quatre would be coming off the shuttle and he'd see him.
Oolong. Quatre had always liked oolong. Quatre. Trowa found himself smiling. Life had its value, it
did, but such flat champagne it was without Quatre. Quatre's head was turned away, as he spoke to the women walking behind him. When he turned to face Trowa, his face transformed. Flushed cheeks replaced the pallor, and the worry lines between his brows disappeared. The bags fell flat to the ground, and he launched himself forward at Trowa with open arms. Trowa caught Quatre, careful not to spill the tea. There was a moment of hesitation, and then Quatre was clinging to him in a full-body embrace. Quatre still loved him! He'd been so afraid that Quatre might not want him when he finally saw him. "My love!" Trowa whispered, holding the shorter man close, lifting him off the ground as he spun slowly around. "My love, I have longed for you as the morning twilight longs for the dawn," Trowa whispered the words in Quatre's ear. Trowa turned to seek Quatre's lips, to offer him a kiss... time seemed so fleeting, so fragile and Duo's desperate stunt made it seem like there was so little time. He didn't care who watched, who didn't approve, he had this moment with his Quatre, and he might never have another. "Quatre! What are you doing! This is revolting, to forget yourself in a public place. You are embarrassing the family, and darkening Father's name!" In counterpoint to the hissed fury of one of the women behind Quatre, the brilliant flashes announced the presence of paparazzi. Trowa did not release his hold on Quatre by so much
as the width of a hair. "Be silent! You who wear a hijab, who
follow the path of the Prophet. Know your place. Quatre could not
darken his father's name or honor by so much as you and your mouth
and hateful thoughts might. He is master here. Not you. Be silent
about things which you do not understand!" "Quatre, want to go for a motorcycle ride?" Quatre hadn't pulled away at his sister's voice or the flashbulbs. When Trowa lifted his head to answer, he buried his face in Trowa's neck a moment and took a deep breath. "Things which I do not understand?" The woman's voice rose to a shriek. "Who are you to say such things! You have no authority--" Quatre lifted his head. "He is my beloved, Amihan. You don't have to like it, but that doesn't change the facts." The other woman spoke up. "Then he is your guest, brother?" Quatre nodded. "Yes. Trowa is my guest and my beloved. Trowa, meet two of my sisters, Aisha and Amihan. They came to... support me." The second woman inclined her head slightly to him when Quatre introduced her as Aisha. "Then we owe him hospitality, as the guest of our family, Amihan. No matter what we might think of him. And this is not a place to air family disagreements!" Aisha gave Trowa an assessing glance. "Nor is it a place to air... reunions. Can you respect my family's wish not to make a spectacle, Honored Guest?" Still holding Quatre, Trowa bowed deeply and with great flourish to Amihan and then, more politely, inclined his head to Aisha in return. "Most splendid lady, I am deeply honored to be a guest of your family and will always strive to bring honor to the Winner name. Love is the most honorable of all the emotions and Quatre is a lucky man to have such caring and courageous sisters to accompany him in his time of grief. Let us get off the streets and to some place more restful?" The cameras loved the sweeping bow, applauding with
a torrent of clicks and flashes. He really wanted to tell Quatre's sisters it was better for the press to talk about love than uglier things like abandonment or betrayal. But if they didn't agree with him that he and Quatre's love was a worthy, beautiful thing, he knew he would never forgive them. Quatre spoke softly to Trowa. "This feeding frenzy
is odd. While I may be a high-profile individual on L4, WEI doesn't
have that much presence here. Even at home, I haven't been a target
of the paparazzi like this since the furor about the Winner heir piloting
a Gundam died down." He sighed, and Trowa could feel a strange
tremor in the limbs wrapped around his torso a moment before he unwrapped
himself and stood on his own. "At least they're staying back
and not shouting out questions. I know those laws don't get enforced
terribly well here." Quatre turned, and looked extremely relieved to see a figure in the capped uniform of a limousine driver sporting a WEI logo on the sleeve pushing his way through the crowd. The chauffeur was accompanied by two dark-suited large men that looked like bodyguards. Quatre gestured for them to come closer. Trowa held tight to Quatre. He wouldn't let go for a
small army of Preventers. Only Quatre's command or some threat to
Quatre's life might get him to let go. He wasn't sure he'd ever let
go again. For all Quatre's poise, his lover looked terrible, exhausted
and ill. Quatre needed to buy time to gather his composure. Trowa
could help with that. With a flourish, he presented the tea -- which
he had managed not to spill – to his lover. The answering smile
brought color back to the shuttleport, and Quatre gratefully sipped
at it for a few moments. "Excuse me." Quatre addressed the
paparazzi, in his usual firm but polite tones. "If I can have
your attention for a moment? I'll have a statement for you later,
but please -- it's been a long and difficult day. It's been a long
time since I've been able to see the man I love. Please give us a
little space. And please, don't badger my sisters. They aren't responsible
for what I do." "Ladies, forgive me, please. My heart has too long been in the shadow, waiting for this moment and it is as if I am just now able to breath. Let us find that more restful place. Quatre, I have a motorcycle. Ride with me?" Still nestled against his side, he could feel Quatre tense, and give a long look at his sisters. Then he felt Quatre twitch, and the arms around Trowa's shoulders shifted enough that Quatre could begin a quick massage of the knotted tendons. Quatre hissed in dismay at the tension beneath his fingers, and muttered under his breath. "No. Surely they can manage with a chauffeur and two bodyguards, even on L2. They're grown women, and I didn't ask them to come." Then, louder: "Aisha, Amihan, I'll see you later." Aisha maintained her grip on Amihan's arm, long nails poised above the nerve cluster. She nodded as Quatre made his announcement, and then spoke to Trowa. "Mister Barton, I am entrusting you with my brother. Do not disappoint the Winner family. I'm sure we'll all have a lot to talk about once we've all reached the suites. Right, Amihan, Mister Barton?" "I will protect Mr. Winner with my life,"
Trowa said, giving a small polite bow. "When you are ready to
talk, I shall be at your service, Lady." ~*Heero*~ Agent Parks made an attempt to talk to him on the drive to the morgue. "Agent Maxwell... you were close to him?" He just stared at her. She didn't say anything else to him during the ride. Tinnitus drowned out whatever she said to the morgue attendant, and he followed them down the hall. The attendant gestured to a drawer, and then the two of them stepped back out of the room. Maybe they would wait in the hallway, though from the nervous sidelong glances, it was possible they were simply going to flee. Heero stood in front of the wall of drawers, his posture sufficiently rigid to please even J, fists clenched. There was screaming inside his head, screaming from some part of him that he'd kept successfully bound and gagged for years... probably ever since he'd been shot on a dock by a boy with the most remarkable braid. He didn't know if he could do this. There was a pulse of heat through his blood, and another, and another. The scent of antiseptic cleaners stabbed at his nose, but couldn't hide the iron tang of blood or the worse scents of feces and flesh just beginning to rot. He could hear the heavy, fear-laden breathing from out in the hallway. He yanked open the drawer, felt the handle warping beneath the force of his grip. Then Heero stared. It was just a jumble of pieces, red and white and pink. It was the scent that told him it was the shattered remains of a body long before his eyes made sense of it. Beneath the scent blood was the scent of Duo, unmistakable, but somehow... somehow off. At the top of the drawer was another evidence bag, filled with a coil of unraveling braid. Duo's hair... Heero clutched the bag to his chest, hands shaking as he ripped the plastic open. Hair spilled over his hands, soft and silky, and smelling of Duo, that unmistakable mix of Duo's own scent and the lingering traces of gunpowder and lavender shampoo. There was also the faintest hint of fear-laden sweat – even Duo, fearless and wild Duo, couldn't face that plunge with calm. This was Duo's braid. So... this ruin of a human body had to be... The shock of impact as Heero fell to his knees jarred the cry from his throat. It was a wordless howl, loss and guilt and grief pouring from his throat, filling the morgue, so loud it felt as though it could fill the entire colony, and spill into space. It only stopped when Heero had to gasp for breath. He wasn't aware of the trails of tears down his face, and he wasn't aware of the morgue attendant peering around the doorframe. And when the flash of the camera broke into the oblivion of his grief, something cracked inside of Heero, and he bolted, running out the door, running down the hall, running without a destination as the agonizing pulse of heat poured through his body. And when he stopped, with no idea of where he was only knowing that he was at last alone, it did not seem strange to him that he still cradled Duo's braid to his chest in hands that now ended in viciously sharp claws.
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