by Anne Olsen
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. I promise to return the boys (and other characters) more or less intact when I"m finished, honest.
Thanks to: Bast for her usual brilliant beta reading comments and encouragement/discussions. Raletha for not only beta reading but putting up with me pasting paragraphs into AIM as I was writing, and egging me on. We had a lot of early morning/late night coffee/hot chocolate sessions on these last few chapters. Thanks guys *hugs
Warning: Character death this chapter *sniffles
Maxwell stood perfectly still, supporting himself against a nearby lamp-post, his eyes glazed over while he faced some imagined horror only he could see, his frantic pleas having being replaced by silence as he tried to digest the information he'd just received. Even though strictly speaking, the Sergeant was the ranking officer, he was clearly in no state to give orders. Whatever his relationship was to Hilde, it was not the time to dwell on what might be happening in the café. Getting Quatre and the plans to safety was their priority.
"We need to secure all exits, and ascertain precisely what has happened. " Lowe spoke first, before Trowa could put his own thoughts into words. Obviously he'd come to a similar conclusion.
"It's damn obvious someone's been shot," Maxwell visibly pulled himself together, although his voice hitched slightly before the word 'shot'. "And we need to get in there, fast. Barton, take Walker and Palmer and secure the back entrance. We'll take the front."
"What if there's another exit?" asked Chang, disengaging the safety on the colt 45 already in his hand.
Maxwell shook his head, his matter-of- fact tone verifying Trowa's earlier suspicions regarding his knowledge of both the café and its owner. "There isn't. Not unless Hilde's been doing major renovations, which I doubt."
"We're probably more than outnumbered by Merquise and his men," Trowa spoke to point out the inadequacies of the plan. "It would more sensible to size up the situation first, before moving in. The shot might have been merely a warning. We don't know for certain that someone has been injured. If Doktor Winner and Hilde have been captured, it might pay to wait until…" Hopefully the single shot they'd heard had been a warning, nothing more. A grotesque mental image of Quatre - lying on the wooden floor of the café, his fair hair stained red with the blood dripping from a single bullet hole through his temple - entered his mind and Trowa quickly pushed it away. Merquise needed the scientist; there was no way the Gestapo officer would risk his death, nor Hilde's. Not when he could use the threat of her continuing 'good health' to ensure Quatre's co-operation.
Maxwell interrupted him. "I don't care." His previously calm voice had been replaced with an edge of desperation, making him both unpredictable and dangerous. "I'm not just sitting here and waiting. To hell with procedure." Lowe sighed, and attempted to lay a restraining hand on him, but Maxwell pushed him away. "Last time I looked, I was still in charge. We go in, and we go in now."
Chang turned to face Maxwell directly, his expression unreadable, his brow creasing into a frown. "All right, Maxwell, we'll do it your way, but don't attempt to play the hero because I am not going to come to your rescue." His tone changed; the subtle mix of pain and regret in it evident. "I understand why you are doing this; but don't lose sight of the reason we are here." He moved forward, following Maxwell and Lowe as they headed off into the darkness.
The dynamics of this small group are certainly unusual for a military taskforce, thought Trowa. The Chinese man, in particular, did not seem very concerned with following the chain of command. Even Lowe had showed no hesitation in disagreeing with his commanding officer when he was clearly not thinking logically. Walker and Palmer, in stark contrast, stood to one side, their inexperience in the field obvious by their actions. Walker was fidgeting with a loose strand of cotton on his jacket, winding it around his fingers, then unwinding it; Palmer checked the safety on his gun over and over, as though he didn't trust it would fire correctly when needed.
"Keep your weapons ready, but don't use them unless you have to," Trowa instructed the two men, before signalling them to head out. His hand rested briefly on the small knife in his belt, his mind going over the various scenarios they might encounter and the best way of dealing with each eventuality, while he concentrated his attention on the task ahead.
As they approached the café, Trowa dropped into a half crouching position, motioning the two men behind him to be silent. Trowa could make out shadowy figures moving through the building, a blaze of light illuminating each room as they were thoroughly searched. Hopefully Quatre had escaped with the plans on him, or had hidden them extremely well.
Trowa edged closer, attempting to make out some of the conversation. He needed to evaluate the situation inside before he could even consider breaking cover. If the SS already had the plans, and Quatre was… dead, there would be no point in going further and risking unnecessary lives. Retreating and regrouping would be the better option. Trowa shivered, fastening the top button on his wool-lined jacket to keep out the cold he suspected was not wholly related to the current weather conditions.
"Colonel Merquise, I've found them." Mueller's voice shattered the silence, before the light was extinguished in the small attic room.
Damn. Was he referring to the plans, or to Quatre and Hilde? Trowa strained his ears to learn more, trying to stifle his annoyance at the fidgeting going on behind him. He turned, placing one finger against his lips to remind the two soldiers that their very survival depended on no one noticing them. Trowa caught a slight movement out of the corner of one eye, and quickly focused his attention towards the back entrance of the café. Someone was attempting to re-enter the café, unnoticed.
Trowa frowned. Re-enter? The moon moved from its hiding place behind a cloud, illuminating the figure trying to blend in unsuccessfully against an organised pile of crates and the back wall of the old building. Blond hair shone like a beacon, giving the enemy a clear target they couldn't miss at close range. Quatre?
Trowa moved quickly, ignoring the muffled protests of the two men behind him. "Stay there," he hissed over his shoulder, not wanting to risk them jeopardising Quatre's life further by their incompetence. Quatre was moving again, glancing around before putting a tentative hand on the heavy wooden door. Trowa acted on instinct and ran, hoping that he could reach the scientist before it was too late. His feet left the ground as he propelled himself the last few feet, his body connecting with the blond's, knocking them both sideways to land in a crumpled heap on the ground. He wrapped one arm around Quatre's waist from behind, and placed his right hand over the blond's mouth, quickly dragging him behind the crates, before he could react.
Quatre struggled, bringing his leg up to attempt to kick his assailant in the crotch, and sank his teeth into Trowa's hand. Trowa strengthened his hold, and whispered in his captive's ear. "Quatre, it's me."
Immediately Quatre went limp, the fight leaving him before he twisted to meet Trowa's gaze. Relief reflected in his eyes, as his breathing evened, and he attempted to pull Trowa's hand away from his mouth.
Trowa loosened his grip on Quatre, bringing his now free hand up to press a single finger against his own lips as a warning, before allowing the blond to speak. "Trowa. Thank God, it's you." Quatre spoke in a whisper, following Trowa's advice. But before he could continue, the voices from inside rose in pitch as they approached the outside door, close to where the two were hiding. Trowa dropped into a half crouch, and Quatre, having moved so they were now side by side, quickly followed suit. It wouldn't do to be discovered now, not when they'd gotten this far.
Colonel Merquise wasn't attempting to keep the annoyance out of his voice as he dressed down his men. "Herr Doktor Winner is merely a scientist, with no experience in such matters. How could you allow him to escape?"
Nichol's reply was respectful and apologetic. "We had him sir – he seemed to be co-operating."
"Seemed?" Merquise queried, a note of sarcasm entering his tone. "Even in dealing with amateurs I would think with your training, you would know enough not to let your guard down." He paused. "So he overpowered you and escaped?"
"No sir. He somehow managed to slip free of Mueller's grasp by wriggling out of his jacket. Then he upturned the table, and escaped in the confusion…Sir."
"But we won't be making that mistake again, will we, Corporal?"
Trowa could imagine Nichol bringing his heels together sharply and saluting. "No, sir, we will not." Nichol was very concerned with appearances, and would not have appreciated being made a fool of in front of his superior officer. The man had a tendency to hold grudges, as Trowa himself had found out while sharing a barracks with him. This trait, unfortunately, made him all the more dangerous – and probably all the more determined to apprehend the man who had caused him to 'fall from grace' in Merquise's eyes.
Trowa placed his hand on Quatre's shoulder, signalling it was time to move out. Quatre shook his head firmly, and Trowa frowned. "Quatre…" he whispered, trying to instil the gravity of the situation into that one word.
"I can't," whispered back the scientist. "Hilde is still in there, and…and I heard a gunshot. If she's in trouble, it's because of me. I won't be responsible for anymore death or suffering." His voice shook, then he removed Trowa's hand, turning away as he pulled himself into an upright position.
Trowa shook his head, "You can't blame yourself. Hilde knew the risks – she wouldn't want you to place yourself in danger. We are leaving, now."
Quatre's voice was low, but cold. "You may go, if you wish, but I'm not leaving Hilde in there with Colonel Merquise."
Trowa shook his head, admiring the other man for his courage, but at the same time wondering how he could possibly be so naïve. Did he truly expect that giving himself up would help Hilde in any way? Was Hilde even still alive? She would have been useful to Merquise to use against Quatre, but since the scientist was still free…."Quatre, we don't even know if Hilde is still alive. We are leaving. Now."
Quatre stood there unmoving, so Trowa snaked his arm around the smaller man's chest and began physically pulling him away from the scene. Quatre dug his heels in and refused to move, his face turning white, as his previous stubbornness turned to anger. "How dare you? Hilde needs my help."
Trowa pulled the blond closer, and turned Quatre to face him. He could feel the ragged breaths from Quatre on his cheek, see the sweat on his forehead, and the anger reflected in his eyes. He ignored them, instead placing one hand on each side of Quatre's face to hold him still, so that the scientist had no choice but to listen.
"I know you want to help Hilde, but now is not the time. We need to get you to safety, that's the priority."
Quatre tried to shake his head again, but couldn't with the hold Trowa had him in. "Damn the priorities. I won't do this, Trowa. I can't." His voice cracked into a sob, his tone bordering on hysteria.
"Yes, you can. And you will." Trowa didn't wait to hear the arguments he knew Quatre would give, but shifted his hands down to grasp the blond firmly around the waist, lifting the smaller man into the air, and onto his shoulder before he had a chance to realise what was happening and react.
"What the hell?" Quatre struggled, his voice raising in volume several notches as Trowa began moving back towards where he'd left Walker and Palmer.
A shout came from within the café, and Trowa realised they'd been seen. "We can do it this way, or you can run," he told Quatre. "If I put you down we have a better chance of escaping, but either way you are not surrendering to the Gestapo, while we still have a choice. Do you understand?"
Silence.
"Quatre?" The blond's head moved up and down against Trowa's back, and he paused long enough to set him on his feet. "Straight ahead, quickly. You'll find two men, stay with them until I get there. I'll be right behind you."
"But…"
"Go. Now." Trowa gave him a push and dropped to a kneeling position, reaching for the Luger he'd hidden in his jacket. "Now, Quatre." He fired the weapon, once, then twice at the oncoming soldiers, then a third time, this time aiming for the sole light source in the small alley. The shot hit its target with deadly accuracy, plunging the area into sudden darkness.
The men pursuing him cursed loudly, fumbling around in the dark, and Trowa permitted himself a small smile as he headed in the direction he'd sent Quatre, feeling his way through familiar surroundings until he came to where he'd left the two Allies a short time before.
Walker had his weapon in his hand, and aimed it at Trowa as he approached. "Who's there?" he called. "Barton, is that you?" Trowa mentally rolled his eyes; it was a miracle these men had survived as long as they had. It was becoming more and more obvious that this was their first time in the field – and a credit to Maxwell that he'd kept them alive so far.
"Lower your weapon," he ordered, glancing around. "Where are Palmer and Doktor Winner?" Surely Quatre had managed to get at least this far?
"Doktor Winner?" Walker blushed. "The blond gentleman?" His British accent seemed more prominent as he realised his mistake. "He wouldn't tell us who he was, sir. Just that you'd sent him…and…we were expecting someone older. Sir."
Trowa raised one eyebrow. "And?" This should be interesting. He hadn't heard any gunfire, so he presumed Quatre was safe, but he had to wonder what had earth had happened during the few minutes it had taken him to stall their pursuers.
"Palmer has him over here, sir." He followed the soldier quickly, as they made their way to the nearby park opposite the entrance of the alley. Quatre was sitting on a bench, his hands raised, a frustrated expression on his face, as he tried to convince Palmer that the gun pointed at him wasn't necessary.
Quatre lowered his hands as he saw them approach, but quickly resumed his previous position, as Palmer made a show of waving the gun at him again. "Trowa, could you please tell your friend that I'm on your side." He paused. "I know these men aren't part of the German army, but…"
"What makes you so sure we aren't?" asked Palmer suspiciously.
Quatre sighed. "For one thing your weapons are Colt 45s, which are usually American Government issue; we Germans prefer Lugers. Secondly," and he pointed at Walker. "When you were speaking English before…your friend's London accent is fairly prominent."
Trowa stifled a smile. "Palmer, lower your weapon. This is Doktor Winner, he can be trusted," he confirmed, giving Quatre a small nod of approval. Obviously the information he'd been given on the Herr Doktor wasn't as complete as he'd been led to assume. It would be interesting to learn what else had been missing from the dossier Iria had given them. Even under these trying circumstances, the scientist's mind was still sharp – his fear and earlier near hysteria hadn't dampened his powers of observation in the least.
"If you were so convinced we weren't Gestapo, why didn't you tell us who you were?" Walker asked. "It would have saved us all a lot of trouble." He glanced over at Trowa, suddenly aware he may have stepped out of line. "Sorry, sir," he mumbled.
"You were so busy assuming I wasn't Doktor Winner, I decided not to waste my breath to convince you otherwise." Quatre shrugged. "Besides, the conversation was…interesting. And I knew Trowa…Corporal Barton would be along shortly. It was easier to wait." His eyes shifted out of focus for a moment, then he glanced at Trowa. "Did you manage to lose them?"
Trowa nodded. "For now, but probably not for long." He glanced behind him, and then issued orders to the two men quickly. "Walker, Palmer. Go find the Sergeant and inform him that I am taking Doktor Winner to another safe house. I'll get a message to him using our mutual contact when it's safe. And men…you are not to engage the enemy under any circumstances. If Maxwell and the others are not in the position they should be, make your way back to the church."
The men nodded. "Yes, sir." They saluted and headed back into the darkness. Trowa watched them go, and then turned his attention to Quatre.
"Are you all right?" asked the blond, shivering and Trowa realised the shirt the other man wore wasn't anywhere near adequate protection against the night air.
"I've slowed them down, but that's all. We need to go, it's harder to track a target if it's moving." Trowa slipped off his jacket and offered it to Quatre. "You're cold."
"But…"
"I'll be fine. We can alternate and both keep warm." Quatre opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by the sudden squeal of rubber from the nearby road; it was quickly followed by the sound of pounding feet and dogs barking.
"Dogs," Quatre turned pale. "They're using dogs. Trowa, we can't out run dogs. I've read about their tracking ability. You should go. It's me they're looking for, not you."
"We're not going through this again. The priority is to get you to safety."
"No." Quatre shook his head. "No more. I won't be responsible for anymore death." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Especially not yours. You've done more than enough for me already."
"Quatre, you are being unreasonable."
"I'm trying to do what is right."
"I'm not leaving you for the Gestapo to find." Trowa knew what would happen if Merquise got his hands on Quatre, and there was no way that was going to happen while he was in charge of ensuring the scientist's safety. "Do I have to pick you up and carry you again?"
Quatre backed up against the bench seat. "Don't even think about it, Trowa Barton," he warned. "You might have caught me by surprise once, but I won't allow it to happen again. Go, please. I have enough blood on my hands."
Trowa moved closer, trying to reason with the stubborn blond. "Quatre…we can discuss this later."
Quatre's next words were spoken quietly, almost to himself, as though Trowa wasn't meant to hear them. "I've already lost one person I care about. I'm not making the same mistake twice. It's too late for David but…"
A new voice interrupted, and Trowa spun around to come face to face with Lieutenant Nichol. "It seems as though you should have listened to the Herr Doktor and got out while you still could, Barton."
Trowa drew his weapon, aiming for Nichol's gun but the man laughed.
"Trowa," Quatre's voice sounded choked, and Trowa turned again to see Mueller standing behind his friend, the barrel of his gun pointed against the blond's temple.
"Lower your weapon, Barton, and place it on the ground at your feet," Nichol instructed him with a smirk. "Unless you'd like Mueller to prove how difficult it is to miss a target at this close a range."
Trowa glanced between the two men, weighing up the situation, and then slowly followed Nichol's instructions. I'm sorry, Quatre, he thought, raising his hands in surrender.
"Trowa, no!"
"What the hell is going on in there?" Duo slipped his Colt back into the waistband of his trousers, and edged further forward, closer to where Heero had the café under surveillance. Staying in the priest's outfit had been a good move – being dressed totally in black, apart from the white 'dog collar' was good camouflage in the darkness.
"They appear to be searching the building, room by room," Heero observed, not shifting position as Duo crouched down beside him. The American nodded, trying to make out details, but not having much luck, as shadowy figures lit first one room, then the next.
Hilde, be okay. Please. Duo shivered, his fingers playing with the end of his braid, as he waited for some sign, any sign to indicate what their next move should be. Part of him needed to storm the place, the other had decided that Wufei was right. And so far the practical side of him was in control. However, he wasn't sure how long he could hang out. The waiting and not knowing were killing the tiny sliver of hope he had left.
God, please. Look after Hilde. I know I don't ask you for much, but just this time. Please. Ironic that the first time he'd prayed in years would be while he was masquerading as a priest. If Father Maxwell from the orphanage could see him now, he wasn't sure what his reaction would be. Pleased that he was fighting for the good guys, maybe a small frown of disapproval at his attire. But still the old guy had always had a good sense of humour. Duo smiled at the memory – the priest hadn't had much choice, if he'd intended to survive the 'orphan from hell.'
"Colonel Merquise, I've found them." The light coming from what was probably some kind of attic room, died shortly after the man's voice called out to his superior. Them? What the hell was he referring to? Duo groaned, his hand twitching over his weapon as he tried to calm himself, tried not to think the worst.
Merquise was the guy running the operation, Duo figured, adding up the facts. Barton had given him the impression the Gestapo officer was very capable, and should be treated with caution. Getting Old Doc Winner out of the country was going to be a fun addition to the task ahead. Maybe he should try to convince Hilde that she should come stateside with them as well– after this there was no way she would be safe in Germany. The life expectancy of a known collaborator wasn't too long, and as they already had an extra person along for the ride…
If only she'd come with him in the first time he'd asked. Duo sighed. But by the time he'd left Berlin for America, their relationship had been over, although he suspected she had been trying to convince herself there was still hope for them. He wasn't sure what had gone wrong between them, – the two years they'd had together had been good, and more importantly they had remained close friends, keeping in contact until the war had prevented them from doing so. I'm sorry, Hilde. Maybe if I had been satisfied with running the café, and following your dream, we'd still be together. He'd seen domestic bliss on the horizon, but had decided he needed to find himself first. Part of him hadn't been sure that Hilde was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with either. Sure she was fun, and he loved her. But the whole commitment thing had made him unsure.
"There are at least half a dozen men under Merquise's command." Wufei slid in beside Heero, giving his report. "And no, Maxwell, I didn't see anyone else, although I did overheard the Colonel dressing down one of his men. Apparently this Doktor Winner has escaped…"
Duo nodded, relieved that at least something seemed to be working in their favour. Maybe if the Doc had escaped, Hilde had too? After all if an old guy could get away…
"What the hell?" The words carried clearly through the quiet night air, and the three men exchanged glances as the café suddenly came to life.
Heero shifted his weight onto both elbows and trained his glasses back towards the building. "Something's happening," he informed them in his usual brusque tone. "The Gestapo are in pursuit of someone…" He shook his head, running a hand through his mop of dark hair, in a gesture of frustration. "Whatever is happening it seems to be taking place at the rear of the building. It's difficult to ascertain…"
"Barton is supposed to be covering the rear." Wufei interrupted and rose to his feet. "Maybe the Germans have become aware of his presence?" He glanced around, ready for Duo to give the order to move in.
Duo frowned. "I doubt it. He struck me as the careful type, very efficient. Maybe if this Winner is on the loose, it's him they've seen?" Or Hilde. No, Hilde had to be long gone. Maybe that shot had been a warning; fired at Hilde and the Doc as they'd escaped? Yeah, that made sense.
Whatever was going down, it was time to move in, make their presence known. The Gestapo had done enough damage for one night – the thought of them in Hilde's café, in their café, already annoyed the hell out of him. There was no way he could sit here while they bastards went after her to do who knew what; not when he could do something to stop them, or at least slow them down. "Right," Duo started to say – and stopped.
Two loud gun shots sounded in rapid succession, quickly followed by a third. "Damn," muttered Heero. "The only light's just been hit. There's no possibility of making anything out clearly at this distance now."
Duo grinned, as a thought occurred to him. "Sneaky bastard," he muttered under his breath. He knew what he would have done under the circumstances and hopefully Barton had followed the same line of reasoning. No way would the pursuing Germans have deliberately shot out the only light source when they were tracking their enemies, and he doubted their aim was that bad. Nah, must have been Barton. And if he had things under control back there, there was a good chance Hilde was still okay.
"Okay, guys." He pulled out his Colt and gripped it firmly in both hands, motioning for Heero and Wufei to follow. "It's time we showed those Gestapo types that it doesn't pay to mess with the good guys."
Wufei and Heero exchanged amused glances before they drew their own weapons. "I'm almost afraid to ask which one of us is Tonto," said Heero dryly, ignoring the puzzled response from his Chinese companion.
Duo grinned. "Hi-Yo, Silver. Come on, let's go catch us some bad guys." Heero glared at him, and Duo laughed. "Aww, Heero, don't be such a spoilsport."
"Typical," muttered Heero. "He gets to be the Lone Ranger, I get stuck with the horse." He and Duo moved out quickly, turning to gesture to Wufei to follow.
The other man was standing there, shaking his head slowly. "Americans," he muttered under his breath, speeding up to narrow the distance between himself and the others. [1]
Duo paused at the corner of the street. "The back entrance to the café is opposite the park. We can survey the situation from there, before moving in."
"Sarge!" Walker skidded to a halt in front of them, Palmer almost colliding into him, as they approached the entrance to the alley, carefully keeping to the shadows. The moon couldn't decide whether to stay behind the clouds, providing them with cover, or to show itself and give away their position. Finally Duo had decided that using the cover of the buildings lining the alley would be the way to go. It would be slower, but worth it.
"Where's Barton?" asked Duo. And Hilde? Both men stood for a moment, hands resting on their knees in a half bent position as they caught their breath. Finally Palmer spoke.
"He's taken Doktor Winner to a safe house, sir. Told us to let you know he'd contact you when it's safe."
Duo nodded. At least Barton and Winner were safe. "Was anyone else with them? A woman?"
Both men shook their heads, and seemed puzzled by the question. "Did you see anyone else in the café, or leaving the area?" Hopefully a description would help. "Slim lady, green eyes, short dark hair?"
"No, sir."
Damn. Where the hell was she? Duo swallowed, as he came to the only conclusion left open to him. "She must be still at the café. Shit."
"Shh," hissed Wufei from his position as look out. "I hear something."
Duo motioned his men back, pressing himself against the wall to avoid being seen, and they followed suit. Several seconds later the squeal of rubber against the road signalled the arrival of a large truck pulling into a nearby sidewalk. An SS officer opened the rear door, standing back as several men accompanied by dogs exited the vehicle.
"They shouldn't have got far," someone said, the authority in his voice giving a fair indication that this was the man in charge. "Nichol, take Mueller with you and head towards the park. The rest of you spread out."
"Yes, Colonel."
"Meet back at the truck when you find them. Dermail wants them both taken into custody, minimum damage." Merquise's tone hardened. "Personally I don't care what their state of health is, when they are brought in." He paused. " Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Colonel." Another pause. "What state of health would you prefer, sir?"
"I'll leave that up to your discretion, Nichol. Of course, if they resist arrest, use whatever means necessary to ensure they don't escape. We have the plans, so at this point our main concern is ensuring they can't be duplicated." Merquise laughed, and Duo shivered. The man seriously had a screw loose, or he just enjoyed inflicting pain on others. Whatever the story, it was obvious that this Winner, and Barton, had annoyed the hell out of him. "And of course, at least to my understanding, now Dr J is dead, the only person capable of doing that is Winner."
"But Dermail…"
"Dermail isn't running this recovery operation, I am. After all, we did try our best to bring them in unharmed. Traitors to the Third Reich need to be dealt with appropriately." Merquise sighed. "Do I make myself clear? Oh and Nichol? I'm returning to headquarters shortly. Don't disappoint me."
"No, sir. You can count on me to execute your orders, Colonel."
Hilde? What about Hilde? Yes, this Merquise was a nasty piece of work. Hopefully Barton had got the scientist well clear, because otherwise their chances of survival weren't looking too good. Duo shuddered. That last line of Nichol's and the emphasis on the word execute had left him in no doubt that both SS officers would prefer them dead rather than alive.
A few minutes later the area was quiet again, the sound of dogs and men growing quieter as the search for the fugitives drifted away from the alley. A car door slammed shut, and an engine roared to life signalling Merquise's departure.
"Right," Duo told the others. "I'm going in. Lowe, Chang - cover me. Walker, Palmer – head back to the church where it's safe and await further orders. We need someone there in case Barton and Winner show."
"Duo…" Heero's voice was gentle, but firm. "You don't need to do this. Wufei or I can…"
Duo interrupted him, his voice harsh. "I gave you an order, soldier. Cover me, I'm going in." I'm sorry, Heero, but I do need to do this. Hilde's going to be scared; it's better if it's someone she knows. He gripped his Colt in one hand, surveyed his surroundings, and headed for the pile of crates by the back door.
Still as organised as ever, he thought, noticing with a grin, how neatly they were stacked. Hilde hated a mess. Everything had to be just so. She'd complained about his ideas of paperwork too.
You're a slob, she'd told him.
A lump formed in his throat, as he remembered his reply. Yeah, but cute with it, right?
Duo rolled, taking cover behind the crates. He checked for signs of the enemy presence, found none, and moved again, giving Heero and Wufei the all clear. Obviously Merquise and his men were too concerned with tracking the fugitives to worry about the café owner. Poor Hilde. The Colonel had probably left her bound and gagged so she couldn't interfere with his plans, after deciding she wasn't a threat. The bastard. No one messed with his friends. If Merquise had hurt Hilde, Duo would kill him slowly, piece by piece.
Duo opened the heavy wooden door slowly, cautiously, and peered inside. "Hilde?" he whispered, half expecting to hear her muffled curses from behind whatever she'd been gagged with.
"Hilde?"
He checked the kitchen first, noticing the upturned table, the vase he'd given her for her birthday the first year they'd been a couple lying smashed on the floor. Shit, Hilde was going to love this.
"Hilde?" Where the hell was she?
Duo replaced the safety on his gun, lifted his jacket and secured the weapon down his back waistband. "Hilde?" Of course, the shop. Why hadn't he thought of it before? He swung the dividing door between the two areas open, eyes scanning the room as he frantically hunted for any sign of her.
"God, Hilde, you scared the shit out of me." Duo offered a silent prayer of thanks as he made out the slender figure sitting slumped in the chair behind the counter. "Hilde?" Merquise must have knocked her unconsciousness. Easier than taking the time to find something to restrain her with, was it? Bastard.
He placed one hand on her shoulder, and his breath hitched. Cold, why did she feel so cold? "Poor baby," he muttered. "I'll take you somewhere warm after this. You'll never have to worry about cold Berlin winters again."
Duo wrapped both arms around her, and went to lift her from the chair. Her head fell back limply, the moon catching them in a sudden illumination, as he ran a hand gently through her hair, brushing it off her forehead so that he could see her properly.
He swallowed, watching the congealed blood from the single bullet hole spread over his hands in slow motion. No!
Duo backed away, attempting to wipe the blood on his shirt - his breath hitched and he let out a sob. "No, Please," he whispered. "No, not Hilde. Please God, not her, not now."
[1] The Lone Ranger radio programme launched in 1933 and was very popular in the States. It followed the adventures of a masked hero, his sidekick Tonto, and of course his trusty horse, Silver. "Hi-Yo, Silver' was his catchphrase.
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