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 : Raletha and Bast for beta reading and loads of encouragement. And to my brother, Pete, for medical and related info. You'll see why as you read *looks innocent.
Trowa glanced between his gun lying at his feet and Quatre, weighing up his lack of options. Mueller had taken a step back, but his finger was still on the trigger – Trowa suspected that if it weren't for the fact they needed the scientist, Quatre's life expectancy wouldn't be any longer than his own. "Don't give them the information they want," he told Quatre. Once they have that there is no reason to keep you alive.
Quatre swallowed hard, clenching his fists into a ball, and then releasing them. When he spoke his tone was calm and icy. "I have no intention of co-operating with these gentlemen."
Nichol laughed again, and Trowa grew cold as the implications of the man's next words sunk in. "Your co-operation is no longer required, Doktor Winner, so your intentions do not concern me." Damn, they must have found the plans.
Nichol motioned with his weapon, indicating a small area of trees further into the park. Trowa glanced towards Quatre, trying to determine if he'd realised the reason behind the Gestapo officer's action. Their planned execution had less chance of attracting attention in an isolated place; and would fit in well with the scenario of resisting arrest if there were no witnesses.
Quatre's shoulders sagged for a moment before he moved to stand next to Trowa; Nichol and Mueller bringing up the rear. "Dr J is dead," he pointed out, as they walked. "Your superiors are fools if they believe the plans are all that are needed to build this weapon." His eyes met Trowa's and there was regret and sadness reflected in them. "Besides…" Quatre paused, turning to address Nichol directly, "they aren't complete. You need me, no matter what you've been told to the contrary."
A hand on his shoulder forced Trowa to stop, while Nichol digested the new information. The brunet turned slowly; making any sudden moves at this point wouldn't be sensible – Nichol would only interpret the action as a reason to kill them now rather than in a few moments time. The longer they could stay alive, the better their chances of survival became.
"My orders are to deliver you to Colonel Merquise. And since he's under the impression that your presence is no longer required for this project to continue, I'm going to disregard your previous comments." Nichol informed Quatre, smirking, before indicating they should continue walking. "Nice try, Winner, but you'll have to do better than that. If you want to beg for your life, I suggest you try getting down on your hands and knees."
Quatre shook his head, and refused to move. "Corporal Barton…"
What on earth is he trying to accomplish? Trowa didn't believe the scientist was 'begging for his life' as Nichol was assuming. Could he be correct regarding his comment about the incompleteness of the plans?
"Barton is a traitor to the third Reich and will be dealt with accordingly." Nichol paused. "As are you."
If Quatre were bluffing, he was playing a very dangerous game. Knowing the techniques Merquise would employ to attempt to extract information – it was a game he would be hard pressed to win. The fact that Quatre had no information to give wouldn't concern Merquise; he'd be seeking the truth and wouldn't be satisfied until he was given the version of it he required. Trowa inwardly shivered, remembering the time he'd interrupted one such interrogation session a few months before. The man the Colonel had been 'convincing' to talk had been a suspected collaborator from the White Rose group [1]. He had been innocent of the charges brought against him, or so Trowa had found out later from other surviving members of the disbanded resistance cell, but that hadn't concerned Merquise. The man had been shaking, tremors racking his body from whatever Dr S and his associates had done to help ensure 'co-operation'. However, the signs of obvious physical torture hadn't been what had wedged itself into Trowa's mind, but the lifelessness, and lack of hope reflected in the prisoner's eyes. The man before him was already dead inside, trapped inside a purgatory of living hell.
He couldn't allow Quatre's inner light to be killed slowly and painfully in this way; even quick death by a firing squad of two would be preferable to Merquise's methods. "Quatre…" Trowa began, but Nichol took a step towards him, bringing up his knee to connect with the brunet's stomach. Trowa let out a hiss of pain, but stood his ground.
"As I said, Herr Doktor Winner, traitors will be dealt with accordingly."
"And, as I said, Lieutenant Nichol, the plans are incomplete. You need me." Quatre paused. "I can't allow any more people to die." His voice lowered to a whisper, then he let out a small sob. "Let Barton live, and I'll co-operate."
Quatre, no! Trowa glanced at the blond, trying to figure out what he was attempting to gain by his actions. He knew the other man's conscience had been one of the deciding factors bringing him to the conclusion that he needed to leave the project, but surely this was undoing everything he'd managed to achieve so far?
Mueller stifled a small snicker, and lowered his gun slightly. Quatre tensed; then quite deliberately adopted a look of resignation, his shoulders slumping as though all the fight had gone out of him.
"Colonel Merquise will be interested to hear of your proposition," stated Nichol, a small smile creeping over his face, as he relaxed his stance. "However…"
Quatre gave the man a small hopeful look, before stepping forward, towards Mueller, and tilting his head to covertly meet Trowa's eyes. His eyes were bright and focused; it was the look of a man who had nothing to lose and everything to gain. What on earth?
Nichol motioned to Mueller to restrain the scientist, and Quatre held out his hands as though bowing to the inevitable. Mueller reached into his greatcoat, [2] retrieving a pair of handcuffs, and secured his gun in his holster. "Hands behind your back," the soldier told him, moving to twist one of the blond's arms around sharply behind him. Quatre let out a small curse, and doubled over in pain. When Mueller loosened his grip, the blond uncurled, launching himself at the SS officer, both men hitting the ground with a loud thud. Quatre grabbed the gun from the shoulder holster, rolled, and pulled himself into an upright position, aiming his newly acquired weapon at the surprised man.
Trowa moved quickly towards Nichol, connecting with the soldier's gun arm in an attempt to throw off his aim, as several shots were fired in Quatre's direction. The brunet's hand closed over Nichol's and the two men struggled for control of the weapon. Trowa didn't dare distract himself by glancing over in Quatre's direction. The scientist had surprised him with his actions – he'd been expecting something, but not this. Quatre was obviously a lot more capable than Trowa had previously been led to believe.
"Damn you," hissed Nichol, bringing the gun, wedged between their right hands, hard against Trowa's shoulder, causing the brunet to wince in pain. Trowa brought one foot up behind Nichol's, tripping him and upsetting his balance - sending them both into a nearby tree. Nichol's arm twisted awkwardly behind him as he fell, trapped between the large trunk of the tree and his body. Trowa's fist connected with the SS officer's jaw, and Nichol cursed again, before attempting to respond by slamming his knee into Trowa's groin. Trowa shifted, using his other hand to stop him, and twisted Nichol's leg to one side with a sharp crack. Nichol grunted, then went limp, the gun falling from his grasp and hitting the grass with a thump.
Trowa reached inside Nichol's pocket, retrieving a set of standard issue SS handcuffs identical to the ones Mueller had attempted to use on Quatre, and cuffed the man roughly, leaving him slumped at the bottom of the tree.
"Are you all right?"
Quatre nodded quickly, glancing up from where he was securing Mueller to another tree with the handcuffs he'd narrowly escaped being restrained with himself. He rose to his feet shakily, using the tree as leverage. Trowa frowned, noticing the almost grey tinge to the already pale complexion. "Are you sure you're all right?"
Quatre nodded. "I'm just not used to all this exercise; the last few years have been spent mainly sitting behind a desk. I'll be all right in a moment, just need to catch my breath. " He glanced around nervously, wincing while one hand absently rubbed his left shoulder. "The ground is harder than it looks."
"Do you want me to look at that shoulder for you?" asked Trowa, but Quatre shook his head. He'd make a point of examining it later, once they'd found somewhere safe to hide for the remainder of the night. The Gestapo would be storming the park very soon - they needed to be well clear before that happened. Michaelskirche was probably the wisest choice under the circumstances. Hopefully the two Allied soldiers had reached Maxwell and the mission could proceed as planned. If not - Trowa mentally shook his head, his mind working through possible ways to adapt the existing scenario. Hilde and Iria had been his only contacts in Berlin, and with Hilde missing…
He observed Quatre carefully, as they walked briskly through the park. The blond had one hand resting on his hidden firearm, as did Trowa, just in case they met with any opposition. It was after curfew, and anyone caught breaking it would be automatically arrested. Quatre winced again, and Trowa frowned. Something's wrong, he thought, and whatever it is, it's getting worse. "Are you sure you're all right?"
Quatre hesitated before nodding, but Trowa could see his steps growing slower, more deliberate, almost as though it were becoming an effort just to stay upright. "I'm. Fine," he replied, through gritted teeth.
"Quatre, you're not fine." They stopped under a nearby light, and Quatre let out a small moan of pain, swaying as his legs decided they weren't going to co-operate any longer. Trowa hooked his arms around Quatre's waist, pulling him close so that he could rest his head on his shoulder. "It's all right, I've got you." Quatre's breathing was ragged, his face covered in beads of perspiration, and his eyes glazed, as he fought to stay conscious.
"Quatre?"
Quatre pulled away, his hand reaching inside the jacket Trowa had given him to rub at his shoulder again, as he bit down on his lip in an effort to hide the pain. He frowned, seeming puzzled; then he shifted his hand, bringing it into the light to stare at it. "Trowa," he said slowly. "Is that blood?"
Blood? Oh God. Trowa's mind went back to the gunfight, and the couple of shots Nichol had managed to let off in Quatre's direction before he'd been overpowered.
Quatre was staring at his hand, almost as though he didn't believe it was his. His eyes began to close; then he blinked, letting out a small whimper. "I feel strange," he whispered faintly, gripping Trowa's jersey in an attempt to steady himself. Trowa grasped Quatre's elbows to help, but Quatre shivered, and ignored him as he struggled to pull the borrowed jacket tighter around him.
"Quatre, you need to stay awake." Trowa slid the jacket around his friend, before shifting his arms to around Quatre's waist, ready to support him if needed.
"I'm sorry, Trowa." His eyes fluttered, then he slowly opened them. "I'll try, but I'm so tired." He groaned, his head drooping before he pulled himself awake once more. "I just need to sleep. I'll be all right once I sleep." Quatre stared at his hand again then slid it back into his jacket, giving Trowa a small smile. "I only wanted to make the world a better place. I tried to stop the nightmare. Please, Trowa, you have help…put…things…right." Quatre's eyes began to close, and he shivered again. "It's cold…so cold."
Trowa lowered his friend gently to the ground, and felt for a pulse. It was fast and irregular, Quatre's skin cold and clammy under his touch. "Quatre…please. Look at me, try and focus…" His fingers shook as he eased the jacket down from the shoulder Quatre had been favouring – the inside was soaked in blood; but it was hard to tell how bad the wound was, only that it had been obviously seeping for quite some time. God, how had he managed to get this far? If he didn't get Quatre to a doctor and soon… Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, Trowa rolled it into a makeshift pad, pressing the cloth against the wound in the hope the pressure might help staunch the flow of blood.
"Thank you." Trowa barely heard the whispered words before the grip on his jersey loosened and his friend slipped into unconsciousness. He bent to lift Quatre into his arms, pausing as a dog barking nearby was followed by the sound of men shouting.
"The dogs are picking up on something. It looks like blood…"
"Duo?"
No. This couldn't be happening. Any minute Hilde would open her eyes, and tell him it was all a bad dream. Duo glanced down at the stains on his shirt. Black was really good at hiding the dirt, hiding all the bad stuff in life.
"Duo?" Couldn't whoever it was see he was busy? He had to look after Hilde, make sure that nothing bad happened to her. Duo wiped his hands down his shirt again. Black was also good for shrouds, he remembered absently. Black was the symbol for death.
"Duo?" the voice grew more insistent. Why couldn't it just leave him alone? Duo felt a hand on his shoulder, and he tried to shrug it off but without success. "Duo?" asked the voice again, and he turned to tell it to go away, only to meet Heero's concerned stare.
"She's…dead, Heero. I didn't get here in time." He choked back a sob. "The bastard killed her and I wasn't here to protect her."
"It wasn't your fault," Heero told him. "You probably couldn't have done anything, even if you had been here." He paused. "War is an evil thing. People die, Duo. Good people, and there's nothing you and I can do to stop that."
Duo shook his head and cradled Hilde in his arms, rocking her back and forth. "I won't believe that. I can't believe that." His tone grew bitter. "I'm going to take her killer apart piece and piece."
Another voice entered the conversation. "And what will that achieve?" Wufei's voice was tinged with an emotion Duo couldn't quite put his finger on, and he wasn't about to attempt to figure it out. At present, all he was interested in was his own brand of retribution. "It's not going to turn back the clock. She's still going to be dead, Max…Duo."
"Go to hell, Chang," Duo spat out his reply. "What the hell would you know? You've never seen your loved ones die, never held them in your arms knowing you should have tried harder to save them." Damn them all to hell. Duo shivered and drew Hilde closer to him. Maybe if he talked to her, told her how much he was going to miss her, it might make things better.
Wufei took a step back, his voice hoarse. "You know nothing about what I know or what I've been through." He sounded angry. "Don't confuse justice with revenge, Maxwell." The Chinese man muttered something under his breath in his native tongue. "I…" Wufei stopped, then shrugged. "Do what you damn well want."
Heero stepped between the two men. "This isn't the time or place," he told them. "Chang, I suggest you go back to the church and make sure Walker and Palmer are staying out of trouble. I'll follow you shortly."
Wufei snorted. "I don't believe you have the authority to give the orders, Lowe. I know I don't belong to your precious American airforce, but I refuse to be treated like an inferior just because of it."
Duo interrupted. "Guys, please. I just need…" His voice hitched. "I need some time to…" To what? What did he need the damn time to do? It was too late to do anything. With the situation the way it was, he couldn't even stay to make sure she received a decent burial. Merquise and his goons could be back at anytime, and the longer they stayed here the more danger they were in.
"I'll go to the church; someone with some experience needs to be there in case Barton and Doktor Winner decide to put in an appearance." Wufei headed for the door, pausing as he opened it. His expression visibly softened. "Take as long as you need. It might help you to find the peace I couldn't." Then he was gone, leaving Duo alone with Heero…and Hilde.
"Heero…" Duo started to say. Part of him didn't want to be alone, the other part knew he needed space to get through this. Saying goodbye to Hilde was going to be rough, but he couldn't just leave her here, without explaining to her why he'd left. He owed her that much.
"It's all right. You need to say your goodbyes in private." Heero gave him a small nod. "I understand." He raked one hand through his hair, opened his mouth, then closed it again.
For God's sake, Heero, just get on with it. If you want to say something, say it. We're running out of time here.
"Take whatever time you need." Heero's eyes glazed over slightly, as though he were taking a trip down memory lane, before he echoed Wufei's earlier sentiments. "If you don't you will regret it…" And offering no further explanation for his comment, he slipped out the front door of the café into the night.
Duo stared after Heero for a few minutes, then attempted to collect himself. He carried Hilde into the living area, and laid her gently on the sofa, covering her with a blanket so that only her face was exposed. "Got to do it properly, you know," he told her, picking up the hair brush she'd left on the side cabinet and brushing her hair so that it covered the bullet hole.
"I know it's not the way you like your hair done," he finished running the soft bristles through her short dark hair, placed a kiss on her cheek, before standing to view his handiwork. "But I want to remember you like this; with no reminders of how you…died." He swallowed and ran a hand across his face. "I want to remember the good times, Hilde. I just hope you do too." The brush fell from his fingers to land with a thud on the rug under his feet.
Hilde had always loved that rug; he'd hated it. Trouble is, you have no taste, she'd told him.
Yeah, true, he'd replied with a grin. I'm with you, aren't I?
Duo rubbed his head and smiled, remembering how she'd pretended to be upset, and how he'd gone down on his hands and knees, to beg for forgiveness. "We had some fun together, didn't we Hil?" He sniffed, glancing around the room. For all their arguments about décor, and the bright colours he'd insisted on – she hadn't changed any of it.
Their relationship hadn't changed the whole time they'd been together. Maybe that had been the clue that things weren't working. "It was never you, Hilde," he told the still form on the couch. "I couldn't give you what you needed, what you deserved." Sure he'd loved her, but as time as gone on he'd realised it had been more the love between two close friends, rather than lovers. They'd fallen into the relationship because they'd been together since they were kids – ever since her family had taken him into foster care. They felt comfortable around each other, but the fire and passion had never been there. He and Hilde each had their own fire, and sure the sex had been great, but there hadn't been enough sparks between them to sustain it. Duo had come to realise that they both needed more; the longer they'd attempted to hold it together. Deep down he suspected she knew as well, but for some reason she'd clung to the idea of them being a couple; or maybe she'd clung to the ideal behind it. "There was always someone out there for you. It just wasn't me."
And now she was never going to get the chance to meet that person. Duo kicked the side of the couch in frustration. Damn, it was just so unfair. Hilde didn't deserve to die like this. She'd been…she was a good person, full of life and always willing to help anyone who needed it. He still remembered the day they'd met at the orphanage; how they had connected straight away. The only daughter of a local school teacher, and the orphan who'd been found wandering the streets years before and taken in by the local priest. Duo had no idea of his real identity – the only clues being the nightmares he'd had as a kid – the continuing nightmares of seeing a house burn to the ground, and screaming for his parents. Duo absently twirled his braid around his fingers as he remembered the sense of loss after he'd woken from those dreams. The only memories he had of his mother were of her brushing his hair, and running her fingers through it, as she'd promised never to leave him. As long as he had his braid, he still had that memory of his mother, it was all he had left of her, and of her promise.
Everyone leaves, Hilde, he thought sadly. Even you.
And this time he didn't have Sister Helen to help him through. She'd been there for him, holding him as he'd sat up in his bed screaming after the nightmares; she'd been the one who had taught him to cope, given the frightened three year old the security he'd been lacking so badly in his life.
Even though Hilde's parents had been the ones who had fostered him, in the finish, the only ones who had been prepared to take him in after years of being shoved from one home to the next, Father Maxwell and Sister Helen had been the ones he'd considered his 'family'. He'd even taken the name 'Maxwell' to show them how much he'd appreciated it.
Last he'd heard Sister Helen had been sent over this way by her order. Hopefully she was doing a better job of staying out of trouble than he was. The nun had always had a weakness for strays. I hope your current batch gives you a lot less trouble than I did.
The blanket slipped and he bent to cover Hilde again, dropping to his knees after he carefully tucked it around her to make sure it was secure this time. "Don't want you to catch cold, now do we?" he told her softly.
Duo paused, then shook his head. "She's gone, you idiot," he told himself. "You're talking to yourself." He shook his head again. No. She could hear him, she had to be able to. After all if she couldn't, what was the point of saying goodbye?
Duo cleared his throat. Better get this over with; Heero and the guys would be waiting for him. He couldn't put them in danger any longer. It was time to pull himself together and move on. "Guess this is it, Hilde." He placed one finger to his lips, then gently caressed her face with it. "Give them hell upstairs, baby. And save me a place."
What the hell? Who was he trying to kid? Damn, damn, damn. I can't do this, he screamed inwardly. He placed his arms around her, his head onto her chest, a single sob coming from his throat. "I asked you to look after her, to keep her safe," he whispered, looking upwards towards where Sister Helen had always told him God lived. "Surely you could have listened to me…just this once."
"Just this once…" Duo bent over what had once been his friend, his tears soaking the makeshift shroud, as he gave up any pretence of calm. Maybe if he just held her this last time, maybe…maybe…maybe…
The noise of a gun cocking came from behind him and he turned, not caring who saw him in his current state.
The man's lips were turned into a cruel smile, as though he was almost amused by what he saw. In his hand was a 9mm Luger, and it was pointed directly at Duo.
"Go to hell," Duo told him, turning his attention to Hilde. "My friend is dead. Just leave me alone." Damn Germans. Part of his mind told him he wasn't acting logically, that he should at least make some attempt to escape but the rest of him didn't care.
The blond man grabbed Duo's arms, forcing them behind his back, and the American felt the cold steel of handcuffs click into place. As the SS officer spoke, Duo recognised the voice of Colonel Merquise.
"I'm arresting you for the murder of Fraulein Schbeiker…"
[1] The resistance movement in Germany was on a much smaller scale than in other occupied countries, due to the barbarity of the German regime. The Catholic Bavarian White Rose group – one the main resistance movements within the Fatherland itself – was wiped out almost as soon as it was formed in 1943.
[2] The greatcoat, part of the uniform of the German army, was a heavy grey coat, very necessary for protection against the harsh climate.
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