*...* denotes thought
------ lines between these symbols connotate a flashback
******* identifies a break in scenes and/or time
[1,2,3,4,...] signifies author notes at the bottom of fic
Note: I want to take the time to thank all of the readers and fellow writers out there who have written me all the lovely feedback on this fic... (glomps crazily) You have all kept encouraging me to continue writing and I know that this chapter is looooong overdue... ^_^
Gundam Forest Book 1 Part 3
The man stumbled into the dark apartment, not bothering to waste his time in turning on the weak overhead lighting. Relying upon his familiarity with the apartment, he stumbled through the mess of broken and empty liquor bottles, empty cartons of take out junk, and the rest of the useless hodgepodge, trying to reach the sofa that lay in a cluttered corner.
Once he reached the sofa, he carelessly flung out his hand and swept the litter off of the surface to the already concealed floor below. He flung his body downwards, draping his lithe frame over the tattered and torn cushions. He propped his boot covered feet on the jumbled surface of a shabby coffee table, uncaring of what he might be crushing beneath his heel.
His head lolled on his neck and shoulder as he gave in to the exhaustion running through his torso. Countless nights of absent or interrupted sleep was having its toll. Include in the equation his poor eating habits and breakneck pace of activity, you would finish with a very strained lifestyle. He wouldn't be able to keep up his current pace for much longer without ending up in a hospital, or worse.
He lazily turned his line of sight to the small black box lying on the table next to his left arm rest, only to distantly note that the message light was blinking. With a sigh, he ran his right hand through his shaggy bangs even as his left reached over to press the replay button.
He heard his curt and direct outgoing message, "Speak," followed by the high pitched {beep}. He rolled his eyes, expecting the incoming voice to be that of his highly retentive boss/manager, warning him that with one more no call/no show, he could go ahead and find himself another job.
However, the voice that actually played over his answering machine startled him. It was low and smooth, a rather pleasant tenor that had matured from a slightly higher pitch. He immediately placed a name to that voice. A name he hadn't uttered for a long time.
"You're a really hard person to track down when you set your mind to hiding. It took me quite a long time to finally trace your path, not to mention pinpointing your exact location, even with my vast resources. It's been so long since we've last spoken to each other. But that is besides the point. I am calling to ask you to come home. It's been..."
The man heard the pause in the low voice, as if the speaker had to take a bolstering breath to continue his monologue.
"It's been almost a year since, well, since the accident... and even though it's not exactly a reason for a party, we should still all get together. Even if it is just to reminisce on the what might have beens... We should do, iie... we owe each other that much. We need to swallow the past regrets, hurts, and prides. I've called the others. I'll be holding the... reunion... at the estate on Earth... the last place we were all together. Please come... I miss you... we miss you..."
The machine clicked once to indicate the termination of the call and then blinked off, no other messages having been recorded. The man sat on the couch, his eyes wide with surprise as he rolled the message's words through his slightly hazy brain.
*Quatre...*
The speaker's name drifted through the man's thoughts, dredging up images of a smiling, blond haired angel with sparkling blue eyes and a sincerely peaceful smile. The voice his mind remembered from the last time they had spoken was higher, more cheerful and upbeat to match the remembered visions. The voice he had just heard on the answering machine...
It was much lower and filled with infinite sadness and loss.
A stab of pain pierced the man's heart, the ache he had managed to quell for the past year suddenly renewing itself with an old tenacity. He wondered just how much of that loss and pain in the voice was his fault.
The man shuddered and then heaved himself off of the lumpy couch. Stumbling through the rubbish on the apartment floor, he made his way slowly across the small domicile.
Tripping through the bedroom, his feet becoming entangled on the many piles of clothing littering the floor, he finally made his way to the small bathroom. The man's hand fumbled on the wall, blindly seeking out the small light switch.
His grasping fingers finally latched onto the switch, instantaneously flooding the small tiled area with harsh, white light. Wincing as the brightness hit his tired eyes, he made his way over to the porcelain basin.
He turned the faucet on, allowing cool water to fill the basin, his reflection appearing on the distorting liquid. After sufficient amounts of water had poured into the sink, he cut off the faucet and cupped some of the liquid into his hands.
Splashing his face with the water, he allowed the refreshing liquid to revitalize his ebbing system. Although no replacement for a good night's sleep, the water served a purpose, to prolong the shadows that clawed at his subconsciousness.
Reaching up with one dripping hand, he closed the mirror of the medicine cabinet, facing his reflection for the first time in days. His bloodshot eyes took in the haggard appearance of his face, the shadows of his personal demons and his poor physical maintenance having taken their toll on his features.
His high cheekbones were more prominent now, standing out from the slight hollows in his face. He had lost weight in his face, granting him a gauntness that belied his short, 17 years. His lips were drawn and thin, their corners tended to droop eternally downwards now.
He studied his eyes in his reflection, noticing the changes for the first time in months. Almost a year ago, those same eyes had reflected hurt, sorrow, pain, anguish, betrayal, and regret. Now all they reflected was a weariness. Weariness of life... of living... of continuing to exist in the lie he had made for himself... he did not know which it was. All he knew was that he was tired of living in the shadows and that he needed to face the hidden demons of his past.
Otherwise he would never be able to move on.
With a wry grin, he raked his fingers through his unruly brown hair, allowing the bangs to once more fall into their familiar pattern long since trained. As he slowly made up his mind about the course of his life, his green eyes flashed with an inner fire that had been absent for far too long.
And the man once known to his friends as Trowa Barton realized that it was time to return home and face the music. [1]
*********************
"Please come back... even if it's to say goodbye..." {click}
*Say goodbye?... say goodbye?!... I'll never say goodbye...*
The lanky, but graceful man stared hard at the impassive machine, his glare threatening to spontaneously combust the innocent recorder. He shook his head in denial, a long rope of hair swinging in sync with the movements. His hand came up reflexively, grasping the chain and its precious burden through the black fabric of his shirt. He could feel the two circlets underneath the pads of his fingers, even with the layer of cloth.
With fierce determination, the man turned away from the table, his other hand clutching a thick sheaf of paper. His fingers tightened imperceptively, crinkling the white sheets and imprinting his grip.
He stalked over to the open window in the room, bright sunlight filtering in through the uncovered panes. He continued to shake his head as he stared out at the view his window offered.
Eyes hard with a fierce fire and equally determined resolution passed over the scenes of the civilians as they continued their lives unheeded by war and surrounded by peace and prosperity. As he watched the couples strolling together in the small park outside of his room, he clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.
*Damn you, Quatre... you may have accepted it, but I never will... That baka has self destructed too many times... been killed and sacrificed too often to die permanently from a stupid accident... no matter what that clinic said. He's out there somewhere... just begging... no daring... me to find him.*
The man looked down at the papers in his hand, giving them another cursory glance, before he finally tossed them onto the plush carpet of the hotel room. He stared hard at the rejected transcriptions, his eyes narrowing further until they resembled two vibrant amaryllis slits.
*And I will find you, Heero... make no mistake about that... Shinigami's coming for you, 'Perfect Soldier', and this time, I won't let you go... I want you... need you too much, to ever let you go again...* [2]
Turning away from the strewn leaflets, Duo Maxwell stalked back to the open briefcase sitting next to the active laptop on the table. Plunking down in the slightly turned chair, he grabbed the end of his braid and nibbled at the fine tendrils.
He idly reached out with one hand and deleted the top set of links on the terminal's page. The previous lead hadn't yielded the desired results and it was time to pursue another direction.
He scanned down the list of possibilities with his free hands, eyes rapidly searching for his next target. With the vast number of online resources available to him, not to mention his many hundreds of contacts, his search for Heero Yuy had just been narrowed down to a handful of possibilities. His year long mission was finally coming to an end.
As he lazily noted the next possible location, he nearly bolted upright in his seat, shock racing through his bloodstream.
*No way... that's too coincidental...*
Duo stared hard at the glowing screen, practically willing the typed words to alter themselves into another answer. When the words refused to alter themselves, he finally admitted the possibility.
With a sidewards glance at his silent answering machine, he shook his head in bemusement. *Well, well, well, Quatre. You just might get your little reunion after all. And who knows...*
Duo smirked to himself as he began typing away at the computer furiously, hacking into the spaceport's main terminals and booking himself a first class passage aboard the next available shuttle. Having accomplished that, he shut down the laptop and began to gather his few, scattered personal belongings.
He picked up one lone, framed photograph, lovingly stroking the glass surface. Duo ran one long, graceful finger down the pane before bringing it up to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to the cool exterior.
*There just might be an unexpected guest of honor...*
*********************
Please come. We'll be waiting.
The dark haired Asian sat stunned, his black gaze fixated upon the glowing screen of his laptop. Although he had shunned most forms of technology when he had willingly ensconced himself in his nature retreat, he had taken the small laptop with him and allowed a phone line to be connected to his cabin.
Although he had not equipped himself with a telephone, the laptop provided too much of a necessity to be ignored. It allowed him contact with the outside world, contact that could be controlled by him at all times.
And that was just how he liked it.
Control.
He had to be in control of his life at all times.
Or he would lose the game, and more importantly, he would lose himself.
And the one thing, iie, one of the two things, that could cause him to lose control had just contacted him via email, asking him to come home.
*Asking??? Iie, more like pleading...*
Wufei Chang, former pilot 05 of the Gundam Shenlong, slowly pushed away from the desk where his laptop resided, and slowly retreated from the room that held the heartfelt request. His self imposed solitude had just been compromised, his former lover having located him despite the blockades he had erected to prevent such an event from occurring.
Wufei shook his head slowly, his eyes closed in resignation. *I should have known. Of any of the remaining pilots, he alone would still have the resources capable of tracking me. Still, do I want to go home? Do I dare?*
Wufei thought back over the events of the past year, the events that had spiraled down from the fatal accident of his fellow pilot, Heero Yuy.
They had fallen apart after the accident. No, they had been torn apart.
By anguish.
By sorrow.
By guilt.
By shame.
By pride.
Of all of the reasons for their fallout, the last was his disgraceful contribution. He had allowed his damnable pride to create rifts between his lovers, between his friends. Rifts that had grown so large and monstrous that it had driven each of the pilots to the four corners of the colonized universe. While they all could have worked through the guilt and sorrow, shared the burden of pain and anguish, his pride had erected impenetrable barriers that had hindered any type of healing.
It seemed he had not learned anything from Meiran's tragic sacrifice, where once before his pride had been the downfall of another loved one.
The tarnish on his self armor of justice, the stain on his already shadowed soul.
And even after Heero had written him that cursed letter, advising him to let his pride go and accept the precious gifts that had been offered to him, he had still refused to see the light.
Wufei stepped outside of his current home, allowing the sunlight to shine down, striking his form with its luminescence and warmth. A warmth he unfortunately didn't feel in his soul.
As he idly surveyed the beauty of untouched nature, his mind gently reprimanded his consciousness, pointing him in the direction he knew he must take. The direction he both dreaded and longed to take.
Even as he debated within himself, his consciousness noted that there was just enough daylight left for him to complete to trek down the mountainside to the city below. There he could find a hotel while he awaited the next flight out.
He knew the argument had been decided when he suddenly found himself turning around to head back into the cabin to pack a light bag. He shook his head once, even as he thought, *For better or worse, it looks like I'm coming home.*
*********************
The man known as Quatre Raberba Winner, successful and brilliant CEO of the Winner Corporation to the public eye, had just completed the most nerve wracking assignment of his short life. Although the past year had seen many changes wrought in the young man's personality, physical form, and overall demeanor, including a streak of ruthlessness previously unknown, his finished task had left him both emotionally unstable and mentally shaken.
After all, it's not every day that a young man invites his former lovers and best friend back home to remember the death of another friend.
Although, if one took in the past military history of the young businessman, the expectations installed on his young shoulders might take a different perspective.
Quatre lay back in his large, swivel chair, his hand automatically reaching up to loosen the knot in his tasteful tie. As he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his other hand, he sighed and closed his eyes.
He let his mind wander over his previous actions and he found himself fervently praying that the recipients of his requests had safely received the messages and were given them serious consideration. They all needed closure, every single one of them, himself included.
Regretfully, when Heero had... he couldn't even bring himself to think the words, not only had his friendship with the Japanese pilot been irrevocably severed, but his other relationships with the surviving pilots had been strained, if not destroyed. The immediate reactions of the others had been the fleeing of each man, back then boys, to some far off region, to wallow in self pity and sorrow on an individual basis.
Instead of taking comfort among each other, and relying on each other's presence and strengths, they had gone to hell in a handbasket.
He had given them each a few months of solitude, choosing not to interrupt them for personal reasons. However, after months had crept by, the anniversary of that horrible day edging closer, he had decided to try and reach them all, to bring them back to the fold of comradeship they had once shared.
If that was even still possible.
He didn't know.
But he hoped so.
Duo had been the easiest to find. The braided pilot who self dubbed himself as Shinigami had made quite a presence for himself online, searching every available resource for one Heero Yuy. Quatre had been alarmed at first, Duo's inability to grasp Heero's demise had shocked him, even after they had been presented with the, if somewhat circumspect, evidence and remains. However, he believed that once Duo had exhausted all possibilities of Heero still being alive, then the braided man could finally come to grips with reality. And then the healing could begin.
Wufei had been the next on his list of availability. The Chinese warrior had retreated back to nature, content to live as a hermit, shunning all outside contact except through the world wide web. After weeks of searching for the phone line he used, Quatre had stumbled upon a user account in a domain that was simply labeled 'Nataku'. The name was such a blatantly obvious hint, that the blond man had almost laughed with relief. After nailing the domain down, he had managed to crack the profile of 'Nataku' and the rest had been history.
Trowa, the most reticent of all of them, had been the hardest to find. The man had flipped from colony to colony, jumping around with such spontaneity that tracking him had been nigh impossible. He had been keeping himself busy at a breakneck speed, not allowing himself time to rest.
Or time to think.
He was running; running away from the memories, running away from the pain, running away from...
Quatre shook his head slightly as he disengaged that line of thought. It did no good to dwell on what was in the past, all he could do was focus on what needed to be done. He reached into his mass of blond hair, his long aristocratic fingers giving his scalp an inadvertent massage.
He had taken the first step towards healing. He had contacted them and invited them back to his estate. Now the next step was up to them. And if all went according to plan, they would each be arriving by the end of the week.
Just in time for the anniversary.
And once they got past the pain and loss of a good friend that they had each inadvertently betrayed, forgiveness would be close behind.
At least that was what he hoped.
It was what he needed to believe, just so he could continue to live with himself.
Because if they couldn't heal themselves, and find closure in this tragic event, then Heero would no longer be the only pilot lost.
They would all fall.
TBC...
[1] heeheehee... bet you read the beginning and thought it was probably either Duo or Heero, huh?? Did I get you??? (dodges thrown projectiles)
[2] reference Duo's letter in Chapter Two
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