Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Devil's Due ❯ - 35 - ( Chapter 35 )

— 35 —

February 8, A.C. 205. Base. 4 pm

Quatre ran a tired hand through his hair as he paced outside the room Richard was laying in. He was sick to his stomach, really. He just knew Kiley was going to absolutely freak out on him for getting her son wounded...

"Quatre?" she asked in a quiet and bothered voice. "I'm in a..."

"Richard is hurt," Quatre returned promptly, which made her fall silent. "We were at the Rest...at the mission in lower Angels," he added. "He was in the lobby when one of the local gangs started shooting."

"Is he...all right?" she asked, her tone scared.

"He's wounded," Quatre noted, running his hand through his hair. "He was up and walking around with me, and he's talking and everything just fine...but he has...lacerations...on his face and arms."

She didn't say anything.

Quatre pressed a hand down over his eyes, stopping. "He's being run through intensive right now."

"What?" she asked blankly. "What's intensive?"

"They're testing his blood to make sure he doesn't have anything that could explode by accelerating his cell growth."

"Oh...Remalene?" she seemed a bit more at ease. "Let's go, Carl," she added quietly, starting to move around.

"Kiley?" Quatre asked nervously.

"Yeah?"

"Are...are you mad at me?"

She fell quiet a moment as Quatre berated himself for asking. He hated the uncertainty it suggested.

"I don't have the full details yet," she noted finally. "Until I hear the story I won't know if this truly was your fault or just a fluke. I'm going to call Richard now, all right?"

"All right," Quatre agreed quietly...as the call was ended. The blond ran his fingers through his hair again, swallowing. He also hated that he didn't have enough of a connection with her to really read her emotions. It was almost like he had his necklace on...which he probably needed to put on, actually. He could feel that the people around him were nervous...not that having it on would make them not nervous, but he wouldn't have to feel it anymore.

He sighed, pulling the thing out. He was sure to make something of a show of putting it on, wondering if maybe it would help.

"Hey, Cat," Jordan muttered, moving happily into the lobby. He was still in the clothing he'd been wearing at the rest, and he still had that 'we won a fight' look on his face as he moved and dropped in a chair across from his friend. "What's going on?"

Quatre gestured vaguely toward the room his nephew was in and started to pace.

"Hey, calm down," Jordan muttered, rising to his feet quickly to pull his friend back to him in a pseudo-hug, then use that control to force the guy into the seat next to him. "Everything is fine. Tomorrow he'll have a few small wounds and a nifty story to tell all his buddies. You didn't make a mistake on this one, huh?"

"I did," Quatre returned, running his hands down his face. "We knew that the gangs were getting riled up, I never should have..."

"Cat," Jordan cut him off, "I rile the gangs if I give them a questioning look. It's a rare time when they actually have the balls to do anything, and a drive-by is just pussy-work. This could have happened at any given time and there was no way you knew it'd happen while we were even there. Stop blaming yourself."

"You say that like it's so easy," Quatre retorted irritably, leaning forward so his elbows were against his knees. "You don't know what I feel..."

"Guilty, scared," Jordan studied his expression with interest. "Alone, because it's your fault and no one knows how it is from your side. Terrified that something might be wrong with you because you did it all so easily..." he shook his head.

Quatre looked up to his face sharply.

"You have to remember that we all live inside our own heads," Jordan reminded him quietly. "We've all done things that we're just sure we shouldn't have and things have happened to all of us that we're damn sure we could have avoided...if. If you live in a world of ifs then nothing is right. There's always one more thing...if."

"That doesn't help," Quatre half accused, looking to his hands. He had his fingertips pressed together with his elbows still on his knees. "I took my nephew..."

"We all took him," Jor reminded him. "We were all there with him, and we were all okay with him being there."

Quatre blinked at him, startled.

"It's our bad," Jordan pressed quietly, studying the other's eyes intently. "We all had the over-sight and we all kept him safe."

The blond settled back some, thinking hard about that one, reaching for his necklace almost unconsciously.

Jordan smiled and pulled the hand away before he could start to unlatch it. "Try it my way for once," he suggested. "Try the fact that you know me so well and you understand me...leave the necklace on."

Quatre met his eyes, blinking again.

Jordan flashed him a smile, then tousled his hair affectionately and bounced up from his seat...and shoved his way just as happily into the room Richard was laying in. "Hey, civilian!"

- -

February 8, A.C. 205. Base. 5 pm

Quatre was standing completely straight when Kiley and Carl moved hurriedly into the lounge area, watching his sister with worried eyes. Kiley moved to him instantly, pulling him into a hug, then looked beyond him as he indicated the room her son was laying in.

She disappeared.

Quatre turned back to Carl, waiting for the blow he knew was coming...for the fight he knew he was about to...

Carl hugged him hard, just once, then followed his wife.

. . .Quatre was stunned.

He stood uncertainly for a moment, then turned and moved into the room in confusion.

"I'm all right," Richard was reassuring his father quietly with a cheesy sort of grin. "Uncle Quatre made sure I was all right...I was just shocked, because I'd never heard gunshots before...the cuts hurt at first,” he added, then touched his forehead. "It was bleeding and stuff at first, but...I'm all right," he looked from one parent to the next, then back to Quatre.

"We know you're all right," Carl noted, moving forward to sit beside his son on the bed. "We knew you were all right to begin with, but we're upset...huh? It's...I mean, shit, it wasn't your uncle's fault, so you don't have to defend him."

Quatre was taken aback again, looking to Kiley. She, however, had moved up to her son's other side and was carefully brushing his hair back from the bandages.

"And you," Carl added, turning back to look at Quatre with a slight smile. "I know you feel guilty about this, but it's not your fault. Or did you call those gangsters in?"

"Of course not," Quatre muttered with a frown, moving closer as he looked between the parents. "I just...he was with me, and...well..."

"I'm sure you have Ainslie going on in your head about how he was shot and you're a soldier and all that bullshit, don't you?" Kiley half accused, focusing on him sharply. "Ainslie is a bitch, short sighted, and closed minded. I'm sure if one of the babies turned up homosexual she'd scream for them to be disowned for deviance." She rested her fists on her hips as she surveyed her little brother. "That really was your problem, wasn't it? Ainslie and Karen and them...that's why you were always such an asshole, wasn't it?"

Richard made a sniggering sort of noise. "I think he's an asshole anyway."

"Richard!" Kiley protested.

"You just wish you could be like me," Quatre informed the boy at the same time, before he thought about it.

"A conceited pretty boy?" Richard demanded, still amused. "Hardly. I think you broke a nail, Uncle. Mom should have her fingernail clippers..." and he started laughing since Quatre had looked to his hand before he could help it.

Carl rubbed a hand over his mouth, meeting his son's eyes.

Quatre laughed and smacked the boy's foot, pressing his nails into his palms. He didn't want to admit it, but if he had broken one...

Kiley let out a resigned sort of sigh, moving around the bed to wrap her arms around Quatre's shoulders. "Even if this had been your fault," she noted, pushing the hair from his eyes, "it would be forgivable. Everyone makes mistakes, little brother...and your family should be the first ones to get over it."

It took him a moment, but Quatre conceded to her point, and gave into her hug. She had a pleasant and familiar smell...one that instantly reminded him of his childhood, of brief happy moments...

He pulled away to look at her.

"What?" she asked blankly.

"You used to hug me," he noted, studying her eyes intently. "When I was little...you smell like that."

Kiley blinked at that, then shook her head slightly in confusion...which upset him since he didn't know why her smell...

"...of course I hugged you when you were little, when you'd have anything to do with me."

Her casual words cut off his self-doubt.

She smiled slightly, shaking her head at him. "When you were tired you'd come with me...or when you first got up, but other than that you were too good for me."

Quatre started to grin at her.

She tousled his hair affectionately, looking to her son and husband. "You're right, Richard...he always has been an ass."

Quatre started laughing at that, quietly...then a little harder. He turned away from both of them, running a hand down his face.

"So," Kiley added, kicking him with the side of her foot. "You're the big general..."

"Not quite a general," Quatre retorted, turning back to give her a look.

"The only reason you're not is because you haven't said you wanted to be yet," she retorted. "So, Mr. General...how long's he in for?" she gestured at the bed.

"He signed up for a term, boot camp starts next week...it's four years."

Kiley looked mildly upset at that.

"Oh ha ha," Richard retorted. "Like I'd join..."

Quatre started laughing, flashing his sister an evil grin and ducking around her. "I just wanted to see what she'd say!"

...and she smacked at him, but he was much too quick.

Carl laughed a little bit as she focused on him. He was grinning happily. "It's your family."

- -

February 8, A.C. 205. Base. 9 pm

"I hope you're happy."

Quatre stopped completely at the voice over his phone. "What? Who is this?"

"It's Ainslie," she snapped in her angered tone. "I hope you're happy. Now you've gone and gotten your nephew shot up and in the hospital..."

The guilt and anger exploded in Quatre's stomach. "It wasn't my fault!" he shouted.

Jordan jumped, turning to look at him from where he'd been sitting inside Duty's hut.

"Then whose fault is it?" Ainslie asked bitterly. "Certainly not Richard's..."

"Do you even know what happened?" Quatre asked, the fear that she might be right changing instantly to true anger. "Did you even bother asking, or did you just hear that he was with me and figure the rest for yourself?"

"There's not much else to..."

"It was an attack on the building," Quatre retorted, his ire rising more. "There was no warning!"

"Then your little friend there in intelligence isn't doing his job, is he?"

Quatre guffawed in complete disbelief, staring at the phone in disgust...and closed it.

"What the fuck does she think?" Jordan snapped irritably, moving around to join him...

Though Quatre had been expecting it since Richard had been shot. He'd actually been expecting it from Kiley.

But it wasn't his fault.

"Thank you, very much," a reporter muttered, finishing her interview with Carl. "We appreciate hearing from you."

"I'm just happy my son is safe," Carl reassured her. "If he hadn't been with his uncle..." he gestured vaguely at Quatre, though they were both out of immediate sight.

The reporter moved on with her closing statements as Carl and Kiley moved back to the guard hut, then inside the cramped space.

"You know, this really isn't big enough for four," Duty noted, staying against the wall.

"It's just until they leave," Carl muttered. "We had to make an exit, and people look foolish wandering behind camera."

"You could have just went around the hut."

"But that would look foolish."

Duty gave Quatre a look.

Quatre forced a smile at him and shook his head.

"What?"

"Ainslie called," Jordan noted darkly, scooting his chair around so Quatre could stand directly beside him. "She was trying to say it was his fault."

"Of course she was," Kiley noted dryly rolling her eyes. "Everything has to be the fault of someone she knows."

Quatre sighed, shaking his head and looking away.

"Don't let her get you down," Kiley suggested as the reporter stopped talking. After a moment, they could hear the sounds of readying to leave.

It had been a long evening. It had taken about twenty more minutes for the doctors to release Richard after his parents had shown up...and it had taken about ten minutes after that for Quatre to get the call that the news crews were queued in the drive, and could he please come down and make them shut up before Duty went all army on their asses...or something like that.

And this had turned into interviews with specific stations and repeat live performances.

"Here, let me by," Eastland muttered, moving through the group to step from the building. He watched the road a long moment, then sighed and nodded, gesturing for them.

"Sorry about that," Quatre added, moving out after him. "I know that's not the most pleasant of circumstances. You want me to get you anything?"

"No," the man denied easily. "That wasn't any more fun for you than for me, so there's no overlap."

Quatre grinned at that, offering his hand.

"Should we call him?" Kiley asked, moving up to grab Quatre's arm and look up at him. "Do you think we should..."

"He should be sleeping right about now," Jordan noted, looking to his watch. "I doubt calling him would do anything but upset Chai. She doesn't answer other people's phones."

"Are you sure?" she fussed, turning back to him.

"I got shot a year ago and the first night I was dead to the world," Jordan reassured her. "My dosage was a bit less than his, too. Trust me, he's completely out."

She looked like she didn't want to agree with him, but finally did. She moved back to her husband's arms, then looked around to Duty and smiled at him.

"See, that makes everything worth it," he noted, winking at her as he patted Carl on the back. "Damn gorgeous wife you got there, man. If I ever hear you've mistreated her, I'll hunt you down with a butcher knife."

"I'm touched," Carl noted dryly, moving toward Jordan's waiting car.

Duty made an amused noise, nodding respectfully to Quatre, then watched as the group of them climbed into the car. He stood there until the vehicle had disappeared, then leaned back against the entrance of his little booth.

Truth be told, he'd thoroughly enjoyed that. He liked the former pilots, respected them. Having them respect him was rather pleasant.

He just wasn't going to admit it to anyone else.

- -

February 9, A.C. 205. Base. 9 am

"He's in a great mood," Jordan noted dryly to Danielle when he'd judged his friend to be far enough out of earshot not to hear.

“His nephew got shot,” Danielle reminded him. “You can't expect him to be happy about that.”

“No, but I'd hope he wasn't so pissy,” Jordan returned, pushing into his office. “He was all freaking out at first,” he noted, moving aside so she could follow. “I got him calmed down about that and he was fine…even when his sister got in he was fine…then the bitch called…”

“Ainslie, right?” Danielle asked, considering it as she dropped her stuff on the edge of his desk.

“Yeah,” Jordan agreed darkly, moving around the thing to set his own stuff down. “Then Karen called, and a few other ones…they're all trying to say it's his fault.”

“And you expect him to be morning cheer?” Danielle gave her superior a severely blank look.

“Haha,” Jor retorted, throwing a legal pad at her. “I need the full file of Colonel Stanley Turrell…I'm using my stars to get it because they're trying to play me false. Be proper, little girl,” he dropped into his seat. “I also need the estimate on the Rest, get that first…and then you'll need to give these to Une,” he shoved a pile at her. “Be back in an hour, and throw a fit if they try to deny me that file…put them under arrest under the mission header, too.”

Danielle raised her eyebrows at him.

“Obstruction of justice or something,” he noted, taking the legal pad since she hadn't touched it. He scribbled the order for the file down and signed it before sliding it back to her, then shook his head. “Go.”

She saluted briefly, grabbing up the various papers he'd shoved at her, then disappeared from the room.

Jordan rubbed his temple briefly as he shook his head, then sat back to organize the rest of his work.

Riley was in China setting up her safety net, Raul was getting ready to go to China himself, and Mouthy was probably getting laid. Judas was playing double agent in…Europe, anyway…and this left him without anything to do but wait. It didn't help him that Richard had gotten only part of the file when he was playing errand boy–it wasn't actually Richard's fault–and Chai was scared she was pregnant.

Her being scared made it a lot less exciting.

Adding to this that the press was going to come hop on them all again for follow-ups, or that Quatre's sisters were a bunch of damn bitches…at least, part of them were…and it didn't leave much room for happiness.

His cell started vibrating.

“Talk to me,” he ordered as he noted Judas' name on the caller I.D.

“Victor King, forty-five year old arms king,” he hesitated a very brief moment. “Dead as of four-zero-five P.M. on Thursday, February tenth.”

“Good job!” Jordan congratulated him dryly.

“He pulled a weapon on Alek,” Judas retorted irritably.

“My hands are clean,” Jordan noted, studying his nails. “Are yours?”

“Something about gloves as the man's own weapon,” Judas agreed, sounding even more pissed than before. “I walked away from the assholes.”

“You're awfully riled.”

“He was trying to force me to join him…” he trailed off.

“What?” Jordan asked, tilting his head.

“Nothing,” Judas muttered, then sighed. “I need to get back.”

“All right,” Jordan agreed. “You think you'll need support? Mentally?”

“No, it will be fine,” Judas reassured him. “I just wanted you to know.”

“Watch your ass,” Jordan suggested. “Keep contact times.”

“Sir,” Judas returned, and the call ended.

Jordan sat back, ending the call and clearing it as he studied the wallpaper his wife had picked for him, then shook his head and closed his phone.

There wasn't much else to say.