The first sign to Trowa that something was wrong was the ambulance parked near their hideout. At first he thought it was a white van. But that was before he pulled back part of the camouflage net which covered it and saw the red cross. Something must have happened during his absence and he dreaded finding out just what that ‘something’ was.

He then proceeded to enter the house that had become a temporary refuge for him and the other Gundam pilots. Nothing seemed to be amiss – the pieces of furniture were still in place and there were no signs of the place being visited by anyone unfriendly. He walked up the stairs. Halfway up, he saw Heero sitting silently at the top of the stairs with a cocked pistol in his hands. The Wing Gundam pilot appeared slightly haggard and was pointedly avoiding his eye(s). For a moment, none of them said anything. Trowa resigned to the fact that he would have to be the one to break the silence when it was evident that Heero was not offering to talk first.

“Care to explain the ambulance outside?” asked Trowa, putting effort into making his voice sound level. Seeing Heero’s strange behaviour only made his premonition worse.

Heero put his pistol away. “I needed it to transport Quatre.”

What do you mean by ‘transport Quatre’?!! Are you trying to tell me he’s wounded?? That’s what you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it? When did this happen? How did this happen? Where were you when this happened? Trowa’s mind was overwhelmed by a barrage of questions but he merely waited, willing Heero to elaborate further.

“It would be too much of a risk for him to land in a public hospital. So I hijacked the ambulance,” said Heero, still not looking at him.

Damn you, Heero. That’s not what I want to know. “So how badly is he injured?”

“He has abrasions on his forehead, arms and legs; and at least two fractured ribs,” reported Heero detachedly. “However, there is no need to worry. Judging from the very little amount of frothy blood he vomited, there is no severe damage to the lungs. Also, the muscles around his ribcage should hold the ribs in place while the bones heal.”         

Trowa didn’t know whether to laugh or cry-- both of which would likely cause Heero to see him as an impostor and shoot him on the spot. He carefully kept his face devoid of any emotion. “How did he end up like this?” Trowa was amazed by his own self-control. What he really wanted to do then, more than anything else, was to go for Heero’s throat and slam the boy’s head against the wall. His unfailing, cool common sense managed to override his violent impulses, but he was not confident that it would hold out for long.

“He was knocked down by a motorcyclist,” said Heero, his eyes hardening. “A motorcyclist whom I suspect is Shang.”

“Shang? The OZ lieutenant you told us about?” This was not what he had expected. “Why would he do that to Quatre?” Trowa mentally marked Shang’s name down in his list of ‘must-die’ enemies.

“To create a diversion.”

Make that the ‘must-be-tortured-to-within-an-inch-of-his-life-and-then-left-out-in-the-open-to- devoured-by-wild-beasts’ enemies list. “Diversion,” restated Trowa with the calmness of the eye of a hurricane.

“The person he really wanted was Duo.” Heero smashed one fist against the wall, creating a fair-sized dent in the broken plasterboard. “And I failed to stop him.”

Trowa almost sympathized with him. Almost. “We’ll continue this discussion later. I want to see Quatre now.” He continued his ascent of the stairs.

Heero moved aside to let him pass. “Quatre is in his room.”

“Don’t you even think of escaping,” warned Trowa as he passed by Heero. “You have a lot to answer for.”

Heero remained still, saying nothing.

Trowa entered Quatre’s room and his heart was wrenched by the sight of the bandaged Arabian lying on the bed. Damn Heero! Damn him! He had promised to watch over Quatre… and Duo. He had promised!

Trowa pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down on it. I should never have taken over Quatre’s mission. None of this would have happened if I remained here. Quatre’s face looked so peaceful that one would think that he was only sleeping. The only problem was that he may never wake up. Trowa held one of Quartre’s cold hands with his slightly trembling fingers. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the back of Quatre’s hand to his lips. Please don’t punish me like this. Please wake up… 

“Trowa, why are you kissing my hand?”

Trowa dropped Quartre’s hand, pulled back his own and straightened his back in a blink of an eye. His tongue, however, was slower in responding. “I thought… I mean… Aren’t you supposed to be comatose?” Trowa grimaced inwardly when he heard how insensitive he sounded.

“I was. For about three hours.” Quatre smiled weakly at him. “I’m so glad that you have returned.”

Trowa’s heart soared. “Really?”

Quatre nodded. “Duo is still missing. I want you to help Heero find him.”

Trowa’s heart plummeted. “So you’re worried about Duo.”

Oblivious to what Trowa was feeling at that moment, Quatre said, “It’s my fault that he is nowhere to be found now. I would have gone out looking for him myself if my condition allowed it.”

“Can’t you worry about yourself for a change?” Quatre merely looked at him, puzzled by his question. Trowa reverted to his usual monotone. “You need someone to take care of you.”

“No, I don’t. Heero had helped to carry a week’s supply of food and drink up the stairs for me already. And the toilet is just next to my room. I’ll be fine here alone.”

Trowa looked at him steadily for a while before getting up to leave. “You just concentrate on resting and recovering. Heero and I will bring back the baka.”

Quatre laughed softly at that. Seeing the laugh made Trowa feel much better.

* * * * * *

Heero was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest when Trowa came out from Quatre’s room. The lanky boy walked towards him and swiftly punched him on the jaw without even batting an eyelid.

Heero growled furiously, “What the hell was that for?!”

Trowa blew on his bruised knuckles. “For not keeping your word. And also for not telling me that Quatre is conscious.”

Heero’s eyebrows drew together in an angry expression. “I didn’t say anything about him going into a coma.”

“You don’t have to. The way you behaved as if someone has died or something. What else do you expect me to believe? I almost thought that his life was hanging in a balance.”

Heero could detect a faint hint of joyful relief in Trowa’s voice. “I told you there is no need to worry, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t believe you.”

And I suppose that’s my fault too?! Heero had had enough of this bickering. He had more important matters to attend to. “So have you decided to stay here to take care of Quatre? I have some unfinished business with Shang.”

Trowa was brought up short by the mention of Shang’s name. His emerald green eyes flashed dangerously. “You can have the pieces that you can scrape up after I’m through with him.”

Heero smiled, finding that comment extremely funny.

* * * * * *

He gloomily looked out of the hole in the wall where the window should be at the pedestrians walking on the pavement below. Ever since Shang had brought him to this old and abandoned building yesterday evening, he had time to do quite a bit of thinking. Why had he left the people who knew about his past to follow a mysterious person whom he only got to know through his dreams? He trusted Shang, yes, but was that reason enough to leave Angel and the others without even telling them where he had gone? And where would he go from here? Shang had told him that there were ‘bad people’ after them, and that it was necessary to keep a low profile. Would he just spend the rest of his life following Shang around like a pet dog, and living the life of a fugitive?

Not for the first time, he cursed his memory loss. With his past memories gone, he had lost a sense of purpose in his life. Angel had said that he used to be … what was it called again?… a ‘Gundam’ pilot. That he carried out large-scale destruction of military factions on earth that threatened the safety of this ‘Colony’ in space. He became extremely distressed when Angel tried to describe a few of his past deeds to him (with the hope that they would bring back his memories) and adamantly refused to listen anymore. He hated killing. He hated death. He could not believe that he used to be such a heartless killer. Maybe it was better for him never to regain his memories if they only serve to remind him how blood-stained his hands were. But… he couldn’t help feeling that his working for the ‘Colony’ gave him a purpose to exist. At least then, he was needed and there were people who depended on him. Now…

“You’re still needed, Maxwell. I need you.”

He turned his head around in surprise to see Shang standing beside him. “How… can you read my mind?” he asked, slightly frightened by the prospect of other people having access to his thoughts.

“You were thinking too loudly,” said Shang, as if it explained anything.

He sighed and sat down on his makeshift bed – which composed of a thin, musty mattress and a rolled-up towel as a pillow. “Shang, why did you seek me out in my dreams?”

Shang looked down at him quietly for a while before joining him on the mattress. Both of them sat next to one another with their backs against the wall. “Someone I respected a lot once taught me how to lead a happy and fulfilling existence – ‘always have someone to love’ and ‘always have something to look forward to’. Maxwell, you’ve provided me with both those requirements.”

Embarrassed by Shang’s straightforward answer, he mumbled, “You’re one easily pleased person.” He stared right ahead, fighting hard to keep a blush down.

“Only by you.”

Was it his imagination or did those words seem to be whispered right into his ear? He could even feel Shang’s gentle breathing, and this caused him to sweat profusely. “Shang…?” He turned and saw Shang’s face… very appallingly close to his. What followed was entirely reflex. Before he realized what was happening, he was holding a fist up in the air and Shang was lying, dazed, on the floor. At the same time, something exploded in his mind. He gritted his teeth from the pain that threatened to split his skull. Clutching his head between his hands, he moaned.

This had happened before. Images soon followed. A swimming pool. Watery darkness. Shang… The scene changed and he saw himself struggling with Shang for the possession of a gun. A shot went off, accompanied by the acrid smell of lit gunpowder. Shang is an enemy. No, it can’t be. He’s the enemy. You’re lying! He’s the one who robbed you of your memories. No! No! No! It’s not true!

“Maxwell? What’s wrong?” Shang had moved to his side and was looking at him worriedly. Shang’s hands were reaching out to hold him before they were startled back by his cries.

“Don’t touch me!!” he snarled, a wild look in his eyes. The brief flashes of memories disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared, leaving him drained and exhausted. The pain, however, did not recede as quickly. He slumped on the mattress, breathing heavily.

When he spoke again, it was in his vulnerable-sounding voice. “Sh… Shang?”

“Yes?” Shang knelt some distance away from him, his face registering worry… and also something else. Apprehension? He couldn’t tell, and didn’t really want to think about it at the moment. He just wanted to sleep away the pain.

“I apologize for my behaviour just now. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry for hitting you…”

“Hush, say no more.” Shang placed a cool hand on his aching forehead. “I can sense that you are in pain. Rest now and think no more about this matter.”  

He nodded feebly and released himself into sleep.

* * * * * *

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” asked Trowa who was sitting behind Heero on the motorcycle. They had travelled for more than half an hour before the Heavy Arms pilot decided to put forth the question that had been nagging at him ever since they had set out together to rescue Duo.

“Yes,” said Heero, and offered to speak no more.

Sometimes, Trowa was positive that Heero could beat him in terms of taciturnity. “How can you be so sure?”

“My radar can pinpoint Duo’s exact location.”

“You actually put a tracking device on Duo?” asked Trowa incredulously.

“And it’s a good thing that I did, isn’t it?”

Trowa couldn’t disagree with that. “I understand why you would want to do a thing like that.”

For a few minutes, only the roar of the engine filled the silence. Then Heero spoke up. “I envy you.”

Baffled, Trowa asked, “Envy? Why?”

“You and Quatre are always on good terms with each other. Both of you never quarreled.”

 Trowa watched the other boy silently, slowly digesting the hidden message behind those words. “Quatre is nice to everyone; not just me. I should be the one envying you.”

“Why would you want to envy me?” Heero asked the same question Trowa had asked a moment ago, only in more words. “I sometimes think that Duo exists for no other reason except to torment me. He is always either annoying me or making a fool out of me.”

“But he only does that to you and not anyone else.” Heero was quiet as he chewed over this piece of information. Trowa asked, “Haven’t you noticed this before?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Heero softly. “But why would he want to do that?”

“One can only wonder. Every time I see Duo attempting to cheer you up, I’m reminded of a person who keeps on charging into a brick wall – an act that will only be rewarded with cuts, bruises and a lot of unnecessary pain. And yet Duo still kept on doing it.”

That marked the end of their small talk. Heero brought the motorcycle to a halt at the side of the road. “Duo should be in a building one block from here. We’ll walk the remaining distance.”

Trowa unwound his arms from around Heero’s waist and removed his protective helmet. He got down from the motorcycle and scanned the area. As it was late evening, most of the shops were already closed for the day. Litter, such as old newspapers and rusty soft drink cans, was strewn all over the place. “Lead on.”

They reached their destination five minutes later. It was a dilapidated four-storeyed building, with flaking paint and colourful graffiti on the external walls. There was a motorcycle parked outside the building.

“Black colour with streaks of red. It fits Quatre’s description.” Heero took another glance at the radar held in his hand. “All I know for sure is that Duo is somewhere at the left side of the building, closer to side facing the road. He could be on any floor and we shouldn’t assume that Shang is at the same place as him.”

Trowa spotted the scaffold behind the building. It was a crudely-made structure of wooden poles and hemp rope. “I think it’s better for you to guard the motorcycle and make sure he doesn’t escape. I’ll try to get into the building by climbing that scaffold over there.”

Heero looked at the scaffold and then back at him, skepticism displayed on his face. “You really think you can climb that rickety thing?”

“I used to work in a circus, remember? It’ll be a cinch,” said Trowa confidently. “In exactly fifteen minutes, walk across the road and put yourself in plain view.”

Heero handed the radar over to Trowa.

* * * * * *

Maxwell had been sleeping for two whole hours and was still showing no signs of waking up soon.

The OZ officer-turned-traitor gazed despondently out of the window, taking care to keep himself hidden from the view of people who might be walking on the street below. Maxwell’s reaction earlier that day had brought him back to harsh reality. Encouraged by Maxwell’s increasing trust in him, he had thought that he had, at long last, managed to claim Maxwell as his wingmate; and that the trust between them was permanent. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Maxwell would only remain by his side willingly as long as he was still suffering the aftermath of the macrophage’s attack on his mind. If Maxwell recovered so much as a fragment of his past memories,  the long-haired boy would not only leave him, but kill him as well. Maxwell would never have come to him if he was in full control of his faculties. Don’t touch me. That was a command from the old Maxwell… the real Maxwell.

A movement at the opposite side of the road caught his attention. A teenage boy was crossing the road and making his way to the bottom of the building. Shang recognized the mop of moss-green hair. Heero Yuy. He had learnt about that name through Maxwell. It had taken him quite some time to find out Hojo Tsukasa’s real name as Maxwell was very determined to call him ‘Stoneface’ and nothing else. He reached into his coat to pull out the fully-loaded pistol which he had taken from Heero. He slowly extended his hand out of the window to take a good aim.

Shang heard a click behind him and he spun around quickly, but not quick enough. One shot was released and the weapon went flying away from his hand, out of the window and down to the street below. Shang clutched his bleeding hand and went down on his knees, making an exaggerated show that he was incapacitated by his wound. He looked up to get a better look of the person who had shot him. It was a green-eyed boy with long, brown bangs that covered half of his impassive face. Even though he had never seen this boy before, Shang knew that he must be another Gundam pilot who had come for Maxwell. Shang saw his death in the other boy’s eyes.

Maxwell, woken up from his sleep by the gunfire, was staring at both him and his assailant with wide, fearful eyes. “Broomhead?”

“Duo, get behind me,” ordered ‘Broomhead’, his eyes still trained on Shang. He looked as if he was about to pull the trigger again.

“No!” Maxwell flung himself in front of Shang, spreading his arms wide apart. “Shang is my friend!”

It was apparent that ‘Broomhead’ had never expected this. “You idiot! Get out of the way!”

Shang took advantage of the momentary distraction by Maxwell to extract the gun strapped to his ankle. He took aim and fired.

There was a gush of blood from the Gundam pilot’s head as he fell backwards and landed on the floor. The blood began pooling on the floor.

“Broom… no… Trowa!!” Maxwell overcame his petrifaction and rushed to the other boy’s side. Tears were streaming down his grief-stricken face. “Don’t die! Oh, please don’t die!..”

Shang grabbed hold of Maxwell’s right arm and tried to pull him away from the dead boy. “Maxwell, we have to leave now.”

Maxwell struggled against his grip and screeched, “Why did you kill him?! Why?! Why?!” Maxwell began hitting him on the chest with his fists.

Shang grabbed his shoulders and shook him roughly. “It’s either him or me. Now let’s go. Heero Yuy may be coming up any moment.”

“What?” Maxwell quietened down almost immediately. “Stoneface is here?”

“Yes.” Shang heard the barest whisper of Maxwell’s thoughts: If I remain here, Shang will…

Maxwell took one long look at Trowa’s still body before he spoke up again, “I… I’ll go with you.”

* * * * * *

Heero had to disarm a few booby traps along the staircase before he could reach the room from which the two gunshots originated. He sucked in his breath when he saw that it was Trowa’s bleeding body that was lying on the floor. Both Duo and Shang were nowhere in sight. Heero gnashed his teeth. He had underestimated Shang again.

The ‘corpse’ on the floor stirred and Heero nearly lost his grip on his gun. Trowa, with most of his face caked with dried blood, sat up and began scrubbing away the blood that had glued his eyelids together. After Trowa had managed to open his eyes to look at him, Heero said, “I thought you’re dead.”

Trowa stood up a bit unsteadily. It was only natural, considering the amount of blood that he had lost. “The bullet grazed my scalp, maybe even taking a few flakes of skull bone with it. But I’ll live.” Trowa swayed on his feet and would have fallen had not Heero leapt forward to catch him. “I hate head wounds. They bleed way too much.” Trowa reached into his pocket and took out the radar. He offered it to Heero. “They shouldn’t be too far from here. Go after them, Heero.”

Heero made no move to take the radar. “There are policemen patrolling this area and gunfire attracts them like bees to honey. I’ll have to get you out of this place first.”

Trowa chuckled. “A few months ago, you would have shot me and went after them…” Trowa’s voice died away and his body went limp.

Heero carried the unconscious boy on his shoulder and quickly left the building. He would settle his score with Shang another time. Alone.

                                                                                                                             < To Part 3 >