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Here Comes a Candle
Part 2
a Gundam Wing Faerie Tale
by Krista Perry
Notes: 2+H, TWT (Timeline? What Timeline?), Alt. Universe,
violence, lime, disturbing themes, less-than-pure language
~*~
"Here comes a candle to light you to bed
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head."
- A bedtime nursery rhyme
~*~
Duo surprised himself by waking up.
It was not a pleasant awakening, by any stretch of the
imagination. *I'm alive,* was his first semi-coherent thought.
He knew he had to be alive, because he hurt everywhere. His head
hurt so badly that just thinking was painful, so he immediately
resolved not to think. At least until his head no longer felt
like it was being used as the ball in a particularly violent
soccer match. Itai...
The familiar, sharp smell of blood filled his nostrils.
Blood... He hoped, dimly, that it wasn't his. But he hurt, so
it probably was.
As his head slowly stopped spinning, the throb behind his
eyes gradually subsided to a dull ache. He could feel the pilot
seat against his back; could feel that he was leaning forward
heavily in his harness, his head hanging limply against his
chest. That explained one of his aches -- he had a terrible
crick in his neck. Still, he realized that he was in
Deathscythe's cockpit. That was good news. At least he wasn't
captured. Though how long he would stay that way unless he could
pull himself together, and fast, was still in question.
Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. In one searing moment of
panic, he thought he had gone blind, until he remembered how
pitch black the cockpit was without any power...
Without... power. Shit.
His hands felt numb and clumsy as he fumbled for the harness
release. When the clasp finally unlocked, he fell forward to his
hands and knees onto the cockpit vidscreens, which was when he
realized that Deathscythe must be lying face down on the ground.
That meant he couldn't open the main front hatch, since it was
trapped against the earth. Duo silently counted his blessings
that Professor G had seen fit to equip Deathscythe Hell with a
small escape hatch out the back, between the wings, or he would
have been trapped in darkness, utterly helpless, without power,
until someone found him. And, this close to an OZ base, that
"someone" would undoubtedly be the enemy.
With a groan, Duo lifted one hand to rub at the ache in his
neck, while the other tentatively probed at a strange, sharp pain
in his lower abdomen. He half expected to encounter a gaping
wound that would be the source of the overpowering blood smell
that filled the cockpit... but his fingers only encountered the
whole cloth of his t-shirt, and the feel of unmarked skin
underneath. Pulling up his shirt to be sure, he felt only smooth
flesh.
Weird... Now that he was feeling slightly more lucid, he
realized that, though he ached, he didn't seem to be wounded in
any way. A brief wiggle of fingers and toes revealed that all
limbs seemed to be in working order...
"Then why the hell," he muttered groggily, brushing loose
strands of long hair out of his eyes, "can I smell blood?"
And there was also, of course, the even more pressing
question: Why had Deathscythe lost power and fallen out of the
sky?
Several possibilities immediately came to mind, none of them
comforting. Sabotage was at the top of his list, though he
couldn't fathom when anyone might have had a chance to mess with
his Gundam. Or worse, perhaps OZ had a new weapon -- one that
could not only see through Deathscythe's cloaking systems, but
that could also completely short-circuit every single one of its
power cells in a split second.
There had been that strange blue light...
Damn. He had to think. He had to make plans. He had to
finish the stupid mission, somehow. If Deathscythe wasn't
working, he had to find someplace where he could contact the
other pilots and get backup. He vaguely remembered seeing the
lights of a nearby village, just before he had lost power...
Groping around in the absolute darkness, fighting to push
back the fuzziness that still enshrouded his brain, he found the
latch to the storage compartment near the floor of the cockpit
where he kept his personal things. Reaching inside, he pulled
out his satchel and his leather jacket. After rummaging around
in his satchel for a moment, he found the small pen light he kept
handy for infiltration missions where he needed to pick locks or
set explosives in darkness. With a prayer on his lips, he
thumbed the on switch, and breathed a sigh of relief when a thin
beam of white light stabbed through the inky black interior of
the cockpit.
Okay. So he really wasn't blind. He hadn't been *too*
worried, but still, it was nice to know...
After everything he had just been through, the small beam of
light was comforting. "Well, hey, at least *this* works," he
said wryly. He quickly flashed the light around the cockpit to
see what damage had been done by the crash.
To his surprise, he found none. Everything seemed to be
undamaged, other than the really annoying fact that nothing
seemed to be working. Not even the vidscreens were cracked.
Hm...
He sniffed. That damned blood smell... where was it coming
from? Not finding anything on the surface of the cockpit after a
brief inspection, he checked himself over thoroughly.
Nothing. No hidden wounds that start to hurt only when you
notice them. His black jeans, that he wore for missions
specifically because they hid blood stains well, were remarkably
blood-free. Hell, looking at his hands, he couldn't even find a
hangnail.
But he could smell blood. He knew it was blood, and a lot
of it, from experience. It was not the kind of smell you could
forget. Like the images of a smoking, crumbling church and the
unfortunate innocents it had housed, it was seared into his mind
forever. That he could smell it so powerfully, and yet not see
anything, was starting to freak him out a bit.
So he decided not to think about it. No use in dwelling on
something you couldn't understand, he figured, when other matters
were more pressing. Pushing the disturbing smell to the back of
his mind, he focused instead on working to get Deathscythe up and
running again. He crawled over to the a small red switch to the
lower left of the cockpit. The emergency cold reboot switch that
Professor G had installed, on the off chance that Deathscythe
ever completely lost power, down to the last circuit. Though the
chances of that happening without actually self-destructing, the
Prof had said, were one in a million...
Duo reached over, flipped the switch up firmly, then snapped
it back down into the power position.
Absolutely nothing happened. The cockpit remained dark and
powerless.
"Oooo-kay..." Duo groaned, his stomach sinking. "Shit.
Looks like it's on to Plan B."
For him, Plan B was always the same thing: When Everything
Has Gone to Hell, Improvise Like Crazy.
Holding the pen light between his teeth, he crawled back
over to his satchel, then foraged through it with both hands,
retrieving his pistol and shoulder holster. Strapping the
holster on and having the familiar weight of the gun by his side
immediately made him feel more secure. Quickly shrugging into
his black leather jacket, he reached into the satchel and grabbed
several extra clips of ammo, which he shoved into the jacket's
deep pockets, along with several small golf-ball-sized grenades
for good measure. He reluctantly left behind the C-4, bars of
plastic explosive, and his personal home-made detonators. One
thing was for certain, however: If he was captured by OZ, it
wasn't going to be without a fight.
Last, he grabbed a small compass that fit easily in the
palm of his hand, thinking of that village he'd glimpsed to the
east, near the river. "Always be prepared," he quipped, the
penlight wobbling as he held it in his teeth. "Tha's me! Jus'
like a fricken' boy scout." With storm clouds obscuring the
stars, and a landscape as flat as a pancake, he knew it would be
all too easy for him to get lost. If he went east, he was sure
to hit the river, and from there, civilization wouldn't be far
away.
Finally, taking the pen light out of his mouth and holding
it in his right fist, he crawled over to another storage
compartment and pulled out a half-folded, half-wadded nylon
camouflage net. If, by some remote chance, he wasn't already
surrounded by OZ forces, he wanted to do whatever he could to
make sure Deathscythe was as inconspicuous as possible. Grinning
a little, feeling a bit more in control of the situation now that
he was actually doing something constructive, he then climbed up
on the back of the pilot's chair to open the hatch, only to
inadvertently smack his head against back-turned-ceiling.
"Ouch! Dammit..." he muttered, rubbing his forehead for a
moment. "This is *not* my night." Reaching up, a bit more
carefully, he grasped the manual release for the back hatch,
twisted and pulled, and heard a satisfying click.
Opening the hatch itself was a pain -- literally, he
discovered. Without even back-up battery power to help him out
with such simple things as opening escape hatches, he had to push
the thick Gundanium armor plate open by his own strength alone.
He was a lot stronger than he looked, he was pleased to say -- it
always made his enemies underestimate him -- but pitting his
slender 95 pound, "five-foot-short" body against a meter-thick
wall of metal was another matter. By the time he managed to push
the hatch open, he was sweating and gasping for breath in between
curses, and the ache in his head was pounding like a kettle drum.
Duo's first glimpse of the outside was hardly reassuring.
The storm clouds roiling overhead looked ready to burst, and the
fierce, harsh wind that howled and tugged at the unprotected skin
of his face and hands was bitter cold. His leather jacket, more
than warm enough for the safehouse in the southern Mediterranean
area where he and the other pilots were currently holing up, was
no match for an England winter, he thought morosely.
*Well, it could have been worse,* he thought, trying to find
a bright side to his situation. *I could have popped my head out
of this hatch only to find myself surrounded by OZ troops.* The
bleak winter landscape, stretching flat and endless in all
directions, was surprisingly free of any form of life, let alone
a bunch of soldiers investigating a crashed Gundam.
On second thought, Duo amended, shivering as the wind
whipped his loose hair about his numbed face, maybe it wasn't so
surprising. It was *damn* cold outside. Nobody in their right
mind would be out on a night like this.
With that thought, he crawled despondently out of his
Gundam, and began covering it with the camouflage net, fighting
against the wind all the way to keep it secure. "I always knew I
was crazy," he muttered.
Still, he mused, the absence of OZ was slightly reassuring
in that it meant that it was possible that they weren't behind
his mysterious crash after all. It might even mean they didn't
know he was out there, in which case, it was still possible to
salvage the mission.
All he needed to do now was find a phone, call the guys for
back-up, and tell them that he needed help because his Gundam
inexplicably lost power and crashed for no reason that he could
comprehend.
Sure. Simple as that.
Argh... Heero was never gonna let him hear the end of
this...
Penlight and compass in hand, he quickly got his directional
bearings. Slipping them back in his pockets, he grit his teeth
resolutely, fighting the urge to chatter, and pulled his collar
up around his chin. Glancing back at the shrouded, camouflaged
Deathscythe one last time, he hunched down into his jacket,
stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, leaned into the icy
wind, and started trudging east.
Twenty minutes later, he was really wishing he had stayed
back in Deathscythe's cockpit. At least until the wind stopped
blowing. The wind chill factor was a killer.
He couldn't feel his face any more. It was numb and cold to
the point that he didn't dare smile or move any other facial
muscles for fear that his face would crack and fall off. Frost
was starting to form on his eyelashes. His neck wasn't as cold,
only because he had taken his braid and wrapped it around his
neck like a scarf. It also served to prevent most of the wind
from blowing down the front of his jacket. His jeans provided
some protection, but he knew he'd kill at that moment for a pair
of thermal underwear and a full-length coat. And a hat.
Earmuffs would be nice, too. The wind had given him an earache
that seemed to reach all the way down the ear canal to his
throat.
Yes, Duo thought grimly, if Santa Claus had walked by just
then, he would have mugged him on the spot, and happily walked
into town wearing red and white fur.
A particularly fierce gust whipped past him, stinging his
eyes, and tugging his braid from is place around his neck,
exposing the skin there to stinging cold. Duo flinched as he
quickly scrambled to get the braid back in place, but the wind
kept tugging it loose from his numb fingers.
"Argh! Damn wind," he cursed loudly through frozen lips.
"Just stop for a minute, will ya?"
The wind died instantly.
Almost instantly. He could hear it rush off in the distance
across the dark plane, wailing like a wounded beast, before
fading away to a whisper of its former fury.
Duo blinked.
A nervous chuckle escaped him in the sudden, echoing
silence. This was too freaky. "Damn, I, uh... I guess I shoulda
said that sooner, eh?" he said to no one in particular. No one
was around to hear him. Just the cold, darkness of the night-
shrouded plane stretching out forever around him. Duo looked
down and noticed a thin bleak fog that seemed to rise from the
earth itself, creeping moist and icy around his ankles.
"Oh, this is nice," he said wryly. "All that's missing now
to completely this lovely scene is the graveyard. A few gnarled
trees, a black cat, some sunken tombstones..." Duo realized he
was speaking just for the comfort of the sound of his own voice.
Anything but the sudden, eerie silence. He reached into his
pockets and pulled out the compass again to make sure he was
headed the right direction, and hoped that his hands were shaking
only because of the cold.
East. Right. Thataway.
Duo started in that direction at a brisk walk. He could
hear the frozen ground crunch beneath his feet, which was
comforting, since the gray mist was thickening to the point that
he could no longer see his boots. It swirled around his legs
with each step, cloying and clinging, like a living thing .
Storm clouds above, mist below, and he was trapped in the black
gloom between.
Shit. Stupid English countryside. Where was the damn
village already?
His heartbeat and his breathing were loud in his ears as he
paced his careful steps, keeping an unconscious count of the
miles. Another fifteen minutes passed, with no sign of a river
or a village or anything.
"I know I saw a village, dammit. I know I saw it."
I should have stayed with Deathscythe, he thought. The
first thin threads of real fear were slowly weaving their way
through his heart. Too many unexplainable things were going on.
I should turn back, he thought. I should go back to
Deathscythe, and wait for the guys to find me. Or OZ, even. I
shouldn't be out here. What the hell am I doing out here?
It was then that he heard the breathing.
Breathing, not his own. Breathing, heavy, quiet. It wasn't
there, and then it was, in the silence.
Right behind him.
Duo kept walking, not breaking his stride, but his shoulders
were tense, his eyes wide, his lips thin and white as he stared
at the ground in front of him.
The sound of breathing followed. But no footsteps. No
crunching of the frozen ground beneath boots. Just breathing.
Duo's right hand slowly crept up to unzip his jacket, then
slip inside to where his gun rested in the shoulder holster.
Yes, a gun would be good now, he thought somewhat incoherently.
Must have gun. His other hand was in his pocket, palming a
grenade, even as a slightly wild gleam lit his blue-violet eyes.
Ha ha ha, sucker. Thought you could sneak up on Shinigami?
Thought you could scare the shit out of me? Well, you thought
right, but that's irrelevant. That won't stop me from blowing
you into little bitty pieces of whatever the hell it is you are
that can breathe like a friggin' obscene phone call and yet not
make any sound on the snow...
Pulling the gun out of his jacket in one smooth, swift
motion, Duo turned...
...and came face to face with a dog.
Not really a *dog,* Duo thought, with the utter calm that
only comes with the onset of madness. More like a Dog. A big
Dog, standing at least five feet at the shoulder, that looked
like it ate ponies for breakfast. A big, *big* Dog, that looked
like it had wandered off from guarding the gates of Hell. Black
fur. Canine lips pulled back in a silent snarl to expose
gleaming white teeth the size of steak knives. Flaming red eyes
that bored into his soul, promising a painful, bloody death. The
works.
And it was breathing.
"Oh," Duo gasped, "shit."
The Dog opened its mouth, bloody foam and saliva slipping
from its gaping maw, its eyes blazing as it leaned back in a
crouch, readying to leap--
Duo fired his gun.
The bullet struck the Dog dead center in the chest.
The beast howled in agony, a sound like the shrieking of
damned souls, and it lunged, snarling, slavering jaws agape...
Duo could only stand, frozen in wide-eyed terror. But his
trigger finger jerked, once, twice, three times...
The Dog's jaws snapped shut a scant centimeter from Duo's
nose. He could feel the creature's breath against his face. It
smelled like rotting corpses.
And then the Dog burst into a black mist, dissolving away
into the night without a sound.
Duo stood on the frozen plane. His breath came in heaving
gasps. His gun fell from the numb fingers of his still-
outstretched, shaking hand. Chill sweat ran in rivulets down his
face, trickling down his back.
The dark, swollen clouds opened, drenching the countryside
in blinding sheets of icy sleet. Under the sudden onslaught of
freezing rain, Duo fell to his knees, one hand reaching out to
where his gun lay, but not quite touching it.
He sat there for a long time.
~*~
"Wow, it's really coming down out there."
Sharon looked away from the rain-drenched window as Neville
sat down next to her again, once again seeking escape from the
rowdy atmosphere at the center of the pub. He slid a shot of
whiskey in front of her. She eyed the amber liquid suspiciously,
before favoring the balding, red-bearded High Druid with a raised
eyebrow.
"Here," he said, ignoring her glare. "You look like you
could use it."
"The only thing I could use right now is a magic circle of
protection large enough to surround the whole damn planet," she
replied.
"Well," Neville said, "we could probably set one up via some
sort of satellite system."
Sharon laughed, and Neville grinned. "Oh, sure," she said.
"Think we can get approval from the Romerfeller Federation to do
it?"
"They'd probably fund the damn thing, if they knew what we
knew."
"Ah." Sharon lifted the whiskey to her lips and took a sip,
grimacing as she did. "So, are you volunteering to be the one to
try to convince them?"
"Hell no."
Sharon shook her head. "Heh. Thought not."
"Hey, Neville?"
The pair looked up as their table was approached by a young
man in his early twenties with blue hair, and piercings in his
ear, nose, and lips. A small Celtic cross was tattooed just
under his right eye.
"Alex?" Neville acknowledged.
"Me an' the others," Alex nodded his head back towards the
center of the pub. "We were wondering if you were planning on
canceling the ceremony at Stonehenge if this weather keeps up."
Neville shook his head sharply. "Bad weather or no, I'll be
celebrating Winter Solstice within Stonehenge." The look on his
face, Sharon noted, said *I have to.*
Which was true enough. And she would be with him, even if
it meant standing out in the bloody rain and snow. If they could
just make it through the ceremony, on the longest, darkest night
of the year, it might buy them a little more time...
"You don't have to be there if you don't want to," Neville
continued, looking at Alex. "If the weather's rough, you and the
others can celebrate Solstice indoors."
Alex looked appalled. "No way, mate. I traveled all the
way down here from Leeds to celebrate at Stonehenge, and that's
bloody well what I'm gonna do. I just wanted to make sure you
didn't want to cancel."
Neville grinned. "Well, then, you can tell the others not
to worry. We'll be at Stonehenge tomorrow night, even if the sky
is dumping flaming hail." Which is a possibility, all things
considering, he added silently.
Alex was about to respond, when the door to the pub swung
open. Everyone turned to look at the newcomer, wondering who
would be mad enough to be out in this weather.
A small, slender, shivering figure stepped through the
doorway. The figure, dressed in black, was drenched to the skin.
At first, Sharon thought it was a girl, because of the long,
dripping hair, torn loose from a braid, that fell past the
child's knees.
But no, it was a boy, Sharon realized in surprise, even as
she pushed herself up from her chair and rushed towards him to
pull him inside. Neville was right behind her, closing the door
against the driving sleet that was soaking the hardwood floor.
"Great goddess, boy," she said, bending down to look him in
the face. The boy's hand in hears was cold and clammy. His skin
was frighteningly pale, his startling blue-violet eyes too wide
in his face. He was shaking so badly, he looked on the verge of
a seizure. "What do you think you're doing out on a night like
this?"
"Exc-c-cuse me," he stuttered, teeth chattering, turning his
wide eyes toward her, though, from the blank look in them, she
wondered if he was seeing her at all. The rough baritone of his
voice made her realize that he was older than he looked.. "I...
n-need to m-mak-ke a phone c-c-call."
And with that, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and
he collapsed in her arms.
~*~
End of Part 2
Feedback, onegai? ^_^
Krista
kperry@aros.net
http://www.akane.org/fanfiction/