Warning: Yaoi, with possible lemon in the future. Unusual pairings!

Note: This is obviously AU. But it sort of parallels the GW universe for the most part - this is set a few months after Heero's first big self destruct with Wing, but in one of those little spin off worlds where the G-boys are actually working together. ^_^ (with the addition that I haven't had time to sit and watch all of the episodes in order, so if I get things confused or out of place that would be why...)

I own nothing at all from Bandai or Pet Fly, more's the pity. This ficlet is just for fun!

/drip/

/dripdrip/

/drip/

Water. He could hear it somewhere, the liquid rush of it through pipes, driven by the steady throb of a pump. And the drip, random but persistent, which had begun as just a drip and was now accompanied by the splash as water gathered underneath it.

/dripsplash/

/drip/

He licked dry lips, tasting the metallic trace of fresh blood as the split across his lip broke open from the motion. He could have killed for a mouthful of that echoing drip of water. A man, his mind told him distantly, could only survive a few days without water. How long had he been there? One day? More? He couldn't tell. There was only the darkness and the ever present taunt of the water.

/dripsplash/

He wondered, dimly, if anyone was ever going to fix that leak. Or maybe they would just leave him there, to slowly drown beneath the rising water. The absurdity of the thought jerked a small bark of laughter from him, and then a strangled gasp as the motion shot pain through his ribs. He pressed his forehead to his knees, panting softly until the sharpness faded back into the dull throb that had accompanied every breath since he had woken. Broken, one part of his mind insisted, but the rest was too scattered to pay much heed to that little rational voice.

He moaned softly, the sound deafening loud in the heavy dark. He was cold, the hands cuffed behind his back icy and beginning to loose feeling in the fingertips. There was chill sweat trickling down his spine and around his ribs beneath his shirt - at least, he could only hope that was all it was. It slicked his forehead as well, trailing in rivulets down his nose. Clenching his jaw against the stab of pain in his temples, he shook his head slightly, flinging the tickling sensation away.

/dripdripsplash/

Hours. A day, maybe two. More. There was no way to tell, nothing to judge by. He had tried to count the beats of his pulse, to give himself anything to frame the passing time within, but the deep rhythm of the pump drowned it out in a mockery of a heartbeat. /ta-tum/ and the whooshing gurgle of water through pipes. /ta-tum/

On and on it went, until he thought he might go mad. Or maybe he already was. Maybe he had been there for years... No, no, that couldn't be right. He couldn't have been in the darkness that long. He had to get out, to escape - there was some deathly important reason, if he could only remember what. Something to do with time. He couldn't think; the thoughts fled from his grasp like a school of little fish in a pond - beautiful and clear to look at, but when he thrust his hands beneath the water's silvery surface they scattered like a breath of wind. There was something he truly had to remember.

/clicktap/

The new sound jarred him, throbbing through his temples like the bite of a knife. He pressed his eyes shut, biting his lip. /clicktapclicktap/, like some demented sort of attempt at percussion. And somewhere, someone turned on another pump, or maybe more then one, the offset rhythms of them taking up residence in the painful throbbing behind his eyes.

/ta-tum/

/clicktapclicktap/

/caCHAK/

The sound, so like the familiar sharp noise of a gun cartridge sliding into place, jerked him away from his pain. Gasping, he struggled to sit up, opening his eyes. He couldn't quite contain his cry as the door to his prison swung open, the darkness pierced by streams of blinding white light.

Lieutenant Colonel Lady Une stepped into the small cell, her boot heels ringing smartly against the floor. When she stopped the heavy silence claimed supremacy once more, broken only by the small, panting breaths of the boy - the prisoner - who crouched, huddled into himself, head bowed.

Lady Une's lips pressed into a thin line, her white gloved hands curling at her sides. The Gundam pilot. One of those responsible for the deaths of countless Oz soldiers and the destruction of Oz mobile suits and bases. The Gundams had proved themselves formidable enemies, and for that reason she did not look lightly upon the prisoner at her feet, even if he was young of age.

She gestured brusquely to the soldiers who accompanied her. "Get him up."

They moved quickly to obey, stepping around her to lay hands on the boy. "You heard the Lady," one of them snapped, leaning down to grab the prisoner's arm. There was no response beyond those little panted breaths with the tiny hitch in them.

Lady Une frowned. Blood matted the boy's scalp, crusted through the hair at his temple and trailing in sweat smeared streaks across what she could see of his cheek. His skin was pale and beaded in perspiration which had dripped from his downturned face to form a blot of dark moisture on the floor. She wasn't a medic but she knew shock when she saw it, and she jerked her chin irritably at the soldiers, indicating they should pick the boy up.

They did, hauling him up by his shackled arms. The slim body was boneless in their grasp, hanging loosely, head lolling to one side. Cursing, Lady Une stepped forward, grasping the boy's chin in one hand.

Large eyes, dialated so wide they were almost black, stared sightlessly back at her from the boy's pale face. She passed her hand before him, snapping her fingers, but his vacant eyes neither blinked nor flinched, staring distantly at nothing at all, as though the mind behind them had fled. A sharp slap produced no more reaction.

"Damn it," she swore, voice fierce. "Don't just stand there! Get a medic down here at once!" She grimaced, dropping the boy's head. Snarling, she brushed off her hands, as though his touch might have contaminated them. "I'll contact his Excellancy," she growled reluctantly.

"There's no response at all, then?"

The doctor shook his head. Taking off his glasses, he wiped perfunctorily at the lenses with the bottom hem of his lab coat before settling them back across the bridge of his nose. There was a small crease carved between his brows which Treize Kushrenada privately thought had more to do with irritation then any concern about his patient. The man's voice held a slightly peevish tone to it, though he maintained an air of brisk professionalism.

"None at all," the doctor was saying. He held out a medical chart which Treize accepted, only briefly glancing through it. "I treated his injuries. The broken bones, contusions - it will all heal cleanly, given a bit of time. He has a small consussion, but nothing along the magnitude to account for catatonia." The man's frown increased as he looked down through the observation window at his patient. "We're running blood tests to check for any chemical compounds that might have induced it."

"Good." Placing his hands against the banks of scanners, the young General leaned forward, peering through the window. The prisoner's pale face was all but lost amidst the hospital white of pillow and sheet, but even from a distance Treize could see the unblinking eyes which gazed, sightlessly, up at the ceiling above the boy. Thin tubing ran from a saline drip to those staring orbs, keeping them moist in the absence of the body's natural defense of blinking. Sensor disks dotted the thin chest, limp arms wrapped round with IV cords that lead to the crook of each elbow. Over it all were straps that bound the body securely to the medical bed. They, and the guards posted to the room, were mostly a formality - the boy was obviously not going anywhere in the immediate future.

Straightening, Treize turned away from the window. "Keep me advised of any change in his condition, Doctor. I would be very interested to know the results of those tests."

It was late that evening when a knock came at his office door. Later then he had thought, he admited, glancing at the antique face of the pendulum clock against the wall. Sitting back, he ruefully stretched out the tension in his shoulders. "Come in."

It was Lady Une, her face impassive. "I have the doctor's report from the testing of the prisoner, Mr. Treize," she said as she quietly shut the door and walked towards him, a folder extended.

He took it from her, skimming through the printed pages. "An unidentified compound?" he asked, brows rising slightly.

"Yes, sir." She remained at attention, though she knew very well he would not have rebuked her for a less formal stance. "Homeopathic, the doctor thinks, some sort of herbal mixture, dissipating quickly. They're doing an analysis now, but Dr. Lahkim thinks it unlikely to be the cause of the prisoner's state." She paused, only the faintest ripple of expression across her face betraying her displeasure. "He is reserving judgement until the analysis is complete, but currently he is at a loss to either diagnose the patient's condition or suggest a course of treatment."

"I see." Treize flipped back to an earlier page of the report, one slim finger tapping lightly against a copied image of the boy's face, unconscious and blood streaked, taken when he had first been brought in. "If he's from the Colonies then there's very little chance of a positive identification."

"Yes, sir. I have a team looking into it."

"Thank you." Closing the dossier, Treize placed it atop a stack of paperwork on his desk. "His condition is holding stable?"

"Yes." She was clenching her back teeth again, a little tic against her cheek giving away the habitual gesture of frustration. "Dr. Lakhim can't say how long that will remain true. A traditional progression in a head injury would be from coma to death."

"But it isn't being caused by his head injury," Treize mused, half flipping the folder back open to look at copies of x-rays, the hairline streak of the concussion break circled in vibrant yellow. "That might create a certain amount of disorientation, but nothing life threatening." He leaned back in his chair, hands folded across his thighs. "The pilot of Gundam 01 self destructed at the command of his superior, rather then be captured. One might assume that they all have similar orders."

Lady Une made a soft scoffing noise. "The prisoner was captured before he could reach his Gundam."

"Precisely." Treize smiled slightly, an expression that had nothing to do with humor. "And yet, we can not touch the mobile suit, for fear of setting off that same self destruct. And the pilot, within our grasp, has effectively removed himself from our ability to question him."

"Then... why not simply suicide?" Lady Une asked, puzzled.

"I don't know." Treize tipped his head back, considering. "Unless he has hopes of a rescue."

Une stiffened slightly. "I'll double the guard around him immediately, sir..."

The General waved her rushed words aside. "No, Lady Une, that wasn't a hint. Increase the guard if you feel it would be best, but I was only musing aloud."

Bowing with a slight jerk, Une snapped her heels together. "I'll see to it at once, your Excellancy."

The little smile reappeared, this time with a hint of real humor and a bit of fondness. "Of course, Lady. I leave it in your capable hands."

The guards snapped to attention as he approached. He returned the salute with an easy grace, then nodded his head towards the door the two men flanked. "I thought I might take a look at our guest."

"Of course, sir," the senior lieutenant said, stepping aside automatically. He hesitated in mid-step, glancing apologetic askance at his superior. "It's... very late, sir."

Treize smiled gently. "Early, you mean. I wanted to make a closer inspection of the prisoner when I wouldn't be in the good Doctor's way." Unsnapping the holster of his gun, he handed the weapon over.

"Yes, sir!" Saluting again, the guard accepted the gun, then turned to key open the door. Treize stepped through, letting it close behind him.

The medical room had the harsh antiseptic scent of a hospital, a mix of cleaners and medicines and the underlying smell of blood. The lights had been dimmed to a softer glow, easing the harshness of the room somewhat. The soft, steady beep of a heart monitor filled the silence, accompanied by the low hum of other equipment.

Conscious of the ringing sound of his own boots upon the polished floor, Treize crossed to the foot of the bed, pausing there to take a closer look at the occupant.

So young, he thought, lips pressing unconsciously tight. So very, very young. War knew no difference of age, making soldiers of them all. He could remember, vividly, the bright, fierce look in the face of the young warrior who had challenged him, all pride and righteous anger simmering to a boil behind dark eyes. He had seen recordings of the destruction of Gundam 01, and the flat, expressionless eyes of that pilot as he had triggered the explosion. They had been of a similar age to the prisoner, in body. He wondered, watching the still figure upon the bed, if those boys would have looked as terribly young and fragile as this one did if the spirit behind their eyes had been removed.

He walked around an IV stand, coming to rest at the side of the bed. The only sound in the room was that of the equipment. He had to look closely to catch the shallow rise and fall of the boy's slim chest. Watching him, Treize found his attention drawn by small details. The boy was pale, but the backs of his slender hands and the curve of his cheeks had a reddish tint to them, as though they had seen too much sun recently. The eyes that stared sightlessly, too reminiscent of a corpse for Treize's taste, were a pale blue, large and widely spaced in a face that still bore the round shape of childhood. Lost amidst the bedclothes, the boy resembled images of old paintings, of angels and cherubs overcome, not by demons, but by the chill touch of intruding medical lines and hard restraints.

"Cherub," Treize mused softly, his whisper breaking across the hum of the equipment. "Is that why they chose you? Death with the face of an angel?" He tilted his head, regarding the still figure on the bed. "But even angels have fought in wars. Their hands are not bloodless."

There was nothing of an answer in the boy's silent gaze. Breath whispered softly through his parted lips, the only sign of his continued life. A few strands of pale hair had slipped free of the compression bandage about his temples and Treize, without thinking, reached out to brush them back. "Where have you gone?" he whispered. "Somewhere we can't reach, can't follow... where are you? And how do I bring you back?"

Silence, broken only by the steady beep of the heart monitor. It was that which first jerked Treize up, the falter of that steady noise, the quick skip in the beep as the boy's heart tripped. Alarmed, he straightened, glancing towards the monitor. The boy's heart skipped once more, then continued in a set, steady beat, slower than before. Treize stepped around to the bank of equipment, hand going to the alert button.

He had only just touched it when the boy's breathing halted, hitching, then resumed with a small gasp. Looking up, he saw the boy's body jerk, the thin chest arching. Swearing, he stabbed the botton again, the red light beside it blinking urgently as the distant alarm raised the medical team from their beds.

Hurrying back to the bed, he reached out, intending to press the slender shoulders back, to try to keep the convulsion subdued. But his hands stopped short of their goal as he realized it was something else entirely. Wide blue eyes met his - eyes that focused upon him, the spirit in them aware, shocked and frightened and determined all at once. The boy ceased struggling, breath coming in short, sharp pants. They stared at one another, boy and man, for a long moment.

"Treize Kushrenada," the boy whispered, the sound barely leaving his lips. And then the door was flung open, the Doctor and his team pouring through it, and Treize was pushed aside as they descended upon their patient.

[to be continued...]