by Anne
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency.The Tomorrow People belong to Roger Damon Price, Thames/Tetra and ITV television. I promise to return the characters in one piece, more or less, when I'm finished, but hold no liability for any physical injury or psychological trauma sustained by them in my fiction.
Thanks to: Linda and Misanagi for beta reading.
"Cat, are you okay?" Trowa was pulling at his safety restraints even as he asked the question.
"I'm fine," Quatre answered him from the co-pilot's seat. "What the hell happened?" He tapped at the instrument panels in front of him. They were still dead.
Trowa shook his head. "I don't know. The shuttle went onto autopilot but I never engaged it."
"Power doesn't usually cut out once you land, even on autopilot," Quatre said thoughtfully, not moving. "At least not to the extent that it won't switch on again. If it's a fault it's a weird one." He frowned. "Just before it happened, did you reach for me?"
"Reach for you?" Trowa stared at him blankly.
"Empathically," Quatre explained. "I felt something. I thought it was you at first, but it wasn't and it was gone before I could try to reach back."
"You shouldn't be reaching back if you don't know what or who it is." Trowa began examining the shuttle for signs of damage. The landing hadn't been smooth, but everything appeared to be functioning apart from the power, and unless they could get that online they wouldn't be going anywhere. Even the backup had failed, and the radio was dead.
"I know what I'm doing, Trowa." It was obvious from Quatre's tone that he wasn't happy with Trowa's comment. Quatre peered out the window. "I know I said I wanted to spend some time somewhere deserted where there was a beach, but I didn't mean it quite this literally."
"According to the charts, this island doesn't even exist." Trowa sighed. The chance of being found was very slim, unless they could get the radio to work. This was their first vacation together in months, and Trowa had been looking forward to teaching Quatre to swim in the ocean. Growing up on L4 where water was scarce, Quatre's swimming skills were very basic; enough to be able to tread water and dogpaddle a short distance but not much more.
Quatre glanced at his watch. "It's still working, so whatever this is has only affected the shuttle, hopefully." Trowa looked at him. Quatre shrugged. "Duo loaned me a book on the Bermuda Triangle and UFO abductions. This type of malfunction is quite normal for that. Except that my watch is still working."
"Our shuttle crashed, Quatre." Trowa rolled his eyes. "I very much doubt we're going to run into aliens or spaceships."
"At least they might have some idea what happened to the shuttle," Quatre replied, retrieving his gun from his jacket pocket and buckling on a holster. He and Trowa both already had knives hidden in their boots. Although the war was long over, old habits died hard and they had both brought weapons with them, even though this was meant to be a vacation.
"They?" Trowa raised an eyebrow. "This island is probably deserted, Cat." He checked his gun, making sure he had plenty of ammunition. Probability didn't tend to often work in their favour and he was already on edge.
"I'm not so sure," Quatre said slowly. "I felt something." He unfocused his eyes for a moment. "There's something here, I'm sure of it, but it feels…"
"Feels like what?" Trowa's tone was sharper than he intended but he didn't like this. There was so little they knew about Quatre's ability. Reaching empathically for Quatre himself, Trowa opened their connection as wide as he could. Although Trowa had only ever been able to sense Quatre empathically, Trowa would not allow Quatre to face whatever this was alone.
"Different." Quatre frowned. "Sorry, love. I know I'm not being very succinct, but empathy isn't an exact science. All I know is that whatever caused our shuttle to malfunction is out there, and I need to find out what it is."
"Need?" Trowa knew the word wasn't used lightly but that didn't mean he had to like it. Nor was he going to ignore it.
Quatre was quiet for a moment. "Whatever is out there is calling me. It needs my…" He frowned again, focusing his ability. "It needs our help."
"It could have asked nicely," Trowa snorted. "There's nothing out there, Quatre." There couldn't be anything out there. This island wasn't on the map, it was probably deserted. Trowa knew he was trying to convince himself, that he believed there was a good chance Quatre was right; he had been in such matters in the past. This was what worried Trowa; that they were walking into either a trap of some kind or the unknown. The former was easier to deal with as at least it was something at which they were experienced.
"Shuttles don't just switch to autopilot by themselves and power down, Trowa." Quatre gave Trowa a very familiar look, one that he knew better than to argue with. "I'm going to take a look around." Quatre opened the hatch, his gun in his hand. Surveying the area first, he jumped onto the sand below. "Coming?"
"Do I have a choice?" Trowa landed next to Quatre in one smooth movement. The sand beneath them was fine, almost white. There were very few unspoiled beaches left on Earth. If not for their situation, this would have been the ideal vacation spot. The sky was clear, the slight breeze ruffling Quatre's hair. In the distance the waves lapped against the shore, their clear blue green reminiscent of the colour of Quatre's eyes, although Trowa was certain this sea too, had hidden depths.
"You always have a choice." Quatre shook his head as though to clear it. Placing his gun into its holster, he turned in a circular motion, his footprints leaving a pattern in the sand. "The feeling is stronger from this direction." He started walking.
Trowa had made his choice when they had first met. While Quatre was perfectly capable of looking after himself, they had always worked better as a team, each watching the other's back. Once Quatre made his mind up, it was very difficult to dissuade him from a course of action. This thing, whatever it was, was calling him, like a fly to a spider's web, but Trowa had to admit he was more than curious himself. Standing for a moment, he focused on Quatre through their connection and frowned. There was something just on the edge of his perception, hazy, almost alien, for want of a better word. It had to be what had got Quatre's attention.
Refocusing his vision, Trowa saw that Quatre was waiting for him, and smiling. "You can feel it too, can't you?" Quatre spoke in barely above a whisper. "If you're not happy about this, we can turn back and try to fix the shuttle first."
"No, it's okay." Trowa doubted that attempt would be successful. "We'll have a look around first. I trust your instincts, Cat. You've been right too many times to ignore them."
"I've nearly got us killed too many times." Quatre's face creased in remembered pain. "We have to be in agreement about this." He frowned, rubbing at his chest. "That's very important."
Biting off the urge to ask why, Trowa just nodded. The sooner they explored their options, the better. There were worse fates than being stranded on a desert island with the person you loved. They had supplies to last a while and people would be looking for them. He took Quatre's hand, pulled him close, and kissed him. "We're in agreement. Whatever happens we do this together like we always have."
Quatre deepened the kiss and they held each other. "I love you," he said, running his fingers through Trowa's hair. "Thank you for trusting me."
"I love you too," Trowa whispered. Quatre was supposed to be the intuitive one, but Trowa had a bad feeling about this he couldn't shake. "I trust you." Trowa didn't see the point in asking Quatre not to place himself in unnecessary danger; it would be like asking the wind not to blow, or the sun not to shine.
"I'll only do what is necessary," Quatre said, as though he had read Trowa's mind.
"I know. That's what worries me." Trowa shook his head, and pulled away. "You said it was stronger from this direction?"
"Yes." Quatre began walking again, Trowa by his side. The sand seemed to stretch forever, although logically the island couldn't be that big. Several metres from the shoreline, Quatre paused, and closed his eyes. "This way, I think." They seemed to be heading inland, the sand grass growing more frequent. Glancing behind him, Trowa could still see the ocean, although it was growing more distant; they were surrounded by sea and sand, and not much else.
Turning, he followed Quatre over a large sand dune, and stopped. "What the hell is that?" In front of them was a strange object half buried in the sand. The top piece appeared to be oval in shape, a trunk like appendage joining it to another small oval resting on the sand. Quatre moved closer, to touch it. "Quatre! Don't."
"It's okay, Trowa." Quatre ran his hand down the trunk section. He seemed to be looking for something. "There's a way in. It's got to be here somewhere."
Trowa shook his head. This was unlike anything he'd ever seen either on Earth or the Colonies. Whatever they were looking at, it was only a part of what of what was buried beneath their feet. How long had it been here for? Looking at it, Trowa had a sudden sense that it was very old, almost ageless. He moved to stand next to Quatre, placed his hand against it, and pulled away suddenly. For a moment, he had felt something, but so faint it was barely there.
"You can feel it." Quatre was on his knees, digging at the sand in front of the object with his hands. "Help me, it's under here. It's calling."
Against his better judgement, Trowa dropped to the ground and helped Quatre dig. This thing was alive. But surely that wasn't possible? Could something be trapped under there? He shivered. Was this a tomb? "Quatre," he warned. If it was they didn't want to join whatever was down there. No, it could find its company elsewhere.
Trowa's hand hit something. It felt like metal, but not. Brushing the sand back, he edged away from the circular shape they had uncovered. The inner circle reminded him of a hatch of some kind; the outer rim was covered in weird symbols.
"That's it," Quatre breathed. He ran his hand around the circle, touching a panel on the lower bottom right. The circumference of the circle glowed yellow and then the circle itself began to pulsate in a steady rhythm of light.
"Quatre!" Trowa reached out to grab Quatre, but the circle opened, seemingly swallowing him whole, pulling him into the earth.
Without a second thought, Trowa dived into the opening after him, falling headfirst downwards, sliding, with no way of stopping. He had barely enough time to register the fact it must be some kind of maintenance tube when the enclosed space became open air. Reacting quickly, Trowa pulled himself into a semi-ball, straightened, and landed on his feet.
"Trowa, are you okay?" Quatre was sitting on the floor, leaning with his back against a mound of sand; he looked shaken although it was doubtful he would admit to it. "What is this place?"
"I'm fine." Trowa walked over to Quatre, crouching next to him, watching him. "You?"
"Fine." His fingers brushing against Trowa's briefly, Quatre stood and walked over to the round viewing port. The light was dim inside; sand was stacked up almost to the top of porthole, only letting in a minimum amount of sun. Quatre peered through, shaking his head. "We're below the surface but I'm not sure how far."
"I think this is a ship of some kind," Trowa said, his eyes adjusting. They appeared to be in a room, but it was doubtful it was the control room. Exposed beams crossed the ceiling and walls at intervals; they looked like metal. Trowa ran his fingers across the grain and stepped back, withdrawing his hand quickly. It felt alive, a weird mesh of technology and living organism. Was that even possible? Even now there were no true mechanical/human hybrids, although there had been talk of experimentation, the existence of which had never been proved.
"Hmm," Quatre mumbled, distracted. Standing under the tube which had been their way in, he frowned. "The sides are smooth, almost like glass. I doubt we can climb up, unless we can find something to use as a rope. Surely, there must be an exit of some kind, or how did the crew leave the ship?"
"Maybe they didn't." Trowa shrugged. His gun was still in its holster, and for some reason it didn't feel right to draw it. At least, not just yet.
"There is someone here." Quatre turned full circle again, the way he had done outside their shuttle. "Whoever designed this place seems to have a fixation with circles. Did you notice that?" He was staring at a hole in the wall, a bigger version of the circle they had seen outside.
"Are you still feeling what you were outside?" Trowa moved closer to Quatre, determined to follow him and stay close, whatever happened. Circles were a common motif in many cultures, representing many things. Life and death. Nature and time. They could be merely symbolic or maybe a language of some kind.
Quatre nodded. "It's calling me. Us. It wants both of us."
"It's not getting you alone, that's for sure," Trowa muttered. He slipped his hand into Quatre's, following him through the circle into another section of the ship. Under their feet, he felt indentations leading down another level. There were steps here, but hidden under layers of sand so that they were barely distinguishable. Sand and time had buried what once must have been a functioning… Trowa paused. "Could this have been a spaceship? It would explain what we've seen so far, and why it looks so…" He trailed off.
"Alien?" Quatre turned, his lips twitching in a half grin. "Duo is going to be upset that he missed this. It's like something out of those science fiction books he likes to read."
"And those books he keeps loaning you," Trowa said dryly. "Next time his shuttle can come down here instead of ours. He's always saying he wants to take Heero somewhere away from it all."
"That was supposed to be what this vacation was for us," Quatre sighed. "Sorry, love. It's not exactly turning out how we planned." Squeezing Trowa's hand, Quatre led them deeper into the ship, eventually stopping outside another circle, another door. "It's in here," he whispered.
Trowa nodded, not wanting to admit to himself that he too knew that Quatre was right. The further they had traveled into the ship, the more it had become difficult to ignore that something was pulling Quatre, pulling both of them, calling, in much the same way they always knew when the other needed help. It wasn't something concrete, or easy to describe, but more a feeling that couldn't be ignored.
"Whatever happens, remember I love you." Quatre stroked Trowa's cheek. "I will find you."
"I'm not leaving you," Trowa protested, frowning, a chill running down his spine. "Cat, what..?"
Quatre placed his fingers over Trowa's lips. "I don't know; it's just a feeling." He shrugged and tugged at Trowa's hand, leading him through the circle, down into another level.
"God, what is that?" Trowa stopped, as they stepped through this last door, staring at the column which spanned from ceiling to floor in front of them. It reminded Trowa of a giant chess piece, a king but without any pawns to do its bidding or to offer protection.
Pulling away from Trowa, Quatre walked slowly towards it, turned to Trowa and smiled. "This is the heart, this is it." Quatre placed a hand on one of the up risen symbols flanking the column and it lit up, the top section rising and falling, coming to life in response to his touch.
This room had a different feel to it. While still touched by age, by neglect, it was the control centre, it had to be. The viewing ports in this room were rectangular, the benches beneath on angles rather than flat, the same strange symbols etched into the ceiling, the floor, walls, everywhere. Outside there was water for as far as the eye could see, one lone fish staring back before slowly swimming away. They were under the ocean, submerged, yet the air was still breathable. Trowa sniffed; it was fresh, not stale, but how could that be?
Quatre touched another symbol and a weird half moaning noise filled the air. "It's been waiting for us, waiting for someone who can help." The sound changed, the moan dying to a whisper, reminding Trowa of words snatched by the wind so they could not be heard.
"It's talking?" Trowa shook his head, straining, but unable to make out anything intelligible.
"I'm not sure." Quatre closed his eyes, focusing, his hand rubbing his chest. "It's communicating but more by emotions than words." He shook his head, frowning. "No words." The ship groaned again, the lights on the central column flicking on and off at increasing speeds. "It's intelligent, and in distress. Something happened. It feels regret, sadness, and guilt."
"Something?" Although Trowa couldn't 'feel' anything, he trusted Quatre's instincts.
"A long time ago, a memory, voices in the wind." Quatre swayed, crumpled. Trowa caught him, holding him close. "We have to put things right." Quatre's voice was weak, but determined.
"You can't put everything right, Quatre," Trowa protested, shoving the realisation that Quatre's words had echoed his own thoughts to one side. "Whatever happened, you said it was a long time ago. We can't change what has already happened. This is crazy." He brushed Quatre's hair from his brow. "This whole thing is crazy."
"I'm not imagining this, Trowa," Quatre said softly.
"I never said you were." Trowa wasn't sure what to believe anymore. Once they had slid down that hole, normality had seemingly taken a vacation. He didn't like this, and wouldn't allow Quatre to put himself at risk for a 'feeling'.
"Not in so many words, no." Quatre pulled himself to his feet. He shrugged. "If this is crazy, nothing will happen. After all, we can't change what has already happened. The only thing we can do is live our own future." He placed both hands on the control panel underneath the column. "Are you going to help me, or shall I do this alone?"
"Help you do what?" Trowa shook his head, but followed Quatre's lead. There was no way in hell he'd watch Quatre get sucked into another one of those damn circles.
"I don't know," Quatre replied sheepishly, lowering his gaze. "If nothing happens we'll look for a way out of here and try to fix the shuttle, okay?" His eyes were closing, his breathing heavy.
"Okay." Trowa moved closer to Quatre, so that their hands were touching. This was scaring him although he wouldn't admit it to his stubborn lover. Quatre believed in this, therefore Trowa would be there for him, whatever it took. Three years with Quatre, and their empathic connection had taught Trowa to reassess his opinions of what was possible and real. His reality was Quatre and what they had together. It always would be, and it was what mattered.
Trowa's vision blurred, he reached for Quatre empathically, their hands clasped. A white light engulfed them. Trowa felt a strange sense of dislocation. They clung to each other. "I love you. I'll find you," Trowa promised. "I'll never let you go."
And, suddenly, their reality changed.
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