Disclaimer:

I do not own Gundam Wing or any of its characters. I just love them to no end and have a very twisted imagination. Please be aware that I am extremely poor so suing me will do you no good. Thanks.

Warning: NC-17 / Lemon Yaoi / Explicit Language / Angst / NCS / Violence / AU

Pairings: 3x4 / 1x2 / 5+S / More to be announced

FYI: Inner thoughts -- [ Flashback ]

Author's Notes:

Here's chapter six of TotH, everyone. This chapter took me a while to write, and I apologize for the long wait. Unfortunately, the muse wasn't being very cooperative. I hope this chapter, however, will be to your liking, making the exaggerated wait worth it. It brings about yet another round of angst and slight Quatre torture, along with some insightful moments with some of our other GW bishies. Chapter seven will take some time to post, but I'll do my best to make the wait a short one.

Special thanks go to one of my best friends, and new beta, Anney, for her helpful suggestions and honesty. I'd like to also thank another close friend of mine, Nev, for her enthusiastic comments and praise. Thanks guys!!

Well, that's it for now. Enjoy the chappy!

Thanks again,

Forsaken

Trials of the Heart

Duo stood next to Heero, arms crossed over his chest, as every member of the Eastern Division gathered in their briefing room at Preventers, Inc. Duo's violet eyes roamed the room taking in the familiar faces of his comrades, people he'd known and trusted for years. It was hard for him to believe that one them had been a traitor. Granted, the traitor in question didn't belong to this group in particular, but it still galled Duo to know that 'a' Preventer had betrayed all of them, taking not only important confidential files with him, but Quatre as well. He has Quatre. Dammit!

Duo closed his eyes, trying to control his anger, to control the need to tear apart the man who had taken a member of his family. It was hard though. Harder than he could've thought possible to stanch the need to kill once again. He'd thought that primal instinct had long been buried deeply within him, so deep that it couldn't have possibly resurfaced, but Duo had been wrong.

Long ago, when he had been a field agent for OZ Corps, assigned to missions almost impossible to accomplish, Duo had been a proficient killer, a killer without equal. Heero, who'd been his partner even back then, had compared him to Shinigami, the God of Death. His lover couldn't have been more accurate, for Duo had lived up to that name without fault, branding him not only dangerous, but deadly as well. Duo had to admit that he wasn't very proud of that fact and so he'd tried to put that facet of his life behind him, opting for a more passive role by joining an affiliate of OZ Corps, Preventers, Inc.

It had been hard to dull down his senses, to control the instincts that had been honed to swiftly carry out justice through the deliverance of death, but he'd managed to do it. His need to stabilize his life, to live as normally as possible had ensured his victory over his darker side and for eight glorious years, with Heero at his side, he had been free of its influence. But now, as he stood here waiting for news on his best friend, knowing that Quatre was in danger, Duo's control was slipping. Anger was a living thing inside of him and he could feel 'Shinigami' roaring to life within him once more.

And it scared him more than he cared to admit.

Duo's thoughts were carried back to the present when Trowa walked into the room, followed by Wufei and Sally. The anger he'd been feeling toward the lanky brunette ever since Quatre had come to live with Duo and Heero quickly faded, as Duo took in Trowa's ragged appearance. His eyes caught sight of Trowa's bandaged hand and his brow furrowed in concern. Damn, he looks like shit.

Seeing Trowa like this, haggard and obviously tense with worry, made Duo come to a realization. Despite all that had happened, all that Trowa had done to ruin his relationship with his best friend, the man still cared for Quatre. It was easy to see, for the stark fear whirling within Trowa's green eyes mirrored his own no matter how hard they both tried to hide it. Fuck, Trowa. Why were you such an ass? Why did you go and ruin such a perfect thing if you still love Quatre? Why?

Duo looked over to his right, to where his own lover stood ever watchful by his side, and felt his heart clench within his chest, as his violet eyes locked onto Heero's handsome visage. He just couldn't understand it. Couldn't comprehend how someone could betray the one they claimed to love the most in this world. He would rather die than cause Heero any pain, let alone shatter his heart by sleeping with someone else. No matter how bad things got between them, how many arguments they had, he and Heero would always find a way to work things out, to 'talk' things out. Somehow, despite the anger their spats tended to ignite, they would find their way back to each other.

Duo sighed, his eyes latching onto the brunette once again. Guess that wasn't the case between you and Q, huh Trowa? His irrational and at times temperamental side of him wanted to blame Trowa for what had happened to Quatre. If Trowa hadn't betrayed Quatre, his best friend would've been safe sitting in front of the tall brunette as usual right now, working on some boring papers. It would be so easy to blame him. So easy. But I can't, Duo realized, his gaze still locked onto Trowa's tense frame. Quatre's abduction wasn't Trowa's fault. Duo tilted his head in thought. I wonder if Trowa realizes that too.

Zechs Marquise came to stand in the middle of the room, drawing Duo's attention, the man's very presence stilling all conversation.

"As of 0700 today, Agent Fyren Wallis was officially charged as the infiltrator responsible for not only for the theft and destruction of confidential files, but for the abduction of Agent Quatre Raberba Winner." The blue-eyed blonde turned to Wufei. "Agent Chang."

As Wufei walked up to stand next to Zechs, Duo eyes narrowed in determination. We'll find you, Quatre. Just hang in there for us. Ice seeped into the violet depths of his eyes. If he hurts you, I'll kill him, Q. I'll kill him. I swear it.

Shinigami laughed in malevolent joy somewhere in the back of his mind, as the leash over him slackened yet again.

"Wake up, Quatre," a voice echoed in his mind, as if from a distance.

No, Quatre protested, his brow furrowing. He didn't want to emerge from the darkness that had been keeping him safe and without pain. A hand touched him suddenly and Quatre quivered, his body instinctively pulling away, as fear and panic once again flooded his sharpening mind.

With a gasp, his eyes opened, and Quatre brought his hand up in an instant to halt the unwanted touch. "Don't touch me," he whispered menacingly, his blue-green gaze locked onto Fyren's smiling face.

"What's the matter, Quatre?" Fyren asked, as he easily broke Quatre's weak hold over his hand. "I thought my touch pleased you."

Already tired after that one small usage of his depleted strength, Quatre shuddered and glared at the brunette. "Do you honestly think that I enjoyed anything you did?" Quatre asked angrily, his voice hoarse from lack of use. "You drugged me and raped me, you bastard. You betrayed my trust."

"Trust," Fyren smirked, as he sat down next to him, causing the bed to dip slightly. "Such a complicated word. A word that holds no meaning to me." Fyren's eyes darkened, the dark orbs looking down at Quatre with a mixture of hatred and desire. "And I believe, my naive Quatre, that the same can be said about you now."

Quatre's eyes narrowed, hurt welling up inside of him, as a part of him recognized the truth in Fyren's words. No, dammit. Don't let him do this to you, he berated himself. Don't let him twist things around in your mind. ""Where am I?" he asked, trying to get his mind focused and his emotions under control.

Fyren pulled away slightly, his dark eyes still trained on Quatre. "You are in my employer's home. You'll remain here until he deems otherwise."

Quatre's eyes roamed the expanse of the large room, taking in the lavished surroundings. The entire room was furnished in elegance and old grace, from the large mahogany dresser a few feet ahead of him, to the king size bed he was resting on. Dark natural toned drapes covered much of the long window to his right, blocking out most of the sunlight, adding a subtle hue to the room.

Where in God's name am I? His eyes locked onto Fyren once again. "Why am I here? What do you want with me?"

Fyren grinned and shook his head. "Now is not the time to reveal secrets, my little Quatre."

Quatre nearly growled at the man. Once again, he tried to move, attempting to sit up, but try as he might, he just couldn't make his body obey his command. He fell back onto the bed in an exhausted heap. Dammit. Dammit.

Fyren chuckled, as he stood up and began to undress, causing fear to once again sliver through Quatre's heart. No. Not again. Please, not again.

"Don't come near me!" he commanded, his voice breaking, betraying his panic.

Naked and already aroused, Fyren climbed onto the bed once again, straddling Quatre's numb thighs. "Or what, Quatre? How can you stop me from making you mine once again?"

Quatre's eyes widened, as the brunette reached down and began to unbuckle his pants. Fueled by desperation, he grabbed Fyren's hands. "No, dammit," he rasped, trying to impede Fyren's advance. "Get your filthy hands off of me!"

Fyren laughed at his futile attempts, however, and quickly removed his jeans in two swift pulls. His strength depleted, Quatre's arms fell limply at his sides. Fyren moved in between his legs and pressed his engorged member against his entrance, and Quatre felt his soul cry out in despair. His world dimmed, and his mind retreated into the dark recesses of his subconscious, as Fyren once again violated his body.

"Until I'm told differently," Fyren whispered raggedly into his ear, as the brunette began to move against him, "you're mine Quatre Raberba Winner. Completely and utterly mine."

Quatre did not respond to the other man's claim, his blank eyes locked onto the heavily draped window a short distance away. A thin ray of light streamed into the room, and Quatre watched unblinkingly as it slowly began to fade away.

Someone help me... find me, Quatre's mind whispered from within the darkness, his body moving back and forth against his will. Find me before I fade away.

Trowa didn't know what to do with himself. Sitting next to where Duo and Heero were standing, listening to Wufei speak, Trowa felt as if he were about to go mad. He needed to do something - anything or he would lose his mind. He felt useless and it was killing him.

Quatre needed him.

He's scared…… and in pain. He's hurt, dammit. He didn't know how he was certain that Quatre was suffering, but somehow he did. It had always been that way between them. Whenever Quatre was in need of him, whenever his lover had needed emotional support, Trowa had known. It had made that day when Quatre had discovered his sin all the more painful. He had felt Quatre's pain as if it had been his own. Waves upon waves of agony and despair had intermingled with his own, and Trowa had barely managed to keep himself together.

And now, Quatre's in danger, hurt and frightened, because you couldn't keep your dick where it belonged, he berated himself. Why didn't you just talk to Quatre? Why did you have to let yourself be swayed by your pride and arrogance? You fucked up the best thing that ever happened to you! Dammit…… Quatre…… God, Quatre…… If I lose you…… No! He's going to be alright. We'll find him, and…… I'll…… I'll beg him for another chance. I'll beg until my knees are bloody... until my very last breath if I have to.

A sharp pain brought Trowa back to the present. He looked down at his bandaged hand, and watched as a bloody stain grew over the once white wrapping. Shit, don't lose your control. Not now. Trowa looked up, and his green gaze nearly widened as they came in direct contact with Duo's violet one. Great. Just great. Keep showing him how weak you are. Ashamed of his lack of control, Trowa turned away from the long-haired brunette, shifting his gaze back to Wufei.

"Ms. Une has verified that Bosca was responsible for the infiltration."

Une - Oz Corps' second in command. Wufei really has connections, Trowa acknowledged, his anxiety increasing. If Oz Corps is involved, then this is about national security as well. Trowa's eyes narrowed, fear running along his spine. What the hell is going on? If that bastard was sent here to spy on us, why did he kidnap Quatre? Why single him out?

"Bosca?" Heero asked, his tone low and serious.

Wufei nodded, his face a mask of calm unless one took a look at his eyes; their dark depths were brimming with barely suppressed anger. "Because of the high volume of Bosca employee disappearances in the last five years, Preventers, Inc. was called upon by the Romefeller Foundation to investigate the organization and all of its affiliates. During the investigation, their drug trafficking and gambling operations were discovered, prompting the involvement of OZ Corps and White Fang."

At the mention of OZ Corps, Trowa saw Duo stiffen next to Heero. "Who were the agents involved in this case?" Trowa asked, a part of him already knowing the answer, and fearing it.

"Agent Po, myself, and……" Wufei looked into his eyes, "Agent Winner."

"Fuck!" Trowa heard Duo whisper in the background, as he stared at Wufei. Trowa felt his insides growing colder and colder with every passing second, numbing him. He remained calm outwardly, however, betraying none of the quaking emotions that were spiraling inside of him, despite his need to bash his hands through something.

"So he was taken because of his connection to the Bosca case?" asked Dorothy from where she sat to Trowa's left, her face clearly showing her agitation.

"It's a possibility that cannot not be readily dismissed," answered Zechs, his ice blue eyes honest and direct.

"It's more than that," Trowa suddenly stated quietly, attracting everyone's attention without realizing it. He looked up at his commanding officer with unfocused eyes, his mind recalling that one time that he'd met Wallis.

Trowa could still remember the man's easy going attitude and charming smile. But, he could also remember the almost possessive gleam within Wallis' brown eyes whenever they had fell upon Quatre. Brief as their encounter may have been, Trowa had 'sensed' something from Wallis, something dark and full of mal intent. He had thought that his jealousy over seeing his lover with another man had been responsible for the ill feeling he'd derived from Wallis, but now…… Now he wasn't so sure. Did you sense the same thing, Quatre? Trowa's heart quickened, as his mind raced. Were you the reason why I felt that way?

Being with Quatre for so long, Trowa had eventually realized that his lover's sixth sense was more than what it seemed. Quatre was different…… special, in ways that even Quatre himself cared not to acknowledge. He had tried many times to confront the blonde regarding his unique perception, but Quatre had always avoided the issue, preferring not to speak of it. Could it be true? Did I sense something 'off' about Wallis because Quatre was feeling the same thing?

Trowa's brow furrowed. If that had been the case, then why did Quatre agree to go out with the man? Why had Quatre overruled his better judgement? Trowa's hand closed into a fist, pressing his fingers mercilously into his bandaged wound. Why, Quatre? Was it because of me? Was that it? You went out with him despite everything you may have been feeling because of my stupidity? God... What had he done? It was entirely his fault. Everything was his fault. His----

"Agent Barton?"

Trowa blinked, reality once again crashing into him. "Yes, sir," he replied automatically.

"Could you please clarify your statement?" the older man requested, his tone authoritative.

Knowing he couldn't get around it, not with Zechs and the entire division looking at him with anxious curiosity, Trowa took a deep breath and tried to vocalize his jumbled thoughts. "Wallis has more at stake here than retrieving information for Bosca. He has a personal agenda as well."

A pale blonde eyebrow arched upward. "How did you come to did conclusion, Agent Barton?"

"Analyze the situation," Trowa replied, not really caring that it was his commanding officer he was speaking to; he was too lost in his own pondering to worry about formality. "Wallis had been within our organization for over a year, relaying confidential information to his employer. He was obviously told to move to the next stage of his assignment last night -- A mission which was successfully completed. So why?" Trowa asked, his voice calm and collected, despite his inner turmoil. "Why did he decide to kidnap Agent Winner if his mission had been fulfilled? There was no further need for Agent Winner. Not with 75% of the Bosca files effectively tampered with." Trowa shook his head and stood, knowing his intuition was right. "There's more to this than just mere espionage. Much more."

Zechs sighed in apparent thought, crossing his arms over his chest, wrinkling his uniform slightly. "You've made an interesting point, Agent Barton, but I cannot go by speculation alone or afford to waste precious time." Blue eyes locked onto green. "We have been given approximately 48 hours to locate Agent Winner's whereabouts before OZ Corps dispatches their Leo squad to retrieve the stolen information and eliminate the threat that Bosca presents to this nation."

"What?!" Duo exclaimed, his slender body shaking with anger. "You can't let them get involved! The Leos complete their mission to the letter. No thought or emotion involved whatsoever. If they manage to find Bosca's base of operations, they'll end up killing Quatre before it's all over."

"Duo," Heero whispered in warning, trying to calm his outraged lover.

"No!" Duo practically shouted, moving away slightly from his lover's touch. "They'll kill him, Heero. We can't let that happen. This is Preventer business, dammit. We take care of our own messes."

"Very true, Agent Maxwell."

Sounds of surprise and shock filtered though the room, as the founder of OZ Corps walked into the room, followed closely by his second in command.

Trowa turned to face the newcomer, prepared to do all that was necessary to ensure his lover's fate. He'd heard all he needed to know. If Preventers, Inc. didn't locate Quatre and the stolen files soon, OZ Corps would interfere, condemning Quatre to his death. No, Trowa proclaimed, his will, his love for Quatre fortifying the lonesome word. Nothing -- No one would deter him from finding Quatre and having him safe within Trowa's arms once again.

Not even the almighty Treize Krushrenada.

Fyren straightened his tie, a nervous reflex he could never get rid off, before he opened the door leading into his employer's office. Closing the door behind him, Fyren swallowed, as he proceeded to walk through the large expanse of the barely lit room toward the huge windows up ahead. When he reached the desk stood in between the shaded windows and himself, Fyren stood in utter silence, his eyes locked onto the back of the black leather chair in front of him, not willing to displease his... master by speaking first.

"Bremen has told me that the boy is in one piece, and that he is an excellent... specimen," his master told him, the cold voice showing no sign of emotion.

"Yes, sir," Fyren replied, his fists tightening behind his back, a part of him afraid to have Quatre taken away from him because of such a fact.

Once again the deep baritone voice sliced through the air, causing Fyren to shiver in fear and disgust. "He is to your... satisfaction?"

"Yes, sir."

The chair swivelled around, revealing the heavy set older man sitting within it. White hair sparkled under the faint light, as a pair of pale green eyes stared into Fyren's indifferent gaze.

"Good," the man known as Vincente Bosca, who had all but enslaved him, replied calmly. "And everything else?" his master asked, tucking his hands underneath his chin, as he continued to stare at Fyren with his cold and penetrating eyes.

"A letter should be arriving at the Winner estate in about an hour, sir."

"Excellent. Make sure you keep young Winner entertained until the delivery of the letter is confirmed," his employer commanded. "You have done well, Fyren Tanaka." Then without another word, the white-haired man lowered his hands, and once again swivelled his chair around, effectively dismissing him.

Fyren stared at the back of the chair for a few heartbeats, seething in anger, before he calmly turned away and walked back out of the room. Once in the hallway, he leaned against the office door, and stared straight ahead, thoughts of hatred and malice whirling around in his mind. One of these days, you fucking bastard, I'll get my revenge on you as well. I'll make you join my father in hell soon enough.

Straightening, Fyren walked along the hallway, and headed toward his room. A smile suddenly curved his lips. He may not be able to exact his revenge again the man who had enslaved him to a world of darkness as of yet, but he could most definitely enjoy himself with the one who's lineage was responsible for his fate.

Fyren's smile grew, his groin tightening at the thought of the blonde. Quatre made him feel alive again, made his body sing with pleasure beyond his imaginings. Whether it was Quatre's will to defy him, or the blonde's body that attracted him, Fyren didn't really care. All he knew was that his very soul craved for the solace only Quatre could give him.

Hurting the blonde, taking him without consent or caring, gave Fyren a sense of power, something that had been taken from him viciously. Every time he took Quatre, every time he spent himself within the other man's body, Fyren regained a measure of control over himself, regained his pride. There were times when an inkling of remorse managed to seep into his conscience, but it was always quickly pushed aside. Remorse over the things he done to the blonde had no place in his heart or mind. How could it? When he was with Quatre, he was no longer the one being used and commanded like a puppet on a string, no longer the one to have his choices taken from him, no longer the one to have his desires stanched with little mercy. No, he thought decidedly, remorse held no power over him. None whatsoever.

Passing several guards along the way, Fyren climbed the large staircase leading to the rooms above, his heart already beating wildly against his chest, as anticipation coursed through him.

I'm coming for you again, my dear Quatre. Malicious joy washed over him, his steps becoming more rapid, as images of Quatre crying out in pain and fear consumed him. I'll make you pay for all that I've gone through.

Quatre nearly cried out in agony, as he pushed his body into a sitting position. Shit. He closed his eyes, trying to grapple the pain ripping through him, and the dizziness causing his head to spin. Arms trembling from the effort of keeping him from falling back onto the bed, Quatre pushed aside the pain, and forced his body to move yet again. One by one, he moved his legs until they were hanging almost limply over the side of the bed. Panting and sweating, his body practically drained of strength, Quatre gripped the edges of the mattress, and felt dismay rise within him. God, I'm so weak. I can barely move.

How the hell was he going to get himself out of this nightmare if he couldn't even get on his feet? No, dammit, he berated himself. You can't give up now. You're going to stand up and you're going get your ass out of here. You are!

Taking a deep breath, Quatre willed his body to heed his command. He was determined not to fail, driving his body beyond its current limits, as he used the bed's headboard to stand. Once on his feet, breathing heavily, Quatre covered his mouth with his free hand, trying desperately to hold back the need to vomit. Everything was spinning, causing his stomach to clench painfully, and Quatre closed his eyes, willing the world to right itself once again. He couldn't afford to get sick, to allow his weakened body to impede his escape. He opened his eyes, and took a deep breath, before he took a step forward.

In an instant, his world tilted, as his legs buckled beneath him. Desperate to stay on his feet, afraid of falling and not being able to get himself back up again, Quatre grabbed onto the edges of the night stand next to the bed, causing the lamp on top of it to wobble dangerously. He legs were trembling, and his stomach was still doing flip-flops, but Quatre did not fall. Using all of his strength, he stood there and waited a few breaths for his body to regain its equilibrium.

Afraid to waste anymore time, however, Quatre made himself take another step. Relief washed over him when his legs didn't protest, and so he pushed himself further. Moving along the wall, using it for support, Quatre walked slowly toward the window. His body was aching all over, yelling at him to slow down and rest, but Quatre ignored its demands. He couldn't allow his body the reprieve it sought. Not just yet.

Beads of sweat trailed down his face and down his back by the time he finally made it to the window. With a shaky hand, Quatre moved aside the heavy drapes covering the window from view, and blinked rapidly, trying to adjust his vision enough to see clearly past the glass. Peering into the night, his blue-green eyes widened at the sight before him.

Thick walls of steel surrounded the area around him, and Quatre could see several guards pacing along its confines. Beyond the seemingly impregnable metal fence, miles upon miles of land stretched outward and beyond what he could see, barren and untamed. God, what is this place?

Resting his forehead against the glass, Quatre hands fisted over the windowsill, despair filling him, as his hopes for escape began to dwindle. How am I going to get out of here? He was in no shape to get past those guards. What am I going to do?

Pushing himself away from the window, away from the sight of his cage, Quatre turned and faced the room, leaning his back against the glass. Think. You have to think. Formulate a plan. Quatre reached up to rub at his temples, the throbbing in his head making it hard to concentrate. What could he do though? In his weakened state, he would be able to accomplish nothing. Attempting to escape now would only serve to make things worst for him. But I can't just stay here, waiting to be used by that bastard again. Quatre shuddered at the thought of Fyren, remembering what the man had done to him, and wrapped his arms around his waist, fear and anger intermingling inside of him.

Dammit, how could I have been so naive? So stupid as to let my guard down with him? All along, he had felt that something wasn't quite right about the brunette, but he had chosen to ignore his instincts. He had allowed his feelings of bitterness and loneliness to get in the way of his senses, and now here he was, trapped and defenseless, being used by a man with a soul that burned with hatred and vengeance toward him.

Quatre could still recall the dark waves of anger that had rolled off of Fyren, as the brunette had blamed Preventers and him for his father's arrest and eventual suicide. His fear grew even more at the mention of his own father. Fyren had mentioned his employer's displeasure over the fact that his father had apparently refused to partake in some sordid endeavor, something that didn't surprise Quatre in the least.

His father was a very noble man, a man that held to his convictions and moral code without wavering. Power and wealth were nothing compared to his father's perception of what was righteous and true. In upholding such beliefs, his father had made many enemies throughout the years and because of the threat they sometimes presented, Quatre and his sisters had led a very sheltered life, their every step protected by the family's legion of loyal bodyguards. As the only son, his life had been all the more constricted, and despite his love for his father and his legacy, Quatre had found himself needing to rebel against what had been expected of him. He left home, much to his father's dissatisfaction, and joined Preventers, Inc., a place where his need to help others could be fulfilled, and his skills as a tactician could be utilized to their fullest.

Stupid, he thought, as he pushed himself away from the window and began to walk toward the door, his hand reaching out to the wall. You should've known better. It didn't matter that he was no longer the heir to the Winner fortune, that his family wanted nothing to do with him, that he lived more than an ocean away. Those facts didn't change who he was. He was still Quatre Raberba Winner, the son of one of the most wealthiest men on the planet.

Is the reason why I'm here? Are they planning to use me to get to my father? Quatre moved along the wall, his steps beginning to falter, as his body grew weaker. No, I won't let them do that. I've caused him enough problems and grief. I-- ""Shit!" he hissed, as his right leg suddenly gave way beneath him.

Unable to stop himself, Quatre reached out with both hands, as he fell to his knees, barely stopping himself from falling on his face. Lacking the energy to move from where he was, Quatre sat there, staring at the floor, taking in several deep breaths. I'm so tired. God, so tired. But although he wanted nothing more than to spread out on the floor and pass out, Quatre made himself move, knowing he had no other recourse.

I have to find a way to get in touch with the others. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that he could stand up to the guards in his present condition. His only hope rested on his finding a way to contact Preventers, Inc. By now, his division was aware of his capture, and more than likely looking for him. He didn't doubt their skills as trackers; they were after all the best of the best. But from the looks of the compound he was being held in, Quatre knew the others would need his help on this one.

Practically crawling on his knees, he came up to the door, and reached out to grab the doorknob. Turning it, Quatre was surprised to find the door unlocked. Slowly, he opened the wooden door until he was able to look into the hallway. The light bothered his eyes, causing more pain to spike into his head, but Quatre ignored it, as his eyes darted back and forth.

Close clear, he opened the door even more, and made himself stand, using the doorknob to help him. He walked unsteadily into the empty hallway, and carefully moved toward the carved railing directly ahead. He looked down to what appear to be the first floor, and felt his insides grow cold, as Fyren's form came into view. Oh, shit. He's coming back up here.

Panicked more by the thought of Fyren touching him again, than of the possibility of be caught out of his room, Quatre moved away from the railing, and as quickly as he could walked a few feet to his right to the staircase leading to the floor above him.

Adrenaline rushing through him, Quatre climbed the stairs with amazing speed until he reached the landing. Not stopping to catch his breath, he forced himself to walk down the brightly lit hallway. About the tenth door down, he entered one of the rooms, and closed the door behind him, his eyes searching for a telephone. The room, however, appeared to be used strictly for storage; the interior was littered with filing cabinets, and crates, proving utterly useless to Quatre.

Okay, no phone. Stupid to think that it would be so easy. Resting against the door, Quatre tried to collect his thoughts. There has to be a communications room in this place somewhere. I just have to find it. Quatre ran a trembling hand through his damp blonde hair, feeling exhaustion creeping into his very bones. The other rooms on this floor are probably like this one. The second floor is off-limits for now, so that leaves me with the first floor. Shit. Nothing's ever easy.

A noise coming from the hallway interrupted his thoughts, and Quatre immediately moved away from the door, almost tripping over his own two feet in his haste. Doors were being opened and slammed simultaneously, echoing loudly throughout the halls. Shit! Quatre turned and looked around the room, as he felt the approach of a familiar dark presence. There has to be another way out of here.

His gaze latched onto a square panel on the bottom of one of the corner walls across the room. Moving past the various filing cabinets, Quatre went down on his knees, and grabbed onto the panel. To his relief, after only three pulls, the panel gave way and opened, swinging upward. Hoping that the darkened shaft would hold his weight, Quatre crawled into it feet first. Once inside, he carefully lowered the panel shut, and pressed himself against the metal casing as much as he was able.

The door suddenly swung open, and Quatre held his breath.

Please... Please... Please, Quatre chanted silently, his eyes watching through the small decorative slits on the panel, as Fyren entered the room.

TBC . . . .

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