Last revised: 02/24/00

*** WARNINGS ***
*** extremely alternate universe, semi-darkfic
*** yaoi, use of sex toys, obscene language
*** bastardized Quatres & Duos, tortured Trowas

*** LEMON *** LIME *** LEMON *** LIME *** LEMON *** LIME ***

Ummm, is that enough warnings? <sweatdrop>

Finally this part's finished! The middle bit with Duo and Quatre is a bit complicated, so I hope I don't confuse you guys. This is a rough draft so please pardon the typos and/or grammar mistakes. ^_^;

I suppose I'll get back to Wufei, Zechs, and the various members of OZ in the next part.

A Gundam Wing fanfic by Madamhydra
Part 2: What's Love Got to Do With It?

Short Disclaimer: (Full Disclaimers at the end)
Gundam Wing is copyright of its respective creators and all distributors of their work and used without permission.


[ Preventer Headquarters ]

Entering his inner office, Commander Quatre Winner sat down, turned the video disc of Zechs Merquise's sex acts over in his slender fingers a few times, then tossed it lightly on upon his desk. Gazing pensively at the green-eyed lieutenant standing motionless before him, the blond commander said gently, "See, it's not that hard, Trowa."

Since his superior officer was clearly waiting for a verbal response, Lieutenant Trowa Barton obediently gave him one.

"Yes, Sir." The voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"All you had to do is ask me to stop."

"Yes, Sir."

Quatre leaned back into his big, black leather covered chair. "Now whether I choose to stop -- or not -- that's an entirely different matter, of course."

"Yes, Sir."

Quatre's lips quirked upward. "Is that all you have to say, Lieutenant Barton?"

"Yes, Sir." The response took an instant longer this time.

The blond recognized the blank, shuttered gaze that made Trowa Barton's eyes look like orbs of dull, cloudy glass. It was a familiar response -- whenever Quatre managed to force a reaction from him, Trowa would reflexively withdraw, retreating behind his mental walls.

Quatre was not about to let that happen.

Responding to a small beckoning gesture, Trowa circled the desk to stand right beside his commander.

Quatre stretched out his hand and lightly stroked Trowa's rear, then suddenly pressed hard into the cleft between Trowa's buttocks. His fingers encountered the buttplug he had placed in Trowa just that morning. A small shudder rippled through Trowa's slender frame as his body responded, as it always did, to Quatre's skillful stroking of the intrusive device.

"Doesn't that feel good?"

After a brief hesitation, Trowa answered, "Yes, sir," with a faintest trace of a quiver in his voice.

Apparently not satisfied with the lieutenant's response, Quatre intensified his manipulations, being sure to also lightly caress Trowa's genitals through the taut fabric of his uniform pants. The brown-haired pilot's breathing grew faster and harsher. Soon, Trowa was panting softly, his eyes glazed and his cheeks were flushed from the ruthless stimulation.

"Do you like how I make you feel?" Quatre inquired gently.

The blond's smile widened just a bit as Trowa's green eyes darkened, a clear sign of some internal conflict. Something deep within the Heavyarms pilot resisted giving an answer, unwilling to concede that Quatre had the power to make him feel anything at all. But Trowa's extensive conditioning, combined with painful prior experience, would not permit him to lie to his commanding officer. The same conditioning prevented the green-eyed pilot from active disobedience.

Winner waited patiently. Finally, Trowa blinked and whispered hoarsely, "I... I don't... know." His voice trailed off as he fought to remain on his feet and keep his knees from buckling.

"If you're not sure, then why don't you sit over there on the sofa and think about it carefully," Quatre replied in the same sweet, gentle tone that he usually used when dealing with Trowa. But before the lieutenant moved away from Quatre, the commander reached out and activated the buttplug. The device forced another strangled gasp out of Trowa as it started to vibrate and throb inside him in a carefully calculated rhythm. Quatre knew that even simple motions like walking across the room and sitting down would magnify the sensations generated by the buttplug. After all, he had deliberately designed it that way.

Ever since the brown-haired soldier has been assigned to him, Quatre had made sure that Trowa's ass was always filled, either by Quatre himself or by one of the numerous sexual devices that the blond had designed just for the green-eyed pilot. They came in a wide assortment in shapes, sizes, textures, and movement, providing a near endless variety of stimulus, which in turn ensured that Trowa never had the opportunity to get used to the devices.

Often, Quatre didn't have to activate the plugs or even touch them. The mere presence of the devices -- the gentle, inescapable friction and pressure they caused whenever Trowa moved, piloted his Gundam, or even simply breathed -- served as a constant and unforgettable reminder of just *who* Trowa Barton belonged to.

He watched as Trowa sat on the sofa, quite motionless. At the moment, the Heavyarms pilot was successfully suppressing his urge to squirm, but it would be a losing battle. The acutely pleasurable sensations would steadily increase in intensity as time passed. The only question is whether Trowa would break down and admit that he enjoyed the pleasure Quatre gave him, or whether the lieutenant would pass out first.

As Quatre split his attention between editing the video of Zechs prior to delivery to Treize Khushrenada and observing Trowa's struggle to remain impassive, he thought, (You may be very good at ignoring pain, Trowa, but you can't ignore the pleasure, can you? I won't let you hide from me. You're mine and I won't tolerate you shutting me out.)

Trowa's hands now had a white-knuckled grip on his thighs as his breathing became heavier.

Quatre said absently, "Are you still thinking about it?"

"Yes... sir."

"Very carefully?"

"Y-Yes, sir." Trowa's voice shook noticeably.

(As if he's capable of thinking of anything else except the pleasure he's feeling,) the blond thought with a satisfied smile. In a normal person, the stimulation would have been overwhelming enough, but Duo Maxwell's alterations ensured that Trowa would be exceptionally sensitive to any physical sensations that Quatre might induce. Nevertheless, Trowa was still subtly resisting him by declining to answer his question. Quatre briefly considered boosting the buttplug's setting, but decided against it.

He was willing to be patient. Time and all the weapons were on his side. Besides, the last thing he wanted was to hurt Trowa like so many others had done.

As he continued to watch his subordinate's now trembling body, Quatre's thoughts drifted back to his first encounter with the young man known as Trowa Barton.


[ Preventer Headquarters, approximately one year ago ]

No one knew exactly what set Ensign Trowa Barton off that day in the cafeteria. Perhaps it was that the collar of his full dress uniform was too tight. Perhaps it was the endless rounds of lewd remarks and near-threats from his fellow squad members. Perhaps it was the way his commanding officer, Captain Cohen, fondled him underneath the table. Whatever it was, it made the young ensign totally snap.

Lieutenant Commander Quatre was walking by the cafeteria when chaos erupted. There were a series of loud crashes, the sound of breaking furniture, the smack of flesh hitting hard surfaces with possibly lethal force, and mingled voices screaming in anger, pain, and in one case, unmitigated fear.

Quatre entered the cafeteria to see what he initially thought was a small riot in progress. A second glance told him that all the commotion resulted from a disorganized attempt to restrain one man -- a young brown-haired mobile suit pilot who seemed to have gone totally berserk with rage. The target of most of that rage was an obviously terrified captain and a group of other mobile suit pilots. They were all frantically attempting to get as far away from the berserk pilot as possible, but their attacker was merciless and swift.

As he watched the brown-haired pilot toss other, interfering soldiers aside with almost contemptuous ease, Quatre came to realize three simple things.

First, the berserk pilot was significantly stronger and faster than the other mobile suit pilots in the cafeteria.

Second, the obviously insane pilot was the most graceful and beautiful thing he had ever seen.

And third, he, Quatre Raberba Winner, one of the finest products of the famed Winner family biolabs, really *wanted* that pilot for himself.

At that moment, the security police thundered into the cafeteria. Before they could leap into the fight in order to subdue the berserk ensign, Quatre stopped them in their tracks with a single gesture.


The leader of the security guards glanced uncertainly at her superior and cautiously inquired about the lieutenant commander's orders. Quatre's response was simple, but firm.

"Stand by. I'll handle this matter myself."

"By yourself?" exclaimed the startled security sergeant, staring at the slim, almost fragile-looking blond teenager standing before her.

Quatre retaliated with an icy stare which instantly caused the sergeant to choke back her instinctive objections, then returned his attention to the continuing brawl.

Throughout the fight, green eyes a-blaze with madness, the crazed pilot had been shrieking almost nonstop -- a constant primal scream of rage and fury -- as he relentlessly chased down and attempted to pound the other mobile suit pilots into a bloody pulp. The captain of that squad squirmed free of the milling mob and tried to flee the scene.

"Sergeant, detain that officer and the other members of his mobile suit unit. Leave the lunatic to me."

"Yes, sir!" the security trooper said, saluting smartly.

Quatre reached up, loosened the high-necked collar of his uniform, then stepped forward to confront the deranged pilot. As he approached, the blond officer caught a glimpse of the other's name tag, which read "Ensign Trowa Barton".

(Trowa.) Quatre repeated the name over in his mind a few times, savouring it as if it was a delicious treat tasted for the first time. Then, seeing no point in trying to talk any sense into the obviously crazed Barton, Quatre attacked without warning.

The lieutenant commander's ferociously swift kick slammed Trowa Barton into the wall. Any normal human would have probably suffered broken bones, but Trowa merely shook his head, scrambled to his feet, and blindly lunged for his new assailant.

Even though he was expecting such a response, the speed of Trowa's movement were still startling. Quatre slipped aside at the last second, and used the other's momentum to fling the maddened pilot into a support beam as the other Preventers hastily scrambled out of the way of Barton's flying body.

The impact, which probably would have knocked even a modified human unconscious, merely left Barton mildly dazed and did nothing to deter the pilot from trying to tear Quatre limb from limb.

Evading yet another mad charge, Quatre thought, (He's nearly as strong as Yuy and almost as fast as Maxwell. I can't tell how much of that is normal and how much of it is adrenaline-driven frenzy, but I'm now certain this pilot's probably been given a Class G upgrade, the type that allows a person to fully exploit a Gundam's capabilities. But that level of modification is strictly prohibited without explicit authorization from the Council itself....)

That level of physical enhancement made Barton an extremely dangerous opponent -- witness the way he swatted the other Preventers away like flies -- but that also meant that Quatre did not have to hold back in fear of accidentally killing or permanently damaging him.

The ensuing fight left the audience silent in both awe and fear. Barton picked up a heavy table and flung it across the large cafeteria as if it was a mere twig. Quatre leapt into the air to avoid a wild swing and on his way down landed a punishing kick to Barton's shoulder that sent him staggering. If the ensign had been even semi-rational, perhaps the outcome of the battle would have been more doubtful. However, in his present state, the berserk pilot was no match for the cool-headed Quatre. Sometimes the maddened pilot succeeded with his wild attacks, but most of the time, Quatre dodged or blocked the ferocious blows without too much difficulty. The blond patiently waited for the right opening that he knew would inevitably occur.

Barton overextended himself in a futile attempt to smash Quatre's head open with a metal bar ripped out of a column. Instead of dodging away, the blond slid under the swing, landed a vicious snap kick to Trowa's groin, then as the pilot crumpled forward, Quatre grabbed him by the neck and arm. He pivoted sharply as he heaved the still struggling Trowa high into the air, then slammed the pilot with precisely calculated force onto the floor.

Trowa Barton hit the ground, made a last futile grab for Quatre, then went limp.

Quatre stared down at his now unconscious opponent. His ribs ached, his mouth was bleeding, and his uniform was torn... but he felt better than he had for many months.

He wiped the blood from his mouth and smiled at his dumbfounded audience. To a person, they all looked away and nervously shuffled their feet, unwilling or unable to meet Quatre's searing blue gaze.


Captain Duo Maxwell wandered into the lab and found Quatre, accompanied by two hulking Maganacs and a gagged, heavily restrained prisoner. He gave the wildly struggling brown-haired captive a curious look, then turned to Quatre.

"What's up? Your message sounded urgent." The braided officer took a step and peered closely at Quatre's face. Although the bruises and swelling were already fading, they were still plain enough to Duo's discerning eyes.

"You look like you've been in a fist fight! Are you okay?"

Quatre shrugged indifferently. "It's nothing serious. I got slightly injured subduing him," pointing at his thrashing prisoner.

Judging from the trouble that the heavily muscled Maganacs were having keeping the straitjacketed and shackled prisoner under control, and knowing Quatre's fighting abilities, it was obvious to Duo that the brown-haired pilot was no ordinary soldier.

"So what gives?"

Quatre said, "This is Ensign Trowa Barton, assigned to a squad of mobile suit pilots under the command of a Captain Cohen. From some unknown reason, Ensign Barton went berserk and attempted to kill both his captain and his fellow squad mates."

"O-kay. So what is he doing here in my lab? If he's attacking his colleagues and his superiors, you've got plenty of reasons for immediate termination."

"Because...." The blond hesitated uncharacteristically, then said, "Because I want to know if you can determine what's wrong with Barton and... fix him."

"Um... fix him?"

Quatre sighed. "Yes, fix him so he's no longer out of control."

"Why on earth do you want me to do that?"

"First of all, I'm fairly certain that he's been modified to a Class G level. I need to know how and why. Barton might be able to give me some answers. Second, from what I saw today and after checking his records, Barton is an exceptional pilot. I don't like wasting such obviously useful talent. And third...." Quatre fell silent.

Duo cocked his head slightly and gave the blond a pensive stare, then he blink and muttered, almost in astonishment, "And third, you don't WANT to terminate him."

Quatre gritted his teeth.

The braided pilot started to chuckle. "You really don't want him killed, do you? Somehow, he's gotten to you!"

The lieutenant commander said in an irritable voice, "Think what you like. What I want to know is whether you can bring him under control."

Duo put his hands on Quatre's shoulders and leaned forward. "Hell, for you, I'll give it my best shot!" Turning to the Maganacs, he said, "Have the techs next door prepare him for a brain-dive."

As Trowa was dragged away, Duo said, "Gimme a hour or two to check him out. But just by looking at him, I'd say that the poor guy's a real mess."

"Tell me something I don't already know," Quatre retorted.


Two hours later, Quatre entered the control room linked to the conversion cell containing Trowa Barton's limp body. Duo sat crosslegged in the main chair, surrounded by a cloud of holographic icons and symbols.

"Here." Duo casually tossed a small packet to Quatre. Upon examination, the blond observed that it contained a small microchip with a few electrodes dangling from it.

"What's this?"

"THAT is part of the reason our Ensign Barton went totally gaga."

Quatre frowned. "It looks like some sort of neurostimulator chip."

"That's exactly what it is. I found it hooked into the pain center of Barton's brain. Your security guys found the controller in Captain Cohen's pocket. Rather crude device. The jerk probably got it on the black market."

Duo shook his head in aggravation before continuing. "You're right about his level of modification. His physical ratings are damn close to ours. Which explains the pain controller...."

Quatre's eyes narrowed. "I don't quite follow."

Duo leaned back in his chair and drawled. "People subjected to Class G modifications are resistant to normal forms of conditioning."

"So he would have been able to resist the standard programming that most Preventers cadets receive." Pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place for Quatre.

"Exactly. So Captain Cohen must have cooked up this stupid scheme of using the pain implant to keep this guy under control. I bet having a pilot of Barton's abilities really jacked up Cohen's performance ratings."

"Indeed. That's part of the reason the squad was here, to receive a commendation. So he hurt Barton...."

"In more ways than one."

Quatre said in an ominously even voice, "Explain."

"Here." Duo tossed Quatre a headset. "It's easier for me to show you."

Slipping on the headset, the blond officer could now see what Duo saw. Even to his relatively inexperienced eyes, Trowa Barton's mindscape looked like a disaster area.

Duo pointed at some particularly devastated areas of Barton's mind.

"Well, judging from the extensive neurological damage, I'd say that Cohen left that pain implant constantly activated on low power, not to mention he probably enjoyed giving Barton's brain high-powered zaps on a pretty damn frequent basis. And see those whopping big areas of scarring? Characteristic of gross sexual and emotional abuse. I bet Cohen and those other bozos were constantly using this poor guy as their private fucktoy."

Duo started to fume angrily. "Barton's got some real talent -- he's smart and bloody competent. When his conditioning started to break down, that idiot captain of his should have gotten a professional to fix the damn problem! Besides, any half-decent brain-hacker could have made Barton perfectly happy to fuck all his buddies! But nooooo... Cohen decided to handle it himself and look what the idiot did to him!"

He flung up his hands and yelled, "I hate amateurs! I REALLY hate incompetent morons! AND I HATE INCOMPETENT AMATEUR MORONS MOST OF ALL!!!"

As Quatre tuned out Duo's continued ranting and raving, an icy cold anger began to grow deep inside the blond Arab.

After letting off a little more steam, Duo finally calmed down and muttered, "With all that shit, it was only a question of time before Barton totally cracked up. It's a miracle that he remained functional for so long."

Quatre took a deep breath, then said tersely, "All right. Trowa's severely damaged. I knew that much. My question is whether you can do anything about it."

Duo rocked back and forth, nibbling on a fingernail. Finally, he gave Quatre a sly look, then said, "That sort of depends."

"Depends on what?"

The braided officer replied, "It depends on exactly what you want from him."


Duo grinned cryptically. "Heh. Do you going to be satisfied with mere obedience or are you looking for something more?"

Quatre looked thoughtful. "Go on."

"If all you want is an obedient little drone, that's real easy. All I have to do is purge Barton's mind and rebuild a new one. In less than a week, you'll have one hell of a good subordinate who will obey your every little wish, worship the very ground you walk on, be totally and utterly in love with you, and begging to satisfy your every sexual desire."

From the expression on Quatre's face, the prospect didn't have the slightest attraction for him.

"I already have people like that."

"So you'll have another one." Duo shrugged. "Never hurts to have a new slave. The only thing is that if I do that, he'll definitely be useless as a Gundam pilot."

"And the other choice?"

"That's a lot trickier, but the reward probably will be worth the trouble. I can stabilize Barton's mind, smooth out some of the worst damage, that sort of thing. And then it's all up to you."

"Me? Why me? Isn't this sort of task your responsibility?"

"Usually... but in this case, I think it would be better for everyone if you did it." Duo tipped the chair back and added, "You see, ignoring that little brawl in the cafeteria, it looks like Cohen succeeded in totally breaking Barton's will. The bozo's methods were crude, clumsy, and downright barbaric, but I can't deny they're pretty effective."

"You said that it 'looks like' he succeeded. From your words, I assume that appearances are not correct."

"You got it." Duo gestured at the chaotic images of Barton's mindscape. "Somewhere in all that shit, the fire... the inner spark that makes Trowa Barton special still burns. You know I'm right, Quatre. During that fight with him, I bet you sensed something about him, something that instantly grabbed your attention and drew you to him. Otherwise, you probably would have shot him on the spot."

"Yes, you're right," Quatre murmured softly.

Duo leaned forward and said earnestly, "If you want him operating at his full potential... if you want him to be more than just another boring ass-kissing slave, you've got to reach the real Trowa and make him your own. For his sake AND yours."

The blond officer frowned slightly and asked, "My sake? What does this have to do with my welfare?"

"Because in the last few weeks, I've had a feeling that you were... bored. You seemed to be looking for something, but never quite finding it."

"I wasn't aware that my... feelings... were so obvious," Quatre said tersely.

Duo patted his fellow pilot's leg and said, "Take it easy. I've got a gift for noticing these sorts of things. I'm pretty sure no one else knows or even suspects."

"That's a relief, I suppose."

The braided pilot grinned impudently. "You see, I sort of consider it my unofficial job to keep you guys from flaking out."

"Guys? I assume you're referring to myself and the other Gundam pilots."

"Yup. Quatre, your problem is that your brain tends to run on overdrive, so it's hardly any surprise that you tend to get bored, just like Heero tends to get stressed out really easily."

Quatre raised an eyebrow and murmured, "And your solution to these... problems?"

"Oh, with Heero, it was pretty easy. He just needed a way to work off tension, one that didn't have anything to do with missions or duty."

"Ah. Well, that explains why you started having sex with him."

"Hell, it seems to be working just fine. Surely you've noticed that he's gotten more laidback recently. And his combat performance hasn't suffered. In fact, I think he's even improved a bit." Duo cocked his head thoughtfully. "I'd fuck you too, if I thought that it would solve your problem, but I know that I can't give you want you need."

Quatre chuckled and said, "Is sex your answer to everything?"

"Hey, don't knock it! It's good stress relief. Besides, you might not believe it, but there's a difference between sticking your cock into just any convenient body's orifice, willing or not, and having sex with a special person."

"You almost sound like a romantic, Duo."

"Who knows, maybe I am," came the braided pilot's cheeky retort, sticking out his tongue.

Shaking his head, Quatre said, "All right. What do you suggest I do and how does Barton fit in?"

"You need a challenge, something that will keep you busy for a while. Something difficult. How about getting someone to love you?"

Quatre raised a cynical eyebrow.

"Not worship you, but LOVE you," Duo added with decided emphasis.

"Love." Quatre almost snorted. "That's easy enough to program into someone. Even I can do it."

"Ah, but that would take away all the fun! It's so much more interesting if you really have to work at it."

"And you think that Trowa will provide me with a suitable challenge?"

"Oh, he's perfect for you. Barton may be severely damaged, but it's my informed opinion that he's still capable of falling in love. You've already got control of his body. After Cohen's conditioning and after some judicious tweaking from me, Barton will carry out your every command. But his mind, that's an entirely different story. That's still up for grabs."

A slow smile grew on Quatre's face. "I'm beginning to see what you meant about reaching the real Trowa Barton. If I handle this properly...."

"He'll be all yours. Body, mind, and soul. It won't be easy, but...."

Thinking back to those brief moments in the cafeteria, remembering the fire and passion in Trowa's eyes, Quatre said, "But not boring. And definitely worth the effort." He turned to gaze down at the slender, brown-haired body in the tank and said thoughtfully, "As for the best method to use...."

Duo shrugged. "Well, he's been hurt, abused, degraded, and all that sort of shit already. He's used to that type of treatment. And it obviously didn't work to truly break his spirit."

"So what are you suggesting? That I take the kinder, gentler approach?" Quatre asked with an air of bemusement.

In the most pompous voice imaginable, Duo intoned, "The rule for waging war is to avoid strengths and strike at weaknesses -- Sun Tzu."

The blond shook his head in mild exasperation. "I *know* that."

"Then the answer should be perfectly obvious."

"Yes, it is, but that still leaves the question of discipline. Granted that I want to avoid hurting Barton as much as possible, I still need a way to punish him if necessary."

Duo said quite emphatically, "Physical pain is a definite no-no. You see, in a normal pain response, there is a deterrence threshold -- a point at which the pain is sufficient to make the person change his behavior in order to make the pain stop -- and a critical tolerance threshold. Below the deterrence threshold, a person can ignore the pain. Exceed the critical tolerance threshold and the person either goes into catastrophic mental withdrawal or, as in Barton's case, he goes berserk.

"Unfortunately, with all the scarring in his pain centers, Barton's response to physical pain is totally out of whack. He's got no deterrence threshold at all. Either he's going to just ignore the pain...."

"Or he goes wild," Quatre said


"All right. What does that leave?"

Duo shrugged carelessly. "Well, simple physical pain may be out, but there are plenty of other things that can cause a person a hell of a lot of discomfort. Anxiety, fear, guilt... you get the idea. Probably not fear, though. That's too strong, too intense. There might be some wierd cross-reactions. You need something more subtle. Probably something like guilt."

"Guilt. A remorseful awareness of having done something wrong," Quatre recited blandly.


"I'm not personally familiar with the sensation of guilt."

"Well, it can be as unpleasant as pain and fear. More so to some people."

"Ah. All right. I'll leave it up to you. After all, this is your area of expertise."

Duo grinned and said, "Cool." But as Quatre turned to leave, the braided officer added, "Just a suggestion, though. Take it easy on the punishment bit, okay? It's probably better to let Barton get away with a few minor infractions than to discipline him too much. As for major league stuff...," Duo shrugged, "well, you gotta do what you gotta do."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

"Oh, that reminds me. What about that bastard Cohen and his posse?"

Quatre gave Duo a kindly smile that had the braided pilot bouncing in anticipation, then the blond clearly outlined what he had in mind for ex-captain Cohen and Barton's former squad mates.


[ Preventer HQ, Medical section, two weeks later ]

As Trowa Barton dimly became aware of fingers gently touching his cheek, he realized that there was something was different.

Several moments passed as his brain gradually began to clear, then his eyes flew open and found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling as he suddenly figured out what was missing.

The horrible, gnawing pain that had pervaded his life for so long was gone. And perhaps for the first time in years, he didn't hurt... anywhere.

A soft voice said, "I'm glad you're finally awake, Ensign Barton."

Trowa shifted his gaze downward and saw a slim, blond Preventer officer standing at his bedside. Why would a lieutenant commander of security be watching over him?

More memories slowly surfaced -- the arrival at Preventer Headquarters, a meaningless series of conferences, lunch in the cafeteria....

"Captain Cohen...," he whispered hoarsely.

The blond officer held up a small packet. Trowa couldn't repress a shudder as he recognized the device. Cohen had shown him pictures of the neurostimulator chip often enough.

As if reading his thoughts, the lieutenant commander said gently, "Yes, this is the chip that was implanted in your brain. And no, it will never hurt you again. As for Cohen or those other pilots in your squad, you're quite safe from them."

The blond officer gently stroked his cheek, and said, "My name is Quatre Raberba Winner. And I take care of what's mine."


Several days after Trowa Barton's awakening, a sharp jolt of pain jerked Cohen out of his restless slumber. He found himself shackled, arms and legs outspread, to a wall. And standing in front of him were the instantly recognizable figures of Lieutenant Commander Winner and Captain Maxwell.

"W-W-Wha?" Cohen mumbled. He felt very strange. His brain seemed both foggy and crystal clear.

In a cold, stern voice, the blond officer said, "You have been arrested and summarily court-martialed for conspiracy, embezzlement, falsification of records, lying to your superior officers, gross abuse and misuse of Preventer resources, and general incompetence. Your subordinates have been charged as accessories to your crimes. All were found guilty. A termination order has been issued for you and your squad."

"Termination!? No!!! Wait a second...!"

"However, that termination order has been suspended and the guilty parties have been remanded to my personal custody."

Cohen, already dangerously pale, went chalk-white as Captain Maxwell started to snigger.

Commander Winner held up two small items and said softly, "Do you recognize this items?"

From his noisy swallow, it was obvious that Cohen instantly knew what they were -- specifically, the pain-inducing microchip he had implanted in Ensign Barton and its control device which he, Cohen, had always kept within convenient reach.

As the prisoner stuttered and started to babble out excuses, Quatre's icy blue eyes narrowed ominously.

"Normally, someone found guilty of your crimes would have been immediately executed. However, I've decided on a much more fitting punishment for you. You see, I am perfectly aware of what you did to Ensign Barton."

"No... you don't mean... you can't!!!"

Quatre continued, "Captain Maxwell has implanted a neurostimulater chip into your brain, Cohen. However, our chip is considerably more sophisticated than the one you used on Barton. Maxwell?"

The braided officer grinned and lightly tapped the small control device in his hand.

Cohen started to convulse and scream as agony poured through his brain.

As Duo hummed a happy little tune, Quatre waited for Cohen's sobs and moans to diminish somewhat, then jerked the prisoner's head up.

"I am also very much aware of how you and your subordinates repeatedly used and abused Barton as your private sex toy."

Duo grinned in anticipation. When Quatre's voice softened to a low purr, it was a sure sign that the blond officer was starting to lose it.

Cohen blurted, "It wasn't like that! So he fought a bit at first. You people should know that new guys always need some breaking in! But it was all a game! I know he liked it rough and painful!"

"Then you had better hope that you're also one of those people who like their sex rough and painful, because that's the way it's going to be for the rest of your miserable existence. Captain Maxwell has been telling me that sex is an important form of stress relief, so I've decided to hand you over to my Maganacs so they can use you as their personal... what was that term you liked to describe Barton?"

Duo broke in helpfully, "I think he really liked calling Trowa 'his cheap little fuckdoll'."

"Thank you, Duo. Cohen, you are going to be the Maganacs's personal fuckdoll, to use or punish as they please. As for the rest of your subordinates, I've arranged for them to be permanently employed in Headquarter's recreation center. They'll be spending the rest of their lives servicing their fellow soldiers."

"This isn't real... a nightmare... a damn nightmare!"

Quatre said smoothly, "If it's a nightmare, then it's one you helped create. An eye for an eye. It's a very simple, but very old principle."

Duo cooed malevolently, "Think about it, Cohen. Forty hulking, muscle-bound goons, all hung like stallions and as horny as hell. Let me tell you that you're going to be one popular boy! But don't worry. No matter how much it hurts, all that usage won't cause any permanent damage. I made very sure your body can take it." The braided officer leaned even closer, his violet eyes gleaming with wild excitement.

"Not only that, but you're going to find out that you WANT to be used. You're going to want it so badly that you're going to be constantly begging to be fucked. You're going to feel like total shit unless someone's shoving their cock up your ass or into your mouth. After all, isn't that what you claim Trowa wanted?"

"No... no... please... have mercy... stop...." Cohen's voice trailed off in a sick moan as his body's and mind's new cravings started to make themselves known. His gaze was irresistably drawn to Quatre's and Duo's groins, tantalizingly outlined by the snug uniform pants of their uniforms.

Duo tipped his head and said pensively, "I wonder how many times Trowa said the very same thing to you... and how many times you refused."

Quatre snapped his fingers and the leader of the Maganacs entered the cell. The blond took Cohen's control device from Duo's hand, then casually tossed it in the Maganac's direction.

"Rashid. He's all yours. Do with him as you please, as long as you don't kill him."

"Thank YOU very much, Master Quatre."

The blond shrugged. "Consider it a gift for your good work." As he and Duo left the cell, Quatre paused in the doorway and said, "In fact, all your men will have 24 hours of leave. Enjoy yourselves."

"Yes, Master Quatre!"

As mingled sounds of pain and begging escaped into the hallway, Duo turned to Quatre and asked, "Are you going to tell Trowa about Cohen?"

"I... don't think so. Not yet. I want him to get comfortable with me and his new surroundings first." Quatre halted in the hallway and said, "Duo, I'd like to thank you for what you've done. You went far beyond the requirements of duty."

Duo tossed his head and smiled brightly.

"Hey, no problem! We Gundam pilots need to stick together, ya know? And that Cohen jerk really pissed me off. I would have taken care of him even if you hadn't asked."

The blond chuckled and said, "Duo, you can be such an utter bastard at times."

Duo's grin widened. With a wink, he said, "Of course I am! After all, I was designed that way!"


[ Preventer Headquarters, the present ]

Trowa sat in the office, watching his superior officer work on his little 'gift' for Khushrenada. It would be an unmistakable message, one that said too clearly, "See what the Council and the Preventers have done to one of your greatest hopes."

Milliard Peacecraft is no more. There only existed Zechs Merquise, loyal Gundam pilot.

Gundams, symbols of the Council's overwhelming power....

....Gundam Wing, the pale angel who wielded the energies of destruction....
....Gundam Deathscythe, the swift grim reaper who loomed without warning out of the smoke and fog....
....Gundam Shenlong, the dragon warrior who scoured its prey from existence with flaming breath and blade....
....Gundam Epyon, the newest of them all, a blood red beast lashing his searing whip across the battlefield....
....Gundam Sandrock, the watchful guardian, scimitars poised to destroy whoever dares to cross its path....
....and finally himself, Gundam Heavyarms, the animate weapon who spewed forth an unrelenting hail of metal and explosive fire on its victims.

Gundams, the dread enforcers of the Council's will.... There were only six now, but there would soon be more Gundams... more tools for the five scientists who essentially ruled the known human-inhabited universe.


Long time ago, he had been something more than just a tool or object to be used. Long ago, he been important for himself and not what he could do. But he couldn't remember... there had been someone... a warm presence, the ring of a girl's laughter....

Maybe they were just deranged fantasies. Perhaps he had always been a tool and nothing more. Why did he try so hard to pretend otherwise? Why did he fight so hard to deny it? Why struggle so much to keep his supposed soul alive? Tools don't have souls -- tools merely function. That's their only purpose for existence. Why did he ache for more?

After two years under Cohen's hellish tutelage, his body had learned the brutal lesson of total obedience. However, a part of him still refused to surrender, refused to give his superior officer the satisfaction of totally breaking him.

Unable to end his own misery himself, he had learned to endure through all the torments, pain, and suffering inflicted on him. Chained and shackled to his captain's every whim, he patiently waited for a chance to die. He knew that day would come. A man like Cohen would always manage to push things too far.

The chance he had waited for arrived a year ago, in the cafeteria in the middle of Preventer Headquarters. Something cracked and gave him a few brief moments of freedom. He still couldn't kill himself, but he done his best to ensure that others would. He had deliberately fed the fury and the rage, hoping that someone would deliberately or accidentally terminate him and end it all.

Escape had seemed so close....

But when he awoke, he had found that he had simply moved to a bigger, more comfortable prison. And the warden of that prison was none other than the infamous and feared Lieutenant Commander Winner.

Quatre Raberba Winner.


Perhaps he was both.

Quatre had taken the pain away and protected him from the abuse of others. But that relief was not without its own terrible cost.

He thought that he had succeeded in making himself numb to all the torments this hell called life could inflict upon him. He had thought his walls were perfect, that the separation of body and mind/soul were complete... that nothing had the ability to truly touch him any more. But every day... every hour... every single breath he took reminded him that he was wrong. The barriers that sufficed to keep his other tormentors at bay did nothing to stop Quatre from reaching him... making him feel. Just as wind and water gradually but inexorably shaped the hardest of stones, Quatre delicately, but relentlessly, pried away at the walls that had protected him for so long.

(He's already inside my body, and now he's slowly working his way into my mind... my heart... my soul. No. I can't let him succeed....)

But even more insidious than the pleasure Quatre made him feel, was the inescapable sense that at least part of the commander's kindness and gentleness was genuine and not just some vicious, calculated psychological tactic.

(I can't help thinking that consciously or not, Quatre really cares about me... just a little.)

Or was he deluding himself? Had his instinct for the truth been subverted and twisted, like so many other parts of himself? He knew all too well what Captain Maxwell were capable of. Milliard Peacecraft was a perfect example. There was simply no way to know which thoughts were truly his own and which thoughts were programmed into him.

And the thought of what Maxwell and Quatre could accomplish if they worked in concert truly terrified him....


"Trowa, bring me that OZ file from next door." Quatre pointed to the neighboring room.

The helplessly aroused lieutenant silently obeyed. While Trowa's walk would have appeared quite normal to the uninformed observer, Quatre could easily see that the other pilot was not moving with his usual graceful ease.

(You're really starting to feel it, now, aren't you, Trowa? Good.)

When Trowa returned, Quatre allowed to him sit for just a moment, then sent him off to bring in some fresh tea. He kept the Heavyarms pilot moving, never giving him the opportunity to settle down and get used to the plug's stimulation. The final task involved picking up a stack of data disks that Quatre had 'accidentally' knocked to the floor. The erotic sensations caused by the device filling Trowa's ass were undoubtedly intensified as he was forced to repeatedly bend and squat down to retrieve the disks scattered around the room. Quatre felt a pleasant warmth in his own genitals as he watched Trowa briefly close his eyes, lose his balance, then grab a side table to keep from falling. By the time Trowa collected all the disks and placed them in a neat pile on Quatre's desk, he was visibly swaying on his feet.

The commander gave him a concerned look and said, "Are you uncomfortable, Trowa? Sit down back down on the sofa and I'll see if I can make you feel better."

(No. No more. Please.) The thoughts drifted like smoke through Trowa's mind. But he didn't dare say a word. Even so small an admission of Quatre's power was not acceptable. If he could have, he would have run far away, but his body was too well trained to disobey such a clear and explicit command.

Quatre joined Trowa on the sofa. For a moment, he simply stared up into the other's face, then gently brushed the long bang of brown hair aside so he could get a better look. In a sharp contrast to the Heavyarms pilot's previously dull, indifferent gaze, Quatre could see confusion, apprehension, and perhaps traces of some other, less clearly defined emotions in Trowa's pleasure-glazed emerald eyes.

Satisfied, the blond slipped his hand inside Trowa's tunic and gently massaged his nipples. There were no sharp pinches or twists like so many others had given him -- just a steady rhythm of both light strokes and firm caresses which synchronized perfectly with the throbbing of the buttplug inside him. The brown-haired pilot shook in response, but clenched his jaws in an effort to remain silent.

The blond snuggled closer and purred softly as he sensed his quarry's growing weakness. Then, with a light pat of a finger, he boosted the buttplug's output to near maximum.

Caught totally unprepared, Trowa spasmed, his back arching, both mouth and eyes wide in a silent scream. His slender fingers clutched at and tore through the sofa fabric. The pounding waves of ecstasy left Trowa unaware that Quatre had repeated his original question.

"Do you like how I make you feel?"

As Trowa Barton passed out from the sheer force of his climax, he was unaware that he had nodded in response to Quatre's softly voiced question... unaware that he had surrendered another small bit of himself to his new master.

(end of part 2)
Keeper of Duo's Dark Side ~~~ Duo no Seishi
Co-Keeper of Duo's Scythe & Bat Wings
Co-Keeper of Little Grim Reaper Duo
Keeper of Saitoh's Sex Life ~~~ Saitoh no Koibito
------------------------------------------------- /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/:E

The Full Disclaimer
All rights and privileges to Shin Kidousenki Gundam Wing are trademarks and property of Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency, and associated parties. The characters of these works are used WITHOUT permission for the purpose of entertainment only. This work of fiction is not meant for sale or profit.
Original portion of the fiction included here is considered to be the sole property and copyrighted to the author.