Prodigy
Chapter 13
The Truth
A half hour of silence had passed since they’d turned onto the county highway, and Duo was still not sure if he should be unnerved or reassured by Heero’s flawless directions. True, it was reassuring to know they weren’t lost, but the question of how- and more importantly WHY the scientist knew Rural Route 36 like the back of his hand…the uneasiness was gnawing away on his already-frayed nerves.
“Turn right,” Heero said quietly, and Duo frowned at him.
“Are you blind? There’s NO ROAD.”
And indeed, there WAS no road. Just a big field of the natural grassy flora and a tree almost reminiscent of an equally boring field in that Shawshank Redemption movie... well, except that one had an awesome stone wall and a smaller forest nearby, whereas this one was smack dab in the middle of nowhere and just reeked of middle-of-nowhereness.
“Just turn right,” Heero snapped.
With a glare and a quick mental shrug, Duo complied. He seemed to do that a lot, ever since he’d met the scientist.
He parked under the tree’s canopy, and Heero got out of the car, walked over to the tree, and sat down on the ground, getting comfortable and obviously waiting for Duo to follow. And he did, locking the car out of pure habit.
“…So.” Duo sat himself down next to Heero, strangely nervous. “You gonna start talking now?”
Heero just looked up at the sky through the leaves of the tree, and let out a soft sigh. His eyes closed, and he began to speak.
“All of this really started when I was just a little kid. An orphan, actually- one of the nameless ones they’d find wandering around cities, lost and dazed…”
He blinked up at the man with big, amazed blue eyes,
ignoring the rain falling down from the pipes and rooflines of the city.
The man smiled at him- an affair of creasing skin and
glasses pressing against weathered cheeks. “Hey, boy. Been out here long?”
The boy stared back, fascinated by the way his
water-streaked glasses glinted in the neon lights. “…I think so…”
“Do you have someone to take care of you?” The man asked,
pulling off his long white coat and draping it across the boy’s shoulders.
“Parents? A guardian?”
The boy shook his head, water flying off his overgrown
brown locks.
Still smiling, the man held out his hand. “Well then.
Might as well get you out of this rain, eh?”
There was a moment of hesitation, a moment of wariness
from the boy, and the man waited, hoped for the trust to come.
The boy put his small hand into the man’s large, grizzled
palm, and the man smiled at him again as they set off into the streets, their
lonely silhouettes flickering in the rain.
“His name was Dr. J,” Heero said. “He took me in, named me,
started teaching me, and found I was a quick study. When I turned ten, he
finally fully adopted me, and let me go into public school. But, when they
tested me…”
“…I see where you got your lovely personality from,” Duo muttered.
“Thank you,” Heero said. Duo chose to let him live with his delusions. “Eventually he managed to convince the woman to place me in high school, as a sophomore. It was terrifying, but still boring, and I ended up graduating in a year anyway.
“But, on the day before I left for college, there was something different with him.” Heero frowned. “And that was the day he let me into his workroom.”
All the time he had lived with Dr. J, they had lived in a decent-sized home, plenty large enough for an aging scientist and his young adopted son. The boy had his own room, and the man had two rooms all for his own. The first was his bedroom. The second’s door was always locked.
Always.
But, on the day Heero was leaving for college, Dr. J limped
over to the kitchen table, fixing a severe look towards his adopted son.
“Heero.”
Toast halfway to his mouth, Heero looked up from the
newspaper. “Yes?”
Dr. J turned around, limping towards that strange locked
door. “Come.”
The boy set his toast down and followed, watching in awe
as his guardian pulled out a skeleton key and stuck it through the lock, waited
five seconds, and then turned it.
“You can never be too careful, Heero. Better safe than
sorry doesn’t even sum it up,” J stated, and the door swung open. He waited
three seconds, and then walked through, clunking his cane on a strange bump in
the wall. “Close the door behind you.” Heero complied.
When he turned around, all he could do was stare.
Board after board after board of numbers, letters, and
equations swirled about the windowless room, barely making room for a single
computer in the center. The wall holding the door was floor-to-ceiling books,
some looking positively ancient while others seemed to be hot off the press.
“This is my legacy to you,” Dr. J stated. “I know you
have a photographic memory, but make sure you memorize everything perfectly.
Every decimal, every degree, every single portion of the equation. Burn it into
your brain, Heero.”
Heero complied again, marveling at the sheer genius of
the equation. It clearly was incomplete, an entire other board blank at the
very edge.
“…got it?” The boy was amazed- it was the first time he’d
ever heard his mentor sound nervous.
“Yes,” Heero responded truthfully, then turned to look J
straight in the eye, for once feeling his age. “What is it?”
“…my legacy, to you. I call it Nightfire, simply because
I’m a scientist, not a goddamn writer. It’s descriptive enough for you.” He
paused, letting his defensiveness ebb away. “You’ll figure it out when you’re
older. Of that I have no doubt.” Again, Dr. J paused, shifting slightly. “I…I’m
proud of you, Heero. Not just what you’ve done, but what I know you can do.
Will do.”
Heero broke off, eyes latching back onto the sky, and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I…I was on the plane when I heard the news. A bomb, detonated right after…after he knew I wouldn’t see or hear it.
“I’m not an idiot, so I knew why he had to do it. Why he’d shown me the equation.” Heero paused again. “And I also knew why he waited.
“About ten minutes after my plane landed, I met Lucrezia Noin.”
“Yuy!” a girl’s voice shouted out, almost breathily, and the boy’s reddened eyes looked up to see a woman waving frantically at him from behind the belt-like ropes that plagued airports. “Heero Yuy! I was sent by the University!”
A lie. What did these people think he was, an idiot?
Oh, wait, no. They thought he was an eleven-year-old kid.
Deciding to be better safe than sorry, Heero ran, the
young girl’s flabbergasted expression watching his back disappear into the
throng of hugging families and scurrying businessmen, and for the first time in
his life tried to look mediocre.
“It didn’t help much, though,” Heero sighed. “They roomed me with the other youngest male they could find. And that’s how I met a young man who called himself Zechs Marquis, even though his real name was Milliardo Peacecraft. He was fifteen at the time.”
Long, silky pale-blonde hair hung down from an aristocratic face, brushing against a body of chiseled perfection, penetrating pale blue eyes peering out from the waterfall of white-gold silk.
Heero hated him on sight.
“So,” that deep voice purred out. Even while he was
lugging a box of books into the room, the man sounded like a sex kitten.
“What’s your major?”
Better safe than sorry. Something that wouldn’t arouse
suspicion, something with nothing to do with the equation, something to keep
him alive just for a few more years. That was all he needed. What else did he
like? Not science, certainly not math, not English…
Heero smirked. “Art.”
“…THAT’S why you were an art major?” Duo asked.
Heero frowned at him. “I was eleven. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He shrugged. “Plus I’d always liked diagramming and drawing and painting models, so I didn’t expect it would be too bad.
“And it wasn’t. I was world renowned in just a year, even deemed a child art prodigy.”
“Mr. Yuy, I must say, your art is undeniably distinctive,” the critic- the fourth one tonight – said, swirling the wine in his glass and watching it bead on the sides. “Your brush strokes are both bold yet perfectly controlled, and your subject matter…I’ve never seen its ilk.”
“Thank you,” Heero said, trying not to beat the man over
the head in sheer boredom.
“You simply must tell me where your inspiration comes
from.”
Heero, twelve but already well aware of how to work the
critics, smiled thinly. “I know better than to reveal my tricks.” He paused.
“Better safe than sorry, after all.”
“Ah, I understand,” the critic said, nodding like he
actually knew something. Doubtful, since the man had the intelligence of a
napkin. “Well then, would you at least explain the titles? For example, my
personal favorite of tonight, J. D. Rooct. It’s obviously a portrait,
but…whose, if I may ask?”
J. D. Rooct. An oil-and-canvas painting of flowing,
swirling, fiery colors that, from the right perspective and mindset, resembled
two grizzled, slender hands clutching a burning cane.
“…No.” Heero said, and walked out, not caring a whit
about his professor’s outraged squawk as the door slammed shut behind him.
“After I finished my bachelor’s in art in about a year and a half, I got slightly…less cautious.”
“Suicidal, you mean?” Duo asked ruthlessly, and Heero flinched.
“…Possibly.” He paused. “Reckless would probably fit better. Since I was only thirteen and only had a bachelor’s, I got into the masters program at my college. The physics masters program, to be precise. I almost didn’t get in because of my bachelors degree.
“But, Zechs pulled some strings. Or, at least he said he did it. I knew better when I turned fourteen, when I was almost done with the requirements for my degree. That’s when I met Lucrezia Noin the second time, and got my first face-to-face meeting with a man named Treize Khushrenada.
“Ah, Mr. Yuy,” a cultured voice called out, and Heero found himself looking at quite possibly the most regal man on the planet. Even in semi-casual attire, he looked like some sort of political leader, his very being oozing out charisma.
Heero wanted to hate him. Really. But somehow, it just
seemed to slide away.
“Please, sit,” the man gestured at the table, and Heero
dropped down into the corner seat, not missing both the facts that Khushrenada
had left it for him and that the man knew exactly what the motion meant.
I don’t trust you. Better safe than sorry.
“My name, as you most likely know, is Treize
Khushrenada,” the man began, and Heero didn’t doubt that his voice could charm
the silverware into a ballet if he wanted. “And, as the intelligent man you
are, I’m sure you know what we want in return.”
The first time anyone had called him a man. And like hell
was he going to be charmed into complacency.
“I don’t know what you want,” Heero said. “But I
appreciate what you’ve helped me with.” And there was no we, that much was
certain. A man like Khushrenada couldn’t possibly accept the rule of another
over them.
“It was a worthwhile investment,” Treize smiled. “I hear
you’re about to set another record for the time it takes to get a degree.”
Smalltalk. Oh, how he hated smalltalk. “It would have
already been finished, if not for certain events.” Like Treize murdering J, the
bastard. His hand twitched.
Treize sighed. “Please, don’t bother reaching for the
gun,” he said tiredly. “I had nothing to do with Dr. J’s death. I was merely
interested in some of his inventions.” The man paused. “One especially.”
“When the house went up, so did everything else,” Heero
snapped. “If you’re looking for an invention, you’re wasting your time. The
only thing that didn’t go up in fire and smoke was me.”
The man’s blue eyes glinted in the dim light.
“Precisely, Mr. Yuy.”
“Treize Khushrenada runs a corporation known simply as OZ incorporated. They do a little bit of everything, but their biggest moneymaker is arms dealing. To be more specific, chemical warfare.”
“Which, last I heard, was very, very illegal,” Duo noted. “And very, very deadly.”
Heero nodded. “Very true. Which is why I grabbed my degree and ran from one university to another, working on my chemistry PhD so I’d finally have the qualifications to find somewhere decently safe, get a grant, and barricade myself in a lab to finish Dr. J’s legacy.
“Of course, OZ, inc. ran after me. Which is why I learned how to fight and shoot a gun, old experiences with high school bullies notwithstanding.”
Duo snickered.
“What?” Heero frowned.
“It’s just a funny mental picture, I guess,” he smirked. “A little eleven-year-old Heero Yuy crossing the stage at graduation and getting the snot beat out of him when he gets to the other side.” Again, Duo let out a chuckle, then a sigh. “So, that’s how you ended up in Saparta?”
“…again, Zechs interfered,” Heero frowned. “But this time, I didn’t know it was him. Zechs’ real last name, as I remember telling you, is Peacecraft. The same as Relena. And the same as the Dean of Saparta University, a year ago.”
“I’m so pleased you received our letter, Dr. Yuy,” Dean Peacecraft smiled honestly at him. “We were concerned, considering how much you move around. Will you still be traveling around during your stay here at Saparta?”
“I don’t plan to, no,” the sixteen-year-old Heero Yuy
stated. But, nowadays, he wasn’t ruling anything out.
“And I’m very excited to see this equation of yours, as
well,” the Dean beamed at him excitedly, and Heero froze in the middle of the
hall.
“…What?”
The dean blinked at him, then laughed. “Why, your
equation, of course! My son said it was your life’s work, that you needed to
settle down to finish it. A simply groundbreaking find, I assume?”
Heero was not an idiot. He distinctly recalled the fact
he hadn’t mentioned the equation to anyone ever since that cursed plane ride,
and probably not even then.
It clicked. Dean PEACECRAFT. Milliardo PEACECRAFT.
He had walked straight into their trap, and the only way
to get out was if one of them died.
“Whoa, whoa, WHOA,” Duo shouted out, waving his hands. “What do you mean, DIED?”
“I mean that either I had to die to keep the equation out of OZ, inc and every other pursuer’s hands, or I had to kill the dean and pray he hadn’t mentioned what it really was to anyone else,” Heero stated coldly. “It…again, it was not one of my better decisions. Suicide would have been a far better choice, as I look back on it.”
And Duo could only stare at Heero’s face as he began to speak again.
It was raining again, which suited the boy perfectly. A slippery road would make it all the more easy.
Now all he had to do was wait for the dean to drive home.
The man was already twenty minutes late.
He wondered if Mr. Peacecraft’s legitimate family would
break down. He wondered if he’d ever be able to look Relena in the eyes again.
He wondered if it would hurt that bastard Zechs at all, to know his father had
died, and if he’d ever find out Heero arranged it all.
What he didn’t wonder was if it was worth it. Keeping the
equation away from them was important enough, but if they ever actually managed
to solve it, if OZ managed to produce it…the world would be held hostage and
quickly under corporate control, in every sense of the word.
And there it was- blue Bentley, driving at a safe speed
for the conditions, windshield wipers keeping the front’s view pristine. Dean
Peacecraft was an excellent driver.
With a shudder and a wince, Heero pulled out the tiny
trigger from his pocket, and pressed the trigger in.
The car lurched to life, as if Mr. Peacecraft had
suddenly floored it. The tires skidded, losing their grip on the road, and the
car began to skid, still speeding up.
With the last bit of control the steering wheel could
give, Mr. Peacecraft’s car smashed headfirst into the jaggedly hewn wall of the
hill.
“FUCK,” Heero hissed out. He was supposed to be like any
normal human and try to avoid a blatantly deadly collision, since then Heero
could get the engine back to looking mildly normal (aside from totaled) and
none would be the wiser. Why the hell did the dean think the back of his car
was more important than his own life?
It was when the first wail broke out of the back seat,
when a young lady with reddened blonde-brown hair climbed out of the car and
fell onto her knees, the rain washing blood both deeper into her and off onto
the street, that Heero realized he had killed two people, not one.
“…shit,” Duo muttered.
“I murdered Dean Peacecraft and his wife in cold blood, and shattered Relena’s mental status. All in one night,” Heero whispered. “…she was my first real friend. And I broke her, after knowing her for one fucking month.” He laughed, a bitter, harsh sound that made Duo flinch. “It took her a couple weeks to go completely insane, though.”
Duo wanted to say it would be okay. He wanted to say something comforting, something that would reassure Heero that he wasn’t the only one with skeletons in the closet, that he wasn’t the only human who’d fucked their life up in a spectacular burst of paranoid idiocy, that Duo himself wasn’t much better.
But how the hell do you find the words to say that? To say it was a mistake, even though Heero meant to kill Dean Peacecraft anyway? How the fuck could Duo tell him it was okay that he’d killed two people so well that nobody suspected?
Instead, he was silent.
The rustle of leaves in the wind and Heero’s breaking, frantic laughter was all the sound he needed.
x---x
A/N: …wow.
…I think that’s about all I have to say about that.
I have a website now, so if you wanna see it, it’s on my profile page. I’ve got Prodigy up all prettified, along with lots of other fanfic and some original stuff that eats my brain like Hannibal after lent. (…I was missing my puns this chapter, okay?) I’m not done with it yet, but…it’s there! Huzzah!
ALSO! Sorry if I didn’t reply to your review! I’m lazy as all getup, as you probably know, so…I kind of give up after a week. Believe me, though, I LOVED your review, and I’ll probably get back to you this time! YAY!
Thanks for reading, feel free to review! (It really DOES make me update faster, believe it or not…)