Fathoms

Summary: Due has to answer for his actions, just in time to get into more trouble.

Author’s Note: I’m losing some momentum with this fic due to writer’s block and my other more prolific fandom stories. Updates will be slow and inconsistent. Sorry. – C.


Duo felt slightly humiliated as Noin and Zechs hauled him between them toward the gates. The eel sentries failed to hide their shock at seeing the young princes outside the dome, as neither of them ever cleared them to leave. One of them paled slightly as he saw the open wound in Duo’s neck.

“Prince Zechs… sire, what happened?” He noticed how listless Duo’s eyes were and how his tail barely flutterd as they carried him. The wound in his neck leaked copious amounts of blood, making them fear that sharks would track the scent. But closer inspection of the jagged tears in his flesh revealed that was precisely what happened.

Zechs had little patience for the guards’ polite inquiries. “Let us in. He needs care, quickly.” The thunderous look in his eyes and the way the veins strained in his jaw and neck made the guards cringe; his voice was brittle and hard in their minds. Zechs and Noin moved with purpose through the gates, hurrying toward the healing cove. Zechs laid his palm in the indentation of an ornately carved plate made of volcanic rock that was slightly recessed in the wall. Five jeweled lights that responded to each of his fingerprints came on one by one, casting the corridor in a faint glow. A low voice droned out from the wall from a hidden amplifier.

Purpose?

Injured, Zechs explained, providing one of the few code words that allowed the denizens of the dome access to the healer’s cove. The security system was keyed to accept his voice prompts, as well, as a member of the royal family. The instruments and various narcotic potions were closely guarded; trespassers would be dealt with severely if those resources were stolen or misused.

Patient?

Duo.

Species?

Live-mater. Halfling.

Welcome, Prince Zechs, the voice greeted him. Duo’s head lolled to the side and Zechs saw alarmingly few bubbles escaping his lips.

Help me. His voice sounded fain and desperate in Zech’s thoughts. He felt the mind-numbing pain, cold fear and uncertainty through the conduit of their empathy. His grip on Duo’s arm tightened and Noin looked stricken.

Sally’s coming, Zechs told him casually. She’ll make you well just in time for Father to gut y ou. His words masked the fear beating in his breast.

Won’t be…anything left of me, anyway.

Shut up.

Their entry into the infirmary triggered a silent paging system. Zechs and Noin heard Sally’s cool tones as she identified herself as the court physician. Her demeanor was grim as she met them inside. She took one looked at Duo and darted toward the utility wall, removing a special visor from the hook. She donned it and folded down the magnifying lens before approaching the ailing prince.

What under the waves have you gotten into now? Her voice was brisk and her hands gentle as she relieved Zechs of his charge. She guided him to a table covered in woven mats of seaweed. Duo automatically went limp and collapsed in a fluttering of hair and fins. Oh, no you don’t. Duo…stay with me. I need you awake! Zechs flung off the helmet and let it float to the floor. He helped Sally get him upright, and he saw that Duo’s eyes were rolled back into his head. Sally adjusted the lens, lowering it over her eye. It made it look owlishly large as she began her exam. She spoke to Noin in a constant string of questions and orders.

Needles. Over there. Where was he that a shark managed to do this to him?

Outside the grotto, just beyond the reef. He swam too close to the caves.

Foolish guppy, she sniffed. Sutures. Tongs. Noin laid out the instruments and worked as her aide, holding back Duo’s long plait and scraping aside the tendrils of hair that escaped it. She went to a nearby tank and opened it, withdrawing a glass flagon filled with crimson liquid.

He needs ichor, Sally explained easily. He’s lost too much blood. It’ll have to do until his body makes more. Noin nodded and slowly filled an impermeable membrane with the ichor and attached a long, narrow tube. Sally inserted a narrow tool into its end that resembled a sea urchin’s quill, but longer and with a hollow opening. This will hurt, sire she told Duo sympathetically.

He’s out of it, Zechs pointed out grimly. He still held his brother immobile, supporting his head while Sally worked to insert the shunt into his arm. To her dismay, Duo didn’t even flinch. Noin attached the membrane into a pump, tightening the vise, and she began to rhythmically depress and release the lever. The ichor flowed slowly and evenly through the tube until it reached Duo’s vein; she adjusted the setting to allow it to fortify him at a natural, even pace and to let his body adjust to the supplement.

That immediate need taken care of, Sally went about the business of probing, cleaning and stitching Duo’s wound. The saline and nutrient-rich environment they dwelled in would prove beneficial in the coming days and speed the healing of Duo’s injury. She examined the tendons and made sure the shark missed his jugular. Sally made a sound of satisfaction as she tied off the last knots of his sutures. They left behind an ugly pucker of angry red skin and black stitches, but the scars would fade nicely with time.

There. His color’s improving. Best to let him rest for now. I’ll keep an eye on him. Duo was stirring fitfully and moaning in discomfort. I’ll dose him, too.

Father will be livid.

Worry about that later. He’ll have time to rethink his actions now that he’s away from death’s door.

Are you kidding? He just knocked on it as nicely as you please and let himself in. The worst part is, Father will assume this is my fault.


*

The next morning…

How the hell could you let this happen?

Father…

Don’t interrupt me! Don’t think of defying me or trying to defend your actions! What possessed you to think it was all right to strike out alone, with only Noin to accompany you out of the dome? Why didn’t you alert the guard to search for Duo? How did he get out from your chamber without you knowing? Zechs winced and huddled back in his seat, but he met his father’s flashing eyes levelly.

I didn’t hear him leave. I only sensed that he was gone long after he was out of the dome, Father. Something urged me to wake up.

You should have been more vigilant! His father was overwrought; Zechs knew it was futile to argue with him when he was in this state. Milliardo’s tentacles flicked back and forth periodically, a sign he was piqued. Electricity sparked from his eyes and he tugged his white beard.

When have we ever managed to hold Duo down when he was determined to go his own way? He won’t listen to me, Father. It’s never for lack of trying. He won’t mind me.

As your foster brother, he’s your responsibility. Make him mind you. Love him as though he were your blood.

I do, Zechs informed him gravely. That’s why I’m a at a loss. He sighed and leaned forward in his seat. You would have been proud of him, Father.

I most certainly would not.

Father…he was very brave. Three sharks had him surrounded, and it didn’t phase him. He was fighting them off and doing a decent job of it when we found him. But he was poorly armed; all he had was a wrist-shooter. Zechs indicated the wrist harpoon lying on the table. Those aren’t much good against an adult bull. Milliardo shook his head, then sighed.

What’s wrong with him?

He’s like his mother. Stubborn. And like Uriah, Zechs pointed out. Milliardo’s mouth set itself in a grim line at the mention of Duo’s late father. Father?

What?

Are you sorry you took him in? Milliardo deflated noticeably and his features relaxed.

Never. He rose from his throne and drifted toward the large skylight across the room. His fingertips stroked the glass as he mused aloud. I could never regret the day he came into our lives, even though I regret the circumstances. I looked into his eyes the first moment I held him, and I knew I couldn’t let him go. I could no sooner turn my back on him than I could deny you. He shuttered the sentiment as he whipped back around to face his firstborn. That doesn’t let you off the hook…

Shit… Zechs bit his tongue and cringed beneath his father’s stony glare.

You’re on guard duty for the next month. Up every day at dawn. You’re also in charge of training the younglings in our ranks, weapons and evasive maneuvers. Perhaps these responsibilities will be more to your liking, since you failed to keep your brother in line. Ironically, they both silently agreed that Zechs’ punishment would in fact be easier than trying to keep track of his brother.

Yes, Father. May I take my leave?

Away with you. Chastened, Zechs left the throne chamber and his father to his thoughts.

Milliardo spent the better part of the afternoon contemplating an apt punishment for Duo’s transgression. His greatest crime was endangering himself, as well as leading mersharks so close to Sanq’s boundaries by token of his injuries. The urge to go to him, to embrace him as he did when he was young and helpless gnawed at him, but duty superseded love.

But first…

Duo needed to account for his actions. His father would lose sleep until he knew what drew him from the safety of his bed and into the deep at that ungodly hour, what was worth it for him to risk his life with such abandon. Milliardo moved smoothly through the corridor to his sons’ shared chamber, where Duo now rested comfortably, with strict orders from Sally not to disturb his wound.

*


“Are you sure you have everything?” Quatre pawed through the last of the green plastic personal possession bags that the hospital ward provided for Heero’s belongings. He cinched the white drawstring and knotted it shut, looping it over his wrist. “Don’t leave anything here, or you’ll never see it again. They just throw everything out.”

“I didn’t bring anything special with me,” Heero reminded him. “I still don’t even have my wallet back.” That rankled; Heero had no way of knowing what his boat jackers were doing with his vessel or his identity. At least Wufei had his keys.

As though reading his mind, Quatre assured him with “’Fei took care of your plants and already picked up your mail.”

“He has his uses,” Heero shrugged. A hint of a smile toyed with the corner of his mouth. Quatre lightly smacked him with the folded-up newspaper that he brought for Heero earlier that morning.

“He was worried sick.”

“He’d never admit it.” But it was part of his charm. “I’d be worried if he went soft.”

“He asked if you’d eaten yet.”

“Not much. I’d be flexing the definition of ‘edible’ if I called this crap food,” Heero pointed out, nodding to his nearly untouched tray. Quatre wrinkled his nose in distaste as he lifted the heavy, blue plastic lid. Egg noodles in a suspiciously bland looking yellow sauce took space beside canned string beans and a Salisbury steak that resembled a shoe insole swimming in brown gravy. He dropped the lid with a shudder.

“It smells even worse than everything else in this place.”

“Thanks for the candle.” Quatre thoughtfully provided a seabreeze-scented candle jar to freshen the room, even though they weren’t allowed to light it. Heero winced as he swung his legs down from the bed and clutched his ribcage.

“You’re not supposed to get up. The lift team guys aren’t here yet to come get you.”

“I’m not letting them cart me out of here in a chair.”

“Hospital rules. Live a little, let them pamper you. You pay enough for insurance.” Heero silently agreed; despite the fact that he was young, healthy and had no dependents, his premiums were ridiculous on the plan he purchased for himself. “Besides, what’s wrong with a little eye candy?”

Heero snorted. “You don’t want them to give me the ride.” Quatre grinned.

“Bingo.” Heero huffed, then winced as his attempt at laughter jarred his ribs. “Ooh…sorry.”

“Sure. I see how you are. Make me bust another rib so I have to stay in this place that much longer, just so you can flirt with the lift attendants. ‘I don’t know what was wrong with Heero, he was fine a minute ago…’” Dryly, Heero mimed punching himself for emphasis. “’And he looks cold, could you give him your shirt?’” Quatre rolled his eyes.

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’…” Heero held up his hands helplessly and shrugged. Quatre swatted him with the newspaper again.

Heero felt slightly guilty as he took in Quatre’s attire. He was still in his work suit, a blazer and slacks in a soft dove gray that was the perfect backdrop for his blond hair and aquamarine eyes. He skipped the necktie, feeling that it made him look stiff and unnatural, and his white silk shirt was open at the throat, revealing a fine, sterling silver chain. His look was professional but still managed to be young and fresh, without making Quatre look like he was reporting for work to sell modular furniture or soliciting people to fill out credit applications for a ten percent discount.

“You didn’t have to pick me up. I could’ve called a cab.”

“The hell you could’ve,” Quatre snorted. “What kind of friend would I be if I just left you here to get your own ride? Someone I care about almost gets himself killed during a weekend jaunt, and I’m not supposed to make sure you get home safely and in one piece?”

“I’m taking you away from your schedule.”

“I have some say in my schedule. Helps when your name is on the building,” Quatre mused.

“Don’t let Iria hear you say that.”

“She’s just pissed that she isn’t here with me instead of being stuck in my one o’clock meeting.” They chatted easily until the lift attendant materialized in the doorway, watching them expectantly and rapping lightly against the frame.

“Knock, knock! Are you all packed up and ready to go?” He wheeled the chair inside and gave the seat a pat. “Take a load off, skipper. Get comfy, and we can stop by the desk to get your discharge orders.”

“Thank God,” Heero muttered. “I was about to start climbing the walls.”

“I’ll let Rashid know we’re on our way down,” Quatre said cheerfully as he extracted his cell phone. The lift attendant halted him with a gesture.

“Sorry. They don’t like people using those up here with all the telemetry equipment. You’ll have to make that call downstairs, or use the room phone.” Quatre tsked, clapping the tiny mobile shut and tucking it back into his pocket.

“Fine.” Heero reluctantly eased into the chair and let his attendant, Rick, fold down the footrests and lift and prop his feet. Heero carried one of his possession bags in his lap while the other two were looped over the chair’s handles in back. He felt slightly foolish when some of the nurses and CNAs waved to him as he passed.

“Bye, Mr. Yuy. Hope you feel better soon.”

“You took good care of me; I appreciate it,” he said humbly. The nurse behind the desk blushed.

“Here is your release form copy and your prescriptions; you can drop those off at the hospital’s pharmacy on your way out if you like, it’s just off the front lobby.”

“Thanks. Oh, and you can keep the flower arrangement on the side table. I won’t be taking it home.” Quatre said nothing; he knew the gesture wasn’t wasted on Heero, because he liked that he thought of him. But his home was very spare, almost bare of knick-knacks or decoration. Floral arrangements were as out of place in Heero’s home as Quatre in a country bar.

“Thanks! They were beautiful, they’ll look nice out here. You two have a good day.”

It took a while to get an elevator; they waited while two other lift attendants struggled with a patient on a gurney and his oxygen tank. The second car dinged and an older gentleman got out to let them in, holding open the door. He nodded at Heero’s bruises and smiled.

“Hope you feel better, kid.”

“Thanks! Me too.” Quatre smiled and waved and he squeezed his shoulder as they watched the floor numbers light up, one by one, as they descended. Once they reached the lobby, Quatre looked around and read the signs. He was surprised to hear low piano music drifting through the hall.

“Where’s that coming from?” he mused. Whoever it was sounded pretty good; it gave him a yen to take out his old violin and join in.

“I read a flyer earlier about how the hospital sometimes has volunteer musicians here. They sometimes play out front, in the courtyard, or for the pedes ward.”

“That’s nice,” Quatre agreed. The prospect of doing something nice for sick children warmed him. He vaguely remembered having his appendix out when he was seven; his patient room was large and scary, full of strange equipment and very sterile looking. It would have been nice if there had been music or some other form of entertainment to distract him. The newer suites in the hospital at least had cable television and were better furnished than they had been when he was younger, but it was still his least favorite place in the world to be. Quatre enjoyed kids and was the favorite uncle among his nieces and nephews. Iria joked with him that he earned that title by token of being the only uncle. Being the only son in his family and having twenty-seven sisters was nothing to sneeze at.

They headed for the lobby exit before Quatre stopped himself. “Shoot! The pharmacy! Why don’t I drop those slips off for you, Heero?”

“We can use the pharmacy down the street from me,” Heero argued.

“Why make another stop? Let’s get you home. This will only take a minute,” Quatre assured him. The lift attendant sighed in resignation, reminding Quatre of his task. “Better yet, let’s get you in the car. Rashid can wait one more minute.”

“Or twenty,” Heero muttered. Quatre was known for lingering and making conversation with passerby whenever he was out and about and had to wait for any length of time, which was likely if he went to the pharmacy. He was gregarious and a people person.

“I’ll be right back,” he insisted as they headed outside into the warm sun. The heat gave Heero pleasant prickles as it stroked his skin, a nice contrast with the hospital’s drafty air conditioning. Their attendant wheeled him across the street to the lot where Quatre’s limo awaited them. Rashid got out immediately and opened the rear door. His face held relief as he examined Heero and helped the attendant with the foot rests and brakes.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, Mr. Yuy.”

“Good to be back. We lost Quat again. He’s at the pharmacy.” Rashid sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Are we all good here?” The lift attendant backed up with the chair and watched Rashid tucking Heero into the car and offering him a blanket. He appeared to be in good hands.

“Fine, thank you. We’re just waiting for Master Quatre.” The lift attendant shrugged and nodded.

“Get well soon! Have a safe trip home.” He left them, and Heero settled back into the leather-upholstered seat and closed his eyes. The sound of classical music drifted over him as Rashid resumed his place behind the wheel.

“I told him we could just go to CVS on the way home.”

“Will you be needing anything else en route, sir?”

“It depends on what I have at home already. Wufei’s there. I’ll already have all my mail.”


Back at the pharmacy, Quatre was behaving true to form, chit-chatting with a little girl in a stroller who was chewing on the ear of a stuffed animal. Her mother was tickled by his silly demeanor.

“Did your dollie have to go to the doctor?”

“Noooooo!”

“Are you sure? Did her tummy hurt?”

“Nooooo!” She giggled at him and held the doll in front of her face, then peeked back out at him.

“Was she a good girl? Did she get a shot?”

The little girl began to play along. “She had a boo-boo like this…see?” She pointed to a Dora the Explorer bandage on her own arm.

Her mother explained to him, “We had blood work and a follow-up visit. Everything’s fine now.”

“How old is she?”

“I’m five,” the little girl informed him haughtily. “I didn’t cry when they gave me the needle. If you hafta go to the doctor, the mean nurse gives you a needle. She says it feels like a bug bite.” Quatre bit his lip while her mother chuckled.

“Next in line?” The pharmacy tech called out.

“We already dropped off our order,” the woman told him. “Go ahead. We’re just waiting.”

“Thanks! I have to drop off a ‘scrip?”

“We’ll fill that and give you a call when it’s ready. Is this the phone number to contact you?”

“That or my cell.” The woman in red scrubs smiled at him as she began typing in the information. Quatre found himself humming under his breath as the music from the lobby began again.

“That new guy we have volunteering is pretty good. He’s been coming back for three weeks now.”

“Where is he playing?”

“At the nurse’s station over by the medical/surgical recovery unit. He’ll be in Pedes tomorrow.” Quatre nodded and made a thoughtful sound. She finished his order and he slipped away, hoping to get a brief glimpse of the pianist before he headed out. He didn’t want to leave Heero waiting, but his curiosity was getting the better of him.

Whoever it is can really play. Quatre followed the signs toward “First Floor Medical/Surgical” and turned left. The music rose slightly in volume; it was a medley of Sondheim show tunes, to Quatre’s delight. Quatre noticed a small gathering of patients and staff just inside the door of the lounge who obscured his view, but he saw a few bodies swaying in appreciation. He edged inside, suppressing the guilt niggling at him for keeping his friends waiting outside.

The crowd parted slightly, and he peered through the gap at the pianist, then jerked back slightly in surprise.

Trowa. It was him, playing so competently and with so much feeling. Quatre watched him run long, slender fingers over the keys, concentrating only on the music as it moved him. The piano was older and its wood finish was slightly worn, the ivory keys yellowed, but it still sounded beautiful and was well-tuned. Trowa closed his eyes for a moment, just feeling the rising action in the song. Quatre was rapt and he closed his eyes, too, feeling the familiar bars and refrains.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” A nurse remarked to his left. Quatre nodded eagerly as he continued to watch and listen. Trowa was casually dressed in a white, short-sleeved oxford and khakis, and he didn’t wear any jewelry except for a slim black watch with a cracked leather band. His hair still fell into his eyes once in a while as he played; Quatre suppressed a chuckle whenever he tossed his head to urge it back.

Trowa felt a strange flutter in his chest and sensed that someone was watching him intently, beyond simply listening to him play. His green eyes flicked over the gathering in the lounge as he carried the melody, but he ignored the urge to seek out his admirer. The music was still rolling through him, he was channeling its power and beauty, and he was content to grow completely lost in it.

That feeling wouldn’t leave him, like a faint tickle of awareness, and he was intrigued. He threw himself into the music, caressing the keys like lovers and letting his body move in time. A smile toyed with his lips. If his admirer wanted a show, he’d give him a show.

Quatre was rooted to the spot. He couldn’t stop watching Trowa; this was a far cry from trying not to stare too long at Starbucks on any given morning when he picked up his lattes. He was at leisure to drink his fill of looking at him and wondering what other gifts he possessed, how long he played, all of the usual questions that being so talented begged one to ask. Quatre took it in stride whenever anyone who enjoyed his sketches and paintings informed him “I can’t even draw stick figures.” It took all he had each time not to tell them “Yes. You can. Stop exaggerating and just draw something, already.”

Heero’s waiting. The thought nagged him, and he reluctantly pulled back, heading out of the lounge in disappointment. He left the sound of light applause behind him. Several people smiled politely at him as they parted to let him leave, which he did as quietly as possible to avoid interrupting anyone’s enjoyment of the music.

A brief wave of movement caught Trowa’s attention, and he looked up just in time to see a familiar, handsomely dressed blond take his leave. For just a moment, he saw the patrician profile and elegant posture, watching him tuck manicured hands into his pockets as he turned away. It was the shy young man from the coffee shop. Trowa wanted to call him back and ask him how he was enjoying the music, and he wondered if his eyes were the ones he felt watching him.

Doggone it…


*


Duo sat stiffly in his seat as his father pinned him with hard blue eyes. He returned his gaze unflinchingly, even though anxiety churned in his gut.

What have you to say for yourself?

I don’t know what you want me to say. Milliardo felt his blood pressure rise and sparks of his ire escaped his eyes, tightening his fist.

You don’t know? You presume to tell me you don’t know? When I’ve told you time and time again that I won’t tolerate disobedience, especially in regard to keeping my sons safe? Duo’s hand drifted up to scratch a tender spot on his neck where his stitches pull. His father nodded at the injury. You nearly got yourself killed, and still you defy me. Don’t you.

I don’t mean to…

You still defy me! His father seemed to grow, filling the space between them with the boom of his voice and his wrath. His massive, deep chest heaved as he reached out with one tentacle, looping it deftly around Duo’s wrist. He jerked him close, letting his son see the stark blood vessels in the whites of his eyes. The bubbles of his breath and tendrils of his white hair grazed Duo’s cheeks. What possessed you to leave, when I specifically ordered you to remain within the palace? How could you steal out in the middle of the night, all alone? Explain yourself, Duo.

I couldn’t stay, he admitted petulantly. I’m sorry, Father. I wanted to visit the surface. I knew Zechs would get in the way. I had to go at night.

The surface?! And the worst thing that happened to you was almost losing your neck to a shark? Well, what was I worried about? It was rare that Duo heard his father being facetious. You knew your brother would hold you back, so you defied him, and in doing so, me.

Yes.

And you think this is all right. Duo’s jaw jutted stubbornly and his violet eyes flashed.

Yes. Milliardo’s tentacle tightened warningly around his forearm. His face suffused with hurt and he sighed in Duo’s thoughts. It was a haggard sound, and he could tell he was resigned.

Then so be it. I tried, Duo. Milliardo decided further discussion was futile. He dragged Duo from the throne room briskly, surprising him.

Where are you taking me? Father! FATHER!

You won’t stay put willingly. So I’m taking a different tack. Remember that I love you, but I can’t continue to watch you endanger yourself. And for what?

Father…I just wanted to see the surface. Milliardo stopped their trek into the dome’s lower level, pausing as they entered the wide chute. I wanted to know where this came from. He withdrew the knife from his braid, a keepsake that he kept close to him since he found it. Milliardo shook his head.

You’d risk your life for a trinket! A piece of flotsam! This junk is worth your life! Duo, humans cannot be trusted! They are primitive, single-minded, rough people with no conscience! They even destroy their own kind if they think they have anything to gain from it! Few merfolk have lived to tell the tale of being caught in their nets or poisoned by their chemicals… Duo interrupted his rant by holding up a hand.

Mother wasn’t like that.

In her heart, your mother was one of us. And she would have wanted better things for you than to court danger on the surface, all for a whim. I won’t have it! Milliardo extracted the knife from Duo’s hand, wrenching it roughly from his fist.

NO! I WANT IT BACK! PLEASE, FATHER!

You won’t need it where you’re going. Dread and foreboding filled Duo as he realized where they were going. As they reached the suite at the end of the corridor, two guard greeted them soberly, looking at Duo with pity in their eyes.

Take him. One month, Milliardo informed them. Remus, his elderly dungeon keeper, floated forward and nodded. His remaining, rheumy gray eye blinked at Duo, and he beckoned to him.

Come, young prince. Please don’t make this difficult…

FATHER!

It’s for your own good, Remus insisted.

I won’t be locked away! Duo insisted, jerking back from his father’s grasp and the advance of the two guards.

You give me no choice. I won’t wait for your brother to return home with your dead body in his arms the next time, or for you not to return at all. One month. Perhaps you’ll rethink this fixation you have with the surface and realize how much better you have it down here, and how sweet freedom truly tastes before someone takes it away. Duo doubled back and whipped around his father’s grasp, evading it and scuttling back down the corridor.

He wasn’t fast enough. His father whipped out all four of his tentacles this time, coiling them around his son’s chest and pinning his arms at his sides. Duo struggled, but it was like being tangled in a hundred-pound net, and the harder he thrashed, the more he tired himself out. His muscles burned with the effort and he felt his father’s disappointment through their rapport.

I’m sorry…I can’t let you leave. You need to learn where you belong, Duo.

Minutes later, Milliardo left him alone in the dungeon’s solitary occupancy cell. He took the knife with him, leaving Duo fearful that he would discard or destroy it.

His father hadn’t even turned the corner before Duo began formulating a plan for his escape.