Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Eyes Cold As Death ❯ Four ( Chapter 4 )

I know that I cannot rule this universe, but that can't stop me from trying. I roam haunted streets, looking for a lost battle. But I only see crimson stained cement-it's as if the entire city is bleeding. The coppery tang of spilt blood stings my nose, but the smell is everywhere.

Cold, hating orange fires thrust themselves from rusted trashcans, unable to escape to the skies. Hunched, defeated people raise stained hands uselessly to the fires. They have no names-they are the forgotten. One soul is not among them-the one who can never be forgotten.

My love…I'll find you.

Don't forget that.

Eyes Cold As Death

Chapter Four-Reunion

Gray. Rusted black. Soiled white.

Soft flesh ripped open. Hard bone snapping. Precious blood draining.

The wail of a ringing sword. The pop of a fired gun. Smoke from a nearby fire.

Bits of brick flying from a stray bullet, raining down on the street. Warm blood splattering from a severed artery, splashing on blood-encrusted skin. Ripping muscle from a bullet that found its mark.

Pain.

Staggering from a failing leg. The sharp grating of metal on cement from my fallen sword. The painful grasp I take to reestablish my deadly grip, and the arcing swing that severs a man's head.

Not a man-a monster.

Deja-vu. The severed head bounces as it rolls. A flash of some other memory-.

Disappearing soldiers…weren't there more?…head rolls in the gutter…safe place…home…rain falling…Trowa…

Trowa…

Wufei gasped as he sat up abruptly. His heart slammed against his ribcage, pummeling as if his life depended on it. His breath came in ragged gasps.

What the hell was that?

He closed his eyes, trying to get his body under control. Remnants of the vision faded-a severed head rolling, its eyes wide and unseeing. A blood trail down the sidewalk.

He had never had any experience like that in his entire life, so it couldn't have been one of his memories. If not his memory-than who's?

Trowa…

Why would he call out to Trowa like a lost lover?

…unless…

Quatre. He was seeing Quatre's memories-or his present. He recalled the sheer reality of the vision. He could still smell the blood.

"Flight attendants, prepare for landing." The Captain's voice filled the cabin, and Wufei resisted the urge to cheer. If they were landing…that meant that he would be in the city in under a half-hour.

Half of an hour, and he'd be searching for Quatre.

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Trowa pushed aside the heavy curtain, leaving the roaring crowd behind. He frowned at his feet, not knowing how to comfort Cathy. It was hard to comfort someone when you needed comforting yourself. They had only broken the silence to cry bitter tears on the other's shoulder.

They had set out early that morning to search for Quatre-to no avail. Not only had they not been able to find him, there wasn't any evidence of the battle they had been involved in. They returned defeated, solemn and self-loathing.

He began to move to where Cathy was hunched over a table sobbing when he heard some boxes settling to his left. He glanced around; confirming that no one else was around. He pulled his gun from the back of his pants where he had placed it as soon he and Cathy returned from the night before. He suspiciously advanced silently on the mysterious boxes. Actively looking for the cause of the movement, he noticed a shadow hunched behind the stored boxes. He deliberately pulled the safety back so the bullet clicked loudly into place. The figure turned to look at him, and he held his gun steady as Quatre's face came into view. Quatre slowly stood up as Trowa shakily lowered his gun.

"Thank God you're not dead." He took in the still rumpled appearance and splatter of blood lining Quatre's clothes, skin and hair.

"I didn't know where else to go. Something brought me here." Quatre's eyes refused to meet his, and he stepped forward, dismayed when Quatre stepped back.

"What happened?"

"I killed them all." A demonic gleam sparkled in Quatre's eyes. "Then I laid low and made my way here."

"Will you stay?" Trowa mentally crossed his fingers as Quatre shrugged his shoulders.

"Depends."

"On?"

"You." He opened his mouth to ask Quatre what he meant when Cathy threw herself into Quatre's arms.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you…" Quatre's eyes were wide in surprise and he held his arms halfway into the embrace as if not sure what to do. "I'm so glad you're okay." Cathy's words were muffled as she spoke into Quatre's shoulder. Slowly, with apparent difficult, Quatre moved his arms around Cathy's heaving shoulders.

It was as if something snapped inside Quatre when he hugged Cathy, for tears sprung into his eyes and clutched at Cathy like a lifeline. He dropped his head to her shoulder and sobbed. Trowa itched to replaced Cathy and take Quatre into his arms, but restrained himself because of Quatre's reaction earlier. His eyes stung and he rapidly blinked back his own tears at seeing Quatre crying so openly. Cathy gracefully transferred to comforting the ailing Quatre. Applause and cheers drifted in from the circus and Trowa became aware that they were still backstage. He quietly ushered Cathy and Quatre toward Cathy's trailer.

Gradually, Quatre began to calm down, wiping his tears with the back of his stained hand. Trowa gently took Quatre's chin into his hand and wiped his dirt-stained face with his shirt. Quatre mumbled his thanks and sat down on the floor by himself. Trowa rubbed Cathy's shoulder reassuringly. She disappeared into the bedroom, probably to get a towel for Quatre. He dropped into a crouch beside Quatre, and sat down.

"I'm glad you're okay, Quatre." He knew it sounded dumb, but he didn't know what else to say. He felt Quatre tense up beside him.

"My name is Nanashi." He winced at the use of his childhood name. "It hurts you, somehow, that I call myself that. I can see it in your eyes." Trowa lowered his eyes in shame. He hadn't wanted to show Quatre any hurt.

"Nanashi means No Name. It was my name as a child." He looked back at Quatre's flat eyes. Quatre seemed to be lost in thought.

"They're the same color."

"Huh?" Quatre jumped as if startled.

"My safe place." Quatre's voice was low, almost as if betrayed. "It's the same color as your eyes." Hope surged through his body-my eyes, he remembers my eyes!

"Nanashi, let's get you cleaned up." Cathy offered her hand to Quatre, who stared at it as if it were something he'd never seen before. He glanced at Trowa.

"You can call me Quatre. It's obvious that it's my name, so I ought to get used to it." Trowa's heart leapt for joy. If he allows us to call him Quatre, then maybe, just maybe he trusts us. Quatre got slowly to his feet, grasping Cathy's hand in the process. He turned to look at Trowa with his flat eyes. "How long?" Trowa felt his eyebrows furrow together in confusion.

"How long, what?"

"How long before you send me back to the streets?" Trowa blinked at him a moment before answering.

"Never." Quatre's eyes began to brighten as life flooded their depths.

"How are you going to use me?" An irrational anger flooded Trowa's senses. He cursed the assholes that did this to Quatre, and he cursed himself for not recognizing Quatre as he ran for the forest before that base exploded. A small voice in the back of his head calmly reminded him that he couldn't have been able to tell, Quatre had been a dot moving against the field.

"I'm not. I lost you four years ago, and I've been searching ever since, not because I want to use you, but because I love you." Quatre wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

"So I get to stay-at no cost?" His voice shook as if he couldn't quite believe what he was being told. Trowa smiled warmly, the warmth of his love washing over the anger.

"Of course."

"I have a home?" Trowa gestured to himself and Cathy.

"And people who care for you-regardless." He saw Quatre's eyes illuminate, and for a moment it was as if Quatre had never left on that fateful mission. Trowa's finger itched to pull Quatre into a loving embrace, but understood the need for caution. However, he ended up with his arms full of Quatre anyway.

His knees almost buckled as he held Quatre to him, his body remembering those four longs years without the comfort of Quatre. Quatre still fit perfectly against him and he relished in feeding his Quatre-starved body. He could feel Quatre's fingers digging desperately into his back. He allowed Quatre to pull back at his need, and forced himself to let go. Quatre was bright red.

"Sorry." Quatre looked down at his feet. Trowa gently, lovingly lifted Quatre's chin.

"You don't ever have to feel sorry. Ever." He dropped his hand, feeling the warmth from Quatre's body slowly fading away. He watched Cathy escort Quatre to the bathroom, trying to hide her tears. Once he heard the water start, he sank to his knees, fighting tears. What had they done to his precious? What had taken Quatre's memory? And what would it take to restore it?

Would Quatre ever trust him? Would Quatre ever love him again?

He knew that something still existed in Quatre's torn memory-he had pieced that much together from Cathy's broken sobs, but would he ever mean anything to Quatre again? That was a possibility he wasn't sure he could handle. He felt Cathy's smooth hands brush his bangs from his face.

"We'll get through this, Trowa. I promise." He nodded a spark of hope igniting his lonely heart.

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Quatre let the hot water slide over his neglected body. He sat, hunched over hugging his knees, on the warm porcelain. The water left dirt trails down his skin and he watched the dirty water rushed to the drain. He couldn't remember the last time he had been clean, and he already began feeling refreshed.

Cathy had helped him untangle the mess that was his hair. True, he kept it in a braid, but he hadn't taken it down in over a year. He was afraid that Cathy was going to have to cut it, he had a certain pride to his hair's length, it was almost like he was laughing in everyone's face by saying "ha, look how long I've survived, my hair had a chance to grow!" His hair was a reminder that he had in fact survived under the worst of circumstances. Speaking of which… Quatre peeled back the shower curtain to gaze at the closed door, behind which Cathy and Trowa were surly waiting. Why did he trust these people? He didn't trust anyone-not anymore, anyway. He hadn't trusted anyone for two years, so why all of the sudden was he willing to help Trowa and Cathy?

He shook his head, his hair sticking to his back, deciding to contemplate on the matter of trust later-after he had a chance to be clean.

He stood up, stretching his stiff muscles, feeling them relax under the downpour of water. He reached for a bar of soap, wincing at the black smudges he left on the bluish surface. He felt so completely dirty, so much so that the dirt ran all of the way through his body. He reached back to the faucet and turned up the hot water. He jumped as scalding hot water poured on him, burning the dirt away. He soaped up his hands and rubbed them around his shoulders and down his arms, marveling at the silky feel of the soap. He backed under the water, letting the streams wash away the soap, leaving pinkened, clean flesh behind. He caressed the bar of soap over his entire body, tingling with pleasure at his newly exposed skin. It felt as though the shower was undressing him, and the dirt was his garment.

Once he felt that he could be no cleaner, he turned his attention to his matted and soaked hair. He picked up a bottle of shampoo, flicking it open and sniffing. It smelled of lavender and rosewood, reminding him of comforting arms around him in the sunlight.

The smell of carbon lay heavy in the air and his body felt fatigued from fighting. He felt safe. Nothing mattered except the feel of strong arms around him and the almost hidden smell of lavender and rosewood.

"Using Cathy's shampoo again, Trowa?"

Quatre's eyes snapped open and he dropped the shampoo bottle watching, in a detached daze, the way the bottle bounced and turned. His skin came alive, every drop of water making an impression. His lungs struggled to take in air. He lurched forward, knees collapsing and crouched, palms flat on the surface of the tub. The spray of the shower seemed to slow as the steam encompassed him in safety. His eyes stung with unshed tears as he fought to breathe. The strength of the memory overwhelmed him. Now, at least, he understood his inability to distrust Trowa and Cathy. He sagged forward, sobs ripping from his tortured body. He clutched at the cold tile.

"Quatre?" Trowa's voice drifted through the steamy air. "I heard something fall. Are you okay?" Quatre answered with a sob. The shower curtain was pulled back roughly and strong, tender arms encircled him. "Where are you hurt? What happened?" Quatre pointed to his heart and buried his head in Trowa's chest. A small part of his mind weakly whispered that he was in danger-but he didn't listen. For the first time he could remember-he felt safe. He was allowed to cry on Trowa's shoulder, Trowa didn't try to stop him, instead he was encouraged to let his tears fall. "Its okay, Little One, its okay." Trowa's voice in its mantra soothed him, and he calmed down. He looked up at Trowa's face to find…something, something bad, represented there. There was nothing except genuine concern. He had an overwhelming desire to explain.

"I…I smelled the shampoo, and…" He looked down. "I remembered something." He whispered so low that he was surprised when Trowa replied.

"That's wonderful! What did you remember?" Trowa stroked his hair and he leaned into the caress.

"Charcoal, and soreness and…" He hesitated. "I remembered you. You were holding me and I could smell the shampoo." He looked searching into Trowa's face. "I felt safe." Trowa was wearing a little half-smile that strangely relieved Quatre.

"Do you feel safe now?" Trowa indicated his embrace with his chin. Quatre considered a moment on how to tell Trowa how he felt. In the end, he felt that the simplest answer would suffice.

"Yes." Trowa's hand moved from his hair to his cheek, gently caressing his skin. Fire spread through his nerves where Trowa's hand brushed, and he felt alive-a feeling he hadn't had the privilege of experiencing. Trowa reached for the forgotten shampoo bottle and squeezed some into his hand. He rubbed his hands together as Quatre looked on before placing them on Quatre's head.

"It appears that you haven't gotten this far, so I'll help you." Trowa smiled warmly and began massaging the cool liquid into Quatre's hair. Quatre closed his eyes, savoring the cool, slimy feel of the shampoo being rubbed into his scalp. Trowa's fingers were strong and well trained, and were causing him to fall asleep. "Not yet, Little One, you can sleep after you eat." He forced his eyes open as Trowa poured warm water on his head, rinsing the soap away. He found that he had a difficult time keeping his eyes open-something that had never been hard for him on the streets. Trowa squeezed the extra water from his long hair and turned of the water. He moved away to grab a towel and handed it to Quatre. Quatre took it and stood up, wrapping the towel around his chest, leaving his legs exposed as Trowa turned to leave.

"Thank you." He could feel his skin heating up into a blush when Trowa turned back to him. Trowa's face fell into a shocked expression and Quatre could feel the onset of panic rising in his stomach.

"Oh my God, Quatre! What happened?" Quatre watched, frozen, as Trowa dropped to his knees reaching out for Quatre's leg. Trowa's warm fingers pressed against his thigh, smoothing out the skin, and Quatre started to smile from the pleasure the gentle pressure sent up his body, but he winced as Trowa's fingers rubbed over a now, screaming wound. He felt his knee buckle under the pain and he reached out to steady himself on Trowa's shoulder, dropping the towel in the process. "We've got to get that patched up." Quatre wanted to grab the towel, but the sudden pain was quickly becoming too much. He looked down at his trembling leg, still encased in Trowa's hands, at the gaping gash yawning angrily in bloodied fury. He wavered slightly.

"I must've gotten that during the fight." Trowa looked up at him, jaw slack.

"Must've? You mean you don't remember getting this?" The astonishment in Trowa's normally even voice shook Quatre.

"I remember getting shot in the leg, but it didn't hurt."

"It didn't?" Quatre narrowed his eyes a little wondering why Trowa wouldn't understand this.

"On the streets, you can't afford to have anything hold you back. Stopping for pain is a sure-fire way to get yourself killed." Trowa's eyes narrowed.

"If you had let this go, it could've killed you anyway."

"Better that then the alternative. At least I can't feel their hands if I'm dead." Trowa pushed him over to the toilet and sat him down, standing up to pull some bandages down from the bathroom shelf.

"I understand." Quatre noticed the defeat in Trowa's voice, and the raw pain the echoed in his eyes. He reached out a hand and pushed back Trowa's long bangs.

"Why do you hurt so much?" Trowa stopped wrapping his leg in white gauze and sat back on his heels.

"It should've never happened to you. I wanted to protect you, but I couldn't." Quatre flinched back, shocked. Someone wanted to protect him instead of raping him? Someone actually wanted to protect him? He let Trowa finish dressing his thigh in silence, too confused for the moment to form words. When Trowa stood up to put the bandages away, he stooped down and picked up the towel and handed it to Quatre. Quatre hugged the towel to his chest as Trowa walked out of the bathroom. He wanted to say something, to stop Trowa from leaving, but he couldn't think.

"You want to protect me." But his whisper went unheard.

Later, after his empty stomach had been filled, as he stared at the darkened ceiling, he thought about the scene in the bathroom. Did Trowa really mean that he wanted to keep him safe? Or was that vague wording for some darker intent. He turned on his side in Trowa's bed, looking at the door that led to where Trowa was sleeping on the couch. He wondered what Trowa looked like when he was asleep. Was his face peaceful, or was it pinched like some of the old men that huddled around the trashcan fires? Did he look like an animal ready to pounce, or did he appear to be drunkenly asleep? He rolled over onto his other side, berating himself for thinking like that. It doesn't matter, that small voice said, he'll only hurt you later. It's just a matter of time. Quatre shook his head.

"No. It doesn't have to be that way. Couldn't he really be nice? Couldn't he actually be telling the truth?" No. He's just like the others, telling you lies so you'll let them in. Once he's satisfied, he'll leave you to rot in the street. "But, I saw." You saw wrong. "But it was so real." You have been fooled before. "But that was by words, not memory." How do you know that was a memory? "I saw it in my head." Are you sure?

Quatre sat up screaming. "No! What I saw had to be real! He's not going to be like that others. He's right, he's true." Quatre stood up in the bed, fists balled tightly, leaning over as if screaming at a physical being and not his own mind. "I trust him. He won't hurt me!" He's just like the others. "NO! HE IS NOT LIKE THE OTHERS!"

"Who is not like who?" Trowa's voice startled him. He spun around, losing his balance on the soft mattress. Trowa was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed-something strangely familiar.

"Sorry. Did I wake you." Trowa shook his head.

"I couldn't sleep." Quatre swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and scooted forward till his feet touched the floor.

"You aren't like the others."

"What others?"

"The ones that hurt me the most." Trowa's eyes dropped to the floor. "I have this little voice that warns me about trusting people. It wasn't letting me sleep."

"It doesn't trust me, I take it." Quatre shrugged.

"No, but I do." Quatre's eyes widened as he realized what he just said. Oh shit, I just fucked myself. Trowa smiled and walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge, just past arm's length. Quatre relaxed a little.

"Thank you. That means a lot to me." It was true, unless Trowa was the world's best actor. Tears glistened, unshed in his eyes, and Quatre felt his heart go out to Trowa. He had followed his heart before and been torn apart for it, but this time was different. This time, it was also his soul. Trowa reached out and brushed Quatre's bangs away from his face. He felt the hair cling to his eyebrows before finally sliding away. Shivers ran down his spine.

"Did you really mean…in the bathroom, when…" Trowa gazed at him in question, and Quatre took a deep breath to start again. "Did you mean that you wanted to protect me from harm?"

"Of course." Trowa said this as though everyone should know this. "I almost died the day you didn't make it home. I haven't been living-until now. For four years I've been dead inside, because I've been away from you. You've given me my life back."

"Eventhough I can't remember you?"

"Eventhough." Quatre studied his hands, clenching and tangling his fingers together. "Go to sleep, Quatre. I'll see you in the morning." Quatre nodded, fresh tears threatening to come. He wanted Trowa to hug him again, but he was too afraid to ask. It was the first time he had ever wanted a hug. Trowa's fingers caressed gently down his cheek. "Goodnight, Little One."

"Goodnight," Quatre waited until the door shut, leaving him alone in the bedroom, "love."

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"Let me tell you the way it was, Heero. I lived on the streets. I had nothing-no home, no possessions, no friends or family. I was alone. Then I ran into Solo. He named me, he cared for me, he loved me and I loved him. We took care of each other. But he died, and I couldn't help him. Later, I was sent to an orphanage after getting caught trying to steal some food. The orphanage was a church ran by Father Maxwell and Sister Helan. I've told you before what their ultimate fate was." Heero nodded solemnly. "I've lost everyone who cared about me. That's why I call myself Shinigami. And that's why I took off after Quatre was…" Duo trailed off, looking everywhere but at Heero. Their dinner had started out wonderful, but then Heero had asked him what happened, and he lost it. They were walking down an empty street, Heero silent while he virtually screamed into the dusty night. He stopped and hunched against a lamppost. "I couldn't handle it. I left my best friend to die. What kind of person did that make me? Does that make me?"

"Why'd you come back?" Duo looked up at Heero's face, but he didn't show any form of malice, and he looked away.

"Because of Relena…and you." Heero cocked his head, but remained silent. Duo reached behind him and grabbed his braid, fiddling with it while he began. "Relena told me something that Quatre had told me once. She said that Quatre was my friend, and that's all that mattered. No matter what happened through life, Quatre would always be my friend, even if he was gone, I would always hold him in my heart." He swept the end of his braid over his eyes, flicking the gathering moisture away. "Now that Quatre's gone, I have to honor his memory by remembering him-and moving on. She made me realize that I needed to move forward with my life, that that's what Quatre would have wanted, anyway. So I came back to Earth with her, but stayed away from you because I was afraid of what you would think of me." Duo pulled out his wallet and handed Heero the folded up e-mail. "I finally got the courage to e-mail everyone, and you sent me this." Heero unfolded the paper and calmly read its contents. "I can't explain how it made me feel, exactly, but I knew that no matter what, I was your friend." Heero moved closer to Duo and reached out a hand to his cheek. Duo leaned into Heero's caress, closing his eyes and savoring the warm flesh. He could hear Heero moving closer, but just concentrated on his hand. He felt slightly moist lips brush his own and his eyes flew open, staring at Heero, just inches away.

"You've got it wrong, Duo. I'm not your friend." Duo's heart began pounding in his chest. "I'm something more." Duo lost the rest of the world to Heero's kiss, melting in the strong arms wrapped securely around his body.

He was dreaming…he was sure of it. He just hoped he never had to wake up.

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"The time is nearing, Tyr. Our army is rebuilt, or bases re-installed. Preventer HQ has moved, but I am right there with them. Our time has come. Let us not waste it. The first wave will confront the Preventers in two weeks. Don't disappoint me." Tyr gripped the armrests of his chair as he listened to Jezebel's message. So it was time again. Hopefully, this time, they would succeed. With three pilots gone, one never to return, they shouldn't have a difficult time. Their army would conquer the world and rule as it should have been ruled. The Eagle Squadron would make sure that the old way of life was restored. The US would once again be the raging lion, waiting to pounce on any country that over stepped it bounds. No longer asleep, the lion would rule again.