Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Forgotten Dreams ❯ Chapter 18

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Title: Forgotten Dreams
Chapter: 18/?
Warnings: Yaoi (4x2), angst, psychic shtuff
Disclaimers: Gundam Wing and all characters associated with it is not mine, nor am I making any money from this. This is purely for my personal enjoyment, and the enjoyment of the people who read this. GW is copyright Bandai, Sunrise, etc.
Notes: Blah blah blah indicates psychic shtuff/memories


It was a sunny, cheerful day. The birds were chirping, the sky was cloudless, and Altair was inflicting horrendous pain on Quatre. Cheerfully. And a cheerful Altair was a frightening sight.
"Itai! Damn it, Altair, that hurts!" Quatre jerked away from his sister and glared at her as he rubbed his shoulder. "Do you know the meaning of the word 'gentle' or are you just sadistic?"
"Shut up and hold still." She grabbed his arm and jerked, popping the dislocated shoulder back into place. Quatre stifled a howl then glared at Altair as she kissed his forehead. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"
"You are evil personified." Altair curtsied before gathering the skirts of her Elizabethan dress and stepping lightly down the porch steps. "Why are you wearing that outfit?"
Altair glanced over her shoulder as Quatre followed her, unlocking the trunk of her green Mazda. "I'm going to a Renaissance Faire later."
"Dare I hope it's just for fun?"
"Guess." She tossed Quatre a shoulder brace, then went back into her house. It was a small, comfy country cottage, which was totally at odds with the Altair that Quatre knew, or at least, thought he knew.
"I think I hate you," he informed her as he followed her in and looked around. "Do you really live here?"
His first comment made Altair laugh as they entered the kitchen. "You're not the only one." She ignored his question and took a turkey out of the oven. She started fussing with it as Quatre stared at her.
"My psycho mercenary sister is Neo Betty Fucking Crocker."
"You're just grumpy because you hurt your wrist."
"No," Quatre snapped, "I'm not. I'm grumpy because I killed, or damn near killed Trowa and if he isn't dead then I don't know where the hell he is! I'm worried sick about him!"
"You'd know if he was dead. You're also pissy because of the effects of the ZERO System. Now hand me that baster."
Quatre threw said baster at Altair, who caught it without looking up. "Shut up. I'm sick of you and your God-like knowledge of the whole damned universe!" He stalked out of the house and sulked on the porch. Altair's sudden change in behavior, from cold and distant to almost warm and downright motherly, was confusing the hell out of him. He also ached inside. If he hadn't killed Trowa then he'd wounded him badly. Not only that, but Duo would stop by to see him occasionally and no matter what went on, nine times out of ten they ended up in bed together. Plus Altair was being entirely too cheerful since their father's death. "You realize, of course, that not only am I disgracing Trowa's memory or at least cheating on him, but that our father is *dead*?" he called into the house.
Altair looked like a cat who had caught a canary as she appeared in the doorway. She set a plate of mashed potatoes, gravy and turkey in front of Quatre and hummed for a moment. "I know."
"Do you care?" The blond sighed as Duo pulled up. Every time they promised never again, but inevitably they ended up together.
"Of course. He can't ruin anymore lives now. I'm glad. I threw a party when I heard."
"Hey, Altair! You keeping good care of Quatre? How are you, beautiful?"
The blond turned away but settled back when Duo's arms encircled his shoulders. "I'm horrible. I killed Trowa and Altair's happy that Father is dead. She probably planned his death, too. Bitch."
Duo chuckled. "Well, I suppose that it's not really funny, but you're awfully cute when you're sulking."
Quatre tilted his head back to look up at Duo, pulling him down for a kiss. "I wish you'd stop coming by," he murmured.
"No you don't. You want me to come by more often." Duo settled in Quatre's lap, giving him brief, firm kisses. "You want to make love to---"
"No," Quatre whispered, shaking his head.
"Ah, yes. Your conscience, I forgot. Then you want to fuck me more than you do already. Ahem, let me rephrase. I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you inside of me." As he spoke the American ran his hands over Quatre's chest, rubbing the blonde's nipples gently through the thin fabric of the young man's shirt.
Quatre sighed and let his head fall against the back of the porch swing. Duo's attentions provided a welcome distraction from his worries about Trowa and his grief over losing his father. All those fears were swept away by Duo's gentle touch. Quatre never had to think when he was with Duo. He just felt. He felt strongly, and wept, got angry, cried out in pleasure.
By some unspoken agreement Duo never took Quatre, but always initiated things. It helped Quatre rationalize his actions. What he and Duo did, the Arab told himself, was for mutual comfort and it was chance rather than shared desire that had them clinging to each other, gasping with passion. In Quatre's grief and anger he often lashed out and there were times that Duo left with bruises he hadn't come with, but he silenced Quatre's concerns by saying that he'd rather be hurt accidentally than on purpose.
"Where are you going after this?" Duo whispered.
"C-Cinq Kingdom." Quatre squeezed his eyes shut and rested his forehead in the crook of Duo's neck, letting the brunette's legs around his waist set the pace of their --- what? Lovemaking? Fucking? Quatre didn't know what to call what he and Duo were doing. He just let Duo tell him what to do.
Duo nodded and arched his neck, exposing his throat temptingly. Quatre gave in to the temptation and kissed his lover's skin softly, then bit gently. He bit down again, slightly harder, and the force of his bites increased until Duo whined in pain. Quatre forced himself to stop and stared down at the dark, sometimes bleeding marks on Duo's neck in dismay. He closed his eyes again moved his attention to Duo's lips, careful not to bite.
"Duo . . ." The name was a guttural groan from Quatre's lips as he climaxed, nails digging into Duo's skin. He didn't hear Duo cry out his name, didn't care. The Arab let himself go limp, shaking with silent tears. Duo held him, as he always did, and let the blond cry himself out.

* * *

"Do you like Duo?" The question was asked as Quatre and Heero dined together at Relena's school in Cinq Kingdom. Relena would normally have been with them but she had been called away on what she claimed was business. From the look on her face, however, Quatre suspected Wufei had dropped by.
Heero looked up and raised an eyebrow, wiping his mouth. "I don't follow you."
"Do you like Duo? Is he your friend? Do you hate him? Not care?"
The young man sitting across from the Winner heir set his fork down and stared at his plate. "He confuses me. He's near me and touches me and talks to me. I don't know what he wants. I try to make him leave me alone, but nothing works. We're rivals, but . . . not just that. He wants something from me."
Quatre nodded. "He wants your friendship, Heero, at the very least."
"And at the very most?"
"At the very most . . ." Quatre furrowed his brow as he contemplated the food on his plate, wondering how to put this. "At the very most, he wants . . ."
"To be like you and Trowa." Quatre looked up, mouth dropping as Heero smirked. "I'm not blind, Quatre. As long as the mission is accomplished I don't care. Is that what Duo wants?"
Quatre nodded. "Yes."
"But he's . . . sleeping . . . with you."
That statement was like a punch in the face for Quatre. He set his fork down and covered his mouth with one hand, elbow resting on the table, then rested his forehead against the same hand as he fought against tears. "I . . . well, that . . ." Quatre struggled to explain his actions, the situation he was in.
"Do you love him?"
"Yes," Quatre whispered.
"When we find him, what are you going to do?"
"Apologize. I never meant to hurt him, least of all nearly kill him. I don't know what I'll do to make up for what I've done."
"But you love him."
"I do." Quatre looked to the side, not wanting to talk about it any more.
Mercifully, Relena chose that moment to arrive. Her smile was a little forced, a little too cheerful, her hair was less than perfect and her breathing was strained. She nodded to Quatre, but her gaze stayed on Heero.
"I'm sorry," she murmured as Quatre stood and held out a chair for her. "I got here as fast as I could."
"You didn't have to run, Miss Relena," Quatre offered. Relena blinked, then shot him a grateful look. Running to get there fully explained her mussed appearance and kept her affair with Wufei from Heero's knowledge.
"Well, I didn't want you two to think me a bad hostess. My . . . meeting . . . was rather important, and I---"
"We don't mind," Heero cut in. That immediately placated Relena and the remainder of the meal was spent in light conversation between the two nobles with the occasional remark dragged out of Heero. After lunch, however, Heero followed Quatre to his room and sat on his bed. "She didn't have a meeting. Not one about politics."
Quatre closed his eyes briefly as he considered what to say. "I'm sure it was an important meeting nonetheless," he finally said. If Relena and Wufei weren't sleeping together then they were damn close to it, yet Relena still persisted in trying to get Heero to fall in love with her. She would never forgive Quatre if he ruined her chance with Heero, no matter how nil that chance was.
"Who was she with?"
"How should I know?"
"But you do."
Quatre stifled a groaned. "I'm sure that if you ask Relena she may tell you. This isn't something she would want me telling you."
Brows knit together, Heero went silent. Finally, "Why do you do it?"
". . . I don't know," Quatre admitted quietly. "I try not to, but it still . . . happens."
"What's it like?"
The blond laughed softly, sadly. "It's . . . wonderful. Like nothing I've ever felt. Everything's so intense, almost a sensory overload, but it's good that way."
"I've never felt like that. Not in a good way. Do you think I ever will?"
That brought another soft chuckle. "Maybe. Duo and Relena---"
"Not them."
Quatre nodded, watching Heero absently swing his legs. "I'm sure you'll find someone to show you what it's like, Heero."
". . . You really love him?"
"Yes."

* * *

With tears in his eyes Quatre tackled his lover, sending them both sprawling on the floor. Their kisses were harsh and desperate as Quatre fought against tears, neither one wanting anything other than to touch, to feel the comfort of skin against skin.
"Damn you," he whispered, "damn you. I thought you were him, I thought he'd . . . that he . . ."
Duo held him as he sobbed and nodded. "It was the only way to see you. God, do you know how much I missed you? I had to see you. I had to."
Quatre gritted his teeth and trembled, filled with the sudden urge to make Duo hurt, make him bleed. "Stop it," he whispered with an edge to his voice. "Just shut up. You don't need me, damn it, and I sure as hell don't need you."
"Then why are you about to fuck me, hm? You may like to think that you never start this stuff, but you start it as much as I do."
"Shut up!" Quatre squeezed his eyes closed, shaking his head in denial. "You don't know what you're talking about. This is nothing, nothing but me being weak and you taking advantage of it! Nothing . . ."
Duo was suddenly compliant, body yielding to Quatre's touch. He closed his eyes and nodded while fumbling with his clothing. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry. Come here." The young man lay Quatre on his back and unfastened the blonde's pants and belt before pulling Quatre's pants down. All the while he kept whispering softly. "You're right. I'm nothing but a whore. I don't even get paid. I'm worse than a whore, then. I just a fucking slut."
By now Quatre's pants and shoes were strewn around the room. The young Winner gasped and arched his back when Duo took his erection into his mouth, whining. After that there was nothing in Quatre's mind but desire, and after that, darkness.

* * *

Leaning over his lover, Quatre kissed his cheek. "Wake up."
"Mmm . . ." Duo rolled over and pulled the covers tighter around him, eyes squeezing shut. The early morning light shone softly on his hair and Quatre played with a few errant strands.
"Come on, wake up. I've got a wonderful surprise for you, Duo." It took much cajoling, but eventually Quatre got Duo out onto the balcony. Once there Duo nearly choked.
A vintage, cherry red convertible Python gleamed in the morning sun. It was polished and in near-mint condition and while Duo gawked, Quatre slid his arms around his waist.
"You like it?" he murmured.
"L-like it?! God, Quatre, that an A.C. 162 Python! Do you know how rare those things are?! My God, look at it . . ." Duo's fingers gripped the balcony railing so hard that his knuckles were turning white. He was dying to run down and ogle at the vehicle up close.
Quatre laughed and pressed the keys into Duo's hand. "Here. Go play."
Blue-violet eyes were as large as they could get as he turned toward his lover. "Wh . . . what?"
"Take it. It's yours."
"No fucking way!"
"Yes fucking way," Quatre smiled. "It's yours. I got it just for you." Duo was shocked speechless for at least a minute, then he leapt on Quatre and covered the blonde's face with kisses, babbling his thanks to the young man. He jumped up and bolted downstairs, whooping excitedly while Quatre followed at a slower, more sedate pace.
"Oh man oh man oh man . . ." After thoroughly examining the exterior of the car Duo slowly got in, the look on his face pure bliss. The look he turned on Quatre was so happy, so full of joy that Quatre wished he'd done this sooner. "Quatre . . . why?"
He closed his eyes. "Because . . . because you deserve nice things. Now, why not take it for a drive, hm? I've got work to do and you're a distraction." Quatre opened his eyes and smiled to take the sting out of his words.
Duo laughed, blowing him a kiss. "All right. Don't miss me too much!" They waved at each other and Quatre sighed once Duo had driven off.
"A car is a serious gift."
"Aiy!" Quatre yelped and whipped around, heart racing. "What are *you* doing here?!"
"Generally one gives vehicles, especially rare and vintage vehicles, only to people one truly loves."
The young man glared at Altair and walked past her to the mansion. "Have you ever been in love? I doubt it. So you don't know what you're talking about. You know nothing about love."
"You don't know that." Altair's voice was oddly quiet as she followed Quatre. Was that hurt in her voice? Quatre shook his head. Altair wasn't capable of feeling pain.
"Go away. I don't like you."
"I know where Trowa is."
Quatre froze, heart stopping. ". . . You're lying." He didn't believe it. Had it been anyone but Altair, maybe, but how could he know she spoke the truth?
"I've never lied to you, Quatre. His with his circus. I saw him." A photograph was held in front of his face, a picture of Trowa and Cathrine talking. It was with shaking hands that Quatre took the image, staring at it before turning his bewildered gaze to his older sister.
"I don't . . . believe you . . ."
"Believe what you will; I speak the truth. By the way," Altair continued as she brushed past Quatre, "you're clean."
"Clean? What are you talking about?"
"The results from the tests you and Trowa took came in. You're clean."
A wave of relief washed over Quatre and his knees went weak. "Oh, thank God we're---"
"You are clean," his sister cut him off.
Quatre nearly had a heart attack, running to Altair and closing the front door as she opened it. "I'm clean." She nodded. "Me. What about Trowa?" Altair was silent, just staring at her frantic sibling. "Damn it, Altair, what about Trowa? What about him?!" Quatre was almost screaming.
Altair looked to the side, then back at Quatre and shrugged. "It's fixable."
Had he been thinking clearly Quatre would have relished the look of unprecedented shock that froze Altair's features when he punched her with all his might. As it was, he wasn't thinking sanely and his only concern was killing her, making her hurt. As the young woman went sprawling on her back Quatre followed and grabbed the gun holstered on her hip. He aimed it between his sister's eyes and spat curses at her as he started to gently squeeze the trigger, cornering Altair on the patio.
"Quatre, listen to me!" Altair's eyes were wide as she stared at Quatre, layered hair in her face.
"Fuck you! Just . . . fuck you! You bitch, why the hell can't you stay out of my life?! Why the hell can't you be normal? I never asked to have twenty-fucking-nine sisters! I never asked to be motherless! To be orphaned! To be a fucking test-tube---"
"You're not a test-tube baby!"
They had both been yelling but now Quatre started shrieking. "I hate you, you fucking bitch! I hate you!" He started to squeeze the trigger and saw the realization flash through Altair's eyes that she was going to die, realization followed by uncharacteristic desperation.
"We share our mother!" she screamed, hands covering her head as she turned her face away.
The gun dropped. Quatre stared at Altair without seeing her, shock freezing him even as his mind whirled. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His mother. A real mother.
"Quatrine Anala Messop. She married Hakim Winner in A.C. one seventy. I was . . . created . . . in one seventy-three. The following year Basma was . . . made. Hakim had several other wives and got more daughters from them in the eight years before you were born, but he loved okaasama the most." Altair was murmuring, eyes closed. "Okaasama was smart enough to realize that only a true birth would give Hakim the heir he needed. She . . . couldn't give birth without giving her life. Hakim forbid her from doing it. But she . . . Okaasama did anyway. Hakim demanded she abort the baby, you, but then they found you to be male." A fine tremor ran through Altair's body and she covered her eyes with one hand.
For a long time both siblings were silent, unmoving. Once the shock had worn off sufficiently, Quatre spoke. "You hated Father."
"I do."
"You do?"
"I do. I still hate him. He let okaasama die and he ruined my life."
Quatre covered his eyes as his shoulders slumped. "Did you have anything to do with his death?"
Altair stood and picked her gun up, reholstering it. "Yes. I planned it and I fired the shot that destroyed the resource satellite." She turned and though her steps remained calm and unhurried, fled.
Quatre watched her leave, doing nothing to stop the young woman. He couldn't. All he could do was walk into the house, turn on the vidphone and punch in a number.
"City morgue, you stab 'em we slab 'em."
"Tell me about my mother."

* * *

The sun was setting when Duo pulled into the driveway, thoroughly satisfied with his care. Quatre watched him climb out of the car and head to the house as the blond rested in a chair on the front porch. On the table beside him were several packets that Basma had faxed him. Inside each were pictures . . . of an angel. Duo must have caught a glimpse of Quatre's face because he stopped mid-sentence about the car and hurried up the steps, kneeling next to the blond with one hand resting on Quatre's knee.
"Hey, what is it? What's wrong?"
Quatre pushed the two pictures he'd kept out toward Duo, sighing deeply as his lover picked them up. He stared hard at them, then up at Quatre. After looking back and forth again Duo held the old photos up to Quatre's face.
"Your mother was very beautiful," he whispered.
The tears that had been building since he'd called Basma were let loose. Quatre took the photos from Duo and leaned into his lover's embrace, staring at the pictures of his mother and two full sisters as tears blurred his vision.
The pictures were essentially the same. Only the poses and mood differed, but it was a drastic change. In the first picture Quatre's mother knelt between her two daughters, arms around their waists and looking down at them with love written on her face and in her eyes. The picture had been taken while Quatrine was pregnant with Quatre, judging by the swell of her stomach. She was wearing a wrinkly skirt with brightly-colored flowers set on a black background with a loose white peasant's blouse. To her left Basma leaned against her, cheek resting on Quatrine's stomach. She was wearing a frilly, fluffy white dress trimmed with pink ribbons, and Basma's eyes were wide with wonder as she gazed up at her mother. Her hair was bobbed short, curling just under her chin, she had a big yellow daisy tucked behind her ear and her white-gloved hand rested over her mother's belly.
Fingers resting in the spaces between Basma's, Altair was on her mother's right. Most everything about her was the same as Basma, but opposite. Where Basma's hair was short, Altair's fell to her feet. Basma was clad in girlish white, but Altair's identical outfit was all in black. The only things they shared were the daisies in their hair and the looks of pure adoration on their faces. It was obvious that both children were oblivious to the cameraman.
The next picture had been taken seconds after the first. Perhaps the picture taker had spoken up to get the trio's attention, or maybe one of them had noticed him, but all three females were looking up. Basma was smiling brightly and waving but Altair had the most vicious scowl on her face. Her arms were wrapped around Quatrine protectively and her head was resting on the blonde woman's shoulder. Her whole demeanor was radiating hostility. Quatrine had tilted her head to rest her cheek on the top of Altair's head, the arm that had been around Altair's waist now petting her daughter's long hair comfortingly.
"Altair killed him," Quatre murmured. "She killed him."
"Killed who, lover?"
"Father. She killed him. She set up his death and killed him herself."
Gentle hands rubbed his back soothingly. "What for?"
Quatre choked back a sob. "He let Mother have me. She died right after she gave birth to me." He snorted. "Altair adored Mother. Her death ruined Altair's life."
"Says who?"
"Altair and Basma both. I . . . Oh, God, Duo, I wish she were alive . . ."
Duo held Quatre as the blond shook, petting his hair. He let his lover cry himself out before gathering the packets of photos and leading Quatre upstairs. Once in the bedroom Duo stripped Quatre to his boxers and then lay him on the bed.
"Why are you so nice to me?" Quatre asked as Duo lay next to him.
"I could ask the same of you. I care about you, Quatre . . . a lot. You're good, and kind, and this war shouldn't have touched you. It shouldn't have touched any of us, but you most of all. You're too sweet to go through this."
Quatre sighed and curled up next to Duo, laying his head on his friend's chest. "But I'm not sweet and innocent. I've killed as many people as you have."
"But you give your enemies a chance to surrender, and are genuinely sorry when you kill them. I'm not sorry all that often. More often than not, I'm glad they're dead. So . . . you're the most innocent of us all, my reluctant warrior. Your soul is still innocent." Duo bestowed a kiss on a sleepy Quatre's brow.
"That was very poetic," the blond murmured. His emotional fatigue was turning into a physical weariness and Quatre was lulled to sleep by Duo's gentle breathing and the steady beat of his heart.

* * *

The sound of two small girls bickering rose from a dull, muffle noise to words he could clearly make out.
"She's my mother! Don't touch her!"
"She's my mother, too! I'll touch her if I want!"
"No! She's going to have a baby. You can't touch her!" There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh, then one of the girls cried out in pain.
"Altair!" A new voice, closer, reverberating around him in the tight, warm enclosed space he floated in. He shifted, pushing out and trying to get comfortable.
"Okaasama, Basma---"
"Basma has every right to touch me, just as you do, Birdy. Come here, my loves." There was gentle pressure on either side of him and he shifted again, wanting out. "You must never hit your sister, Birdy, no matter how mad at her you get. You must always protect her. That goes for you, too, Basma."
"But won't you always protect us, Mother?"
There was soft, sad laughter. "I'll not always be here to protect you, my children. Therefore you must always love and protect each other and your baby brother as well."
"I hate him," the one called Altair said. "He's making you die."
There was true sadness in his mother's voice. "No, my love, do not hate your brother. It is not his fault but mine. I wanted to bear a child, your father's child, and this was also the only way to get an heir for our family."
"You three are beautiful."
There was a quick jerking movement. "Go away," Altair hissed. "I hate pictures!"
"Be kind to your father, Birdy, he's the only one you have. Now go play, you two, but don't get your dresses dirty." She moved and he found himself in an uncomfortable position. He turned, pushing out with his legs a bit. Laughter. "He moves."
Gentle pressure against him and he kicked out again. "That he does . . . Quatrine, why? Why did you do this to yourself? To me? To us?"
"Because you need an heir and I wanted to have your child. Do not ask me again, please, my love."
"But you leave behind not only me and our son, but our daughters as well. Why hurt them so?"
"Because I must do this! Hakim, I can not tell you, but . . . I have the gift, Hakim. So do Basma and Altair. So does the child I bear. What I've seen for them . . . Hakim, look at me. Do not grieve for me, husband." He kept shifting, the warm space confining him far too small.
"Altair hates me."
"I know. That I can not change. But . . . Go now, Akhem is waving at you." There was a pause, then his mother rubbed him gently. "Altair is destined to kill you, Hakim . . . just as you, little Quatre, are destined to kill me. You will suffer, love and gain much . . . But please, help heal Birdy." He kept kicking and pushing, wanting out. A force other than his own pushed him down, wanting him out of his host body. "I know, I know. I've kept off labor too long. I wanted but a few more precious days with my family . . ." He kept pushing. "Oh, Allah, forgive me . . . Hakim! Hakim!"
"Okaasama! What's wrong? Father! Father! The baby, Okaasama! Okaasama!"
"Quatrine!"
"Mother!"
"Okaasama . . ."
"Please, Birdy, forgive us all . . ."

Quatre sat bolt-upright in bed, covered in sweat though he'd long ago kicked his covers off. He gasped for air in the dark room, body still pulsating from the memory of labor . . . Memory? No, that was a dream . . . just a dream. Quatre shook his head sharply and looked around the dim room before his gaze settle on the young man in bed with him.
Duo. Beautiful Duo. Duo, who was laying where Trowa should have been laying. With a sigh and a groan Quatre rolled out of bed and opened the balcony doors. He went out and leaned against the railing, staring out over the oasis the mansion rested in as his dream and Duo haunted him. In the garden his room overlooked there was a mound of earth that Basma called a faery mound. It was unexpected, but came as no surprise to the Arab to see Altair moving around it. She walked clockwise nine times around it, then stopped in front of it and raised her arms above her head.
He'd never meant to start this relationship with Duo, but it seemed inevitable, as inevitable and curiously unsurprising as the balls of colored light rising from Altair's faery mound. It had been as if Duo knew that he had no real chance with Heero and so had turned to Quatre for love and friendship. But when Trowa had arrived Quatre had tried, in vain, to stop the physical aspect of he and Duo's relationship. That as proven as impossible as Quatre now tearing his gaze from the spirits dancing around his elder sister.
Spirits . . . gift . . . What gift did Altair have? Quatrine had mentioned that she and all her children had a gift in his memory-dream. Quatre knew his own, his heart of the universe, and from his memory-dream he gathered that his mother had had the gift of seeing the future. But what were Basma and Altair's gifts?
"Stop thinking so loud. It's annoying."
"What?"
"Stop. Thinking. So. Loud."
Was Altair a thought-reader, then? Yet she had summoned the fay and spirits cavorting about her now . . . And what of Basma? The power to be lesbian? Quatre shook his head. He watched as the spirit dance slowed with the dawning light of morning and as Altair sent the last of the spirits back to wherever she'd summoned them from.
Turning back to his room, Quatre gazed down at Duo. They were friends, they were lovers. Did he love Duo? Quatre chose not to answer that question, reaching a trembling hand out to brush hair out of his lover's face.
"Your capability to love and inability to love singularly will cause you more pain than you need."
"Is that better or worse than being unwilling to love, I wonder?"
"I pray you never find out."

* * *

"Heero Yuy doesn't love me."
"What's that?"
"Heero Yuy doesn't love me. Never has, probably never will."
Quatre smiled slightly and nodded in agreement. "I know."
"But that's all right," Duo continued, reclining on a couch as Quatre stood over him. "That's perfectly all right. You see, I knew this. When I first started chasing him, I knew this. Heero's not ready for love. Hell, I don't think he'll ever be ready for love. And certainly not from me."
"How did you come to this conclusion?" Quatre asked softly.
Duo shrugged. "I think it's something I always knew, I just . . . well, I wanted and chased Heero for the same reasons Relena's still chasing him. He's a source of strength, an enigma, has the hottest ass I've ever seen . . . yeah."
Quatre laughed. "Yes, I know. So what are you going to do now?"
"I'm not sure. Win this damn war for certain, but other than that . . ." His voice trailed off as Quatre leaned down and kissed his neck softly. "Of course, getting laid by you is near the top of my to-do list."
"I don't want to sleep with you," Quatre whispered.
"Not now, you mean."
The Arab nodded as he settled next to Duo, arms around the American. "Not now. Now I want . . ." His words faded as he rested in Duo's embrace, one leg across his lover's lap.
"Ne, Quatre?"
"Mm?"
Duo's voice was perplexed. "Why is your name 'four' in French?"
Quatre shrugged. "Mother's name was Quatrine and I'm named after her." He absently kissed his friend's shoulder. "Why is your name 'two'?"
Duo took a shuddering breath. "Because, when I was small, there was this boy who took care of me, named Solo. He was my best, my first, friend. Then the plague hit and he got sick. I . . . I stole some vaccine but I was too late. He was dying. He told me that he'd always be with me, so to be good, then he was gone. I decided that since he'd always be with me, we'd be Duo. I've been Duo ever since."
The blond blinked moisture from his eyes, holding his friend and lover close to him. "I think Duo's a beautiful name."
"Yeah . . . so do we."