Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The First ❯ Chapter 2

GW and its characters don't belong to me but to Sunrise/SOTSU Agency etc. etc.

The First pt 2. A lot shorter than part one and with no lemon, but in the other parts there will be lemon, so stayed tuned.

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"Thank you so much sir. Just put it on our tab." Duo laughed at his own sense of humor as he spoke to the corpse of the storeowner.

"You didn't have to kill him. We could have just bought the costumes."

Duo snorted. "Heero, when will you start taking pleasure in the killing. It can be so empowering."

Heero turned to Trowa who held a scowl on his face as he glared at Duo. "Let's just get our costumes and go."

"Oh Trowa. Don't tell me you're mad at me too?" Duo sniffled crocodile tears. "It hurts me so."

Trowa growled under his breath but said no more and began rummaging through the costumes along with Heero."

They arrived at the Winner estate thirty minutes after midnight. Trowa dressed and with a mask of a harlequin, Heero dressed and with a mask a hawk and of course Duo, ever being the man of morbid humor, had dressed himself in a black cloak and on his face was the mask of Death.

They handed their invites over to the butler, who without question allowed them entry into the gala. They stepped into the grand ballroom, which had boasted a grand chandelier with crystal that reflected the white of the lights. The voices of the other guests intermingled with one another creating almost a humming sound. The string orchestra was playing a beautiful waltz to which, several people twirled around to on the dance floor.

Duo spun around facing his friends, and with an extended arm bowed ever so graciously, but his eyes that looked up at them held the devil himself. "Gentlemen, shall we let the party begin?" He straightened his posture. "So many choices. Now be on your best behavior my lads. And don't do anything I wouldn't do." He chimed as he left their sides.

"Duo will be lucky if he doesn't get us all killed."

Heero thought of Trowa's words. "We can only hope he has more sense. Meet you back here in an hour?"

"Until then my friend." Trowa nodded going his own way.

Heero grew a little nervous at the tight spaces as he excused himself and pushed through the crowd of aristocrats hoping that no one could sense his uneasiness, let alone the fact that he knew nothing of how to act like an aristocrat; damn Duo and his ideas. He had managed to make it into a corner were he was some what alone, but then a soft giggle caught his ears and a voice spoke to him in the sweetest tone he had ever heard. He looked up from the floor and into a mask of a dove.

"Sir. I don't believe we have met. She extended a gloved hand and lowered the mask from her face. Heero swallowed somewhat roughly as he finally peered into the aqua eyes that had been hidden somewhat behind the feathered masquerade. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Relena Dorlian."

Heero opened his mouth to speak but no words or sounds came out, so he closed his mouth and averted his eyes. "Hello."

She pursed her lips to suppress a giggle and slightly tilted her head. "Your invitation says that you are one of Duke Dermail's nephews."

"Um, yes." Heero stammered unable to look her in the eye.

"Which one?"

"The youngest one."

"Timothy?"

"Yes. Timothy."

She curtsied and Heero caught a full glimpse of her bosom before she rose again. He felt an odd sensation he had never quite felt before as his eyes darted to the curve of her long slender neck; he took a step back.

"Is something wrong sir?"

He shook his head. "No. I was just admiring your necklace. Quite exquisite."

She smiled. "Thank you. It was my mothers." The music began to play once again and she turned to him and took his hand. "Would you like to dance, sir?"

"I've never really danced a lot Miss Darlian."

She smiled warmly again. "Oh just follow my lead."

Realizing she was not taking no for an answer he allowed himself to be led by her onto the dance floor.

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Trowa declined a glass of champagne that had been offered to him by one of the waiters, as well as another woman who had tried to strike up a conversation with him. He studied the room and watched for a few minutes. Duo had already made himself quite popular, especially with the ladies who had formed a circle around him. They had no doubt been struck by his good looks and charming façade. He turned his attention to Heero and half-smiled watching Heero trying desperately to keep in step with the hostess of the party. She was an elegant girl, he thought, quite beautiful. He shook his head. "Forgive me Evie." He whispered to himself.

The song ended and the dancers on the floor parted; Trowa turned his head and watched the band. He saw a slender man of medium height rise out of a chair and remove his mask to take a bow; his jaw about dropped.

"He's an incredible musician isn't he?"

"Excuse me?" Trowa turned to a middle-aged woman who was applauding.

"The Winner son himself, Quatre. They say he is a musical prodigy."

Trowa looked back at the young man almost feeling his heart stop. "Yes, he's quite incredible."

He moved closer to the band, still hiding himself among the crowd and behind his mask, though his eyes continued to study the young Winner heir. He fixated at first on the young man's hair, its color was that of white spun gold and his eyes were clear, bright pools blue. His features and mannerisms were delicate, his smile even his smile, was hers. Trowa's voice was hoarse as he spoke only one name "Genevieve?"

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Relena continued to hold onto Heero's hand as they left the dance floor. "I don't know about you but I need some fresh air." She led him outside onto the patio and down into the gardens. She had always been known as a bold woman, but even Relena had surprised herself with the forwardness she had displayed with this man. She looked at him as they continued to walk side by side in silence down into the garden. Her heart pounded and she forced herself not to faint. What was it about this man?

Heero stole a look at her from the side. He was confused at the new sensations he was having with this female. If his heart still really beat at all it was painfully contracting right now. He hated the feeling of nervousness and prayed for a second to be blessed with Duo's coolness and audaciousness, but quickly cursed himself for even wishing to be like Duo at all. He saw her shiver just a little. "Are you cold?"

"Just a bit. Winter seems to be coming rather quick this year."

He unclasped his feathered cloak and offered it to her.

"Thank you." She wrapped the cape around her shoulders. "But won't you get chilled?"

Cold? In his mortal days he had hated the cold, but as lord Treize had said upon his initiation into the clan, that once you get used to the frozen chill of death, nothing more could ever harm you. Though for the first time he doubted his master's words, for when he looked upon Relena his insides hurt like hell.

"I'll be fine. The cold is nothing to me."

She stopped and turned to him, he stopped as well and faced her. She tugged at the end of her right-gloved hand until the material slipped away. He looked at her, slightly wide-eyed and flinched as she raised her hand to his cheek. The warmth of her palm and fingers felt like he was being branded with fire itself.

He saw her expression turn form mere curiosity to fear as she gasped and pulled her hand away. For several seconds she had held her bare hand upon his cheek and her fingertips had picked up the sting of pure ice itself. She took a few steps back not sure how to react, though her mind told her to run. "Perhaps we should be getting back to the party." She turned to leave but was jerked back by him; the grip he had on her arm was extremely strong. His voice was no longer soft or nervous but had become commanding and threatening.

"But we're not finished here yet, Miss Darlian."

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Quatre felt quite faint after his little participation with the orchestra he had just had and excused himself for a few moments into the den. He wiped away the sweat that had formed a little on his brow. His knuckles turned white as he held onto the edge of the desk trying to support himself on his feet. "Are you all right Mr. Winner?"

Quatre fluttered his lashes in an attempt to get a better view of the man who was approaching him; he noticed the man had also closed the door of the den behind him.

"My heart, it's always been weak. I just overdid it a little that's all." An uneasy feeling swept over him as the man stood only inches away, staring down at him, his green eyes seemed to darken somewhat; Quatre looked away as if to block the image out of his mind.

Suddenly the taller man stepped back. "You should really be lying down. And try to breath more slowly. My name is Trowa Barton. Here. Let me help you."

Though still uneasy he accepted the other man's acceptance, and even through his white-gloved hand he could feel a strange chill, he stumbled suddenly falling against Trowa's chest.

He opened his mouth to apologize but felt himself being lifted off of his feet, cradled in the arms of the strange man. "Hush my pretty one. You must save your strength."

Quatre began to protest and even grow a bit angry. "Pretty one? Let go of me now sir." Trowa complied setting him gently down on the cushioned sofa in the corner of the den. "I don't know who you are but if you don't leave right now I'll call the constable and his men. They are at the party you know."

The man knelt down on the floor beside the couch and Quatre could tell he was not intimidated in the least. "I told you my name is Trowa Barton and I am here to help you."

"Help me?" Quatre felt himself being pressed down on his back against the couch as the other man, still on the floor hovered over him his eyes locked onto his.

"I told you to hush now my pretty one. You need your rest."

Quatre's eyelids suddenly felt heavy as an uncontrollable force spoke in his mind. "I need, to rest, yes, just rest." Trowa sunk back on his knees, still holding the hand of Quatre Winner. He slipped off his own glove and brought the blonde's hand to his lips. As he pressed the soft flesh to his mouth he breathed in the heat and scent of the man as a deep ache swelled up in his gut. His darling Evie had always been somewhat sickly, especially during her pregnancy. The only thing that had helped her was an herb that her grandmother had taught her how to grow.

But the Puritan village had not recognized the herb and so she had been accused of sorcery and alchemy and other nonsense resulting in being sentenced to a death most horrible. He had been unable to help her, protect her and had felt he was just as responsible for her death of his beloved as anyone.

He closed his eyes as a single tear fell from the corner of his left one, remembering the sound of his name as she cried out to him in her final breath. He found himself shaking and looking once more down at the fair Quatre, who so much reminded him of his Genevieve. He rose up a little on his knees and kissed the smooth jaw line of Quatre. "I promise I will not fail you again Evie. This time I will protect you."

TBC...