September AC 207 - Earth

          The rain had subsided and the only thing remaining of it was the rich pungent smell of earth, as we arrived at the mansion late one evening in September. Pale moonlight filtered through the branches of the oaks bordering the garden, and I stopped for a while to admire its ethereal beauty. Trowa parked the car, and for a timeless moment I just stood there, wishing I could melt together with the enchanted garden, blend with the pale silver moonlight that washed over the ancient trees and me. True happiness would be to disappear from the world, fade like a shadow in the morning hours.

           + + +

          A quick check of the surroundings had revealed nothing out of the ordinary - the old residence was relatively safe, after all - and Trowa returned to the front gates. Since it didn't belong to the Winner foundation and was only used by him and Quatre during the latter's official visits to the Sanc Kingdom, there was no reason any disruptive elements would have found its existence out.

          With past assassination attempts too clear in mind however, they had chosen the more careful approach to the problem. Every possibility was to be examined and neutralised. As he returned his attention to Quatre, the blond turned around from his thoughtful admiration of the garden, and acknowledged his presence with a smile.

          "All premises cleared," he informed Quatre.

          "Ok. Thank you, Trowa."

          "Only doing my job."

          "I know," the slender blond smiled at Trowa, who couldn't help but to smile back.

          It was a predictable formula of normality, a similar conversation often taking place under different circumstances as they travelled the world. It had the feeling of a forced charade, and their roles in this drama were already given, unalterable. No one would suspect that it was only a veil there for public display, hiding dark secrets behind. Sighing inwardly, Trowa scolded himself for the sudden gloomy mood brought on by the surroundings. And still... he felt like they had kept it up for more than a decade.

          "What are you thinking of?"

           Quatre's words snapped him out of his dispirited reverie, but he left the question unanswered with a small shake of his head. The blond, perhaps sensing his sudden melancholy, only smiled. Hooking an arm under Trowa's, he lead them towards the door. The oppressive grasp of necessity momentarily let go of his mind as Quatre's hand found his. At the touch, the world outside faded into a mere possibility, washed off him like dirt under a heavy rain.

          Entering the house in silence, Trowa discarded both their coats in a nearby chair before they headed towards the kitchen. A fire had been prepared in the oven by the keepers, and he sat down on a chair by the rustic table. It was always like this, every time was the same. It didn't use to bother him when the game was new; he was the attentive protector of Quatre, not worried about purpose and needs as long as he could be with the one that had captured and melted his frozen heart.

          Lately, however, the feeling of running around in circles had returned more often than he fully cared to admit. It was a repetitive life they lead, and the part of him that Quatre had awoken so long ago, finally yearned for more, was ready to demand more than the illusion of a life he currently had to make do with. But this smoke screen was maybe already more than Quatre could give. At least for as long as she was there. That woman... Sometimes he wondered if Quatre really loved her.

          "Tea?"

          Trowa only nodded a reply as he rested his head in his hand, quietly doing what he could to ignore the morose thoughts, and failing miserably. He didn't want to be this quiet and withdrawn at one of the few yearly occasions he and Quatre could spend more than a couple of hours alone together, but the desperation had appeared as soon as they arrived at the mansion. Once, two days had seemed like an eternity, and they had usually spent it not thinking about the tomorrow that must come. But now... It was only forty-eight more hours, then he yet again would have to surrender Quatre to his family, make do with the stolen moments and secret meetings that his blond lover could afford to spare him.

          They had returned to the blue planet again for yet another Earth Sphere summit. As the L4 colony cluster's representative, Quatre had to attend all important meetings himself, and Trowa always followed him, acting as a bodyguard where ever the other went. The protection was needed, they both knew it, but since they didn't expect any events out of the normality at a non-political meeting, it was a suitable excuse for them to spend time together. It was all a lie, one of many.

          When did it become this complicated? When had his life been taken over by near-truths and half-lies? When had he started almost believing them? The only thing Trowa knew was that he had started repeating them to Catherine too, when she had asked why he never visited her anymore. He didn't have time; Quatre's schedule didn't allow Trowa to take any holidays, not even a weekend off to meet his sister, was the official version. The reality lay closer to the fact that only on Saturday afternoons, could he get together with Quatre, for a precious three hours while the rest of the Winner family had other appointments. This, he could never tell Catherine.

          After Trowa realised he hadn't seen Catherine in over a year, and after catching himself with yet another lie for the benefit of Quatre, he had finally started questioning his current life. This weekend, Catherine thought that Trowa was in Sanc because Quatre desperately needed him there as a shield against expected terrorists. The real reason was the night they would spend together. This was only a low level meeting, he could have taken time off to visit Catherine. He should have. Who would repeatedly lie to his sister like this, only because he wanted to fall asleep in his lover's arms?

          "You're awfully absent-minded tonight. Is something wrong," Quatre's question returned Trowa returned back to the present and the blond put a mug of steaming tea in front of him.

          "No. Just thinking," he mumbled a feeble excuse, smiling wanly at his lover.

           "I can tell that..." Quatre tilted his head and offered an amused smile, as he sat down on the opposite side of the table. Unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt, Quatre loosened the dark blue tie.

          The difference in Quatre's demeanour was remarkable and would have been noticeable to anyone, if they had been allowed to see it. But Trowa liked to think it was only he who got to see this other side of Quatre - the relaxed, gently smiling young man instead of the efficient colony representative or the dutiful father of two. The self assumed responsibility had always weighted heavily on Quatre's shoulders, and only when no one else was around, did he let go of the mask of efficiency to show his true self.

           "It's nothing," he offered Quatre a faint distracting smile.

           He knew Quatre better than to take that dismissal as an answer, of course, but the blond didn't push the issue, only watched him thoughtfully from behind the veil of steam rising from his mug. Quatre had probably learned by now that Trowa would eventually confess; he only had to wait. Had Trowa always been this predictable, or was it just a gift silently granted to the one he loved? For a frightening moment, his world went blank as the numbness within blotted out all the given answers. Why was he doing all this anyway? Only out of habit?

           One look at Quatre was all it took to remember. Trowa instantly relaxed while the black void within dwindled into nothingness again. What was wrong with him? Why did he have to push the thoughts until a confrontation was inevitable? Since when did doing things on routine ever bother him? The cold voice within answered him - /since you doubt it really matters to the one you're doing it for./ Another quiet voice immediately snapped back - /oh great, now you're blaming Quatre for your own problems, too./

           "What are your plans for tomorrow," he forced himself to ask Quatre before he averted his eyes, sipping at his tea; anything to keep the inner demons at bay.

           "Oh, the meeting will start at ten with a session about sponsored education for homeless colony children," Quatre answered, before confirming the schedule visually on the papers he extracted from his briefcase. "Then there's lunch at twelve," he continued after scanning the page. "In the afternoon there will be a workshop with some of the intended sponsors, and I'll be off by four."

           Trowa nodded quietly, and scanned the time-schedule from across the table - their shuttle back home left at 8pm local time, which would leave them four precious hours alone, before having to return to reality again. Absently he wondered if there were any activities planned for the delegates that they would have to dodge with excuses that surely anyone should be able to see through by now. The paper left him no hints, but looking at the guest list, he concluded that there would probably be some form of informal dinner afterwards, as all attendants were high company profiles and acquaintances of Quatre.

          "I hear they have a great library at the conference site," Quatre winked, as the silence dragged on.

           Smiling at his lover's attempt to keep him busy during the long hours of wait, he nodded an approval of the idea - he would spend some time in the library while waiting for Quatre. Maybe he even would get to finish one of the classics he had started at one of their other visits to earth. As if Quatre had worried over a rejection of the suggestion, his shoulders relaxed when Trowa didn't object, Trowa noted quietly, and filed the peculiar piece of information away for analysis at a later date.

          They finished the improvised evening tea in silence, enjoying each other's company. It was long since they felt they had to fill every little moment they had together with activities; simply being together was enough these days. Trowa relaxed and gazed at the thoughtful looking Quatre across the table.

          "Are you tired?" Quatre asked.

          "Very," Trowa answered truthfully, and gladly accepted Quatre's hand to be led to their temporary bedroom.

          + + +

          Four white chalked walls surrounded the only piece of furniture in the kitchen maid's small room - a bed barely large enough to fit two, standing on brown tiled floor. A few steps across the bed the fireplace would crackle homely had it been recently lit, but as they entered the room, only the glowing coals were left to radiate their warmth against them.

           The chamber, although not very spectacular, presented a drastic difference from everything shining new and artificial in the colonies. Quatre had immediately taken it to heart the first time they spent a night in the house, and it was their room ever since. It provided them with the much needed illusion of timelessness, of being in a far away place where no duties existed, no demanding families intruded, and they only had themselves to think of. It was their haven; in there they never spoke about the world outside. For a suspended moment in time, it didn't exist.

          Surrounded by the darkness of the room, they stood still for a few precious minutes, letting the dying fire bathe them in golden glowing light. Quatre's warm body pressed against his, the shorter man's arms snaked their way around Trowa's waist, head coming to a rest on his shoulder. Then Quatre lifted his head and brushed his cheek against Trowa's. No words were needed as their lips touched.

          + + +

          As dawn broke and sent its first colourful rays through the little window under the ceiling, Trowa untangled himself from the sheets and Quatre's naked limbs, careful not to wake the sleeping man. He started the fire in the hearth again, before leaving the room to prepare them breakfast. Cold, the tiled floor of the kitchen greeted him, making sure he was completely awake as he opened the freezer, thoughtfully remembering the past day's events.

          He had never really planned this life, or any sort of life after the war, to be truthful. But almost ten years ago things had changed, as he had been hired by the Winner Corporation, ostensibly to see to master Quatre's safety at his out of colony obligations. It was a job position suggested by Rashid, and he knew he had been the bait needed to get Quatre to comply with the family's demands.

          Snared in a trap of high expectations and musts, Quatre had been forced to choose between what he wanted, and what he needed to do. By then, they were too close, their lives had been too interwoven for the cut to be clean; he couldn't refuse a plea for help, he couldn't abandon Quatre at his life's most difficult decision. He still remembered Quatre's words.

          /Please, help me... I know it's a horrible thing to ask of anyone. But I can't do this without you.../

          Trowa had never been quite able to resist the tears of Quatre, and the small request for this sacrifice was no exception. Such things didn't really matter to him, then. He had willingly given up his life for the blond once, and he would gladly do so again, whether Quatre asked for it or not. This time, Quatre had asked, given him an option, but at the same time made it clear that they could never meet again if Trowa declined. But how could he possibly refuse the one thing his soul had yearned for?

          The arrangement provided him with a sense of safety, in a way - written on paper, he was given a plan for the future, a promise that Quatre would not leave him for a long time, and Trowa would, in return, not leave Quatre. It was just an employment contract, but it had given him the stability he had always sought, the promise of never having to be alone again.

          So Trowa became not only the official bodyguard of Quatre Raberba Winner, but also his secret lover. What they had openly showed before, must now be hidden, reduced to secret meetings, short and fleeting, and not at all satisfying. Quatre had bought him an expensive apartment, conveniently equipped with a fairly obscured back door, and Trowa, for the first time in his life, found himself living in the luxury he had only seen on TV before. It was strangely addictive.

          Few people knew the truth of the arrangements, perhaps only him, Quatre, and Rashid, and it was better that way. It would raise less suspicion for their frequent meetings, and suspicion wasn't something they could afford then, or now. It was better if no one knew.

          /No one must know, it's for the better./

          He had repeated that same mantra for years now. With every repetition, the words were getting more and more worn out, revealing the truth they were trying to cover up. It may have meant the world to him back then, but when he thought about it now, the promise looked more and more like the contract it really was, not very different from the one he had signed to become a mercenary. Had he really feared the loneliness that bad, for him to end up in a situation like this? Did he still fear that loneliness? Not even raising a mental eyebrow at the way his unguarded thoughts went this morning, Trowa casually slipped a few eggs into the boiling water on the stove.

          As he re-joined their bedchamber later, breakfast tray in his hands, Quatre was awake. Kneeling in front of the fire wearing nothing but the white sheet around his waist, Quatre rubbed his hands warm against the radiating heat. They prepared for the day in companionable silence and the occasional affectionate touch, before heading for the conference center.

           + + +

           Having delivered Quatre safely to the meeting hall, Trowa, as usual, made his way to the residence's library, where he would spend the remaining of the day in the silent company of books. It was a habit he had picked up years ago, encouraged by Quatre and the sudden appearance of a new feeling - boredom and the unwillingness to wait for the end of the hindrance to meet Quatre again. Trowa had used to sit in Quatre's library before, quickly devouring volume after volume of the old, inherited books and now he found he easily lost himself in the fictional realms, muting the nagging feeling of impatience.

          A new world had opened to him back then; a world full of colours, beautiful sights and sounds, far away from his past with nothing but war and emptiness. Sometimes Quatre would join him, tell him stories about long since dead ancestors of the Winner family, and about life on earth several hundreds of years ago. Trowa would listen, secretly relishing the few valuable hours Quatre could spend with him. The gentle voice would keep him spellbound for hours, warm his soul for even longer.

          As their friendship slowly had grown into something much more, Trowa moved onwards from the simple books to the more philosophical accounts of life. Encouraged by Quatre, he picked up such diverse subjects as Roman politics and French drama, and interspersed it with various accounts of ancient war. He found, much to his quiet amusement, that the books more often than not confirmed what he already had discovered himself by first hand experience.

          Quatre had jokingly suggested that Trowa must have been a great philosopher in a previous life, but Trowa thought it was just a lifetime on the battlefield that had shaped him that way, and that he wasn't as different from many of the great pacifists after all. Settling back in a comfortable armchair, Trowa picked up a book he had previously left half finished elsewhere, thinking his day in the library would be no different from the others.

          Halfway through Lysis by Plato, though, a loud noise he remembered all too vividly from his past ripped through the quiet reading. It took him only a fraction of a second to identify the violent sound that suddenly rocked the building; memories of war snapped back to him and he instinctively ducked the expected projectiles of the explosion as his mind digested the information. An explosion? A bomb must have gone off somewhere in the building; from the sound he could tell that there was extensive structural damage, and judging by the silence, also human casualties.

          For a few impossibly long moments, there was dead silence - no chatting voices, no chirping birds, no low music could be heard. Then the screaming began. Trowa, moving in what to him seemed like slow motion, got to his feet and headed towards the only possible source of the explosion - the cafeteria where he had left Quatre less than an hour ago.

          + + +

          Quickly locating the right wing of the mansion, Trowa fought his way through the hordes of summit delegates trying to find their way out of the cafeteria only to be greeted by a sight he had hoped to never have to witness again. All over the now demolished dining room, shocked and bleeding people staggered towards the exit, while others were still trapped under the rubble. Most tables had be thrown aside, papers and cutlery lay strewn about on the floor creating a mess that probably - hopefully, he wished - was worse than it looked. He helped an injured woman to her feet and assisted her to one of the security guards, before starting to search for Quatre in the wrecked room.

          Moved tables, kicked away chairs, and more summit delegates helped out of the room, had more than five minutes later still not revealed Quatre. His mind growing frantic, Trowa eventually realised there must have been some logic behind the sitting arrangements of the room - the further in he got, the more summit delegates he recognised from earlier events and television broadcasts. It clearly indicated that the important ones had all been placed close to the little podium on the far side of the room. With this new information in mind, he went to work deeper into the room. Carefully lifting tables aside, he moved rubble out of the way with a strenuously controlled frenzy, searching for Quatre.

          The area in question also seemed to be the source of the blast, and by looking at how the tables had been thrown aside, he could determine where the explosive device had been placed. Quickly calculating the risk of Quatre being seriously injured, and weighing it against the danger of another device going off to aggravate the situation, Trowa found himself forced to choose the latter scenario as more likely and in need of his attention. Judging from the relatively light injuries by most of the delegates, chances were that Quatre had already found his way out of the hall, and it was Trowa's duty to make sure not more were harmed. Trowa started to methodically pick his way through the ruined room, with the efficiency of the former soldier he was.

          Only moments later, Trowa froze as he turned one overthrown table around, exposing a still live explosive device. Although he had suspected this could be happening, seeing the bomb still startled him. Instinctively, he backed off to evaluate the situation. It could be a heat triggered device, and by touching it, or even being close to it, he would probably set it off. It was most likely not a movement trigger, or he would be dead by now. Trowa shivered involuntarily. Before coming to a conclusion of how to handle the situation, two men from the security team had discovered what he stared at, and showed him aside, not too gently.

           "Sir, get out of my way, we'll deal with this," the man politely but sternly told him, leaving no room for argument as he pushed Trowa out of his way.

           The security crew didn't wait for a reply as they started working on the explosive device. Trowa supposed this wasn't the right time to suddenly reveal to the world that he was one of the infamous and mysteriously vanished Gundam pilots, and was thus most likely able to disarm the bomb as well as any of the trained professionals. Watching the bomb crew with detached curiosity, he followed their steps, noting that they did exactly what he would have, a long time ago. But that era was long since over, and Trowa realised with a start that his duties lay elsewhere. Quatre.

           His search lasted only a few minutes, although they felt like hours, before he saw the familiar blond hair peek out from under a table, tousled and dirtied. Almost panicking, all of Trowa's protective instincts kicked in with full force as he knelt by the prone form of Quatre beside the wrecked table. For a moment he stopped breathing as shaking hands hastily searched over the unresponsive young man.

          Fighting back the almost fear that lurked just under the forcedly calm surface of is mind, his trembling fingers found an exposed area of Quatre's neck, and revealed a rapidly beating pulse. He let out a small sigh of relief, and on cue, Quatre opened his eyes, blinking groggily at the person leaning over him. Putting his hand over Trowa's on his neck, Quatre blinked a few times before answering the unasked question communicated only by Trowa's hands touching his cheek.

           "I'm fine... my ears are ringing like mad," Quatre slurred a little, before closing his eyes again, laying his head down on the floor.

           "We have to leave, this area is dangerous," Trowa informed him, gently nudging the blond to sit up.

           Quatre only nodded numbly. Pulling Quatre to his feet, Trowa hooked the blond's arm over his shoulder and, navigating though the piles of rubble, lead them both out the door. They were greeted by guards and an emergency group that quickly manoeuvred Quatre onto a stretcher that was to be taken away to the medical center.

           "Please... Help the others, Trowa, I'm ok..."

           A typical request from Quatre, and Trowa knew he'd help the blond better by respecting the words; Quatre simply wouldn't give up and rest until he had his way anyway, something that would hinder the doctors from doing their best with their patient. He watched the medical crew take away Quatre before he turned abruptly, heading back into the demolished room.

           + + +

          Several hours later, the worst of the mess had been cleared out, and the injured taken sufficiently care of. Wearily, Trowa sat down on a crate and accepted the cup of steaming coffee a security officer presented him with. After a quick check on Quatre, he had been ordered once again to return and help the more needing victims, but finally he could honestly say that there was nothing more to be done at the site. All victims had been taken care of, and no additional explosive devices had been found. Then, and only then, did Trowa allow himself to relax, a headache predictably diving down on him. Numb, he allowed his mind go blank as he stared into his reflection in the black coffee.

          Clattering footsteps navigating through the rubble and stopping beside him snapped him out of his empty meditation a while later. Trowa lifted his eyes to meet Relena's pale violet ones. The president of the earth sphere alliance offered him a weak smile, and he nodded a greeting in return, as tranquillity once again settled over the ruined building. He felt like it was neither the right place nor the right time for polite conversation, so he remained silent, allowing Relena to immediately state her errand.

          "Is he ok?" the worried query of Relena finally broke the silence.

           "Only a few scratches. Nothing to worry about," Trowa told her calmly, sipping carefully on his hot coffee, and then added a small smile, as the words didn't seem to convince her.

           She smiled back at him, obviously relieved, "I'm glad to hear that. I apologise for the breach in security that allowed these people into the area," Relena stated sincerely, regret evident in her eyes.

           "It could have been worse," Trowa replied, knowing better than to lecture the leader who had little influence over these matters, and settled for the polite reply instead. He made a mental note to discuss this with Heero later on, however.

           Trowa eyed the blue eyed ex-Gundam pilot three steps behind Relena, and nodded to him as Relena turned to leave, moments later. An evaluating glance, and Heero returned the greeting before he silently followed Relena out of the room.

           Heero knew the secret why Trowa was really there, of course. He imagined Heero understood, being in a similar situation himself. But Heero and Relena never got married, never even engaged, as many people thought they would. He often wondered why, but was nowhere closer to the truth this time than the other times his mind had wandered in that direction. Heero never offered any explanation, and Trowa wouldn't think of asking him, just as Heero never asked him about Quatre. It would have been an invasion of their privacy, and he wouldn't cross that line simply out of curiosity.

          They hadn't met very many times over the past few years, and each time Trowa saw him, he noticed how much older Heero looked. For a moment he wondered if Heero thought the same? Trowa never noticed the changes in Quatre as they happened, but when he thought back and compared, he recognised the differences. As his thoughts wandered back to Quatre again, he decided it was time to leave.

           + + +

          The medical center was a flurry of activity in the otherwise abandoned building - injured lined the halls, and nurses hurried between their patients, quickly bandaging them up before turning to other more needing victims. It took him a while to find Quatre, who had been moved to a security room because of his high political status. The guard only grudgingly let him into the room after Quatre had discovered him in the door. Watching Quatre in silence, Trowa listened absently to the words of the doctor, before the man left the room. He wanted to examine Quatre's injuries himself, make sure his partner was ok, but settled for a quick squeeze of the other's hand as any other kind of touch would have been inappropriate for the situation.

          The doctor soon returned with a bottle of pills that Trowa quickly dismissed to the nether regions of his pocket. From past experience, he knew all too well how Quatre would vehemently refuse any such drugs. After a brief conversation with the manager in charge over the injured, Quatre was discharged from the makeshift hospital, and they were allowed to leave the area. It was only four hours after they had arrived at the conference site, as they left again, yet it felt like days ago.

           + + +

          Not until night fell several hours later did the grimly silent Quatre stop restlessly pacing the little room of their borrowed mansion, and turn to blankly watch the autumn sunset from the window instead, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Trowa knew Quatre didn't see the dazzling display of colour though, as the blond remained still long after the darkness had fallen, staring blindly out the dark window.

          Trowa watched Quatre's back from behind a magazine, waiting for him to calm down, let the shock slowly fade away. Although he wished he could help, Trowa knew there was not much he could do for his lover now. He would just have to wait until Quatre willingly opened up again. Sooner or later, the blond would run out of his pent up, angry energy that he turned against himself. Then, predictably, he would seek out Trowa for comfort in his sudden tiredness.

          Had the house been equipped with a music room, Trowa would've ordered Quatre there, or played something himself to soothe the pain out of the blond's taut shoulders and tense facial expression, but the entire upper floor held nothing but representative rooms filled with cabinets of antique objects and books and other, for the situation useless, trinkets. Sighing slightly, Trowa finished reading the magazine before turning his attention back to Quatre again, who still hadn't moved.

           "You're upset, you should rest," he commented in an attempt to have Quatre see the obvious.

           "Don't do that," Quatre retorted angrily.

           "What?"

           "Turn so cold and professional on me," Quatre's voice softened.

           Trowa smiled wryly at the remark; Quatre wasn't the only one affected by the events of the day, and without even turning to look at him, Quatre had noted how Trowa slipped back into a more formal mode of operating, as he often did to distance himself from events too close for comfort. Smiling inwardly at Quatre's never failing intuition, Trowa let his tense shoulders fall; Quatre was right.

          "Sorry, but... You should rest," he tried again, in a softer tone of voice, stroking the back of Quatre's neck with firm but gentle fingers.

           When Quatre made no move to follow the orders, Trowa took matters into his own hands, and pushed the reluctant blond across the room and down onto the bed. Ignoring the feeble protests, he turned Quatre around on the bed after first removing the blond's shirt. With determined hands, Trowa began to gently massage the tension away from Quatre's strained back. Quatre was tense, more so now than Trowa had ever seen him. Eventually yielding, the blond man relaxed under Trowa's ministrations with a small sigh of defeat.

          "It was close this time, wasn't it?" Quatre spoke moments later, voice low, a faint whisper against the white linen.

          "Yes," Trowa admitted, trying to keep his voice flat to not upset Quatre again, but being unable to simply deliver a lie.

           Judging by the mess in the ruined room, Quatre and the other delegates had been less than 10 meters away from the explosive device, carelessly placed in a cupboard that had not been used. Had they been closer than that, the outcome may not have been as lucky as now. Had the second device gone off... He neglected to tell Quatre about it, however, as it would only upset the already shaken young man further. Making a mental list of things needing his attention, Trowa continued his task of relaxing Quatre.

           Muscle by strained muscle yielded and relaxed under his skilled hands, and after a while, Quatre simply fell asleep. Trowa combed through the dishevelled blond locks with a hand, unable to do anything but admire the young man on the bed for his ability to rest even during situations like this. Maybe he felt safe enough around Trowa, knowing that he wouldn't let anything happen to Quatre. Although it was his job, Trowa knew he would willingly protect Quatre with his life, if it ever came down to that. But he knew it was always a false sense of safety - his life may not be enough in exchange for Quatre's.

           Unable to put the dreaded confrontation up any further, Trowa left Quatre's side to call Mrs. Winner, informing her of the change of plans for her husband. The conversation was deliberately short, businesslike in tone, giving out as little information as possible. Mentally, he justified it with the threat of their conversation being tapped into a by a third party, but he new that the truth why he usually kept quiet around the woman was closer to spite than anything else. Quatre was *his* now, if only for the day. He didn't have to tell her anything. Trowa supposed he should feel guilty for deceiving Quatre's wife like this, although he didn't really lie to her this time. Their reason for staying longer than planned - to avoid any planned attacks at the spaceport - had been a legitimate one.

          He left a message on the answering machine of the house-keeper informing him of their change in plans, and a short note in Catherine's voice mailbox, in case she had seen the events on the news, before he put the phone down on the small table. Switching it off to avoid any disturbances, Trowa sat down by the bed, drained both mentally and physically. Minutes passed in silence as he slowly centred himself, turning his attention to here and now, while touching the soft skin of Quatre's back.

           Mind slowly pushing away all thoughts of the day, Trowa lay down behind Quatre on the bed, and wrapped his arm protectively around the sleeping blond. Stirring, Quatre turned to face him, tired aqua eyes watching Trowa with a not often seen uncertainty. In the fading glow of the fire, they contemplated the day's events. Quatre was still upset by it, and Trowa felt a fierce need to protect him, although Quatre would probably disapprove of that just because. Brushing blond locks out of the way, Trowa pressed his lips to Quatre's temple. Quatre closed his eyes, smiling faintly as Trowa traced little patterns on his chest. Childish behaviour, perhaps, but it was all Trowa could do to calm both their feelings.

           Wilfully pushing away all thoughts that interfered with him and Quatre, he smiled softly as he traced one arm upwards, only to stop by the hand, distracted by the offensive ring of gold on his lover's finger. Trowa sighed in defeat; no matter how hard he tried, there was always something that snapped him out of the few illusions he still hung on to. He flopped back onto the bed with a sigh, and Quatre raised a blond eyebrow at his actions, before picking up his shirt and putting it back on. He wanted to tell Quatre to leave it off, but all energy seemed to have drained away from him, at the touch of the accursed ring.

           It used to cause him pain thinking about them, about Quatre's family, now it only frustrated him. Surprising jealousy and bitterness infected his mind long ago; Trowa always wished it was him Quatre spent his time with, him he went on holidays with. But when Quatre had explained it to him, how he needed Trowa by his side to be able to live the life he had no control over, Trowa had found it easier to create little pockets of paradise whenever the opportunity was given, than to completely abandon Quatre. This kind of meeting was the only holiday they would ever have. It had always been like that.

          Quatre had disappeared once, abandoned his family when they needed him the most, he couldn't do it again. Too many depended on him, now. He was securely locked away in the prison built by his family's wishes and the colony's needs. Although Trowa hurt in a place he didn't know could feel that way, he never asked Quatre if he really loved his wife, like his duties of a husband stipulated he should. He never asked about intimate details. It didn't use to matter, as long as they sometimes where together like now. This was just like they had been during the war, only this time they hid their love from family, not friends. How ironic, that it was a terrorist attack that gave them a few days respite this time.

          Quatre stood up in front of him, gem coloured eyes watching Trowa intently as he unbuttoned the shirt he had just recently put back on, never letting his gaze leave Trowa. The day's events had sharpened both their senses, reminded them how fragile life was, and every little thing they had both done numerous of times before somehow seemed new, filled with something that had to be explored again in its full detail. Every vivid colour was new, every taste, every scent was more alive than before. For some reason, the mere task of once again unbuttoning Quatre's shirt seemed new and exciting to Trowa. He devoured Quatre with his gaze, hungry like he hadn't been in a long time, as more and more of the pale flesh was revealed to his eyes.

          Reaching out to hook a thumb in Quatre's belt, Trowa pulled the silent young man closer to the edge of the bed, before caressing the shirt off his shoulders. The fabric slid soundlessly to a heap on the floor, Quatre's face remaining totally expressionless, focused. More clothes were moved out of the way, the feeling of coarse texture over silken, cool over hot, under Trowa's fingers, enticing him to go on. Soon, Quatre stood naked before him, silent, and without any shyness displaying his undressed body to the man that was his forbidden lover.

          Taking his time to examine Quatre's injuries under the guise of admiring the milky white flesh, Trowa noted the changes he had considered before. Yes, Quatre was different from when he first had seen him, many years ago. While the body still was slender, Quatre had gained a more finely muscular frame; years of determined practice had given him a sinewy body, powerful yet not overly muscular at all. He ran his hands over the still smooth chest, tracing the contours of his collarbones and ribs, before succumbing to the imperturbable gaze. Trowa rested his head against Quatre's shoulder, breathing heavily. After all these years, the mere sight of Quatre's naked body still made his heart pound.

          Still silent, Quatre nudged his knees apart then, and pushed himself in between Trowa's legs, rubbing lightly against him. His hand cupped Trowa's face as he bent down to kiss him, and Trowa ran his hands over the naked back, scratching his nails lightly against Quatre's unblemished skin. Quatre growled disapprovingly, but a little playfully, at him, and Trowa knew when to stop, how to interpret Quatre's unspoken orders. Better not leave any marks that would show tomorrow.

          Silently obeying his blond lover, Trowa let his arms fall to his sides, quietly submitting to whatever Quatre had in store for him, as always. There was something darkly erotic in being totally commanded by Quatre, and although his mind rioted at this total and unconditional submission on his behalf, he knew there was no point in arguing against Quatre's reasons for things remaining like this, and only like this. There could be no evidence of their love. Tilting his head up, wantonly begging for a kiss without using words, Trowa gave in to the inevitable.

          After a timeless moment, and the very efficient hands of Quatre had done their thing, his clothes were gathered alongside Quatre's on the warm floor. He felt Quatre's firm and increasingly demanding hands lowering him onto the bed. Cool sheets caressed his skin, firm hands held him down, pressing him into the mattress. Then Quatre stopped, relaxing his head in the crook of Trowa's neck, breathing softly.

          "Trowa...?"

          "Mmm?"

          Quatre moved again, stealthily tracing wet kisses down to the center of Trowa's chest, not stopping for a moment before he nibbled with soft lips over the quickly awakening nipples. A gasp hitched in Trowa's throat as gentle licks turned into more demanding suckling, before sharp teeth grazed him lightly. Startled by Quatre's sudden ferocity, Trowa gasped and curved his back upwards into the painful touch. Trowa felt himself grow rock hard within moments.

          He never bothered holding back his reactions, knowing that Quatre would push him hard enough to gain that special response he craved anyway, and Trowa let his breathing come quicker under the unexpectedly fierce attack, anticipation colouring the hoarse gasps.

          Back tense, Trowa's hands grasped at the bed linen, crumpling the material, his knuckles whitening from the strain. Then Quatre's mouth disappeared. He wanted to arch up again, but Quatre's firm hands held him down against the mattress as the warm mouth moved downwards, drawing patterns of kisses and circled around his naval before dipping the tip of his tongue inside. Then the touch was gone again.

          Blond strands of Quatre's hair swept teasingly light over his pained erection as the young man moved downwards over Trowa, cruelly avoiding touching the sensitive area. Then he stopped. Trowa tilted his neck upwards in curiosity, and his eyes met with Quatre's. For a moment, they only watched each other, before Quatre slowly parted Trowa's legs, and moved down, still not letting go of Trowa's gaze.

          Mind spinning, Trowa dropped back onto the pillow, and bit back a groan as Quatre's tongue teasingly licked the sensitive area of his engorged member, only to withdraw again. Warm exhale fanned across his heated skin as Quatre softly spoke.

          "You'll always be mine, won't you?"

          "Yes..."

          It was more a ritual than a proper question, and having once again given the right answer, Trowa was awarded Quatre's hot, wet mouth gently drawing him in, sucking on his aching member. He fought hard to lay utterly still as the exquisite sensation of the raspy tongue and deceivingly sharp teeth on his most sensitive part washed over him, while Quatre's hands held him down hard enough to bruise the skin.

          He wanted to scream, to buck up, bury himself deeper into the only part of Quatre he was allowed to enter, but the hands held him down, and the grip tightened as he moved. Strangely enough, the useless struggle brought him excitement, although he knew he would inevitably lose. Or maybe just because of that. A whimpering gasp of loss of the teasing mouth escaped his lips as Quatre suddenly let go of him, withdrew.

          Warm hands turned Trowa over to his right side, and pushed his left leg up close to his chest, as far as the untrained muscles would allow. Ignoring the discomfort, he focused on the callused fingers of Quatre, slowly tracing their way down his thigh, towards the center of his desire. The hands soon found their way to the base, and Trowa drew a shallow breath as his lover pushed Trowa's legs even further up, while slowly circling his entrance. Then Quatre inched a slippery finger into him.

          No matter how many times they had done it, the pain of stretching was still present, although not as intrusive as it used to be. While his eyes were closed, Trowa still knew Quatre watched him intently, watched for any signs of discomfort as more fingers slid in and out if him, widening him to accommodate Quatre's entrance.

          As four of Quatre's slender fingers fought for space within him, the pain finally subsided, and a slight moan of pleasure escaped his lips, telling Quatre he was ready. The blond withdrew momentarily, before the weight of him lay down on Trowa, close.

          "Only mine...?" Quatre whispered, hot breath fanning across Trowa's cheek.

          "...Only yours."

          A strong arm hooked under Trowa's left leg, once again forcing it upwards against his chest. With his free hand, Quatre guided his hardness into Trowa with deliberately slow motion, pausing once in a while. The pain of entrance was negligible, the pleasure it was mixed with not so. Briefly, Trowa wondered what it would feel like to be inside of Quatre like this, feeling him tightly wrapped around his length, enveloping him like he now wrapped around the blond. All such thoughts were banished as Quatre brushed past that place within, and Trowa's nerve ends exploded with tingling electricity.

          Once sheathed fully inside of Trowa, Quatre paused, relaxing on top of his lover, catching his breath, eyes closed. Through the burning sensation of being stretched beyond what was comfortable, Trowa could feel Quatre's heartbeat touching him, the blond man's width filling him up, touching him deep inside. Heated skins met, their shallow breaths were the only sound in the little chamber. Only when Trowa reached up to place a kiss on Quatre's forehead, did the blond acknowledge his surroundings. Dark aquamarine eyes locked with Trowa's green as Quatre withdrew momentarily, only to thrust back into his yielding lover again, hard.

          Although the withdrawing then entering thrusts were unusually fierce, there was painfully little physical contact between the two lovers, and Trowa pressed his straining leg further up against himself, seeking whatever friction he could get for his own tortured and neglected length. Quatre plunged into him again, and again, each time hitting that spot deep within with his increasingly hard thrusts. Then without warning, he withdrew, and pulled out of Trowa.

          A whimper escaped Trowa's lips, mourning the loss, and through eyes clouded with lust, he searched Quatre's face for an explanation for the unusual behaviour. Quatre sat up again, sitting back on his heels, while arranging Trowa's long legs on each side of him. Exposing himself to the blond, Trowa suddenly felt a little of the vulnerability he knew Quatre loved so much to see in him in situations like this.

          "You know I love you, don't you?" Quatre asked, voice serious, as he lifted Trowa's legs over his shoulders.

          "Yes..."

          /Only me?/ Trowa wanted to ask, but didn't, as Quatre once again entered him. Each thrust of Quatre went deeper and deeper, fingers clawed into the soft parts of his bottom, pulling the flesh apart to gain more access, lifting him off the tangled sheets. Quatre pulled him up, then let go to let Trowa slowly gravitate down, penetrating him deeper by the force of his body weight. Trowa wrapped his thighs around Quatre's arms holding him up, and pulled him closer, deeper, but it was still not enough.

          Leaning over him, the weight of Quatre settled down on the trembling body below, the forceful thrusts slowed down to shallow movements as their sweaty limbs met in a short moment of peace, trying to regain some energy. He knew Quatre wanted deeper still, wanted more from him. A deep breath followed by another, and his tense muscles calmed down. Waiting, anticipating... he wanted more, too. A look into Quatre's dilated eyes was all that was needed to communicate their mutual need.

           "Then let me do this..."

          Trowa didn't reply, there was no need. Having already recognised Quatre's usual ritual of claiming and marking his territory, Trowa let the blond do whatever he needed to reassure himself of Trowa's eternal devotion. Trowa allowed himself be conquered, commanded, utterly used for the sole purpose of someone else's pleasure. But it wasn't enough. Only when Quatre felt that unsurpassable state of pure pleasure, would Trowa allow himself to be pulled into the flaming void with his lover.

          The hot mouth of Quatre went to his neck, licking the area where it joined his shoulders, and as sharp teeth bit down on the tender spot, the blond thrust forcefully into Trowa. Mouth open in a soundless gasp of physical hurt, Trowa almost cried out in agony and simultaneous intense pleasure as his sudden movement, body tense from pain, drew Quatre impossible deeper into him. Quatre quickly withdrew, only to plunge right back into him again, equally hard.

          This time Trowa did let out an inarticulate groan as his head fell back onto the pillows, face set in a pained grimace under Quatre's steady relentless pace. Reckless thrusts repeatedly hit the sensitive spot within, sending his mind reeling, and only one thing permeated the haze of fiery pleasure - Quatre wasn't holding back at all this time. It hurt more than ever before, but it was a cleansing pain, and the tears rolling down Trowa's flustered cheeks were those of his own particular kind of happiness.

          Unable to hold back under such a ruthless attack on his senses, Trowa found that all too soon, the fire within spread out of control. He arched his back up, cried out, forcing Quatre's thrusts to intensify. Clawing at his lover's back as he peaked, a pained groan left Trowa's lips. Quatre tensed above him, giving a hoarse grunt as Trowa's forcing him deep into his lover, pushed him over the edge as well. Shuddering as he emptied his seed in Trowa, Quatre held still for a moment afterwards, slowly gathering his composure. Then he collapsed onto Trowa, breathing deeply, body suddenly devoid of any muscles to hold him up. The room was once again quiet.

          A long while passed before Quatre slid out of Trowa to move away a bit, tangling their limbs and sheets helplessly together. Gliding down to rest his head against the crook of Trowa's neck, the blond snaked his arms around Trowa's waist. A quiet sob broke the silence, then another one. Trowa pulled Quatre closer, his arm wrapping around Quatre's shivering shoulder, feeling the warm wetness of Quatre's tears against his neck.

          "Quatre..?"

          "One day I'll be only yours," Quatre whispered between sobs.

          Trowa held Quatre for long hours afterwards, gently stroking the back of the shivering blond, running his hands through the tangled hair, soothing the helpless wracking sobs, as the shock from the day's events slowly subsided. Letting Quatre cry like he hadn't done in years, Trowa smiled softly at the rare display of raw emotions when Quatre's more sensitive side showed through to heal his soul in his own way. Only much later did Quatre fall asleep, cheek resting against a tear stained pillow.

           + + +

          The sun slowly rose on their second day on earth, and it promised to be a brilliant late summer day in Sanc. But they were not supposed to be there now. This day was borrowed time, paid for dearly by those injured summit delegates.

          Golden sunlight filtered through the window as they spent the morning in bed, only enjoying each other's presence and the silence. One could never appreciate what total silence was until one had been away from the constant air conditioning of the colonies, the weather systems emulating wind, or the never sleeping city. Out there, in an empty house far out on the countryside, every little sound magnified and become obvious.

          Things you'd never heard before made its appearance; the rustle of the crinkled sheets they lay on, the chirping birds, their breathing. Trowa could hear every breath, and he imagined he could even hear the heartbeat of Quatre in the silence. He rested his head against Quatre's chest, and the blond squirmed a bit as his bangs tickled the unprotected skin. There, hidden deep within, the sound of Quatre's heart. Trowa could hear Quatre, and nothing but him. Trowa smiled, as he knew Quatre was smiling at him.

          Their clothing had to be improvised; they hadn't brought with them anything proper to wear this beautiful late summer day. A spare T-shirt was all Trowa could lend Quatre, which didn't really do the trick. The solution was easy, although hardly proper for a man of Quatre's social status - simple boxer shorts would do just fine as replacement for the too expensive trousers he usually wore. Since they didn't expect to meet anyone out there anyway, it didn't matter much that they were heading out only in their underwear.

          Looking at Quatre, dressed up to enjoy a quiet day in the sun, it was difficult to imagine that the slightly flushed young man wearing nothing but an undershirt and boxer shorts, was one of the most respected businessmen in the L-4 colony cluster. Trowa's heart finally felt at ease, strangely enough, as Quatre had shed the last piece of the suit he usually hid himself behind. This Quatre in front of him, without the usual masks covering him, felt much more like the boy he had fallen in love with, so long ago, and Trowa smiled at the apparition.

          Walking out into the garden, hand in hand with Quatre, Trowa felt young again. They hadn't done anything like this for years, and he planned to thoroughly enjoy this free day as much as possible, before they had to return home with the first morning shuttle tomorrow.

          Finding a secluded spot in the garden, they sat down under a big oak, overlooking a little pond. Trowa rested his back against the rough trunk of the tree, and Quatre lay down on the blanket, his head in Trowa's lap. Trowa combed through the golden hair with his fingers, brushing away imaginary knots with slow, absentminded movements. There was no rush to do the many things they never get the chance to do otherwise, Trowa enjoyed only sitting in the shadow, relaxing in the sunny day, pretending it was always like this.

          The blanket under his back was warm from the sun as Trowa lay down on it, much later. Quatre adjusted easily to Trowa, and before long, his breathing grew slower, deeper. Trowa knew the blond man resting on his chest had fallen asleep. It wasn't long though, until Quatre started dreaming, and from the faint noises and sudden jerks, Trowa could tell it was not happy dreams.

           Considering his options, Trowa thought it better to just let Quatre's dream run its course, to then lead into more happier visions. In a book he had read, he recalled that dreams lasted no longer than a few seconds, and it hardly seemed worth the trouble of waking Quatre from his sleep, if the dreams were gone before he woke up anyway. Having decided, Trowa gently removed Quatre's arm from around his waist, and lay the blond down on the blanket.

           Untangling from Quatre proved to be a bigger problem than he thought it would be, as Quatre had no intention of letting Trowa go. Arms magically finding their way around Trowa's neck as he leaned over the blond caused him to think Quatre had awoken, but the dreamer's eyes did not open. Shirt held in an iron grip, he didn't even let go as Trowa gently manoeuvred him onto his back on the blanket.

          Only as Trowa pried away the hands off his shirt, did the blond comply with his wishes. And woke up. Startled eyes gazed up at him in confusion, then relief. Yes, nightmares indeed. Quatre wrapped his arms tighter around Trowa's neck, legs snaking their way around Trowa's mid section, pulling him down onto the blanket.

          "Trowa..." Quatre sobbed softly.

          "Quatre," he whispered, "you're dreaming."

          "I don't care, just stay with me," Quatre mumbled, not making much sense to Trowa; perhaps Quatre was still acting out his dream.

           Both Quatre's arms and legs wrapped securely around Trowa, and the body rubbing exquisitely against Trowa's nether parts, proved to be too much of a temptation for him. Trowa stilled, before lowering them into a more comfortable position on the field floor. Quatre relaxed. Good. Trowa did the only thing that made sense to him, as he let his body relax on top of Quatre, press the blond down onto the blanket in a position neither of them had been in before. Soothingly, he thought, Trowa started kissing the soft flesh of Quatre's neck. A thought crossed his mind - this is what it would feel like to make love to Quatre...

          First, he would kiss his way down the naked body...

           It was a harmless fantasy, Trowa rationalised his actions, as they were both dressed. Had they been freed of their clothing, Trowa would have lifted Quatre gently, and then press his beginning erection into the over-sensitive blond squirming underneath him. Trowa breathed deeply, rubbing himself against Quatre, ever so slightly, in response to his daydreams.

          Quatre startled, suddenly completely aware of his surroundings, and the hardened length that pressed into his clothed groin. Abruptly, he released his grip on Trowa. It didn't bother Trowa at all, all that mattered was to touch Quatre, to show him what he would have done, had it been real. A hand sneaked in under the blond's shirt, caressed the naked skin he found there, pinched a nipple.

           "Quatre, I want you," he mumbled, pressing his groin tighter against Quatre's, rubbing to release the pressure building up. "I want to be inside of you."

           "No Trowa, please don't do this," Quatre squirmed under him, unaware that he was applying more friction where he really shouldn't. "We can't."

           Trowa heard the protest, and knew full well he should stop; he was doing things he shouldn't. This was rapidly moving beyond a harmless daydream, but his body refused to obey orders. Slowly rubbing against Quatre, for some reason, he thought that if he could only show Quatre how good it felt to have someone inside of you, surely his lover would succumb to the inevitable. How this was to be accomplished, he had no idea, so more kisses were showered upon the protesting blond, more caresses strewn across his now still body.

          "Trowa... please... please don't..."

          Hands found their way under his lover's shirt, and soon travelled down the warm tummy, into the loose boxer shorts. If Quatre could only feel what Trowa felt... Hot, he would bring Quatre to arousal, then give the blond opportunity to choose. His fingers searched downwards. Surprised, he suddenly met with Quatre's own erection, covered with the soft silk of the undergarment. Trowa was puzzled - he had not expected Quatre to yield this easily.

          As if waking up from a dream, Trowa regarded the blond underneath him with wide eyes. Crystalline trails down his cheeks betrayed that Quatre was crying; the rosy lips revealed teeth marks, caused by the blond himself. His lover clearly didn't want this, didn't want Trowa's touch. It was perfectly clear. But Quatre was still breathing deeply, and as Trowa tightened his grip around Quatre's erection, the blond arched his hips up to meet the touch. It was so confusing. But as Quatre's face once again contracted into a painful grimace, a faintly whispered protest was heard.

          "No...no..." was softly uttered by Quatre, and more tears found their way down his face.

          For some reason, Trowa knew that this was Quatre's last protest. He paused, holding himself back. If he pushed it further now, Quatre would let him have what he wanted, without complaints. Trowa knew Quatre would enjoy it. Perhaps even beg for it. Tense and confused at what was really happening, Trowa held his breath as he buried his face in the crook of Quatre's neck, nuzzling the velvety skin, nibbling it gently. He could have Quatre. Quatre could be his for the first time now.

          Completely still, the body beneath him didn't move at all, stayed silent. It would be so easy, to just melt into it... Warm and soft, Quatre pressed tightly against him. /Just like it should be./ He imagined being buried inside the burning heat of Quatre, the prone body wrapping tightly around him, moving in synch with his.

          Trowa could almost hear Quatre's eager moans, and only a nearly inhuman display of sheer will, prevented him from losing it right there, from simply taking Quatre and ignore the consequences. But something held him back - the math did not add up. Two willing bodies, but only one committed mind, and Trowa could not take what he was not given willingly. He sighed in frustration; it wasn't worth the few moments of pleasure it would give him. Trowa disentangled and rolled off Quatre. Coming to a rest on his back, he stared blankly at the light summer sky above them, mind suddenly numb.

          The decision having drained Trowa of all power, and even the will to think, he simply lay still on the blanket, and seconds turned into minutes. The shuffling to his side told him Quatre rearranged his clothing, hiding away the body that wasn't for Trowa to touch in just about any manner, but he couldn't summon the will to even care about what this intermezzo would mean to them. A few moments later, Quatre spoke.

          "I can... uh..." Quatre faltered as his trembling fingers hesitantly moved to touch Trowa's quickly fading desire, intent obvious.

          "No," Trowa pushed the searching hand away.

          An awkward silence settled over the glade as Trowa turned over to face away from Quatre. Slowly, inevitably, his actions and their real meaning became clear to him. He had almost raped Quatre. Trowa felt like a total failure. What the hell had gotten into him for pulling such a stunt on Quatre? He had broken the trust, stepped over the invisible line. Now Quatre would punish him, for sure. Not by harsh words, not by physical force. No, Quatre would simply withdraw, and then...

          /Alone.../

           "Quatre? I'm sorry," Trowa suddenly turned around, wrapped his arms around Quatre's waist.

           "It's ok..."

           "No it's not."

           Silence fell under the oak tree; Trowa didn't know what to say, didn't know how to voice the feelings within. Didn't know how to ask forgiveness. It was Quatre who broke the silence, moments later.

          "Sometimes I think it would be better if I died, you'd be free then. Sometimes I think you even want me dead, so you'll have your life back," Quatre spoke slowly, voice low.

          "Don't say things like that," Trowa replied angrily, bringing the blond into his arms to physically prove the other was wrong.

          The sincerity in Quatre's voice scared him. That Quatre would leave him was unthinkable enough, but for Quatre to wonder if Trowa had not wanted him dead... It did not make sense. It could not make sense. After all they had been through, that Quatre would even think such a thing was just...

          /Projection,/ his mind suddenly supplied him with, from one of his books. /To attribute thoughts to others that you are not comfortable with yourself./ A little chill ran down Trowa's spine.

          It did not make sense. And still, the question had been asked. More silence. He considered the original statement, ignoring the possible implications. Freedom. A real life. Did Quatre think it could only be achieved for Trowa with him dead? What would happen if Quatre had died in the accident? Trowa's head spun, he refused to follow that line of thought. Quatre could not die.

          "You've never thought of what you'd do if you hadn't agreed back then?" Quatre asked him, and silence once again settled as Trowa considered this.

          "No, not very often," Trowa lied, having no particular desire to get into a discussion of 'what ifs' - the past was the past, and there was no point in speculating in what could have happened.

          "I'm sorry, I should never have put you in a situation like this. It's incredibly selfish of me," Quatre continued, quietly.

           The conversation of a kind they had not had before was all so confusing to Trowa. Having successfully avoided his own inner demons, he had still managed to push the situation to a confrontation. Trowa felt the wetness against his cheek, and felt it smudge against Quatre's neck. Was it his tears, or Quatre's? He couldn't tell, didn't want to know, so he ignored it, instead focusing on the strangely soothing nonsense sounds Quatre made. Was Quatre going to leave him now? Didn't Quatre love him anymore?

           "I can't lose you, Quatre. Promise you will never leave me," he choked out, suddenly needing any form of reassurance from his lover.

          The sobbed words were an unusual display of weakness, but he couldn't help it. No matter where he turned, there was another attack on their relationship. If it wasn't malignant relatives, or cold advisors trying their best to break them up, it was Trowa himself with this puzzling inexperience in things he should have figured out years ago. He had been together with Quatre for over ten years now, yet he had still to fully master the art of not saying the things that hurt, of not doing what could not be undone. He couldn't even stop thinking about the wrong things! Fortunately, Quatre didn't bring it to his attention, if he had even noticed it, so Trowa remained silent. A confession of his ignorance was not what they needed right now.

           "I won't leave you, ever. I promise," Quatre whispered against his ear. "I'd do anything for you."

           But the words didn't soothe as Trowa had hoped they would, only highlighted their ever-present problem, and he felt himself drawn to the void he knew he'd better stay far away from. Yet, he felt strangely calm, as his mind supplied him with the information that it was not all his fault. He had behaved badly, but Quatre could have stopped it. He had given his life for Quatre, but what had he received in return? Trowa knew he shouldn't be thinking like this, love was not supposed to keep tabs on who did what, and when. If he loved Quatre, he would accept anything, wouldn't he? He shouldn't demand things he couldn't have. But Quatre said he'd do anything... Did he really mean it?

           "Would you tell them you love me, if I asked you to?"

           There was a pause where Trowa wanted there to be none, before Quatre spoke his response.

          "No, I can't do that," Quatre said, darkness creeping into his voice.

           Trowa slowly went cold. It was as if Quatre had hit him, although the statement was neither new nor unexpected. Quatre wouldn't even tell his family about his love, although he had no intention of letting them down again. Trowa didn't understand his own feelings, didn't understand his need to have Quatre confess these kinds of things. Didn't understand his need to hear them spoken. It hurt, so why did he force Quatre to say it? Why did he make his lover hurt him?

           "It's not my decision, my family needs to come first," Quatre stated bitterly.

           Yes, that's how it always was, Trowa supposed. He had always been only second in line on Quatre's list of important things. Perhaps even third. This, he understood, was the core of his doubt, the reason for the many dark thoughts. It was always about Quatre's needs, Quatre's wishes, Quatre's duties. Suddenly, Trowa felt like he had lost himself along the line, felt negotiated into nothingness to fit into Quatre's tight schedule. What was he to Quatre anyway?

          /Someone to warm his bed.../

           "Why do you doubt me, Trowa? Don't you know I love you?" Quatre spoke, when Trowa remained silent.

           Trowa didn't answer, didn't trust himself not to say something he couldn't take back. Did Quatre really love him? Maybe. He hoped so with all his heart, although the quiet voice within told he was just being used. Told him to get out while he was still alive. Told him no one could be trusted, especially not those who insisted they liked him.

           "There are very few ways I could prove it to you. I'm trying my best... You have to tell me if it's not enough," Quatre pleaded to the still silent Trowa.

          Although quiet, a war raged within Trowa's mind, triggered by Quatre's well meaning words. All too many moments of loneliness made the words sound empty, made him want to bitterly snap at Quatre. And so he did, as the only thing he could recall would actually prove Quatre's devotion to him, was the material possessions he had been given.

           "I don't want gifts," Trowa replied, angrily. "Sometimes it feels like you're only buying my affection for a short moment before you leave again. Shower me with gifts to make me forget the inevitable future. Maybe it works for you, but the few moments we share alone only makes it worse. At the end of the day there's always a cold and dark apartment waiting for me," Trowa blurted out, for the first time voicing his pain.

           "I'm sorry.... I... I didn't realise," Quatre murmured miserably.

           Something tiny but significant in Trowa broke at hearing Quatre's words, leaving him strangely cold and empty. Quatre hadn't even seen it, hadn't even noted Trowa's anguish. Gleefully, the now not so quiet voice laughed at him. Used; yes, it was certainly a correct assessment of the situation. Trowa had felt used lately. That was it. The ten minute visits - a quick tumble into Trowa's bed, then Quatre headed into the shower to remove all traces of his secret lover, before dutifully returning home to his wife and children - hurt him more than he should admit. He should be thankful they could meet at all, shouldn't he?

          But not a trace of him could be left on Quatre; not a word about Trowa could be spoken to anyone. In a way, he had once again been reduced to the no one he had been for the most part of his early life. Less than no one, maybe, as Quatre actually acknowledged his presence, yet still ignored him at the end of the day. It hadn't bothered him before, but the evil circle of doubt fuelled by more reasons that gave way to more doubt, was long since out of control. And Quatre hadn't even seen it. There was only one thing that could stop the darkness within, one thing to break the circle - the one thing Quatre would not willingly give him.

           "If you would just let me make love to you..." Trowa spoke, only too late recognising it as one of the sentences he could not have unsaid, the one he should not have spoken.

           "The one thing I can't fully give you..." Quatre whispered, mostly to himself.

           Things were spiralling out of control, moving dangerously close to that one unalterable moment where there would be no more words to speak between the two lovers. When no words, no matter how right, could undo the damage caused by bitter souls. Cold, Trowa's mind only stood beside now, watching with detachment the events as they unfolded. It had always been easier to not interfere unnecessarily. This time was not different. Quatre would provide them both with the proper solution.

          "You have my heart, but I can't give you my body. It's the only thing I can't give you, why does that have to be the most important one to you? Was it always like this, Trowa? Is it only about that one thing? Sex? Is that all you want from me? Then perhaps this isn't love after all..."

          Silence. He should say something, Trowa knew, but his mind provided him with nothing but pain. He couldn't feel the love anymore. Perhaps Quatre was right. Quatre had always been right, hadn't he?

          "Are you really in love with me, Trowa?"

          It was Trowa's turn to pause where there should not be silence. Remaining frozen in place, his mind started calculating the plausible outcomes, weighing the possible answers against each other, furtively trying to find the right course of action in a way he had not done in years. Weighing cause and effect against each other, trying to logically find the right answer, the moment dragged on too long.

           "I'll let you go, Trowa, if you don't want me anymore," Quatre spoke, strangely calm, although Trowa could almost feel the desperation hidden underneath the surface.

           Yes, Quatre was providing them both with the easy solution, giving him all he needed to make a clean exit. /Perhaps it's for the better,/ Trowa would neutrally say. /I'm sorry it had to end like this./ So easy.

          But could he really leave Quatre? Separate himself for the source of his own sweet pain? There were too many unknown variables. Trowa imagined a life without Quatre, a life without the few moments they could share in secret, and the even fewer times they could spend together without interruptions. What was left if he removed Quatre? Alone, his mind told him, but he could not feel it like he had felt the pain. The cold void within cracked open and swallowed him whole, as he watched Quatre's back. Nothing, he felt nothing. Would there be nothing, if he left Quatre? Had there been nothing, before Quatre?

          With himself taken out of the equation, Trowa knew in an instant what Quatre felt at that moment - shoulders drawn, eyes focused on a spot on the ground in front of him, arms wrapped protectively around himself. Quatre was waiting for Trowa to withdraw, to reject him, and suddenly he realised his blond lover was as lonely and in need of constant reassurance of the other's love, as Trowa was. Lonely. They were both lonely, even in each other's company. It was so obvious, and he wondered why he hadn't seen it before. Why had he been so blind in his own pain? Rioting, his mind finally kicked him into action at the brink of eternal destruction.

          /You're never alone. Act according to your heart, not the most efficient course of actions./

          The words of his friends came back to Trowa. How could he forget something like that? How could he ignore his heart to the point of where he no longer felt it at all? Had he not suffered enough from it in the past? Had he not learned from it at all? Trowa didn't know why or when he had reverted back into his old ways, but he closed the physical gap between him and Quatre in one step.

          "No, don't say that... I'm sorry, I don't know what's happening to me," Trowa whispered, not trusting his voice, as his arms snaked around Quatre's waist to pull him closer.

          But Quatre was not convinced.

           "Trowa... you deserve so much better than what I can give you," Quatre's low voice insisted, head still inclined against the ground, eyes refusing to meet with Trowa's. "This isn't a life."

           "Quatre, don't try to make me leave you, and I'll try not to give you a reason to want me gone," Trowa spoke, a wry smile flicking across his lips at his own words.

           "But you do deserve better than this..." Quatre sobbed into his shirt, arms holding tightly onto Trowa.

          "I don't want to let you go, unless you tell me to leave. Are you telling me there is no hope for us at all, ever?"

           "No... there is hope..."

           Breathing a sigh of relief, Trowa sat down on the blanket, pulling the shorter young man into his lap. Only after taking a mental step back, had he noticed just how deep the void between them had become. Perhaps they had both done what came natural to them - trying to protect the other from pain by removing themselves out of the equation. Although he still felt drained by what nearly had happened, Trowa pushed on, confident that neither he nor Quatre wanted a separation.

           "Quatre, I love you, but I can't do this much longer. It hurts too much to have to share you like this," Trowa told his lover, quietly.

           Quatre nodded slowly, and went silent, as if debating how to reply. Trowa didn't want to push him, didn't want Quatre to give him a forced answer, so he remained still, regarding Quatre quietly. Finally, Quatre spoke.

          "I wasn't going to tell you this, because there's no way I can word it without it sounding cold an calculating, but..." Quatre paused, as if reluctant to speak further. "I only have to stay married until Khoury is seven... After that, both my children are legally my responsibility, and Khadija can't take them away from me, no matter what."

          Trowa raised an eyebrow. After eight years of having to share Quatre with the young man's wife, he was in no position to jump to conclusions. Waiting for Quatre to continue, to explain what he meant, he forcedly made his mind shut up, before the thoughts turned into chaos. As Quatre remained silent, Trowa nudged him gently.

          "Not even... if you told everyone about us?" Trowa asked, tentatively.

          "Oh Trowa, we could do much more than that... We could live together, and no one could do anything about it," Quatre smiled a little sadly.

          "Why? Why didn't you tell me before?"

          "The mere thought of what I have done to them..." Quatre managed, before his voice choked up under the sobs. For a long time, he just held onto Trowa for dear life, wetting Trowa's shirt with his tears.

          "Quatre, I don't understand. Explain to me," Trowa soothed, running his hand over Quatre's back.

          "I need the children for other reasons than their own... I need an heir of my own blood. If I got divorced now, they could take my children away from me. At least Khoury. That's the law. Until the child is seven, mother has the legal responsibility, then it's transferred to the father. That's what I'm waiting for... For Khoury to turn seven. If I divorced Khadija now..."

          "I see..."

          "I can't go through this again, Trowa, not even for my family," Quatre shivered.

           "A male heir. Khoury," Trowa pondered.

          "Yes... It's only him I need... Na'ima doesn't matter, she's just a girl," Quatre said bitterly, and Trowa knew his lover didn't mean it like that.

          "It's an old fashioned system," Trowa commented quietly, still tracing soothing patterns on Quatre's back.

          "God, I'm a monster. I hated my father for creating himself an heir, and now I do the very same thing. To marry someone, and to conceive a child only because your family demands it," Quatre buried his face in the crook of Trowa's neck.

          There was nothing Trowa could say, so he remained silent, soothing his blond lover with his touch. The wounds his father had caused Quatre went deep, he knew, and now was not the time to try and heal them.

          "It's so cold, thinking about it like that... That the children were only created because I needed an heir. It's true, but I still love them," Quatre continued, and Trowa could feel the wetness of his tears through his shirt. Eventually, the blond went silent.

           "Quatre... I'm sorry. You should have told me before," Trowa spoke quietly.

          "You mustn't tell them... Promise you won't ever do that, Trowa? It's so cruel letting someone grow up thinking they're nothing more than tool for the benefit of the family."

           "I promise," Trowa smiled, for he knew Quatre truly loved his children, regardless of what reason was behind their existence.

          "Can you wait for me, Trowa? Only five more months... Then Khoury is mine, and I can apply for a divorce," Quatre spoke slowly, and Trowa knew he regretted even speaking those words.

          "Yes," Trowa agreed, and he felt like laughing, selfishly.

          The contrasts between standing at the bottom of the abyss, staring up, and to finally be shown a light at the end of the tunnel, was dizzying. He clung onto Quatre, held to young man tightly, and wept silently into his shirt. It seemed like the philosophers were right after all, one must suffer complete despair before one could truly appreciate the salvation. Had he known about this years ago, he would surely have become impatient, perhaps even told someone he shouldn't, but now... he would wait, quietly. Wait for the day Quatre would finally become his. Five months. Less than 150 days. Trowa would wait.

          + + +

           A rainy colony greeted the L4 colony representative, as he and his bodyguard stepped off the shuttle. Quickly finding their way to Trowa's parked car, they ducked inside, taking cover from the rain. Driving through the town, they listened to the pattering of the unnatural rain on the roof. Soothing, the noise managed to keep thoughts of the pain of yet another separation at bay. Although he knew it was inevitable, it didn't bother Trowa at all this time. What was another five months, when he could spend the rest of his life with Quatre, afterwards? Almost cheerfully, he manoeuvred the car to a halt, outside the Winner family's residence.

           "Back on earth... under the tree... I... I wanted you to do it then," Quatre confessed, blushing slightly, as they stepped out of the car.

           "I know," smiling, Trowa wiped away drops of rain from Quatre's lips. "I'm sorry for pushing you."

           "I'm glad you did," Quatre smiled.

           It was selfish, it was stupid, but he had to do it. Without even turning to see if anyone was looking, Trowa leant forward, firm lips pressing against Quatre's surprised, then softly yielding ones. Surprised by the sudden ferocity in his actions, no doubt. Withdrawing, Trowa smiled, watching the flushed face of his lover.

           Quatre's lips were still moist from their kiss as he departed. Would his wife notice? Probably. Hopefully. Baffled by his sudden selfishness, yet still feeling grimly satisfied, Trowa turned his back against the blond colony representative, and headed towards the car. He knew that one day Quatre would be his, and only his.

          + + +

          I stood in the door and watched Trowa's disappearing form become smaller to eventually vanish in the rain. I touched my lips again, still moist from the lingering kiss neither of us had wanted to break off. It had been a definite breach of protocol, an unnecessary risk taken - the first kiss under the ever-watching eyes of the colony, on forbidden ground. I glanced at the woman beside me, the one they had chosen as my wife, the mother of my children... and for the first time in years, I didn't feel guilty. Had she noticed? I almost hoped she had. I needed this whole charade to end, before it destroyed us all.

- end -