Embrace of a Ghost
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. I will return them
intact (more or less). No profit being made,
yada yada yada...
Warning: Shounen-ai, OOC in general, though I
think he's in character. Strange.
Notes: Erm. I've always suspected Quatre to
be /very/ unstable. No offense to Q fans, k?
/.../ are thoughts.
"..." is dialogue.
------------------------------------------------
A small blond boy stood in front of a mirror over a
mildewed bathroom sink. His breath came in shakily
through his teeth, and his hands gripped the sink
like a vice, his hair hung limp over his angelically
pale skin.
/What am I doing? Who am I kidding, really? It's so
cold here, so unlike home... And no one can comfort me...
Iria... It's even worse... I can't... I don't understand
why... Why can't I understand? Why do you still haunt me...?/
His breathing grew heavier, his knuckles white as new snow,
even against his cream-like flesh.
His eyes wandered to the thin scars near his wrist. /I'm such
a coward. Running from myself.../ The Arabian pilot sank slowly
to his knees, and then leaned back against the dingy gray
wall. His butter-colored locks were plastered to his skull
with cold sweat, gleaming dimly in the flickering electric
lighting. His sky-blue eyes were darkened with despair, dusky
with his loss of hope. He stared fixedly at the blank wall in
front of him.
/Duo... dark... paradox. Trowa... heart.../ Quatre stood
up, pushing his body off the floor with still-shaky hands.
He groped for the door, turning once more to look at the
mirror before leaving the room. It seemed like his father's
judging face lingered there. /Damn him. The only person
whose acceptance I ever needed./ He shook his head, trying
to steady his thoughts. Damning a dead man. How pathetic.
He noticed sound, Duo and Heero had returned. He wondered
if Trowa was there, it's not like he would have heard.
Quatre absently straightened his shirt, plucked at his
wrinkled pants. He ran a hand through his hair, and tried
to work up a caring smile. /They might be hurt.
Someone needs to play mother for us all, it might
as well be me./
The Sandrock pilot walked briskly down the stairs,
beating off his waning mood. Duo had returned, in
fact, and was clamoring around in the kitchen. Quatre's
eyes widened, and he ran to help Duo with a meal. They didn't
want to burn down another safehouse, after all.
Duo grinned lazily when he saw Quatre. "Hey, Q-bear. Ya aight?"
"Hai, are you?"
"Always, my man. I think Heero's beaten up though, ya might
wanna check on him. I tried to patch him up, but..." Duo
smirked. "You know Heero."
"Right...Um Duo, why don't you get out some... silverware?"
Quatre hurried off without a response.
"Hey! I'm not that bad of a cook!" The American shrugged.
"Whatever."
"Heero? Daijoubo desu ka?" Quatre asked worriedly,
his brow furrowed.
"Hai," Heero snorted. The Japanese pilot's face
was like stone.
Quatre's eyebrow twitched slightly. "Heero, there are
several severe lacerations all over your torso, and
a bullet wound in your shoulder."
Heero looked down. "Aa," he nodded.
Quatre sighed. "I'll piece you up. You really should
take better care, Heero." /Really. I don't want anyone
to get hurt. So strange. I genuinely care about people,
no matter how much I hate myself.../
The Japanese pilot grunted, and Quatre took that as a
yes. Actually, he probably would have taken no as a yes,
but that's beside the point. The blonde boy rummaged
around in the closet, and with a muffled "Ah hah!" he
came out with a battered-looking first-aid kit. He
proceeded to wrap layer after gauzy layer around
Heero's abdomen, and then extracted the bullet. After
cleaning up, he noticed the extreme weariness in the
other boy's eyes.
"Heero, get some sleep, then some food. I mean it.
I'll have your Gundam taken care of." Heero opened his
mouth to respond, but Quatre cut him off in mid syllable.
"No. Don't argue." Heero shrugged, and plodded to a vacant
room.
"Yo Q-man, what should I do now?" Duo called from the
kitchen.
Quatre sweatdropped. "Hang on," he yelled.
After Quatre had told Duo to order pizza, a knock
sounded. Duo was still chatting with the pizza guy
on the phone, but glanced a Quatre, and raised his
eyebrow.
Quatre nodded. He opened the door a crack, then
flung it open all the way. "Trowa!"
"..." was Trowa's response. Duo smiled, and started
up the conversation once more with the now-exasperated
pizza guy.
Quatre checked over the taller pilot, making sure
there were no wounds. Satisfied, he showed Trowa a
room, adding, "Get some rest."
He walked back to the kitchen/living room, and sat
down on the couch with a sigh. He held his head in
his hands, and laid back even more.
"Quatre." What?! Quatre started at the sound of
an American pilot's voice so close. "What's wrong?"
Quatre shook his head, and smiled. "Nothing,
Duo-kun, why do you ask?"
Duo smirked darkly. "Quatre, I didn't survive
in L2 for nothing. Reading faces comes in handy,
especially such a well-masked one as yours."
"Duo..."
Duo shrugged lightly, flipping his braid over
his shoulder. "Let him go, Quatre. Let him go,"
The Deathsycthe pilot smiled gently, and stroked
Quatre's hair lightly before letting it drop away.
"I don't know what you're talking about." The blonde
Arab said softly, flinching away. He gazed at Duo with
haunted eyes. /Why does he care, anyway?/
"Quatre." Dou's low alto became firm. "Quit beating
yourself up over him. Even if... you disagreed on some
things... you are still his son. He forgives you, Quatre."
"How do you know?" Quatre asked, his voice light as
a fleeting breeze.
"Who couldn't forgive you for wanting to protect
your people, your family? Quatre, you have more of
a soul then any of us. We need you, and we're your..."
Duo chuckled, as if the word meant felt strange on his
tounge, "friends." He drew the small pilot into a loose
embrace, and Quatre shuddered. /Iria... used to hold me
like this.../
They stood there for what could have been an hour, or 3, or
5 minutes, or any certain length of time. For neither noticed
or cared.
Then the Arab pulled away, and Duo smiled. "I think that
a certain banged boy wanted to tell you something as well."
The American's lips turned up into a warm smile. "G'night."
He turned before Quatre could argue.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
That sounded almost 2x4-ish, though thta wasn't my intent.
*shrug*
-Kalli
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. I will return them
intact (more or less). No profit being made,
yada yada yada...
Warning: Shounen-ai, OOC in general, though I
think he's in character. Strange.
Notes: Erm. I've always suspected Quatre to
be /very/ unstable. No offense to Q fans, k?
/.../ are thoughts.
"..." is dialogue.
------------------------------------------------
A small blond boy stood in front of a mirror over a
mildewed bathroom sink. His breath came in shakily
through his teeth, and his hands gripped the sink
like a vice, his hair hung limp over his angelically
pale skin.
/What am I doing? Who am I kidding, really? It's so
cold here, so unlike home... And no one can comfort me...
Iria... It's even worse... I can't... I don't understand
why... Why can't I understand? Why do you still haunt me...?/
His breathing grew heavier, his knuckles white as new snow,
even against his cream-like flesh.
His eyes wandered to the thin scars near his wrist. /I'm such
a coward. Running from myself.../ The Arabian pilot sank slowly
to his knees, and then leaned back against the dingy gray
wall. His butter-colored locks were plastered to his skull
with cold sweat, gleaming dimly in the flickering electric
lighting. His sky-blue eyes were darkened with despair, dusky
with his loss of hope. He stared fixedly at the blank wall in
front of him.
/Duo... dark... paradox. Trowa... heart.../ Quatre stood
up, pushing his body off the floor with still-shaky hands.
He groped for the door, turning once more to look at the
mirror before leaving the room. It seemed like his father's
judging face lingered there. /Damn him. The only person
whose acceptance I ever needed./ He shook his head, trying
to steady his thoughts. Damning a dead man. How pathetic.
He noticed sound, Duo and Heero had returned. He wondered
if Trowa was there, it's not like he would have heard.
Quatre absently straightened his shirt, plucked at his
wrinkled pants. He ran a hand through his hair, and tried
to work up a caring smile. /They might be hurt.
Someone needs to play mother for us all, it might
as well be me./
The Sandrock pilot walked briskly down the stairs,
beating off his waning mood. Duo had returned, in
fact, and was clamoring around in the kitchen. Quatre's
eyes widened, and he ran to help Duo with a meal. They didn't
want to burn down another safehouse, after all.
Duo grinned lazily when he saw Quatre. "Hey, Q-bear. Ya aight?"
"Hai, are you?"
"Always, my man. I think Heero's beaten up though, ya might
wanna check on him. I tried to patch him up, but..." Duo
smirked. "You know Heero."
"Right...Um Duo, why don't you get out some... silverware?"
Quatre hurried off without a response.
"Hey! I'm not that bad of a cook!" The American shrugged.
"Whatever."
"Heero? Daijoubo desu ka?" Quatre asked worriedly,
his brow furrowed.
"Hai," Heero snorted. The Japanese pilot's face
was like stone.
Quatre's eyebrow twitched slightly. "Heero, there are
several severe lacerations all over your torso, and
a bullet wound in your shoulder."
Heero looked down. "Aa," he nodded.
Quatre sighed. "I'll piece you up. You really should
take better care, Heero." /Really. I don't want anyone
to get hurt. So strange. I genuinely care about people,
no matter how much I hate myself.../
The Japanese pilot grunted, and Quatre took that as a
yes. Actually, he probably would have taken no as a yes,
but that's beside the point. The blonde boy rummaged
around in the closet, and with a muffled "Ah hah!" he
came out with a battered-looking first-aid kit. He
proceeded to wrap layer after gauzy layer around
Heero's abdomen, and then extracted the bullet. After
cleaning up, he noticed the extreme weariness in the
other boy's eyes.
"Heero, get some sleep, then some food. I mean it.
I'll have your Gundam taken care of." Heero opened his
mouth to respond, but Quatre cut him off in mid syllable.
"No. Don't argue." Heero shrugged, and plodded to a vacant
room.
"Yo Q-man, what should I do now?" Duo called from the
kitchen.
Quatre sweatdropped. "Hang on," he yelled.
After Quatre had told Duo to order pizza, a knock
sounded. Duo was still chatting with the pizza guy
on the phone, but glanced a Quatre, and raised his
eyebrow.
Quatre nodded. He opened the door a crack, then
flung it open all the way. "Trowa!"
"..." was Trowa's response. Duo smiled, and started
up the conversation once more with the now-exasperated
pizza guy.
Quatre checked over the taller pilot, making sure
there were no wounds. Satisfied, he showed Trowa a
room, adding, "Get some rest."
He walked back to the kitchen/living room, and sat
down on the couch with a sigh. He held his head in
his hands, and laid back even more.
"Quatre." What?! Quatre started at the sound of
an American pilot's voice so close. "What's wrong?"
Quatre shook his head, and smiled. "Nothing,
Duo-kun, why do you ask?"
Duo smirked darkly. "Quatre, I didn't survive
in L2 for nothing. Reading faces comes in handy,
especially such a well-masked one as yours."
"Duo..."
Duo shrugged lightly, flipping his braid over
his shoulder. "Let him go, Quatre. Let him go,"
The Deathsycthe pilot smiled gently, and stroked
Quatre's hair lightly before letting it drop away.
"I don't know what you're talking about." The blonde
Arab said softly, flinching away. He gazed at Duo with
haunted eyes. /Why does he care, anyway?/
"Quatre." Dou's low alto became firm. "Quit beating
yourself up over him. Even if... you disagreed on some
things... you are still his son. He forgives you, Quatre."
"How do you know?" Quatre asked, his voice light as
a fleeting breeze.
"Who couldn't forgive you for wanting to protect
your people, your family? Quatre, you have more of
a soul then any of us. We need you, and we're your..."
Duo chuckled, as if the word meant felt strange on his
tounge, "friends." He drew the small pilot into a loose
embrace, and Quatre shuddered. /Iria... used to hold me
like this.../
They stood there for what could have been an hour, or 3, or
5 minutes, or any certain length of time. For neither noticed
or cared.
Then the Arab pulled away, and Duo smiled. "I think that
a certain banged boy wanted to tell you something as well."
The American's lips turned up into a warm smile. "G'night."
He turned before Quatre could argue.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
That sounded almost 2x4-ish, though thta wasn't my intent.
*shrug*
-Kalli