Author's note: Um, I posted this up on Tarnished Oversoul, but no one reviewed it so now I'm going to try again. This is all mine, and I really am quite proud of my first g-wing story. Part three is in the works.
Disclaimer: No, not, never…unfortunately.
The destructive Bartons destroyed and OZ disbanded there is no use for the Gundams. They were destroyed on 25/12/197. The six Gundam pilots: Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton, Quatre Raberba Winner, Chang Wufei and Zechs Marquise have gone their separate ways. Heero serves as the protector of former queen Relena in the Cinq kingdom and is often joined by Duo and his acquaintance Hilde. Quatre has taken on the family business and has currently finished rebuilding all damage from the war. He plans to expand the colonies after a short break with his construction team and close friends on Earth. Trowa Barton never stays in one spot, but he has been spotted performing in various colonies with a famous circus troupe. Both Wufei and Zechs are currently working for the Preventors, but little else is known about them.
"Dammit! Why is so much information readily available on us?" Duo didn't easily anger, but when he did it wasn't because of mismatching socks. "And who wrote this piece of shit anyways? This is easily the worst database I have ever seen!" His fingers clicked rapidly on the keyboard with show of skill. A warm hand on shoulder got his attention, his heart began to increase slightly in pace.
"Duo, I want you to get some sleep." Without any show of emotion Hilde's voice was still harsh and commanding in spite of her usual bubbly, friendly nature. He ignored her and went on toying with the computer. All data on the Gundam pilots had mysteriously disappeared from the Internet, all databases and even Miss Relena's private files within the past seven days. The thirty-six hour days were catching up to him, and though he tried to hide it Duo was very pale and always angry at something.
"Duo, I mean it!" A tear found it's way down to the youth's shirt and he stood up with concern and grabbed one of her small hands in his. Duo clicked the computer mouse three times, both data and computer shut down (though some more permanently than others.)
"Hey, don't cry babe." And the boy with the braid held her tightly in his arms.
Chapter One: The Desert Rose
199 AC- 31/12
"Master Quatre,"
Quatre had to strain his weary eyes beyond months of well-forgotten paperwork and look over at the voice that politely summoned him. He swept his long blond hair out of his eyes and into a short ponytail, Rashiid was smiling kindly at him with an understanding look but there was a fatherly firmness in his eyes that made the young man remember his social position and responsibilities. Now that he wasn't resisting sleep quite as much he was able to note he was in his book littered office. Quatre wasn't aware that he had an office, he also wasn't aware that contracts were often up to one hundred pages long. And he sometimes wondered if the sun really rose in the east, which would be a formidable explanation if one assumed that east was indeed west and west, east.
"That's the spirit Master Quatre," The tall, dark haired man let in a cloaked Abdul. It always brought a grin to the blond youth's face to see the youngest of his clan. He wasn't sure whether it was the black sunglasses he donned sportingly, or perhaps how without saying more than three words the man could make the stuffiest man laugh. Abdul however was not smiling, even without being able to see his eyes Quatre could see the troubled look on his face.
"Rashiid, could you please leave us?" Quatre requested and the man obeyed without hesitation. Abdul was entrusted with the personal issues of the youth's safety, and the intelligence field went along side with this position. Often Abdul did not bring home news Quatre would prefer to hear, and for the sake of his friends he'd prefer that they wouldn't hear.
"What's new Abdul?"
"Well Master Quatre, the last of the soldiers that were loyal to Barton are issuing money for you and the other pilots heads but there's no real threat in that anymore." An interesting gleam in his comrade's eyes as he lowered his sunglasses that explained to Quatre exactly what he meant. "There's been a bit of tavern threats, but it's all beer. And there was less than the usual amount of girls trying to knock down the doors and announce her passion for you, but mostly your body."
"Is that it?" Astonishment closely followed by weariness crossed Quatre's features.
"Sounds right to me," Abdul laid his sunglasses gently onto the large stack of papers. He seemed very interested in the left uppermost corner of the younger man's sturdy maple desk. Adding to Quatre's surprise he snapped it evenly off and jabbed a red button that was hiding in a groove. A wave tingled in both men's ears before either one of them decided on speech.
"What was that?" The blond boy wondered, and he gave himself a small kick to insure this was no hallucination.
"I soundproofed the room, there are some things that no ears but yours are safe audiences."
"And here I was thinking that you were only here to wish me a happy new years."
"And that as well, but now I fear that your life as you know it is about to come to an end very soon." Quatre didn't like the sound of that; it would mean a lot of pain for those who cared most for him.
"Is it assassins, we can take care of assassins."
"No Master Quatre, it's a little bit more complicated than that. You entertain the master, he wants you on his side and if you don't serve him he'll kill you. He even has spies inside this building." Quatre's kinsman was wild-eyed with fear and sweating.
"Who is he Abdul? And what does he want?"
"Master Quatre he will be here soon, you must change yourself and flee this place." Reaching into his red vest and shaking, Abdul pulled out a small black pistol. Quatre was unable to do anything but watch in horror as the man cocked the trigger.
"They say that in death, all life's questions are answered, but unfortunately I won't be around to answer them for you. Why and how are now on your shoulders. You have 24 hours before your departure, 24 hours left to be Quatre. Tell no one that you are leaving, try to carry on with your normal life until then." And then he smiled one final smile before he pulled the trigger back. A strange sort of peace came over Abdul's face as he collapsed to the floor in a lump. The chrome pistol only made a tiny noise as it crashed into the wall.
"Abdul," the blond man whispered heart wrenchingly. Quatre ran to the dead figure of Abdul, still smiling. He wouldn't blame him for his treachery; he had served him well even in death. As tears ran down his face at his friend's sacrifice, he could at least resolve that Abdul was now safe from whoever could make a young and strong, confident man take his own life.
* * *
The setting was a Preventors News Years Eve celebration held in a large reception area equipped with a well stocked bar, and yet Quatre could not join in the happiness of those around him. It was only a small gathering, about seven hundred his well-trained eyes speculated, and most of them seemed to be dancing to the current songs. All were decked out in some way, though none wore any formal gowns that might have been seen five years earlier. Glitter seemed to be the theme of the coming of the colonies second century, even on the men.
Quatre stirred his martini slowly as he picked out his friends. Heero was unsuccessfully trying to escape dancing with Relena by hiding in the darkest corner of the dance floor with poor, shy Trowa. Quatre, not for the first time noticed how great Trowa looked in casual clothes instead of a uniform. It may have worked had there not been a tight clique of screaming girls offering to pay large sums of money for their cocktail napkins amongst other personal items. Zechs, having consumed just a bit more wine than Quatre thought necessary had braided two pieces of his hair and was declaring that he was Relena. This would have brought a smile to the blond boy's face any other day, but death had a worse effect on Quatre than his present company.
Duo was performing an old time Virginia reel that was centuries old to a slow pop song and trying to drag his girlfriend Hilde to join in with him. Across the room Wufei put on an indifferent look that announced to the world that he refused to take part in any such foolishness as dancing with inferior beings such as themselves. Even a formal request from Miss Noin couldn't submerge the thick barrier of Wufei's aura. Sally had given up trying to force him; most of the women were avoiding him as he sipped his coke.
Quatre then decided that now was as good as any to down this drink, but distastefully left the sour olive speared on the end of his ornamental sword and placed the empty glass beside two others. The alcohol did not provide the euphoric feeling it was designed to deliver, instead increasing his loneliness. More than anything right now as Quatre watched his friends he realized how much he had missed them. He wanted to be in that screaming crowd with Trowa and Heero, he wanted to laugh with Zechs about the misuses of alcohol, he wanted to manipulate Wufei onto the dance floor and joke around with Duo.
But mostly he wanted to dance with someone. Anyone would do, he was in the mood to dance. Trowa seemed otherwise occupied, so he decided he could settle for the closest person to him. For the first time that night he looked at the occupants of the black, round table he was sitting at. There was only one, a shy looking girl of about twenty-two with a rosy complexion and long auburn hair cut on a fantastic diagonal. Her green/gray eyes looked down at her shimmering, silver shirt when she noticed Quatre's searching stare.
"Hello," Quatre greeted her finally; he was nervous around the opposite sex and tried not to run a reassuring hand over his silk golden toned robes. "I'm Quatre,"
"Oh, I know who you are." She motioned with her finger behind him where a small group of girls were whispering.
"Than I suppose I can skip the introductions." Quatre smiled, but was groaning inwardly. The conversation was moving more quickly than Quatre thought it should be, but girls were too unpredictable. "I don't suppose you have a name,"
"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," Her eyes dared him to retort and play along with her.
"But you know me." Quatre pointed out politely. "And if you don't wish to talk, we could always dance."
"Persistent one, aren't you?" Her grin was victorious as she pulled her chair out from under her. She was tall, much taller than the blond youth even without wearing high heels. The nameless girl didn't laugh as boy from the desert stood up. They walked to the dance floor just a retro tune blasted out from the speakers. Much music and other means of entertainment had resorted to materials before the colonies were formed; it was hard to write anything original.
Quatre listened to the lyrics as he and the girl moved across the floor in an unplanned but beautiful mannerism. He now was thanking his father for those dreadful dancing lessons he had forced the boy to take from the age of six. Quatre held her close, close enough to smell the sweet perfume of her hair although several inches above, she held her eyes with his. Evidently she was a skilled dancer, but she did not seem surprised with his skill.
The song ended just as Quatre began to feel his liquor disagree with him. As a faster song came on he excused himself although he would have liked to stay longer. Only habit made him grab the olive backpack he carried to parties in case of these certain situations, but tonight it held a few extras. The security guard smiled knowingly as he admitted Quatre out of the party and into the cool air. Quatre had quite the reputation for liquor, or rather the amount he could hold. Awkwardly he struggled to remove the top half of his silk Arabian dress robes.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Sally Po was most disappointed with her date to the annual new years eve bash. It hadn't been an awfully long time since the sandy haired woman had begun going steady with the man, but she knew him well enough to know he was only sitting out because in this case he would be the inferior. Yes, she would admit that the younger man had quite the ego, but she loved him for it. This at least was a big improvement from last year; at least he came to the party. She mused, as she played with her hair, down for the first time in a long time. It hung to frame her face in long luxurious ringlets.
Now Sally was not the type of woman to allow her evening to be spoiled by anyone, especially not Wufei. More than anything she wanted to dance, but not with just anyone. Wufei was going to get his sorry ass on the floor, she affirmed. And he was going to dance; it would be a waste of his money to have bought the party dress otherwise! So full of determination to get him onto the dance floor Sally had trotted up to the DJ to make a request, and a dare.
Wufei was sitting, calmly concealing envy of the couples and even singles dancing as he sipped his Coke. He refused all invitations to anyone offering to buy him a drink, finding that when he drank one beer it often led to another until he was finally drunk and made an utter fool of himself. Although he had been mobbed by women during the first hour of his arrival they had seemed to have gotten the general feeling that he did not want to engage in dancing of any kind and were allowing the aura to drift out in a ten foot radius around him. While he felt rather lonely and watched longingly as Sally had danced with Duo and a couple of Preventors he had known from work it was better than sacrificing his dignity.
It wasn't that he couldn't dance he could. Really he could, just not in a fashion appropriate for this sort of occasion. His only guide to dancing had been a borrowed Dirty Dancing movie. And while he was no Patrick Swazee he could sure do a good grind. The idea of busting his moves was making him smile.
Sally really did look good in that party dress, he noted mentally wondering how much it cost him this time. Problem with oona was that they never liked to be seen in the same dress twice. And they really have absolutely no concept of money! No, Wufei decided, he didn't want to know how much she had spent… The DJ's clear voice interrupted the Chinese man's train of thought.
"We have a special request from a certain lovely lady to Chang Wufei," The DJ announced in a pause of music. "She said that he was in the mood for a fast paced disco tune. Wufei could you please come up to the dance floor… Come on Wufei, don't be shy!"
Wufei stood up from his seat, not sure whether to strangle the grinning woman waiting for him or smile as he waited to see her reaction. He reached for her arms, and to her surprise held her in what seemed as a correct dancing position.
"What?" Sally glared at her boyfriend from an inch below him. "You mean you knew how to dance this whole time you were sulking in your seat."
"You'll see," he murmured in her ear as the music started up. "Just don't blame me when your cronies tell you that your boyfriend is a total slut."
"Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting!"
"That's very funny onna," Wufei rolled his eyes as he started to catch the tempo. Sally gave him a shocked, but amused look when she realized his dancing ability. And she only grinned devilishly when his hand found her knee.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Quatre," Trowa called into the darkness of the empty street.
Even from so many stories down he could hear that the party was in full swing, but Trowa had never really been one for parties. There were far too many bubble headed females that asked too many questions. Those who weren't, were too smart to not have connections to some military intelligence agency, at least half his own, and the rest too tall. Trowa had a peeve about people taller than he was; he refused to date them. As tall as he was he had no sympathy for a tall good-looking man or woman. The men wouldn't be so bad if they weren't so god damned stiff. They would sip their beers and laugh you off in public, then want to crawl back into your bed after hours.
"Quatre!" Trowa called him a little louder. There was the sound of a stomach working in reverse followed by a crash of branches ruffling. The blond young man came out slowly out of the sparse hedges, embarrassment bright in his red cheeks. His clothes were a mess to say the least, but he had at least managed to save the top. Silk didn't do to well in a washing machine.
"Hi," he croaked. Suddenly his stomach decided to remove the last of the alcohol the man had decided to poison himself with, and the night's scant dinner just to spite him.
"Quatre, Quatre, Quatre." Trowa sighed as he steadied his boyfriend with a sturdy hand holding him up. A second held the hair out of his eyes. Finally, when there was nothing left in Quatre's stomach to bring up he shakily turned his head skyward. The brown haired man said nothing and pulled a handkerchief out of a pant pocket.
"Thank you Trowa, I don't know what I'd do with out you." He laughed as he struggled to find his chin. Trowa decided that he would intervene here.
"Quatre," the brown haired man smiled wickedly. "Without me you would come to more parties, become drunk more often and spoil more expensive clothes that can't go in the washing machine."
"That's not fair."
"Of course it's not, but if you weren't drunk you could cleverly find a way to come up with a way to make light of the situation." A plain, unmarked olive school bag caught the observant circus man's eyes as he and Quatre began to stumble out of the parking lot, though Quatre was doing most of the stumbling. "I see you came prepared."
"Yeah," The man with locks the colour of the desert he came from was pained at the thought of leaving this man. He was so gentle and caring, and although there might sometimes be other people in his life he would always be waiting for him. "Trowa, thank you. You didn't have to do this for me."
"Yes, and you didn't have to do this to me but you didn't listen either." His expression was teasing; one Quatre only saw when they were alone together.
"I'm serious Trowa. I think I love you," They stopped for a moment and he reached for the long lock of hair that hung in Trowa's face. A larger, quicker one stopped him.
"Not with one of those hands babe, I'll have my shower when I'm good and ready. And don't think I'm going to kiss you right now either. Let me take you home and clean you up, then we'll see about a kiss."
"That sounds like a deal."
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Quatre!" Trowa's older sister rushed to greet him warmly. Unlike her brother, she seemed all right with the idea of hugging someone who had previously been publicly displaying his evening's menu. "Oh dear Quatre, when will you ever learn that alcohol disagrees with you."
"I'm actually quite fond of it." Quatre laughed as Katherine inspected the damage and began to take his shirt in the direction of the laundry room. The wavy haired woman was like a mother and sister to him.
"I want your undershirt now and Trowa will bring the rest of your stuff down after you've stripped." Her tone was as strict as Miss Noin's in the heat of battle. "And don't even think you're going home in that condition! I'll give Rashiid a call for you to tell him where you are- and I don't want to hear one word of complaints out of you."
"Yes Katherine," Quatre smiled lovingly at the tall woman. " And thank you, for everything."
"Pity that there aren't more men around here as polite and grateful around here." Trowa instantly dropped to grab Quatre's bag and look helpful. "There wouldn't be any wars if the rest of the world was like you."
Her brother suddenly grew stiff and Katherine's grey eyes dropped with shame. A warning glance passed between the two and harshly Trowa turned to Quatre.
"Come on, Katherine's going to need to wash those clothes."
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Are you okay?" The brown haired man was sitting cross-legged on the toilet seat fiddling with his lover's watch as he showered. Quatre had been inside the shower for about half an hour now, exceptionally long for even one who was as meticulously clean as himself.
There was a pause before Quatre answered. He was busy thinking, because tonight would be his last night for a long time to see Trowa. And although it might be the alcohol thinking for him right now, well he wasn't going to waste his night. "I can't reach my back,"
Trowa could hear the uncertainty in the blond man's voice as he cocked his head in direction of the shower. Something was up, they both knew that normally Quatre would not be this willing to submit. "Are you sure that's what you want Quatre?"
"Yes," He decided firmly. Quickly Trowa stripped down and stepped into the rushing water.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Trowa, why do you love me?" Quatre asked later as he laid his head against his lover's hard, well-muscled chest.
"You're the kindest person I've ever met, and I find that you amuse me." Gently Trowa placed his lips on the blond boy's hair. He was so innocent, so weak and loving. A lot closer to a little, naive boy than a man, he needed to be protected from the harsh world he lived. A world where people were never quite what they appeared was a dangerous place for a boy that trusted all. "You bring out the part of me I lost when I lost my identity, and I love you for that. No matter where you go Quatre, I'll be waiting."
"I…" Quatre was at a loss for words. Surely he could just tell Trowa… Trowa loved him for too much to let anyone know. NO! His conscience wrenched inside of him tightly. Think of Abdul! He died trying to tell you that, you are not going to let yourself give it up on some whim! Trowa is not a whim! A different part of his brain screamed. I love him! I don't care if you love him or not! Think of it like a mission; tell no one, especially not Trowa.
Tears of frustration streamed down Quatre's face and found Trowa's hands on his face.
"I didn't really hurt you that badly back in the shower, did I?" Though his tone was teasing, his eyes were cold and serious.
"Oh no," the Sandrock polite almost purred, hoping to forget his problems in another hour of passion. But even all of his schooling in the ways of words couldn't think of a polite way to ask. Besides, he had to wake up early. No, Quatre decided snuggling further into Trowa's warm embrace. It would be best to sleep now…
* * * * * * * * * * *
It was the vibrating "alarm" on his wristwatch that woke the blond man at four the next morning. Grudgingly, Quatre resigned himself to break from the warm embrace. Still half asleep he grabbed at his olive traveling bag inscribed with the words Quatre Raberba Winner and emptied its contents. A bottle of rust red hair dye, unremarkable casual clothes, cash, only savings from home, a laptop and smaller black backpack sat spread out around his feet.
No, the Sandrock pilot frowned. That couldn't be all. He shook the bag again and out fell Abdul's sunglasses, a cap he'd owned from childhood (but scarcely worn) and his trusty pocket knife. His mission: to make himself as unremarkable as possible. With this is mind he recollected his items and brought them into the bathroom. A blush filled his cheeks as he remembered last night's activities, though without regret and thanked god for having created him male. Guiltily he admitted it was great to not have to worry about the excess baggage that came with straight sex.
Sulking with each movement Quatre proceeded to don a pair of blue jeans, how he loathed blue jeans, a plain black turtle neck and blue jean jacket. The next step would be an ugly gash across his face, insuring that no one would want to take a second look at his face. Due to causes beyond his own control his face was one that did not go by unnoticed. Though it took a good ten minutes to allow his ego to settle and accept a scarring of his almost perfect features, and another ten to hold the shaking knife to his face the rather unpleasant sting of open flesh began to overwhelm his senses.
"Shit!" Quatre whispered, dropping the blade and graciously swabbing his face with a towel. The blade had dug had dug deeper than he intended for a simple flesh wound. The crimson substance was now flowing out at such a rapid rate that the towel was now completely soaked and no longer white. Cursing he whipped open the medicine cabinet to pull out gauze from the top shelf. He also removed the liquid bandages and rubbing alcohol, to clean the wound.
Eventually the wound began to put out less blood, and it was now only trickling. Pressed for time Trowa's Arabian lover swabbed his face with alcohol and applied the "skin glue."
Eyeing his blond ponytail he realized that this too would have to go, it of course was a little too easy to spot. Taking out the knife again he gathered his hair into a bun onto his head, save his bangs, and cut it short. Exchanging his knife for a set of tiny scissors he clipped his bangs into an arc pattern starting at his ears that would allow him to see. Then working on his shag cut it almost evenly to an unruly ½ inch.
Whether it was out of time, or maybe sleep Quatre didn't even bother to check his appearance in the mirror as he lathered on the dye. After ten minutes he rinsed it conditioned and towel dried.
Taking a look at his watch he realized it was now ten to six. Or at least his watch had stopped at ten to six. He would have to hustle now. Hurriedly he scribbled a quick note to Trowa and Katherine, apologizing for the mess and his disappearance (he admitted to himself that he was just a little melodramatic, but in his situation he was allowed to be.) After neatly placing his few articles into his backpack he studied his reflection in the mirror; the scar had the desired effect, making his eyes want to tear away from his face. But holding them he found that he actually liked his copper toned hair. So it wasn't sleek and well managed now, but with a little gel he could head bang at any party. The black sunglasses fit his small face perfectly, to his surprise, and he decided to leave the cap.
His only worry now was sneaking out of the house silently. That wouldn't be too hard… he mused. And he needed a code name. Though in his mind he boyishly pictured himself as a masked bandito, Desert Rose, it wouldn't work out too well in real life. Quatre chuckled at himself as he dropped his useless Rolex on the floor. Unremarkable…Michael Smith. As unremarkable as they came, he noted with some sadness. He much fancied his name…
But it would only be temporary, he reminded himself as he slipped into the kitchen. The back door was in sight now, Quatre approached it slowly in the brightening room. Foot on floor with completely silent fluid movements, and totally invisible. Duo would have been proud and shamed of his pupil. Just a few more steps…
"Quatre?" a feminine voice he knew so well summoned him out of the darkness. "Quatre, it's so dark in here. Let me turn on the lights…"
"No," he whispered, somehow being able to show kindness and command. Be natural, be natural… Who am I kidding? "Um… I don't want to wake Trowa… I'm just going to grab a coffee, er… do you want be to bring you back anything?"
"Oh dear Quatre, you would make the perfect thief someday." Even in the darkness the tall, loving acrobat found his unmarked cheek. And gently she caressed it. "I know that you're never coming back, ever. Not even after all this mess is done with. I do wish it hadn't happened… But never mind you must be gone before Trowa awakens."
"Will you…"
"No," she shook her head, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "I won't tell him." Gently, almost timidly she kissed the cheek of the one she had secretly yearned to do so for so long. But now was not the time. "Now go…"
"Oh Katherine…" was Quatre's tenderhearted response as he placed his hand on the door. A noisy clunk, most likely Trowa accidentally brushing the something off of the nightstand interrupted his prolonged stare at the woman. Silently, with one more painful glance backwards the Desert Rose left her standing in the kitchen, agonizingly aware of the strange feelings she was bringing out in him.