Castle to Sand
Chapter 1: Pitfall
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam!!!
The rain had been pounding against the window for long moments, filling the tense void where words should have been many moments before. Accompanied by the distant clicking ceiling fan, it seemed that the rain was the only corporeal sound. After all, the humming couldn't be real, no matter how worldly it felt, buzzing in through one ear and vibrating the thick swirl of thoughts within that lump of brain matter before exiting, carrying any reply that could have possibly been made.
Shaking hands clenched numbly, short-cropped fingernails digging crescent-shaped cuts into the palm of a pale hand. Wide blue eyes stared across the room, over the neatly-made bed to stare at the tall man lingering by flung-open closet doors, revealing the haphazard state of the wardrobe within. Working his throat, the blue-eyed boy fought for words, captured in the dumb humming strings wrapped around his brain. "Wh… what?" He was at a loss, his usually ready vocabulary had been shocked clear of the words that may have helped the situation.
From across the room the taller man exhaled, the stiffness that he'd borne in his stature before his confession sapped from him to leave him as a slumping figure, baring his nude soul to the person he wished most to understand. "That's why I've been asking you not to leave." When the blonde didn't respond, he was almost expecting the younger to start crying. "I know that the company wants you in New York, but you have to understand how serious that kind of decision is."
"Trowa, stop." The blonde man began, blue eyes regaining the usual brightness, though the calm pacifist expression had been replaced by what seemed to be betrayal. "Just stop." Clenching his hand around the suitcase, he looked up at Trowa, meeting pleading green eyes with no hesitation. "Do you really think that saying something like that will keep me from doing what is in my responsibility to do? WEI is in need of some executive help on Earth and I can't let that pass by just because you pull a prank like this!"
Trowa looked away, seeking shelter from that scrutinizing glare in the only way he knew how. He had never expected Quatre, the heir to WEI Industries, the born and raised pacifist, to be so upset simply because of a confession. "Do you think that I'm joking?" His voice held no emotion, the walls that he'd become so accustomed to building falling into place, protecting him from the deep-felt trust that he'd given Quatre.
The blonde scoffed. "What else could you be doing?" Trowa didn't reply and so Quatre spun on his heel to face the door. "I have to say that I never would have expected you to stoop to something like this. I'm going to the shuttle port." With this he stormed out of the room, head hanging down to stare at the floor just in front of his feet.
"Wait, Quatre—" Trowa began, his baritone wavering as the walls of his façade crumbled, but was immediately cut off.
"There's nothing more to talk about." Quatre stated, his voice just as cold as it was usually warm, as though all the heat of it had drained out of his body and left him with the shadow of who he had been. "I'll send a message when I get there."
Trowa stared at the ceiling, his cell phone sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. The fan clicked and squeaked just as it had the night that Quatre had left. The brunette supposed that it was the fan that had made him think of it. Almost a year had passed since the violinist had left, leaving Trowa with a message passed through Duo that he'd arrived safely in New York.
Since then, Trowa had only seen the blonde once at the annual Christmas party at the Vice Foreign Minister's mansion. Even then, it had only been a passing glance and later he found from Wufei that he had excused himself early, claiming to need to catch an early flight back.
He hadn't even stayed to see the orchestra.
Rolling over onto his side, Trowa exhaled slowly, hoping to ease the loneliness crawling into his chest. Staring with gold-flecked green eyes at the cell phone, the man debated picking it up and calling Quatre, but it was too late for apologies. Besides, hadn't it been Quatre who had taught him never to be sorry for your emotions? A part of Trowa wished that the blonde man had only gotten upset because the topic had been touchy, that Quatre's well-disguised arrogance had gotten the best of him. However, after a few weeks without word, Trowa dismissed the chance.
Giving up, Trowa picked up the remote and turned on the television in hopes of the dull commentators lulling him off to sleep. The colours on the screen were initially a shock to his sensitive eyes, having become accustomed to the darkness provided by the rain pounding outside the apartment.
A man in a grey suit was speaking blankly to the audience, talking about a rise in competition within private businesses and the violence that had been occurring since. "Sources say that the struggle between RN Tech and WEI Industries has been on the rise lately," The man began and Trowa's attention was immediately caught. "Whether or not the violence aimed at chairman Quatre Winner is caused by connections to RN Tech is unknown, but officials are investigating the case…"
A shrill ring tore the man's eyes from the television and Trowa groped for the phone that he'd left on the bedside table. He flipped it open and held it to his ear, answering with a distant "Hello."
"Trowa?" A voice questioned from the other end and he immediately registered it with Sally Po.
"Yes this is Trowa." He eased himself against the wall, staring at the television screen as Quatre was shown being ushered out of a crowd filled with obvious pandemonium.
"Are you watching the news right now?" Trowa grunted a confirmation that he was, opting not to say more than necessary. "Have you heard anything about it from Quatre?"
Trowa shook his head, even though he knew that Sally couldn't see. "No, we haven't spoken. Why?"
She sighed and sounded perturbed on the other end. "Well, Preventers has been left in the dark about all of this, and we were wondering why. After all, the Gundam pilots are prime targets for things like this and it's our responsibility to make sure something doesn't happen."
"I don't know any more than you do. I'm sorry." Making to hang up, Trowa was caught off by Sally calling out to him again. "Is there something else?"
Sally was quiet for a moment, as though thinking of how to word something. "Well, I heard from Duo that you and Quatre were on the outs a bit… but Preventers wants to assign you to Quatre as a body guard. You're the only person who knows enough about Quatre to help."
"Duo was misinformed." Sally started to ask a question, but Trowa continued, a bit upset that Duo had said anything. "Quatre and I aren't on the outs. We haven't spoken since he left, so that gives me reason to believe that he no longer considers me a friend. In that case we've split apart and I doubt it can be helped. I'm sorry, Sally, but I have to decline the mission."
Making to hang up again, Sally called out to him, catching his attention. "I'm sorry, Trowa, but you've already been assigned. Your shuttle heads out tomorrow morning." Without making a reply, Trowa flipped the phone closed and fell back onto the bed with a squeak of the springs.
A cold hand clenched around his heart and Trowa felt as though he was sinking into himself. He had no choice in the matter, making his decision to leave a rather simple one. What happened when he got to Earth would be a completely different story.
"No! You can't be serious!" Quatre shouted at the vid-phone. "I don't want Preventers involved." What did the Preventers think that they were doing calling him up and saying that a bodyguard was going to be sent down? As the head of WEI, he had all the help that he needed in that department and to think that he would be lowering the positions of the people set to him for that job alone within the company was almost unbelievable.
The voice on the other end was sincere and, despite the usual sarcastic nature of it, was apologetic. "Look, I'm sorry Q, but you don't really have a choice in the matter. The fact is that you're a pilot and your image has to be protected."
Oh, so his image had to be protected, not Quatre himself? He exhaled exasperatedly. "Duo, I don't need protection. I'm capable of taking care of myself if I have to."
"I know and you know, but I don't make the choices around here." In the monitor, Duo glanced behind him and accepted a wad of papers from what seemed to be Heero and grimaced. "Q, his shuttle's coming in at three." Quatre nodded, turning back to his work, vaguely aware of Duo's warning following. "Don't be too hard on him."
Stepping out of the elevator into the building, Trowa could feel his anticipation rise, so he immediately tightened the hold on the walls blocking him from the outside world. After all, this was a job. Nothing more… but the fact remained that the small needles that had begun to prick at his heart when he first boarded the shuttle that morning had grown more numerous, the pricks stabbing deeper any time a thought of his old friend passed through his mind. He sighed and stood up taller, the bags in hand as he made his way to the residential district of the building.
Booted shoes padded softly along on the Berber carpet as Trowa passed by the metal panel doors. The keypads on the side blinked at him with red lights waiting for respective cards to be slid in to allow the owner's access. However, Trowa knew that no one would be inside now since the workday was still in full force. Approaching a door near the end of the hallway, he looked up and read the number. 106… a quick glance to his card proved the door to be his residence for the next few months. He slid the card in and pulled it out, and upon hearing the click of the gears and the appearance of the flashing green light, he turned the handle and entered.
The room itself was adequately sized with the living room opening up from the entrance and furnished with a plain couch and a television. From the doorway, the dining area was visible. A small table and chairs were the only furnishings besides the appliances, the windows left bare of shades or drapes and Trowa decided that there would be no need to change the place in the least. After all, it was better suited than any of the places he'd occupied during the war with the exception of Quatre's desert home.
A ghost of a smile crossed his face at this though, a rare gesture on the brunette. That visit had been the first time he'd met Quatre. The memory of that familiar music they'd played echoed in his mind and just as the stone walls of his guard began to slip, the harsh needles returned and Trowa winced and allowed the memory to slip away.
There would be no more times like that. This was a job and nothing more.
He turned immediately to the right down a hallway that led into the bedroom and connected bathroom. The full-sized bed would be more than enough and although the sheets seemed to be rather thin, Trowa knew he wouldn't have much trouble keeping warm what with the nightmares that tended to plague him.
Setting down the suitcase on his bed, Trowa unzipped it and pulled out the slacks and button-up shirt that he'd been instructed to bring. He brusquely changed into it and turned to the coat bag, pulling out a blazer and tie before laying them over the top of a chair situated in the corner of the room. Tiredly he made his way to the bathroom and ran some hot water, slashing it on his face in a vain effort to freshen up before arriving for inspection.
As he dried his face, an electric chill ran up his spine causing him to immediately turn and reach for the gun that he typically kept in a shoulder holster. Hard-set eyes darted up to eye the small form in the doorway and he immediately froze, his hand still reaching for the gun that wasn't there.
Slim hands opened the drawer just beneath the keyboard on his desk and Quatre exhaled irritably. He closed the drawer and stood, running a hand through his hair. Of course, the one day that he'd be most prone to a migraine, he'd leave his medicine in his room. The spots in front of his eyes had been an annoyance for a while, but as soon as the rolling of his eyes were audible, he'd decided to stoop to picking up his prescriptions and succumbing to the pain so that he could finish his work before the bodyguard came and would have to be given the crash course on how things were going to work, Preventers orders or no.
He made his way to the front, passing by his secretary with a quick wave. "I'm going to get my headache pills, I'll be back in a while." The woman nodded and went back to filing the papers that the Winners had left to burden her with. Quatre stepped into the elevator, reminding himself that she'd requested a raise. After all, she did deserve it. His sisters had caused a big ruckus when he'd arrived and the woman had taken it all in stride, taking instructions eagerly, although Quatre could see through the fake smile she'd put on. Being a master of the same mask, himself, the blonde man had come to be able to easily recognise it.
The elevator dinged at him and the doors slid open. Walking down the hallway towards his room, he rubbed his temples. All of those red lights seemed to catch his eye and made his head throb even further, the vision swirling from the overabundance of oxygen to the brain. Reverse migraines were always the worst. Then he paused. One of the lights was green?
Quatre puzzled over it. The housekeepers weren't due in until Wednesday. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion over quizzical blue eyes. He was tempted to pass it by, but as instinct pushed him forward, he decided that instinct was usually right and gave in to knocking. He waited. Maybe someone was just stopping into their room just like Quatre himself was about to? It was never worth locking the door on a drop-in visit, even if policy said to set up the automatic locks upon arrival. No one answered… Quatre pushed lightly on the door, causing it to open with a swishing sound as it disturbed the air.
The apartment looked unused, as though no one at all lived in it. Not even a bit of dust had been disturbed, the circulating air stale and smelling of air conditioning. He eased into the apartment, the promise of residence coming from the running water deeper in. If the owner of the room turned out to be the slacking parking guard, Quatre decided that he would relieve him of the obstruction to his lethargy immediately…
He slipped through the bedroom, noticing the newly unpacked jacket and tie lying over the burnt orange chair in the corner, proving that the parking guard in question was indeed safe. Quatre nearly hissed at the colour of the chair, however. So this was one of the rooms that had been pre-furnished and passed over when his sisters had gone through redecorating. At least it was still too dark in the room to notice the disturbing shades of salmon decorating the comforter. He felt sorry for whoever had to deal with the floral-design, but decided that there were more important things to do than worry about mismatched furnishings. The distracting splashing water was demanding his attention and Quatre wasn't about to ignore it.
Warm light was filtering out into the bedroom from the half-opened door and Quatre raised a hand to push it open. A man was bent over the sink, splashing water onto his face. Quatre's breath caught in his chest at the sight of the build, a small voice in his head whispering something about how nice it looked, but Quatre pushed it away irritably. When the man's ministrations slowed, the blonde's shoulders tensed. Maybe Preventers had been right in sending him a bodyguard if he was going to be kidnapped by someone he thought of as one of his own. The other man spun, hand flying to hover over his heart, a single gold-flecked green eye staring past the cover of honey brown hair.
Quatre fought the urge to simply slump against the wall and slide to the ground. The spots in his eyes had grown more numerous in his shock and the pounding more severe due to the rising temper. Preventers hadn't dared… "You…" he hissed accusatorily.
The older man straightened, staring with walled up eyes at the blonde. "Trowa Barton reporting on Preventers case 30915, sir." The impersonal introduction went unheard.
"You… What are you doing here?" Quatre demanded, not even bothering to address the former companion by his name.
"I have been assigned to act as a bodyguard for the CEO of WEI, Quatre Raberba Winner, sir."
Quatre was practically shaking as he approached Trowa, his blue eyes wide with anger. "You should have stayed home. Tell Preventers that I'll have anyone but you."
Trowa's passive face shifted into a slight frown and his brows furrowed so slightly that no one but Quatre would have been able to catch it. "I did."
"Then do it again if you have to!" The blonde attempted to step forward, but wavered on his feet, a hand rising to his head to fend off the wave of pain. He turned away, giving up the fight, wishing more to just lay down and forget. "Don't bother showing up to the dinner tonight. It would be a waste of your time." With this, he slowly exited, leaving Trowa alone.
Needless to say, Quatre no longer pitied Trowa for having the salmon floral comforter.
Trowa's posture slipped away, the moment he heard the front door slide shut. He leaned back against the counter top and looked at himself askance in the mirror. The change in appearance was already becoming apparent. Shadows were appearing under his eyes and the strain of stress was hardening his facial features just as they had in the war. Looking at himself, Trowa saw he pain in his own eyes and shook his head.
"I'd rather you hate me and live."