Dragon Lady: Story time. ^_^ Yayness.

Ken: Yayness? *shakes head* You just keep getting stranger everyday.

Dragon Lady: ^^;;;;

Ken: And just what is this?

Dragon Lady: *innocently* What is what?

Ken: This story?

Dragon Lady: Oh…nothing…just, you know a story.

Ken: Another new story. This girl has a death wish, and she has obviously made it her goal to have as many unfinished Gundam Wing chapter fics as she has unfinished Digimon ones.

Dragon Lady: ^^;;;

Ken: *sighs* It figures.

Dragon Lady: Oh, I'm still working on the other stories.

Ken: Yeah. Every once in awhile. -_-;

Dragon Lady: Anyway! ^_^;;; This story should prove to be fun. 3x4 and mentioning of 1x2, but focused on the 3x4 as always. ^^

Ken: Yayness. -_-;;

Dragon Lady: ^^;; I don't own Gundam Wing, or the characters, by the way. If I did, I'm sure I could do a little bit better than writing pathetic fan fiction, don't you? ^^;;

Ken: She doesn't own the story plot either, before she forgets to mention that fact.

Dragon Lady: Oh, yes, I borrowed the story line of a book called Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbit. Only, she didn't write yaoi, so I still say my story's more fun. ^.~ Hope you enjoy.

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Forever Forgotten

By: DigimonDragonLady

Quatre sighed softly as he stared up into the sky. Previously it had been painted in vibrant shades of oranges and pinks, but the brilliant colors were giving way and fading into the dusky purple of the twilight sky, after what only seemed like a moments time.

"Sunsets never perform long enough," he muttered to himself as he swung his legs idly from where he was seated on the front porch of his home; his home was the biggest in the whole town, and his family owned the most land out of any of the neighbors. "And I've certainly never seen one do an encore."

"Quatre."

The door behind him swung open and Iria called his name. Quatre sighed again, very quietly to himself. Couldn't he get just a minute out of a day to be alone?

"Yes?" he asked wearily, knowing what was coming.

"It's getting dark; come inside now."

"I don't mind the dark," he protested weakly.

"It gets cold out when it gets later, you don't need to be getting sick."

"Iria, it's the middle of summer, how cold can it get?!" But Quatre was already moving from his seat and walking through the door, which Iria shut behind him. He was well aware that he wouldn't have gotten a moments more peace no matter what kind of argument he might have presented.

That was just the way it worked in his family. And if it hadn't been Iria after him about the dark and the "cold", it would have been one of his other sisters going on about how dirty he'd get sitting outside on the filthy floor of the wooden porch. That was what Quatre got for growing up in a house with twenty-nine women and a father that he rarely saw; constant hounding from all directions, and more often than not, all at once.

He trudged up the stairs to his bedroom, which, thankfully, was the one place that he did have completely to himself. Unfortunately, that wasn't really much of a relief, as he was usually asleep when he was in it.

Outside stars were already beginning to show in the evening sky. Quatre threw open his window and stood staring out over the silent houses, and drinking in the soft smells of late summer breezes and lush green grass. He sat down in an old wooden rocking chair that had once belonged to his grandmother and continued watching the oncoming night.

His grandmother had passed away a few years ago, when he had been around eight years old, and Quatre still missed the old woman. She had pretty much raised him alone since he was an infant, as his mother had died giving birth to him, and had been the best part of his life. She had told him all manner of stories about adventures and elves and fairies and just everything. Quatre missed her stories, though he would never admit it to anyone, especially his father, who thought fairy stories were foolish and made a boy weak.

"I wish something interesting would happen," he said aloud to the stars. "Anything at all, just see if I care what."

* * *

Quatre Winner was running away.

At least, that was what he called it. He'd run away plenty of times before in the past, but he always came back in the end, because there was no place that he could think of to run off too that someone wouldn't find him in less than twenty-four hours.

So, his version of running away involved disappearing for the day. His father was the richest man in the small town where they lived, and he owned all of the woods that bordered their house for miles around, almost as far as the eye could see. That meant that when Quatre had had enough so that he finally wanted some real alone time, he could get himself "lost" in the woods.

Everything had gone well so far, and he had long since moved away from the beaten path into more dense areas of the woods. Quatre never worried about really getting lost; he knew his way around well enough to avoid that.

Of course, if he did get lost, he could always call on the elves for help.

Quatre snickered softly at the thought. Elves indeed. One of his grandmother's many fairy stories. She'd been convinced as a child when she'd heard someone singing once from the woods that it was elves.

"Still, elves would count as something interesting," he reminded himself.

Then he began to hum that wordless tune of elf music that his grandmother had taught him as a child, as he wandered aimlessly around through the thick woods, without any particular destination in mind.

Quatre was very surprised when he started listening to what was going on around him in the forest, and discovered that there was another voice very nearby singing the same wordless melody along with him. He stopped singing immediately and crept silently, cautiously forward, further into the woods to find the source.

He came up behind a large sheltering tree and peered slowly around the thick trunk into a small, sunny clearing. Sunlight was streaming down through the thick canopy of trees giving the small glen an almost urethral quality. Quatre's eyes widened and he drew in his breath sharply in a small gasp.

In the clearing, lying with his back against an enormous, lichen covered rock, was the most gorgeous boy that Quatre had ever seen. And he seemed so glorious in that moment of sunlight and song that Quatre lost his heart at once, if it had ever been his to begin with.

He was slender, but muscular at the same time, and suntanned, this boy that could sing the elves song as well as Quatre. He had light brown hair that fell over one side of his face. As Quatre continued to watch, he stretched, the movement seemed very cat-like and graceful, and turned his attention to a small pile of pebbles beside him.

Quatre stared in fascination as he removed each rock one by one, and when he had removed the last one, a trickle of water sprang up from the ground, like a fountain, and he drank. When he had taken his fill, the pebbles were replaced as painstakingly as they had been removed, and the water stopped.

"Duo?" The boy called out, raising his head to look around the small clearing. He appeared to be listening carefully. "Duo, is that you?"

Quatre froze, his heart racing wildly. Had he been discovered?

The boy was silent for a moment longer, before speaking again, calling out in a slightly louder tone, "Whoever you are, you can come out now, I know you're there."

Quatre stumbled out from behind his tree into the clearing, blushing madly. "I didn't mean to watch you," he said quickly in explanation of his behavior, half in apology and half in defense of himself. "I just didn't think that anyone else would be out here, so I was curious."

"I see," the mysterious boy replied softly. "Fighting off one's curiosity is difficult to do, I know; But I often find myself thinking that even such a simple thing as curiosity is no excuse for rudeness, don't you agree?"

"I-" Quatre stammered, flushing more under the intense stare, and even though it was hot out, he was sure that the summer sun wasn't the cause.

Without meaning to, Quatre found himself looking up and staring again, straight into a pair of magnificent, deep green eyes. He didn't know how much time had passed with him simply standing there dumbly.

The very corner of the boy's lips twitched upwards in a fast, almost undetectable movement, before resuming his bland expression. His eyes, however, gave away his emotions if read correctly, as Quatre was almost sure he was doing. They seemed to sparkle with an inner, restrained amusement, and Quatre was sure that if he had been any of the townspeople that he knew, the boy would be laughing uncontrollably.

In the beginning, the thought was disgruntling, how dare a stranger laugh at him; but, on second thought as he gave the matter further consideration, he found it perfectly acceptable, as it pleased him, for some reason, to see the boy happy.

"Personally," the stranger continued, in his soft voice, when it became apparent that Quatre was momentarily robbed of his ability to speak, "I've always felt that the best way for one to be sure that he is not being rude would be an introduction; and names are always the best way to start when having one of those. So, taking that into consideration, my name is Trowa Barton, what's yours?"

"I-I'm Quatre. Quatre Raberba Winner."

"Oh." Trowa's expression took on an air of understanding. "So you're a Winner, are you? I guess that explains why you're out here."

"Well, these are my woods. Or, my father's woods, of course."

"Of course," Trowa agreed amiably.

"But they'll be mine someday," Quatre announced proudly. "When I'm much older." He blinked and climbed up onto the rock which Trowa had been leaning against to sit down. "How old are you, anyway?" he asked suddenly.

"Why do you want to know?"

Quatre shrugged.

"All right, then," Trowa said, "I'm a hundred and four years old."

Quatre narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm not stupid," he snapped. "I meant your real age."

"Oh, well, in that case, I'm seventeen."

"Seventeen. Oh. That's old."

"You have no idea."

Trowa's eyes were laughing at him again, concealing some kind of inside joke, but Quatre decided that it was a nice kind of laughter, so he didn't mind.

"Are you married?" he asked.

"Married?!" Trowa actually laughed aloud at that question. "No, I'm not married. What about you?"

Quatre laughed now. "I'm only eleven," he giggled. "But I'll be twelve soon."

"And then you'll get married," Trowa suggested teasingly.

Quatre smiled, sure that he had found a great friend in this Trowa Barton, even if he was seven years older. Too bad he wasn't older too, maybe then Trowa would marry him.

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Ken: *sarcastically* How adorable.

Dragon Lady: Oh, stuff it you.

Ken: At least this fic shouldn't have too many chapters to it, because the original book was short.

Dragon Lady: You're such a kill joy, Ken. -_-;; How'd I wind up with you as my muse?

Ken: But dl, I'm the cute one, remember?

Dragon Lady: ^_^;; True. ^.~

Ken: Review please, and she'll have another chapter out soon.

Dragon Lady: Yes! Reviews! ^_^ I love them.

Ken: Yeah, most people think reviews are a good thing, dl.

Dragon Lady: Ken, would you stop making fun of me! Despite popular opinion, I don't enjoy being mocked.

Ken: But…it's my favorite past time.

Dragon Lady: *sighs* So I've noticed. -_-;;