Unbreakable
This is an answer to a fanfic challenge by Blue Violet which I accepted. She said either write a fic with a "Grease" or "Titanic" theme and well, here is my answer. Sometimes the story is told by Quatre's P.O.V. and other times it's in the third person, so just bare with me.
This fic contains PG-16 Shonen Ai. That's right, the boys like the boys. There's swearing and the predictable morbid tradgedy factor.
Wednesday, April 10, 1912
The England harbour was never as busy as it was that day. The Titanic, setting off on it's maiden voyage, another one of Man's great triumphs over nature! And who wasn't there that day? Certainly people from the press, snapping pictures as first class passangers boarding through a grand stairway like the entry to heaven. Excited businessmen selling more than likely fake soveneirs to the wandering fancy of any customer that would buy.
But little did the passengers of the R.M.S. Titanic know, thier journey was ill-fated. A close call for some, a wonderful tale for others, and a tragic story for most. For others, a much worse fate.
The ship of dreams. It was a luxurious boat ride designed for the woo of the public, and for the wealthy to enjoy in full(without acting impressed in the least). They told us it was unsinkable, the biggest ship in the world, the ninth wonder of the world, with four steam stacks, manned by who-knows-how-many men, allowing it to go speeds reaching 23 knots.
Rashid had filled me in on it all. It was so many things, but nobody saw it for what it truly was. It was my prison ship, tearing me away from my home. My home, the only thing I had left, and they were taking it from me! It took all of my energy not to run away in a screaming fit of sobs, going back home, where I wanted to stay until I shriveled up and died. And if I had my way, that wouldn't be long at all.
The carriage stopped in the busy harbor, filled with people either boarding the Titanic, or watching it sail for it's historic first run. "Come, Master Quatre," Rashid said, holding the door open for me. Taking a deep breath, I jumped out of the carriage, the sea air assaulting me. I never came out to the sea. It was different, new. My wonder of the salty air was only a temporary escape from my feelings, but it was an escape nonetheless.
"This is the first big ship I've really ever seen," I commented quietly.
"I'm surprised you saw much of the west at all, living among those Arabs."
My Aunt. Aunt Francis. I'd never met her before this week. But already I think I hate her. She was a thin old woman of 'good breeding' who seemed to be a little too fond of the eye and cheek makeup. She tended to herself as if she were a beautiful young lady. She might have been at one time, but she certainly was not now. Her skin looked like it was pulled over her face and help together in the back by the thousands of pins that also held up that mass of a wig she wore, covered partially by a blue flowered hat which matched her dress, perfetly of course. And every five seconds, she has to make some comment about my attitude, my appearance and worst of all, my culture. How in god's name did she come into my family? However it was that she did, she was apparently the only fit guardian left in my family, according to some government official. And she lived in New York. New York of all places! Can you get any further from home?
Rashid shot her a look. I don't think he liked her either. Too many rude comments about his beard. "They're almost finished boarding first class now, we ought to hurry along," he said.
"Very well," she said, stiffening up and fanning herself.
"Snob."
"You're late!" The security officer scolded the boy.
"So was the train. That was the problem."
"Hey, I don't tolerate smart-asses on my watch, you got me?"
"I understand pefectly."
"Good. Name?"
"Trowa Barton."
The captain stared at Trowa oddly for a second. "Your hair."
Trowa stared at the captain blankly. The captain only made a snorting sound and shuffled through some relatively loose papers. "You were assigned to first class security. But if they saw you, they'd be giving out less tips, and complain up the wazoo. You're third class security now."
Trowa still stood in the presence of his captain, staring with unemotional eyes, waiting for orders.
"Well, what're you waiting for? Make sure everyone's properly organized!"
"Yes, sir." Trowa saluted and left down the hall.
"Weird kid..."
My room was lavish, if there were one word to describe it. Mahogany walls and two bedrooms, when I only really needed one. I suppose one was for getting dressed in and the other for sleeping. I didn't have that many clothes or even that many belongings I could bring with me at all. Then there was the fireplace. A fireplace on a ship? Was that safe?
"Well, they certainly did take out all the stops on this ship," my aunt said, sauntering into the room, inspecting every corner of it critically. "Ah, it reminds me of my country house in Bristol."
"Yeah, whatever," I thought. I barely beleived she had the one luxurious mansion, two would be too much. I Placed a carry-on I'd been holding on a table and I went over to my room. At least there was one thing I could say I liked about being rich. Nice big comfortable beds. I wanted to collapse into it right then and there. Just cover up and stay there without talking to a soul until we reached the shores of New York. Then afterwards I would collapse into the bed in my new home and bury myself there as if it were my deathbead, just remembering my family.
But no. Right after I'd found the opportunity for rest, my Aunt had to get me dolled up. Show her adorable, rich little nephew to all of her 'friends'. My clan of Arabs looked white enough, or else she wouldn't have bothered. The boat hadn't already left the port and already, she had to go to a party. Does this woman ever rest from socialization? Probably not.
"You look fine Master Quatre," Rashid said as I fussed about my appearance in the mirror.
"I know," I said back, "It's not the clothes. I just don't feel comfortable in my own skin."
"If it makes you feel any better, half the women out there are barely breathing. Consider yourself lucky."
I laughed for the first time in weeks. It felt kind of good, but I would rather be unhappy at that moment. Rashid saw that in me and sighed. "Come Master Quatre, it's time to go. You don't want to miss the people waving at the port."
I shrugged and went out of my room with my head hung. Of course, she was right there behind the door. "Look up boy, do you want all those people thinking you're just a third class citizen in first class clothing?"
I twitched, but kept my composure. I stoop up straight, sticking my nose in the air. Little did she know, I was mocking her. Oblivious to this, she waved her little fan again and headed down the hallway, nose in the air, using her saunter to best some imaginary competition. Rashid gave me a look like he knew exactly what I was thinking, and he agreed.
When we came to the deck, I hung over the edge to look at all the people gathered outside the boat, waving either to a friend or family member they were going to miss. Or perhaps just waving for the sake of waving. And I'm sure there were some proud engineers and designers down there who couldn't have taken it's first time out to sea and were actually waving to the majestic boat.
"Quatre, dear, come off the edge of there," Aunt Francis insisted.
I pretended I didn't hear her and I leaned over further. To just look at all those people. They looked like ants! This might just be the biggest ship in the world...
"Quatre, do not make me raise my voice at you!" she yelled.
The thought came to me suddenly, as though it was a physical thing shoving my thoughts. What if I dived right off the edge? Just let go and I could careen straight into the docks. This insanity could be over with. One motion and that would be it.
Then I thought of all the lives I would be destroying if I did it and I did as my aunt asked and hopped off of the railing, standing as straight as I could bring myself to be. I doubt she'd be very torn, but I'm sure Rashid would miss me. Then all those people down there. They'd be horrified. I just can't do that sort of thing to other people. It made me wish I was lesser of a man.
"Do we know anybody down there?" I asked, picking up my hand and waving again.
"No, this is simply for show," she said, waving again. I rolled my eyes and kept waving.
Then I noticed that the floor felt like it was moving underneath me. I grabbed the railing, feeling disoriented.
"Oh, how exciting!" Francis squealed with delight. "We're sailing off!"
We were. I looked down and foot by foot, the boat came away from the docks. The ropes were strung off and the bridges were retracted. All aboard.
Close to five minutes later I still stood there in the cold England sea air, staring out at the crowd still at the docks. I watched the waves behind the ship spread out like open arms across the sea, leaving white foam in it's wake. I turned around and there it was, the open ocean. My eyes about popped out of my head. It was huge! Bigger than I'd ever imagined. It looked like the end of the world was right over the horizon and that we'd topple over the edge, right into outer space. We whizzed past little fishermen in their small fishing boats and they looked like debree. I found myself leaning over the edge again, my eyes wide and gaped at what I saw below, riding on the waves. I leaned over even further to see better. Fish. No, dolphins! I'd never seen those before, only in books.
"Qautre!" Francis yelled sternly. I rolled my eyes and jumped off of the railing, tugged frustrated at my shirt, straightening it out and marched into the first class ballroom as calmly as I could bring myself to be.
"What did you call me you prick!?"
"You're a woman is what you are!"
"A woman couldn't crush your face in like I'm about to!"
The two men charged at each other, fists colliding with each others faces, roughly flailing about like wild animals. The other passengers crowded around at the spectacle.
A few cuss words and a black eye later, a security officer came in to intervene.
"He started it!"
"I did not, that woman was making a move on my...er...woman!"
The security officer glared at both of them from under his long brunette bangs, his matching brown and deep eyes unblinking.
"What!?" They both yelled in unison.
"Give me your passes," Trowa said, extending his hand.
The both of them handed Trowa their passes, grumbling in a like manner.
"Otto," the officer said as he handed the ticket back to it's owner. Otta was a plain Italian man, with balding curly hair and what seemed like a permenant scowl
He glanced at the others ticket. The boy was Irish and young, but only in body, and he had amazingly long honey brown hair that was in a braid down to his rear. "Duo. Thank god you aren't in the same cabin..."
"Or else, he'd die in his sleep!" Duo yelled.
"What did you say?"
The two began charging each other, until Otto found himself with a pistol to his head.
Immediately, the entire crowd had gone silent.
"Go to your cabins and keep away from each other. And each others women. I will not have you spoiling this trip for the other passengers."
Otto only nodded in reply, his mouth gaped wide open. He did still look angry however. Trowa lowered his pistol and put it in the houlster at his hip. Otto took the waist of his wife and turned them towards their cabin and picking up his suitcase, he moved down the hall.
"Oh my god..." Duo said, barely over a whisper. "That was so cool!"
Trowa glanced over his shoulder at the grinning Irish boy.
"I mean, you just pulled your gun out and he shut up real quick!" He said, pulling out an imaginary gun and pointing it at an imaginary Otto.
The rest of the crowd rolled their eyes at Duo and began heading back to their cabins.
"I meant that for you too," Trowa said.
Duo sighed and put away his imaginary gun, looking up to the ceiling. "Man, I was hoping for some fresh sea air!"
"You have a whole week to enjoy it. Just go into your cabin and cool off for a while."
Duo slicked his bangs back. "I am cool."
Trowa rolled his eyes and muttered something unintelligable.
Duo waved his hands in front of hisself and laughed. "Okay, okay, I'll be in there for a while, but don't expect it to be a long time."
"Fine," Trowa said as he turned and began patrolling through the hallways.
"Hey! You never told me your name!" Duo shouted after him. "Doesn't seem fair that you know mine, but I don't know yours!"
"Trowa Barton," he said indifferently. He turned the corner and dissapeared.
The first class passangers floated in and out of the luxurious rooms and through the guilded doorways and down the magestic staircases with ease and little care. It all made me a little uncomfortable. A kind person amidst a sea of terrible things, one could say. And these uncomfortable and itchy clothes didn't help either. Even though I'd been rich my entire life, I never really had to associate with rich people. I think I'd rather be living in a poor ghetto around people who don't expect things of you that aren't theirs to ask for.
My Aunt drove me around by the shoulders, which was incredibly tiring because she had to talk to absolutely everybody. But there were this particular family she seemed to be intent on showing me off to.
"Quatre, I'd like you to meet somebody," she said. Then she leaned in closely and whispered to me, "This is how a person of well-breeding is supposed to act." I only supressed a frown and followed her.
"Mr. Dorlian!" Francis announced, striding up to a conversing politician standing in the midst of a circle. He was tall with short black hair and a mustache.
"Oh, Francis! It's been so long," he said.
"I would like you to meet somebody," she said, pulling me out. The Dorlian man leaned over to get a better eye-level conversation with me.
"Why hello young man," he said to me, "And who might you be?"
I hestitantly walked up to him and extended my hand. "Quatre Rababera-Winner."
"Oh," he said, taking my hand and shaking it firmly. A politicians handshake. "I was very sorry to hear about your family."
I only nodded in compliance, not letting my head hang low, but averting my eyes. If he'd known the details, he wouldn't have even mentioned it...
Taking his hand away he said: "I'd like you to meet my daughter." He stepped aside and his daughter stood there in a blue dress, rather simple compared to what most people were wearing, but lavish nonethless.
She dipped in a curtsie quickly and bowed her head. "My name is Relena Dorlian," she said with a smile.
I bowed politely. "Nice to meet you Relena."
She quickly looked to her father and again to me. "It is very nice to meet you," she said with a glare I found suspicous, sipping her drink from her gloved hand without taking her eyes off me.