Title: The Visitor
Author: Whimsy
Pairings: 4+3/3+4 (I don't know if I marked that right...)
Rating: PG This one's pretty clean, folks.
Warnings: Angsty? Sappy? *snort* Life affirming? Nothing particularly
overwhelming. Um... better call this one AT or something, as well.
Notes: This was originally inspired by that bit at the top, but then it went
off in its own direction and became something else. *shrugs* I'm unfocused.
Oh, well. Trowa's POV. Thanks to my beta reader. He knows who he is. ^__^
Disclaimers: Not mine, no money. Please don't sue. The Gift belongs to Annie
Lennox and can be found on Diva.
Dedication: For Z-chan. Happy Birthday, dear!

The Visitor

~Darling don't you understand
I feel so ill at ease
The room is full of silence and it's getting hard to breathe
Take this gilded cage of pain and set me free
Take this overcoat of shame
It never did belong to me~

I was dreaming again. I don't remember the specifics of the dream anymore,
but whatever it was, it was enough to trigger the memories. I can't hold back
a shudder as I try to push them away. I can *feel* phantom hands wandering
over my flesh, touching and groping my most intimate parts. I want so
desperately to call out for help; I wanted to then, when it was happening for
real, but I never did. There was no point. No one cared. No one would have
stopped them. Calling out would've only attracted more of them. Silence.
Silence was always the best defense. If they don't notice you, you can get a
few more moments of freedom.

My chest is getting tight, like there's a weight sitting in the middle of it.
They were always so big--so much bigger than me. Sometimes I was afraid I
might suffocate under one of them. Then I thought that might be a good idea;
if I died, they couldn't touch me anymore. In retrospect, I'm glad I
didn't die with one of them on top of me--inside me. I have a little pride. That
would have been just too much.

It's getting hard to breathe. I get up, stumble to the window and throw it
open. The air washes over me, cool and smelling of lilacs. There. That's much
better. It reminds me of where I really am, who I'm really with. There
weren't any lilacs on L3. Quatre's houses, though. There always seem to be
lilacs near Quatre's houses. I gather his mother was particularly fond of the
lavender flowers with their rich, heady scent. I think lilacs will always
remind me of him.

It enters my head, as it often does at times like this, to seek him out. I
doubt he'd mind being woken up in the middle of the night. He's so kind and
generous with himself. I always feel better whenever he's around. I hesitate
to put a name to these feelings he awakens in me, but in the dead of night
when there's no one but me around to hear I can say I love him. My heart
swells for a moment with that thought. I love him.

However, a large part of me feels I don't deserve him. I've been...
defiled. I know I'm not to blame. I was a child. I couldn't defend myself. What was
done to me was utterly beyond my control. But I can't help but feel the shame
that comes with being used. It's irrational, I know, but true nonetheless.

Of course, he's not precisely a being of innocence and light, either. I'm
not delusional--I won't put him on a pedestal. He's as human as I. But
still--there are things in my past I have no right to burden him with and
burdened he would be, if I let him see my innermost thoughts. If I go to him,
he'll want to know why. I don't want to tell him.

And yet.... And yet, if I do, I think he'll make it better, somehow. If
merely being in the same room with him can make me forget the degradation and
pain, then maybe telling him about it will make it go away, or at least
diminish. Maybe if I could hold him while I slept, I could get through an
entire night without one of these episodes. My mind lingers on that thought
for a long moment; Madre de Dios, it's a wonderful thought, and I've had
too little wonder in my life.

I wish... I almost wish he would come to _me._ That would make it so much
easier. That makes it _his_ choice, not mine. I can't seem to get past the
sneaking, insidious voice that whispers to me that I'm not good enough for
him. I don't deserve to have him, so I mustn't pursue him. I'm not
allowed to love him. If only he would come to me.

The knock at the door startles me. It's quiet and a little hesitant, as if
whoever is on the other side is afraid to disturb me in my thoughts. I wonder
briefly who it could be, but there's really only one person who might come
knocking on my door at this hour, isn't there? For all that I want him and
delight in his company, I'm amazed that he seems so attached to me. My own
insecurities prevent me from asking him how he feels about me, but sometimes
when he smiles at me... he shines so bright it almost hurts and I think he
must care, at least a little.

I wonder, too, how he knew. How did he know I was awake? Did he know I was
thinking about him? What, exactly, does his uchuu no kokoro tell him? I cross
the room and open the door--I was right, of course. It's him.

"Trowa?" He sounds so unsure of himself. That's rare. Normally he could match
Duo for sheer brazen self-confidence.

I fix my impassive mask in place. I've already decided I'm not going to
tell him anything. I don't care if he's answered my unvoiced wish, appearing,
like a small blonde genie in stripy pajamas, in my doorway just when I needed
him most. I can't dump all of this on him. "Yes?"

He's hesitating again, twisting the corner of his pajama top around his
fingers. He's not usually so fidgety. He looks down, then blushes and looks
to the side. Blushes? I glance at myself; I'm wearing baggy flannel pants,
but no shirt. The drawstring came loose while I tossed and turned and the
pants are hanging a little low on my hips, but it's nothing indecent. So why
did he blush? He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a little
squeak. I almost smile. He clears his throat and tries again. "I thought...
that is, I felt--" His fidgeting has stepped up a notch--now he's also
rocking from his left foot to his right and back again. He looks about ready
to bolt. I wish I could make this easier for him, but I don't know what
he's trying to say. He's been staring fixedly at some point just to the left of
me, when he suddenly looks up and meets my eyes.

My throat goes dry. Whatever this is, it's important. I can see that in his
eyes. He's steeling himself for something. I don't want to know what this
is. My voice is a whisper when I ask, "Quatre? Is something wrong?" My
stomach feels like it's full of rocks. He studies me for a second, then his
expression clears.

"Trowa, I have something I want to tell you. I've wanted to tell you for a
while now, but I wasn't sure how you'd... um... feel about it." He's
losing steam. I still feel like a deer caught in the headlights of a train, though.
"Um... tonight, though. I thought I felt something from you... with my uchuu
no kokoro. I... um... what I wanted to tell you was..." He takes a deep
breath. What did he feel from me? My nightmare? God, that must be it. He felt
my memories, and now he's here to tell me that he doesn't want... can't
be... doesn't want to deal with all that emotional baggage. I'm panicking.
I know I'm panicking, but I can't stop myself. I want to shut the door in his
face just to make him stop talking, but I can't seem to move. "Trowa, I love
you."

What?

I must have heard him wrong, because he can't possibly have just said that he
loves me. I stand, dumbfounded, still holding the door open with my right
hand, my left hand clenched in a fist at my side. There's no expression on my
face, I know, because I've trained those sorts of responses out of myself.
While I try to assimilate this bit of information he... shrinks into himself.
He looks stricken, like he wishes the ground would swallow him whole. Of
course. He must be waiting for a response and I've been standing here like a
pillar of stone. He pulls back like he's going to leave. His voice is so
quiet. "I-I'm sorry, Trowa. I guess... I was wrong."

I can't let him think that. Emotional garbage be damned. I reach out and grab
his arm. "Quatre, wait." There's an edge of desperation to my voice; he must
have heard it, too, because when he looks back up at me the stricken look is
replaced with anxiety. I have to tell him. I have to tell him _now_ how I
feel about him. I've never had something more important to say. I choke on
the words, but get them out nonetheless. "I-I love you, too, Quatre. I always
have." I nearly sag against the wall in relief. It's out. It's over. He
knows. Deserving or no, he knows how I feel. The words are barely out of my
mouth before I find my arms full of small blonde Arabian. He wraps his arms
around my waist and tucks his head under my chin. I pull him close, basking
in the light and the warmth of him. I'm so glad he's here. I'm so glad he
came. I can feel the heavy shroud of my nightmare, of my memories, lifting,
to be replaced with the glow of requited love.

He pulls back a little and kisses my collarbone; that sends an irresistible
shiver down my spine. He brushes my hair away from my face with one hand and
studies my eyes for a moment. He looks serious again, but I can still see the
smile trying to fill up his face. "There were other things tonight, weren't
there?" His voice is quiet and concerned. He did feel my nightmare, after
all. "Do you want to talk about it, Trowa?"

I think I may tell him everything.

owari