Panther's Tear: Okay guys this is the first fic I've written that I actually like so please go easy on me huh? Oh, and I SO own the G-Boys. Shinigami's Forlorn Angel: You. Wish. PT: Yes, I do.

~*~*~*~*~*~ Prologue:
Duo walked into Quatre's mansion in downtown Beverly Hills. He gave the usual flippant remark when one of Quatre's many servants offered to take his coat. Duo noted the cherubs at either end of the banister of the grand staircase to which the servant directed him when asked where Quatre was. "And they say men 'never' ask for directions!" He huffed. He made a mental note to tease Quatre about those later.

When he reached Quatre's room the door was slightly ajar. Tired as he was from his long flight over from L2, that sent alarm bells ringing and jolted him awake. "Now that's not right." He whispered. Quatre was, after all a former gundam pilot. Old instincts would nag him into shutting the door to any room he was in Duo was sure. Old instincts die hard.

He walked slowly, cautiously, into the bed chamber. His old instincts ensured that he go in with the utmost of care, as he fully expected an attack. Like I said, old instincts die hard.

What he found sent him reeling backwards in shock. Quatre lay in his bed, barely conscious. His skin was paler than usual. He looked deathly thin. His breaths came in ragged gasps. It didn't look good. Behind his tired eyes his own death unfolded. The young empath was sprawled in the world between wakefulness and slumber. The place nightmares dwell. A place where anything can happen... and usually does.

A face less person grasped his neck with hands of iron and a steel grip and squeezed. Tighter, ever tighter until Quatre could not breath. Lights flashed before his eyes and still the figure stood emotionless before him and jammed his thumb into the young Arab's throat. It felt like a sledge hammer was hitting his windpipe repeatedly and still the man stood unmoved and choking the teenager's life away...

Quatre's eyes fluttered open as Duo ran a slightly trembling hand across the blonde's forehead. Duo searched his eyes for any sign of what was going through his head right then. The Arabian's gaze seemed haunted, his baby blue eyes clouded over with pain. He flinched ever so slightly under his companions touch. This as much as anything told Duo Quatre was sick.
"Hey Quat... your running a bit of a fever little brother." Duo commented. Quatre winced at his words and sat up. "I'm fine Duo... I've just been feeling a little under the weather." He assured the American. Duo walked to the sink in the adjoining bathroom and wet a cloth. Then, after wringing it out so it was merely damp he laid it across Quatre's forehead, and whispered. "That's bullshit Quat, and you know it."

Quatre looked shocked. He had used that mask countless times throughout the war and no one had suspected a thing. But now the fighting was over wasn't it? Duo had seen through his mask as if it had been made of glass or something more brittle even.

"Duo..." He started only to be cut off promptly by his teenage American ex- pilot friend. "Now I am going to go call Trowa." Duo stated as he left the room and went to the kitchen. He picked up the receiver and dialed Trowa's number. "Hey Tro? It's Duo. Quatre's sick."