Wings of Love

Part 1

Kasage Starrunner

He hadn't remembered dying at first, and yet here he was on the outside looking in. He could see his dead self lying there on the cold ground, its life blood pooling crimson from the bullet wound in his chest. But the edges seemed to be fraying and the whole picture was graying and fading away, like over exposed film. As his life fled him he knew there was no return for his soul. No return from this cobwebby world in which all was dank, dark, and uncertain.

He felt numb. There was no feeling, no emotion. Vaguely, he wondered if this was how Heero Yuy felt, and then wondered who Heero Yuy was. He couldn't remember. The waters of Lethe had already sapped plain memories from his beaten soul.

It was like being severed from his umbilical cord. He was forever split from his life and body as he once was from his mother and his heart quailed. It wanted to flee, to run back to where his life was, but there was no escape from this cell. He felt stung, abandoned. Where was God? Why had He torn him away from that which he loved so dearly. He could care less about life itself, had it not been for one thing. Love. He longed for it. Clung to it. It was the only thing he could remember for sure.

But how had he got here? The doleful spirit had already forgotten that too and it frightened him. Desperately he tried to brush his spirit hands through the fog that surrounded him, but everytime one patch was pushed away another took its place. He screamed in anguish, trying to think back- back to his life, his koi, and what had caused his unbecoming death. He didn't want to forget. If he forgot all was lost. If he forgot he was really dead and he had made a promise. Yes, he had made a promise that day, but he couldn't remember.

He fought, he scratched, he wailed, but finally the spirit lost its strength and fell in a pathetic heap, curled up in a fetal position sobbing what was left of his heart onto the bleak ground. He let his consciousness fade, and there out of the corner of his turquoise eyes he could almost see the flashes of color and brightness that had made up his short life. Slowly it wove itself together, the bright colored pieces of the patchwork quilt that was the end of his life. And crystal tears streamed down his radiant face.

February 14, AC 197 :: 03:38

Aqua eyes gazed lovingly at the still sleeping figure of his beloved koi. The young man had crept into the room somewhere past 00:00 hours, sleepless and lovelorn. Leaning his pale blond head on the hard mattress he watched the soft rising and falling of his beloved's chest. It was like a dream that would end to soon, a dream that would end when the sleeping youth opened his emerald eyes slightly before sunrise. It was 03:39, though, so the blonde had time yet.

His koi was so peaceful as he slept. He looked so untroubled when his eyes were closed. Sharp brown bangs had been softened by his restless sleep and were strewn carelessly about his flattened pillow, framing his sharp angled face so becomingly. If only those green eyes were as gentle when they were awake as they were in the Latin man's sleep. Yet, somehow, awake or closed, those eyes formed a barrier, an iron curtain in which no form of emotion would ever escape. It were as though feeling had been beaten tirelessly out of the man. His green eyes were a void that needed to be filled-filled with love and kindness.

That was something that the blonde had plenty to offer. The youth did love him, though it seemed so many times that the Latin man did not reciprocate his affections. However, the Arabic angel was a forgiving soul and ignored the blights that the Lion gave-when his koi needed a kind and quiet soul to confide to, he was there. It was the way things were, when you loved Trowa Barton, and Quatre Raberba Winner wouldn't trade it for all the worlds and Heaven and Hell. His love was unselfish and pure-the kind that most souls only dreamed of. Through every trial and tribulation, the Arab was there holding out his gentle hands to support the Spanish lion- And the lion was always there to defend when the gentle desert angel had not the courage or bravado to defend himself.

Silently, Quatre stood up from his gazing, his night robe billowing off his shoulders in the slight draft, revealing the soft alabaster skin of his chest. He checked the clock 04:01. A small smile came to his face. Soon his koi would awaken to Valentine's day, the day of lovers'. The smile became wider as he played with his imagination. He wanted to make this the greatest, most beautiful day of Trowa's life, one he could remember forever. If all of the other days were dismal, at least he could have this one spot of joy and life.

As his bare feet padded down the adjacent hallway, the blond pulled his robe back close around him, adjusting the belt to keep himself warmer. He thought to stop by his room and slip on one of his well-worn tunics or other articles of clothing before heading onward to the kitchen. It was chilly this morning and Quatre's desert blood didn't allow him to go about bare skinned for long. The kitchen would be warmer, but he could already feel the goosebumps prickling up and down his arms.

He checked himself in the mirror. It had recently become an unconscious gesture, although he's never admit it. He tucked a few loose strands of platinum hair back, admiring their coquettish disarray and then scolding himself for acting like a schoolgirl. He could at least act like a school boy. Quatre thought about it for a moment and laughed at the blank stare that a young Trowa would have given him for putting a frog down the back of his shirt. It was amusing.

With soft skinned hands he pulled out his Arabic robes and lifted them to his nose, reveling in the nostalgia of the smell of the desert winds. Caught in the wings of his imagination he put on what was perhaps the only link to his near forgotten childhood and family he had left behind on L4 ... But he had left them for the love of Trowa, and love was like water to the soul. Without the wings and winds of love a soul could never fly, and would be doomed to remain grounded for and eternity, choked off by an empty and lonely existence.

But he digressed. Nostalgia fading, the pale Adonis climbed out of his lofty chariot back into the realm of Reality. -Breakfast.

Quatre exited into the hall again, turning now to the small but tidy kitchen. On impulse, he put on hot water for his morning tea, hands delicately adjusting the finicky knobs on the ancient, blue-fire, gas burner so that it wouldn't destroy the claustrophobic room. Opening the inlaid wooden tea box that Trowa had given him, he breathed deeply of the leafy smell, letting it permeate his senses and calm his quickly beating heart. The Arab gently took down two small tea cups and started the process of fixing breakfast, which wouldn't take long if he had Trowa's tastes correct.

Meanwhile, the sleeping Latin was waking from his night of dreamful sleep. Emerald eyes cracked open in the dark, revealing a pensive look casued by disturbing fragments of nightmares and ill-begotten fantasy. He couldn't piece it all together, but there was something wrong with this day. The dreams flitted about his head like shadows and the lithe young man soon gave up on his apprehensive feeling. Dreams seldom amounted to much, so there was no sense in him worrying about it.

Lifting his built frame from the bed, Trowa gazed up at the ceiling wondering what Quatre was up to. /He's always so patient with me./ the lion thought. He wished he had it in his heart to be more affectionate, but he was in constant terror of losing his soul to the demons that haunted his dreams. He was afraid of what those demons or he might do if he got to close to his beloved angel. Should he lose him even now the pain of Death's talons would break him into worthless pieces, without an ounce of compassion or happiness left to let him trod onward through life. Yes, he feared losing Quatre already and if he got still closer to him, then what would losing him do?

Trowa shivered and stood. It was cold this morning. He walked over to the chair where he had unconsciously thrown his shirt last night, and put it on. Silently, the mime-like man fixed his hair where sleep had tossed it asunder. He avoided the man in the glass with stolid ease. He hated to look at him. Hated him, but the green eyes caught him and he was forced to stare-forced to see who he was and who he was afraid of being. When he couldn't stand the gaze any more he fled, walking out of the room to find the youth that he almost feared to call 'koi'.

The Latin man was still pulling his well-used black turtleneck over his head when he heard the buzz from the door. Briefly, Quatre poked his head out of the kitchen, but Trowa nodded at him slightly so the youth went back to work. He knew from the nod that the lean man would handle things, which was just as well for him considering the temper of the stove today.

So, Quatre went back to the business of finishing the breakfast for two. He had really hoped that Trowa would stay asleep, but now he would have to forget about breakfast in bed. At least he had planned for the early riser.

He started setting the table, instead of the tray he had casually laid out the night before. Carefully, the Arab brought out the fine china that he had brought from L4 for special occasions such as these. All thought had been put into this meal. He only hoped his koi would appreciate it all. Everything was meant to be something that Trowa loved: Dark Spanish coffee with milk (*anyone who has had Spanish coffee knows that they brew it in milk! Good stuff*), Marias (*Spanish shortbread*), and soft breads with jams that came fresh from the bakery. The tea he had made was for himself, as he preferred that soothing drink, to the jolt that the coffee brought in the morning.

As he finished, the golden lion entered through the kitchen. His look was outwardly calm, but it was a mask, like the one he used to wear as a clown in Catherine's circus, and the intuitive Arab read quickly beyond that. Something was wrong.

"I made breakfast, Trowa-kun," the blond said shyly.

The Spanish man didn't reply for a moment. He only sat down, dropping his tan head into his hand, as if he had a headache or were some old statue. Finally, he spoke.

"That was Sally Po. She needs us to put out a fire in L3 again-More Barton followers. I volunteered us."

Quatre's heart quailed. "But its Valentine's Day!"

"Exactly. Who in their right mind would be engaged in warfare on such a gentle holiday."

The pale Arab felt as if a heavy weight had just been dropped upon his shoulders. All of the happiness of his plans, all the joy he had prepare- gone in an instant. It wasn't fair to him or Trowa. It was as if they both had a mistress and her name was War.

Gentle tears surfaced on his deep aqua eyes. They seemed like an ocean; wet, calm, soothing- but sad. He was tired of these fires. They always, always, always involved killing. He couldn't do it any more ... And even worse, Trowa didn't even seem to care about the holiday or anything he had done. It was depressing- like an oasis waiting for a rain that would never come.

"What's wrong, koi?" the lion asked, trying to bring some note of tenderness to his voice.

"It's nothing, Trowa. Nothing important."

Trowa arched a brown eyebrow, but said nothing. He turned to his coffee and took a sip, admiring the robust flavor. Picking up a Maria with his free hand he spoke again. "Thank you for going to all of this trouble."

Quatre forced a smile. "You are my koi. The least I can do is try to give you some happiness."

"I don't deserve happiness. I don't deserve you."

"That doesn't matter. I am here and will always be here. Death himself could not separate us. I would fly to you on wings of love, up from the depths of Hell or down from the light of heaven." /Without you/ continued the Arab in his mind, /any existence would be Hell. And with you, even Hell would be pleasant./ It was an irreverent thought, but he cast his chiding aside. It was true-even though he couldn't say all of it aloud, it was true. If only Trowa would stop running.

The Latin man reached over and grabbed the angel's hand, letting unspilled tears flicker briefly at the edge of those cold pure emeralds. If only he could love as purely as his koi- his koi that could say so much with a blink of his sea green eyes. Trowa put down his cup, caught in the gaze. So beautiful ... And for a moment both were caught in the fear of the future and grasped each other in a loving embrace as if to ward of Death and his dark angels. Green eyes met watery ones, then lips met and parted, the two falling back from each other as snow falls softly to the ground. They didn't have to say that they loved each other. They both knew ... And if one of them didn't come out of battle this day, at least they had that as solace in their material separation.

"I will never let you die, koi. I will always carry you with me," said Quatre.

"I know, and I thank you."