~*~Dec 24 ~*~
Still don't own… Santa please? I've been mostly good right?
~*~
Trowa blinked awake and squinted at the bright morning light coming in through the window. He sat up and with a sigh began his day. As he was eating breakfast he paused mid chew as he realized something. He quickly finished, went upstairs and looked in the art studio that was facing the front of the house. Two windows faced the yard and his nearly buried vehicle. He went outside and stood on the hood of his truck and counted three windows not two. He gauged the distance between the hood of his truck and the porch roof and with a nod jumped. The fingers of his right hand slipped on ice but his left hand gripped hard. He was able to find a good grip with his right and slowly pulled himself up on the snow-covered roof. He moved carefully, planting his feet firmly, leaning slowly forward to make sure the aged wood could handle his weight, and moved to the windows.
The first window he shown his flashlight in was the art studio, as was the second. The third window, however, was a bedroom. He shown the light between the wall and the door went back to the second window and did the same then quickly moved off the groaning roof into the house and up the stairs. Pacing slowly from the art studio door, he stopped about where he thought the door to the bedroom might be. Looking closely at the wallpaper, he realized that it hadn't been put up as well as the rest. He slid his finger along the seam and pulled. Hastily put up boards covered the wall, but through a few gaps, Trowa could make out a door behind it.
Trowa went back downstairs thankful that he had forgotten to put his crowbar back in the truck. He ran back up the stairs and very carefully began prying the boards apart. He winced at the damage to the wood underneath but steadily removed the wood until the door was completely revealed. The house felt filled with nervous anticipation. Trowa tried the handle and cursed softly when it was locked. He quickly sorted through the key ring and found the one key that was marked unknown. He stared at it then at the doorknob and tried it. The lock turned easily and the door swung silently opened.
He walked in and a wave of dizziness swept over him, he felt himself falling, "Trowa!" He thought he heard someone yell and felt someone try and catch him before he lost consciousness.
~*~
"Quat?" Trowa asked during a break in the dancing and walked up the to refreshment table, "is something wrong?"
Quatre tried to smile, but the pensive look in his eyes didn't diminish, "I'm not sure," he said finally and leaned back against the glass.
"Talk to me," Trowa said his voice soft and commanding, Quatre sighed.
"I overheard something," he said as he took a sip of punch, "and it worried me."
"What?" Trowa pressed, Quatre sighed again looking incredibly sad. Trowa moved in front of him and touched Quatre's shoulder. "Talk to me," he said and gave the blond a little shake.
Quatre closed his eyes, "I think my father might be a traitor." He opened his eyes and stared at Trowa, his eyes filled with pain and anguish. Trowa grabbed Quatre's arm and moving down the stairs, through the dancing crowd, led him to the dark chapel.
"Talk to me," Trowa demanded a third time and Quatre sighed as he moved to sit on a pew.
"It was right after you fell," Quatre said, "I was going back to the bedroom to see if you were up to tonight." He leaned forward and rubbed his temples. Trowa sat next to him and watched. "He was talking on the phone in mother's studio; he was telling someone that our Gundams were in the hanger." Trowa's eyes grew wide and Quatre hastened to reassure him, "I let Ro and Fei know. They contacted the commander and they are being moved to Round Meadows, an hour south of here. He's also putting extra guards on tonight."
"I wondered where those two were…" Trowa muttered to himself.
Quatre growled slightly, "my father informed me that the heathens were going to be watched." Trowa looked as if he were smacked at the insult, "and I told my father that if they left because of him, I was leaving as well."
Trowa gave his friend a distracted smile as he thought about the repercussions of his discovery. "What are you going to do?" he asked.
Quatre sighed and covered his face with his hands. "Can you take Cathy and Midii home?" His aqua-blue eyes filled with pain and determination, "I want to talk to him after the party and before I turn him in."
"This could end your Airman career," Trowa said softly.
"I know," Quatre said, "but what else can I do? He's my father."
~*~
Trowa groaned in pain as he slowly rolled over and sat up. It was stupid of him to walk into a room that had been sealed for over a hundred years without waiting for fresh air to circulate. He looked around the room, the sinking sun sending shadows across the walls; a thick snow had begun to fall. He looked at the bed and his breath caught. A skeleton laid on the bed, wearing his dress uniform complete with medals and ribbons. He stood up and crossed the amazingly dust free floor and flicked the lamp beside the bed hoping that the light bulb still worked. It did. As he looked at the body, he could see the blood stains on the uniform. "I take it your talk with your father didn't go well?" He sighed as he touched the ribbons on the uniform.
"He was pretty angry," a voice said behind him and he quickly turned but the room was empty.
"Your mother was heartbroken," Trowa said to the empty room.
A sigh filled the room, he could almost feel the regret, "I know."
"Why can't I see you?" Trowa asked turning around.
"You still don't believe," came the response and then the room felt empty.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Lady Une, "Une," came the quick response.
"I found Quatre Winner's body," he said.
A long pause then, "Where?"
"A room on the second floor; it was probably his bedroom. The door was boarded over then wallpapered, the investigators didn't look very well," Trowa said as he left the room and closed the door behind him and walked down the stairs.
"I don't think they ever really suspected the family until the American on their air team started causing a ruckus," Une said, "two pilots missing, both in the same area. At first they thought that the men had fought over a girl and one killed the other, but when the Frenchman never re-surfaced."
"Wait, two pilots?" Trowa paused and looked at the painting on the parlor wall. The person behind Quatre was becoming more distinct, no longer just a dark shadow. Trowa moved closer to it and tried to peer into the face but it was still cast in shadows.
"Yes, the Gundams pilot names were pretty much unknown except for Winner. They were more known by nationality than name," Une said then paused, he could hear someone talking to her. "I can send a team up and give Winner a proper burial some time next week."
"I don't think that he is going anywhere," Trowa said as he moved back up the stairs, opened the door again and looked back at the pilot's bones. He hung up. He looked more closely at the skull, noticing a hairline fracture right where his own injury and scar were. "You aren't Quatre," he said sitting back slightly, "you're the Frenchman, so where is your body Quatre?"
~*~
Jan 9, 1916
The war isn't going well, so many men dying in the trenches. Conscripted ages at home are lowering and rising so we now have grey beards and young kids. Most of the youngsters think they are the bee's knees, but they are just filled with bearcat. ZM has had to slap several bimbos down to size; mostly we are dealing with a real ball up. DM had to limp home the other day, his DeathScythe sputtered along. The rest of us kept circling to keep the Huns from attacking him. I think the Yank is carrying a torch for someone, but he won't talk about his baby. I'm carrying a torch for someone too…
Mar 19, 1916
DM asked if we could move his fivver into my parent's garage. Apparently ZM is tired of tripping on it and finding him working under it. ZM has ordered it off the base. DM is afraid that if he puts it into public storage, it will go west. We are driving it up to the house next weekend. WC is going to stop by to see his wife, she isn't doing very well. He is going to pick us up on Sunday and drive us back to the base. I hope my father minds his words when he meets WC and HY.
Mar 21, 1916
WC's wife died, complications in childbirth. WC is pretty broken up. The war has taken most of the medical personnel away from the civvies and our people are suffering for it. I hope the war ends soon for the sake of us all.
June 30 1916
We have been called to give fire cover in Somme; I have a bad feeling about this. DM is trying to laugh it off as my being windy, but I can tell he is hiding his own unease as well.
July 5 1916
God help us all, that battle of Somme was horrific; latest count almost 20,000 dead and 40,000 injured. DM found some bootleg and drank most of the bottle before HY was able to drag it away. We all had a few stiff ones from it, anything to dull our memories.
Dec 20, 1916
Got leave for us all and contacted mother to start setting up a Yule Ball. Mother is thrilled, father is oddly silent. It makes me rather uneasy.
~*~
Trowa came back to the Winner estate after dropping Midii and Cathy off at the hostel down the road. The greenhouse lights were still on. Mrs. Winner was directing the clean up by several of the local women. Their pay was money and splitting the left over foods, which would be welcomed in the rationed climate. He moved into the house as the clock struck three, he could hear raised voices and knew that Quatre was 'talking' with his father. A gunshot filled the air. He sprinted following the sound of harsh sobbing and cautiously slid the study door open. "Quatre," he said his eyes on his fallen comrade. He knelt next to him and picked up the limp body cradling it, "Quatre." He glared up at the man who was slumped against his desk, "why?"
"He knows how I feel about war," Winner Senior said.
"So that gives you the right to turn traitor and sabotage your son's plane, then shoot him?" Trowa's green-eyes sparked angrily
"His wasn't suppose too…" the man's eyes widened as he realized that Trowa knew.
"Do you honestly think they would have cared if your son died?" Trowa said. He looked down as he felt a hand on his chest, "Quatre," he murmured and looked into his friend's eyes and watched the light slowly fade from them, "hold on. Call for a medic," he ordered Winner Senior and turned back to his friend.
As he felt pain explode in the back of his head he thought to himself, the guys would kill him for turning his back on an enemy, then nothing.
~*~
Comments and Criticisms Welcomed
1915 Slang
Baby – sweetheart, high value or respect
Balled up - confused
Bee's Knees – the ultimate
Bearcat – fiery
Bimbo – tough guy
Book thumpers (I made this one up) by-the-rule-book or Bible thumpers.
Dry up – get lost
Eggs – hand grenades
Fivver – old beat up car
Go West - stolen
Gruney - meal made with tinned beef, onion, biscuits and salt
GunFire – Strong tea laced with rum
Huns – Germans
Juice Joint – speakeasy
Posh – Smart
Pull through – tall person
Rats – Rats after moldy cheese or Royal Army Medical Corps
Sap – fool
Silent Sue (Susan) – high velocity artillery shell
Silent Percy – Long range guns
Wind - scared
Yank – American
