Title: The Devil Has Blue Eyes
By: Aina Song
Fandom(s): Gundam Wing
Genre: Yaoi (with some Het thrown in)
Rating: PG-15
Warning(s): Contraband; Fusion; Language; Death; Murder.
Pairing(s): Heero/Quatre (constant mentionings of Het pairings)
Reviews: Yes, please.
Author's Note: (I'm afraid my usual Disclaimer will not be enough this time, so bear with me.) I, Aina Song, hereby acknowledge the illegality of the following fusion fiction, which is based very thickly upon Clara Wimberly's The Jeweled Heart of Rosemont Castle. I do not claim any rights or privileges her book may have earned her, nor do I claim credit for the book itself. This fanfiction follows her plot almost to the letter, with few changes tossed in here and there, but I must again press that it does so without the explicit permission of Ms. Wimberly, her editor(s), or her publisher(s). This fiction was not written for money; I do not profit from this in any way, shape, or form. Please excuse the illegality of it all, and I do hope my own readers will try to look past my unlawfulness and enjoy the fiction nonetheless. Thank you.
Teaser: He did not care that he was the lost heir to a winery fortune - especially since he couldn't remember that earliest piece of his childhood. He only wanted to reclaim the family that had been kept from him. But there was another who was determined to unmask him as an imposter. And, at the same time, a strange cold presence stirred again at his return, anxious to finish what it had started so long ago…
Chapter Ten
He sat for a while after Zechs left, and watched the fingers of mist that played about the huge oaks. It looked as though it would be a miserable day for a picnic, but Quatre supposed the castle was big enough to accommodate some kind of indoor activity for the children.
But the morning's events had not left him in much of a mood for the festive day. What was he to do? And how was he ever to convince anyone at Rosemont of who he really was? Especially the inscrutable Heero Yuy. After all, there were times when even Quatre did not feel so certain. He remembered the poignancy and the immediate affinity he'd felt when seeing his mother's portrait for the first time. He had been so certain then, if only for a little while, and as he thought of it he decided to venture again to the room where he'd first met Treize and seen the portrait.
He needed the comfort of seeing her again, of seeing his own features mirrored in her own. Perhaps it would banish the vision of Heero's face and the doubt he saw every time he looked into those eyes.
The door to the room stood open. Quatre stopped, wondering if anyone was inside. He stepped softly across the threshold and saw Treize Khushrenada standing before the portrait Quatre had come to find.
One hand was clutched to the older man's heart, and the other hung limply at his side. A drink of some kind was held haphazardly, tilted as though its contents might spill at any moment onto the floor. And as he stood silently Quatre could hear the soft murmur of Treize's voice, almost a moan, in the quiet room.
"Where did you go, my sweet? Why did you leave without a word? Your beautiful face has haunted me all these years, and I can find no peace without you. And now our boy is here… I know he is Quatre Raberba, no matter what anyone else might say. I see you in every quirk of his brow, in the innocence of every smile."
Quatre felt like an intruder, but he could not turn away. Treize's words brought a small ache to the hollow of his throat, and he wanted to comfort his father. But there was something that kept him rooted where he stood. Treize was drunk; Quatre could see it in the sway of the older man's thin body and hear it in the slurring of his words. It angered Quatre more than he'd have thought possible, and strangely the blond felt offended. Not because of the disrespect to his mother, but because of his casual treatment of Hiromi. One had only to look into her eyes to see how much she loved her husband. Quatre wondered how she had stood it all these years, seeing Treize grieve and drink himself into oblivion for his first wife.
Treize began to cry and the drink fell from his hand, spilling with a soft thud onto a rug. "Oh, Leia, I loved you - God, how I loved you." He dropped to his knees and bent forward, placing his hands on the floor.
Without thinking, Quatre went to him and picked up the glass, afraid his father might fall on it and hurt himself. Quatre placed his hand beneath the man's arm and tried to help his father to his feet. "Here, Treize," he said. "Let me help you. Can you stand?"
"Wha… what are you doing here?" He demanded, turning to stare angrily at Quatre. "Go away; leave me alone! Just let me grieve in peace."
But Quatre continued to pull at his arm, however ineffectively. "Don't you think you've grieved long enough?"
Treize stared at him as though he did not understand. Then, with an awkward swipe at him, the man fell to his side. Quatre knew he never be able to do this alone. He went to the doorway and looked about, but he saw no one. He ran to the top of the stairs and called loudly. "Mister Chang? Wufei, are you there? I need you up here right away."
Without waiting, he ran back into the room. Treize still lay on the floor, panting for breath. His eyes were closed and his skin was pale and clammy.
Wufei came into the room, striding swiftly across the floor. "What happened, young sir?" He said, barely fighting to recapture his breath.
"I found him here before the portrait, talking to her and crying. When he saw me, he became angry and shouted and finally collapsed."
"Damn," Wufei muttered. "Back on the bottle. He did manage to stay sober long enough to meet you, though, didn't he?"
The blond could only nod, feeling immensely guilty for his father's sake.
"He'll need to sleep it off. Help me get him to the bed; he'll be all right."
Just then Quatre heard heavy footsteps coming quickly down the hallway toward them. He didn't look up, instead focusing on helping Wufei move his father toward the bed.
"What…?"
It was Heero, and Quatre didn't have to look up into his blazing eyes to know how upset he was. Quickly and efficiently Heero moved to Treize, practically pushing Wufei and Quatre aside as he grasped the older man and pulled him from the floor and onto the bed.
He straightened and turned to glare first at Quatre and then at Wufei. "You shouldn't be here now. Treize is sick and needs to rest."
Quatre stared at him, amazed that the darker man thought he was so gullible that he would believe such an excuse. "He isn't sick, Heero. He's drunk."
He turned from the blond's accusing eyes and pulled a cover over Treize's now unconscious form. Heero's jaw was tight where a muscle flexed erratically. Quatre was unnerved by the potential violence he saw in the man's every movement.
"Shall I get Lady Khushrenada?" Wufei asked.
"Yes, Wufei, please," was all Heero said. Still he would not turn and face the blond.
But as soon as Wufei was out of the room, Heero whirled, looking for all the world as though he would like to toss Quatre out the door. "What did you do to upset him?" He accused.
"I've done nothing. He was in this condition when I came into the room." He fisted his hands at his side, "And don't think I'll stand quietly and let you blame this on me. From what I understand, he has been in this state for most of the past seventeen years… since my mother left." He didn't hide his annoyance. There was too much of that in the castle already.
"You are an impudent little…" The man took a deep breath in a noticeable effort to control himself.
"You can't deny it, Heero."
"I will not defend him to the likes of you," he said coldly. "And I don't intend to let a little fraud like you come into this castle and tell any of us what to do."
"You've made that clear enough, already," Quatre hissed, just as coldly.
"I would advise you to go downstairs as if nothing has happened. Relena has arrived, and she's asking for you. There is no reason to alarm the entire household because of this."
His eyes were wintry clear. Quatre could almost believe at that moment that Heero hated him. He glanced quickly at the portrait of his mother and himself; that one moment was all he needed. It was almost as though he could feel her presence, could sense her encouragement. She looked so beautiful, so tranquil, that Quatre found his spirits buoyed just by looking at her. And he would not let Heero Yuy push him away, now that he was so close to finding his home and his family.
"Perhaps I should stay here with him," the blond said, nodding toward Treize.
"My mother and I are perfectly capable of caring for Treize. We've done so for many years now." He sounded cold, and completely uncaring of Quatre's feelings.
"Do you think protecting him when he's like this, and allowing him to continue feeling sorry for himself, is taking care of him?" Quatre asked, suddenly angry again at his indifference.
Heero stepped toward him, but Quatre did not waver. Despite the other's frosty and ferocious manner, he knew that Heero would not dare hurt him.
"Tread carefully, warabe," Heero warned. "My patience is not infinite."
"That is an understatement," he muttered.
Over his shoulder, Quatre saw Hiromi coming into the room. She frowned slightly as she looked at her dark, handsome son. "Heero," she said, a little tremor of alarm in her accented voice. "What is going on? Why are you threatening Quatre?"
He turned slightly toward her, but looked again at the blond as he spoke. "Threatening? Why, Mother, I would never threaten another gentleman."
Quatre knew, even if Hiromi did not, that Heero was deliberately baiting him. It was Heero's way of refusing to acknowledge Quatre as anyone of importance.
Hiromi Khushrenada turned to her husband on the bed. "Oh, Treize," she said sadly with a shake of her head. "I had hoped, Quatre, ever since you came, that he would…" There were tears in her eyes as her voice trailed away.
"Have you ever tried to make him stop drinking?" Quatre asked.
"Make him? Why, no, I would not think of making Treize do anything. Besides, he suffered such a great loss, and I've always tried to understand…"
"But how can you be expected to understand?"
"Well, I…" She glanced uncomfortably at Heero, likely hoping for his intervention.
"Don't both of you think his grief should have ended long ago?" Quatre demanded of them.
"What an odd thing for you to say, gypsy," Heero said sarcastically. "It seems you would be happy if he still grieved for your mother." He quirked a dark eyebrow, as though expecting to have won another strategic point.
"You really believe I have no heart, don't you, to think that of me! And let's talk about you, while we are on the subject. Don't you despise what this has done to your own mother, to her life? What about her suffering all these years, married to a man who cares for nothing except his own indulgences, his own misery!"
"You don't have any idea what you're talking about," he said quietly.
But this time Quatre saw a spark of doubt deep within those beautiful blue eyes, and he knew he'd struck a chord. He suspected Heero's defense of Treize was because of his own gratitude and loyalty. And even though Hiromi loved Treize, perhaps hers was because of gratitude as well. After all, had they not lived a terrible existence before coming to Rosemont? Perhaps it was her guilt that made her accept his treatment of her. Could she actually think she deserved this treatment? Quatre stared into her eyes, wishing he could know the real truth of it, but he doubted he ever would.
She looked at him with a sad note of apology. "Perhaps Heero is right, Quatre. You should go downstairs now. Find Relena and try to enjoy the afternoon with the children. I'll take care of Treize."
"If you think I must," he sighed. "But I can promise you, this is something I intend to speak to Treize about as soon as he's able to listen."
She only shook her head and turned back to tend to her husband. Quatre could not halt the thought that the scene before him was such a waste. She was still a beautiful woman, and he wondered why she had been so willing to give up her own life to tend to a man who obviously didn't care.
He was not surprised when Heero followed him out into the hallway. His hand moved quickly, clamping Quatre's arm and pulling the blond around to face him.
"I won't have her upset," he growled softly.
"Heero… I have no intention of hurting your mother. I want to help her. Why can't you see that?"
"Why can't I see it?" He echoed with a hint of derision. "Perhaps it's because I don't trust you. Perhaps I don't want to see her hopes raised only to have them dashed when she discovers you're not who you claim to be."
"I claim nothing," Quatre said, sharply. "I'm perfectly willing to let your investigator decide who I am, if that's what you want."
"It's what I want. As a matter of fact, he should be here within the week. You might not be so confident once you hear what he has to say."
"Why?" He asked, probably more quickly than he should have.
Heero's lashes dipped as he let his eyes wander down Quatre's body and back again. Then he laughed. "Why, warabe, you sound worried."
"I'm not worried. And I can't wait to see that smug look wiped from your face when you have to hear the truth."
He smiled and made a mock groaning noise. "You are such a tough little urchin. I wonder what you're hiding beneath that vagabond exterior. And there's something else that I've wondered about…"
"What?" Quatre snapped. "What could you possibly want to know about me?"
Heero pulled the blond closer against the length of his body. "I wonder… what you would look like out of those ridiculous servant's clothes." His voice was a mocking whisper.
Quatre jerked away from him as though the man had struck him. He could feel his face growing hot, could feel the heat of his skin through the clothes where Heero's body had touched him. The darker man looked at him with a challenging smirk; his eyebrow lifted as he dared the blond to match wits with him. But for once Quatre could think of no comeback.
He spun around, walking away as quickly as he could without giving in to the instinct to run. Even so, he could hear Heero's soft laughter behind him. All he wanted at the moment was to be away from the man, away from the intensity of those blue eyes, and the mockery that was always on Heero's face when he looked at Quatre.
No man had ever looked at him in just that way. He didn't know how to defend himself against it, or the storm of feelings it brought rushing over him.