Part 10
By tan
Warnings: AU, shounen ai, 3x4, 1x2, 5xH, eventual 4+6, and 6x13... o____o; Did I get it all? Sap, an attempt at drama, poor to no plot, attempted humor, blah blah blah.
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or any characters therein.
Summary: Quatre Winner returns home from Arcadia Asylum.
Note: 8/7/02: o_O;; Been a while... XD LOL. I've written some, but haven't posted, and I've updated the chapters a bit, but I'm too lazy to upload them here just yet. If interested, you can access them at http://nekobo.com/~tantrys. ^____^v Enjoi.
PART 10
"I'm not crazy, Iria."
"I know that," his sister responded. She rushed Quatre's face and patted his hair, blatantly placating now that they were alone. Quatre wondered if steam could spout from his ears.
"You don't act like it," he snapped, pulling away from the normally warm embrace of his sister. Iria's arms just felt cruel, now. Sheltering and nervous. "You think I'm going to break any second-- I'm not a child!"
"Quatre, please." Iria cooed at him, and motioned for him to sit down, calm down, and she even reached for his pill bottle in her purse.
"I don't need them Iria!" Quatre burst suddenly. He'd reached the end of something, perhaps his patience, perhaps his sanity ironically. Either had worn thin during his treatment.
I sat in a cold white cell for years, pretending I didn't feel it when other patients were hurt and afraid, or lonely, cold, and dying...
"They don't do anything to me," he added in a hiss. Quatre lashed out to rip the bottle from Iria's stunned grip. Soon, blue pills were flying across the room and scattering across the office floor.
"Nothing short of dying could ever get rid of all the crap I feel in my heart Iria." He thumped his chest once, making sure his sister was focused on his words, his meaning.
"You're embarrassed," he accused. Iria shook her head quickly, almost guiltily. I thought you knew you couldn't lie to me, Quatre thought sadly. We used to joke about it before I left.
"You're afraid that I'll make a scene by freaking out, and that I'll destroy your beautiful illusion of boarding school. Don't you dare cry," Quatre ordered shrilly, even though tears of his own were squeezing out through his narrowed eyelids. "Don't cry because you think that I'm insane. I'm not, Iria."
Iria sniffled from behind her desk-- she'd retreated there as her baby brother exploded, without raising his voice, without her saying a single word about how she felt... and yet he knew...
"I wish I were crazy," Quatre admitted breathlessly. He was shaking, his face was wet, and he had to go to the bathroom. "Then I'd belong in a place like Arcadia. I wouldn't even mind the screams, the pills, or Dr. Peerson telling me everyday to stop being what I *am*."
She's terrified. Iria was backed against the window, holding both fists to her chest. Her tears were flowing unchecked, smearing mascara and dribbling onto her lovely office jacket. He went on.
"I think I'd like your trust a lot better than your pity." Quatre sighed heavily, and wished he didn't have to... but... "I'm going home."
"Quatre," Iria attempted as he turned swiftly on his heel and stormed off. Her voice wavered too much to respond. She needs to think all of through-- all day if necessary. Maybe she'll see where father was coming from, and maybe that will scare her straight.
The halls had emptied a little, for which Quatre was immensely grateful because his face was probably blotchy and was definitely damp. Quatre sniffed loudly, and rubbed his face with his sleeve-- something Iria would never let him do. It had something to do with good clothes and mucus...
*THUMP*
Quatre grunted at the sudden impact of his nose and someone's chest. It was actually painful enough to bring on a new wave of tears to his squinted eyes.
"Ow," he snuffled intelligently, trying to focus on the object of his collision. The smell of fried foods and pizza wafted over him, and Quatre had time enough to drool over that before registering exactly what, or *whom* he'd run into.
"Quatre," a warm, pleasantly surprised voice greeted him. Quatre blinked around the well of tears, then blushed.
"Trowa." Damn. Say something else-- something smart, or flirtatious-- "Hello." That was stupid, and... well, just stupid.
But Trowa smiled, beautifully, and Quatre fawned silently. I can barely tell what he's feeling-- at least he's not angry. That's always good.. but wait; curiosity...? Confusion.
"Are you alright?"
A small light bulb was illuminated in Quatre's brain. He was able to recall the blowup with Iria and its effects quite vividly. I'm crying. In front of Trowa.
He bolted, skirting Trowa and pizza boxes, dodging an already harried secretary and pelting full force down the hall. He spotted a bathroom facility sign and threw himself through the swinging doors. Fortunately, there was no one being molested in front of the urinals.
Alone and... well, alone, Quatre permitted his lower lip a half second to tremble. Time up, he straightened his shoulders and marched up to the sink, intent on wiping away the remnants of his weakness.
His face wasn't too red, just a few spots where he'd rubbed the tears away. No snot or anything dribbling down his face, although his lip wouldn't stop quivering.
"Grow some balls," he accused his reflection. It frowned most sarcastically, as if to say 'I've already got some thank you'. "Damn sarcastic mirror..." He muttered, thumping the faucet knob to turn it on.
A nice slap of freezing water was refreshing, albeit shocking, and Quatre straightened with a slight smile on his face. I'm out of Arcadia, I've got a job and my family... and I've been able to control myself rather well, considering.
"So, I'm okay." Saying that aloud helped. Until he saw another reflection in the mirror and had to bite his lip to stop from screaming-- then his good mood vanished in favor of a moment for utter shock. Quatre turned around very slowly, pivoting on one foot and peeling back his lips to ensure a pleasant enough salutation.
"Since you were crying as you ran from me, I don't think you're okay." Trowa addressed Quatre frankly, and even offered a courteous smile of his own.
"I wasn't crying," Quatre blurted desperately. I'm such a wonderful liar, Quatre wanted to add. "I... had an allergic reaction to Iria's perfume."
"..." Quatre fidgeted. Trowa sure was quiet. I could have sworn he'd fall for that. His brain snorted.
"I don't think it's your habit to lie," Trowa began gently. Quatre bit his lip as a hint of hurt, of insult, filled Trowa's words and presence. In the manner of one studying a specimen under a microscope, Trowa leaned forward, forcing Quatre to edge backward and swallow loudly. He blushed as one of Trowa's eyebrows rose.
"You're too nervous-- your hands are clenched, you're chewing on your lip, and you have yet to look me in the eye."
I feel like a criminal! Quatre wailed silently. He stopped chewing on his lip immediately, folded his arms, and looked straight into Trowa's eyes. Quatre blinked.
Trowa was amused; a smile threatened to break the thin set of his lips, and Quatre could detect a hint of carefully controlled laughter.
"Iria upset me," Quatre muttered, keeping his arms folded stubbornly. "She thinks I'm still a child." A perpetual infant, he thought tiredly. He turned his gaze to the restroom tile. Forever inferior, weak, and insane. Poor Iria didn't realize how her own emotions effected her judgment. Hardly anyone can decipher their darkest, deepest prejudices, so I can't really blame her.
"Forgive me for saying this, but you still look like a child." While Trowa's tone was far from insulting, his words made Quatre raise his head and frown, utterly confused.
"I look 17--" Quatre paused suddenly. He turned around and backed up a few paces, noting almost immediately that the mirror's reflection did not support his admonition.
His pale hair was tousled and stuck up slightly in the front, like a small playful boy's. His face was very smooth and clear, with full pouting lips. He'd lost the baby fat in his cheeks ages ago, and had even grown several inches in the past few years.
"It's the eyes," Trowa observed, and Quatre transferred his gaze accordingly to the taller man in the mirror. A unique contrast. There was neither a blemish nor a hair on Trowa's face, and his flip style hair was anything but aged. It was instead the expression on Trowa's face, and the wise glitter in his hazel eyes that suggested a few extra years.
"I haven't changed since I left." Quatre winced. Still young, still crazy. I yelled at Iria for no reason then--
"It's not a bad thing to look young," Trowa offered kindly. "Girls will flock." He laughed at Quatre's flushed cheeks and scowl.
"I'm not interested in girls!" He snapped lightly. His face grew rather red at the implications of that statement. And-- to Quatre's surprise and perhaps his intrigue-- one of Trowa's eyes widened slightly, and *he* blushed.
He's flustered! I've turned the tables and I didn't even mean to! Quatre was delighted. Now Trowa had something to stew about...
Still cool, Quatre neatly completed a one hundred eighty degree turn, and beamed at Trowa. He was definitely unnerved; shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and furrowing gracefully arched brows. Trowa angled his head to stare straight down at Quatre, creating a cradled atmosphere-- if he reached out his arms they'd practically be hugging--
"Duo-- mentioned you tried to seduce him," Trowa murmured softly, accusing just enough to make Quatre blush and lose that dim thread of confidence. Quatre decided absently that Duo liked to talk too much.
"I was trying to look innocent," Quatre admitted. "To get out of another misunderstanding." Quatre grinned quickly before he licked his lower lip and pressed it forward, making it quiver ever so slightly. Innocent as can be. He blinked slowly, trying not to smirk at how ridiculous--
A sharp twist of emotion broke through Quatre's demonstration. It was powerful and raw, frightening its bearer enough to inhale sharply and turn away. Trowa placed his hand to his lips and positively glared at the wall.
"What--" Quatre was speechless. The intensity of that feeling-- it had shocked Trowa deeply, and had almost shamed him-- Trowa moved further away as Quatre touched his arm. "What's wrong? Trowa?"
"What kind of look was that? *Innocent??*" Trowa huffed in disbelief as he glanced at Quatre.
"Well yeah," Quatre replied. He was nearly insulted. If it wasn't funny all he had to do was say so. Sheesh. "I used to use it all the time on the nurses-- um-- the school nurse, I mean, and the teachers--"
More like I used it on the shrinks and attendants, especially the ones that held me down when I'd have fits-- He wasn't about to offer that tidbit of information, however. I seem to have scared Trowa enough as it is. I don't need him knowing I'm nuts.
"On your teachers-- huh." Trowa shook his head firmly, and was suddenly chuckling. One of his hands found Quatre's shoulder and squeezed it. "Do many susceptible hearts a favor, Quatre, and don't look at them like that... You're definitely not a child any more."
Beyond puzzled, but reassured that Trowa's emotions had calmed back to that undetectable simmer, Quatre nodded.
Faint irritation and other pleasant buzzing emotions heralded the approach of Duo-- it was unmistakably Duo, because no one Quatre had ever met was capable of so many emotions at one time, often conflicting.
Duo was searching for something, and nearing the restroom. Quatre focused on the door a breath before Duo burst in, humming colorfully and chewing on his fingernail.
Trowa removed his hand from Quatre swiftly, faintly surprised at Duo's appearance. Duo betrayed no astonishment however; only excitement, as ever.
"Quatre!" Duo belted, making sure his voice reverberated and amplified against the walls. "Two birdies with one Duo, I'm psychic, finding you both in one spot after Heero kicked me out to go look! Hah! Now we can get back before he eats all the pizza-- you should see how he eats!" Duo's eyes widened into comical circles as he grabbed Quatre's arm and tugged. "Like a freakin' garbage disposal, worse than me! And that's pretty bad."
Duo waved frantically for Trowa to follow him as he dragged Quatre across the linoleum. "Iria came by to say she couldn't stop for lunch, too bad, she's paying for it so I feel kinda guilty we'll just save her a few slices right? Come on, I'm hungry! Heero wouldn't even let me have one piece unless I went to find you guys."
Pitiful sniffles and low key grumbles ensued. Quatre couldn't help but feel sympathetic, really.
"So what were you two doing in the bathroom anyway?" Duo piped suddenly, giving Quatre his undivided attention. "If I didn't know better I'd say your favorite hang out was the bathroom. Save anyone today?"
Quatre's glare was ineffective, as he'd assumed it would be. "No, the good Samaritan in me seems to have subsided. I actually feel the urge to stuff someone's braid down the toilet, and flush--"
Duo gasped loudly, and rocketed away from Quatre, placing one of his hands dramatically over his heart while clutching his braid with the other.
"You sound like Heero!!" Duo forced a petrified scream and reattached himself to Quatre's arm. "S'okay, I forgive you your transgressions. Just as long as you let me come to your banquet. Prime riiiiib..."
Quatre caught Trowa's peaceful smile over Duo's head. Having a replacement victim, Trowa was no longer subject to Duo's eccentricity.
Of course he was at peace, Quatre reasoned. He's not being drooled on. He continued walking, and tried unsuccessfully to prod Duo out of his reveries about Hilde's cooking...
Domo arigatou: Well. O_o; If you made it this far without beating yourself to death on the keyboard, then I'll know you read this chapter, and for that I thank you.. ^__^ Continue! :D