Note: Please proceed to AO3 for the uncensored version of this chapter. Thank you.
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Back to One
~ Act Twelve
The crew had just wrapped-up filming the European leg of the shoot in the city yesterday when their flight was cancelled due to suspicious activities at their final destination. There were no more available flights out of Brussels until another few days. Half the crew was excited to spend a few more days in the city. The other half was worried sick about their families back home. Trowa was more than mildly distressed about who knew what and Quatre knew he had the power to make everyone's worries all go away.
It might have been a bad idea, he knew the moment he stepped into the office building with Trowa, who refused to leave him alone as part of the hot and cold game he seemed to be playing with him. The receptionist at the bottom floor had been polite and accommodating as he requested to see the person at the top floor. It didn't take long for them to acquiesce with his request, chaperoning him in the elevator and the upscale office at the end of the building facing the best views of the city below. He was perturbed but didn't let it show with Trowa at his side probably wondering how they'd gotten through so easily with no appointments necessary.
When they entered the office, they were requested to be seated as they would be joined shortly by Mr. Dietrich. It didn't even take one minute. The door opened even before the secretary had left, revealing Mr. Dietrich who looked as if he ran there to meet them. Quatre knew Trowa was wondering why the most important man in the building, dressed appropriately in a power suit, had been harried to greet them or why no one in the entire building wanted to inconvenience them.
Quatre stood, ready to greet the head of the Brussels operations, when he was attacked by fingers on his cheeks, pinching them with excessive force. He attempted to swat the hand away when he was instead pulled into a tight hug.
"Uncle Quatre," he was greeted. "It's been a long time. You're still just as adorable as always."
Trowa stood, waiting to the side, probably wondering what was going on.
"This is Trowa Barton," Quatre introduced. "Trowa, this is my nephew from my eldest sister, Adrian Dietrich."
"Adrian Winner-Dietrich," he corrected. "A pleasure to meet you," he said next with a handshake. "I liked all your movies, including your earliest ones."
Trowa accepted the compliment with an unusual scratch of his head. He put a hand in his pocket, looking uneasy, but engaged in friendly talk anyway.
"I didn't know Quatre had nephews his age."
"He's a few hours older," Adrian explained, asking them to take a seat. Quatre didn't. He didn't want to be there for too long. "What brings you to my office?"
"I need a plane," Quatre said quickly, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking anywhere but at the person he was requesting the favor from.
"Where are yours?"
"Parked in Burbank, Salzburg, etcetera," Quatre murmured, not wanting Trowa to hear any of what they'd been talking about. He saw Trowa's brows rise in question and he really didn't want to explain how or why he owned planes or how many the family had.
"I see you still like flying commercial," Adrian commented. The family always wondered why he preferred to go with the flow of the remaining ninety-nine percent, refusing to act and spend like a wealthy man would. For all their teasing, they never forced him or dissuaded him from what he did. For that, at least, he was thankful.
"We'll need a commercial plane," he clarified, attempting to shrink his entire body away from Trowa. He should have left him behind when he had the chance. "…for the entire filming crew and their equipment."
"Done. You know this is going to cost you, right?"
Quatre pulled his nephew aside, leaving Trowa to sit on the couch when the secretary came back in to serve drinks. When Trowa attempted to follow, he signaled with his hand for him to stay where he was, leading his nephew closer to the expansive windows, as far away from Trowa as possible. He tried his best to speak in hushed tones.
"We can pay."
"You can buy all the planes in the airport as we speak, Uncle Quat. That's not what I was talking about."
Watching the city below was mesmerizing and Quatre allowed himself to do just that as he considered all the possibilities of what exactly his nephew would want from him. He skirted the subject anyway, bringing back up the most pressing matter at hand.
"You're going to have to charge the production company. My friends won't accept the free ride."
"You mean you're not footing the bill? And you know I'm not charging money, right?"
"I play by the rules of the rest of the world."
He got paid the amount they agreed on as per contract. The production covered the expenses. He could have just as easily paid for the entire production, but just like with the insurance issue, he refused to use money to his advantage. Though his family understood that, they always worried about his insistence to make it, as they preferred to call it, 'harder on himself'.
"Then that's not going to be cheap for them at all. I mean, this is a private, commercial sized jet we're talking about."
"Charge them somewhere between the border of reasonable and dirt cheap."
"Those borders don't even meet," his nephew answered blandly, leaning back on the large glass windows and crossing his arms. Quatre was facing the window, but he knew his face was being studied. The Winners were analytical that way. "Fine. I can claim that the plane is older, the fuel was cheaply purchased and the flight crew is made up of a bunch of new hires in training."
"You could give a discount on the pilot too. We won't need it."
Adrian snorted. "You can still fly a plane?"
"Who taught you how to fly one?"
"Fair enough. How will your friend over there take it when he sees you at the controls?"
He was bringing up his substance abuse issues, Quatre knew, though he did not explicitly say it. They were the same age but Adrian was more driven and therefore more successful. Heading the Brussels operation was an important job, one of many he could have been holding had he continued working at the company. He did not regret it, however, since he knew his sisters, nephews and nieces were more than capable at the job.
"I'm competent enough not to kill an entire plane full of people, if that's what you're asking."
"Uncle Quat, you've got to stop being self-deprecating. It's just too depressing." He motioned with his eyes to Trowa still seated and sipping on his drink. "What I'm worried about is your friend over there. He keeps on staring this way then looking away when I look back. He could've borne holes in your back by now if his eyes were lasers."
"He's worried about getting home right away along with the rest of the crew."
"My sweet Uncle Quatre," Adrian said, suddenly clamping a hand down on his shoulder and whispering into his ear. "You just can't understand the gravity of his eyes on you. Just make sure he doesn't put you in any compromising positions. You do know he used to shoot porn, don't you?"
Quatre felt his ears heat up before he could stop it and for the first time feel Trowa's eyes on him. He didn't know that and the revelation at that moment didn't help either. Adrian wasn't easing the situation or the interpretation of their exchange with his whispering too close to his ear. He heard rather than saw Trowa rise from his seat, ready to approach them.
"Take a seat, Mr. Barton," his nephew said with a courteous tone of voice, the same tone he probably used at board meetings. No doubt Trowa would sit back down. "We were just discussing what he's willing to do for a discount."
"That sounded like innuendo." Quatre almost hissed. "Don't give him any ideas. I'm your uncle, for god's sake."
"But we used to bathe naked together," Adrian said louder than necessary.
That was the last straw. Quatre pulled his nephew away from the windows, pulled open the first door he could find and shoved him in there before joining him.
"This is not very discreet either," Adrian commented. "Relax, Uncle Quat. I was simply inflating your value. We have a deal on the plane. I just need you to do me one favor."
"And that is?"
"I need you to go to the headquarters in Berlin. You fly there in the afternoon and then head back here in a couple of hours to fly the plane back to LA. I'll have it ready and fueled with the crew in the airport. Your friends can meet you there."
"Berlin is your sister's jurisdiction."
"Exactly."
Quatre ran a hand through his hair, noticing for the first time that he'd hid them both in the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked better than he did before Wufei's intervention, but still did not look ready enough to pass through another one of the Winner Company offices. Though he was no longer working at the company or showed up at necessary shareholder meetings, it was still difficult. He still held that much influence being a majority shareholder. It was a power play, the reason why he didn't want to show up at the building and ask for his nephew's help in the first place.
"You don't need to say anything, Uncle Quat. You don't even have to talk to her. Just show up - like you did here."
"It wasn't my intention to exert my influence here."
"But you did, just by showing up. Did you see the executives quaking in their boots as you passed by? And you brought your love-struck friend which is equivalent to an announcement that you will have no heirs."
Quatre stiffened. It was a miscalculation on his part. He really should have left Trowa behind. He thought up plans in his head of ways to offset the consequences of the unwanted projection of his sexuality – whatever that sexuality was. He hadn't even figured it out himself yet.
"This is plain manipulation. I'm not being roped into this."
"Aren't you willing to make sacrifices for your Hollywood friends?"
"Fine," Quatre said after another few moments of contemplation. It was too late to take back what he'd done just now. He could at least control the situation the next time he showed up at a Winner holding – in a few hours in Berlin. "Whether it would fall into your plans or not, I'm not taking Trowa with me."
"Good," Adrian said with a grin, making it obvious that he would use that bit of discrepancy to his advantage. He adjusted the cufflinks on his sleeves before turning the doorknob. "And make sure you wear a suit."
"Congratulations on successfully manipulating your uncle," Quatre said with a release of breath he didn't know he held, following him out the door. "I'll see you at Thanksgiving if you're flying the family over to New York."
"Will do, Uncle Quat. The kids can't wait to see their super cute grand uncle."
Trowa looked worried when they exited and tad bit possessive as he quickly took position right next to him. Quatre could do nothing but sigh as he was given a sly wink by his nephew who led them out of his office, even accompanying them to the elevator, the bottom floor and the revolving doors out of the building. He noted the eyes on them and the not so subtle attempts by a few to approach him and not for the first time, allowed himself to be part of his cunning nephew's power play.
"Good luck with the film, Mr. Barton." Adrian delivered his parting words with a very diplomatic and professional smile. "Uncle Quat's going to have to leave you for a bit, but he'll join you at the airport tonight. Please make sure he doesn't wreck my plane."
Trowa didn't have to ask before Quatre explained with a rub of his already tired eyes.
"Don't worry about it. I just have to be a slave to the company for a few hours. I'll meet you at the airport tonight."
Quatre didn't know if it was the fact that he got them a flight back earlier than expected, his nephew's infuriating repartee, the three piece suit he wore when he met them at the airport or the fact that he piloted the plane home that garnered him a too enthusiastic thanks. All he knew was that Trowa was on him as soon as they landed, in the public bathroom even, where witnesses were very possible. The media had photographed them while exiting customs at the airport and he was sure they were not far behind.
It took a lot of reasoning to get Trowa to calm down and multitudes of people watching to stop him from trying anything until they drove back to Quatre's condo. Whatever Trowa's urgency was to get back home seemed no longer important as he refused to be driven back to Malibu. Quatre had no choice but to take him back with him to his condo, passing by a neighbor in the process to pick up Noam, who'd been dropped off there by Heero in the morning.
His shower was a little too quick as well with Trowa yanking him out mid-wash, quickly rubbing him down with a towel as if not doing so quickly enough would cause a fire. Trowa was pretty wet too from a recent shower, either forgetting or foregoing applying the towel to himself. Quatre wanted to use jet lag as an excuse and he was too tired after the preceding trip to Berlin, but he was rendered powerless after being shoved to the bed face down. His towel was gone by then, his groans and Trowa's sloppy licks the only thing audible in the room. He was losing the willpower to say anything to stop him.
"We're being watched," he said mid-inhale, waving an awkwardly positioned arm somewhere to his right where Noam was lounging on his side, watching their activities intently. He would have blushed if he could, but his blood was already rushing to different parts of his body. He presumed his skin was pink all over as he tried to get away, only to be pulled back with a firm hand.
"He can watch."
"You can leave."
His breaths were quick and it was taking all of his lung capacity to say anything. Trowa mercifully left him then, leading Noam gently out of the room before locking the door behind him.
"Better?"
Quatre nodded, sitting up and unconsciously pulling a blanket to his bare self to protect whatever was left of his modesty.
"We're not done here yet."
Quatre nodded again. He didn't think he wanted it to be over with yet, but what Trowa had been doing was mildly humiliating.
"We can do other things," he suggested, but Trowa shook his head to that.
"I want all of you."
Quarte licked his lips. It was so cheesy, probably out of a cheap porn flick, but the effect was no different from the clichéd endings he'd seen in movies often enough. He slipped into the sheets, embarrassed now by his obvious reluctance.
"Okay," he said, getting into a more comfortable position before a knock came through the door.
"Someone's got to get that," he said while clutching his sheet with one hand. "Heero has a key. He might-"
Trowa didn't need further encouragement as he grabbed the discarded towel from the floor and secured it around his waist. He yanked the bedroom door open, grumpily making his way to the front door. Quatre bit his lip. He wasn't the only one frustrated at that point.
He flipped his legs over to the side of the bed, wondering how Heero would react to the sight of a barely dressed Trowa getting the door. He would probably hightail it out of there within seconds, so he was worried when the seconds he was expecting turned into one minute and then two and then five. Something was not right, so he dressed himself in the first shirt and pair of pants he could find.
Padding his way to the living room on the way to the front door, he had to pause, hearing an unfamiliar voice. He saw Trowa's back and the open door but no one coming in.
"There he is," the foreign voice said. "I thought you were going to bring Trowa home as soon as you landed."
He looked from the man to Trowa then back. It was obvious that he was at a loss.
"I thought Trowa was pretty loud, but you can compete with the best of them, Quatre Winner."
He dipped his head immediately, wishing he had worn a hooded sweater so he could hide in the fabric. The conversation continued on without him.
"Look, I'll be home as soon as I finish-"
"Fucking him?"
"Getting dressed."
To Quatre, that sounded like a couple's quarrel. He almost asked who exactly the other person was when he was so helpfully assisted.
"Oh, don't tell me he doesn't know."
"Look, Raph, you don't have to-"
Trowa was cut off immediately before a hand was offered in front of Quatre's face. He accepted the handshake easily, looking up when the other hand wouldn't let go of his.
"Raphael. He's my partner," Trowa said as sort of an introduction. He was looking away from them both.
"Life partner," the man amended, now almost crushing his hand. "The same life partner who agreed to have him go through with his little experiment with the understanding that you'd take him home after the film was over with and the experiment was done. Believe me, people will hear about this."
When his hand was freed, Quatre placed it inside his pockets, feeling mortified and self-conscious all at once. So that was what Duo meant by 'messing around' and what Trowa was so worried about when their flight was cancelled. Noam, who seemed to have noticed his distress, suddenly made an appearance next to him. He made a whining sound, rubbing his head against his leg as if in encouragement.
"Sorry." It was all he could offer short of admitting he was a… mistress? Perhaps paramour was more the term he was looking for. Regardless, it became very evident that he was at least one half of the party at fault though he had no idea about the existence of a lover of higher authority or an experiment he was unknowingly a part of.
"Let's just go."
Quatre looked down at his feet. His toes were curled inwards in the same kind of shame he couldn't quite express. Not before long, they were gone and he was left to brood by sinking to the floor with only his sweet, sympathetic golden retriever at his side.