At The End of the Day
~ Chapter Thirty-Five
January 2, AC214
- Winner Residence, Colony L4-A00001
Duo was right. Quatre was waiting for him outside the hospital to offer him a ride home. In the dark of the night sitting at a bench located right outside the building, it was surprising to see that he was left alone as he stuck his nose on his cell phone, probably attempting to squeeze some work in while waiting. It was predictable, really, even from his standpoint that Quatre would wait for him since Trowa knew that no matter how angry he was with him, abandoning him was the last thing Quatre would do. Quatre had always been the first to concede when they fought. This time would be no different.
Trowa accepted Quatre's offer with very little thought and asked if he would also be so kind as to let him stay at his place for the night. The hotel he booked had already cancelled his reservation for the rest of the week after he disappeared without a word. Quatre agreed without hesitation. Now he was at the Winner residence, watching as his kind host placed a new set of sheets on the mattress of his guest bedroom.
Quatre did not say a word to him on their return trip home. He was busy making a few calls, occasionally conversing with his bodyguard and sending him an inquiring look every now and then to see if he was still okay. Since their arrival, Quatre offered to make him dinner, which Trowa had accepted and gratefully consumed after eating nothing but hospital food for two days straight. The dinner was silent. Despite the promise of a regurgitate-free after-dinner by way of Martian dirt, Quatre opted for his a cup of tea and companionable silence. Trowa did not force him to do anything he didn't want to do. If there was a way to make the encounter dispute free, Trowa would do it.
"If you need me, I'll be in my room upstairs," Quatre said after neatly tucking the sheets into the mattress. He left without another word.
As he stared at the bed and the fresh towels on top of the mattress, he wondered how he was supposed to approach this. Smuggling Quatre away from Earth had been easy. He was so out of it that he didn't know top from bottom. He was agreeable only because he was drugged. The normally uptight blond was even flirting with him, probably unaware of who he was after the drastic haircut he'd undergone to hide his identity. Quatre was not the easiest man to approach, a trait a pretty face like him harnessed over the years to build credibility, but he was not going to let it end this way.
Deliberating all night was out of the question, so he decided to forego rational thought and simply go to Quatre. Whether he would accept him or not was another matter. The least he could do now was try to appease whatever anger his longest friend still had for him. He knew Quatre was still angry. He was just too polite to show it.
Leaving behind the neatly made room, Trowa made his way to the largest room at the top of the staircase. Quatre was not in the room when he entered but was in the adjoining bathroom. The water was running, signaling him to the fact that the occupant of the room was taking a shower. This gave him time to contemplate his next move.
His eyes wandered, as any person's would, in the master bedroom of the richest man in current existence. Quatre's room was simply decorated but masterfully planned. Every item seemed to be put in place with lavish efficiency. The room felt as though it was made the way it was to save time, time of which he was sure Quatre had very little of in a day.
Trowa sat on the side of the bed and looked at the surroundings as if something would give him a clue as to what would make decent conversation before he explained himself. As he fiddled with the items left on the nightstand, the vid-phone remote made quick, successive beeping noises to signal that there was someone calling. Grabbing a hold of it, Trowa accidentally took the call.
"Uncle Trowa," was the greeting he got.
Quatre's son probably called that time of night to talk to his father. Trowa was certainly not prepared for this.
"Alex," he responded with nothing more to say. He was usually a gregarious adult figure to all his friends' offspring after wanting but not having a child of his own, but the Winner heir was the only exception. Even an awkward 'how has school been' would sound entirely insincere coming from his tongue.
"Your father's in the shower," he chose to say instead. "I'll tell him to call you when he gets out."
"Nobody but our family has been to my father's bedroom," Alex said, the intense gaze of Annette's deeply colored eyes penetrating him with little fear. It was a rare occurrence considering that the Winner heir seemed to fear him the most.
"Thank you for the information," Trowa replied with as little yielding power. Try as he might, the child was not going to get him out of his father's bedroom.
"…and Uncle Heero," Alex continued. "Nobody but our family and Uncle Heero has been to my father's bedroom."
Trowa swore the child was up to something, but he was the adult here, so he did not let his maturity level waiver. He regarded the child. He was a copy of Annette in every way. One would wonder how Quatre could claim to be the child's father when he looked exactly like the mother. Even his aggressive attitude and unwillingness to back down reminded him of Alex's lawyer mother who was said to never lose a case for nothing less than a truly dire reason.
"I'll tell him when he gets out of the shower," Trowa simply repeated.
Alex nodded, presented no other arguments, and then politely bowed his head before ending the call. He would no doubt make a magnificent leader. Trowa just wasn't sure he could continue to deal with him one on one.
Placing the vid-phone controls back on the nightstand, Trowa proceeded next to open Quatre's drawers and look through its contents. There were bottles everywhere. His apparent medicine cabinet held too many that it spilled over to the lower level drawer. Trowa picked up a piece and then two before taking interest in just one. Before he could read what it was, a wet hand was already on top of his.
"Why are you going through my things?" Quatre asked him with one hand barely holding a towel around his waist. Trowa supposed that was the end of his dispute-free encounter.
"Are these really necessary?" Trowa inquired. Varieties of anti-anxiety, anti-psychotic medication were littered together with painkillers in his drawer.
Quatre did not bother answering. The answer was too obvious. The half-naked body before him didn't give away much, but the look on his face said everything. He looked weary and resigned. He wasn't going to defend his drawers full of medication.
"Do you need anything?" Quatre questioned, taking the bottle out of Trowa's hand and placing it back where it came from.
Trowa did not answer. Quatre took that as a no and walked back to the bathroom.
As Trowa stared at his retreating form, he could not help but notice the lack of scars on his back. There should have been six and Trowa had memorized where each one of them were. All that was left was an ugly bruise on his lower hip accentuated by two large puncture holes. These, he was fairly sure, were the result of the bone marrow sample they'd taken from him just recently. Since he was under the conservatorship of L4, he had no say in the matter.
There was a way to salvage the situation, he was told. Either Alex turned eighteen or someone wed Quatre. One or the other could hold that right to him, but Alex was young and too many years away from saving his father from colonial possession.
"Marry me," Trowa said from where he was seated. He didn't know where that came from, having thoroughly feared this encounter even before it occurred, but something had clicked, something triggered by Heero's request to get Quatre out of the facility he had found him on Earth.
After hearing the proposal, Quatre stepped back into the room.
"No," he said without hesitation before stepping back into the bathroom.
.
August 12, AC211
- Royal Penthouse Suite, President Wilson Hotel, Earth's European Nation
"Are you sure you want to ask me that question, Trowa? Because I'm warning you right now that if you ask me that same question again, I will never give you the same answer as I am about to give you now."
.
January 2, AC214
- Winner Residence, Colony L4-A00001
The two-letter word hurt though Trowa already knew it was coming. He'd used the question once before with stupendous results, but back then, it didn't mean the same to him as it did now. He wanted to interrogate Quatre about the ring he always wore, but he had to remind himself that Quatre did warn him that he would keep it after the charade. It was all he took out of that foolish plan of his. He did get what he wanted but at a cost to their relationship.
"Are you still angry?" he asked next, not because Quatre answered in the negative, but just to temper where he was at.
"Yes, very much so," Quatre responded.
Trowa stood, making his way to the bathroom to find Quatre in a comfortable shirt and pajama bottoms, sitting on the counter with one leg up and the other hanging. A leg brace was secured on his hanging left leg and a bottle of pills was on his right hand, most likely from the open medicine cabinet next to him.
Trowa took the bottle out of Quatre's hand and replaced it on the cabinet. He closed it slowly, letting Quatre watch him with no protest. He wanted to reprimand his companion for the night for having to take medication to deal with him. He was about to say something, anything to let Quatre know what he was thinking about their situation when he felt the other's hand on the side of his face.
Gently, his cheek was caressed as though someone intimately studying his lover's features. He stood in shocked silence, unable to react to the unpredictable move. He wondered what he should be doing in such a situation, if Quatre was somehow out of his mind at the moment or if he knew exactly what he was doing.
Quatre, unfortunately, left him with no clues as he continued studying his face and then swiped the short strands of his hair out of his forehead though they were no longer obstructing it.
"I like being able to see both your eyes," Quatre said.
Trowa was still at a loss. He managed to chastise himself for not knowing what was going on because he should have. He'd known Quatre for so long.
He was left with very little time to react when Quatre's lips connected with his. Was he forgiven? He wasn't sure. He could barely process anything, barely ask what exactly was going on. He couldn't figure out if Quatre was trying to get back at him. Something told him that he should just be enjoying this moment. This kind of moment was rare, interspersed over long periods of time after constant repression, hidden within excuses of responsibility, and then finally denied until the time it would reveal itself in an unexpected fashion.
Trowa kissed back experimentally only to be caught unprepared and dominated. It almost felt like a trap.
"Quatre," he said in an attempt to protest once he'd managed to take a breather, but Quatre would have none of it. It seemed as though his eyebrow would rise past his hairline when a hand snaked itself inside his shirt. They'd never gotten this far before.
He was sure Quatre was still angry up to about five minutes ago and he was almost sure he still was, but all that mattered was that, at least right now, they were getting along just fine.
.
January 3, AC214
- Winner Residence, Colony L4-A00001
He woke up with a start. Sleep had been surprisingly good. He'd gotten into a deep enough slumber that he did not dream. He would have continued if not for the sudden breath of panic coming from someone in the room. Trowa blinked his eyes open to allow it to adjust to the dimly lit room in time to see Quatre run for the bathroom.
He sat up, wondering what had gotten into Quatre at the early hours of the morning. It was still dark out and the clock indicated that it was five thirty in the morning.
The table on the far side of the room had a lit lamp with a notebook and some writing materials on top. Suffice to say, Quatre had been working while he was sleeping soundly. He probably fell asleep on the table only to awaken suddenly. He stretched, pushing the covers off of him to attempt to figure out what was going on. Something similar to stones being hurled at a hard surface resounded from the bathroom.
Putting some clothes on, he blearily made his way to the source of the ruckus. Quatre was in the quickly filling bathtub, fully clothed and shaken. His leg brace was on the bathroom floor. Both water and ice filled the tub quickly - water from the faucet and ice directly from an ice maker installed in the tub. The source of the loud sounds from earlier was solved. The reason for Quatre soaking himself in freezing water wasn't.
Trowa didn't know if he should disturb, so he quietly sat himself down on the floor next to the tub. If Quatre noticed his presence, he didn't make any move to indicate that he had. His eyes were closed with his hands on either side of his head as if he was trying to fight something, but not a sound came out of him. Trowa opted to uphold the silence, the same silence in which he contemplated the expensive looking item on his wrist.
As ice cubes continued dropping into the partially filled tub, Trowa watched Quatre combat whatever demons it was that disturbed him in the early hours of the morning. Telling from the unusual machine installed in the tub and the marks on the same tub to indicate frequent use, Trowa concluded that this kind of thing happened often. Not only was there a lack of eating from this man, there was also a lack of sleep.
It was only when the tub was threatening to overflow that Trowa shut the water and the ice maker off. That was when Quatre noticed his presence.
He seemed alarmed at first as if forgetting that he was not alone. He opened his eyes in shock and reflexively moved away from him as if he were a threat. Trowa held still and kept quiet, allowing Quatre to work the panic out of his system and recognize that he was not a source of danger. Eventually, it subsided, and Quatre promptly began gathering himself to display some kind of control over his situation.
"Did I wake you?" Quatre said after realizing his hysterics whilst unable to look directly at him.
Trowa dared not touch him as he may have still been a bit jumpy.
"Yes," he replied, choosing instead to rest his arm on the side of the tub. "Are you alright?"
Quatre stared straight ahead, looking as if he was calculating his answer. He did not respond for the longest period of time.
"You can be honest with me," Trowa suggested.
It seemed Quatre finally decided not to answer the question when he slipped deeper into the tub to get the rest of himself covered in water. He was a tall man, however, so his attempt looked rather awkward.
"You can't just dismiss my question," Trowa said.
Grabbing Quatre's wrist, he felt a need to touch something, any part of him because something told him that Quatre would drown and when he did, there was no way to save him.
"Marry me," he repeated again in an attempt to catch his attention.
Quatre was enraged as he sat up and pulled his wrist out of Trowa's hand. He was shaking when he responded with his hands in fists.
"What, so you could be the one to decide whether to pull the plug or not?" he snapped, effectively pulling him out of his inner demons. "You think marriage will give you rights to me, that L4 would lay off just like that? Is it this bracelet that's making you ask that question? Because if it is then you should know that it's been this way for years. The only difference is that now, there's something tangible to prove that they own me."
Trowa did not provoke him further. Just getting him out of his rut was enough for now because the last thing he would do would be to dump more pills down Quatre's throat in hopes that he gets better. He'd had that proven ineffective once before and once was too much.
"I like this response better," Trowa said because it was more honest and more meaningful. It contained the feelings he'd never expressed, probably never admitted in fear of showing selfishness.
"I'm not really in the mood for this, Trowa," Quatre said, looking away.
He seemed tired, tired enough that if he did not stop the argument, he would lose it. Trowa saw this as his only chance but thought better of it. It wasn't a fair fight. He wouldn't coax Quatre out of his shell this way.
He got up and retrieved a towel because Quatre had been in the water too long. The towel was accepted without a word. Quatre exited the tub after draining it, making his way to the walk-in closet with puddles of water following his every step.
"If you'd stayed in bed with me, I would've-"
"Would've what?" Quatre snapped. He didn't turn back but he remained standing where he stopped.
"I would've," Trowa continued before being cut-off again.
"Forget it. I don't want to hear it," Quatre said and then disappeared into his closet.
Following suit, Trowa stood from where he was seated and stayed by the closed closet door. He listened in and heard no rustling, nothing to indicate movement from inside. Quatre wanting to get away from him was no surprise at all.
'I would have held you' was what he wanted to say but held back. Maybe it wasn't the right time to bring that up.
"Look," he said instead as he placed the side of his head against the door. "I'm not going to explain to you why I left you at the circus. I'm sure that you already know why. It's not the reason why I did it but the fact that I did it that's making you angry. I can't make up for that nor can I ever make up for everything I've done. Just let me… just let me try."
"I can't deal with you," Quatre replied immediately.
How he was supposed to respond to that did not come to Trowa readily. They'd been intimate only hours before, but then a lot of things didn't really make sense anymore so he accepted it the way it was presented. He wanted honesty and this was it.
"I can't let you have your way," was Trowa's own admission. "I know I've never let you have what you want, but I'm not starting now. I won't leave you alone Quatre, not even if you can't deal with me. Let me take care of you."
"You don't know what you're asking for and how dare you ask for such a thing without knowing anything."
"Then tell me," Trowa pleaded but stopped short of opening the door. "I'm right here. I'll listen."
The conversation ended there. Quatre did not respond. Instead, movement was heard from inside the closet and not before long, he exited dressed in his pristine suit. Trowa was ignored, still waiting by the door, as he shaved and groomed himself in front of the mirror and when that was finally done and his tie was neatly in place, he turned around to address him.
"The family will be having breakfast downstairs at seven," he said quietly. "Try to get some sleep and join us for breakfast later if you're up for it."
Trowa nodded and waited and when Quatre was almost out of the bathroom, he whispered.
"I love you."
Quatre whipped around, apparently hearing the almost imperceptible words.
"We're past that, Trowa," he said just a decibel below a scream. "We're way past that."
His fisted hands were shaking. He looked mad and hurt as he held the door frame to keep himself steady.
"Get some rest," he said, now in a more controlled manner as he turned around. "Breakfast will be waiting downstairs for you when you're ready."
In his head, Trowa slowly counted to fifty and when the last number came up, pulled himself away from the wall he'd backed up into. This much, he should be able to take, so he gathered his wits, calmed his nerves and promised himself that this would not be the last time. He'd be damned if he gave up on his biggest mistake.