Renaissance
by skyprincess
Disclaimers: There are very few things that I can count as my own. I have pens, papers, and a pair of fuzzy leopard print slippers, but Gundam Wing is definitely not one of them. My payment for the story is hopefully your (the readers') enjoyment, but I am in no way monetarily compensated for my work. So no law suits please. I can't afford a trial.
Warnings: shonen-ai, language, severe angsty drama, and a cross-dressed Quatre
Chapter 3:
Duo had no answers. The girl he'd been lusting after for over a month was none other than his dear friend and comrade in arms, Quatre. For the first time in his life, Duo was speechless.
They both stood there, for what seemed like an eternity, gaping in shock. Almost simultaneously, they realized that they still had their arms around each other. The two boys practically jumped away from each other, both blushing several shades of red.
Regaining his composure, Quatre looked at his still motionless friend and sighed. "We need to talk," the blonde said flatly, "Let's go to my room. It's more private."
Duo nodded in agreement as he attempted to recover from the initial shock.
"Oh! One more thing, Duo. . . shut your mouth."
The gaping jaw snapped shut and the brunette followed Quatre up the stairs in front of the dorms, then to the elevator, and up to the tenth floor. The boys walked the short distance down the hall to the only visible door.
"Are you the only one who lives up here?" Duo asked curiously.
"Oh no," Quatre replied with a laugh, "My room only takes up half of the floor."
The beginnings of Duo's usual smart-ass response was cut off as his jaw once again hit the floor (it has spent a lot of time there lately). The American only blinked at the lush contents displayed by the now open penthouse door. Candelabras and mirrors fashioned from gold lined the corridor which lead into a spacious living room. Past the end of the hall, Duo saw a large bay window with a cream satin bench. On the seat lay an open violin case and in front of it say a shiny metal music stand. Duo also noted that the window offered a perfect view of the gardens.
As they entered, the room curved to the left. On the south wall was an extremely large fireplace lined with skilled stonework. Large mahogany doors stood on either side of the wall around the fireplace. In front of the hearth a loveseat and matching sofa were positioned with three mahogany tables: one on either end and one between the two sofas. The Victorian upholstery swirled with an almost paisley pattern of deep purples and greens, lined with gold trim and tassels. A cherry-wood table with two matching chairs stood against the north wall. A large ornate Iranian rug covered a large portion of the marble floor. Dainty Tiffany lamps cast dim lighting over the entire room.
Duo then looked towards the very back of the room. He scanned the burgundy chair and ottoman, and eyed the cabinet with concern. Although quite lovely, these pieces of furniture seemed so secluded.
Initially, the braided wonder stood in awe of the luxurious accommodations. Then he remembered that Quatre is a Winner and can have just about anything he pleases. But he usually doesn't want very much. He began to inspect several pieces of art hanging from the north wall. A piece by Dali, one by Renaud, they were practically ancient and probably worth a fortune.
While Duo was preoccupied, Quatre headed back towards the mini-bar. [It's good to see Duo again. Now I can finally talk to someone who understands me.] "Hey Duo! Want something to drink?" the Arab called as he took two glasses from the shelf.
"Sure. Waddya got?" Duo replied as he looked over a work from Pablo Picasso's blue period.
"Maritini and Rossi, Amaretto, Dewar's, Bacardi, Absolut. . ."
"Quatre!?!? I thought you meant Coke or Sprite!"
"Oh no, the bar's fully stocked," Quatre replied pouring himself scotch on the rocks.
"Well in that case," Duo grinned, "I'll have a little rum and coke."
The blonde pilot quickly poured an ounce of Bacardi into a glass of ice and added a splash of Coke. He handed the drink to Duo and they both sat down on the sofa. For a moment, the pilots sat in silence, looking at each other, and soaking in the reality of the situation.
"You're the one I always see in the garden," Quatre thought sipping the scotch.
"Yeah. . . I go out there to think."
"Well, what are you up to here?"
"Well, I know that this school serves as a communication link for Neo-Oz. My mission is to find out how their messaging system works and attempt to shut it down."
"I see."
The American frowned slightly, "Now it's my turn to ask some questions. What are you doing here?"
Quatre finished his drink in one gulp, then looked at Duo and answered, "Obviously there are Neo-Oz officials already here undercover. I'm supposed to get any info and identification on them that I can, so that I can also find their base of operation."
The violet-eyed boy watched Quatre pull at his hair-bow absentmindedly, chugged his cocktail, and looked deep into Quatre's eyes, searching the large blue pools.
The blonde blushed under the heat of Duo's stare. [Why is he looking at me like that?] In addition to nervously fidgeting, he began to nervously bite his bottom lip.
Duo sat the glass down on a nearby table, breaking the gaze. He sat for a moment looking at the floor and then met Quatre's eyes once again. "Quatre. . ." he began slowly, "Forgive me if I'm prying, but. . . why are you dressed like a girl. Don't get me wrong, you look great. . . but why?"
The cherubic face clouded over and the ivory cheeks burned with embarrassment. "Please! Don't tell the others!" he practically begged. Duo gently nodded his head, coaxing Quatre to continue.
"I. . . I. . . I wanted to be beautiful," the petite boy blurted out. After acknowledging the look of surprise on his friend's face, he continued, "When Trowa left, I felt so lost. . . so worthless. I thought if I were beautiful, maybe Trowa would love me. . . if I were a girl, maybe he would've stayed. So I tried to make myself everything that I thought he wanted. I surrounded myself with everything beautiful, but it only succeeded in making me feel uglier."
Duo's heart went out to his friend as he sow tears welling up in Quatre's eyes. He wrapped his arms around the Arabs back and pulled the petite pilot into a tight hug. "It's okay Q, you can let it out," he cooed soothingly.
Quatre felt so safe in the arms of his best friend. His head rested against Duo's soft braid which smelled of chamomile and jasmine. He let the tears flow freely, softly sobbing in the protective circle of Duo's arms.
The American gently stroked the blonde hair with one hand, and held Quatre tightly with the other. He whispered soft words of comfort in Quatre's ear. He wanted nothing more, at that moment, than to protect the little blonde.
Gripping Duo's shirt in whitened knuckles, the blue-eyed boy silently wept. They remained this way well into the night. Quatre finally released many of the feelings that he had hidden from the human eye, and Duo finally found someone who needed him just as much as he needed them.
As Quatre's tears subsided, he sat back and rubbed his red eyes. He looked at the brunette apologetically and opened his mouth to say something, but Duo cut him off, "Don't even say you're sorry. I'm your friend. This is what I'm here for. Now," he placed his hands on the petite blonde's shoulders and looked into the aquamarine eyes, "What happened between you and Trowa? What did he do to cause you so much pain?"
The Sandrock pilot sighed deeply choking back a sob. "It was five months ago," he started with a far-away look in his eyes, "I was preparing for his return from an assignment and I planned out the entire night so he could just relax. Tickets to the theatre, dinner, the whole nine yards. I had his suit ready when he got home. He looked so weary when he walked in, that I almost canceled the whole evening. But he said he was fine. . . anything for his angel." Quatre paused to look at Duo who was listening intently. "So, we went out. I chatted excitedly the whole time, but Trowa was very silent, even for him. He almost seemed melancholy. When we got back to the house, I wanted to talk but every time I opened my mouth, Trowa crushed his against mine." Duo looked a little taken aback by the personal information, but nodded for his friend to continue. "So, we made love and afterwards I waited for Trowa to talk. That's how things worked. I guess the sex loosened him up or something. But that night he didn't hold me and he wouldn't talk. He just sat at the edge of the bed staring at the floor. Worried, I climbed across the bed and wrapped my arms around him from behind. He relaxed into my arms, close his eyes, and sighed deeply. When he opened them, he pulled off my arms and turned around to face me. Out of the blue he asked, 'Quatre, so you really believe that there's a person out there for everyone?' I nodded my head. Then he asked, 'What if someone is you're "right" person, but you're not theirs?' I was so confused by his questions," tears welled up in the blue eyes and Duo pulled him close again. Quatre continued his story through sentences broken by sobs, "I just sat across from him and thought, 'We love each other, of course we're right for each other. What are you talking about?' I guess he read the look on my face well, because he said, don't worry little one and kissed my forehead. He carried me back to the head of the bed and climbed under the covers with me. Feeling reassured, I slipped into a deep and fitful sleep. When I woke up the nest morning, I was alone in bed. I got up and looked around the house for him and noticed that the corvette that I gave him was not in the garage. I thought he might have had work to do, so I went back up to the bedroom to get dressed. I opened the closet door and. . . and. . ." The story became increasingly difficult to understand through the heart-wrenching sobs. "All of his clothes were gone. I ran to the library. His books and laptop were gone. His flute wasn't in the music hall. There was no note. . . no letter. . . no message. . . no goodbye. He left me! He ran away in the night and he didn't even tell me or call me or send me a letter! He just left me all alone!"
The slight frame convulsed in sorrow. The small boy wept violently on Duo's shoulder. [How could anyone hurt Quatre? He's so lost and vulnerable. Why would Trowa leave him so cold-heartedly? Why would anyone break his beautiful spirit?] The braided pilot scooted down on the sofa so Quatre could lean against him more comfortably.
He didn't know how long he cried, but the tears seemed endless. Seeking the all of the comfort Duo had to offer, he buried himself in the warm embrace. Caught up in the warring emotions, Quatre did not feel fatigue permeate his consciousness. Some time later, and after much solace, the Arabian pilot was lulled into a light sleep by the soft chestnut hair, gentle words, and the scent of chamomile and jasmine.