Standard Disclaimer: I want them!! *cries uncontrollably* But Sunrise and Bandai won't let me have them! I only get to use them sometimes.
Warnings: language, shonen ai
A/N: Short chapter. ^_^;;
[blah] = thoughts
Renaissance
By skyprincess
Chapter 9:
Duo sat at the table and watched Trowa go. He was confused and angry and worried and just plain mixed up. [What the fuck is he talking about?!?! Why does he assume so much? I need to get out of here.] He added a few dollars to the 20 on the table and headed for his jeep.
After about 15 minutes, he found himself deep within the Appalachian Trail, looking over the Shenandoah Valley. The sun was setting behind the mountains and the blue sky melted into soft pastels and deep indigo. The wind washed through the tall grass of the valley and the rippling of the stalks reminded Duo of the ocean. The sweet scent of spring filled the air as the birds sang their last song for the day. As the violet-eyed boy sat in the grass listening to them, his thoughts wandered back to the songs that Quatre played for him.
"Poor Quatre," he told some wild daisies, "Why does Trowa have to be so high and mighty all the time? Why does he ask so many questions? Of course I worry about Quatre . . . He's my best friend. Heero and I don't talk much anymore. I think WuFei hates me, and Trowa, well, that's territory that I don't want to enter. But Quatre's always there for me . . . for everyone. He's just kind like that. I can't believe that people would try to take advantage of him," Duo paused in his inter-daisy conversation and looked out over the valley, "It's so beautiful here. Quatre would love it. I should bring him . . . maybe it would cheer him up." The daisies only nodded their heads in the breeze. "I should get back to school; Quatre will be worried." He climbed back into the jeep and began the half hour drive back to Ridgemont.
As he entered the living room, he tossed his keys on a table. The petite blonde sat in his burgundy chair, playing with the tiny birds. Their blue, yellow, and green feathers added a cheerfulness that brightened the often dark room.
Quatre loved the little birds. They were so tiny and gentle, and they sang beautifully. He looked up as his friend entered the room. A smile adorned his excitedly flushed face and his eyes twinkled. "What are their names?" he asked.
Duo couldn't help, but smile at the little blonde's happy curiosity. "Henry and Henrietta," he replied, "I'm glad you're feeling better."
The sandrock pilot's face burned with embarrassment. His eyes dropped, in fact, his whole head lowered and his small body shook a little. "I'm so sorry you had to deal with that. I didn't mean to lose control. I thought I could handle it, but I guess I'm too weak," Quatre fought back tears.
The braided boy strained to see his friend's downcast face, but the blonde bangs blocked his view. He did notice two small drops that fell from the little face onto the soft rug.
Quatre was so ashamed. After all Duo had done to help him, he still lost it. He couldn't even look him in the face. He willed himself not to cry but it wasn't working. He felt as if he'd taken their friendship for granted. The blonde sat frozen . . . clinging to his pants until his knuckles were white.
He suddenly felt the strong arms around him again, willing him to look up. He slowly raised his gaze to meet the vivid amethyst eyes.
"You are not weak. You lost the one you loved. Not even the strongest man in the world can recover from that easily . . . and what did I say about apologies?" Duo's voice was gentle and soft. His understanding and comfort reached into Quatre's heart, drawing more tears from the large blue eyes.
"Thank you for taking such good care of me," Quatre whispered.
The words struck something in Duo and he thought back to his conversation with Trowa, "I'll always take care of you." He gave the smaller boy one last squeeze and then stood to get a drink. "Are you thirsty, Q?" he asked, returning to his usual jovial voice.
"Not really. But I do have info on the mission."
Duo slapped himself on the forehead. [I almost forgot about it.] "So," he said sheepishly, "What'd ya get?"
"Oz officers must be disguised as teachers and students."
"Why?"
"Our class lectures are actually codes for military information."
"What?!"
"Don't look so surprised. If the organization could survive the wars, they can do almost anything."
"Even use a school for their own sick purposes. Where's the safehouse again?"
"About 45 minutes away. Near the Shenandoah Valley."
"It's more like half an hour."
"Oh, you know the area?"
"Sorta. Do, do you have a list of teachers you need followed?"
"Yes. Start with Mr. Khrushchev."
"The history teacher . . . why didn't I think of that?"
"We need to find out anything we can about where he goes and who he's with."
"Gotcha. Piece of cake."