AN: Thank you to everyone who reviewed explaining 3x4 to me. (Mariana 1 and Fabi-chan to name a few.) I appreciate all of the support I receive from reach and everyone of you.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to it's respective owner.
Roommates
Chapter 3 (The apple never falls far from the tree.)
One of the many things that Trowa hated was the fact that he gave in way to easily. It was something he always addressed and swore he would fix sometime, maybe next year, and never got around to actually doing it.
Because of that, he was constantly the one left with the crappiest jobs or doing stuff he didn't want to do, just because he gave in to easily. Some people might say he just had a big heart, Trowa wasn't so sure that was actually right. He wasn't on this plane because he had a big heart and didn't want to make Quatre feel bad, the truth was he was just to lazy to fight with him anymore.
"Want anything to drink?" Quatre's cheerful voice rang out interrupting his thoughts.
"Huh?" he asked turning around.
"A drink." He repeated. "Are you thirsty?"
"Oh, no I'm fine." After saying that he turned back around to glance at what appeared to be a large forest passing beneath them.
The Winner estate turned out to be just as Quatre remembered, large but inviting, full of love. "Dad!" he exclaimed joyfully rushing to his father's arms. "I've missed you so much!"
"I've missed you to." Wrapping his arms around his son and squeezing, he smiled at the sight of his only son. Noticing Trowa he let go, and extended his arm saying: "Welcome, welcome."
Mr. Winner, Trowa found was an exact copy of his son. They both had that ame smile the kind that made you smile back no matter how tired, how aggrivated you were or how much you wanted just wanted to curl into a ball and sleep, hoping time would make you feel better."you must be.."
"Trowa Barton." He finished for him.
"Aw yes Quatre's friend.I've heard so much about you."
[And I've heard so much about you to.] Trowa thought to himself. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Winner."
"And you to Trowa."
Trowa had come to the conclusion that everything in Quatre's house was done formally and with the upmost respect for each other. And here respect actually existed unlike where Trowa came form where respect was just a mask used to cover up all of the lack of emotion present.
Another thing Trowa observed was that these people never seemed to be bothered by emotions like anger, greed or any other petty emotions, everyone seemed to be happy and grateful just to be still living.
Everything was polite, pleasant and formal. Even the table setting and your seat at the table was formal and old-fashioned. The head of the house, the husband, sat at the head of the table and the guest of honor, Trowa, sat to his right left. The seat for the hostess was oddly empty. Mr. Winner, noticing Trowa's gaze commented: "My wife is feeling ill, just as well as one of my daughters and won't be able to join us."
"That's okay." He assured him seeing the servants bringing in the food he hoped that the unnerving silence would dissapear once the food was served.
Naturally doing what he always did when food was placed in front of him, Trowa stated to eat, unaware of the fact that he was the only one stuffing his face. The rest of the Winner family were deep in meditation. Hearing a small female laugh and feeling a finger poking at his side, the brunette looked up suddenly becoming aware of his surroundings.
Glancing nerviously around to see if any one else had noticed his error and hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt, he exhailed noticing no one else had saw.
Feeling he was being antichurch even though he belonged to no church in particular. Trowa decided to at least act relgious even though he wasn't even sure of the exsistance of a God.
A large "amen" from the host startled Trowa. And the reverent silence was instantly replaced with loud small talk. [This whole family is insane.] He realized.
"So." He questioned the girl who had corrected his error, "Is this a normal occurance that occurs every meal or is it a special things since I'm here."
"This?"
"Yes this." He tried to articulate for her, "All of this religious stuff."
"Yes it is." Mr. Winner interupted trying to be friendly to his guest. "Does all of our religious displays offend you? We are proud catholics, my father was catholic, my mother was catholic, or entire family is catholic. If you are of another religion we would not be offended if you didn't join us for mass tonight."
"Actually I am not of any denomination, I come for a very un-religious family." Trowa told. He relaized his error for Quatre's constant shaking of his head and the friendly nature of Mr. Winner slowly disappearing.
"So tell me about you family." Mr. Winner told him, hoping he wasn't just a person who came from a religion-less family, a sin of it's own according to Mr. Winner and his father and his grandfather's beliefs.
"Well my mom left us when I was 3 and my father remarried. I have a sister named Catherine who's 3 years younger than I am."
"What did you say your last name was again?" Mr. Winner interrupted a frown forming on his face. His son was a friend with this, this religion-less creature!
"Barton."
"As in related to the Mr. Trowa Barton."
"He's my dad." Trowa said embarrassed. He ran into this a lot, people who knew his father, knew who then assumed just because he was his father's son that he would turn out exactly like his old man.
Mr. Winner's frown grew even deeper. He had met Mr. Barton Sr., almost did business with him once before he met him in person. He knew of his ruthless behavior and lack of concern for any other human beings.
This evening was turning out to be a disaster. First, the fact that Trowa started eating during prayer, Second, the fact Trowa admitted he wasn't religious and Third, the fact that his father knew of Trowa's father. Mentally counting up the countless mistakes he made of not warning Trowa or introducing him under a false name, he decided inviting Trowa was a big mistake on his part.
Watching his father get mad wasn't something Quatre liked or had much experience doing, but those few times left ever burning spots that Quatre couldn't forget. And glancing over Trowa who seemed to be sending a distress call he only felt it was time to say something.
Quatre interrupted, hoping a sudden couple of words would change his father's mood he said: "Just because of where you come from doesn't influence who you are. You can rise above that."
"Of course, son." But he glanced at Trowa cautionly, the same way you glance at lion, even at the zoo. Sure the lion is caged in but you never tread to closely as you would with the penguins.
Just because Trowa was claimed to be different from his father didn't guarantee he didn't have the same capability for evil. For the apple never falls far from the tree.
Despite Quatre's desperate attempt to bring the evening back to it's original high, he couldn't. Even Quatre's generally happy mood couldn't fix this acweard situation. His father wouldn't even look in Trowa's general direction without shaking his head.
Excusing himself from the table early, Trowa left and felt his absence wouldn't be felt to hardly by Mr. Winner.
After that the entire party slowly drizzled away, Mr. Winner to his study, Quatre's sisters to their rooms and bathroom respectfully and Quatre to go hunt down Trowa.
Trowa couldn't figure out for the life of him why Mr. Winner's disapproval of him bothered him so. It wasn't like he wasn't never disapproved of before, and it certainly wasn't the first time someone started to look down on him when they found out who his father was.
Walking out to the garden, to hopefully gather his thoughts that didn't seem to be connecting and flowing smoothly. Unknown to him someone was following him, but soon known to him he wasn't the only one who came out to enjoy the night sky.
Hearing water he started to walk towards it, water always seemed to calm Trowa down. Aparantly he wasn't the only person with that mindset as he caught sight of a young woman sitting by the fountain.
Approaching what appeared to be a crying sister of Quatre's, Sarah perhaps, he called out to her to make sure it was okay to approach.
[Looks like another outcast.] "Hey, you okay?" he asked the crying woman but immediately after the words left his mouth he silently cussed himself out. [Of course she's not okay, if she was she wouldn't be crying if she was you jackass.]
Seeing the woman nod, he slowly moved closer to her sitting down next to her. "If you want to I can leave, I mean if you want to be alone…"
Shaking her head she told him to stay. "Is there anything I can do? Do you need a tissue or something?"
Taking the tissue he offered, she blew her nose in what had to be the most unattractive manner he ever heard. Smiling softly he offered his hand for her to take for some reassurance everything was okay. He intended on her taking it, smiling, and him telling her everything was going to be okay, she nodding and them walking back up to the house and eating dessert with everyone else.
What happened however was a little bit different than he planed.
Trowa looked down at the woman crying on his chest with uncertainty. Unsure of how to approach the situation without further complication of things, he wrapped his arms around her in what he hoped came across as a reassuring gesture.
For a man with a younger sister he was acting in a very nervous fashion. Not that he and Catherine had an actual relationship, there last interaction existed of the usual:
'How are you doing?'
'How's life?'
'Oh, good you?'
'Great.'
Their conversation continued until they were both satisfied that the correct amount of interaction had been occurred so that they could be assured they were actually in each other's lives but not enough to form an attachment to one another that would include unneeded relationships developed. As for Catherine, he was almost positive she was dating a lawyer and living in California or was she living in France living with a painter.
Rest-assured no actual emotions were shown between the two of them when they were young, unless you called neglect an emotion.
As for the girl in his arms he was unsure if something should be said for to reassure her he was still here or he should just let her cry out her problems whatever they happened to be.
After deciding words were needed he asked her, "Do you want to talk about it? We don't even have to talk about whatever's wrong if you don't want to? Did you see that movie, you know the one with that really well built guy?" He asked her. "Unless of course you don't you know like guys and that's perfectly acceptable thing if you are, more power to you." Added nervously.
Even Quatre, who was now standing by the tree had to smile at the pathetic attempt to calm her down.
"No, but the advantages of becoming one become more appealing everyday." She told him, her words muffled against his now soaked shirt.
Releasing her he smiled. "I know what you mean. Well not exactally know what you mean, but judging that this has something to do with a man, this does have something to do with a man right?" Seeing her nod he continued. "Every man is either a bastard, a jackass, and/or an asshole on some level or another."
"That's an interesting way of putting it, what exactally do you view yourself as?"
"Well no ones ever asked me that before… maybe a jackass." He told her.
Smiling faintly she laughed. Feeling a little bit more relaxed, he un-tensed up becoming more comfortable
"Thanks for listening, not many men would."
"I may be a jackass but that doesn't mean that my heartless."
Nodding the blonde smiled. "But it seems like sometimes all men are just heartless animals, luring you into a false since of security before they pounce, ripping your heart out."
"Not all of us our bad." He assured her. "There are a few good men out there; you just have to look hard enough."
"You including?" she looked up at him though her big blue eyes shining with tears, he had spent enough time with the opposite sex to understand what her eyes were full of, adoration towards him. He couldn't really take it personal, she would be looking like that at any man who had just come to talk to here, and after all she had just been burned.
"I guess me included. Do you want to talk about it, Sarah?"
"I don't need either of them." She told him. "And my names Katie not Sarah,"
"Either of them?" he repeated confused. "I thought this was about a guy."
"My fiancé and my best friend. Or should I say ex-fiancé and ex-best friend."
"That's never good. Anything that begins with the lines my ex-fiancé and ex-best friend is never good. Have you told Quatre this?"
"Quatre?" she glared at him as if he had grown a second head. "Why would I tell him? He has enough of his problems."
"Quatre? Problems?" he contemplated how those completely opposite people and emotions could be put into the same sentence together. Repeating it a couple of times to try to understand he decided he couldn't.
"You mean he hasn't told you?"
"Told me what?" he asked suprized that outgoing Quatre wasn't as outgoing as he lead people on to believe.
"I thought you two were close the way he talked about you over the phone."
"Told me what?" he asked again, still not getting the attention of the blonde who seemed preoccupied with her own train of thought.
"I mean he was so excited when he called, saying he was bring home one of him friends. He kept on insisting that you were amazing and that you were an amazing person and we would love you the second we saw you in the airport..."
"Told me what?" he tried again finally getting the attention of the blonde.
"Yes?" she said shyly.
"Told me what?"
"Oh, about his past. Why he runs." She explained. "Quatre's different than what most people see him as. He was picked on so much as little and not the he's so ugly or your mamma's so ugly jokes either. We're talking about the getting picked on and getting beaten up; he ran home everyday to escape it all. After all this time he puts on this face exterior of how he's just some native innocent runner with a full scholarship. But don't let that fool you, Quatre picks up on everything little that no one else seems to pick on, he always seems to know whenever something is wrong."
At this part of the narrative, Trowa felt a pain of guilt hit is heart. He was exactally like the bullies that picked on Quatre, using him like his father used everyone else in his life and without a second a second thought. After all of this time, he had promised to never turn out like his father and he was picking on Quatre liked he used to pick on everyone else in high school.
"Is there anything wrong?" Sarah asked finally noticing at last Trowa's change in mood.
"No." he told her firmly lying to her and himself both. "I'll see you tomorrow morning okay?"
"Okay." She answered him confused. "I'll see you tomorrow."
With that he left, leaving a very confused Sarah and, full of more knowledge than he had previously known about his roommate, Quatre. The blonde who walked back into the house without either party noticing he was there. Just as it has always been, Quatre was always the one lurking in the shadows.
[Shit shit shit shit shit. What the hell was I thinking?]Trowa continued to ask himself this question over and over without being able to come up with an answer that settled his emotions. After all this time, after all of this running Trowa couldn't escape being his father's son. Had he actually thought that he could change that he could be different?
Running harder than he normally ran, as if going fast would help him reach an answer, Trowa continued to run at a speed that even surprised himself if he had been a bystander and not an active part of it.
"Wow you're a really good runner." Quatre told him astonished. He, the school's number one runner, was having trouble keeping up with him.
"I used to run." Trowa explained in a tone that said he wanted to drop it.
Quatre, who briefly looked up, noticed Trowa getting his all to familiar look on his face, the one he got in his eyes when he talked about what he used to do. "Used to?" He repeated amazed someone this good would just up and quit the sport. "At this speed, you could easily get a full scholarship."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Um okay." Quatre was at a loss of words, it happened again. One second he thought he was connecting with Trowa and the next he had said something wrong and ruined the mood. Whatever had happened in the his past Trowa wasn't ready to talk about it. Whatever happened the wounds of past years didn't heal with time or at least they didn't heal fast enough.
Speeding up, Trowa left Quatre behind without another word leaving Quatre out of breath for more than one reason. But in his carelessness, Trowa took a turn to fast too sharply and fell, the loud terrifying sound of crashing bones was heard by Quatre 20 feet away.
"Trowa!"
AN: I know I know I'm such a bad person for leaving a cliffhanger, but most of the next chapter is either figured out or typed up. I should be able to finish it by next week. Merry Christmas everyone! And if I don't get the next chapter out soon enough, Happy New Year!