Body
[ Disclaimer: I own nothing, not
even the computer I type this from. I do, however, own the mind
the thinks up these stories, the 50 cents in my pocket, a stick
of gum, a pencil without an eraser, a wooden chair that wobbles
when you sit in it, a mute, albino muse named Nathaniel, and a
single Cadbury Cream Egg. Not too shabby, eh?
Warnings: Shounen-ai implied; Quatre
+ Duo. Nothing bad, just fluff and sap, but if you're
uncomfortable with boy/boy relationships for any reason, I'd skip
this 'fic. Besides that, it should be fine for all to read.... ]
Setting: Four years after
Endless Waltz; Quatre's now 21 years old, and has settled down,
but the memories don't seem willing to settle along with him.....
Note: Quatre's memories will be
within ''s
----
This one's for you,
Duo...
By Hiashi
----
The audience was still, and
silent as they locked eyes upon the stage of the concert hall,
the faint spotlights that bore down upon its wooden surface
strangely rustic looking, but adding to the air of old-fashioned
beauty all the same. They were all clad in formal wear, from the
latest of fancy fashions, to the oldest of antique garments.. It
was safe to say that it was a formal affair indeed. Well, of
course it was.. It was a fund raiser, after all. More
specifically, the Winner Foundation's annual concert, that helped
raise money for the good cause of helping to support and place
the hundreds of war-orphans world, and colony wide. The
aristocrats of the current time laxed much attention on the
Foundation and its polite, well-mannered, and, not that many
bothered to note it, handsome leader, young Quatre Raberba
Winner, who had left his family's business to his many siblings
so he could pursue his cause.
The orchestra seated upon the
stage began to quiet and hush with their tuning, the conductor
stepping down from his pedestal to make way for a new face to
step up, and take the microphone left behind. Decked out in a
modest white suit, which went well with the paleness of his blue
eyes, as well as the platinum blonde color of his hair, the boy,
for he couldn't be called much more than that, went unnoticed
until he was about half way to the podium, upon which the
audience broke out into cheers and affectionate applause. The
object of the noise just blushed, and stepped up before them, his
hands gripping his violin tightly in one hand, the other reaching
for the microphone.
"Hello, all of you, my
friends..." he began, slowly, and the audience was hushed.
"My name is Quatre, as you may or may not know, and I play
the violin. Most of you here may recognize me as the one who
started this foundation, but if that's how you think of me,
you're wrong.... This will be my last night as the representative
of this organization, and will be handing it on to my sister,
Ajita.." The muffled sounds to confused patrons; it was safe
to say none present knew what the boy was talking about.. "I
didn't start this. It isn't my project, my dream, or at least it
wasn't.. It is now, yes, but in my mind, my heart, I know that it
isn't mine.. I just hold onto my own echo of the original. I just
keep it alive.
"Some of you may know, or
you might not know, that I was a Preventer before I came here,
and many things before that.. I met him so long ago. It seems
like forever, when I speak of him, but we met when I piloted a...
mobile suit. But it wasn't until my Preventer days that I got to
know him... Really got to know him..." The crowd listened in
silence as he spoke, but Quatre couldn't even hear his own words;
his mind was a whir of memories....
-
"Come on, Quatre, hurry
up already! You don't have much time!" The urgent hiss
of Sally Po forced the blonde forward, crawling with all his
might through the air shafts. There was tension in the air,
stinging his lungs as he inhaled, making it hard to breath out,
lacing poison with the sweat that trickled from his brow and over
the bridge of his nose. He had to hurry, couldn't stop, had to
hurry, hurry, always hurry..
It was only natural that he'd be
picked, of the five best-prepared Preventers, to go undercover at
one of Queen Relena's fancy parties, being of high birth himself,
to watch out for a man who called himself "Fate", with
the mind to assassinate the queen. It would be like the death of
the first Heero Yuy, all over again. Confusion, outbreak,
rebellion... They'd all follow, if "Fate" was allowed
to have his way. And it was Quatre's job to make sure that he
didn't.
But things had turned sour,
fast. "Fate" wasn't one man.. he was many, and was
well-armed. Before Quatre could blink he had the function hall
under siege, gun-wielding men at the exits, leaving the single
Preventer nervous, and only able to crawl beneath a table and use
his communicator to request backup. Now that very backup was
about to arrive, and he had to get out. Of course, escape wasn't
that easy.. "Fate", or at least one of its parts, saw
him, and was on his trail, knowing he wasn't just a frightened
partygoer.
That's how he ended up in the
air ducts, but as to how he was going to get away from
"Fate" was another story.. Silently, he dropped into
the kitchen storeroom, long since emptied, and had been half way
across the room before he heard a gun click, and paused, glancing
behind him. "Ah.. A preventer, I take it?" The man was
shadowed by the lack of light in the room, but Quatre could still
see his height, his brazen blue hair, the brown of his eyes.. And
he saw as the man raised his gun and aimed for his head, tsking
softly as he clicked it, and murmured, "What a pity.. Such a
young one, too, losing their life at this point. Farewell, little
blonde one.." Quatre squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he
wouldn't be able to run in time to avoid the bullet, and he
cringed as he heard a shot ring out, clear as a church bell on
Sunday morning..........
..............And he stood
their, still motionless, for a few moments after, before he dared
open his eyes, to see the form of the man, "Fate",
crumpled on the flood, a small puddle of blood staining his hair
a deep, wrenching crimson... He'd been shot in the head. But
how.. he spun around, then, and the sight he saw was one that
brought a wide smile to his lips, something that he never thought
he'd see again:
Duo Maxwell.
Yes, Duo, smiling to shame the
sun, a gun pointed skyward and a hand on a hip, looking as cocky
and self-assured as usual. "Q-boy.. Good to see you! Alive,
that is. Where would you be without me?" Quatre just
laughed, and jogged up to the braided boy, nodding a greeting.
"Spare me your ego,
braid-boy, and just get me out of here!"
-
He now had the audience's full
attention, even if he still failed to really listen to his own
words. "He was of humble beginnings, never born into
privilege. He never had what you have now, or what you're giving
away.. I knew he wasn't born into a rich family from the day I
met him. He never had that air, he never acted like it. Oh, you
have to admit you can tell someone with money from first meeting.
They have ways of acting, certain reactions to different things..
Everything he did was pure. Really pure.. He may have been
a murderer -- don't be shocked, I'm one too --, he may have been
a thief, a rogue, a joker, gambler, but he was pure. His
actions were from the heart, and I would have given anything if I
could be a part of his heart, too... Even if I had to hand him my
own on a silver platter..
"And I did..."
-
"Oi, pass the popcorn, Q,
you're hogging it!"
"I need the weight, unlike
a certain braided baka."
"Sheesh.. I miss the
innocent you, Quatre. You're turning into another Heero. Braided
baka.. hmph.."
"Oh, hush, you're ruining
the movie!"
Both covered from neck to toe in
blankets, popcorn scattered here and there, Duo and Quatre sat on
the couch of one of the Preventers' many safehouses, eyes glued
to the screen as they watched some old Japanese horror movie,
starring a radioactive lizard that went on rampages through
popular cities. Well, semi-glued.. Their eyes did wander a
bit. Duo's to the popcorn bowl, Quatre's to Duo, Duo's to Quatre,
both to the TV... Had they lived normal lived, they would have
felt like silly teenagers.. and then would've remembered that
they were silly teenagers. But fate had dealt them a cruel
hand, and they couldn't see the resemblance. It was just.. odd.
Uncomfortable.
"Q-boy, I'm famished..
Please? You like charities.. I'm a needy soul, who needs your
help." Quatre sniffed, and ignored Duo, tossing a couple
kernels into his mouth, before, suddenly, the other boy was
edging toward him, and making a reach for the bowl.
"Please.. Pwease?" The blonde couldn't help but laugh,
as the braided boy batted his eyelashes, and widened his eyes,
looking more and more like a begging dog. "I need your
charity." As expected, Quatre broke down and laughed,
burying his face in his blanket.... as Duo grabbed a handful of
popcorn.
They'd gotten awfully close, in
those weeks at the 'house. After the "Fate" incident,
the Arabic Preventer had been quite shaken, and he was allowed a
few months leave, opting to bring Duo along with him, for
"moral support". So when he glared at his thieving
friend, who tossed popcorn into the air only to catch it, after
letting his opponent see it, it was far from in malice; all
playful. "You're nothing but an overgrown child, did you
know that, Duo?"
"What, you want your
popcorn back?" With a devilish smirk, Duo popped a piece
into his mouth. "Come and get it." The piece was now
between his teeth, and he still managed to smile, a taunting
gleam dancing in his eyes. Quatre just stared for a moment,
hesitantly. After these months together, he shouldn't still be so
reluctant, and yet.. His mind told him to stay put, to smile and
laugh it off, act like it was a silly joke, but his heart told
him different... And for once... He was going to.. listen.. to
his heart...
Neither boy really expected what
happened next, and it happened so suddenly, neither could stop
it, nor did they really want to. One moment Duo was
smiling, haughtily, and the next Quatre was beside him, the
warmth of the frail boy's form pressed up to him, foreign lips
bruising against his own. He could feel himself go limp, even as
a tongue snaked its way into his mouth, curling around the piece
of popcorn and taking it back with it, and his mind could only
think in scattered, incoherent ways, even as the feeling of
another mouth on his own left.
"Quatre... what..."
Quatre's breath still brushed, feather-light over his skin when
he regained his ability to think straight, and he blinked,
slowly, looking over boy who loomed over him, watching the blonde
chew the popcorn with a smirk. "What are you.. Why.."
"You brought it upon
yourself.." Duo barely had time to reply before his mouth
was claimed again, the scent of herbs, of nature, of flora, of
church and heaven and all things sacred, all assaulting his
senses. It wasn't like he wanted to stop, but.. God..
"But why.."
"Because I like you."
And for the remainder of that
night, that was good enough an answer for Duo.
-
"He was my friend, my
confidant, and my.. lover. But while he knew so much about me, I
only had assumptions about him. Often times I'd stay up late at
night with him, sharing my memories of my friends, of how I got
to be in the same place in life as he, and, though I couldn't see
why, my family.. Always my family. He was so intent on learning
about them, to the point when I almost couldn't stand it.. But
then he told me about his life, and.. and I saw why. His
family.. He had none, really. It became my life's work to comfort
him, to hold him when he was sad, to become the family that I
knew, but he wanted, so badly...."
-
"Tell me more about..
Ajita."
"Duo, how many times do you
want me to talk about her? She isn't that special.. There are
twenty-eight others."
"Then how about.. Er..
Kirdiga.. or.. what was it.."
"Khadijah.. Oh, fine, if
you really want me to.."
Duo lay at the end of Quatre's
bed at the safe house, relaxing on his stomach as his feet kicked
at the air. A photo album was opened in front of him, and he
soaked up the memories held within them greedily, tracing the
faces and names scrawled onto the backs. Quatre flipped through
the pages of his book as he read, glancing up every now and then
to send Duo a fond look, before returning to his reading.
"Her name means 'first wife
of the prophet'.. in Arabic, of course. She's my.. eighteenth
older sister, I believe, and the worst of all when it comes to
chores. She'll work you all day, and then some! She used to cut
my hair with a bowl, too. Be thankful no one ever tried to cut your
hair!" Quatre grinned, goofily, and kicked out to playfully
nudge Duo's foot, only to find he'd stopped moving, his smile
fading. "..Did I say something wrong?"
"No.. It's just... that's
funny." Duo smiled; it was obviously fake. Folding his book,
Quatre frowned, and crawled over to lay beside Duo, resting his
head against the sullen one's shoulder, and nuzzling up under his
chin.
"You're lieing.. almost. Of
course you never lie, but.. What is it?" Duo gazed down at
the boy who burrowed into him, cautiously, before sighing. And
then.. He told Quatre.
He spoke of never knowing his
parents, while he lived on the colony.. Of being taken in by
Solo, and of the boy being taken in by disease in the same way,
to live in God's house. He spun a story of living as an orphan on
the run, stealing from government storage houses with his band of
fellow rogues, until a kind man, a Priest of the Maxwell Church,
and his friend Sister Helen, took him in and the others in,
clothed him.. Fed him, washed.. Raised him.. Found families for
most of his comrades. And he told of the men destroying the
church in a bloody, brutal massacre, of the death of his loved
ones, and of losing the only family he ever had..
He told his entire life that
night, in a fury of blind anger, melancholy, and uncontrolled
rage. And Quatre held the boy to him as he spoke, as if, by
letting him go, the trembling one would break at the seams,
pressing Duo's head to his chest, muffling the sobs. They stayed
like that for hours, feeling the comfort of each other, in a
simple, chaste embrace, and when the one he held stopped his
shivering, Quatre finally spoke, whispering in his ear..
"Now let me tell you of my
father, Nadhir.. I never liked him, but he was a good man.. And
then I'll tell you of my sister Irita.. and Nadia, Maysaa, and
Firyal.."
-
Quatre went silent for a moment,
taking a deep breath as his eyes scanned the scene. He could pick
out familiar faces.. His fellow former-pilots, as well as Relena,
Miss Noin.. His own little family.. "I wanted to be there
for him, always, but I knew that his scars were so deep.. So very
deep, that even my love couldn't heal them. Sure, I could cover
them over, hide them from view, but what good would that do?
Nothing, because they'd still be there, always there.. I wanted
to help him, somehow, but I didn't know how I could.. It's funny,
almost, how it wasn't until he died that I really realized just
how I could do that, and honor his memory..."
-
"Duo, are you alright? I
have sight of the plane.. Will you just respond, already?"
Quatre could hear the panic in his own voice as he huddled in the
corner of the hanger, of St. Barbara Military base, which had
long-since been used for anything but a landmark, and as a
constant reminder of the wars that were fought, with its fierce,
barbed-wire perimeter, its looming self, and the parts of
discarded mobile dolls that lay on display toward the side, never
having been shipped to the salvage lot. The blonde had been
sitting there for what seemed like forever, watching the
goings-on of a few personages who had been seen out and about St.
Barbara a few nights in a row. Speculation was that they were the
remnants of the "Fate" party, who were gathering to
stage another attempt at assassination, for Relena was scheduled
to hold a conference about twenty miles away. In the hanger which
he was situated in, was an unauthorized plane, and a big one, at
that..
The whole thing reeked of
trouble.
"Duo... Duo! By Allah, answer
me!" Now he was almost screaming, and it took all of his
willpower to keep his voice down, lest he alert the assumed enemy
to his presence. "Goodness.. Duo.."
"Don't worry, Q, I'm here
for ya.. What's happening?"
"They're at the plane.. Get
the guys over here. I think they may be about ready to
leave..!" This thought was justified as the twin fans of the
plane began to swirl on each wing, the motors churning to a
wrenching start. "Duo, I was right, hurry up.. I need the
others here! And I need you here.." There was a pause on the
other end of the line, before he heard Duo's voice, low and
concerned.
"I'm coming.. We're coming.
Don't worry." Quatre sighed, to himself, and turned his gaze
back to the plane, slowly beginning his crawl from behind a large
crate, toward the exit that led into the main corridors of the
base. The engine sounds deafened him, and, impatience setting in,
he eventually just stood and ran for the door, darting into the
corridor and not stopping there. Even with the sounds of the
plane he could hear the footsteps of pursuers behind him, feet
hitting tile in perfect, deadly symmetry, silence equal to
curses, and deacceleration equal to death. It was stupid to
leave, but.. Well, at least he was taking up the time of a couple
"Fate"s, who could doing worse things at the moment.
Like the other Preventers, he'd
been tested for physical fitness, and had always done well enough
to stay, but now he would question their analysis. He could feel
his muscles grinding against eachother angrily, sending painful
burning sensations across his pale skin, running up and down his
legs, spawning upward to his midsection, and attacking his chest,
his lungs, his heart.. The sweat that slid down his cheek was of
little help to soothe the agony, and he thought that the pain he
felt couldn't be matched...
Then a shot rang out... He felt
something graze his shoulder, maybe lodge itself into it, he
couldn't even tell anymore. The crimson liquid flowed freely from
the wound, staining a camo-print uniform an ugly brown, the color
of the earth, earth he may be barreling toward for his own
burial. Another bullet was fired, and it caught him in his right
side, from the back.. it had the desired effect; he was
catapulted forward, with his chin slamming the tile with a force
enough to disillusion him. His chasers slowed, and he could hear
one of them laugh. It was over.. All over, and.. Duo.. No....
"Quatre! Q, hold on!"
The scream came from maybe a few meters away, down the hallway
and in the shadows, since not a light was lit to show the faces
of anyone, just their forms. He knew that voice..
"Duo.." he murmured,
struggling to open his eyes, but blood had found them now, and
all he could see was red.. Though, if he squinted, he could make
out the boy's braid swinging as he ran toward him and the men
behind him. "No.. stop.." Duo was coming to save him,
but.. what if he didn't see the men? "Please..." But he
wasn't loud enough. The gurgle in his throat didn't stop the
American boy from dashing toward his wounded friend, and it did
little to warn him of the gun that was being raised to meet level
with him, of the finger that slowly wound around the trigger,
that pulled it...
All he could do was watch him
fall.
Fall to the ground, hit in the
chest, a hand reaching out to him even then.
And he couldn't do anything but
watch as his friend's, his Duo's, life's blood was drawn from
him, coloring the floor with the red of death.
Together they lay, the dead and
the dying, and Quatre was at peace, knowing that soon he'd be
with his love, wherever death led them, even as he blacked
out....
-
Quatre woke the next day,
groaning and pawing blindly at the virginal white sheets that
clothed his entire, well-banged form, blonde locks splayed out
every-which way upon his pillow. Since his first moment of true
consciousness, he knew he was awake.. Not fully, no, but a dull
vibration in the back of his mind as it woke from its trance told
him that yes, he was alive, yes, he would be fine, and yes, it
was not a dream.
Blue eyes opened to view a
blurred world of ivory.. It was as if snow had fell upon
everything domestic, from the white metal lining of his hospital
bed, to the as-white roses that sat in a vase beside him. Perhaps
the only thing that seemed to differ was what he spied in the
corner, all leaning into eachother as they slept, three separate
forms, yet so close: Trowa, Heero, and Wufei. The names supplied
themselves, and he let out another low moan at having to use his
brain again, one that woke Heero, causing the Japanese Preventer
to prod the other two into the land of the living.
"Quatre..." Trowa said, with a lazy, post-sleep grin,
as he and others raised to go and sit on the end of his bed.
"You're awake. We were worried for your health, but the
doctor said that if you woke up, you'd recover normally,
so.." Most knew that the tall, Latino boy never spoke much
without thinking over his words carefully, so the Arab in the bed
was touched by his quick words.
"Thank you... All of you. I
feel wonderful, if a bit.. dizzy."
Wufei snorted, "You were
shot twice, you baka, no wonder you feel dizzy." After that
was said, they all seemed to go quiet. The looks on their faces
looked like they wanted to say something, but held it back..
Quatre decided not to envoke any bad memories, and instead
smiled, brightly, in a way that melted the hard exteriors of his
comrades, before asking a simple question...
"Where's Duo's room? I want
to see him.. It.. it feels like it's been so long..."
The three glanced toward each
other, sharing something that only they knew, and Quatre gave
them a puzzled look, choking on his words. He knew what they were
thinking.. They didn't need to tell him, but.. he couldn't
believe them..
"Duo.. he's alright, isn't
he? He was only shot once, I swear... he has to be.."
Heero cleared his throat, trying
to seem as aloof and nonchalant as ever; he still wasn't about to
meet the blonde's eyes. "Duo will always be remembered.
He..." A sharp sob cut him off, and Quatre buried himself in
his pillow...
Duo was gone...
And he remained.
-
Quatre bowed his head for a
moment, letting the memories go, so he could continue. "I
knew what I needed to do... I needed to help others like him. He
had no family.. I would try and make it so everyone had
someone, in all parts of their lives. And you all have helped me
reached that goal. I thank you." He bent over in a bow, and
the audience applauded fiercely, going silent as he glanced over
them all.
"But before I go... Before
I go on to my own life.." Slowly, he raised his violin,
tucking it gently beneath his chin. It fit perfectly, like it
always did, when he'd play for Duo in their safehouse. A hand
brushed the rusted cross that hung from his neck as he reached
for his bow, and he let himself smile, if only slightly, as he
whispered..
"...This song is for you,
Duo Maxwell. Allah protect."