Hi people. Well, I am back temporarily, the cause of my
icky sick feelings has been found out.
This was an interesting idea
that came to me when I was watching Dragon Ball Z…at midnight…while I was going
through some weapon magazines...
Warnings: Small hints at
shounen-ai/yaoi. It's not really an
angsty/drama kind of thing, unlike Nanashi and Pain, just sad at some
parts.
(PS: Any one know where I
can get a muse?)
Gundam Wing isn't mine,
which is really too bad…for me, of course grin.
~*~
It was beautiful out
tonight. And warm. But a good warm, almost like Earth. I turned slightly, as to not wake Trowa, who
was still sleeping. His hair was more
disheveled than usual and his mouth hung open the tiniest bit. It was cute. I sighed and got up slowly; I probably wouldn't get anymore sleep
for a few hours.
"Quatre?" The soft mumble from Trowa made me
smile. Sometimes he was so cute. "Where're ya goin'?" sleepiness making his
voice slurred. I kissed him on his
forehead and told him I was going to get a glass of water. He nodded slowly and closed those pretty
eyes again. He knew I wasn't going to
get water, but he also knew I needed time to myself.
I walked down the stairs
quickly and entered the large kitchen.
It was lit up by the moon, so I left the lights off; they were too
bright anyway and much too artificial.
I got a cup of cold water and went back up the stairs, passing my and
Trowa's room slowly. I could hear him
shifting around for a moment before falling silent again. I wondered if he was waiting for me to come
back but heard me outside the door and was acting like he was asleep
again.
My free hand descended down
to the doorknob, but stopped right before I touched it. No, I shouldn't go in. I would only stay awake and keep Trowa up
as well. So instead I continued to walk
down the hall, maybe to go into the family library or something.
I didn't know I was at my father's office until I opened the door.
His cologne was faint in the
room, but it lingered in there none-the-less.
Memories flooded me as I stared into the now dusty office and I could
remember all the times I had sat beside him, learning company business as he
worked or talked with a business associate.
I walked into the room,
still in my pajamas and slippers, and waved my hand in the air to clear away
some of the dust. It swirled and almost
seemed to dance, but I ignored it as I approached the large desk in the
corner of the office.
I stared and remembered the
day that I told Father I was going to fight on Earth. He was so angry I thought he was going to hit me. Of course he hadn't, though. Father had never hit me once in my life, but
there was still that fear. I had never
seen him so angry with me, but I knew I couldn't back down that day. No.
I had to do what I believed in; maybe he was a pacifist, but I
wasn't. It might have been his way of
protesting the war, but that wasn't going to end it.
I shook my head and tried to
get the memories out of my head. I
edged closer to the desk and placed my still untouched water onto it. A few drops of water spilled onto the dusty
surface and mingled with the grayish particles.
I fell back into the large
chair Father had sat in as he worked. A
cloud of dust exploded all around me as the chair bounced backward and up
again; I fanned it away then ignored it as I turned to the drawers of the
desk. A bit surprised at my own
curiosity, I shrugged and pulled at the top drawer. Locked. I ran my hand
from underneath the desk and found the key I knew was there. I had learned about it long ago, when Father
was still alive, but never had the courage to open any of them.
I inserted the slightly
dulled key into one of the locks on the desk and pulled open the drawer. What I found made my heart almost
break.
It was a picture of us, of
Father and I, taken a few years ago. I
was six, maybe seven, and we were playing in the backyard. I could remember it all so clearly: it was
one of those rare days he took off for a break from work and he had just taught
me how to swim; he was so proud of me and I was so happy.
I sighed and placed the worn
photo back into the desk. I continued
looking through the drawer and found another picture, this time of a
woman. She was beautiful. She had blonde hair and blue eyes and a very
pretty smile. Maybe it was another one
of my many sisters, but I knew that wasn't right even as the thought crossed my
mind. I don't know how or why I knew, I
just knew.
She seemed familiar
somehow. I thought back to ever woman I
had ever met, every picture and every girl.
Then it hit me: this was the same woman who was painted downstairs in
the large frame above the fireplace.
She was the woman Father had asked all of us, my sisters and myself, to
call 'Mother'.
I turned it over and read the
messy scrawl on the back:
To My Love:
I love you so very much,
And I can't wait to be able to see our young
Quatre grow up.
He's everything
I've ever wanted.
Love Quatrina
I had never been so
thoroughly confused in my life. I had
always known she had died when I was very young, but this was the first time I
had seen anything about her before she had died. It was odd, like evidence that she was
real. But what really got to me was the
message. I leaned back in the oversized
chair again. 'Our'. She had said 'Our.' Why had she said 'our'?
Something inside me was
struggling to understand this. Did she
feel all of Father's children were her's as well? Is that why she wrote this?
I didn't get it. I placed the
faded photo on top of the desk and searched for some further clues to figure
this mystery out.
I found another discolored
picture in the drawer (why so many pictures, Father?) of the woman, of my
'mother', this time on the arm of Father.
They were both smiling broadly and in the background there was a
clinic. I could not read the name of
it; the writing was too faded and too blurred. She held her hand on her stomach possessively, her smile bright
and joyful. Father was happier than I
had ever seen him. I didn't turn it
over. I was afraid of what I would
find, of what I thought I might be true.
I reached out for my water
with a lightly trembling hand. I'm not
even sure why I was so upset. I took a
sip of the cold liquid and calmed myself.
I reached out with my other hand and turned the small slip of a photo
over.
Quatrina
She's pregnant!
I dropped the glass. It spilled all over the place but I did not
care. I stared at the script and judged
it to be my Father's writing. I
wondered who took the picture, what the clinic was, anything but to think about
what the words meant. But I had
to. I stared at the words again and
turned it over to look at the photo. Is
this what killed her? The child that
grew in her belly? Did they both
die? Did I have a little brother or
sister who I didn't know about?
By now the water had seeped
into the carpet and was slowly spreading in the room. A bit of it was getting under my slipper. I continued to ignore it. I placed this photo by the other picture of
mother and went through the desk again, this time a bit more frantic. Well, I had good reason; this time I had
questions that were in desperate need of answers.
The next photo I found was
shocking to me. It was of Quatr-mother
again, only much rounder. She was
smiling brightly and waving at the camera.
She was wearing one of those pretty sundresses, kind of like what Yjin,
one of my sisters, wore.
I turned this picture over
slowly.
It's a boy!
I'm naming it
Quatre!
I swallowed the lump of
guilt in my throat, knowing immediately what had killed her. I had killed her. Her only son. Her only child. Me. I felt the tears burning at the back of my eyes. "Oh Allah," that's all I could say at the
moment. I was truly at a loss for
words.
I hadn't known Trowa had
walked in until I felt his arms around my shoulders. He gave me one of those looks you give people when you're trying
to figure them out without having to say anything. "Quatre?" I threw myself
onto him and started crying. "What's
the matter, Quatre?"
I looked at him through my
tears. "I killed my mother,
Trowa." It surprised me how much saying
that statement hurt me. I started
bawling even harder. I could feel my
koi's arms wrap around me slowly as he pulled me into a hug. "Oh Quatre, It's not your fault. I swear to you, it's not your fault." I watched his mouth move. I ignored his words, though. How could it not be my fault?
He pushed me away from him
and made me look into his eyes; I could see both of them because his hair was
still messy from sleeping. "Quatre,
it's not your fault. Can you believe
me?" he asked me. The only thing I
could do was look away. His grip
tightened a little bit and he made me turn to him again. "Please Quatre. Trust me on this if nothing else. Please. I know what I'm talking
about, Koi. This is NOT your fault."
I was crying again. He kissed away my tears. "But…" I protested. He shook his head. "Please. Quatre. Please."
He was pleading with me now.
"Trust me on this." I wiped off
a tear with the back of my hand. Trowa
sighed and spoke again: "Let me tell you a story I was told when I was a
mercenary; it was about your family, Quat.
"Once upon a time, a long
time ago, when you and I were not even born, the Winner family couldn't have
children. But Mrs. Winner wanted to
make her husband happy so she gave birth to a beautiful, handsome, gorgeous
son, who grew up and saved the world."
I stared at Trowa. "What?" He nodded solemnly.
"I swear, Quatre. It was a bit paraphrased, but that's
essentially what happened. It's not
your fault Quatre. Your mother knew
what she was doing and she was perfectly happy to do it. And I thank her for her sacrifice, because
otherwise I would not have you, Quatre.
I am so grateful to her."
I was staring at him again. He pulled me into a gentle hug and I nestled
in his strong arms. I couldn't stop
thinking about it though. She had died
because of me. I felt the
tears come again and I started sobbing in Trowa's arms. He let me cry all I wanted, even though I
basically soaked his shirt through, without a complaint. "Shhh…" he soothed. I felt like such a baby, but eventually I
stopped sobbing. I was so tired I let
Trowa lead me to bed. He held me for
the rest of the night until I fell asleep.
~*~
Owari.
What do you think?!? R & R please.
