Notes: Part 4E, the de-lemonized version. I've taken out the lemon portion of this fic but you can find the lemon version in my site.

I Dreamed of Angels

[Part Four E]

Mr. Barton enjoyed his strong cup of coffee while he read the day's news. It was another glorious Saturday and he was glad that he'd be able to spend another relaxing day at home, or so he thought.

Before he could indulge himself in another one of those false daydreams, he heard wicked laughter coming from somewhere around the house.

"Kill me now," he said, recognizing his son's voice. The boy was probably doing some unknown mischief on an early Saturday morning.

"Why? Oh, why?" he asked no one in particular and was interrupted from his wails and cries by the sound of the doorbell that jolted him right out of it.

He decided against disturbing the servants who had to deal with his son's especially bad mood that week. It became apparent to him that Trowa Barton alone was dangerous enough, but Trowa Barton without his angel was even more demonic than he could ever dream of. He cringed at the thought of Trowa's ungodly tantrums and proceeded to open the door.

"My salvation," was the first thing that came out of his mouth when he looked at the figure by the front door.

Quatre crinkled his face in question but then smiled at the elated Mr. Barton.

"Good morning, Mr. Barton," he said. "Is Trowa home?"

Mr. Barton nodded and said "You will save us from him, won't you?"

"Uh, ok?"

Quatre was uncertain of what that meant but decided to play along.

Mr. Barton hugged him with all the strength he had, his delight showing in his actions.

"Very well, my son. Go forth. Find him and deliver us from his inevitable wrath," the weary man said and pushed him forward.

Quatre sighed and took out his shoes to go and find the object of everyone's distress.

"Trowa's driving them nuts," he said and shook his head in disbelief.

He didn't have to go very far because he found Trowa running around the house, barefoot and still in his pajamas while chuckling evilly.

Quatre followed him as he ran suspiciously into the servant's bathroom.

"What are you doing?" Quatre asked the busy figure who looked like he was performing a chemistry experiment.

Trowa whirled around and fell on his behind, both shocked and delighted to see the other once again.

"Shhh..." he warned while holding his index finger up to his lips.

"What're those?" Quatre persisted on asking and pointed to the objects that lay on the floor.

Trowa grabbed them and denied their existence.

"Nothing," he said.

Quatre looked skeptical and decided that he was curious enough to pry into Trowa's activities.

"What're you hiding?" he asked again.

Trowa looked left and right and when he was satisfied, he showed Quatre the items.

"What're you doing with those?"

Trowa tried to silence Quatre but he was never one to refuse the other's questions.

"Well," he said. "Promise me you won't tell anyone."

When Quatre nodded, he looked around again then continued.

"I found out we were having spaghetti for lunch so I put some of this," he held out what looked suspiciously like lubricant. "In here," and held out the toothpaste.

"Umm, I don't get it."

"You see, Angel."

"It's Quatre."

"Angel, I mixed some of this slippery stuff with the toothpaste. So, when they eat the spaghetti, everything will come right out. They'll be slurping until their jaws hurt."

"Trowa, that is one of the sickest things I have ever heard."

"Why, thank you."

He smiled and looked absolutely proud of himself.

"That wasn't meant as a compliment."

"From you it does."

Before Quatre could protest or begin to lecture him on his bad behavior, Trowa grabbed his wrist and ran back to the upstairs, not letting go. They passed by the bewildered Mr. Barton who continued to wail in agony.

"Please don't let him corrupt our only hope," he pleaded with some unknown being while looking up and raising his hands high.

Inside his room, Trowa tried to catch his breath, inhaled deeply and lay down on his bed.

"Phew!" he said while wiping the sweat from his brows.

"That was close. Next time, Angel,"

"It's Quatre."

"Ok, ...Angel, don't talk too loud and don't scare me like that. They could've woken up and you could've foiled my plans."

He paused to breathe again then continued.

"Did Ms. Noin allow you to come here?"

"Not exactly."

"Meaning?"

"I said I was going to a friend's house. I didn't say who."

"That easy?"

"Nope. I had to loose Heero, Duo, and Wufei."

A smile crept up Trowa's face.

"So I'm not the only sneaky one around here," he said.

Quatre just shrugged and pulled out one of the chairs from the table. He noticed for the first time that the table was of excellent handmade craftsmanship. The complicated designs on the side of the table were carved and the angels that adorned it seemed to lift the heavy looking object from the ground.

On the table was a book, which Quatre picked up.

"Of Angels and Other Phenomenon" was its title.

Quatre looked at Trowa who still lay on the bed, his eyes directed at the intricate designs of the ceiling. It was then that Quatre decided to break the silence.

"Wufei told me that I have to be careful of your dangerous obsession."

"...and which one would that be?" Trowa asked while still regarding his ceiling.

When he heard nothing from Quatre, he sat up and came face to face with the other's pained expression.

"Am I nothing more that an angel obsession?" Quatre asked.

"What?"

Quatre didn't say anything but instead pointed to the table, the lamp, and the book. Several more objects came into view before he finally pointed up to the ceiling. Trowa followed his finger and ended up looking back up at his regal and grandiose ceiling. It was of painted angels in the clouds, looking down at him and as if hovering around him to accommodate his illusions and inherent fantasies.

"I..."

Trowa looked down at his hands and began to play with his fingers. He sighed and realized that he might as well reveal one of his most treasured secrets.

"I've always dreamed of angels." he said while continuing to twist his fingers, his movements both uneasy and clumsy.

Quatre watched him in silence.

"I don't know why exactly. It's just something that happens. I know it must mean something, otherwise, I'd be crazy. I guess I always thought you were the answer to my questions because when I asked for them, you fell right into my arms."

The room fell silent again before Quatre decided to continue.

"Then am I just the answer to that question and you just decided that having me by you will sedate your inadequate unreality."

"No wait!" Trowa said almost frantically.

"This has nothing to do with you and yet everything to do with you."

"That was a riddle I suppose."

Trowa looked up and met Quatre's eyes and Quatre couldn't help but sit back at the intensity of the emotions behind his gaze.

At that instant, so many memories of two little boys in the middle of the street began to engulf his confused mind. He saw wings, he saw candy, he saw a clown that was stubbornly attached to him. He saw sorrow, he saw rejection, he saw delight at the fulfillment of a promise. He saw a glowing feather, he saw a tight rope, he saw himself with real wings delivering a gentle kiss to and old man, withered and aged but still representing the one he loved, the one he always longed to be with.

He tried to calm his nerves that threatened to explode with realizations and glimpses of a slowly forming puzzle, so beautiful, so true that it attacked his entire being.

He held on tight to the table, clutching his head with one hand. Trowa was by his side in an instant, horrified and concerned. He kept on asking Quatre questions, rubbing his back as some sort of relief and became even more terrified when the other did not respond.

For a few minutes, they stayed that way until Quatre came out of the intense assault of recollections and calmed down.

By this time, Trowa was kneeling in front of him, puzzled and utterly helpless. Quatre looked at him, stood up and reached out to help Trowa stand as well.

Trowa stood, confused and afraid but Quatre encircled his arms over him. It felt familiar and comforting as if Quatre had grown wide spanning wings that enveloped both of them, shielding them against the world that refused their bond.

He could not decipher its meaning but chose to wrap his arms around the other in response. Moments later, Quatre pulled back and delivered, unlike before, a searing, deep kiss that caused his eyes to widen. It was obviously something he wasn't expecting.

At first, he couldn't understand the sudden change but nevertheless, he let his lips move on its own accord and kissed back. He felt himself weaken, his senses giving in.

He then broke the kiss and moved around Quatre. This time, it was Quatre who was confused. Trowa put his arms around him and placed his head on the tense shoulders.

"Angels are not my obsession," he whispered, his breath tickling Quatre's neck. "I just dream of them."

He began kissing Quatre's neck, tasting every bit of it.

"But *you* are my obsession."

Quatre understood then, closed his eyes and put his head back onto Trowa's shoulders. No more was to be said after that.

Trowa continued his ministrations while lifting Quatre's shirt up to expose the slowly heating skin. He kissed down from his neck to his back, enjoying the warm skin that connected with his sensitive lips. When he reached the space between the shoulder blades, he stopped and put his head in between as he slowly closed his eyes.

He thought it odd but he was sure that he felt wings sprouting out of the narrow back, brushing against his cheek, the soft feathers all too familiar but still as glorious and mystical.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw no wings. Instead, he saw a soft silhouette of white as if the two feathery expansions were ghosts hovering around Quatre's back. They seemed so large that they expanded the whole room, causing the entire area to seem like heaven itself with his painted angels rejoicing.

"...love you Angel," Trowa said, heavy-eyed.

Quatre decided that he was too relaxed to correct him and leaned back on him instead.

It was a very sated and comforting moment but it died all too soon.

"Trowa, it's lunch time!" Mr. Barton suddenly called.

Trowa groaned and opened a box to the far corner of the room.

"Hey baby, you can have my lunch," he said and smiled sleepily as he watched his snake slither out through an open window.

"Oh, and Trowa, Ms. Noin's here to pick Quatre up."

This time, it was Quatre's turn to groan and pick his shirt up from the floor.