Wings of Love

by Kasage Starrunner

This is a yaoi fic following the escapades of Quatre after his death, and Trowa dealing with this death. It contains Gundam WIng characters and original characters © me. However, the focus is a PG-rated relationship between Quatre and Trowa, after deat

4. Chapter 4

Wings of Love

Part 4

Kasage Starrunner

Feb. 14, AC197 ::22:27

Trowa had froze when he saw his beloved leap forth from the shadows where he had been standing with Mariemeia Khushrenada. The whole scene had seemed to play itself out surrealistically, like a tape in slow motion: Quatre's cry, his leap, the shot. He saw the bullet at impact, saw the crimson burst from the angel's chest, then watched as he fell for what seemed like miles upon miles until the limp body hit the ground with a leaden thud, blood pooling into a small scarlet lagoon.

And the attacker, the cowardly drunk he thought he had killed on entrance, had fled. The man who should be dead, but no Quatre was ... Because of him

He was numbed by it all. His he was the Lion, but his Lamb was dead: stolen from him by a cruel and unhearing world. Slowly, he was brought back into the world of the living by a soft, plaintive cry. The child, Mariemeia, had stumbled over to the lifeless body of the pale Arab and was afraid.

With icy blue eyes she gazed unbelieving. A dainty, white hand reached out to touch his cold face and then the blood surrounding the shell of what had been a man. At the touch of the thick liquid she jerked back, the tips of her fingers stained red. With some kind of tentative fascination she held the blood hand up to her face, in clear view of those somewhat glassy eyes, watching the scarlet trickle down her hand like a tainted mountain spring, turned red by the blood spilled on her mother, Earth.

Somewhere in her eight year old mind, the child with hair almost as red as the liquid that stained her hands, understood what had happened in such a brief amount of time. It was like the slap that awakened her in the face of world destruction. She understood now what her injury meant, and how amazing it was she was there that day, staring at the man who would have rescued her and had indeed rescued Trowa. A deep and knowing ache filled her ignorant heart, killing off another piece of the innocence that made her a child. Filled with sudden anger at herself and anger at all the soldiers that the world had ever born, the red-headed child doubled over. Her sobbing seemed to shake the earth that nourished her, her tears mingling with the blood of her rescuer. Blood that was made of salt water from the same seas that gave birth to those tears.

Somewhere in the midst of her sobbing she looked up meeting Trowa's cold emeralds with a wide-eyed bewilderment, mixed with semi-adult understanding. The Lamb had died for the Lion. Why?

Those cold eyes pierced into her, causing her to look away. Something was wrong with Nanashi-Trowa. This time they had stabbed him too deep, those demons. The mime felt like snapping-breaking into a million pieces, taking the world with him in his downfall to Hell. The startled child saw this, unknowingly, and with the vague look that had crossed her face once before-over the holidays, she stood and walked waveringly over to Trowa.

Trowa's mind was like a storm, wild and uncontrollable. Those few minutes in the HeadQuarters of the Barton Followers were like his own personal journey into Hades and then back again. He saw and yet he did not see, and when soldiers arrived at the scene of what had been coded and emergency, the Lion acted and reacted in a cold, blind manner.

He didn't know how many there were. He didn't know how many he killed. He was only aware of the machine gun that he mechanically fired at the lines of men, and the red-headed child cling fearfully to his leg-watching the blitzkrieg fusillades with a frightened sort of intensity.

And then it was over, as quickly and strangely as it had begun. Trowa dropped the machine gun as if the metal burnt, gazing at his hands as if they were branded while at the same time listening to the clang as the weapon hit the ground. He didn't know where Donaldson and Peterson were, nor did he care. All that held his attention now was the body of Quatre. He bent down and stared, wanting to cry but unable to force the tears from his soul. He was ignorant of so much, but he knew one thing for certain. He couldn't leave his koi's body there for those villains to cannibalize.

Carefully, he lifted the Arab's body over his shoulder, glaring venomously at the dead soldiers-daring them to try and stop him. Mariemeia's lithe form followed shortly after, the little girl jerking violently away before he could hoist her. However, in a moment, she too was hanging over his shoulder, her head bobbing confusedly as the silent clown left the carnage behind.

"There is no peace anymore," muttered the mime. "You all will die for the angel you destroyed."