Unbreakable
"What the hell am I doing here?"
Trowa stood in front of the large mahogany doorway with his master-key in hand, ready to open the lock. He barely had any recollection of how he had gotten there, he was just following this instinct the logical part of his brain kept telling him to ignore. With a determined sneer he turned away from the door, grumbling to himself about how he shouldn't be there and how foolish he'd been.
Then came the noise. He wasn't sure if he'd heard it or not, but this time it definitely wasn't inside his head. Trying to brush it off, he took another few steps, but he still heard it. Rolling his eyes, Trowa swore at himself and rushed back to the heavy door. Unlocking it, he stepped inside. The room was quiet, but he could still hear an almost pathetic little sound coming from around the corner. Shutting the door behind him, he stepped further into the room, surveying the lush surroundings from underneath his long bangs. The little sound became fainter, even though Trowa could sense he was getting closer.
Then, he spotted a little twinge of movement. Peering closer he saw a shaking hand covered inblood just behind the door. Calmly, Trowa eased around the door, hand on his pistol, just in case. Moving the bathroom door aside, he spotted the little blonde boy from two nights ago and again this afternoon.
"Quatre?" he called out questonitively.
The boys eyes opened up a tiny bit, blue barely visible behind star-studded tear drops overflowing from his eyes. His eyes upturned and he could possibly be smiling, but it was hard to tell because he was shielding his face with one shaking hand.
"Trowa," Quatre whispered, his voice muffled.
Trowa got down onto his knees next to the broken boy on the ground and hushed him, reaching over to remove his hand from his face. Wincing, Quatre allowed his hand to be pulled away from his face.
"She hit me," was all Quatre could manage. But he was regaining his composure.
Trowa got up from the floor and walked to the sink where he wet a washcloth and, after draining it of excess liquids, brought it over to Quatre. Gently, he wiped up the trail of blood from his nose to his cheek, where it then dripped into a very small puddle on the ground. Quatre winced as he wiped the blood from around the nose.
"Does it hurt?"
"It burns."
Trowa sighed. "You must have been crying for a very long time."
Quatre squeezed his eyes shut trying the trap the tears that escaped anyway. Trowa stroked his golden hair, trying to comfort the boy in any way he could.
After he'd cleaned Quatre's face of blood, he turned his attention to his shoulder that Quatre was delicately cradling. Noticing Trowa's attention was on that, Quatre spoke: "She hit me with a poker."
"With what?"
Squeezing back more tears behind closed eyes he said: "With a poker."
A sneer of hatred escaped Trowa's lips for a moment, but it dissapear to something neutral again then he turned back to Quatre's injured shoulder. He could tell already that something was swelling under his coat. Trowa began unbuttoning Quatre's shirt that was too tight for him anyway, peeling away the layers of clothing, being mindful of the hurt shoulder. It didn't matter much since Quatre winced anyway. Peeling away the vest underneath the jacket, he could see his shoulder was very red underneath the almost sheer white undershirt.
"Is it...?"
Trowa nodded. "Probably."
Quatre squeaked again, a little tear falling down his cheek.
Trowa's ears perked up as he heard the door open and shut ever so slowly. His back tensed up as he reached for his gun. But before he could pull it all the way out of it's holster he felt the cold steel of a pistol already aimed at his head.
"Stand up," the old woman's voice barked.
Steadily, Trowa stood, showing no signs of fear, even when a pistol was aimed straight at his head.
"Toss me your gun," she demanded.
Trowa pulled the gun out slowly and held it's handle out. Francis grabbed the gun and swiftly tossed it to the other side of the room. The steel pistol clanked around inside the bathtub before stopping. Placing both hands on the gun, she held it steady at Trowa's head. "Get up Quatre."
Quatre forced himself up onto his haunches, leaning up against the wall on his one good shoulder, still cradling the other. Painfully slow, he pushed himself up to stand somewhat vertical.
"Do you always have to do everything so goddamn slow? Get over here!"
Quatre cautiously stepped forward, hunched backwards, afraid she might strike at him again. Quatre's bright blue eyes pleadingly stared into Trowa's deep green one, trying to find some comfort in some sort of protector. Trowa only stared blankly back at Quatre. But Quatre knew he was busy at work, thinking of how they were going to get out of this...he had to be.
Francis stepped out of the doorway. "Move," she said, motioning to the door with her gun. Trowa stepped out of the way and Quatre went out first, Trowa following closely behind. Trowa could feel the vibrations of fear coming out from Quatre and he wanted to reach out to him, but at this time, he couldn't.
"Over there, on the couch," she ordered. Trowa helped Quatre down, being mindful of his arm and then seated himself next to Quatre.
"You know, you wouldn't have been dragged into this if you'd have just let him jump. Now look. I have to do all this work. And you have to have your life ruined."
"why..." Quatre said with his head down, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.
"Why?" Francis repeated. She laughed, a horrible cackling sound. "My dear boy, the money! With you gone, my husband and I will be the inheritors of the Winner family fortune! I'm surprised you didn't know that."
"How cliche," Trowa commented in a monotone voice.
"Shut up," Francis said with a snarl. "You think because I'm a woman, I don't know how to use this?"
"I don't doubt you know how to use it," Trowa said, "But you're cowardly enough to use it on children..."
Francis curled her upper lip in a snarl. "Yeah, you aren't much older than my nephew here, right?"
"Fifteen," Trowa stated.
"Just a child." She cackled again. "Oh well, the world will be free two pitiful children."
"Stop this!" Quatre yelled out, more tears falling down the side of his face. "You're my aunt!"
"So?" she said coldly. Quatre stared at her in disbelief before being roughly hit on the head by the handle of the pistol and spilling over onto the floor. Trowa barely had time enough to react before he felt something hit him and the world went black
When Trowa came to, he was in the same place he had been before, the couch. Francis was standing there with a pistol pointed to him, and Quatre was nowhere to be seen. Trowa glared at her from underneath his bangs wishing he could do something, but she still had the advantage, pointing the gun straight at Trowa's head. Keeping her eyes and her gun on Trowa she smiled a wicked smile.
"Stand up," she ordered.
He did.
"Take off your jacket."
Trowa wordlessly stripped off his jacket, throwing it at her feet.
"The hat!"
Trowa tossed his hat off and that too was thrown down to the floor.
Scooping them off of the ground, she stuffed the jacket and the hat into a dresser drawer. She stared at Trowa and smiled. Pacing back to the door, she opened it, only a crack. "Now comes my award-winning acting."
Without warning, she screamed at the top of her lungs, making Trowa jump back and wince.
"Help! Help me, please!" she kept repeating. After hearing hurried footsteps running down the hall toward the room, she forced out the waterworks and tossed the gun roughly at Trowa, who instinctually caught it...unfortunately by the handle.
Almost the instant afterwards, three security guards rushed in the door. Francis practically leaped into the arms of the first one of them, sobbing hysterically in his chest. The other two automatically pulled out their pistols and pointed them straight at me. "Drop the gun!" They screamed.
"Oh, Crap."
His wrists bound in handcuffs, security drug Trowa out of the room and down the several flights of stairs, into third class, where they held all 'trouble-makers'.
Duo caught sight of the roughly handled Trowa and immediately started asking questions.
"Hey! Where are you going with Trowa?" he asked, trying to get a better look at Trowa, who was surrounded by guards.
"Get back in yer cabin," one of the guards yelled.
"What did he do?" Duo insisted on asking.
"None of yer business, now get back!"
"No!" Duo said, setting his hands on his hips and leaning into the security guard. "I want to know, he's my goddamn cabin-mate!"
Another security guard came up and tapped the other on the shoulder. "You help them. I'll take care of this."
The guard nodded and rushed back to the circle of men taking Trowa away. "Now, what seems to be the problem," this new officer asked.
"The problem is that he's my cabin-mate and I'd like to know what's going on."
"Oh. Well, he was found in a first-class passengers room with a pistol. Apparently, he'd already finished off a young boy."
"What!?" Duo screamed. "No way! I don't know Trowa very well, but he'd never do that! I think."
"Well, he was found with the pistol..."
"What about the boy?"
"Well, we never found him. Apparently, he was thrown over the edge..."
"No way, I don't believe it," Duo said stubbornly. "It's just not possible."
"Please, retire to your quarters, we already have our hands full."
Duo let out a frustrated breath and burrowed his brow. "Fine," he said, stepping back inside and closing the door. "Don't expect me to give up though..."
"Yes, I'll be fine. Thank you," Francis said, still acting her heart out.
"We'll be sure to keep an eye out for Rashid ma'am. You can count on us."
"Yes. Thank you again," she said, wiping a tear from her eye before closing the door.
As soon as she did that, her expression changed to one of exhaustion. Rolling her eyes she circled around the cabin, mumbling to herself.
"I shouldn't have to go through all that for money, that's supposed to be the husbands job..."
In the closet, Quatre stirred and his eyes flickered open. Feeling disoriented, he wasn't able to sort out where he was. Things became clearer as Francis opened the closet, the sudden bursts of light stinging Quatre's sore eyes. Wide-eyed, he tried to scream, but it was muffled as his aunt shoved something large down into his mouth. Quatre almost got ill, but it wasn't deep enough for that. He just coughed, choking and his cheeks now hurt from the gag placed in his mouth. Quatre tried reaching up to tear it out of his mouth, but before he had the chance, Francis shoved him onto his stomach, violently pulling his arms back, his shattered shoulder making a sickening cracking sound. Quatre screamed as loudly as he could through the gag, breathing heavily to choke back the tears. He felt the tight, thick rope being wrapped tightly around his wrist, then she traced the rope tightly down to bind his feet. Roughly, she picked the boy up by the collar of his shirt, sitting him up in the corner. Quatre screamed again as his shoulder was roughly handled.
"Sit tight now. And don't even think about trying to get help. I won't be gone often. I'll be too busy mourning the loss of my nephew." She chuckled, a twisted smile playing across her face. "So, don't even bother trying."
Stepping back, she slammed the door shut, leaving Quatre alone in the dark space. Not wasting any time, Quatre tried to force the gag out of his mouth with his tongue, but it was so far back that forcing it out wouldn't help. And he couldn't even begin to loosen the tight knots that bound his hands, but he struggled nonetheless, trying to wiggle his hands out of the loops. The throbbing pain in his shoulder now worsened from his aunt's rough treatment.
Without any type of reason, Quatre's thoughts turned back to Trowa. "What happened to him after I blacked out?" Quatre squeezed back tears at the thought that he could be...
"Shut up," he thought to himself, "You have to get to him, dead or alive."
He pushed on the gag with his tongue again. That was a bad idea as he barely repressed the urge to vomit. Sweating with illness, he pulled his legs up to his chest and slid down onto his back, squealing from the pain in his arm. Resisting the urge to scream again, he looped his arms under and over his feet.
He collapsed onto his side sobbing from the sheer pain of the process. He'd gotten his arms out from behind his back, but it put so much strain on his shoulder, he was reduced to tears.
Francis pounded once on the door. "Stop making so much noise!"
Trying to pull attention away from himself, he silenced his sobs, still crying, but not making any noise.
"Che. Stupid Kids. Never learn..."
Throughout the rest of the evening, he heard her walking throughout the cabin. More than likely, she had already treated herself to three glasses of brandy, and he could smell the scent of Opium wafting through the cabin space. Sneering, Quatre struggled harder to free himself, fueled by the anger he was feeling just sitting there, hearing her enjoy some victory. Quatre ironically grinned as he thought of how well she must have planned this out. Acting chummy with him, introducing him around, playing the Guardian. All probably an elaborate plan. He felt almost flattered, she'd payed this much attention to him instead of just tossing him off the boat.
"You may be a genius, but you're a bitch." Quatre thought before giving up altogether and collapsing to the floor, surrendering to his pain and exhaustion.
Duo answered the knock on the door, cigarette in mouth, searching his pants for a lighter.
"Yeah, yeah, what do you....want?"
A young Chinese boy stood in the doorway, hands held behind his back, poised patiently behind the door.
"Oy, whatdya want?" Duo asked, pulling a button-up white shirt over his bare chest.
"Trowa Barton is your cabin-mate, is this correct?" the Asian boy asked.
"Yeah," Duo said with a nod, words slurred from the cigarette in his mouth.
"And you are friends with him, is this correct?" he asked.
Duo nodded. "I guess. He wasn't so bad a guy."
"Mr. Treize Kushrenada would like a word with you then."
"Trays Koosh-re-na-dah?" Duo repeated questionatively, raising a brow. "Am I supposed to know who that is."
"No. But I'm sure he'd be pleased to meet you nonetheless."
Duo eyed the Asian boy from his feet to his head, where he peered around to view his little ponytail. "And you would be...?"
"Chang Wufei," he stated. "You may just call me Wufei."
"Woo-Faye," Duo repeated, trying the name out on his tongue. "Interesting name."
"Yours as well, Duo." the one named Wufei said, staring at Duo with a straight face.
"Hey, how'd you know my name was Duo?"
"Lucky guess."
Duo sagged his shoulders and muttered something before retreating to his bed to fetch his jacket.
"Wait here," Wufei said, retreatreating out of the room and stepping into another, closing the doors behind him.
Duo surveyed the new surroundings. "Very plush," he said, pacing along the walls, looking at the paintings on the walls and shining objects placed on desks and other surfaces around the room. One object in particular caught his eye, standing in the corner, underneath a lamp. Striding over to it, Duo leaned over, his long braid falling over his shoulder. The object was a black panther with golden eyes. But what really caught Duo's eye was the golden cross painted across the back of it.
"whoa...." Duo whispered, inspecting it closer.
"It is interesting isn't it?"
Duo jumped and put his hands behind his back. "I wasn't going to steal it, honest!" he said by instinct.
The man before him, chuckled slightly, his hand in front of his mouth. The man had short chestnut hair and forked eyebrows. His entire demeanor made him seem like royalty.
"Don't worry about it," the man said. "Please, have a seat."
Feeling a bit awkward, Duo slinked over to the couch and sat down.
"Oooh, soft," Duo thought.
"If you haven't put two and two together already, I'd like to introduce myself. My name is Treize Kushrenada."
"I'd figured as much," Duo said with a nod, resting his arm on the back of the couch. "So, what do you want with me?" Duo leaned over and eyed Treize. "Moreso, what do you want with Trowa."
Treize grinned. "You're not one to beat around the bush are you?" he stated.
Duo shrugged at the question.
Wufei then entered the room with a tray; two cups of tea and a kettle placed atop a silver platter. Placing it down on the table, he handed a small tea cup to Treize and the other to Duo.
"Thanks Wufei," Duo said with a smile.
Half-smiling, Wufei bowed politely.
Duo took a sip of the tea swiftly. "Mm, that's good."
Treize smiled. "It's Irish tea."
Duo grinned even wider. Chuckling, Treize took a sip of his own tea and placed it onto the table. He then crossed his legs and placing his hands on his knees, he got right down to business.
"You must know that your friend has been suffered a terrible injustice."
Duo blinked twice before putting down his tea cup. "Yeah, I know," he said, his face becoming serious and stern. "I knew it when I saw them draggin' him down the hallway."
"I think I know what has happened. It seems that Mrs. Winner has decided to snuff out the life of the young master Quatre and pinned the death upon the unfortunate Mr. Barton."
"Is Quatre a little blonde boy?" Duo asked, remembering something from earlier in the evening.
Treize nodded.
"Yeah, I saw him earlier. His aunty seemed to be handlin' him rough."
Treized nodded again. "I beleive that we may be able to prove that Trowa is not the guilty party. But you must understand that the risks could be great."
Duo eyed him suspicously. "You'd do it yourself, but...?"
"You know more than you let on. Very well Duo, I will be frank. I need a scapegoat in case anything goes wrong. A man in my position can't be comprimised. I would change society's rules if I could...," he paused for a moment, relfecting on that peice. "but I can't."
There was a moments pause as the two looked at each other. After an unsure silence, Duo let himself grin.
"I'm happy to be of service."
