Warning: Shonen Ai, AU. Implications of self-mutilation.
Disclaimer: Both Gundam Wing and Touched by an Angel do not belong to me. I am simply borrowing them. That done, on with the story!
Christmas Music - Chapter Three
The next morning, Quatre awoke in his bed, his neck stiff and his shirt crumpled. Having been too preoccupied with his thoughts the night before, he had forgotten to change into his pyjamas, and drifted off into unsettling dreams.
Now he was wide awake, almost having forgotten about his conversation with his father. Quickly, he got dressed into fresh clothes, and opened the window to let in the cool morning air. Taking deep breaths, he looked out over the Winner mansion's garden, and the forests behind it, both covered in thick, white snow.
Shivering slightly, Quatre turned away, and headed downstairs for breakfast. He and his friends were planning to try out some winter sports, especially since this was WuFei's first winter here. He couldn't wait, despite his condition.
Reaching the dining hall, he noticed that only a few of his sisters had bothered to wake up this early, and that only Heero, prompt and perfect as always, had joined them. No doubt, the others were still asleep.
Quatre waved at the Japanese, and made his way towards him, when a sudden wave of nausea hit him, and his knees started to buckle. In a flash, the poor boy collapsed in a heap on the floor, his expression full of pain.
"Quatre!" his sisters cried out, but before they could anything, Heero had rushed over to his friend, kneeling down beside him
"Quatre," his face remained as stony as ever, but his eyes revealed rare concern, "Are you all right?"
"It... hurts," the blond managed to say between short breaths. He winced, and put a hand to his head in an automatic reaction.
"I'll carry you back to your room," Heero decided, but Quatre shook his head, weakly trying to sit up. By now, his sisters had gathered in a circle around the two of them.
"What's going on?" a voice sounded from the door. The circle parted, revealing Irea. As she saw her little brother on the floor, her eyes widened in shock.
"Dear God, Quatre!" she rushed to his other side, opposite Heero, and took his pale hand in hers, "What's wrong?"
"N-nothing," the blond said before Heero could respond. "I just slipped."
"It didn't look like you were slipping," Heero's concern washed over with anger, now.
Quatre shot him a glare, then slowly stood up with the help of his sisters, who had accepted his excuse. Sitting down at the long table, he thanked them for their help, and breakfast was resumed as if nothing had happened.
Heero snorted, and sat back down, as well. He'd have to have a serious talk with him later.
-----
"Everyone ready?" WuFei looked back at the group, each of them packed in warm winter jackets, scarves, gloves and boots. Both Heero and Duo had skis on their feet and poles in their hands, Trowa had his boots secured to a snowboard and WuFei and Quatre were holding their respective sledges in their hands, ready for some action.
Everyone nodded enthusiastically.
After breakfast, Heero had pulled the young blond aside, and threatened that if something like this would happen again, he'd take Quatre to a hospital and get him treated, if he liked it or not. He was even going to drag him there, if necessary. Quatre reluctantly agreed, as long as the others weren't told about this incident.
Now, Heero had taken it upon himself to watch over his friend, which the latter did not really appreciate.
'For heaven's sake, I'm 21 years old. I don't need some nanny to look after me,' Quatre thought, as the five of them started moving. 'I'll have to find a way to get him off my back, but it won't be easy.' Feeling like a giddy ten year old all over again, he started scheming his little plan.
They had decided to split up in two directions, Trowa and Duo taking the left, while the rest took the right. After having inspected the area thoroughly on a map, Heero had chosen a 'suitable' slope just outside the forest. As they reached it, Quatre peeked down the hill, and rolled his eyes.
"You call this a hill? This is a bump! I know a place a lot better than this. Follow me!" and without waiting, he made a determined route towards the thick woods. The other two shrugged, and curiously followed their friend. They marched through the forest (which was a bit difficult for Heero, considering that he still had his skis on), and stopped on the other side of it, where they found themselves at the top of a slope, which could only be described as... suicide.
Both Heero and WuFei eyed the enthusiastic blond, who had already sat himself on his sledge. Quirking an eyebrow up at them, he grinned, "You up for it?"
"Uh... I'm a bit new to this winter sports thing, so... I'll let you go first," WuFei replied nervously, staring down the steep hill.
Not bothering to hear Heero's answer (which he knew was going to be a lecture about his health), Quatre shrugged and pushed himself down the slope... and into hell (Oooh, dramatic. Err - sorry).
The two boys at the top of the slope just blinked, as they watched a blue, yellow and brown smudge speed down, a faint echo of "Yahooooooooooooooo" reaching them. When Quatre finally reached the bottom, he stood up, picked up the sledge, turned to stick his tongue out at the confused Heero, and legged it through the forest.
After a moment's silence, WuFei asked, "What just happened?"
Heero blinked, "I have no idea."
-----
Giggling to himself in sheer giddiness, Quatre sprinted past the trees. He hadn't felt so alive in a long time, and he wanted to preserve the moment. The rest of that day, he spent going from hill to hill, and slope to slope, investigating these little areas he had always found so interesting as a boy, but was never allowed to get near to, went through all his hiding spots and to that clearing he often spent most of his time in. He hadn't even realized how much time he had spent out there, until he glanced at his watch, which was around four, and the sky started to darken.
'I'd better get back. All this goofing around... I'd better refuel, so I don't collapse again..." as soon as that thought passed through his mind, he felt a jolt of pain in his head and legs.
"Arrgh!" Quatre cried out, then quickly bit his lips to keep himself from screaming. If the others were nearby, they might find him, and stop him from going outside altogether. And he didn't want that. He wanted his last few days to be the best of his life - to enjoy them, not be cooped up in a stuffy room. The blond hadn't told them this, but just before they left for the holidays, he went for a check-up with his doctor, and the news weren't good.
He was going to die, soon.
Quatre collapsed into the snow. The coolness of it jolted him even more, and suddenly everything hit him like a flash. His father despised him. And now, he was going to die. Die a failure. Die to be the son no one wanted.
The conversation from the night before resurfaced, his father's reaction, the tears he had spilled afterwards, and the loneliness... It seemed more like a dream than reality.
"Father," Quatre whispered.
He tried to get up again, but resulted in rolling onto his back, instead. Slowly, the cold became less painful, and rather welcoming...
The blond shivered. He had to get up. Now.
Determined, Quatre rolled back onto his stomach and was weakly able to sit up with the little support his arms gave him. He breathed a sigh, and then sat himself on his sledge, which he had dropped next to him in his fall.
From far away, he could hear faint voices calling his name. As they got closer, he began to recognize them. It was Trowa and Duo, he was sure of that. Their voices were unmistakable.
"Trowa, Duo!" he called out himself, and waited for a reply.
He could hear a faint, "Quatre?" and soon, they found their little friend. Without hesitation, Trowa picked up his lover and pressed a kiss on his lips, "I was worried about you."
Quatre huffed, "Aren't I allowed to have some time to myself?"
"Not in your condition," Duo replied sternly, but relief was evident in his features, "We thought that you had passed out or something. I know Heero and WuFei can be pains in the ass at times, " he winked, "but next time, use the old fashioned snow ball."
Soon, they returned to the Winner mansion, where Heero and WuFei were already waiting. Heero didn't bother with a lecture, but instead send an effective glare in Quatre's general direction.
His father also came rushing up, and hugged his son tightly.
"I was only gone for a few hours, sheesh," Quatre mumbled.
Mr. Winner pulled back, and suddenly gave his son a hard smack on his cheek.
"F-father?" Quatre stepped back, shocked, and put his pale hand on the offended skin.
Without saying a word, the old man left the room, and headed towards the workshop. After a moment of daze, the blond hurried after Mr. Winner.
"Father! We need to talk. Please, listen to me!" Quatre pulled at the other's arm, but was just shrugged off. "Father!"
Suddenly, Iman Winner turned around, his face stone cold, "Don't call me that." He entered the workshop, and slammed the door behind him.
Not being deterred from his goal, the boy followed. Inside, Iman was holding the violin, Quaterine, in his hands. He didn't even bother looking up, as he said, "Why did you come back? Couldn't you have just left us alone... why did you choose Christmas?"
"We have to talk about this," Quatre begged.
"Not now. It's Christmas Eve tomorrow, for heaven's sake!" he slammed the violin on the table.
"Then when are we going to talk about this? Easter? Mom's anniversary? Your birthday? I only come home on those occasions, so when are we going to talk about it?"
"Not now!" he yelled.
"Dad, there might not be another chance after Christmas," the boy's voice had obvious frustration in it, as he tried to get through to his father. "I don't have a lot of time left."
"Why did you come back?" Mr. Winner repeated, "Why did you have to spoil Christmas for all of us?"
Fury boiled up in Quatre. "I don't believe you! I can't believe you're so ignorant! Do you have any idea what I went through? When I realized that I was different? When I realized that I was gay? I didn't think so." He pulled up his left sleeve and held his arm out for his father to see. Faint criss-cross marks had scared the alabaster skin, almost like a grid or a map that had faded over the years.
"Do you see this, father?" the boy continued, tears threatening to spill buried memories, "This is what happens when you feel you're not good enough. Not good enough for your father, not good enough for your friends, and not good enough for yourself. A mistake. A queer - Something one has always been taught to despise. Something so disgusting, all you want to do is hide in a corner and die. When you're afraid that the world will find out, and that it will reject and despise you in turn, as well, and even your own father won't look you in the eyes." Quatre's voice had broken, now, revealing all the year's worth of self-loathing he had subjected himself under.
And quietly he repeated, "This is what happens."
Mr. Winner stood still, not moving a muscle, not knowing what to say, his feelings mixed and torn one way and another, not knowing which one was right.
Quatre bit his lip in an attempt to suppress his emotions, and not break down right here and now. Softly, he continued, "I-I tried committing suicide, you know. On more than one occasion, but I was too afraid and too much of a coward to go through with it." He paused, "I hated myself - and I still do."
Mr. Winner looked up, his expression unreadable and undecided. Quatre felt his gaze fall upon him, and he lifted his head, his eyes shifting from his father onto the violin.
"The reason I stopped playing the violin was because... because, whenever you built one, you moulded and carved it into perfect shape, with perfect wood and perfect equipment... But I wasn't perfect. That was the problem. Perfect violins need perfect players. I felt unworthy of it, so... I stopped."
Quatre shuddered at having opened up so widely, something he rarely did. Some of this he hadn't even told Trowa, the one person he trusted the most.
And here he was pouring his heart out at a man who was disgusted by the very thought of him.
Slowly, the blond looked back into the mirroring dark eyes, and hoped for a smile - anything - that expressed acknowledgement for him.
But all he got was silence.
Yet he waited for Iman's reaction, but the man seemed more like a statue than anything else.
Suddenly, Mr. Winner's eyes narrowed dangerously, and his expression of indecision turned into something much darker. "Get out," he said, "Get out of my house, and never come back."
Quatre's eyelids lowered in defeat, and he nodded slowly in acceptance. Leaving the room without saying another word, the sound of shuffling feet seemed to pierce through the silence.
-----
Quatre walked out of the workshop, and through the long hallways of the mansion, ignoring the questions his friends had directed at him. His speed increased slightly as he did so, not wanting and unable to speak right now. He marched to the front door, and opened it, letting a cool evening breeze ruffle his blond bangs. He shivered slightly, then stepped outside, making a direct route for... anywhere. Just away from here. He broke into a run, frantic tears flowing down his cheeks. Ignoring them, he continued running through the darkness. That's all he wanted to do. Run. Run away from everything, and be left in peace.
'Keep running, Quatre. That's what you're best at, remember?' a sinister voice said in his mind.
"No!" he cried out.
He tripped, and fell headfirst into the cold snow, the iciness of it striking him like a bullet to the heart. He tried to get up again, but his arms failed him, and all he could do was lie there, shivering. He started coughing violently, and his breathing became hard and shallow.
He whispered, "Cold... so... cold." and smiled faintly.
'What is the point?' he thought softly, as the darkness closed around him, and all his troubles fell away. 'It's not like anyone cares.' His mind and body relaxed, as these thoughts raced through his head.
'Stop breathing... stop... breathing," he thought calmly to himself, 'Just stop--'
---------