SWEET DARKNESS

Part 13

Sometimes at night Trowa woke up in a fit of unreasonable fear when it all seemed an illusion to him, seemed that he'd never found Quatre. But then he looked at the boy, curled in the next bed, and a glowing feeling of completeness came to him again. He'd never been happier in his life. He got Quatre back - and Trowa knew he wouldn't make another mistake like losing him once again. Everything else was almost dispensable. They had nowhere to go; it was, maybe, days till Trowa would recover and it wouldn't be possible to stay at the hospital. They had no money. They actually had no past - well, the only past Trowa had was with Misques and he knew he would never go back to them.

"What shall we d-do?" he asked Quatre. His stammering almost passed, recurring just occasionally.

"Something. Find a job. Find a flat. Live." Quatre's thumb pressed to his lips to make him silent and it distracted Trowa from any arguments he might have. He pulled Quatre in his arms and kissed; he could never have enough of the boy's closeness, of feeling Quatre's fragile body and soft skin, of Quatre's ability to kiss so, that Trowa forgot how to breathe and felt wonderfully lightheaded after that.

They'd made love two days after Trowa got to the hospital. It was awkward, because Quatre insisted on his lying still - and Trowa just couldn't lie still. But the thought that they had so much time before them, would have chance to do it again and again filled him with wild, intoxicating joy.

Doctor Po and others at the hospital didn't seem to mind their affair. One of the nurses, a kind-looking elderly one, said to Trowa once:

"It's good he found you. He was always so sad, I thought he would never smile."

It looked like it worked out somehow with the vaccine for seizure-flu, and Trowa couldn't help seeing it as anything but a miracle; although what supreme forces could be so kind to him - certainly not the ones of Misques. It might be some Quatre's guardian angel.

It was early morning and Quatre was in Trowa's bed, his head on Trowa's chest. There was something going on TV but Trowa found it difficult to concentrate while Quatre's small cold feet rubbed against his. He cast a glance at Quatre and caught a sly sparkle of dark-blue eyes under the long eyelashes.

"I'm just trying to get warm," Quatre grinned. And at the next moment the door opened and Doctor Po walked in. Her usually serene face had a strange confused expression - and there were two men in civil clothes behind her.

"Quatre." Her hands were clasped tightly, in a gesture so nervous that Trowa felt suddenly disturbed. "There's someone who wants to see you."

The men stepped forward and Doctor Po backed away.

"Quatre Winner. You're under arrest."

It was crazy. They couldn't mean it. What for were they going to arrest him? Trowa saw Quatre look at them, his head raised from Trowa's chest, a pink trace left on his cheek from crumpled material.

"Before you ask whether it's a joke or a mistake," one of the men said, "here's the warrant."

Trowa felt his arm tighten around Quatre involuntarily, as if by holding the boy hard enough he could make these crazy people go away. What the fuck was it all about? Quatre wasn't supposed to have anything to do with police at all. Some officials had visited Trowa when there had been an investigation about the explosion - but Quatre wasn't involved in anything.

The boy's eyes were so huge and dark, and there was such a weird expression in them, Trowa couldn't figure it out. He felt Quatre move away and held him forcefully.

"No, wait. What's the charge?"

One of the men was younger, the other old and fat, with hoarse irritated voice.

"Prostitution."

"What the hell?" Trowa didn't know whether he was more angry or astonished. It was so ridiculous he even felt some kind of relief. "Does he look like a prostitute or anything? He's at the hospital if you didn't notice."

"The statute of limitation for this crime is three years. Three years didn't pass since the last act - so, we have every reason to arrest him."

The twisted logic of that made him feel creepy. And he knew there must've been something else, they couldn't bother just with this absurd accusation.

"You don't have any evidence against him."

"Oh yes, we do," the younger man said with a short smile. "The most solid evidence there can be. His own confession."

Trowa felt Quatre sit up, move away from him - and felt sudden emptiness of not having the boy close any more. As if Trowa's arms could really protect him... The man turned his wrist, his watch showing a small screen, and Trowa heard Quatre's voice, distorted slightly with recording but completely recognizable.

"I was with a client... Morphs were after the man, I think, so, they arrested us together."

"Did you know the man?" It was Treize's voice, quiet and even.

"Barely. He picked me up once or twice before."

"You mean he bought your services?"

"Yes."

So, it was a part of Quatre's statement - the one Trowa had never heard, the one Treize had sent wherever he wanted to send it. Trowa felt anger fill him. They didn't have right to use it - how dared they? Quatre's face was flushed, his eyes cast down - and Trowa saw him move a little more away unconsciously.

No, don't go, he wanted to scream. There's nothing to be ashamed of - it's them who should've felt shame!

"He told it all on his own accord," the fat man said with satisfaction. "We usually have to spend more time coaxing criminals into confession. But the little fool made it all so easy for us."

The man's voice, open contempt in it made heat rushed in Trowa's face; he clenched his fists. The man must've noticed it because a paralyzer, much similar to the one Misques used, appeared in his hand.

"Don't move, kid. Or you'll get really, really hurt. You know what's the difference between a police model and a standard one? Ours works much faster - but has a side effect: hurts like hell. All right, let's take him, Ramirez."

The younger man moved towards the bed and Trowa tensed, ready to lash. He was pretty sure he would be able to take the man down before the other one would shoot. But how to let Quatre know he should run?

He cast a look at Quatre and knew suddenly that it wouldn't work. Quatre wouldn't try to escape. And anyway, where would he go? To become a fugitive, hunted by police? Yet the thought of these men taking Quatre away was splittingly painful.

"Don't try to play smart," the man said. "Did you hear what I said? I'll shoot if you just move a finger."

A dark-blue flash of Quatre's eyes was desperate, pleading as he turned back.

"Please, Trowa. Don't do anything. I'll go with them."

He didn't know what to say; he couldn't be quite reasonable. Quatre gave him a look, both stern and imploring, and got up from the bed.

"Let's not get it trouble, please, Trowa. I'm sure they'll let me go soon."

"Five years," the fat man said. "I can promise, it won't seem soon for you. Five years of working camps is the usual sentence for your kind of crime."

The man wanted to provoke him, Trowa thought. The other one, Ramirez, looked at his colleague with some distaste on chiseled face.

"Come on, Parker. There's no need to intimidate him."

He had cuffs in his hand.

"I need to dress," Quatre said.

"No way. He'll bolt," Parker shook his head adamantly.

"I can keep a look on him," Ramirez suggested.

"No. I'll do it myself."

"Please, Trowa," Quatre said in a very quiet voice. "Don't move."

"Don't," Ramirez confirmed. "Believe me, you don't want your friend to be hurt as well, right? And Parker is a mean bastard."

Oh please; not 'good cop/bad cop' thing. Quatre walked out of the room and Parker with him, and Ramirez stayed, looking down at Trowa with thoughtful expression.

"Your friend seems to be a reasonable guy," he said finally. "It might... be helpful."

"For God's sake..." It was keenly humiliating not to be able to express his anger in anything but impotent words. "What are you doing, guys? There's no more delinquency in the city that you're going after prostitutes? The fuckin' article probably didn't apply for last ten years!"

"But it exists," Ramirez said. "And sometimes it can be quite handy."

"Handy?"

"For example if the statement with confession was recorded in Treize Khushrenada's camp."

Everything suddenly made sense - including why the men were in civil, not in police uniform.

"You're ISS?" Trowa asked - but he surely knew the answer.

"Right. Interplanetary Security Service. And if your friend cooperates with us, he'll get off without a scratch. If not... Working camps on Balsa are an icky place, believe me."

"Oh God." He could say nothing else; he almost couldn't breathe with shock. Ramirez looked at him with pensive, distant expression. And then he bent towards Trowa and said:

"A good lawyer can probably get your friend out. But you don't have a good lawyer, do you?"

***********************************************************

The man, Parker, had that sickening manner of eyeing me. I could read every thought of his, every idea of what he would like to do with me; not that I would like to dwell on it. It was good at last that he kept his hands to himself when I changed my clothes - and in the car he probably felt self-conscious before his companion. Which was lucky for me; if I could only manage to stay away from him later...

I wasn't going to slip into panic; I repeated it to myself so many times that it sounded like mantra. No matter how little control over the situation I had - I could at least keep control over myself. Thinking about Trowa's forlorn, darkened eyes as I'd seen him the last time before being taken away made me bite my lip. It hurt to see him upset; he didn't deserve it to happen to him.

At the first moment, when they'd said they were going to arrest me, I thought it was because of my father, that his enemies reached even Adrianopolis in search for him and for anyone and anything that could be used against him. I didn't know whether my father was alive or dead but I knew that people who wanted to destroy him would stop before nothing. Maybe, my sisters already suffered from their revenge.

Finding out that it was just that ridiculous charge of prostitution made me so relieved I almost couldn't take it seriously. Well, cuffs on my wrists surely made it less of a joke. And later, when Parker and Ramirez explained what they wanted from me, I guessed I might've really been in trouble.

"Treize Khushrenada's camp. What can you tell about it?"

"It's big and there's a lot of sand."

"Don't you dare to laugh at us!" Parker slapped his palm against the table. Too little to have an effect... at least he didn't slap me. "We'll laugh at you - when you take the first ship to Balsa and stay in mining pits for five years. Do you think your boyfriend will be waiting for you when you come back from there? *If* you come back."

"Just tell us everything you know," the other man said. He didn't sound so eager - either didn't care enough whether I answered or not, or it was the role he played. "How do they open corridors in protective shield?"

They didn't know Trowa had been in Treize's camp as well, I realized. It made me feel almost dizzy with joy.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

"All right," Parker said. I saw the paralyzer in his hand. The thing worked blinding fast, he'd been right about it. Next moment I was on the floor, all my muscles clenched in pain that spread through my body like wildfire.

It was so bad... I only thought it was lucky the bastard didn't try it on Trowa. I didn't scream - but not because I could keep from it; I surely would - but my throat was paralyzed as well. Parker squatted near to me, his hand turning my face.

"I don't have any patience to smart-ass bitches as you are. When you're ready to talk, blink twice. You can move your eyelids, I know. Then Ramirez with give you a medicine."

I didn't blink; what I really wanted to do was to spit in his face. But I couldn't do it - and it would be unreasonable anyway.

They talked some more - part-threatened, part-convinced, part-scolded me. Or, rather, Parker talked, and Ramirez inserted well-placed and completely necessary remarks like:

"You know prisoners on Balsa lose all their teeth within first year? They have such shitty water there. How do you think your lover will like you then?"

I didn't blink.

"He's probably just stupid," Parker said. "Who else but a stupid slut could set his own trap by recording the fuckin' statement?"

"If you think we need your help so much, Winner, you're wrong," Ramirez said. "It's rather that we give you a chance to deserve forgiveness. Khushrenada's days are numbered. That little information that you have will probably spare some lives when he's arrested."

I didn't know how much time passed; it could be hours. Pain never subsided; I wondered if it was going to pass by itself or one needed a medicine Parker had talked about. And whether they were intended to give me that medicine. My vision blurred; tears leaked from my eyes and I could neither stop nor wipe them.

"Don't think you can be more stubborn than we are," Parker said. "You'll either help us and walk out of here - or you won't walk out of here at all. Time is on our side."

"And the paralyzer leaves no traces," Ramirez added.

Eventually it was him who injected me some stuff, and pain abated slowly as I could move again. My head ached and my body felt weak and awkward as I sat up on the floor.

"Take him to the cell," Parker said with distaste. Ramirez himself took me there, talking in a quiet voice all the way.

"Why don't you cooperate? I thought you would catch it in the air what's profitable for you. Don't you want to see your lover again?"

It hurt so much to think about Trowa; I wanted to see him... wanted nothing more than to see him.

"I don't suppose you have some fancy stuff in your head about 'loyalty' and 'betrayal', do you? You already got in trouble because of Khushrenada - now it depends on you to save yourself."

I gave him a glance and didn't say anything. He didn't know that Treize had saved me and Trowa, that I owed everything to him. And it was better that Ramirez knew nothing; I was going to guard my memories from him as long as I could.

"You disappoint me," he said. "Do you know Parker already hinted me that he would appreciate it if I left you two tete-a-tete when you're in paralysis? I might want to be nice to my partner."

I wanted to say 'fuck you' but his words really distressed me so. I knew he could do it safely; no one would even know. This thought made me feel desperate.

I was almost relieved when Ramirez left me alone in the cell. Locked again... very funny: just a month passed and I exchanged morphs' prison to human one. At least it was not cold there.

Trowa, I thought, I'm sorry. I miss you so much.

It was heart-wrenching, to think about him.

But, Trowa, I can't do what they want from me. Will you understand me?

* * *

They were right - time was on their side. It took two days to wear my resoluteness so thin that a little more and I was ready to start talking. Another push - and I would spill everything I knew, say things I would regret.

I don't want to recall it.

On the third day warders came for me. I moved in half-daze; the thought of seeing Parker and Ramirez again filled me with helpless dread. I barely noticed it was a different room they took me to - or, rather, I was so despaired it didn't matter for me. It took me a real effort to stay upright.

What I saw first was that those two were not there. And then a man sitting at the table got up - and everything about him was so familiar - his straight back and big hands and piercing eyes - that my body reacted before my mind could deny it as impossible. I threw myself at him, wrapped my arms around him, and he picked me up from the floor effortlessly.

"Dad," I said. "Dad."

For a while he didn't let me go - and I couldn't break away from him, as if without clinging to him it meant that the feeling of his strong arms around me would become an illusion. Finally he put me down and held on outstretched arms.

"Hasn't he grown so much?"

"Oh yes. Hey, little brother, don't you notice me?"

There was a young smiling woman next to my father, and my jaw dropped.

"Iria! You changed the hairstyle. You changed so much..."

"You bet I did," she laughed, cuddling me. Of course, it was her; I hadn't known how much I missed her soft hands and cozy smell and fluttering kisses. She was big; I could feel her round belly pressed to mine as she hugged me - she was pregnant.

I looked around; a part of me wondered if it was some beautiful dream - and then everything was possible there, I might've missed someone else. But there was just an unfamiliar man sitting at the table.

"And Milady?" I asked. Dad and Iria looked at each other.

"She's okay. She'll be with us, too."

"Son..." Dad pulled me closer again, patted my back. Now I recognized his rather awkward movements when it came to hugging - so, he probably was real. "Finally I found all of my children."

"You don't need to hide any more?" I asked. It was Iria who answered, her eyes glowing.

"Not at all! The Executive Board granted him asylum. There are so many changes. We'll probably go home soon, on our planet. There will be elections..."

"It's too early to talk about it, Iria," father said reticently. "I don't know if I want to participate in those elections."

Iria just smiled, and I smiled, too. Surely he would; my father couldn't live without politics. It had been his involvement that sent him first in exile and then put his life in such danger.

"Dad became legal already a year ago," Iria continued; her arm lay around my shoulder, her soft hand brushing my hair. "First he found me, then Milady - and now you. Oh, we looked for you so much! Only when someone checked for your name in the system, we could track you."

So, both Parker and Ramirez and my family found me the same way - after Megan had checked for my insurance. It was rather ironic.

Iria's words reminded me painfully what I tried not to remember. They looked for me... But they didn't know what I had become. If they had, they wouldn't have looked for me. I dishonored them so much. I withdrew from Iria quietly, freed from her arm. She looked at me with that breathtakingly kind smile of hers. It hurt to look at her, at my father's serious, gentle eyes. Their gazes would change when I told them. But I had to tell, I had no right to steal their kindness. Iria was first to feel that something was wrong.

"What happened, Quatre?"

"I..." I didn't know how to say that. "Dad, Iria, I... I wasn't like you think I was. I let you down... I was a..."

"Oh come on, Quatre, stop it!" Iria pulled me to herself suddenly, her arms around my neck. The softness of her body was so accepting, and her hand tucking a strand of my hair so tender. I heard her whisper in my ear. "You don't need to tell anything. Dad knows it. We saw the statement you recorded for Khushrenada. That's how we knew you were alive."

So, they knew - and they still wanted to find me? The thought was so enormous that I shivered. Iria didn't let me go, holding me tighter. And then I couldn't stand it any more. Tears ran from my eyes. She didn't say anything, just hugged me and patted my back.

Finally I wiped my eyes and looked up.

"It's my fault." My father looked somewhere above me and the corner of his mouth was twitching. "It's because of my ambition I lost all of you for those years, such difficult years. But I won't lose you again."

"We'll take you out of here," Iria said brightly. "It's Mr. Anderson, your lawyer." The man looked up at me from the laptop in front of him.

"Give me forty-eight hours," he said, "and I'll clear him of all charges."

* * *

Mr. Anderson was as good as his word. Two days later I stood at a long expensive air-car with my father and sister. I'd never seen Parker and Ramirez again.

"We're going to Rochengen," Iria beamed at me. "Dad got an estate there. You won't believe it - it's huge! There're horses there. You have to see it."

"Quatre *is* going to see it," father said. "But first to the hotel. You have to change your clothes."

It was so good to be with them; it was so good to be out. I didn't want to look at the prison building again.

"I won't go anywhere without Trowa," I said. My voice sounded suspiciously trembling. What if they didn't agree? They had accepted me, with my past - but what if they thought it would be too much? I looked at them stubbornly. They exchanged a glance; I understood they probably knew something.

"By all means," father said. "Your friend can go with us."

"He's more than a friend." I felt so relieved with his words and yet I wanted him not to misunderstand me. My life was like a kaleidoscope recently, all broken glass - but there was the only thing that was constant there. I probably could live without anything else - but not without Trowa.

"All right," father said, waving his hand.

In the car, Iria whispered in my ear, laughing:

"You've changed, little brother. You've become so earnest. But trust me, you don't need to put everything out loud with dad."

"Losing all of you puts things into another prospect." Dad was talking, sitting in the front seat. "It makes one see things more clearly, children. There's nothing that can make me lose you once more."

So, I met Trowa again - something I thought would never happen. I had him with me again. During the flight to Rochengen, I couldn't let his hand go, even when I fell asleep. And when I woke up, he still was with me and his hand was clenched on mine tightly.

Rochengen was a green planet, one of rather few with minimal industry there, which made it so popular for having a villa or a house there. The estate was really big, the house completely beautiful, built in a way that subtly reminded about our old house on my native planet.

Milady wasn't there. But I had a video channel to her as soon as we arrived. She was on Vesta, in a clinic for drug-addicts, and some things in my father's words became clearer for me.

"She'll come back home in a couple of months," Iria said. "It takes time. And she'll have to be careful for all her life."

My father was talking to Trowa in his study. I felt painfully nervous looking at my watch - and a bit angry.

"What's the point of talking to him?"

"Don't worry." Iria walked in with two glasses of carrot juice and shoved me one of them. "Drink this, it's full of vitamins. Dad won't say anything bad. He's just... you know - wants to know your significant other better."

"I'm not going to marry Trowa," I muttered. Iria giggled. She looked so peaceful in her blue wide dress, matching the color of her eyes so well. For a moment her gaze acquired a distant look, as if she listened to something inside her.

"Iria, is it a boy or a girl?" I asked.

"A boy." She smiled and yet something changed in her eyes. I hesitated whether I could ask the next question. Some things might've better stayed unsaid - but I thought I still needed to ask.

"And the father?"

Seriousness in her eyes was upsetting to see; but there was no hurt, just some sadness there.

"It was in-vitro fertilization. Quatre..." It looked like she wanted to say something, and then the door of my father's study finally opened and Trowa walked out. "We'll talk later. Here's... your friend."

I couldn't keep myself away from Trowa, grabbed his hand and pulled after me. In our room, some time later, I lay next to Trowa, looking at his face under a wave of long bangs. The strands were tousled and Trowa's lips were puffy. I kissed him again.

"What did he say to you?"

"Oh... what education I got and stuff like that. He said you need to study, you've lost at least three years."

"I won't go to school!" I started shivering. To go to some boarding school, to be locked up there - and without Trowa... I couldn't let it happen. Trowa gave me a look and then his arm tightened around me.

"Don't get so nervous. You don't need to if you don't want. You can study by correspondence - and I'll... I can help you."

I held onto him. His gaze was so serious. I caught his hand and pressed his fingers to my lips.

"You don't like it here, do you?" I asked.

I felt a tiny instinctive movement of his body and it was the only thing that gave him away, because his voice was completely quiet.

"Why? I do. It's your home."

"But you..."

"I just... it's a bit strange... that your father should support me."

"Oh please..." I felt another seizure of panic. "You're not going to leave, are you? Please, we'll find some way, it'll get better - just don't leave, okay? I just need a bit more time..."

I wasn't sure what I was talking about but all I knew was that I had to make him stay. There were small tremors going through my body and Trowa ran his hand over my back, along the line of vertebrae. It was so good to feel him touch me, to be close to him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said quietly. "I... I don't think I can bear to go, anyway."

I nodded and put my head on his chest. Everything was going to be all right - if he just stayed.

I was afraid Trowa would think me too clinging if I held his hand when going to sleep, so, I struggled with myself and let him go. But in darkness he moved closer to me and I felt his fingers intertwine with mine.

* * *

I was at the library, struggling with math books that Trowa decided I should've repeated before going forward. Repeated! I forgot them so thoroughly during three years that I might've as well started learning them anew. Then the door opened and I saw dad and Iria come in. Iria's eyes were swollen with tears, and my heart sank. I didn't want to wonder what happened.

"I have to talk to you, Quatre," father said seriously, sitting down in front of me. Iria stayed on her feet, blowing her nose. "It's about the situation in our family."

"Dad, you don't need to! I didn't want him to, Quatre!" Iria looked desperately at me. I felt slightly sick.

So, that was it. Things came to a conclusion faster than I expected - faster than I promised to Trowa they would. There was no need to look for some way to make Trowa happy here because everything was resolved for me. Dad was going to tell me they couldn't put up with my having an affair with another man, that it was inappropriate for Winner family.

Shit; I'd spent just three days at home - I just started getting used to be here. But one thing I knew for sure: I could live without anything and anyone - but I couldn't live without Trowa.

I made a few deep breaths, preparing myself to what I was going to hear. Sickness abated.

"Quatre," father looked at me seriously. "You know that child Iria carries... When we thought you were dead... Well, we decided that we needed a heir for the family."

"Milady can't have babies," Iria added in a voice thick with crying. "So, there was no other way."

"The child was genetically altered to have enhanced intellect and abilities - to make him a perfect heir for Winner family. His political and diplomatic talents will be outstanding. I was going to pass him all my knowledge and experience."

"It was only because we couldn't find you, little brother," Iria sobbed.

It started downing on me. I looked up at Iria, trying to meet her eyes - but she looked away.

"Quatre," father said in a solemn way. "I want you to understand. We can't be any happier that we found you. You're my son, you'll always be my son, no matter what happens. But at the present, genetic alterations achieve such success - lay the foundation for a personality that will match the task perfectly."

"Not a word more!" Iria suddenly went red and angry and stopped crying. "Quatre is at home now, what to talk about?!"

I got up and walked up to her, hugged her. She clenched my hand; her fingers were icy.

"I just want to say," my father continued, "that while I never judge you, son, for everything that happened... the way of life you've chosen at the current moment... is neither appropriate for a future politician nor secures descendents for the family."

I almost chuckled when I heard how he put it.

"You can either take both rights and obligations of a heir or..."

"Father!" Iria cried out.

"Shh, don't cry," I patted her, "it's not good for the baby. Dad..." for a moment I almost couldn't talk, relief was so great. If it were the worst thing that was going to happen, I would be the luckiest person in the world. "Dad, I don't want to be a heir. I never wanted. I think there's something wrong with my... personality," I grinned. "I'll be completely happy if Iria's child is be a heir."

"Don't say that..." Iria sobbed again and I pressed her to me. My father looked at me in the way that made him seem both relieved and exasperated.

"You just say it like that?"

"How am I supposed to say that?" I asked quietly.

"All right." He sighed and relaxed somehow. "All right. If it's what you want, Quatre. You, and Iria, and Milady are always going to have a place in my heart."

I nodded; I barely could stay serious - something was singing inside me. I probably didn't feel that elated since we arrived home.

"Quatre," Iria turned to me, tears drying on her cheeks. "Thank you."

"Thank *you*," I took her face in my hands and kissed her, and she tucked my hair away behind my ears. The gesture was so Iria-like that I felt everything was going to be all right. My father squeezed my shoulder briefly and they walked out - but I couldn't study again. I ran out of the library and dashed to the garden.

"Trowa! Trowa!"

He looked up at me from a book on his lap. His lips and fingers were stained in orange-red from the berries he was eating. I flopped on him, straddling his thighs.

"What, have you already learned everything?" His book fell on the ground but he couldn't reach for it, with me sitting on him like that.

"Everything," I lied and caught his fingers in my mouth. They tasted sweet and sour. "Now... we can... go riding."

He looked at me with that thoughtful gaze on his and then said in a quiet voice:

"No... if you wiggle some more like that - we won't go anywhere."

He never stopped surprising me. I doubled with laughter, then jumped down from him and pulled him after me.

"Let's go. I'll take Pearl and you'll take Orlov."

Pearl was a white horse and Trowa used to ride a bay stallion. He sent Orlov in gallop and I had to chase him. Later, when we were on the hill and the house was barely visible between the trees, I told him what happened.

"You look way too happy for someone who'd just been disinherited," he said and dismounted. I got down on the ground, too. He kissed me, holding my face, and then his hands slid down, fumbling with my clothes.

His eyes with widened pupils, black in green, were so beautiful I almost couldn't bear to look at him. So, I gave up and closed my eyes, just felt what he was doing: the draft of cool air on my skin and warmth of his lips and heat of his body pressed to mine. Then he slipped down on his knees and I felt his arms around my waist, holding and cradling me. And then his lips enveloped my shaft.

I threaded my fingers through his hair. It became difficult to stand, my legs went weak - but Trowa supported me. And it was absolutely impossible to be silent - but it was not necessary as well, so, I called his name and sobbed when coming. And later he called my name in the breathless, desperate voice of his, as I felt him moving inside me and looked at his face against the cornflower blue of the sky.

It was dusk when we finally rode back. The house was like a white shadow, fluttering with its open windows and doors and light curtains swaying in the wind. We walked through the hall. The TV was on; I heard a familiar name first and only then realized what was said.

"A long elaborated operation on the capture of the terrorist # 1 is finished. The trap is shut. Several hours ago Treize Khushrenada and six other members of the brigade have been arrested by United Force..."

I saw Wufei on the screen suddenly, his lips white and his face frozen as soldiers held him, wrenched his arms behind his back. He looked like he was going to lash out or to collapse - but he did neither eventually. Past him, men carried stretchers with plastic-covered bodies, giving a glimpse of UF uniform or insurrectionists' fatigue now and then. There were other captives and I recognized their faces. No Doctor J - but J hardly ever went on the missions.

And then Treize was there, his wrists shackled behind his back - but soldiers still gripped his arms firmly. His eyes were wide open and had a strange empty look in them as he turned his head as if looking for something but not finding it. He stumbled against the debris on the floor and would fall if the men didn't shake him upright. There was a kind of surprise on his face.

I turned to Trowa and met his gaze, darkened on the pale face. He must've read the question in my eyes and whispered the answer I almost knew already:

"He's blind."

To be continued

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