Notes: And finally, we get some clue of those pesky nightmares. I mean NO
offense to those who practice Islam, but this kind of abuse of power does
exist. And I am sure that some people think Quatre's father is not a bad
person. I don't have a concrete opinion either way. This particular
bastardization works for my fic, sometimes it doesn't. So sue me.
Part 6
Trowa was furious. Quatre's father had come to visit his son that afternoon. It had been horrible, and now Quatre lay spent from crying on Trowa's bed as Trowa paced the room.
"Mon dieu, comment pourrait-il faire ceci à lui? Le salud."[1] Trowa slipped into his native French, a language he rarely used at school. Mr. Winner had barged into the school during classes and demanded to see his son. It seemed he had heard false rumors about how his son was behaving. That's what an acquaintance that was in the class when it happened had told Trowa. Trowa had heard the same thing from Quatre's mostly incoherent sobs that afternoon. That and it seemed that Quatre's father had found out Quatre knew where Iria was.
Iria was Quatre's favorite sister, who had managed to escape her father's household when Quatre was still young. She was now living somewhere in the same state as the school. Quatre wouldn't even tell Trowa where. He was too afraid his father might find her and bring her back. Quatre had been in touch with her since he had arrived at school and found a letter waiting for him from her.
Trowa knew what would happen to Iria if her father found her. Quatre had told him what had happened to their mother when she ran, and was caught. It was what tormented his dreams many nights. What he saw his father do to his mother. Iria knew also what would happen, and if she was caught she had no power to stop her father. In their country no person would be able to stand against her father's complete power. In his hands she would surely suffer, even die for her disobedience.
Quatre whimpered slightly. Trowa immediately stopped pacing and went hurriedly to his side. He softly smoothed back Quatre's bangs. "Etre calme mon cher, ce sera bien,"[2] he whispered softly.
"Trowa?"
"Yes?"
"Is he gone?"
"Yes, you're safe now."
"I have to call Iria, he knows where she is Trowa, he knows." There was a wild look in Quatre's eyes, he didn't want his sister hurt, and he wanted to blame himself for her danger.
"Where is her number? I'll call her." Trowa wanted Quatre to rest, not work himself up emotionally again. Quatre looked surprised at Trowa's statement and looked around confused for a moment.
"It's on the back of the picture on my desk," he answered slowly.
"I'll be right back." Trowa rushed down the hall, and into Quatre's room. There was only one picture on the desk, one of Quatre's mother. He carefully took it out of the frame and copied the number on the back.
Going back to his room he picked up the portable phone from the hall, not wanting to be where people could hear him when he called Iria. Once he was in his room again he carefully dialed the number with Quatre looking worriedly from the bed. It rang once, twice, and then a young woman's voice answered, firm and kind.
"Iria Winner? This is Trowa Barton, I'm one of your brother's friends from school." He paused for a second, listening. "He's fine, in fact he's sitting right here." Trowa put his hand over the mouthpiece, turning to Quatre, "Do you want to talk to her?"
Quatre nodded, trying to calm the expressions of fear and guilt flickering across his face. "Yes." Trowa handed him the phone, sitting next to him on the bed. "Iria, father knows where you are. I don't know how he found out, he just came here today and told me he knew where to find you. Iria, I'm so sorry. He must have found out from something of mine." Quatre was crying as he listened to his sister's response, the guilt written clearly on his face. He handed the phone back to Trowa after Iria stopped talking.
"I'll take care of him, I promise. Please be careful." With that last statement Trowa hung up the phone.
"It's my fault, Trowa, Father must have found something of mine. No one else could know where she is."
"Hush little one, she'll be ok."
----------------------- [1] "My god, how could he do this to him? The bastard." [2] "Hush my dear, it will be alright."
Part 6
Trowa was furious. Quatre's father had come to visit his son that afternoon. It had been horrible, and now Quatre lay spent from crying on Trowa's bed as Trowa paced the room.
"Mon dieu, comment pourrait-il faire ceci à lui? Le salud."[1] Trowa slipped into his native French, a language he rarely used at school. Mr. Winner had barged into the school during classes and demanded to see his son. It seemed he had heard false rumors about how his son was behaving. That's what an acquaintance that was in the class when it happened had told Trowa. Trowa had heard the same thing from Quatre's mostly incoherent sobs that afternoon. That and it seemed that Quatre's father had found out Quatre knew where Iria was.
Iria was Quatre's favorite sister, who had managed to escape her father's household when Quatre was still young. She was now living somewhere in the same state as the school. Quatre wouldn't even tell Trowa where. He was too afraid his father might find her and bring her back. Quatre had been in touch with her since he had arrived at school and found a letter waiting for him from her.
Trowa knew what would happen to Iria if her father found her. Quatre had told him what had happened to their mother when she ran, and was caught. It was what tormented his dreams many nights. What he saw his father do to his mother. Iria knew also what would happen, and if she was caught she had no power to stop her father. In their country no person would be able to stand against her father's complete power. In his hands she would surely suffer, even die for her disobedience.
Quatre whimpered slightly. Trowa immediately stopped pacing and went hurriedly to his side. He softly smoothed back Quatre's bangs. "Etre calme mon cher, ce sera bien,"[2] he whispered softly.
"Trowa?"
"Yes?"
"Is he gone?"
"Yes, you're safe now."
"I have to call Iria, he knows where she is Trowa, he knows." There was a wild look in Quatre's eyes, he didn't want his sister hurt, and he wanted to blame himself for her danger.
"Where is her number? I'll call her." Trowa wanted Quatre to rest, not work himself up emotionally again. Quatre looked surprised at Trowa's statement and looked around confused for a moment.
"It's on the back of the picture on my desk," he answered slowly.
"I'll be right back." Trowa rushed down the hall, and into Quatre's room. There was only one picture on the desk, one of Quatre's mother. He carefully took it out of the frame and copied the number on the back.
Going back to his room he picked up the portable phone from the hall, not wanting to be where people could hear him when he called Iria. Once he was in his room again he carefully dialed the number with Quatre looking worriedly from the bed. It rang once, twice, and then a young woman's voice answered, firm and kind.
"Iria Winner? This is Trowa Barton, I'm one of your brother's friends from school." He paused for a second, listening. "He's fine, in fact he's sitting right here." Trowa put his hand over the mouthpiece, turning to Quatre, "Do you want to talk to her?"
Quatre nodded, trying to calm the expressions of fear and guilt flickering across his face. "Yes." Trowa handed him the phone, sitting next to him on the bed. "Iria, father knows where you are. I don't know how he found out, he just came here today and told me he knew where to find you. Iria, I'm so sorry. He must have found out from something of mine." Quatre was crying as he listened to his sister's response, the guilt written clearly on his face. He handed the phone back to Trowa after Iria stopped talking.
"I'll take care of him, I promise. Please be careful." With that last statement Trowa hung up the phone.
"It's my fault, Trowa, Father must have found something of mine. No one else could know where she is."
"Hush little one, she'll be ok."
----------------------- [1] "My god, how could he do this to him? The bastard." [2] "Hush my dear, it will be alright."