"When the Nightmares Are Real"
Author's notes: Thanks Manon…I am forever in your debt…or will be when (if) this thing is (ever) done.
Part 8
The phone rang, it's sharp sound jarring Quatre and Trowa out of their own world of pain and comfort. They sat there looking at each other stupidly before Trowa got up to go answer the phone. Quatre sat on his bed, still looking pale and shaky waiting for Trowa to take a message and come back.
When Trowa came back carrying the phone, Quatre looked up worried. There was a serious look on Trowa's face, almost as if he were reluctant to give the phone to Quatre.
"It's Iria." Quatre's eyes flew wide in fear, not knowing what to expect. He reached out for the phone and Trowa gave it to him and then stood awkwardly waiting for him to find out what was going on.
"Iria? Are you ok?" He listened carefully to what his sister said. "She's ok," he mouthed to Trowa at one point before going back to listening intently.
"I'm so sorry Iria, this should never have happened, it's all my fault," Quatre said, trying once more to take the blame upon himself. From the shocked expression on his face as Iria replied, Trowa guessed that Iria's reply had something to do with a certain blonde's chronic guilt complex. "Here, she wants to talk to you, but give me that back when you're done."
Trowa cocked his head, listening to Iria. "Yes, I'll make sure he's ok, not I won't let him think that this is fault," he paused for a second. "I understand." Trowa handed the phone back to Quatre.
"I promise Iria. I love you." Quatre hung the phone up and put his head in his hands, drained.
"She's going to be all right. It's all going to be all right." Quatre looked lost, helpless, and hopeful, finally able to know that his sister was going to be safe. His nightmares would never go away, but now he could stop living in fear. For awhile.
"Je pourrais le tuer pour cela. Quatre ne merite pas cette souffrance,"(1) Trowa muttered under his breath.
"Trowa? What was that?" Having caught his name in the phrase, Quatre wanted to know why Trowa was muttering in French.
"Nothing, kitten. You need to get some rest, you look worn out." Quatre looked exhausted now that everything was over. Trowa was worried about Quatre; he hadn't looked that tired for the whole ordeal with Iria and their father.
"I'm fine. What did you say? I did catch part of it, you know," Quatre said stubbornly.
"That you don't deserve this. Is that all? You need rest," Trowa replied just as stubbornly.
"It'll do. If you want me to rest, nag, then let me rest." Quatre was thrilled that Trowa cared that much about him, and he allowed a true smile to grace his features for the first time since his father had come to see him.
"Fine, mule, get your rest," Trowa said impishly, smiling, delighted to see Quatre smile again.
"Thank you Trowa. Having you here has meant a lot to me. You didn't have to be so kind."
"Yes I did, I care about you Quatre," Trowa said. More than you'll ever guess, he added silently before leaving.
(1)"I could kill him for this. Quatre doesn't deserve this pain."