Chapter 8
"Help! Help us! Please! Help!" Over and over, the words replayed in his mind accompanied by images of a sterile metal room, little color, and nothing to play with. Fear radiated off of every object he saw, and all he wanted to do was scream for help. He saw lab coats hanging on a coat rack and couldn't suppress the mental cry. Those jackets were evil he couldn't protect her-she couldn't protect him-from those bad jackets. A worn blanket rested in the corner of the room, farthest from the door, a small and worn teddy bear lay resting under it, tucked away from the evil that surrounded him and the despair he felt. He wanted out so badly.
"Quatre.time to.up." The voice of his lover cut through the nightmare and pulled him from the dark and scary place he hadn't recognized but feared almost as much as the cockpit of Wing Zero.
With a start, he awoke to the shining green eyes of his Trowa. Desperately needing to be reassured, Quatre flung his arms around Trowa and pulled the taller man to his body.
"Quatre, are you alright?"
"Yes, just a bad dream. I just want to hold you for a moment." Trowa shifted and settled in more comfortably in his embrace.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Quatre shook his head, "Not now, it's still too real now.maybe later. Right now I just want to hold you close."
"It must have been a very bad dream."
"It was."
Together they lay side by side, both remembering the night before, but neither bringing it up. Quatre had a lot of questions he wanted to ask Trowa, but the weight of the nightmare pressed all thoughts besides keeping Trowa close, away.
After what seemed forever, and only a few moments, Trowa pulled away. "Beloved, it's nearly eight. Corinne will be here in an hour."
Quatre nodded his head before pulling Trowa back to him, "Just a few more minutes Trowa."
"I'm-I'm not going to leave you Quatre."
"I know, that's not what this is about. My dream was so dark, so desolate. There wasn't any happiness there. I felt so alone, but it wasn't me-I'm not sure who I was. I guess I just want to keep you close to me a little while longer."
Trowa pulled away then looked him in the eye, "Quatre, you are going to get better. Corinne thinks that once you can completely trust me, you'll be able to come to me and you won't keep the stress bottled up until it explodes. I'm going to help you. I won't leave you." He leaned down then, and placed a passionate kiss on Quatre's responsive lips. "I love you, Quatre."
"I know Trowa, and hopefully this won't take all that long to convince my silly brain. I feel so horrible that we're talking so lightly about my not even being able to trust you-"
"Don't worry Quatre. Remember, to a certain extent we've already been through this with me."
"Yes, but we didn't need a professional psychiatrist with you. We didn't need to push all our work onto someone else because one of us couldn't even function. We didn't need to deal with empathic abilities or sisters who hate us. I think all in all, I'm just being a big baby abou-"
"No Quatre. You just explained it all. With me the biggest thing we had to deal with was my past, and then maybe Catherine's role in it. But it's different with you. You've got your sisters to worry about, the will to finish, your empathic abilities to figure out, not to mention your father, so of course we'd need more help. But we will work this out Quatre, I promise you that, we will get though this."
"Oh Trowa, I don't know what I'd do without you. You've always been there for me, no matter what; no matter what I threw at you, or even didn't throw, you've always been there for me. I don't know how I'll ever make all of this up to you-"
"You don't have anything to make up. You've told me a hundred times that couples work things out together. You've also said what's mine is yours, that everything that I own you also own and vice-versa. So that goes with ourselves as well. I belong to you, and all my personal hang up as well, and you belong to me, everything, even your sisters."
They laughed, the sound releasing the tension in the room.
"Oh Trowa, I'm so, so sorry then." That started them on another round of laughter that carried them from the bed and into the bathroom to get ready for one of the most trying days of their lives.
* * *
Sitting on the couch, they drank their early morning coffee and tea. Quatre tried not to seem too clingy to Trowa, but he still couldn't shake the feeling from the nightmare. To be so terribly alone and frightened, could that really be how he felt?
"Quatre?"
"Um, I'm sorry Trowa, what did you say?"
"I asked if you wanted to talk about your dream yet?"
Looking out the window, Quatre contemplated changing the subject before he caught himself; if he wanted to allow Trowa in, he had to start somewhere. "If you'd like, it's up to you."
"It's up to you, Quatre. You tell me if you're ready to talk."
Nodding his head, Quatre turned back to his lover, "I'm not sure where I was in the dream, but I kept hearing these voices calling to me they were children's voices, and they kept begging me to help them. The room was very sterile looking, and for some reason I was very cold. I remember seeing some type of lab jacket, but the moment I saw it I got very frightened. Then it was like I was two different people at once, and I knew I couldn't protect myself or the other person. I can't really explain it, but it was just-terrifying. I felt so helpless. All I could think about was trying to get us both out safely, but there wasn't anyone there but me. It's strange, maybe it's nothing."
"Do you think it's somehow related to what's been going on?"
Quatre sighed, "I don't know. It could be, or maybe it's nothing at all."
"Maybe you should talk to Corinne about it."
Quatre ran that thought over in his mind before standing to retrieve another cup of tea. "I don't know Trowa, she'd probably just read too much into it. It was just a stupid nightmare. I don't want to make a big deal about it."
"If it bothers you, then it isn't making a big deal out of it." Trowa paused for a moment before saying, "Thank you for telling me, Quatre."
It broke Quatre's heart to hear his long time love thanking him for something that should have been a given. He wanted to curl up, and at the same time, he wanted to shake Trowa, wanted him to know how much he hated the position he was now in. He decided on the first option.
Setting the teacup down, Quatre moved to Trowa and pushed his arms from his lap. With practiced ease, Quatre settled into Trowa's lap before wrapping his arms about his neck and offering a weak smile. He leaned against Trowa's shoulder and allowed the body of his beloved to comfort him.
For a very long time, all Quatre could remember was Trowa's emotions. They played against his own, in a blended symphony as if the two lovers were playing a duet together. Two emotions became one for Quatre, and he strove to match their feelings no matter what. But now, he could barely feel Trowa around him, and it terrified him; for the only other time in the last five years he had not felt Trowa had been when he'd thought his lover dead by his own hands. Just thinking about it sent shivers down his spine.
"I should have come to you, Trowa, I should never have let this go so far." He snuggled closer, and Trowa tightened his arms more firmly about him.
"There are some things I don't understand yet Quatre, but those will come with time-"
"What don't you understand? Tell me, Trowa, I'll try to explain."
Trowa paused for a moment and weighed his options. After what seemed like an eternity to Quatre he spoke, "Why didn't you tell me your father used to beat you?"
Closing his eyes, Quatre pressed against the sudden brightness coming from the link; it may not be entirely open, but he could still sense strong emotions through it. "I guess I didn't really want to talk about it. It happened so long ago, and I just wanted to forget. It was-" He paused, collecting himself for the admission he'd sworn he'd only give under protest, "Painful Trowa. It hurt more than anything in my entire life. To be an empath and feel his anger, confusion, pain, rage-it all hurt so very much." Long arms wrapped about him more securely, and he snuggled closer, chilled by his own words.
"Did others know?" Trowa's voice was low, trying not to alarm him.
"My sisters, but what could they do? My father was the "Mining King;" it's not as if they could have opposed him, though some tried."
"Cijen?"
Quatre flinched, his muscles tensing at the mention of his once revered sister. There was so much confusion and pain associated with her; he didn't even know where to begin.
Pulling away from a last attempt of Trowa to hold onto him, Quatre walked back to the tea service and leaned against the metal cart. "She was the most stable thing in my life. She gave me more love and affection than I ever hoped to receive from anyone. She taught me my life was worth something, even when others told me it wasn't. I-I loved her best of all." He tensed, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the server.
"You didn't do anything wrong, Quatre." Trowa's voice sounded so sure, so certain that he was speaking the truth, but Quatre knew better.
Swinging around, Quatre threw his hands into the air, "Didn't I Trowa? Didn't I do this to my family? They trusted in me, believed I'd protect them; that's my job! That's the only reason I was created, to protect them, to provide for them! I've done none of that. Instead I've taken away everything they own; and why? Because I'd rather sleep beside you than any beautiful woman I've ever met! I broke my family from the beginning! I destroyed everything the moment I took my first breath! Cijen and all the rest of my sisters, have every right to hate me, every right to condemn me! I'm just a tool, Trowa, I'm just the thing they created to protect them, but all I've done instead is dishonor and destroy them! I did do something wrong, Trowa, I should have ended it a long time ago, and now I'm stuck!" He wanted to scream some more, wanted to tell Trowa that he was stuck because of him, that he couldn't kill himself because Trowa owned his life-a life for a life, but he couldn't. He didn't have the strength, and the loss of control ate away at him.
Struggling for control, Quatre turned away from the stunned expression on his lover's face. He shook his head to clear away the rage and self-pity. He couldn't show fear; he couldn't. People can hurt you if you show fear.
"I'm sorry Trowa. I-I should never have said any of those things to you. You didn't need to hear them. Just ignore me, I'm feeling sor-"
Strong arms wrapped about his arms, trapping him against the solid body that now stood spooned behind him; he hadn't heard Trowa move.
"It's ok to be angry, Quatre. You shouldn't feel sorry about it. Besides, I asked you, I'm glad you told me how you felt. It means a lot to me."
His frustration was so great. How could he make Trowa understand? How could he explain that telling him anything was more painful than the acts he was describing? He wanted to believe that Trowa could understand, but it just didn't seem possible; they were too different. Quatre was too tainted with.everything.
Pulling away from Trowa again, Quatre made to move back to the couch when the visitor chimes rang across the room. Thinking this the perfect opportunity to leave the conversation where it lay, Quatre moved to the door and entered the pass code.
A cheery eyed Dr. Corinne Namon stood on the other side. He nodded to her in greeting and stepped aside to allow her entrance. Once she was in the room, Quatre closed the lock pass and returned to the couch.
"Please, doctor, have a seat."
"Actually, I'd prefer Corinne, and thank you." She sat then and looked to him, waiting for a response. He didn't offer her one; she was still the enemy, but less of one than Trowa.
Trowa intervened when the silence became too much, "Corinne, thank you for coming-"
"As if we could make her change her mind!" Quatre didn't know when his good morning had suddenly turned so horribly wrong, but he felt openly hostile towards this woman, when only a few hours before he'd willingly agreed to allow safe passage for. He felt like his life was unraveling all around him, and he hated it; hated the people doing it to him; and that scared him more than anything else.
Trowa looked shocked at his outburst, but Corinne brushed it off, "You're right, you couldn't have stopped me. It is what I get paid to do, isn't it?" A statement, not a question.
Quatre turned to her then, addressing her with cool contempt, "I suppose it is. Let's start, shall we? The sooner we begin, the sooner it's finished." Trowa looked shocked again by the uncharacteristic display of hostility.
"Don't worry, Trowa. I'm not offended; it's just Quatre's way of protecting himself."
It wasn't much of a sentence, and he thought she'd meant it to provoke him. Instead, Quatre stood immediately and crossed to Trowa. True sorrow shone in his eyes, "I'm sorry Trowa, I shouldn't behave like that. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable or embarrassed by me. Please don't be angry." If Trowa were angry, he might leave. Everyone he loved learned his secrets, got angry, and left him, throwing him to the wolves in the process. He had to make sure Trowa didn't get angry with him now; it was too soon, too soon to tell.
"It's alright Quatre, I'm not angry. But Corinne is here to help you, to help us. She may seem like your enemy right now, but she isn't. Please say you'll try to let her help you, please?" He would never refuse him anything he asked for, not ever.
"Of course I will, Trowa. I'm still grumpy, that's all. I'll be fine, and Corinne and I will get along fine. You're right though, I'll do my best to be a good boy." He smiled, hoping to ease the tension in Trowa's demeanor. It worked. His lover let loose the frustration-tensed muscles and gave him a genuine smile.
"Wonderful. If Quatre's done lying to himself now, may we get started?" Quatre turned appalled eyes on the doctor. How dare she accuse him of lying! She barely knew him! He had every intention of telling her to get the hell out of their apartment, but Trowa beat him to it-well, sort of.
"What do you mean, 'lying to himself'?"
She adjusted herself in her seat, and Quatre felt Trowa's presence as the only thing keeping him from throwing the obnoxious woman out on her ass. "He's, quite frankly, playing up to what you want to hear. He has no intention of us getting along well at all, and he's far from grumpy; more like terrified and confused. But that's to be expected. I was only bringing attention to it."
"Well don't!" He said it before he thought, and suddenly he realized that everything she'd said had been true. Looking quickly away from the doctor, Quatre moved over to the service for his cup of tea.
"That's the nature of my job, Quatre. But you're right, we should get started. It's up to you how you want this to go; do you want Trowa to stay throughout the session, or would you rather he left? The choice is yours, and only yours to make."
Another test, and Quatre took it as being such. To allow Trowa into his pain, which would surely hurt them both, or keep Trowa away, which would hurt Trowa. A choice that had no good answer, like all the other choices in his life. To live or die. To fight or be killed. To make a child or destroy his soul. Too many choices, too many wrong answers. Too much pain.
"Quatre, this isn't meant to hurt you. You have to make the decision based on what you want. Try not to think about what Trowa or I would want you to say, just answer how you want. If you'd like, tell me which one would cause you the least amount of pain."
So simple, so easy, but nothing was easy; everything hurt someone. Every decision had another that had not been chosen; every choice had consequences. His head hurt thinking about it. "It doesn't matter; what ever Trowa wants to do."
Wrong answer.
"Quatre, it isn't about what I want, it's about what you want. I won't be angry if you'd like me to go-"
"Don't give me that! Of course you'll be angry! Why shouldn't you be? What kind of a man am I? I can't even make one pathetic decision!?" He was so angry, so scared. He could lose everything at the drop of a hat, and he didn't know how to stop it. He just wanted someone to answer for him, make the choice, so he could blame someone else for it.
"Quatre, I won't be angry, and you are a very strong and loving man. The kindest man I've ever known. You have to believe that, believe that I believe that." Trowa's words sat on the rim of his mind, not sinking in. He didn't know, didn't understand, hadn't had to make the choice. Too many decisions, someone always got angry, always. Someone always got hurt.hurt.someone.himself.
"It's alright, Quatre. We'll do this: Trowa will leave for this session, and you and I will get to know each other better." She'd answered for him, Trowa couldn't be angry with him if she'd answered for him, could he? "Trowa, why don't you go ahead? Quatre and I will just talk for a while."
Quatre saw Trowa shake his head. "Trowa, don't worry. I won't be able to say that much anyway. How much could I tell her in an hour? I'll tell you everything when you get home, ok?"
"Actually it's going to be more than an hour." Quatre turned stunned eyes on her. "I've read from your records off the L4 colony your family resides on that you've met with other empathic psychiatrist before, correct?" He gave her a weak nod, dread filling him. "Most empaths can't be with patients for longer than an hour before they start to burn out from the emotional stress." She gave them a cheeky wink, "They don't call me the best for nothing. We'll probably be at this all day, but we'll take a break for lunch."
Quatre was stunned. None of the other empaths he'd seen had ever been able to stand him for very long. Another thing his father accused him of: sabotaging the sessions that were suppose to cure him of his "unnatural tendencies."
It was Trowa that pulled him from the thoughts of his past. "Quatre, why don't I come and get you around noon, and we'll have lunch together? That way, if you want to talk, we can do it then; or if you want, we can just have lunch together." Choices, more and more choices. Would they ever stop?
"Ok, Trowa, that sounds fine. I'll.well, I guess I'll see you then." What to say, how to say it? One more wrong answer, one more betrayal. Why did it hurt so bad to think that Trowa would leave him? Why did it hurt so bad thinking he'd stay?
Trowa moved over to him and took his hand. Pulling him over to the couch, he sat him down, and then leaned over to deliver a chaste kiss to his lips. "I'll see you for lunch, Quatre." Then as a side note, he added "Be nice." Trowa winked at him in a very un-Trowa like fashion that had a smile on Quatres lips both from that and his sweet kiss.
Then they were alone, himself and his jailer. She sat very calmly and looked at him, not saying a word. He looked from her to his tea and back again. If she wanted answers, she would have to ask the questions herself; he wasn't telling her a thing she could use to poison Trowa's mind, to take him away from him.
For a long time, they said nothing, and Quatre continued to sip his tea. He thought of his impressions of her, and all he came up with were negatives. He knew she wasn't a terrible person, but he couldn't accept the idea that she wanted to help him; no one wanted to help him.
"How long have you and Trowa lived together?" It started. The question wasn't intrusive; he decided to answer.
"Almost three years."
"That's a long time." He nodded, not knowing where this was heading.
"Why Trowa? How come you wanted to be with him instead of another." More personal, too personal-he shrugged in answer.
"Was it the way he looked or the things he said?" She was digging, and he hated it; but Trowa expected them to work together. He would just tell her what she wanted to hear, then it would be over, and he could concentrate on salvaging his relationship with Trowa.
"I don't know what it was, I just knew. From the moment we met, I knew I wanted to get to know him better." A noncommittal answer. Good.
"Do you think Trowa wanted to be with you the first time he met you?"
"No." The answer stung him; he wasn't sure why he answered the question.
"Why do you say that?"
He didn't want to talk anymore; it was too close to the truth. "Trowa just didn't feel that way the first time we met. Not everyone believes in love at first sight."
"Is that what you thought? The first time you saw him, did you know you loved him?"
His stomach tightened, "No, I just wanted to get to know him better."
She nodded her head and reached for a notepad he hadn't seen her carrying. She jotted a few things down and then looked up to him.
"Why don't you tell me a little about Trowa? You can talk about anything you'd like. Whatever you want me to know." She gave him a real smile, but he didn't return it. "I'd rather you didn't know anything."
"That's a fair answer, but not the one I'm looking for. Try again." She wasn't cruel; she just wasn't going to take any of his crap.
"He worked in a circus." Good answer; it says nothing at all.
"The circus? That's incredible. Did you ever see him perform?" Innocent question, he could answer.
"Once-we went together. He's very good."
"What does he do in the circus?"
"He's a clown, and also he works with the lions. He loves the lions." Wait! Too much information; he should have left it alone.
"Is he a lion trainer?" She'd missed it.
"In a way, he did train them, but he didn't do all the training. They love him." Too much! What was he doing!?
She didn't notice, "I think Trowa told me that his sister works in a circus. Did they work together?"
"Yes. He and Catherine have worked in the same circus for a long time."
"How long?"
"Since before the war. They love each other." Huh? What was going on? He hadn't meant to say that!
"Is she older or younger than he is?"
"Older, by a few years."
"So I guess she took care of him while they worked in the circus together."
"She's not his real sister." Hostility laced his voice, and he tensed up.
"But she did take care of him?"
"Not very well." What?! Of course she had. Catherine had done everything she could for Trowa. What was going on? It was like his mouth wasn't speaking to his brain at all.
"Does she love him?"
"Yes."
"Does he love her?"
"They're not really brother and sister." But weren't they in Trowa's eyes? Isn't that all that mattered? But it wasn't. Catherine wasn't Trowa's real sister; he didn't know the pain of a real sister.
"Does it make you angry that Catherine took care of Trowa when he was younger?"
"No."
"Does it make you angry that Trowa loves Catherine?"
"No."
"Does it make you angry that the lions love Trowa?"
"No, why should it? They're just animals."
"Tell me why it frightens you so much that Catherine took care of Trowa, and that they love each other as brother and sister?"
"It doesn't. I'm glad that Trowa has someone to go to; someone who took care of him."
"But that was a long time ago, right?"
"Right."
"She's not allowed to take care of him now, right?"
"Right."
"Whose job is that?"
"Mine." No emotion, no love or tenderness in his voice, like it was a job he was forced to undertake. He tried to think back on the conversation but found he got lost in the questions and answers. He allowed the doctor to scribble something on her pad. What did it matter anyway? He couldn't stop her.
"You know Quatre, it's natural for people to get angry or scared when others try to take something from them. It's natural to fear them; it doesn't make you a bad person. There are a lot of really bad people out there who deserve to be punished, but then there are a lot of good people who think they should be punished. Do you think you should be punished?"
No hesitation. "Yes."
"For what?"
He didn't speak; the list would take all day and all night. It wasn't worth getting into; he didn't like the question.
"Do you think you're a bad person?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
He didn't speak; what was the point? Too much time-he and Trowa would never get to lunch if he answered.
"Did someone ever tell you, you were a bad person? Did Trowa ever say that?"
"No! Trowa would never say anything like that, not ever!" How could she even ask a question like that? Trowa loved him! He'd never say something so terrible; he wasn't anything like-
"Did your father?"
Silence. Then "I don't want to talk about my father."
"Why?"
"I don't have anything to say about him."
"All right. We don't have to talk about things that you don't want to. But I'd like you to make a choice for me, a decision. You decide, who would you rather talk about, your father, or Cijen?"
It was like a slap in the face. How could he decide? He didn't want to talk about either, but she'd said to make a choice. Again, another decision. Who was worse-who's betrayal hurt more? Did one hurt more than the other?
"My father." Yes it did.
"Do you have a picture of him?"
He was startled by the question, hadn't anticipated it. He nodded and stood. Moving over to the desk, he picked up a framed photograph of himself as a very young child, hanging on the arm of his father; they both wore smiles. After handing her the frame, he took his seat.
She studied it for a long time, even turning the frame for different angles. Finally she asked, "How old were you when this was taken?"
"Six."
"You seem happy in this photograph. Do you remember when it was taken?" He nodded his head. "Do you remember being happy?" Again he nodded. "Why were you happy in this picture?"
He took the picture back and studied his once small face, so happy and light. "We'd gone to the zoo on L3. This was taken after he showed me the camels. I guessI liked them."
"You liked the camels, that's why you're smiling in this picture?"
He nodded his head yes, and then changed his mind and shook it no.
"What do you mean, Quatre?"
"I was happy to see the camels, but that's not why I was smiling."
"Then why were you smiling?"
"He.he let me hold his hand. When we went inside, I'd gotten scared; there were too many noises. He'd taken my hand so I wouldn't be afraid." He dropped his eyes, not making eye contact. He'd never told anyone that before.
"Your father didn't hold your hand a lot, did he?" He shook his head. "Did that make you sad, when he didn't want to touch you?"
"It did then. It doesn't now." His eyes shot to hers, had she caught it; his admission? Would she call him on it? God, how could he have been so stupid?! She could ruin everything.
"Did he often hold your sisters' hands?"
Relief washed over him; she'd missed it. "Yes, he usually had one on each arm. He adored them."
"And you, right? You were his only son. He adored you too, didn't he?"
"Once."
"How about before he died?"
Angry eyes shot glaring looks at her. She'd crossed the line. "My father loved twenty-nine daughters. There's only so much love a man can have." His answer was cold and unfeeling. He wanted to protest it, say it wasn't true; he'd wanted to so many times, but it was true, he had to live with that.
"Do you think he hated you?"
"Eventually."
"But he loved his other children, his daughters?"
"Yes."
"Do you think he hated you because you were a boy?"
He laughed, a deep laugh that held no merriment in it whatsoever. It was a dead sound, like crackling leaves in August. No life left.
"He didn't hate me because I was a boy-he hated me because I was a girl."
She looked perplexed for a moment, and that started Quatre laughing all over again. He wanted to stop; he would have rather been crying. Show no fear, and no fear will come to you.
"Can you explain that a little better, Quatre? You look male to me."
His laughter died out, and in its place was a look of death, directed toward the woman across from him. "I thought you said you'd read my journals?"
"I have, but you can't get any emotion from a piece of paper. Writing is a great outlet, but it only works for the writer, and it hasn't worked for you in a long time. I need to hear you explain things, and tell me things that you never wrote down." She paused, "Why? Do you think I should know the answer to my question from your journals?"
"Of course! I only wrote about how my father despised me from almost the first one!"
"Oh I read that you think your father hated you. I understand that. I also understand that it was because he thought you preferred the company of males rather than females. But what makes you think he knew your preferences when you were only six?"
"My father knew everything; he was God." The words were spoken quietly, with a hint of revered fear.
"Did he scare you?"
The answer came easily: "He terrified me."
"Did he terrify you when you were six?"
"He has always terrified me."
"When was the first time he beat you, for anything?"
Quatre looked up, staring into the doctors' eyes. He shouldn't tell her anything; he'd already said too much, said more than he should have.
"It was a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore."
"Did he ever beat your sisters?"
"NO!" He practically screamed; how could she think that? "My father loved my sisters very much! He never raised a hand against them. He loved them more than anything in the universe."
"So would you call him a violent man?"
"No, he was a very good, kind man. He did everything he could to promote peace and unity in the colonies. He took care of his people, those who worked for him and those who just lived on his satellites. Everyone loved him, treated him with due respect. He was a very good man."
"If that's true, then why did he beat you? Why did he hurt you so many times?"
"I was bad, evil. I had to be punished."
"Why? Because you were a boy?"
He looked at her then. He wanted to cry, wanted to let the tears fall. But weakness could get you killed in battle, he had to stay strong.
"I went against the laws of nature. I defied the Books. I shamed him at every turn. If he thought there was a quiet way to get rid of me, he would have. But he couldn't; too many people knew my face, knew I was the next heir. So he decided.he decided.he'd change me."
"Change you?"
"The beatings. He never hurt me for any other reason-only when he was trying to change me, punish me for making the wrong decision. He only beat me to help me."
"Do you believe that, Quatre? Do you believe that he only hit you to make you change? So that you'd desire a woman instead of a man?"
"Yes." Dull, no heart, no feeling. Only the constant pressure of knowing he was nothing.
"Did anyone ever try to stop him from hitting you, or hurting you?"
"Sometimes."
"Who?"
"My sisters." No. One sister-his most beloved sister.
"Your sisters must have been very strong to stand up to your father. You must have loved them very much."
"Yes."
"Did they know why your father was hurting you?"
"Yes."
"Did they all want him to stop? Did they all try to protect you from him changing you?"
"No." It was true, so terribly true. It sounded so awful to his own ears.
Betrayal.
"Why not?"
"Some of them thought it was a good idea.that he change me."
"But some of your sisters protected you, right?"
He nodded.
"You must have loved them very much. Been very grateful they braved your father to take care of you. They nearly sacrificed everything they had to protect you. That must have been very wonderful, hmm?
"Yes. I could trust them."
"Because they were willing to give up everything to protect you? They wouldn't have anywhere else to go but to you? They loved you enough to save you from everything?"
"Yes."
"Even yourself?"
"Yes." Unconditional love. He knew what it was; he thought he'd had it, remembered the safe feeling that accompanied it. But that was months ago; he hadn't felt it in a very long time.
"Did you have a favorite sister? One that you related to the best?"
"Cijen. She used to dance and let me watch her. Sometimes, I'd play the music and watch her dance for hours. She's a dancer with a very large company. She's a wonderful ballerina."
"That sounds like it was a lot of fun. It must have been very beautiful to watch her dance."
"Yes, she is very graceful. When I was little, I used to think she walked on air; she was so graceful."
"She's older than you are. How much older?"
"Nine years, she's only twenty-eight."
"Did she live at home while you did?"
"Part of the time, she spent the rest at the dance academy. She studied on Earth."
"Was Cijen at the academy when your father first locked you in that room?"
Alone, nowhere to go, now way out. "Yes."
"How did she hear that your father had you locked up? Did he tell her?"
"No. Seeafa, my other sister who was living at home at the time, called her. The shuttle couldn't get her home to me faster than the two weeks."
"So as soon as she got home, she got you out of that room, right?" He nodded, not trusting his voice. "That must have made you happy, to have your sister back, and to be out of that room?" He nodded again. "You must be really sad now then, hmm?"
Confused, he looked to her for explanation; he didn't understand the question. "What do you mean?"
She thought for a moment, then said "It must be hard to know that you loved her so much, gave her all the trust you possessed, and relied on her so much, only to have her betray you so completely now."
He leaned back into the couch, defeated. She'd won, found his weakness and was taunting him with it. He felt himself sinking into despair. How could he ever protect everyone if he couldn't even keep this one woman from unraveling all that he'd worked so hard to contain? In so little time, she rifled through him like he was nothing more than an old toy box, searching for the things she wanted, discarding those she didn't. She'd picked him clean and left only his bones when she'd finished, and he couldn't stop her, didn't have the strength to try.
"It isn't her fault. I'm the one who hurt her first. I'm the one who betrayed her first. She had every right to hate me."
"How? How did you betray her first?"
"I took Trowa to the party before I introduced him to her. I didn't let her know; she wasn't prepared. I should have introduced them first. If I had, I wouldn't have betrayed her, and she would have known and been happy for me. She would have been happy for me." His voice dropped to a whisper and he rubbed his hands over his face.
"So you think that if you'd introduced Trowa to Cijen before the party, she wouldn't have been so surprised and felt like you didn't love her enough to make the introduction in advance."
"Yes."
"If you'd introduced them, Cijen wouldn't have betrayed you?"
"Yes."
"What if that isn't true? What if she would have betrayed you anyway?"
Anger flashed through him; he sat up and glared at her, "Cijen would never have betrayed me if I hadn't betrayed her first! She loved me more than any of our other sisters. I was her favorite, and she was mine. We would have done anything for each other! Anything!"
"But what if-"
"There aren't any 'what ifs'! I broke it! I'm responsible for it! She's my responsibility; they all are! I'm supposed to take care of them, no matter what, and I haven't! They have every reason to betray me, every reason to hate me to my very soul! I've done just as Father said I would-"
"What's that Quatre? What did your father say you'd do?"
"He said I'd bring the family to disgrace, that I'd bring the family down with me. That I'd destroy them all, and I have.I have." It hurt so much, hurt so very much.
"How are you destroying your family? How are you doing that?"
"I'm not following the Will. My family will lose everything because I'm so weak."
"What do you mean, weak? How are you weak, Quatre?"
He paused, knowing he'd been caught in a trap of his own making. He'd woven the truth into a beautiful web, and now he was trapped in it. She wanted an answer, would take that answer to Trowa later, would shove his response back in his face at a later date, to make a point. All psychiatrists did that, all people did that.
But there wasn't any more room to struggle; he tried, tried to find a way out of the question, tried to run from it. But again there was no way out, nothing but solid walls he'd made himself, brick by ugly truthful brick. Eventually though, they'd all come crashing down, and hopefully they'd crush him to death; at least then, it'd be over.
"I won't have a child. I refused. Even to save my family, even to protect them, I won't produce a child."
"And you think that makes you weak?"
"Yes.it does."
"Why won't you have a child? Do you think you're too young to be a good father?"
He laughed, and like all the other laughs it was far from jovial.
"There are a million reasons I don't want to have a child, but my age is not one of them."
"Then what are the reasons? Do you just not want to be a father? Do you not want to have children?"
"Not want to have a child? No, I'd love to have a child, love to be a father some day. I-I like to think-I might be a good father."
"Then why?"
"There are only three ways to have a child, aren't there?" She nodded. "One is though genetics, the other is through implantation, and the last is through intercourse. None are acceptable to me."
"Why? Tell me why genetics isn't acceptable?"
"I will not make a child!" His voice was angry, and he nearly shook from the pent-up rage and frustration he felt.
"Make a child? I guess that's an accurate way to explain it. But aren't you yourself a genetic?"
"My point exactly."
"So you don't want a child genetically, but you haven't told me why yet."
He looked to her. She sat straight and tall, proud almost. Her hair was down, falling around her shoulders, making her look younger, more attractive. She wore casual clothes that weren't too formal and weren't too comfortable. Corinne-that's what she preferred to be called, not Dr. Namon. He'd oblige.
"Corinne?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have any idea what it's like to know that you were created? Not out of love, or even to save love-like as in a marriage that's falling apart-but because an old man needed a son to carry his name and protect his daughters? Have you any conceivable notion what it's like to know you were created for a purpose-not a noble purpose, but a purpose none the less?"
"No, I don't."
"Be grateful."
"So that's how you feel?"
"No, that's what it is. I've been told enough times. I know my place, have known it for a long, long time." He paused then, deciding how best to explain. "I don't ever want a child of my body to know that I created him or her to save a fortune. I will never allow a child to feel the same way I felt. Never. No matter what I have to sacrifice. Never."
A sad look entered her eyes, and she wrote more on the pad in her lap. She was an empath; she understood his emotions; she didn't need to ask for them.
"What about another option? What about implantation?"
"It's the same thing. I'd be creating a child for the same purpose. It's always the same purpose, save a fortune, save my sisters, the same. Only with this one, there would be a woman involved. I'd be responsible for her as well. Or what if she didn't want me to see the baby, or even have custody? What would I do then? How would I survive? No, there are too many complications, too many ways it could go wrong."
"Too many choices?"
He looked startled for a minute before nodding. "Too many choices."
"I suppose that's why intercourse is as equally terrible."
"No, intercourse is infinitely worse than the other two."
"Why's that?"
"Why? I'd think it would be obvious. Trowa. I could never betray him like that, would never even consider it. Once, before we were together, I considered a bed of convenience, but once we were together, I swore I'd never be with another. I owe him my.everything. I will never, ever betray him with anyone! Not ever."
"That's why no marriage of convenience either, correct? You couldn't betray Trowa even for public appearance?"
He nodded.
"It must be hard for you to have no way out."
He didn't answer; he didn't have too. They both already knew it.
For what seemed like a moment, Quatre felt light-headed, and he closed his eyes to calm the dizziness. Then a sudden sound forced his eyes open, and he saw Corinne slumped in the chair across from him, her head bowed, resting in one upturned hand.
A swooshing told him that the sound he'd heard earlier had been someone entering the pass code into the door. He turned his head in time to see Trowa pass through before walking towards him, a concerned look on his face.
"Quatre, are you alright?"
Surprisingly, he felt very good, very good indeed. It was as if the last hour of remembrances had been eased from his mind.
"I'm fine, in fact, I feel great. But what are you doing here, Trowa? I thought you weren't going to come back until lunch time?"
Confusion passed over Trowa's face, "It is lunch time."
Then it was Quatre's turn to be confused. "It can't be, you only left about an hour ago. It's barely ten o'clock."
Trowa looked over at Corinne who was now sitting up; she looked a little ragged around the edges, but for the most part seemed herself. She gave Trowa a weak smile. "I think that Quatre has just lost the time. It's true, Quatre, it's nearly noon. Why don't you and Trowa go have lunch, and we'll meet back here at, say, two? Does that sound all right to you?"
Still a little concerned at his time loss, he nodded his head and stood up. He looked to Trowa, "I'm going to go change really fast. I'll be right back." Trowa nodded, and he went into the bedroom in search of something comfortable to wear for lunch. He was really hungry all of a sudden.
"Help! Help us! Please! Help!" Over and over, the words replayed in his mind accompanied by images of a sterile metal room, little color, and nothing to play with. Fear radiated off of every object he saw, and all he wanted to do was scream for help. He saw lab coats hanging on a coat rack and couldn't suppress the mental cry. Those jackets were evil he couldn't protect her-she couldn't protect him-from those bad jackets. A worn blanket rested in the corner of the room, farthest from the door, a small and worn teddy bear lay resting under it, tucked away from the evil that surrounded him and the despair he felt. He wanted out so badly.
"Quatre.time to.up." The voice of his lover cut through the nightmare and pulled him from the dark and scary place he hadn't recognized but feared almost as much as the cockpit of Wing Zero.
With a start, he awoke to the shining green eyes of his Trowa. Desperately needing to be reassured, Quatre flung his arms around Trowa and pulled the taller man to his body.
"Quatre, are you alright?"
"Yes, just a bad dream. I just want to hold you for a moment." Trowa shifted and settled in more comfortably in his embrace.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Quatre shook his head, "Not now, it's still too real now.maybe later. Right now I just want to hold you close."
"It must have been a very bad dream."
"It was."
Together they lay side by side, both remembering the night before, but neither bringing it up. Quatre had a lot of questions he wanted to ask Trowa, but the weight of the nightmare pressed all thoughts besides keeping Trowa close, away.
After what seemed forever, and only a few moments, Trowa pulled away. "Beloved, it's nearly eight. Corinne will be here in an hour."
Quatre nodded his head before pulling Trowa back to him, "Just a few more minutes Trowa."
"I'm-I'm not going to leave you Quatre."
"I know, that's not what this is about. My dream was so dark, so desolate. There wasn't any happiness there. I felt so alone, but it wasn't me-I'm not sure who I was. I guess I just want to keep you close to me a little while longer."
Trowa pulled away then looked him in the eye, "Quatre, you are going to get better. Corinne thinks that once you can completely trust me, you'll be able to come to me and you won't keep the stress bottled up until it explodes. I'm going to help you. I won't leave you." He leaned down then, and placed a passionate kiss on Quatre's responsive lips. "I love you, Quatre."
"I know Trowa, and hopefully this won't take all that long to convince my silly brain. I feel so horrible that we're talking so lightly about my not even being able to trust you-"
"Don't worry Quatre. Remember, to a certain extent we've already been through this with me."
"Yes, but we didn't need a professional psychiatrist with you. We didn't need to push all our work onto someone else because one of us couldn't even function. We didn't need to deal with empathic abilities or sisters who hate us. I think all in all, I'm just being a big baby abou-"
"No Quatre. You just explained it all. With me the biggest thing we had to deal with was my past, and then maybe Catherine's role in it. But it's different with you. You've got your sisters to worry about, the will to finish, your empathic abilities to figure out, not to mention your father, so of course we'd need more help. But we will work this out Quatre, I promise you that, we will get though this."
"Oh Trowa, I don't know what I'd do without you. You've always been there for me, no matter what; no matter what I threw at you, or even didn't throw, you've always been there for me. I don't know how I'll ever make all of this up to you-"
"You don't have anything to make up. You've told me a hundred times that couples work things out together. You've also said what's mine is yours, that everything that I own you also own and vice-versa. So that goes with ourselves as well. I belong to you, and all my personal hang up as well, and you belong to me, everything, even your sisters."
They laughed, the sound releasing the tension in the room.
"Oh Trowa, I'm so, so sorry then." That started them on another round of laughter that carried them from the bed and into the bathroom to get ready for one of the most trying days of their lives.
* * *
Sitting on the couch, they drank their early morning coffee and tea. Quatre tried not to seem too clingy to Trowa, but he still couldn't shake the feeling from the nightmare. To be so terribly alone and frightened, could that really be how he felt?
"Quatre?"
"Um, I'm sorry Trowa, what did you say?"
"I asked if you wanted to talk about your dream yet?"
Looking out the window, Quatre contemplated changing the subject before he caught himself; if he wanted to allow Trowa in, he had to start somewhere. "If you'd like, it's up to you."
"It's up to you, Quatre. You tell me if you're ready to talk."
Nodding his head, Quatre turned back to his lover, "I'm not sure where I was in the dream, but I kept hearing these voices calling to me they were children's voices, and they kept begging me to help them. The room was very sterile looking, and for some reason I was very cold. I remember seeing some type of lab jacket, but the moment I saw it I got very frightened. Then it was like I was two different people at once, and I knew I couldn't protect myself or the other person. I can't really explain it, but it was just-terrifying. I felt so helpless. All I could think about was trying to get us both out safely, but there wasn't anyone there but me. It's strange, maybe it's nothing."
"Do you think it's somehow related to what's been going on?"
Quatre sighed, "I don't know. It could be, or maybe it's nothing at all."
"Maybe you should talk to Corinne about it."
Quatre ran that thought over in his mind before standing to retrieve another cup of tea. "I don't know Trowa, she'd probably just read too much into it. It was just a stupid nightmare. I don't want to make a big deal about it."
"If it bothers you, then it isn't making a big deal out of it." Trowa paused for a moment before saying, "Thank you for telling me, Quatre."
It broke Quatre's heart to hear his long time love thanking him for something that should have been a given. He wanted to curl up, and at the same time, he wanted to shake Trowa, wanted him to know how much he hated the position he was now in. He decided on the first option.
Setting the teacup down, Quatre moved to Trowa and pushed his arms from his lap. With practiced ease, Quatre settled into Trowa's lap before wrapping his arms about his neck and offering a weak smile. He leaned against Trowa's shoulder and allowed the body of his beloved to comfort him.
For a very long time, all Quatre could remember was Trowa's emotions. They played against his own, in a blended symphony as if the two lovers were playing a duet together. Two emotions became one for Quatre, and he strove to match their feelings no matter what. But now, he could barely feel Trowa around him, and it terrified him; for the only other time in the last five years he had not felt Trowa had been when he'd thought his lover dead by his own hands. Just thinking about it sent shivers down his spine.
"I should have come to you, Trowa, I should never have let this go so far." He snuggled closer, and Trowa tightened his arms more firmly about him.
"There are some things I don't understand yet Quatre, but those will come with time-"
"What don't you understand? Tell me, Trowa, I'll try to explain."
Trowa paused for a moment and weighed his options. After what seemed like an eternity to Quatre he spoke, "Why didn't you tell me your father used to beat you?"
Closing his eyes, Quatre pressed against the sudden brightness coming from the link; it may not be entirely open, but he could still sense strong emotions through it. "I guess I didn't really want to talk about it. It happened so long ago, and I just wanted to forget. It was-" He paused, collecting himself for the admission he'd sworn he'd only give under protest, "Painful Trowa. It hurt more than anything in my entire life. To be an empath and feel his anger, confusion, pain, rage-it all hurt so very much." Long arms wrapped about him more securely, and he snuggled closer, chilled by his own words.
"Did others know?" Trowa's voice was low, trying not to alarm him.
"My sisters, but what could they do? My father was the "Mining King;" it's not as if they could have opposed him, though some tried."
"Cijen?"
Quatre flinched, his muscles tensing at the mention of his once revered sister. There was so much confusion and pain associated with her; he didn't even know where to begin.
Pulling away from a last attempt of Trowa to hold onto him, Quatre walked back to the tea service and leaned against the metal cart. "She was the most stable thing in my life. She gave me more love and affection than I ever hoped to receive from anyone. She taught me my life was worth something, even when others told me it wasn't. I-I loved her best of all." He tensed, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the server.
"You didn't do anything wrong, Quatre." Trowa's voice sounded so sure, so certain that he was speaking the truth, but Quatre knew better.
Swinging around, Quatre threw his hands into the air, "Didn't I Trowa? Didn't I do this to my family? They trusted in me, believed I'd protect them; that's my job! That's the only reason I was created, to protect them, to provide for them! I've done none of that. Instead I've taken away everything they own; and why? Because I'd rather sleep beside you than any beautiful woman I've ever met! I broke my family from the beginning! I destroyed everything the moment I took my first breath! Cijen and all the rest of my sisters, have every right to hate me, every right to condemn me! I'm just a tool, Trowa, I'm just the thing they created to protect them, but all I've done instead is dishonor and destroy them! I did do something wrong, Trowa, I should have ended it a long time ago, and now I'm stuck!" He wanted to scream some more, wanted to tell Trowa that he was stuck because of him, that he couldn't kill himself because Trowa owned his life-a life for a life, but he couldn't. He didn't have the strength, and the loss of control ate away at him.
Struggling for control, Quatre turned away from the stunned expression on his lover's face. He shook his head to clear away the rage and self-pity. He couldn't show fear; he couldn't. People can hurt you if you show fear.
"I'm sorry Trowa. I-I should never have said any of those things to you. You didn't need to hear them. Just ignore me, I'm feeling sor-"
Strong arms wrapped about his arms, trapping him against the solid body that now stood spooned behind him; he hadn't heard Trowa move.
"It's ok to be angry, Quatre. You shouldn't feel sorry about it. Besides, I asked you, I'm glad you told me how you felt. It means a lot to me."
His frustration was so great. How could he make Trowa understand? How could he explain that telling him anything was more painful than the acts he was describing? He wanted to believe that Trowa could understand, but it just didn't seem possible; they were too different. Quatre was too tainted with.everything.
Pulling away from Trowa again, Quatre made to move back to the couch when the visitor chimes rang across the room. Thinking this the perfect opportunity to leave the conversation where it lay, Quatre moved to the door and entered the pass code.
A cheery eyed Dr. Corinne Namon stood on the other side. He nodded to her in greeting and stepped aside to allow her entrance. Once she was in the room, Quatre closed the lock pass and returned to the couch.
"Please, doctor, have a seat."
"Actually, I'd prefer Corinne, and thank you." She sat then and looked to him, waiting for a response. He didn't offer her one; she was still the enemy, but less of one than Trowa.
Trowa intervened when the silence became too much, "Corinne, thank you for coming-"
"As if we could make her change her mind!" Quatre didn't know when his good morning had suddenly turned so horribly wrong, but he felt openly hostile towards this woman, when only a few hours before he'd willingly agreed to allow safe passage for. He felt like his life was unraveling all around him, and he hated it; hated the people doing it to him; and that scared him more than anything else.
Trowa looked shocked at his outburst, but Corinne brushed it off, "You're right, you couldn't have stopped me. It is what I get paid to do, isn't it?" A statement, not a question.
Quatre turned to her then, addressing her with cool contempt, "I suppose it is. Let's start, shall we? The sooner we begin, the sooner it's finished." Trowa looked shocked again by the uncharacteristic display of hostility.
"Don't worry, Trowa. I'm not offended; it's just Quatre's way of protecting himself."
It wasn't much of a sentence, and he thought she'd meant it to provoke him. Instead, Quatre stood immediately and crossed to Trowa. True sorrow shone in his eyes, "I'm sorry Trowa, I shouldn't behave like that. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable or embarrassed by me. Please don't be angry." If Trowa were angry, he might leave. Everyone he loved learned his secrets, got angry, and left him, throwing him to the wolves in the process. He had to make sure Trowa didn't get angry with him now; it was too soon, too soon to tell.
"It's alright Quatre, I'm not angry. But Corinne is here to help you, to help us. She may seem like your enemy right now, but she isn't. Please say you'll try to let her help you, please?" He would never refuse him anything he asked for, not ever.
"Of course I will, Trowa. I'm still grumpy, that's all. I'll be fine, and Corinne and I will get along fine. You're right though, I'll do my best to be a good boy." He smiled, hoping to ease the tension in Trowa's demeanor. It worked. His lover let loose the frustration-tensed muscles and gave him a genuine smile.
"Wonderful. If Quatre's done lying to himself now, may we get started?" Quatre turned appalled eyes on the doctor. How dare she accuse him of lying! She barely knew him! He had every intention of telling her to get the hell out of their apartment, but Trowa beat him to it-well, sort of.
"What do you mean, 'lying to himself'?"
She adjusted herself in her seat, and Quatre felt Trowa's presence as the only thing keeping him from throwing the obnoxious woman out on her ass. "He's, quite frankly, playing up to what you want to hear. He has no intention of us getting along well at all, and he's far from grumpy; more like terrified and confused. But that's to be expected. I was only bringing attention to it."
"Well don't!" He said it before he thought, and suddenly he realized that everything she'd said had been true. Looking quickly away from the doctor, Quatre moved over to the service for his cup of tea.
"That's the nature of my job, Quatre. But you're right, we should get started. It's up to you how you want this to go; do you want Trowa to stay throughout the session, or would you rather he left? The choice is yours, and only yours to make."
Another test, and Quatre took it as being such. To allow Trowa into his pain, which would surely hurt them both, or keep Trowa away, which would hurt Trowa. A choice that had no good answer, like all the other choices in his life. To live or die. To fight or be killed. To make a child or destroy his soul. Too many choices, too many wrong answers. Too much pain.
"Quatre, this isn't meant to hurt you. You have to make the decision based on what you want. Try not to think about what Trowa or I would want you to say, just answer how you want. If you'd like, tell me which one would cause you the least amount of pain."
So simple, so easy, but nothing was easy; everything hurt someone. Every decision had another that had not been chosen; every choice had consequences. His head hurt thinking about it. "It doesn't matter; what ever Trowa wants to do."
Wrong answer.
"Quatre, it isn't about what I want, it's about what you want. I won't be angry if you'd like me to go-"
"Don't give me that! Of course you'll be angry! Why shouldn't you be? What kind of a man am I? I can't even make one pathetic decision!?" He was so angry, so scared. He could lose everything at the drop of a hat, and he didn't know how to stop it. He just wanted someone to answer for him, make the choice, so he could blame someone else for it.
"Quatre, I won't be angry, and you are a very strong and loving man. The kindest man I've ever known. You have to believe that, believe that I believe that." Trowa's words sat on the rim of his mind, not sinking in. He didn't know, didn't understand, hadn't had to make the choice. Too many decisions, someone always got angry, always. Someone always got hurt.hurt.someone.himself.
"It's alright, Quatre. We'll do this: Trowa will leave for this session, and you and I will get to know each other better." She'd answered for him, Trowa couldn't be angry with him if she'd answered for him, could he? "Trowa, why don't you go ahead? Quatre and I will just talk for a while."
Quatre saw Trowa shake his head. "Trowa, don't worry. I won't be able to say that much anyway. How much could I tell her in an hour? I'll tell you everything when you get home, ok?"
"Actually it's going to be more than an hour." Quatre turned stunned eyes on her. "I've read from your records off the L4 colony your family resides on that you've met with other empathic psychiatrist before, correct?" He gave her a weak nod, dread filling him. "Most empaths can't be with patients for longer than an hour before they start to burn out from the emotional stress." She gave them a cheeky wink, "They don't call me the best for nothing. We'll probably be at this all day, but we'll take a break for lunch."
Quatre was stunned. None of the other empaths he'd seen had ever been able to stand him for very long. Another thing his father accused him of: sabotaging the sessions that were suppose to cure him of his "unnatural tendencies."
It was Trowa that pulled him from the thoughts of his past. "Quatre, why don't I come and get you around noon, and we'll have lunch together? That way, if you want to talk, we can do it then; or if you want, we can just have lunch together." Choices, more and more choices. Would they ever stop?
"Ok, Trowa, that sounds fine. I'll.well, I guess I'll see you then." What to say, how to say it? One more wrong answer, one more betrayal. Why did it hurt so bad to think that Trowa would leave him? Why did it hurt so bad thinking he'd stay?
Trowa moved over to him and took his hand. Pulling him over to the couch, he sat him down, and then leaned over to deliver a chaste kiss to his lips. "I'll see you for lunch, Quatre." Then as a side note, he added "Be nice." Trowa winked at him in a very un-Trowa like fashion that had a smile on Quatres lips both from that and his sweet kiss.
Then they were alone, himself and his jailer. She sat very calmly and looked at him, not saying a word. He looked from her to his tea and back again. If she wanted answers, she would have to ask the questions herself; he wasn't telling her a thing she could use to poison Trowa's mind, to take him away from him.
For a long time, they said nothing, and Quatre continued to sip his tea. He thought of his impressions of her, and all he came up with were negatives. He knew she wasn't a terrible person, but he couldn't accept the idea that she wanted to help him; no one wanted to help him.
"How long have you and Trowa lived together?" It started. The question wasn't intrusive; he decided to answer.
"Almost three years."
"That's a long time." He nodded, not knowing where this was heading.
"Why Trowa? How come you wanted to be with him instead of another." More personal, too personal-he shrugged in answer.
"Was it the way he looked or the things he said?" She was digging, and he hated it; but Trowa expected them to work together. He would just tell her what she wanted to hear, then it would be over, and he could concentrate on salvaging his relationship with Trowa.
"I don't know what it was, I just knew. From the moment we met, I knew I wanted to get to know him better." A noncommittal answer. Good.
"Do you think Trowa wanted to be with you the first time he met you?"
"No." The answer stung him; he wasn't sure why he answered the question.
"Why do you say that?"
He didn't want to talk anymore; it was too close to the truth. "Trowa just didn't feel that way the first time we met. Not everyone believes in love at first sight."
"Is that what you thought? The first time you saw him, did you know you loved him?"
His stomach tightened, "No, I just wanted to get to know him better."
She nodded her head and reached for a notepad he hadn't seen her carrying. She jotted a few things down and then looked up to him.
"Why don't you tell me a little about Trowa? You can talk about anything you'd like. Whatever you want me to know." She gave him a real smile, but he didn't return it. "I'd rather you didn't know anything."
"That's a fair answer, but not the one I'm looking for. Try again." She wasn't cruel; she just wasn't going to take any of his crap.
"He worked in a circus." Good answer; it says nothing at all.
"The circus? That's incredible. Did you ever see him perform?" Innocent question, he could answer.
"Once-we went together. He's very good."
"What does he do in the circus?"
"He's a clown, and also he works with the lions. He loves the lions." Wait! Too much information; he should have left it alone.
"Is he a lion trainer?" She'd missed it.
"In a way, he did train them, but he didn't do all the training. They love him." Too much! What was he doing!?
She didn't notice, "I think Trowa told me that his sister works in a circus. Did they work together?"
"Yes. He and Catherine have worked in the same circus for a long time."
"How long?"
"Since before the war. They love each other." Huh? What was going on? He hadn't meant to say that!
"Is she older or younger than he is?"
"Older, by a few years."
"So I guess she took care of him while they worked in the circus together."
"She's not his real sister." Hostility laced his voice, and he tensed up.
"But she did take care of him?"
"Not very well." What?! Of course she had. Catherine had done everything she could for Trowa. What was going on? It was like his mouth wasn't speaking to his brain at all.
"Does she love him?"
"Yes."
"Does he love her?"
"They're not really brother and sister." But weren't they in Trowa's eyes? Isn't that all that mattered? But it wasn't. Catherine wasn't Trowa's real sister; he didn't know the pain of a real sister.
"Does it make you angry that Catherine took care of Trowa when he was younger?"
"No."
"Does it make you angry that Trowa loves Catherine?"
"No."
"Does it make you angry that the lions love Trowa?"
"No, why should it? They're just animals."
"Tell me why it frightens you so much that Catherine took care of Trowa, and that they love each other as brother and sister?"
"It doesn't. I'm glad that Trowa has someone to go to; someone who took care of him."
"But that was a long time ago, right?"
"Right."
"She's not allowed to take care of him now, right?"
"Right."
"Whose job is that?"
"Mine." No emotion, no love or tenderness in his voice, like it was a job he was forced to undertake. He tried to think back on the conversation but found he got lost in the questions and answers. He allowed the doctor to scribble something on her pad. What did it matter anyway? He couldn't stop her.
"You know Quatre, it's natural for people to get angry or scared when others try to take something from them. It's natural to fear them; it doesn't make you a bad person. There are a lot of really bad people out there who deserve to be punished, but then there are a lot of good people who think they should be punished. Do you think you should be punished?"
No hesitation. "Yes."
"For what?"
He didn't speak; the list would take all day and all night. It wasn't worth getting into; he didn't like the question.
"Do you think you're a bad person?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
He didn't speak; what was the point? Too much time-he and Trowa would never get to lunch if he answered.
"Did someone ever tell you, you were a bad person? Did Trowa ever say that?"
"No! Trowa would never say anything like that, not ever!" How could she even ask a question like that? Trowa loved him! He'd never say something so terrible; he wasn't anything like-
"Did your father?"
Silence. Then "I don't want to talk about my father."
"Why?"
"I don't have anything to say about him."
"All right. We don't have to talk about things that you don't want to. But I'd like you to make a choice for me, a decision. You decide, who would you rather talk about, your father, or Cijen?"
It was like a slap in the face. How could he decide? He didn't want to talk about either, but she'd said to make a choice. Again, another decision. Who was worse-who's betrayal hurt more? Did one hurt more than the other?
"My father." Yes it did.
"Do you have a picture of him?"
He was startled by the question, hadn't anticipated it. He nodded and stood. Moving over to the desk, he picked up a framed photograph of himself as a very young child, hanging on the arm of his father; they both wore smiles. After handing her the frame, he took his seat.
She studied it for a long time, even turning the frame for different angles. Finally she asked, "How old were you when this was taken?"
"Six."
"You seem happy in this photograph. Do you remember when it was taken?" He nodded his head. "Do you remember being happy?" Again he nodded. "Why were you happy in this picture?"
He took the picture back and studied his once small face, so happy and light. "We'd gone to the zoo on L3. This was taken after he showed me the camels. I guessI liked them."
"You liked the camels, that's why you're smiling in this picture?"
He nodded his head yes, and then changed his mind and shook it no.
"What do you mean, Quatre?"
"I was happy to see the camels, but that's not why I was smiling."
"Then why were you smiling?"
"He.he let me hold his hand. When we went inside, I'd gotten scared; there were too many noises. He'd taken my hand so I wouldn't be afraid." He dropped his eyes, not making eye contact. He'd never told anyone that before.
"Your father didn't hold your hand a lot, did he?" He shook his head. "Did that make you sad, when he didn't want to touch you?"
"It did then. It doesn't now." His eyes shot to hers, had she caught it; his admission? Would she call him on it? God, how could he have been so stupid?! She could ruin everything.
"Did he often hold your sisters' hands?"
Relief washed over him; she'd missed it. "Yes, he usually had one on each arm. He adored them."
"And you, right? You were his only son. He adored you too, didn't he?"
"Once."
"How about before he died?"
Angry eyes shot glaring looks at her. She'd crossed the line. "My father loved twenty-nine daughters. There's only so much love a man can have." His answer was cold and unfeeling. He wanted to protest it, say it wasn't true; he'd wanted to so many times, but it was true, he had to live with that.
"Do you think he hated you?"
"Eventually."
"But he loved his other children, his daughters?"
"Yes."
"Do you think he hated you because you were a boy?"
He laughed, a deep laugh that held no merriment in it whatsoever. It was a dead sound, like crackling leaves in August. No life left.
"He didn't hate me because I was a boy-he hated me because I was a girl."
She looked perplexed for a moment, and that started Quatre laughing all over again. He wanted to stop; he would have rather been crying. Show no fear, and no fear will come to you.
"Can you explain that a little better, Quatre? You look male to me."
His laughter died out, and in its place was a look of death, directed toward the woman across from him. "I thought you said you'd read my journals?"
"I have, but you can't get any emotion from a piece of paper. Writing is a great outlet, but it only works for the writer, and it hasn't worked for you in a long time. I need to hear you explain things, and tell me things that you never wrote down." She paused, "Why? Do you think I should know the answer to my question from your journals?"
"Of course! I only wrote about how my father despised me from almost the first one!"
"Oh I read that you think your father hated you. I understand that. I also understand that it was because he thought you preferred the company of males rather than females. But what makes you think he knew your preferences when you were only six?"
"My father knew everything; he was God." The words were spoken quietly, with a hint of revered fear.
"Did he scare you?"
The answer came easily: "He terrified me."
"Did he terrify you when you were six?"
"He has always terrified me."
"When was the first time he beat you, for anything?"
Quatre looked up, staring into the doctors' eyes. He shouldn't tell her anything; he'd already said too much, said more than he should have.
"It was a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore."
"Did he ever beat your sisters?"
"NO!" He practically screamed; how could she think that? "My father loved my sisters very much! He never raised a hand against them. He loved them more than anything in the universe."
"So would you call him a violent man?"
"No, he was a very good, kind man. He did everything he could to promote peace and unity in the colonies. He took care of his people, those who worked for him and those who just lived on his satellites. Everyone loved him, treated him with due respect. He was a very good man."
"If that's true, then why did he beat you? Why did he hurt you so many times?"
"I was bad, evil. I had to be punished."
"Why? Because you were a boy?"
He looked at her then. He wanted to cry, wanted to let the tears fall. But weakness could get you killed in battle, he had to stay strong.
"I went against the laws of nature. I defied the Books. I shamed him at every turn. If he thought there was a quiet way to get rid of me, he would have. But he couldn't; too many people knew my face, knew I was the next heir. So he decided.he decided.he'd change me."
"Change you?"
"The beatings. He never hurt me for any other reason-only when he was trying to change me, punish me for making the wrong decision. He only beat me to help me."
"Do you believe that, Quatre? Do you believe that he only hit you to make you change? So that you'd desire a woman instead of a man?"
"Yes." Dull, no heart, no feeling. Only the constant pressure of knowing he was nothing.
"Did anyone ever try to stop him from hitting you, or hurting you?"
"Sometimes."
"Who?"
"My sisters." No. One sister-his most beloved sister.
"Your sisters must have been very strong to stand up to your father. You must have loved them very much."
"Yes."
"Did they know why your father was hurting you?"
"Yes."
"Did they all want him to stop? Did they all try to protect you from him changing you?"
"No." It was true, so terribly true. It sounded so awful to his own ears.
Betrayal.
"Why not?"
"Some of them thought it was a good idea.that he change me."
"But some of your sisters protected you, right?"
He nodded.
"You must have loved them very much. Been very grateful they braved your father to take care of you. They nearly sacrificed everything they had to protect you. That must have been very wonderful, hmm?
"Yes. I could trust them."
"Because they were willing to give up everything to protect you? They wouldn't have anywhere else to go but to you? They loved you enough to save you from everything?"
"Yes."
"Even yourself?"
"Yes." Unconditional love. He knew what it was; he thought he'd had it, remembered the safe feeling that accompanied it. But that was months ago; he hadn't felt it in a very long time.
"Did you have a favorite sister? One that you related to the best?"
"Cijen. She used to dance and let me watch her. Sometimes, I'd play the music and watch her dance for hours. She's a dancer with a very large company. She's a wonderful ballerina."
"That sounds like it was a lot of fun. It must have been very beautiful to watch her dance."
"Yes, she is very graceful. When I was little, I used to think she walked on air; she was so graceful."
"She's older than you are. How much older?"
"Nine years, she's only twenty-eight."
"Did she live at home while you did?"
"Part of the time, she spent the rest at the dance academy. She studied on Earth."
"Was Cijen at the academy when your father first locked you in that room?"
Alone, nowhere to go, now way out. "Yes."
"How did she hear that your father had you locked up? Did he tell her?"
"No. Seeafa, my other sister who was living at home at the time, called her. The shuttle couldn't get her home to me faster than the two weeks."
"So as soon as she got home, she got you out of that room, right?" He nodded, not trusting his voice. "That must have made you happy, to have your sister back, and to be out of that room?" He nodded again. "You must be really sad now then, hmm?"
Confused, he looked to her for explanation; he didn't understand the question. "What do you mean?"
She thought for a moment, then said "It must be hard to know that you loved her so much, gave her all the trust you possessed, and relied on her so much, only to have her betray you so completely now."
He leaned back into the couch, defeated. She'd won, found his weakness and was taunting him with it. He felt himself sinking into despair. How could he ever protect everyone if he couldn't even keep this one woman from unraveling all that he'd worked so hard to contain? In so little time, she rifled through him like he was nothing more than an old toy box, searching for the things she wanted, discarding those she didn't. She'd picked him clean and left only his bones when she'd finished, and he couldn't stop her, didn't have the strength to try.
"It isn't her fault. I'm the one who hurt her first. I'm the one who betrayed her first. She had every right to hate me."
"How? How did you betray her first?"
"I took Trowa to the party before I introduced him to her. I didn't let her know; she wasn't prepared. I should have introduced them first. If I had, I wouldn't have betrayed her, and she would have known and been happy for me. She would have been happy for me." His voice dropped to a whisper and he rubbed his hands over his face.
"So you think that if you'd introduced Trowa to Cijen before the party, she wouldn't have been so surprised and felt like you didn't love her enough to make the introduction in advance."
"Yes."
"If you'd introduced them, Cijen wouldn't have betrayed you?"
"Yes."
"What if that isn't true? What if she would have betrayed you anyway?"
Anger flashed through him; he sat up and glared at her, "Cijen would never have betrayed me if I hadn't betrayed her first! She loved me more than any of our other sisters. I was her favorite, and she was mine. We would have done anything for each other! Anything!"
"But what if-"
"There aren't any 'what ifs'! I broke it! I'm responsible for it! She's my responsibility; they all are! I'm supposed to take care of them, no matter what, and I haven't! They have every reason to betray me, every reason to hate me to my very soul! I've done just as Father said I would-"
"What's that Quatre? What did your father say you'd do?"
"He said I'd bring the family to disgrace, that I'd bring the family down with me. That I'd destroy them all, and I have.I have." It hurt so much, hurt so very much.
"How are you destroying your family? How are you doing that?"
"I'm not following the Will. My family will lose everything because I'm so weak."
"What do you mean, weak? How are you weak, Quatre?"
He paused, knowing he'd been caught in a trap of his own making. He'd woven the truth into a beautiful web, and now he was trapped in it. She wanted an answer, would take that answer to Trowa later, would shove his response back in his face at a later date, to make a point. All psychiatrists did that, all people did that.
But there wasn't any more room to struggle; he tried, tried to find a way out of the question, tried to run from it. But again there was no way out, nothing but solid walls he'd made himself, brick by ugly truthful brick. Eventually though, they'd all come crashing down, and hopefully they'd crush him to death; at least then, it'd be over.
"I won't have a child. I refused. Even to save my family, even to protect them, I won't produce a child."
"And you think that makes you weak?"
"Yes.it does."
"Why won't you have a child? Do you think you're too young to be a good father?"
He laughed, and like all the other laughs it was far from jovial.
"There are a million reasons I don't want to have a child, but my age is not one of them."
"Then what are the reasons? Do you just not want to be a father? Do you not want to have children?"
"Not want to have a child? No, I'd love to have a child, love to be a father some day. I-I like to think-I might be a good father."
"Then why?"
"There are only three ways to have a child, aren't there?" She nodded. "One is though genetics, the other is through implantation, and the last is through intercourse. None are acceptable to me."
"Why? Tell me why genetics isn't acceptable?"
"I will not make a child!" His voice was angry, and he nearly shook from the pent-up rage and frustration he felt.
"Make a child? I guess that's an accurate way to explain it. But aren't you yourself a genetic?"
"My point exactly."
"So you don't want a child genetically, but you haven't told me why yet."
He looked to her. She sat straight and tall, proud almost. Her hair was down, falling around her shoulders, making her look younger, more attractive. She wore casual clothes that weren't too formal and weren't too comfortable. Corinne-that's what she preferred to be called, not Dr. Namon. He'd oblige.
"Corinne?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have any idea what it's like to know that you were created? Not out of love, or even to save love-like as in a marriage that's falling apart-but because an old man needed a son to carry his name and protect his daughters? Have you any conceivable notion what it's like to know you were created for a purpose-not a noble purpose, but a purpose none the less?"
"No, I don't."
"Be grateful."
"So that's how you feel?"
"No, that's what it is. I've been told enough times. I know my place, have known it for a long, long time." He paused then, deciding how best to explain. "I don't ever want a child of my body to know that I created him or her to save a fortune. I will never allow a child to feel the same way I felt. Never. No matter what I have to sacrifice. Never."
A sad look entered her eyes, and she wrote more on the pad in her lap. She was an empath; she understood his emotions; she didn't need to ask for them.
"What about another option? What about implantation?"
"It's the same thing. I'd be creating a child for the same purpose. It's always the same purpose, save a fortune, save my sisters, the same. Only with this one, there would be a woman involved. I'd be responsible for her as well. Or what if she didn't want me to see the baby, or even have custody? What would I do then? How would I survive? No, there are too many complications, too many ways it could go wrong."
"Too many choices?"
He looked startled for a minute before nodding. "Too many choices."
"I suppose that's why intercourse is as equally terrible."
"No, intercourse is infinitely worse than the other two."
"Why's that?"
"Why? I'd think it would be obvious. Trowa. I could never betray him like that, would never even consider it. Once, before we were together, I considered a bed of convenience, but once we were together, I swore I'd never be with another. I owe him my.everything. I will never, ever betray him with anyone! Not ever."
"That's why no marriage of convenience either, correct? You couldn't betray Trowa even for public appearance?"
He nodded.
"It must be hard for you to have no way out."
He didn't answer; he didn't have too. They both already knew it.
For what seemed like a moment, Quatre felt light-headed, and he closed his eyes to calm the dizziness. Then a sudden sound forced his eyes open, and he saw Corinne slumped in the chair across from him, her head bowed, resting in one upturned hand.
A swooshing told him that the sound he'd heard earlier had been someone entering the pass code into the door. He turned his head in time to see Trowa pass through before walking towards him, a concerned look on his face.
"Quatre, are you alright?"
Surprisingly, he felt very good, very good indeed. It was as if the last hour of remembrances had been eased from his mind.
"I'm fine, in fact, I feel great. But what are you doing here, Trowa? I thought you weren't going to come back until lunch time?"
Confusion passed over Trowa's face, "It is lunch time."
Then it was Quatre's turn to be confused. "It can't be, you only left about an hour ago. It's barely ten o'clock."
Trowa looked over at Corinne who was now sitting up; she looked a little ragged around the edges, but for the most part seemed herself. She gave Trowa a weak smile. "I think that Quatre has just lost the time. It's true, Quatre, it's nearly noon. Why don't you and Trowa go have lunch, and we'll meet back here at, say, two? Does that sound all right to you?"
Still a little concerned at his time loss, he nodded his head and stood up. He looked to Trowa, "I'm going to go change really fast. I'll be right back." Trowa nodded, and he went into the bedroom in search of something comfortable to wear for lunch. He was really hungry all of a sudden.