Even with Trowa's warm body pressed intimately against his, Quatre
was cold like ice. He shivered as he awoke with a start; using all of his
self control not to push his lover off and scurry away from him. Gritting
his teeth together Quatre shifted, careful not to disturb Trowa's sleep, or
touch his warm skin any more than he absolutely had too.
He felt the bile rise in his throat as he looked quickly away from his contented lover and fled to the adjoining bathroom. Dramatic heaves racked his body and he emptied the contents of his stomach as cool sweat broke out across his naked body. Images of Trowa touching him, kissing him, licking the hollow of his throat assaulted his senses as again he heaved and shook with stress.
Trowa, his beloved Trowa. He'd broken Trowa long ago, promised him things he couldn't deliver; promised him things that Quatre could not bear to give him because it would now cause too much pain. Trowa, beautiful, broken, confused, Trowa.
Standing on shaking legs, Quatre moved to the shower and turned the water on, not bothering to check the temperature before stepping inside. The water was scalding, burning him the instant it touched his skin, and he was thankful; for the pain and for the measure of cleanliness he obtained from it.
Quatre didn't notice his skin turning an ugly shade of reddish black as the water continued to burn layer after layer of skin from his exposed body. He wasn't clean enough, he could still feel Trowa's hands all over, his mouth across his chest. Grabbing a washcloth he didn't bother to soap it, just ran the coarse material against his already red chest. Stroke after vicious, powerful stroke, ruptured the skin, and Quatre watched in sick fascination as his body began to bleed its pain.
He wanted to scream, wanted to cry out that he was sorry; that he had never meant to hurt his Trowa so very much. That he loved Trowa, had always tried to protect him, but in the end it had been for naught.
He'd tried to take control last night, tried to be the man Trowa's body needed him to be; but his scared and confused lover couldn't bear it. Quatre couldn't blame him. Trowa had gone from being ultra secure in Quatre's strength to realizing that it was nothing more than a show he'd put on to keep his demons at bay. His elegant lover had had to fend for both of them, once his defenses had come crashing down. Now that Quatre was finally able to assume the mantel he'd once held under false pretenses, how could he blame Trowa for refusing to accept one more, "New and Improved" Quatre Winner? He couldn't, but he had to try, no matter what it did to him. He'd sworn a lifetime ago to be whatever Trowa needed him to be, and he was not going to let his lover down yet again.
Shutting the scalding water down, he sank to his knees as the cooler air nauseated him further and blackness threatened to sweep over his damaged senses. His mind reeled that it wouldn't do to have Trowa find him passed out in the bathroom; wouldn't help matters if his lover saw his weakness yet again. And with that thought, the voices returned.
Get up! Stand up, boy! You're a man, aren't you?! I didn't have thirty girls! On your feet, take it like a man! This is for you own good, boy! Don't you dare cry out! Silly, Quatre Winner, so it's boys now is it? I will not loose everything I have because you "choose" to be fucked like a dog! .This is what hurt the most, Quatre, what caused me the most agony. You did this to yourself, boy! Yeah, we treated him well, like a god damned prince! I promise, I promise, I'll take care of you.
"Stop it! Please stop it!" But the voices continued, offering quote after quote from his past.
His hands flew to his ears to quite the continuous barrage of voices, but they couldn't be stopped that way, they came from within, mocking him with their refusal to die, even after endless hours of therapy.
Staggering to his feet, he didn't bother to dry off, just left the bathroom. As he entered the bedroom, the voices began to scream at him.
Look! Look there! See what you've done?! You've turned your bed of love into a bed of lies! He lays there now, thinking you're snuggled against him, that he's safe from the world, but it's lies! You can't claim him, you're too weak! He needs a man to care for him, and you're just a boy; a selfish little boy! He sacrificed everything to be with you and now it's killing him, now you not them, are destroying him! He trusted you to love him enough to sacrifice everything to be with him, and all you've done is throw him to the wolves! He's still afraid! You left him adrift and afraid! How could you?!
".I know.I'm sorry, so so sorry." His words were soft whispers of agony as he moved silently across the room to the closet. Inside he selected a pair of pants and a dark sweater, hoping the combination would keep him semi warm against the cold fear in his soul.
He couldn't look towards the bed as he left the closet. He nearly ran for the door; ran to it to escape the vision of beauty that was his silent partner.
The door hissed behind him as he escaped to the living room. He felt her before he saw her. Killashandra, dressed in one of the nightgowns they'd purchased for her only the day before, sat regally on the couch; her sleep tousled curls lay limply about her frame as she petted Star, who perched on her lap. Her eyes were watching him as he stood frozen in the doorway, frozen by a pair of green eyes that had haunted his nightmares for months.
She was a fairy child. Her nearly emaciated arms and legs poked out from her gown, while her white blond hair and transparent skin caused the green of her eyes to jump out immediately and hold him under her spell. She was like one of those magical creatures of legend; those better left to stories then ever witnessed in true life.
He watched as Star stood, stretched and then jumped down from Killashandra's lap to land soundlessly on the floor at her feet. He looked up just in time to see her raise her arms in a silent demand to be lifted and held. It was a demand he found he could not deny.
Slowly, with leadened feet, he trekked across the plush carpet, kneeling before the couch and Killashandra's still outstretched hands. Silently he lifted her from her seat before taking her place and situating her on his lap. He snuggled her close, rocking her gently back and forth as he hummed a soft Arabic lullaby he'd once heard Koeran hum to his little sister on a night long ago.
Killashandra fisted his sweater into her small hand and pulled tightly against him. Suddenly there was a flash of brilliant white light, and Quatre closed his eyes against its intensity. When he opened his eyes it was all the same, Killashandra still sat in his lap, Star still sat in her new spot in a patch of sunlight, but the voices, the metallic voices, had been silenced.
He knew it was her, this tiny child that rested in his arms. He knew she'd begun it as much as she'd ended it. The voices were her creation, Shingam had said that Killashandra was trying to tell him something he needed to know. Did he know what it was now? Yes, he knew. He was a selfish bastard who'd abandoned his family and disgraced his father, all for what? So he could sleep beside a man instead of a woman; so he could tuck Trowa against his body at night and pretend he had no other obligations but to be a lover? Yes, that's what he'd done, and he'd fucked it up like he had everything else in his life. He'd disobeyed and now everyone would suffer, his father was dead because he hadn't listened, his sisters cried themselves to sleep because he'd committed sins against Allah, but mostly he'd hurt Trowa, he'd hurt his most precious possession.
NO, THAT ISN'T RIGHT.
This new voice drifted through his mind like rice paper on the wind, light and airy, crisp and cool.
"Isn't.right?"
NO, YOU'RE WRONG.MAKE IT RIGHT.YOU.FIX IT.
"Fix it?"
.ISN'T MUCH.FIX.BETTER.
"Fix it."
.A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z NOW I KNOW MY A B C'S NEXT TIME WON'T YOU SING WITH ME.A B C D E F G H I J K L M N.
".Killashandra." He pulled back, lifted her head from his shoulder and looked deeply into her eyes. She wasn't looking at him, but through him, staring into a world he could not see. But it didn't matter, he now understood.
Standing he moved them into the children's room. Once there he silently dressed her in a simple outfit of cotton, before lifting her again into his arms. Moving to the bed, he pulled the covers more securely across Shingam's sleeping form, before exiting the bedroom, and eventually the apartment.
He left no note as he carried the once again oblivious Killashandra into the pilot's private dinning hall. Minutes ticked by as he prepared her breakfast and quietly fed her, not bothering to speak to her, knowing she could hear his thoughts if she so chose.
When she'd finished, he lifted her again and deposited the dishes in the collector before traveling back down the hallway; away from his home and Trowa's still sleeping body. He walked much like Killashandra would have, oblivious to the smiles and good mornings' he received from fellow workers and those in his own squad. He passed Lady Une and Marieminna without even recognizing their features, he had a mission now, a place to be, to work out a plan of action.
At the door, he bypassed the ringer and just knocked, loudly.
When it opened, it revealed Corinne Nammon's worried face.
"My God Quatre, what are these emotions I'm sensing from you?!"
"Corinne, I need to talk with you. May I come in?"
"By all that's holy, get your ass in here!" She stepped away from the door and allowed him to enter. He noticed as a passing thought, that she was dressed in her usual clinical attire, and had her notebook and recorder already placed beside her antique fainting couch. He raised an eyebrow. "I've been expecting you all morning. I started to sense your emotions last night, but when they faded, I thought you might just sleep them off, I should have known better. You seem calmer than you were earlier. How do you feel?"
"Hopeful."
"Hopeful?"
"Hopeful."
Without another word, he moved across the room and laid down upon the couch. Usually he preferred to sit in the chair that rested across from Corinne's desk; he didn't like the clique-ness of lying on a couch and telling a shrink all of his problems. But today was different, he wasn't really here to tell Corinne anything, only verbally think through what had happened, and formulate a plan. With no resistance from Killashandra, he lifted the girl to lay on his chest, and he noted that she seemed to fall into a light sleep almost before Corinne took her customary seat across from him.
She started the recorder.
"You know, there's an old theory. It says that if a patient comes into your office and lies on the couch instead of sits on it, it means they want to talk about sex. Care to prove the theory right or wrong?"
"A part of Trowa thinks that last night, I tried to rape him."
She was stunned into silence for a moment. He'd said it so clinically, as if it truly meant nothing; as if it hadn't happened to the man he loved. "Why would he think that, Quatre?"
"Because I never taught him the difference."
"What do you mean? Explain."
"Have you ever read the Qu'ran, the book written by the profit Mohammed?" Silently she shook her head. "It's not unlike the Hebrew Torra, it tells the people how to live their lives. Would you like me to tell you what it says?"
"If you need to tell me, then go ahead."
He nodded once, not bothering to look at her. She was there only as a means to think up things he hadn't thought of in his confused mind. He wasn't here to see her, and as such stared at the ceiling above him. "The Qu'ran teaches that it is a mans job to protect his wife. He must protect her from everything that could possibly hurt her. From the world around her, to the harshness of the desert, to the fellow men in the caravan; it is his ultimate responsibility to protect her against all of Allah's creations.
"And a wife knows this, understands that it is her place to be protected by her husband. To this end she submits to his will, does as she's told, is ruled by her husband. Your western ideas may rail against this, may think it's an archaic way of thinking, but listen closely and you'll begin to understand.
"Allah gave woman to man, gave wife to husband. She belongs to him, like property. This is not something for her to fight against, not if it's done the way Allah wished it to be. Because women and wife have a way of shaping their own destiny; they may be possessions of men and their husbands but their job in that partnership allows them infinite power."
He stole a glance and saw Corinne's face creased in worry and confusion. He smiled softly to her. "Don't worry, Corinne, I'm about to explain." She only nodded.
"A woman and wife's place is to care for her husband, to honor and love him above all other things. Do you understand what that means? Can you comprehend the dynamics of such a powerful position? A man controls the outside environment, he keeps the storms from ripping her apart, he keeps men from taking her without permission, he does everything in his power to keep nature from touching her with harmful intentions. But it is a woman and wife that has the great power. You see, it is she that holds her husband or lover when the world becomes too much for his battered soul, it is she that shelters him from the most terrifying thing to a man, his own mind, his own doubts.
"So a man owns a woman and protects her from the world, and a woman owns her own destiny because she tends to the mind that protects her. Does that make sense to you?" He looked at her then and knew immediately it did not.
"I can't say much about the Arabic notion of the Qu'ran now a days, but I've read history books where women were extremely oppressed Before Colony. Their husbands did it, beat them and oppressed them all in the name of the Qu'ran."
Quatre nodded. "The holy book was written by a man, a great prophet sent by Allah, but a man none the less; and it is interpreted by men just like him. Men, man as a species is fallible, prone to misinterpretation. Back then, men read the great book and thought to make their wives their slaves. But that's not what the book meant, not what Allah desired from his people.
"The Qu'ran says to honor and love thy wife and family; you can't do this by oppression and sporadic beatings that invoke terror. I'll try to explain. When there is trust between a woman and man, she will do as she is told because she loves her husband, honors him; and her husband will do the very best he can to take care of her for the same reasons. The world of the Qu'ran's writing was a harsh world and Allah knew this. Women did as their husbands instructed them, but this did not mean they had no say in their fates.
"A man must listen to all sides of the argument, he must listen to what his wife desires and decide if she will be hurt in any way by it. A man and woman, husband and wife can argue about something as long as they like, can list the pro's and con's for as long as needed, but ultimately it is the man's job to make a decision; and his wife-who loves, honors, and most of all trust him-will concede, knowing he made the best decision possible for her because he loves her. That is where the Before Colony men were wrong, they were not thinking of their wives, they thought only of themselves. They broke the sacred contract of marriage, and I often wonder why their women stayed with such dishonorable men. There must be trust for a relationship such as Allah's ideal to come into being."
"Alright, let me try to summarize and make sure I understand." He nodded his head and watched as she took a deep breath and began. "You believe that men and women, husbands and wives, must trust each other completely in the sacrament of marriage. Through this trust is borne an understanding that a man will possess his wife and a woman will agree to this possession because she knows that her husband loves her and would never do anything to harm her. In fact, he loves her so much, trusts her so much, that he's willing to shoulder the consequences of his choices, and have no blame fall onto his wife, for any decision because he is the one ultimately responsible for all decisions. Am I doing ok so far?" He nodded. "Alright, so the woman is owned, but in reality it's only to instill a sense of security into her. In actuality, she makes every decision equally with her husband except those things they cannot agree on, where she abdicates to him to make the decision for the both of them because she trust in him to do the right thing for them both.
"Normally I'd say this was an unequal relationship, but you said that it is a wife's job to protect her husband from himself. Do you mean from his past?"
He shook his head. "No. More like his worry that the decisions he makes are the wrong ones. That is the most important, his wife must have unwavering faith in him, otherwise the self doubt of his decisions for her will rip him apart until he can no long make any decisions. This is what is known as a broken man."
"Is that what you and Trowa are?"
"Yes and no. It's what we were, but under false pretenses and lies I created to protect him. Now we no longer have it and it's killing us both."
"This is about last night?"
"No. It's been going on a lot longer than that."
Corinne sighed. "Quatre, I'm having a hard time following what you're telling me. And if Trowa really does think that you raped him last night I need to be there with him when he wakes up. Furthermore, I still don't even understand what happened."
He nodded once, absently; he still wasn't here for her benefit.
"You were right, what you said. The type of relationship I just explained to you is not equal. It's a partnership, but not an equal one." He caught her eye. "Have you ever played a team sport?"
"Yes, basketball, in college."
"Good, then you understand the need for the team captain."
"He's for morale and to make fast decisions."
"In a way. The captain of a sports team has the trust of the team. They trust in him to do what's right for the team, no matter what. Would you say the team captain listens to the other players and their opinions most of the time?"
"Usually."
"Are the team members and the team captain equal in their power to make decisions? Does a guard have as much power over the team as the captain?"
"No."
"But the team trusts their captain to make the best decision for them. The captain listens to them and then makes a decision that the members follow."
"But this isn't a team, Quatre, this is a relationship that means more than winning a game, it means living a life, sharing a life with someone."
He sighed. She wasn't speaking for herself in Quatre's eyes now; she was speaking for Trowa. These would be Trowa's arguments, what he would be thinking as he listened to Quatre explain.
"The relationship I'm explaining is one of sixty, forty. A husband controls sixty percent while a wife controls forty. A husband makes a decision, has the decision making power, but cannot ignore the other forty percent, it's too great a percentage to ignore; a percentage that could destroy their bond if ignored."
"Quatre you speak of this like it's a boardroom decision and not someone's life."
"I know that's what it sounds like to you, but it's more than that. It's feelings and emotions, love and protection. You asked about Trowa. My Trowa is a strong and brave man. He's more brave and strong than most people give him credit for. Few people could have survived life without a name for nearly fifteen years; few people could have been the slave and sex toy to a band of cut throat mercenaries for hire; and few could have seen and done everything my Trowa did in the war and still control their sanity. But Trowa is strong and resourceful, proud and brave; he's strong in body, but not in spirit.
"I know what you're thinking, Corinne. That Trowa has a very strong spirit, that people have oppressed his spirit and that he's actually hiding it to protect himself; that is what most psychiatrists would say, but that's just not so.
"Trowa is strong when he has to be, but in reality he's very delicate, like fine crystal or porcelain. These things are strong for a time, but under constant wear, they crack and eventually shatter. Trowa is like this. When I was.sick, he took care of me, he took control and I let him; I let him because I couldn't anymore. Like a woman must take control if her husband falters, she will take care of him for a time. But she can't take care of him all the time; her place is to be protected, not protect. In an emergency she assumes that mantle, the one of her husband, but when the husband is better, he must take it back. And for us, Trowa and myself, that time has come. I'm stronger then I've ever been, more able then ever to be the man Trowa needs me to be. My lover's very strong, but he'd rather be taken care of, rather follow than lead. Part of that is his past, what those men did to him, and part of it is that I never taught him any other way.
"When Trowa and I got together he was like unformed emotional clay. I took him into my hands like an artist and formed him, molded him into the man you know. And Trowa allowed it, relished it, because it meant that I cared enough about him to try; loved him enough to show him with action instead of just words that mean nothing to him. Before I met him, if there were no actions, Trowa didn't understand. I taught him to feel with emotions he'd long given up on ever being able to feel again. I showed him that not everything is accomplished by physicality, that some things can simply be understood by word alone." He paused and smiled wistfully at the ceiling.
"You know, the first time I told him I loved him he looked at me like I was crazy. Words. They held no meaning for him. For him, if I wanted him to know that I loved him, I had to show him; kiss him, touch him, hold him until ungodly hours of the night. But to speak words of love meant nothing to him. I could feel it, you know, feel that he didn't understand what I meant when I told him I loved him. I took him into my arms and held him close to my body; I kissed his hair and his face, touched him everywhere I was allowed at the time, and then, eventually I turned his face to look at mine and said clearly, 'I love you.' Mix words and actions after that, and he could understand. Tears with the words, 'I'm sad,' let him know what I meant, but until then he didn't know. I taught him eventually what words meant by themselves, but it took a very, very long time; actually, it's not unlike what Duo had to go through with Heero."
"Are you trying to tell me that Trowa wants this type of relationship you're presenting? That Trowa wants to be controlled by you so that he can feel safe?" He nodded. "What makes you so sure?"
Quatre smiled slightly and ran his fingers through the tangle of Killashandra's hair. "It's the way it was before, Corinne. Before I got.sick, it's the way it was. I told Trowa what to do and he did it. I made the best decisions I could for him and he knew it, knew I'd take care of him. But I got sick, and Trowa found out that I wasn't as strong as we both thought I was. So he took charge, he stood tall for me when I couldn't. He took control where it had always been, but not in name." Corinne looked skeptical. "I've never tried to rule Trowa's life. The mercenaries controlled him, I never did. More times then not, if Trowa wanted it, I was more than happy to give it to him. But we both knew that I made the decisions and Trowa could take comfort in that, that I had what seemed like control. But now he's had control in name, where as before he only had it in theory. He's afraid to give it back to me, afraid that I'm still not strong enough to take it back. He's afraid I'll fall again, and that without the control he now thinks he has, I'll hurt myself and him as well. But I'm stronger now, I can take care of us both like I never have been able to before. Part of Trowa knows that; and that part of him gave into me last night. But he's still afraid, and that part of him won't let go for fear of losing everything."
There was a long silence as Quatre continued to run his fingers through Killashandra's hair, and Corinne stared at him with an unreadable expression. Her emotions were locked down tightly and Quatre could sense nothing from her at all. He sighed, knowing that she didn't understand what he was trying to say.
"Quatre," she paused to await his complete attention. "Why don't you tell me what happened last night." It was a command, not a request. He obliged.
He told her of the voices Killashandra had started in his head, explained that they were his own thoughts voicing what he knew had to be done but was afraid to do. He explained that Trowa desired for him to be strong and in control, but that he himself was too afraid of hurting Trowa's delicate mentality to fully press the issue. She stopped him there.
"Why do you think Trowa has a delicate mentality?"
He closed his eyes against the pain he knew this part of the conversation would bring him. But he knew he had to work it all out in his own mind before he could implement any course of action.
"Like all heterosexual relationships, there are many different.positions a couple can engage in for sex." He looked to her for a nod. "Early in our sexual relationship, I learned quickly to be very careful with Trowa. I knew by this time he'd been raped, and I understood that there were things we couldn't do together."
"Like what?"
He smiled slightly in embarrassment to bring up such intimate details of their lives. "When I was with Koeran, we hardly ever made love facing each other. He was much taller than I was, larger in all ways actually. If we'd tried to make love, missionary style, I would have been extremely uncomfortable, and perhaps even hurt. To this end Koeran nearly always took me from behind, that is, I would kneel on hands and knees and he'd enter me so that I could not see his face. I knew it was Koeran I was with so it didn't matter if I couldn't see his face. That isn't so with Trowa.
"Perhaps three months into our sexual relationship, I attempted something I should have known he wouldn't like. Trowa had often twisted out of my arms to face me when I'd positioned myself in ways that made him nervous, I never thought it was because he needed to see my face as we made love. On this particular night, I already had him on his stomach, so I lifted him from underneath with my arms and began kissing along is arched spine. I remember now that he tensed, but at the time I was too caught up in the moment to notice. It wasn't until I tried to.prepare him, that he bolted."
He shivered involuntarily at the memory. He'd often looked back on that night and wondered how he could have been so selfish as not to see the warning signs. Trowa had shaken in his arms, but he'd only thought it was excitement. He'd whimpered, but Quatre had only believed it was from pleasure. His mind told him he couldn't have known, that they hadn't been lovers long enough for him to have understood all of Trowa's signals; but still a part of him felt guilty.
"Before I knew what was happening, he was across the room and against the wall, terror in his eyes when he looked at me. Corinne, you can't possibly know what it's like to see terror seep from every pore of your lovers body, to know that you put that very terror there. I watched my proud lover wrap his arms around his naked body and slide down the wall into a body curl. I was too stunned to move as he began to rock himself slowly, whispering softly what I later found out to be words like, 'no' and 'please not again.' He thought I was them, and he was trapped in his own mind by his memories.
"It took me half the night to calm him down enough that I could even approach him; he just keep yelling and crying if I moved towards him. I'd never seen Trowa yell before that night, and I'd only seen him cry a few times before, and never because of me."
"It wasn't you, Quatre, it was his past."
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, I did it, I hurt him. He suffered because of me and that was all I needed to know."
He lifted a hand as she moved to protest. "Another time, Corinne. Let me finish." She wearily nodded her acceptance and he continued.
"It took me half the night just to be able to kneel in front of him, the rest of the night I spent coaxing him to let me touch him again. He kept flinching away from me, begging me not to hurt him. I don't know how many times his pain and fear overwhelmed me to the point I began to hate myself, but suffice it to say it was more than I ever care to remember. By early morning he'd crumpled into my arms, and was just lying there, not moving and trying not to be assuming, trying his hardest to make himself as small as possible. But his mind was calmer, if not still frightened beyond belief, and so I began the task of planting suggestions for him to sleep-"
"You were able to plant suggestions?" Corinne's eyes were round in disbelief and wonder. He chuckled a little at her astonishment.
"You've only seen me at my worst, Corinne. I can do quite a few amazing things." He winked at her and she rolled her eyes appropriately, but behind her eyes, he saw she was still awed by his admission.
"After I had him asleep, I started working on the problem. Dusting is what I think Trowa said you called it; back then I called it saving his soul. I shifted his thoughts around one another, buried ones I couldn't deal with then, and moved the rest as best I could. In the end, when I finally woke him up, he didn't remember anything that happened that night, and I told him he'd had a fever and fainted."
"You didn't tell him what happened?"
He had the decency to look appalled by her suggestion. "Trowa didn't ask for me to terrify him that night, he didn't ask to be reminded about what happened in his past."
"Yes, but to keep things from him like that-"
"I've always done everything to protect Trowa, to take care of him. Allowing him to remember what had happened would have shamed him, he would have pushed me away because he would have thought he'd hurt my feelings, when in reality, I was the one that had hurt him. I would never allow him to feel guilty about my own mistakes. You see, that's the difference. I love Trowa enough to protect him from everything, even then I was protecting him from me and himself. It didn't matter what it did to me as long as he was safe, taken care of; that single drive has never changed, Corinne. I've done everything to protect him, and I always will; I love him, it's a simple as that."
"I think I'm beginning to understand a little better, especially how you view the Qu'ran's teachings."
He nodded.
"Later, in a way that seemed natural, I got Trowa to admit that the mercenaries always raped him from behind. I learned quickly never to be with him like that. I couldn't bear to terrify him like that. But don't you see, when I did that I made an even bigger and more long term mistake."
"I don't understand."
He sighed. "By allowing Trowa to continue to be afraid, even while his mind knew I was the only one in the room, to still be afraid when it could be no other body that touched him but my own, condemned him to be afraid and on guard always with me. He didn't want to be, and he doesn't recognize it that way, but it's true. I should have found a way to reassure him while still taking him in such a way as he couldn't see me, it would only take once, Corinne. One time and Trowa would understand that I was in charge, and that since I hadn't hurt him, he could place all his still walfing trust in me. And I tried, so many times I tried to finish what needed to be completed. But always he'd run from me, and his terror would be like my own and I couldn't break through it to save us both. So I'd spend countless nights soothing him, only to make him forget so he felt no guilt in the morning. Last night wasn't any different except it was brought on by the voices Killashandra started, that and I didn't make him forget."
"So last night, you tried to take him in such a way that he couldn't see you?"
He shook his head. "Not exactly, that was my intention but we didn't get that far." He watched her confusion mount. "When Trowa and I make love that's the only thing we do. You can't define it as anything else. We express all of our emotions though a physical act because for Trowa, that is still the easiest way for him to communicate, action. We never have what most couples would view as sex, it's never for the shear need for release, each and every time it's a testament to our love for one another. Last night I tried to make it sex, and he couldn't stand that."
She held up a hand to stop him. "I have a question and I want you to answer it honestly." He nodded hesitantly. "Are you satisfied with your sexual relationship with Trowa?"
He paused, not knowing how to answer or even what the answer was exactly. Minutes passed before he turned to her and spoke with hesitation and much thought. "I treasure any moment I'm allowed to be with Trowa. He guards his heart so well that it's nearly impossible for anyone to know him without his permission. I was lucky he loved me back then or we never would have been together.
"When I was with Koeran.things were different for me. I didn't lead in my relationship with him. I didn't know what I was doing any more than Trowa did. But Koeran would play with me." He paused to think. "Once, I went into my tent to take a nap, and Koeran jumped me from behind the closing flap. I remember being startled, but then that quick flash of fear made it more exciting. He was always doing things like that.I remember he once tackled me from behind when I was being a brat about something. He threw me to the sleeping mats and had my clothes off before I could blink. I guess you could say he was slightly rough with me, but he never hurt me, and I can honestly say I enjoyed it." He smiled shyly at her for a moment. "I've always liked a little pain with my pleasure."
He shifted then, sitting up a little straighter as he continued. "It's a little frustrating not to be able to do those things with Trowa. He always has too see me before we begin anything. There are no surprises to our sexual relationship. It's the same nearly every time. I'm not complaining; like I said, I'll be with Trowa any way I can. But if your asking if I would change it if I could.probably. I like things a little rougher than Trowa allows for, but I'm not going to leave him because of it."
"No, I'm not implying that you would. You know there are classes, therapies that you both can attend that can help; books you could read together." She trailed off as Quatre shook his head.
"I've never told Trowa any of the things I've just told you. As far as he knows everything is perfect. And really it is; I have everything I need. Maybe not everything I want, but with a partner you must always make compromises. It's what I give to Trowa because I love him, because I want to protect him from his past pain. Like I am his husband and he is my wife, I'll protect him from everything Allah created, even myself."
Corinne sighed. "Any kind of sexual differences can be hard on a couple. Everyone's appetites are different. Some people are into pain and some are not; others like the total lack of control while others crave it and cannot perform without it. What you and Trowa are experiencing is just differences in views. I bet if you told Trowa how you felt he'd be more inclined to try new things. If as you said, he thinks nothing's wrong, why should he try to change something. Again, it's back to your basic problem, Quatre: you and Trowa don't communicate, especially you. You try to take care of him so much, protect him from everything, that you don't allow him to see what's really going on. I know you didn't come here for this, but I suggest you speak with him about it anyway; at the very least, I don't think it will hurt as much as you think it will."
She paused to let her words sink in, and for his part, Quatre thought. He listed the mental pro's and con's of allowing things to continue. Finally, he decided that if he told Trowa, and Trowa gained some kind of expectation, then maybe his taking back control wouldn't seem so foreign to Trowa; than maybe Trowa wouldn't fight so much if he knew what to expect.
Eventually he nodded. "I'll consider it some more. I need to think about it."
"Of course."
He felt Killashandra take a deep breath before sitting up to look at him. He'd thought her asleep, but he noticed quickly that she'd simply been listening with her eyes closed. He tickled her under her chin and was rewarded when she focused on his face. She yawned quietly before looking quickly at Corinne and then shifting to a sitting position across his stomach.
He laughed softly at her. "You understand everything we've been talking about, don't you Killa? Are you just absorbing information to process later, or are you thinking all the time, figuring out what your next move will be? I bet that's it, you're thinking even now what you're going to do if I do or say something else aren't you." He ran his hand through her hair and heard Corinne gasp as Killa leaned into the touch, closing her eyes and savoring the contact. "That's my girl. But you're too much like me, too much like me."
Corinne cleared her throat. "You understand that she's not yours, don't you, Quatre? That she's not really your daughter."
He turned to regard her before looking back at Killa who's movements couldn't be seen, but his hand felt, felt her nuzzling him for more contact.
"Perhaps. But for how long?" He smiled at the little girl whose eyes focused again on his face.
"Quatre-"
A loud beep was heard over the base-wide intercom system. Quatre recognized the voice immediately.
"Quatre?"
Taking a deep breath and steeling himself for what was to come, Quatre sat up; Killashandra sliding off his stomach to rest in his lap. He held her so her cheek was pressed against his sternum.
"I'm here, Trowa. I'm with Corinne."
A pause, then, "Are you in a session?"
"Just finishing one."
Another pause. "I'd-I'd like to see you. Can you cut this session short?"
He glanced at Corinne quickly. "I'll be there in a moment, Trowa."
He could almost hear the nod his partner gave. "Barton, out."
Turning he gave Corinne a shallow smile before lifting Killa into his arms and standing. "Thank you for listening to me."
"That's my job." Quatre was at the door before she spoke again. "Quatre?" He turned. "What are you going to do if you were right?"
Smiling wearily he spoke quietly, "I'll do what I've always done, make him forget."
And with that, he left the room, Killashandra tightly held in his grasp.
He felt the bile rise in his throat as he looked quickly away from his contented lover and fled to the adjoining bathroom. Dramatic heaves racked his body and he emptied the contents of his stomach as cool sweat broke out across his naked body. Images of Trowa touching him, kissing him, licking the hollow of his throat assaulted his senses as again he heaved and shook with stress.
Trowa, his beloved Trowa. He'd broken Trowa long ago, promised him things he couldn't deliver; promised him things that Quatre could not bear to give him because it would now cause too much pain. Trowa, beautiful, broken, confused, Trowa.
Standing on shaking legs, Quatre moved to the shower and turned the water on, not bothering to check the temperature before stepping inside. The water was scalding, burning him the instant it touched his skin, and he was thankful; for the pain and for the measure of cleanliness he obtained from it.
Quatre didn't notice his skin turning an ugly shade of reddish black as the water continued to burn layer after layer of skin from his exposed body. He wasn't clean enough, he could still feel Trowa's hands all over, his mouth across his chest. Grabbing a washcloth he didn't bother to soap it, just ran the coarse material against his already red chest. Stroke after vicious, powerful stroke, ruptured the skin, and Quatre watched in sick fascination as his body began to bleed its pain.
He wanted to scream, wanted to cry out that he was sorry; that he had never meant to hurt his Trowa so very much. That he loved Trowa, had always tried to protect him, but in the end it had been for naught.
He'd tried to take control last night, tried to be the man Trowa's body needed him to be; but his scared and confused lover couldn't bear it. Quatre couldn't blame him. Trowa had gone from being ultra secure in Quatre's strength to realizing that it was nothing more than a show he'd put on to keep his demons at bay. His elegant lover had had to fend for both of them, once his defenses had come crashing down. Now that Quatre was finally able to assume the mantel he'd once held under false pretenses, how could he blame Trowa for refusing to accept one more, "New and Improved" Quatre Winner? He couldn't, but he had to try, no matter what it did to him. He'd sworn a lifetime ago to be whatever Trowa needed him to be, and he was not going to let his lover down yet again.
Shutting the scalding water down, he sank to his knees as the cooler air nauseated him further and blackness threatened to sweep over his damaged senses. His mind reeled that it wouldn't do to have Trowa find him passed out in the bathroom; wouldn't help matters if his lover saw his weakness yet again. And with that thought, the voices returned.
Get up! Stand up, boy! You're a man, aren't you?! I didn't have thirty girls! On your feet, take it like a man! This is for you own good, boy! Don't you dare cry out! Silly, Quatre Winner, so it's boys now is it? I will not loose everything I have because you "choose" to be fucked like a dog! .This is what hurt the most, Quatre, what caused me the most agony. You did this to yourself, boy! Yeah, we treated him well, like a god damned prince! I promise, I promise, I'll take care of you.
"Stop it! Please stop it!" But the voices continued, offering quote after quote from his past.
His hands flew to his ears to quite the continuous barrage of voices, but they couldn't be stopped that way, they came from within, mocking him with their refusal to die, even after endless hours of therapy.
Staggering to his feet, he didn't bother to dry off, just left the bathroom. As he entered the bedroom, the voices began to scream at him.
Look! Look there! See what you've done?! You've turned your bed of love into a bed of lies! He lays there now, thinking you're snuggled against him, that he's safe from the world, but it's lies! You can't claim him, you're too weak! He needs a man to care for him, and you're just a boy; a selfish little boy! He sacrificed everything to be with you and now it's killing him, now you not them, are destroying him! He trusted you to love him enough to sacrifice everything to be with him, and all you've done is throw him to the wolves! He's still afraid! You left him adrift and afraid! How could you?!
".I know.I'm sorry, so so sorry." His words were soft whispers of agony as he moved silently across the room to the closet. Inside he selected a pair of pants and a dark sweater, hoping the combination would keep him semi warm against the cold fear in his soul.
He couldn't look towards the bed as he left the closet. He nearly ran for the door; ran to it to escape the vision of beauty that was his silent partner.
The door hissed behind him as he escaped to the living room. He felt her before he saw her. Killashandra, dressed in one of the nightgowns they'd purchased for her only the day before, sat regally on the couch; her sleep tousled curls lay limply about her frame as she petted Star, who perched on her lap. Her eyes were watching him as he stood frozen in the doorway, frozen by a pair of green eyes that had haunted his nightmares for months.
She was a fairy child. Her nearly emaciated arms and legs poked out from her gown, while her white blond hair and transparent skin caused the green of her eyes to jump out immediately and hold him under her spell. She was like one of those magical creatures of legend; those better left to stories then ever witnessed in true life.
He watched as Star stood, stretched and then jumped down from Killashandra's lap to land soundlessly on the floor at her feet. He looked up just in time to see her raise her arms in a silent demand to be lifted and held. It was a demand he found he could not deny.
Slowly, with leadened feet, he trekked across the plush carpet, kneeling before the couch and Killashandra's still outstretched hands. Silently he lifted her from her seat before taking her place and situating her on his lap. He snuggled her close, rocking her gently back and forth as he hummed a soft Arabic lullaby he'd once heard Koeran hum to his little sister on a night long ago.
Killashandra fisted his sweater into her small hand and pulled tightly against him. Suddenly there was a flash of brilliant white light, and Quatre closed his eyes against its intensity. When he opened his eyes it was all the same, Killashandra still sat in his lap, Star still sat in her new spot in a patch of sunlight, but the voices, the metallic voices, had been silenced.
He knew it was her, this tiny child that rested in his arms. He knew she'd begun it as much as she'd ended it. The voices were her creation, Shingam had said that Killashandra was trying to tell him something he needed to know. Did he know what it was now? Yes, he knew. He was a selfish bastard who'd abandoned his family and disgraced his father, all for what? So he could sleep beside a man instead of a woman; so he could tuck Trowa against his body at night and pretend he had no other obligations but to be a lover? Yes, that's what he'd done, and he'd fucked it up like he had everything else in his life. He'd disobeyed and now everyone would suffer, his father was dead because he hadn't listened, his sisters cried themselves to sleep because he'd committed sins against Allah, but mostly he'd hurt Trowa, he'd hurt his most precious possession.
NO, THAT ISN'T RIGHT.
This new voice drifted through his mind like rice paper on the wind, light and airy, crisp and cool.
"Isn't.right?"
NO, YOU'RE WRONG.MAKE IT RIGHT.YOU.FIX IT.
"Fix it?"
.ISN'T MUCH.FIX.BETTER.
"Fix it."
.A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z NOW I KNOW MY A B C'S NEXT TIME WON'T YOU SING WITH ME.A B C D E F G H I J K L M N.
".Killashandra." He pulled back, lifted her head from his shoulder and looked deeply into her eyes. She wasn't looking at him, but through him, staring into a world he could not see. But it didn't matter, he now understood.
Standing he moved them into the children's room. Once there he silently dressed her in a simple outfit of cotton, before lifting her again into his arms. Moving to the bed, he pulled the covers more securely across Shingam's sleeping form, before exiting the bedroom, and eventually the apartment.
He left no note as he carried the once again oblivious Killashandra into the pilot's private dinning hall. Minutes ticked by as he prepared her breakfast and quietly fed her, not bothering to speak to her, knowing she could hear his thoughts if she so chose.
When she'd finished, he lifted her again and deposited the dishes in the collector before traveling back down the hallway; away from his home and Trowa's still sleeping body. He walked much like Killashandra would have, oblivious to the smiles and good mornings' he received from fellow workers and those in his own squad. He passed Lady Une and Marieminna without even recognizing their features, he had a mission now, a place to be, to work out a plan of action.
At the door, he bypassed the ringer and just knocked, loudly.
When it opened, it revealed Corinne Nammon's worried face.
"My God Quatre, what are these emotions I'm sensing from you?!"
"Corinne, I need to talk with you. May I come in?"
"By all that's holy, get your ass in here!" She stepped away from the door and allowed him to enter. He noticed as a passing thought, that she was dressed in her usual clinical attire, and had her notebook and recorder already placed beside her antique fainting couch. He raised an eyebrow. "I've been expecting you all morning. I started to sense your emotions last night, but when they faded, I thought you might just sleep them off, I should have known better. You seem calmer than you were earlier. How do you feel?"
"Hopeful."
"Hopeful?"
"Hopeful."
Without another word, he moved across the room and laid down upon the couch. Usually he preferred to sit in the chair that rested across from Corinne's desk; he didn't like the clique-ness of lying on a couch and telling a shrink all of his problems. But today was different, he wasn't really here to tell Corinne anything, only verbally think through what had happened, and formulate a plan. With no resistance from Killashandra, he lifted the girl to lay on his chest, and he noted that she seemed to fall into a light sleep almost before Corinne took her customary seat across from him.
She started the recorder.
"You know, there's an old theory. It says that if a patient comes into your office and lies on the couch instead of sits on it, it means they want to talk about sex. Care to prove the theory right or wrong?"
"A part of Trowa thinks that last night, I tried to rape him."
She was stunned into silence for a moment. He'd said it so clinically, as if it truly meant nothing; as if it hadn't happened to the man he loved. "Why would he think that, Quatre?"
"Because I never taught him the difference."
"What do you mean? Explain."
"Have you ever read the Qu'ran, the book written by the profit Mohammed?" Silently she shook her head. "It's not unlike the Hebrew Torra, it tells the people how to live their lives. Would you like me to tell you what it says?"
"If you need to tell me, then go ahead."
He nodded once, not bothering to look at her. She was there only as a means to think up things he hadn't thought of in his confused mind. He wasn't here to see her, and as such stared at the ceiling above him. "The Qu'ran teaches that it is a mans job to protect his wife. He must protect her from everything that could possibly hurt her. From the world around her, to the harshness of the desert, to the fellow men in the caravan; it is his ultimate responsibility to protect her against all of Allah's creations.
"And a wife knows this, understands that it is her place to be protected by her husband. To this end she submits to his will, does as she's told, is ruled by her husband. Your western ideas may rail against this, may think it's an archaic way of thinking, but listen closely and you'll begin to understand.
"Allah gave woman to man, gave wife to husband. She belongs to him, like property. This is not something for her to fight against, not if it's done the way Allah wished it to be. Because women and wife have a way of shaping their own destiny; they may be possessions of men and their husbands but their job in that partnership allows them infinite power."
He stole a glance and saw Corinne's face creased in worry and confusion. He smiled softly to her. "Don't worry, Corinne, I'm about to explain." She only nodded.
"A woman and wife's place is to care for her husband, to honor and love him above all other things. Do you understand what that means? Can you comprehend the dynamics of such a powerful position? A man controls the outside environment, he keeps the storms from ripping her apart, he keeps men from taking her without permission, he does everything in his power to keep nature from touching her with harmful intentions. But it is a woman and wife that has the great power. You see, it is she that holds her husband or lover when the world becomes too much for his battered soul, it is she that shelters him from the most terrifying thing to a man, his own mind, his own doubts.
"So a man owns a woman and protects her from the world, and a woman owns her own destiny because she tends to the mind that protects her. Does that make sense to you?" He looked at her then and knew immediately it did not.
"I can't say much about the Arabic notion of the Qu'ran now a days, but I've read history books where women were extremely oppressed Before Colony. Their husbands did it, beat them and oppressed them all in the name of the Qu'ran."
Quatre nodded. "The holy book was written by a man, a great prophet sent by Allah, but a man none the less; and it is interpreted by men just like him. Men, man as a species is fallible, prone to misinterpretation. Back then, men read the great book and thought to make their wives their slaves. But that's not what the book meant, not what Allah desired from his people.
"The Qu'ran says to honor and love thy wife and family; you can't do this by oppression and sporadic beatings that invoke terror. I'll try to explain. When there is trust between a woman and man, she will do as she is told because she loves her husband, honors him; and her husband will do the very best he can to take care of her for the same reasons. The world of the Qu'ran's writing was a harsh world and Allah knew this. Women did as their husbands instructed them, but this did not mean they had no say in their fates.
"A man must listen to all sides of the argument, he must listen to what his wife desires and decide if she will be hurt in any way by it. A man and woman, husband and wife can argue about something as long as they like, can list the pro's and con's for as long as needed, but ultimately it is the man's job to make a decision; and his wife-who loves, honors, and most of all trust him-will concede, knowing he made the best decision possible for her because he loves her. That is where the Before Colony men were wrong, they were not thinking of their wives, they thought only of themselves. They broke the sacred contract of marriage, and I often wonder why their women stayed with such dishonorable men. There must be trust for a relationship such as Allah's ideal to come into being."
"Alright, let me try to summarize and make sure I understand." He nodded his head and watched as she took a deep breath and began. "You believe that men and women, husbands and wives, must trust each other completely in the sacrament of marriage. Through this trust is borne an understanding that a man will possess his wife and a woman will agree to this possession because she knows that her husband loves her and would never do anything to harm her. In fact, he loves her so much, trusts her so much, that he's willing to shoulder the consequences of his choices, and have no blame fall onto his wife, for any decision because he is the one ultimately responsible for all decisions. Am I doing ok so far?" He nodded. "Alright, so the woman is owned, but in reality it's only to instill a sense of security into her. In actuality, she makes every decision equally with her husband except those things they cannot agree on, where she abdicates to him to make the decision for the both of them because she trust in him to do the right thing for them both.
"Normally I'd say this was an unequal relationship, but you said that it is a wife's job to protect her husband from himself. Do you mean from his past?"
He shook his head. "No. More like his worry that the decisions he makes are the wrong ones. That is the most important, his wife must have unwavering faith in him, otherwise the self doubt of his decisions for her will rip him apart until he can no long make any decisions. This is what is known as a broken man."
"Is that what you and Trowa are?"
"Yes and no. It's what we were, but under false pretenses and lies I created to protect him. Now we no longer have it and it's killing us both."
"This is about last night?"
"No. It's been going on a lot longer than that."
Corinne sighed. "Quatre, I'm having a hard time following what you're telling me. And if Trowa really does think that you raped him last night I need to be there with him when he wakes up. Furthermore, I still don't even understand what happened."
He nodded once, absently; he still wasn't here for her benefit.
"You were right, what you said. The type of relationship I just explained to you is not equal. It's a partnership, but not an equal one." He caught her eye. "Have you ever played a team sport?"
"Yes, basketball, in college."
"Good, then you understand the need for the team captain."
"He's for morale and to make fast decisions."
"In a way. The captain of a sports team has the trust of the team. They trust in him to do what's right for the team, no matter what. Would you say the team captain listens to the other players and their opinions most of the time?"
"Usually."
"Are the team members and the team captain equal in their power to make decisions? Does a guard have as much power over the team as the captain?"
"No."
"But the team trusts their captain to make the best decision for them. The captain listens to them and then makes a decision that the members follow."
"But this isn't a team, Quatre, this is a relationship that means more than winning a game, it means living a life, sharing a life with someone."
He sighed. She wasn't speaking for herself in Quatre's eyes now; she was speaking for Trowa. These would be Trowa's arguments, what he would be thinking as he listened to Quatre explain.
"The relationship I'm explaining is one of sixty, forty. A husband controls sixty percent while a wife controls forty. A husband makes a decision, has the decision making power, but cannot ignore the other forty percent, it's too great a percentage to ignore; a percentage that could destroy their bond if ignored."
"Quatre you speak of this like it's a boardroom decision and not someone's life."
"I know that's what it sounds like to you, but it's more than that. It's feelings and emotions, love and protection. You asked about Trowa. My Trowa is a strong and brave man. He's more brave and strong than most people give him credit for. Few people could have survived life without a name for nearly fifteen years; few people could have been the slave and sex toy to a band of cut throat mercenaries for hire; and few could have seen and done everything my Trowa did in the war and still control their sanity. But Trowa is strong and resourceful, proud and brave; he's strong in body, but not in spirit.
"I know what you're thinking, Corinne. That Trowa has a very strong spirit, that people have oppressed his spirit and that he's actually hiding it to protect himself; that is what most psychiatrists would say, but that's just not so.
"Trowa is strong when he has to be, but in reality he's very delicate, like fine crystal or porcelain. These things are strong for a time, but under constant wear, they crack and eventually shatter. Trowa is like this. When I was.sick, he took care of me, he took control and I let him; I let him because I couldn't anymore. Like a woman must take control if her husband falters, she will take care of him for a time. But she can't take care of him all the time; her place is to be protected, not protect. In an emergency she assumes that mantle, the one of her husband, but when the husband is better, he must take it back. And for us, Trowa and myself, that time has come. I'm stronger then I've ever been, more able then ever to be the man Trowa needs me to be. My lover's very strong, but he'd rather be taken care of, rather follow than lead. Part of that is his past, what those men did to him, and part of it is that I never taught him any other way.
"When Trowa and I got together he was like unformed emotional clay. I took him into my hands like an artist and formed him, molded him into the man you know. And Trowa allowed it, relished it, because it meant that I cared enough about him to try; loved him enough to show him with action instead of just words that mean nothing to him. Before I met him, if there were no actions, Trowa didn't understand. I taught him to feel with emotions he'd long given up on ever being able to feel again. I showed him that not everything is accomplished by physicality, that some things can simply be understood by word alone." He paused and smiled wistfully at the ceiling.
"You know, the first time I told him I loved him he looked at me like I was crazy. Words. They held no meaning for him. For him, if I wanted him to know that I loved him, I had to show him; kiss him, touch him, hold him until ungodly hours of the night. But to speak words of love meant nothing to him. I could feel it, you know, feel that he didn't understand what I meant when I told him I loved him. I took him into my arms and held him close to my body; I kissed his hair and his face, touched him everywhere I was allowed at the time, and then, eventually I turned his face to look at mine and said clearly, 'I love you.' Mix words and actions after that, and he could understand. Tears with the words, 'I'm sad,' let him know what I meant, but until then he didn't know. I taught him eventually what words meant by themselves, but it took a very, very long time; actually, it's not unlike what Duo had to go through with Heero."
"Are you trying to tell me that Trowa wants this type of relationship you're presenting? That Trowa wants to be controlled by you so that he can feel safe?" He nodded. "What makes you so sure?"
Quatre smiled slightly and ran his fingers through the tangle of Killashandra's hair. "It's the way it was before, Corinne. Before I got.sick, it's the way it was. I told Trowa what to do and he did it. I made the best decisions I could for him and he knew it, knew I'd take care of him. But I got sick, and Trowa found out that I wasn't as strong as we both thought I was. So he took charge, he stood tall for me when I couldn't. He took control where it had always been, but not in name." Corinne looked skeptical. "I've never tried to rule Trowa's life. The mercenaries controlled him, I never did. More times then not, if Trowa wanted it, I was more than happy to give it to him. But we both knew that I made the decisions and Trowa could take comfort in that, that I had what seemed like control. But now he's had control in name, where as before he only had it in theory. He's afraid to give it back to me, afraid that I'm still not strong enough to take it back. He's afraid I'll fall again, and that without the control he now thinks he has, I'll hurt myself and him as well. But I'm stronger now, I can take care of us both like I never have been able to before. Part of Trowa knows that; and that part of him gave into me last night. But he's still afraid, and that part of him won't let go for fear of losing everything."
There was a long silence as Quatre continued to run his fingers through Killashandra's hair, and Corinne stared at him with an unreadable expression. Her emotions were locked down tightly and Quatre could sense nothing from her at all. He sighed, knowing that she didn't understand what he was trying to say.
"Quatre," she paused to await his complete attention. "Why don't you tell me what happened last night." It was a command, not a request. He obliged.
He told her of the voices Killashandra had started in his head, explained that they were his own thoughts voicing what he knew had to be done but was afraid to do. He explained that Trowa desired for him to be strong and in control, but that he himself was too afraid of hurting Trowa's delicate mentality to fully press the issue. She stopped him there.
"Why do you think Trowa has a delicate mentality?"
He closed his eyes against the pain he knew this part of the conversation would bring him. But he knew he had to work it all out in his own mind before he could implement any course of action.
"Like all heterosexual relationships, there are many different.positions a couple can engage in for sex." He looked to her for a nod. "Early in our sexual relationship, I learned quickly to be very careful with Trowa. I knew by this time he'd been raped, and I understood that there were things we couldn't do together."
"Like what?"
He smiled slightly in embarrassment to bring up such intimate details of their lives. "When I was with Koeran, we hardly ever made love facing each other. He was much taller than I was, larger in all ways actually. If we'd tried to make love, missionary style, I would have been extremely uncomfortable, and perhaps even hurt. To this end Koeran nearly always took me from behind, that is, I would kneel on hands and knees and he'd enter me so that I could not see his face. I knew it was Koeran I was with so it didn't matter if I couldn't see his face. That isn't so with Trowa.
"Perhaps three months into our sexual relationship, I attempted something I should have known he wouldn't like. Trowa had often twisted out of my arms to face me when I'd positioned myself in ways that made him nervous, I never thought it was because he needed to see my face as we made love. On this particular night, I already had him on his stomach, so I lifted him from underneath with my arms and began kissing along is arched spine. I remember now that he tensed, but at the time I was too caught up in the moment to notice. It wasn't until I tried to.prepare him, that he bolted."
He shivered involuntarily at the memory. He'd often looked back on that night and wondered how he could have been so selfish as not to see the warning signs. Trowa had shaken in his arms, but he'd only thought it was excitement. He'd whimpered, but Quatre had only believed it was from pleasure. His mind told him he couldn't have known, that they hadn't been lovers long enough for him to have understood all of Trowa's signals; but still a part of him felt guilty.
"Before I knew what was happening, he was across the room and against the wall, terror in his eyes when he looked at me. Corinne, you can't possibly know what it's like to see terror seep from every pore of your lovers body, to know that you put that very terror there. I watched my proud lover wrap his arms around his naked body and slide down the wall into a body curl. I was too stunned to move as he began to rock himself slowly, whispering softly what I later found out to be words like, 'no' and 'please not again.' He thought I was them, and he was trapped in his own mind by his memories.
"It took me half the night to calm him down enough that I could even approach him; he just keep yelling and crying if I moved towards him. I'd never seen Trowa yell before that night, and I'd only seen him cry a few times before, and never because of me."
"It wasn't you, Quatre, it was his past."
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, I did it, I hurt him. He suffered because of me and that was all I needed to know."
He lifted a hand as she moved to protest. "Another time, Corinne. Let me finish." She wearily nodded her acceptance and he continued.
"It took me half the night just to be able to kneel in front of him, the rest of the night I spent coaxing him to let me touch him again. He kept flinching away from me, begging me not to hurt him. I don't know how many times his pain and fear overwhelmed me to the point I began to hate myself, but suffice it to say it was more than I ever care to remember. By early morning he'd crumpled into my arms, and was just lying there, not moving and trying not to be assuming, trying his hardest to make himself as small as possible. But his mind was calmer, if not still frightened beyond belief, and so I began the task of planting suggestions for him to sleep-"
"You were able to plant suggestions?" Corinne's eyes were round in disbelief and wonder. He chuckled a little at her astonishment.
"You've only seen me at my worst, Corinne. I can do quite a few amazing things." He winked at her and she rolled her eyes appropriately, but behind her eyes, he saw she was still awed by his admission.
"After I had him asleep, I started working on the problem. Dusting is what I think Trowa said you called it; back then I called it saving his soul. I shifted his thoughts around one another, buried ones I couldn't deal with then, and moved the rest as best I could. In the end, when I finally woke him up, he didn't remember anything that happened that night, and I told him he'd had a fever and fainted."
"You didn't tell him what happened?"
He had the decency to look appalled by her suggestion. "Trowa didn't ask for me to terrify him that night, he didn't ask to be reminded about what happened in his past."
"Yes, but to keep things from him like that-"
"I've always done everything to protect Trowa, to take care of him. Allowing him to remember what had happened would have shamed him, he would have pushed me away because he would have thought he'd hurt my feelings, when in reality, I was the one that had hurt him. I would never allow him to feel guilty about my own mistakes. You see, that's the difference. I love Trowa enough to protect him from everything, even then I was protecting him from me and himself. It didn't matter what it did to me as long as he was safe, taken care of; that single drive has never changed, Corinne. I've done everything to protect him, and I always will; I love him, it's a simple as that."
"I think I'm beginning to understand a little better, especially how you view the Qu'ran's teachings."
He nodded.
"Later, in a way that seemed natural, I got Trowa to admit that the mercenaries always raped him from behind. I learned quickly never to be with him like that. I couldn't bear to terrify him like that. But don't you see, when I did that I made an even bigger and more long term mistake."
"I don't understand."
He sighed. "By allowing Trowa to continue to be afraid, even while his mind knew I was the only one in the room, to still be afraid when it could be no other body that touched him but my own, condemned him to be afraid and on guard always with me. He didn't want to be, and he doesn't recognize it that way, but it's true. I should have found a way to reassure him while still taking him in such a way as he couldn't see me, it would only take once, Corinne. One time and Trowa would understand that I was in charge, and that since I hadn't hurt him, he could place all his still walfing trust in me. And I tried, so many times I tried to finish what needed to be completed. But always he'd run from me, and his terror would be like my own and I couldn't break through it to save us both. So I'd spend countless nights soothing him, only to make him forget so he felt no guilt in the morning. Last night wasn't any different except it was brought on by the voices Killashandra started, that and I didn't make him forget."
"So last night, you tried to take him in such a way that he couldn't see you?"
He shook his head. "Not exactly, that was my intention but we didn't get that far." He watched her confusion mount. "When Trowa and I make love that's the only thing we do. You can't define it as anything else. We express all of our emotions though a physical act because for Trowa, that is still the easiest way for him to communicate, action. We never have what most couples would view as sex, it's never for the shear need for release, each and every time it's a testament to our love for one another. Last night I tried to make it sex, and he couldn't stand that."
She held up a hand to stop him. "I have a question and I want you to answer it honestly." He nodded hesitantly. "Are you satisfied with your sexual relationship with Trowa?"
He paused, not knowing how to answer or even what the answer was exactly. Minutes passed before he turned to her and spoke with hesitation and much thought. "I treasure any moment I'm allowed to be with Trowa. He guards his heart so well that it's nearly impossible for anyone to know him without his permission. I was lucky he loved me back then or we never would have been together.
"When I was with Koeran.things were different for me. I didn't lead in my relationship with him. I didn't know what I was doing any more than Trowa did. But Koeran would play with me." He paused to think. "Once, I went into my tent to take a nap, and Koeran jumped me from behind the closing flap. I remember being startled, but then that quick flash of fear made it more exciting. He was always doing things like that.I remember he once tackled me from behind when I was being a brat about something. He threw me to the sleeping mats and had my clothes off before I could blink. I guess you could say he was slightly rough with me, but he never hurt me, and I can honestly say I enjoyed it." He smiled shyly at her for a moment. "I've always liked a little pain with my pleasure."
He shifted then, sitting up a little straighter as he continued. "It's a little frustrating not to be able to do those things with Trowa. He always has too see me before we begin anything. There are no surprises to our sexual relationship. It's the same nearly every time. I'm not complaining; like I said, I'll be with Trowa any way I can. But if your asking if I would change it if I could.probably. I like things a little rougher than Trowa allows for, but I'm not going to leave him because of it."
"No, I'm not implying that you would. You know there are classes, therapies that you both can attend that can help; books you could read together." She trailed off as Quatre shook his head.
"I've never told Trowa any of the things I've just told you. As far as he knows everything is perfect. And really it is; I have everything I need. Maybe not everything I want, but with a partner you must always make compromises. It's what I give to Trowa because I love him, because I want to protect him from his past pain. Like I am his husband and he is my wife, I'll protect him from everything Allah created, even myself."
Corinne sighed. "Any kind of sexual differences can be hard on a couple. Everyone's appetites are different. Some people are into pain and some are not; others like the total lack of control while others crave it and cannot perform without it. What you and Trowa are experiencing is just differences in views. I bet if you told Trowa how you felt he'd be more inclined to try new things. If as you said, he thinks nothing's wrong, why should he try to change something. Again, it's back to your basic problem, Quatre: you and Trowa don't communicate, especially you. You try to take care of him so much, protect him from everything, that you don't allow him to see what's really going on. I know you didn't come here for this, but I suggest you speak with him about it anyway; at the very least, I don't think it will hurt as much as you think it will."
She paused to let her words sink in, and for his part, Quatre thought. He listed the mental pro's and con's of allowing things to continue. Finally, he decided that if he told Trowa, and Trowa gained some kind of expectation, then maybe his taking back control wouldn't seem so foreign to Trowa; than maybe Trowa wouldn't fight so much if he knew what to expect.
Eventually he nodded. "I'll consider it some more. I need to think about it."
"Of course."
He felt Killashandra take a deep breath before sitting up to look at him. He'd thought her asleep, but he noticed quickly that she'd simply been listening with her eyes closed. He tickled her under her chin and was rewarded when she focused on his face. She yawned quietly before looking quickly at Corinne and then shifting to a sitting position across his stomach.
He laughed softly at her. "You understand everything we've been talking about, don't you Killa? Are you just absorbing information to process later, or are you thinking all the time, figuring out what your next move will be? I bet that's it, you're thinking even now what you're going to do if I do or say something else aren't you." He ran his hand through her hair and heard Corinne gasp as Killa leaned into the touch, closing her eyes and savoring the contact. "That's my girl. But you're too much like me, too much like me."
Corinne cleared her throat. "You understand that she's not yours, don't you, Quatre? That she's not really your daughter."
He turned to regard her before looking back at Killa who's movements couldn't be seen, but his hand felt, felt her nuzzling him for more contact.
"Perhaps. But for how long?" He smiled at the little girl whose eyes focused again on his face.
"Quatre-"
A loud beep was heard over the base-wide intercom system. Quatre recognized the voice immediately.
"Quatre?"
Taking a deep breath and steeling himself for what was to come, Quatre sat up; Killashandra sliding off his stomach to rest in his lap. He held her so her cheek was pressed against his sternum.
"I'm here, Trowa. I'm with Corinne."
A pause, then, "Are you in a session?"
"Just finishing one."
Another pause. "I'd-I'd like to see you. Can you cut this session short?"
He glanced at Corinne quickly. "I'll be there in a moment, Trowa."
He could almost hear the nod his partner gave. "Barton, out."
Turning he gave Corinne a shallow smile before lifting Killa into his arms and standing. "Thank you for listening to me."
"That's my job." Quatre was at the door before she spoke again. "Quatre?" He turned. "What are you going to do if you were right?"
Smiling wearily he spoke quietly, "I'll do what I've always done, make him forget."
And with that, he left the room, Killashandra tightly held in his grasp.