* * *
"Is he alright?"
Corinne sighed as she stretched her arm along the back of the couch. "He's correct. Right now he's confused, maybe even a little angry; but he's just not quiet sure right now. It's hard for any abused child to come face to face with their abusers; especially if that abuser is a parent. Quatre's case is more complicated in the fact that his father's abuse was highly focused; most parents abuse their children on general reasons, not Mr. Winner. He abused Quatre only as it pertained to his homosexuality, no other reason, not disobedience, or anything else. That makes it all the more confusing because Quatre has so many good memories of times that didn't involve his sexual preferences. It's easy for him to say he hates his father, easy to say the words, but not necessarily to feel them. He can't rationalize his father as a bad man; wrong and hurtful sometimes, yes, but overall, he just can't do it."
"Yeah but something tells me that if that bastard had laid one finger on any of Quatre's sisters, Quatre would have been the one to kill him." Duo snuggled Shingam more tightly against him.
Corinne nodded. "Quatre has the distinct problem of putting others before himself, as we all know. I think you're right; if Mr. Winner had hurt his daughters like he hurt Quatre, Quatre would not have stood for it. But the fact of the matter is he didn't, and that leaves Quatre with the unfortunate problem of thinking that he must have done something to cause the abuse."
"For his sake, I'm glad he's already dead." The room fell deathly silent at Trowa's calm statement. There was no room for argument and all understood, had Mr. Winner still breathed, Trowa would have been the one to silence him. No one hurt his Quatre.
Lady Une cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should continue the vids. Quatre did give us the ok, and I believe this line of questioning is better left to when Quatre can comment on his own behalf."
The room reluctantly nodded, and Sally moved to the case and removed some of the vids. Something odd caught her attention as she lifted a stack out.
"There's a pocket in here.one of the vids fell into it. That's strange, this one isn't marked."
Duo spoke from his seat. "It's the mystery vid. Plug it in and we'll take a look." He smiled to lighten the mood. "I wonder if we'll get baby Quatre, toddler Quatre, or just the brat Quatre?"
"Killa want's to see baby Quatre." Shingam smiled, shifting to get comfortable in Duo's lap.
"Ok, it's in." Sally moved back to her place, and Wufei pulled her in close, her head resting on his shoulder, his hands rubbing lightly at her hip and tummy.
Knowing it was best to push the uncomfortable-ness aside, Trowa looked down at Heero and gave him a nod.
The Japanese boy lifted the remote and then suddenly stopped, staring at it in shock. Wufei noticed.
"What is it, Yuy?"
Heero glanced at him before looking back at the remote. He turned to Duo. "When you shifted on the other disk, what code did it display?"
Duo looked confused before answer. "It said 'Orla's Wedding' and then listed the takes; just like all vids do. Why?"
"You're sure?"
"Yeah, why, what's up?"
"Heero, what's wrong?" Trowa's voice carried over and Heero looked up to him with a perplexed expression.
"The remote is asking for a prompt. This vid's password coded."
Trowa looked at him in shock. Home vids weren't usually password coded. What would be the point? They're not taken out enough to warrant a code. So why-
"May I see it, Heero?" Shingam's small hands reached from Duo's lap to take the hand held remote control. The little boy looked at it for a moment before surprising them all. "It's a standard pass code, probably something familiar to the user. There are only thirty-three buttons on the remote, but the prompt is only asking for a sequence of five clicks. There are no letters, only numbers on this display so that rules out words unless they're coordinated to the letters, which is most likely. It's probably a looping sequence, like one is 'a' two is 'b' three is 'c' and so on, looping at 'k' to be one again pressed twice instead of once. Since it's only prompting for five letters, and it's obvious that this package was sent to Quatre, the code is probably his name, something the receiver would easily get and remember." He handed the remote back to a stunned Heero. "Try it, try Quatre's name; I bet it works."
Stunned into silence, the room watched as Heero did as instructed, working the ten numbers into a code for "Quatre." At the end, he looked up to catch Trowa's eye, asking for permission to enter the prompt.
What was going on? Trowa had no idea. Wanting to get to the bottom of this before Quatre returned, he nodded again for Heero to enter the prompt.
Sudden terror filled screams filled the room, and they watched in horror as the image of Quatre as a little boy, no more than eight, was held struggling atop a table; his body naked, with a nearly naked man over the top of him; holding him down by obviously bruised wrists. Little Quatre was screaming, begging for the older man in his late thirties to let him go.
The dialogue that came forward brought a strangled sob from Corinne's lips as her hand moved to cover her mouth in shock.
The unknown man was leaning over the small blonde boy, his face mere inches from Quatre's. Every time Quatre turned his face, the man above him followed, never breaking eye contact with the boy.
"Do you like this, Quatre? Do you?" Below him, the boy struggled, calling out over and over again for the man to stop. "You're a bad boy, Quatre! A bad boy!"
Swinging his head from side to side Quatre cried out. "I'm not a bad boy! I'm not bad!"
"Yes you are! Yes you are a bad boy, Quatre! And this is what will happen to you! This is what will happen!" Rough hands forced Quatre's together over his head. And then Trowa saw his childhood happen all over again.
A large rough hand slapped Quatre before groping the child's body; nothing was sacred. The man's large hand disappeared under Quatre's back only to lift the child's hips off the table. Hands pushed Quatre's knees to his chest, exposing his naked bottom.
"This is what happens to disgraceful and disgusting bad boys like you, Quatre! Terrible men will hurt you! Shove their penis' into you and make you scream, make you bleed! You won't be able to sit down for weeks! This is what happens to bad boys! You're a bad boy, Quatre! A bad boy! Allah hate's bad boy's! And when those men force their way inside you, ripping you apart, their release will be fast and will burn you, like acid and scorpions! It'll eat the insides of you! It'll eat you from the inside out! Because that is what Allah does to bad boy's, bad boys that look at other boys! You're a bad boy, Quatre, and Allah will punish you and your sisters will hate you, and no one will love you!"
Screaming for all his small and tortured body was worth, Quatre struggled in the man's grasp. "I'M NOT A BAD BOY!!! I'M NOT A BAD BOY!!! I'M NOT A BAD BOY!!!" Over and over, his words echoed; over and over it did no good.
"Is this what you want, Quatre? Boy's that look at other boys, this is what happens to them! Boy's that have sex with other boys, bad boy's like you, they get other boy's dirty parts shoved into their butt's! Do you want that, Quatre? Do you?! Do you want to be a bad boy?"
They all watched it happen, watched, Quatre's face crumple and his head fall to the side. His eyes were lifeless, but they looked towards the left of the camera. When he spoke, it was with the harshest sobs and greatest pleading any of them had ever heard. Hands released from their captivity, the small boy reached out from his reclined position to the figure to the left of the camera.
"Father.help me.please help me. I'm not a bad boy.Father.please.help me Father."
The muffled response sounded just before the vid cut out to black.
"I am helping you, my son."
The two seconds of silence that followed were shattered by Corinne.
"I'll kill that bastard, I swear by the gods I will!"
Trowa sat in stunned silence as the others shouted their agreements. What had just happened? What had he just seen? Quatre, his Quatre, brutalized by some man and his own father. Quatre. He'd never read anything in the journals that alluded to something like this, and yet the boy in the vid had to have been above the age when Quatre had begun to keep his journals. Oh God, Quatre!
"Trowa!"
He turned at his name, though he heard it only through the fog, Corinne was shaking angrily on the other side of the couch, tears traced down her face. He felt numb.
"Trowa, has Quatre ever told you about what you just saw? Has he ever mentioned it?" Her voice was desperate, colored with rage and unchecked fear.
Dumbly, he shook his head.
She swore violently. Standing she began to pace the room.
Quatre hadn't ever said anything about this. He'd told him that his father had beaten him, yes, verbally abused him, certainly, but this, molested him, Quatre hadn't said anything, he would have remembered. But why? Why hadn't Quatre told him? Why keep this a secret and yet tell him everything else? Why?
"Trowa." He looked up to find Corinne on her knees before him. "Trowa, I can sense what you're thinking. I don't think Quatre didn't tell you on purpose, in fact I'm positive of it."
Trowa cut her off. "I would have remembered, I would never have forgotten-"
"No Trowa, that isn't what I mean." She paused, and Trowa could tell it was to collect herself so she could remain in control of her rage. "What you just saw was a very old form of therapy." She scoffed at the word 'therapy.' "It's called Terror Therapy, and it was outlawed over two hundred years ago. The premise behind the therapy is to instill so much terror into an individual about something, that they won't do it, or say it, or whatever!" Throwing her hands up, Corinne resumed her pacing.
"They outlawed it because they found it did more damage than good to the patients. Two hundred years ago, they found that using the therapy was one of the leading causes of multiple personality disorder. All this time they'd been trying to cure people, and all they were doing was making them worse.
"Most people-especially young patients-don't ever remember even going through the therapy. It's such a traumatic experience, they block it from their minds. Usually some word or phrase from the session kicks out a terror response, stopping the patient from doing or saying, or whatever they weren't supposed to do.
"God, but with Quatre, with an empath, it must have been.it must have." She drifted off for a moment, shuddering at the thought of the pain Quatre must have been through. She took a deep breath and continued. "Empaths are highly susceptible to Terror Therapy. Their natural tendency to internalize all emotions makes them absorb the fear and anger coming from the psychiatrists. They soak it up and store it, holding those emotions and the answering terror until released at some key word or action."
She growled in rage. "You probably didn't notice, but that man standing over Quatre was one of the most famous psychiatrists in the universe about ten years ago. For all his wonderful ideas he held the worst of all, that Terror Therapy was still a viable treatment, eventually he was laughed out of the public eye, but it seems, not before he got to Quatre." She said the last part as she sagged against the wall. "Quatre most likely doesn't remember any of it. Obviously the trigger didn't work, because it was designed to keep Quatre away from men, and since he's sleeping with Trowa, and Koeran before that, something went wrong." Corinne closed her eyes, praying silently for strength.
Trowa's voice was quiet as he spoke. "What do you mean, 'wrong'?"
Corinne sighed. "The reason Terror Therapy doesn't work on empaths is because it takes a lot of negative emotions and a lot of just plain terror before it works. We're not talking month's or years, this isn't about time, but strength of emotion. The man dealing with Quatre was an empath, he was more likely than not using his abilities to pump Quatre full of pain and fear to help fuel the terror experience. If everything had worked out alright, Quatre would have been too subconsciously overwhelmed to have perused any kind of relationship with a man. Further more, if he had, the backlash from the therapy would have been like opening a flood gate, like him suddenly remembering all the terror all at once. It would have caused his mind to splinter, with all the years behind it that he's obviously had between his age there-which was about eight-and his sexual peek, and now, we'd be talking about an empathic storm on a caliber I've never experienced. Quatre is the strongest empath I've ever met, if the trigger were ever to be released.my god he'd kill himself and every sensitive in a hundred, maybe two hundred mile radius." She shook her head, dropping it too her chest at the enormity of it all.
Ever practical, Lady Une spoke. "This trigger word or action is the only thing keeping Quatre from an empathic storm like you speak of?" Corinne nodded. "Then we need to find out what that trigger is, before he hurts himself or others."
As a side thought, Trowa recalled that Marieminna was a sensitive, and this very minute with Quatre.
But Corinne was shaking her head. "It could be anything, anything at all! I'll have to take him under, and I probably won't even be able to do it myself. I'll have to call in three or four other empaths to help me, and Quatre's so guarded, we may very well have to mind rape him before we can even get into his thoughts. That fact could very well cause the storm we're worried about. I just don't know!" Brutally she ran her hands though her tangled hair.
From the floor, a quiet voice floated. "Killa does."
As a group they turned to look at the small blond girl resting in the arms of one of the worlds most deadly assassins, and then towards Shingam, who might some day usurp that title.
Trowa broke the silence. "What does Killa know, Shingam?"
"The word you want to know. It's obvious, even I figured it out."
Now wasn't the time for amazement. "What is it, Shingam?" His voice shook as he asked, afraid to know the answer.
Shingam shrugged his shoulders. "Bad boy. Quatre said it the whole time. Didn't you hear him?"
Of course they had. They'd watched the child Quatre scream and cry it for almost two minutes, a constant litany until the end.
Suddenly Corinne nodded. "Yes! Yes that's probably right!! Quatre didn't associate anything that was happening as an action he was suppose to avoid, more like he was getting punished, and not because he was looking at another male, but because he was-"
"A bad boy." Trowa finished for her. She nodded.
Lady asked the next needed question. "Can you help him, Corinne?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes. I'll need to explain to Quatre what happened without him seeing the footage. My guess is that in a proper house hold like the one Quatre grew up in, phrases that consisted of, 'bad boy' only, were never heard, that's probably the only reason half the empaths in the world are still breathing. He can't hear those two words together, if he does.let's just say he can't. I'll have to work through the emotions with him, and it'll take some time, but I think so. I think so."
Lady nodded solemnly. "Good. See that it's one of your first priorities. We can't allow-"
Suddenly the vid switched on again. Later they'd realize the vid disk was on a timer, now they watched in absolute silence as one more terror from Quatre's past was revealed in living color.
It was a perfect picture, one of twenty-one year old Cijen, a buster rifle against her shoulder, pointed towards two security guards bearing the WEI emblem on their uniforms.
"In the absence of my Father, the bastard, the oldest daughter in the manor holds power, seeing as how I'm older than Seeafa by three years, I suggest you open this door right now, do you understand?" There was deadly calm in her demeanor, but her voice shook with rage and fear.
The guard must have heard it. "Mistress Cijen, on orders of your father no one is permitted to see Master Quatre."
Sure hands released the safety on the rifle and Cijen moved it so it was pointing right between the guard's eyes. "Then consider yourselves fired and no longer held accountable for what my father's wishes are. Move away from the door, or I swear by Allah I'll kick you're lifeless bodies out of the way."
From behind the camera a voice spoke softly and with much fear. "Cijen, maybe-"
"Shut up, Seeafa. Now you," she pointed towards the guard. "Move." With a final nod the guards stepped away.
The guard that had not previously spoken did. "Mistress, your brother is.take care of him." The man handed the proud woman the door's key and then dragged his fellow guard away.
Swiftly, Cijen turned towards the door, hurrying to unlock it. Her words froze Trowa's heart.
"Hold on, Quatre! Hold on, Little Brother! I'm here, Little Brother, I'm here!" The key in the door, the lock released and Cijen Winner, followed by her younger sister and the camera, entered the dark room.
Cijen's voice. "Quatre? Quatre where are you? Can you hear me? Quatre?!" She was starting to panic, it was easy to hear the tremor in her voice as she cried out for her favorite sibling. "Quatre, answer me!"
But no sound came. They watched as Cijen tried in vain to light the room by command before turning towards the camera, the light from the hallway barely illuminating her face. "Seeafa, use the light on the camera."
An agreement and then the dark room was flooded with artificial light.
Trowa heard himself gasp along with the other occupants in the apartment, and the young women of over eight years ago.
"QUATRE!!!" For a moment all they saw was Cijen's back as she raced across the screen to kneel beside something on the floor. It took them a second to recognize the thing was actually a body, Quatre's twelve year old, broken and bleeding body.
He felt his heart stop in his chest. He'd read Quatre's journals, he knew what was happening, and even what would happen. He'd known that it was Cijen and Seeafa that had rescued Quatre from that horrible room, and worse the hands of his father. But to see it. To see his lover as a child, arms and legs broken, face unrecognizable from the bruises and blood; he'd never felt pain like this before, never, not even when he'd been the one beaten.
And Cijen. He watched her cradle the broken body of her beloved brother to her chest, calling out his name and begging him to hold on. There was so much love and fear in those eyes, such a fierce protectiveness as she turned to the camera and screamed at Seeafa to call Iria. Iria the doctor; the prodigal sister. Quatre had once confessed that he believed her to have been his father's favorite.
But Cijen. The woman that had made his partners life a living hell for the past year. The one betrayal that had begun this whole mess, and brought his lover to his knees in suffering. She knelt there, tearing off her jacket to lay it over Quatre's broken body, and leaning over him, begging with her tear soaked voice for him to stay with her, that she was there, that he was safe. Such love and fierce protectiveness, like a lioness caring for her cub. And suddenly Trowa understood.
He saw the broken body of Quatre, and realized immediately why Cijen had done and said all that she had all those months ago. The little blonde was so delicate, so selfless, craving love and comfort but asking for nothing. Cijen had acted much like Catherine had when he'd lost his memory; striking out at the person who had tried to take him from her. With Catherine, Quatre had been that person; with Cijen it had been him. And hadn't Catherine told him Quatre wasn't worthy of him, weren't those the same words Sekurra had said Cijen had cried as she's told her nieces and nephews the sins of herself and fellow sisters? Yes. Cijen had hurt Quatre, tried to come between himself and his partner, but as was not before, it was obvious to Trowa, she'd done it out of overpowering love for her little brother.
Quatre.
"Cijen." The voice of Seeafa was small and weak, the camera caught her lowered head and bent posture. "Iria-Iria says-says she won't come."
There was silence for a moment as even Cijen's tears stopped. "What do you mean she won't come?"
Seeafa swallowed. "She-she says she won't stand against Father. Maybe- maybe she's right, Cijen?" The last part was said looking away from the bloodied body of her younger brother.
If Trowa had doubted Cijen's love for Quatre before, he saw all he needed to know then.
Soft hands continued to run over Quatre's matted hair, her body was gentle, loving towards the precious bundle of life she held in her hands. Her eyes however, as she turned them towards Seeafa and the camera, were filled with as much hate as a human could possibly possess without going mad.
"Then go, Seeafa, go to your big sister and cry about how Cijen made you do it, made you go against Father. You go knowing your brother will think that you helped him as best you could, because that is what I will tell him. Because I'll die before he ever learns that he was betrayed by his own sisters, I'll die before he knows of your cowardliness; because that would kill him more than Father's fists ever could. But you go Seeafa, you leave this place and you tell Iria, that one day Quatre will be Lord over us all, and when that time comes, you, and the rest of your cowardly sisters, will feel his pain, know his suffering. Allah will make it so; an eye for an eye."
Leaning over, Cijen placed a kiss on Quatre's forehead as Seeafa ran out of the room. The young woman whispered reassuringly to Quatre, telling him over and over, to hold on, she wasn't going to let anything happen to him.
"Don't worry, Little Brother. I'm here now, and everything is going to be fine. No one will ever hurt you again, I swear it, by Allah and all the prophets, he will never touch you again. Stay with me, Little Quatre. Stay with your most beloved sister, stay with me, Little Brother. I'll take care of you, I'll always take care of you. My little Quatre, my little brother. I'll make it stop, I promise I'll make it stop."
From her back pocket she withdrew a phone, and a broken conversation was held between herself and some doctor that obviously knew of Quatre's frequent beatings at his father's hand. The camera then cut out, the last image of Cijen's weeping form, leaning over her broken brother, kissing his forehead and begging him to stay with her.
There weren't words or time before the next picture on the disk began. Cijen's hateful face stared darkly at the camera. This one, an obviously planned speech. Her threat answered so many questions.
"That was the last time, Father. I'm sending this to you so you can witness one last time exactly what you've done to your son. Did you see his face?! Did you?! His face may never look the same, never! My brother loves with a heart you couldn't possibly understand! He loves with his whole self, and even as he lay broken and dying in my arms he asked me not to damn you, that you'd only been trying to help him. But this ends now, Father!
"I've made copies of this vid, and given them to trust worthy friends; people not affected by the number of credits you flash in front of their eyes, because I've flashed more! If you ever, and I mean ever, lay another hand on Quatre, hurt him in anyway, I'll send the unedited version of this disk to every major news channel on both the colonies and Earth. The colonies may not be able to communicate, but they all do business with the great Raberba Winner. How do you think the masses will feel knowing the great pacifist that stood beside Heero Yuy, is nothing but a child abuser?! Do you think you're money will protect you? Think again!
"You'll leave Quatre alone from this day forward, or I swear by Allah I'll destroy you! Everything you've built, everything you've created, I'll bring it all crashing down around you like the castle of cards that it is! Lay a finger on him, and I'll know, don't think that I won't. You may have sent me away so you could better 'manage' Quatre, but I know what you do. You're not the only one with money, Daddy; and you're not the only one with spies!
"The time will come soon when I'll send for Quatre. You're going to let him go; you're going to let him come to me. I'll have people meet Quatre, people that will take care of him, treat him like a human being; people that will accept him as the loving boy that he is, nothing more and nothing less. Don't you even dare consider trying to stop him from coming when I send for him! If you even try, I'll make you regret it for the rest of you sick, pathetic life!
"So sit in your castle in the sky, Father. You sit up there and remember all that you've done, all the sins you committed against your own son. Sit there and shake in fear of your once thought weak son. Because one day Quatre will return, and when he does, when he's strong enough, he'll take all that is yours and make it his own; and on your death bed, he'll shed no tears, but laugh in joy that Allah is merciful and great. He'll laugh, not cry, knowing that you will suffer for all eternity in the bowels of Hell for the sins you've committed against your only son.
"You've damned yourself to Hell, and I wish I could be there when Quatreen Winner's spirit travels to torture the soul of the man she died to make happy.
"Damn you, Father! And know this, you've lost both a son and a daughter this day; the daughter you can replace, but the son will strike you dead before giving you the chance; I'll see to that personally. All my precious love, Father. Cijen Winner, out!"
It was because of her! Cijen had blackmailed her father into allow Quatre to leave L-4. She'd arranged for him to be ambushed by the Maguanacs, and admitted into their teachings. Her threats were the reason Quatre's father never made any real effort to bring Quatre home all those years ago. And most importantly, it was her promise of destruction that had prevented Quatre from being further brutalized. All these things. Cijen had silently been protecting her little brother for years; keeping him safe and far from those that would hurt him. God, she may have hurt his lover beyond all repair, but he found himself respecting her for it, for doing everything she possibly could to protect her brother, even risking losing him forever, just to keep him safe.
"Trowa?" He looked down to see Duo holding the remote; it had only been ten minutes since Quatre had left. "The selector says there's one more scene that was added three years later, this one isn't password protected. Should we open it?"
Looking towards the vid screen, he nodded.
Duo pushed play.
"Why not!"
"I already told you, it's too dangerous. You don't know the kind of people that will be there."
"It's not as if I'm going by myself, you'll be there with me, how bad could that be?"
"Quatre, I said no."
The camera must have been bumped and activated because it sat at an odd angle. Duo corrected for the skewed picture by use of the remote.
Quatre, this time only slightly younger than the first time he'd ever seen him, Trowa guessed he was about fifteen, stood in loose Arabic pants and a light blue, opened vest. Standing in front of him was a gorgeous and imposing figure. Nearly two heads taller than Quatre, the young man appeared to be a few years older as well. He was thin, long arms and legs, with a tangle of long reddish brown hair held by a leather tie in an intricate design. The young man was dressed much like Quatre and his handsome face held a stern expression as he spoke to an upset Quatre.
"Koeran, it's just a party. I thought you'd want to go with me. You're always saying you want us to go places together."
So this was Koeran. The boy that had had Quatre first. Trowa held the jealousy that immediately filtered through him in check. He studied the young man instead, realizing that he wasn't that much younger than they were now.
Blue eyes looked back from dark Arabian skin, and toned muscles accentuated his thin body. His face was hard now, but Trowa could easily see the gentleness inherent there. His presence was massive, but he didn't seem to dominate the space around him, only fill it, not asking for attention like some did. Proud, Trowa noticed that right away, this boy was proud of who he was, and obviously by the way he was looking at Quatre, proud of the blonde boy before him as well.
They stood together with an easy grace. They may have been having an argument, but there was no fear there. They weren't angry with each other, not really, they were simply talking things out, settling something that the camera had walked right in the middle of.
"I do want us to go places together, you know I do." Trowa noted that Koeran's voice, while soft, also required someone to listen when he spoke. "I know it's hard for you to be seen with me sometimes, but you're not going to Rattna's party."
Then Trowa remembered. Rashid had told him almost exactly what Koeran had just said. Quatre had been so ashamed of his new feelings for Koeran that he'd shied away from public affection. Quatre had later confessed that he'd been constantly afraid that his father would somehow learn of his relationship with the exotic Arabian and call Quatre back, or worse, make something happen to Quatre's first love.
"Koeran, please, I'll stay with you the whole time. I promise I won't wonder off, I swear it."
"It's not you wondering off that I'm worried about. Quatre, Rattna throws the wildest parties in the camp, anything could happen at one of them. In case you haven't noticed, there isn't a man in this camp that wouldn't love a chance to spend one night with you."
Quatre stubbornly crossed his arms. "So are you jealous or just nervous I'll find someone else?"
Trowa was startled by the sound of growling moments before he realized it was coming from Koeran. "Neither! You're mine, and I trust you. But you are not going to that party-"
"But Koeran-"
"Enough! It's final!"
In shock, they watched as Quatre's body lost all of its fight. There was a sadness and a touch of anger to his posture, but for the most part it was a simple expression of resignation, as if he'd conceded.
"Fine."
It was like watching himself and Quatre now. Koeran had used such a commanding tone for his final line, and Quatre had bent, submitted, so easily.
But like a mask lifting, regret showed all across Koeran's face and body. Slowly he stepped towards Quatre and reached for him.
Half-heartedly, Quatre shrugged away from his hands.
"Don't."
"Quatre, I wish I could let you go to that party. I wish I could. But it isn't safe for you there. I could only watch out for you if you stood right by my side the entire night, and I don't want you to go if you can't have fun."
"I know."
But Koeran wasn't convinced. Trowa watched with terribly mixed emotions as Koeran pulled Quatre into his chest and stroked his hair, lifting the blonde's chin to meet his eye.
"I hate not giving you what you want."
Quatre sighed, kissing Koeran's palm and nuzzling his chest with his cheek.
"I know, I'm just disappointed."
"I'll make it up to you. We'll stay in. I'll cook you a fancy dinner, you can show me those new strings on that blasted instrument, and then I'll teach you about the thrust engines you've been after me about. How's that sound?"
Quatre smiled. "It sounds nice, but you don't have to make anything up to me. I know if you thought it was safe you'd let me go. I trust you."
The taller boy kissed the top of Quatre's head. "I'm just sorry you're disappointed. It's just safer for you-"
"I can take care of myself, you know."
Koeran pulled him tight. "I know. But you don't have too right now. That's why we're together, so I can take care of you. As long as we're together, you're my responsibility, and I won't allow you into a situation I can't completely protect you in."
Quatre sighed but snuggled closer. "I know, and I do understand. I'll tell you what, I'll tune the violin while you cook dinner."
"You're not too mad at me are you, Little One?"
Little One? Hadn't that always been his nickname for Quatre?
But Quatre simply smiled and tried to look exasperated. "For the love of Allah! I'm not mad. We'll stay in for a nice quiet evening that'll end with me screaming your name anyway, so it doesn't really matter." The grin on Quatre's face was leering.
"You're convinced of that are you? What if I said no sex for you for a whole week."
Quatre pouted, and Trowa couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips. Even if he was jealous, he had to be thankful to this tall boy beside Quatre; Koeran could very well have been the one that kept Quatre safe from himself long enough for Trowa to find him.
"Well, I'd just have to run around completely naked and see how long you lasted."
A wicked gleam entered Koeran's eyes then. "You know, Little One, I'm not really that hungry right now, and I'm not really in the mood to practice that retched violin."
Quatre laughed. "Well I'm in the mood to learn about that thruster engine, so quite stalling and go make dinner. Remember, you may make the decisions, but you've still got to make me happy before I make, you, happy. So go to it!" Quatre winked before turning to leave. He must have seen some light from the camera, because the next thing was Quatre's face right next to the lens.
"Koeran, did you bump the camera when y-"
The picture stopped, and the remote accounted for the fact that there were no more segments on this disk.
"I understand now." It was Corinne's voice; Trowa turned to look at her. She smiled kindly to him. "Something Quatre said about Muslim relationships. I understand what he meant now. He was right, complete trust and it works just fine. I'll be damned." She shook her head to herself.
Trowa was about to say something when the door opened and Marieminna ran in, a box of chicken in one hand, and her kite in the other.
"Sorry we took so long, the guards couldn't find where Lt. Baker had put my kite. Here Shingam, this is the chicken." She handed the box to the quiet boy. "Hey, what's wrong? How come everyone feels so sad?" She looked around bewildered until Lady picked her up and asked her where Quatre was.
"I'm right here." And there he was. The Quatre of now, taller and fuller than he'd been at fifteen, his hair was the same, as was almost everything about him; Quatre hadn't changed all that much. And yet he had, he had an inner strength to him now, a power that radiated off of him. He may still be slighter than most men his age, but he was by no means less powerful. His Quatre, not Koeran's.
Carrying four pizza boxes, the blonde dropped them on the coffee table before getting his first real look around the room. He stopped dead in his tracks. Sensitive as always, Quatre must have felt it and he turned towards Trowa first out of concern.
"What's wrong?"
As carefully as he could, Trowa told him.
"Is he alright?"
Corinne sighed as she stretched her arm along the back of the couch. "He's correct. Right now he's confused, maybe even a little angry; but he's just not quiet sure right now. It's hard for any abused child to come face to face with their abusers; especially if that abuser is a parent. Quatre's case is more complicated in the fact that his father's abuse was highly focused; most parents abuse their children on general reasons, not Mr. Winner. He abused Quatre only as it pertained to his homosexuality, no other reason, not disobedience, or anything else. That makes it all the more confusing because Quatre has so many good memories of times that didn't involve his sexual preferences. It's easy for him to say he hates his father, easy to say the words, but not necessarily to feel them. He can't rationalize his father as a bad man; wrong and hurtful sometimes, yes, but overall, he just can't do it."
"Yeah but something tells me that if that bastard had laid one finger on any of Quatre's sisters, Quatre would have been the one to kill him." Duo snuggled Shingam more tightly against him.
Corinne nodded. "Quatre has the distinct problem of putting others before himself, as we all know. I think you're right; if Mr. Winner had hurt his daughters like he hurt Quatre, Quatre would not have stood for it. But the fact of the matter is he didn't, and that leaves Quatre with the unfortunate problem of thinking that he must have done something to cause the abuse."
"For his sake, I'm glad he's already dead." The room fell deathly silent at Trowa's calm statement. There was no room for argument and all understood, had Mr. Winner still breathed, Trowa would have been the one to silence him. No one hurt his Quatre.
Lady Une cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should continue the vids. Quatre did give us the ok, and I believe this line of questioning is better left to when Quatre can comment on his own behalf."
The room reluctantly nodded, and Sally moved to the case and removed some of the vids. Something odd caught her attention as she lifted a stack out.
"There's a pocket in here.one of the vids fell into it. That's strange, this one isn't marked."
Duo spoke from his seat. "It's the mystery vid. Plug it in and we'll take a look." He smiled to lighten the mood. "I wonder if we'll get baby Quatre, toddler Quatre, or just the brat Quatre?"
"Killa want's to see baby Quatre." Shingam smiled, shifting to get comfortable in Duo's lap.
"Ok, it's in." Sally moved back to her place, and Wufei pulled her in close, her head resting on his shoulder, his hands rubbing lightly at her hip and tummy.
Knowing it was best to push the uncomfortable-ness aside, Trowa looked down at Heero and gave him a nod.
The Japanese boy lifted the remote and then suddenly stopped, staring at it in shock. Wufei noticed.
"What is it, Yuy?"
Heero glanced at him before looking back at the remote. He turned to Duo. "When you shifted on the other disk, what code did it display?"
Duo looked confused before answer. "It said 'Orla's Wedding' and then listed the takes; just like all vids do. Why?"
"You're sure?"
"Yeah, why, what's up?"
"Heero, what's wrong?" Trowa's voice carried over and Heero looked up to him with a perplexed expression.
"The remote is asking for a prompt. This vid's password coded."
Trowa looked at him in shock. Home vids weren't usually password coded. What would be the point? They're not taken out enough to warrant a code. So why-
"May I see it, Heero?" Shingam's small hands reached from Duo's lap to take the hand held remote control. The little boy looked at it for a moment before surprising them all. "It's a standard pass code, probably something familiar to the user. There are only thirty-three buttons on the remote, but the prompt is only asking for a sequence of five clicks. There are no letters, only numbers on this display so that rules out words unless they're coordinated to the letters, which is most likely. It's probably a looping sequence, like one is 'a' two is 'b' three is 'c' and so on, looping at 'k' to be one again pressed twice instead of once. Since it's only prompting for five letters, and it's obvious that this package was sent to Quatre, the code is probably his name, something the receiver would easily get and remember." He handed the remote back to a stunned Heero. "Try it, try Quatre's name; I bet it works."
Stunned into silence, the room watched as Heero did as instructed, working the ten numbers into a code for "Quatre." At the end, he looked up to catch Trowa's eye, asking for permission to enter the prompt.
What was going on? Trowa had no idea. Wanting to get to the bottom of this before Quatre returned, he nodded again for Heero to enter the prompt.
Sudden terror filled screams filled the room, and they watched in horror as the image of Quatre as a little boy, no more than eight, was held struggling atop a table; his body naked, with a nearly naked man over the top of him; holding him down by obviously bruised wrists. Little Quatre was screaming, begging for the older man in his late thirties to let him go.
The dialogue that came forward brought a strangled sob from Corinne's lips as her hand moved to cover her mouth in shock.
The unknown man was leaning over the small blonde boy, his face mere inches from Quatre's. Every time Quatre turned his face, the man above him followed, never breaking eye contact with the boy.
"Do you like this, Quatre? Do you?" Below him, the boy struggled, calling out over and over again for the man to stop. "You're a bad boy, Quatre! A bad boy!"
Swinging his head from side to side Quatre cried out. "I'm not a bad boy! I'm not bad!"
"Yes you are! Yes you are a bad boy, Quatre! And this is what will happen to you! This is what will happen!" Rough hands forced Quatre's together over his head. And then Trowa saw his childhood happen all over again.
A large rough hand slapped Quatre before groping the child's body; nothing was sacred. The man's large hand disappeared under Quatre's back only to lift the child's hips off the table. Hands pushed Quatre's knees to his chest, exposing his naked bottom.
"This is what happens to disgraceful and disgusting bad boys like you, Quatre! Terrible men will hurt you! Shove their penis' into you and make you scream, make you bleed! You won't be able to sit down for weeks! This is what happens to bad boys! You're a bad boy, Quatre! A bad boy! Allah hate's bad boy's! And when those men force their way inside you, ripping you apart, their release will be fast and will burn you, like acid and scorpions! It'll eat the insides of you! It'll eat you from the inside out! Because that is what Allah does to bad boy's, bad boys that look at other boys! You're a bad boy, Quatre, and Allah will punish you and your sisters will hate you, and no one will love you!"
Screaming for all his small and tortured body was worth, Quatre struggled in the man's grasp. "I'M NOT A BAD BOY!!! I'M NOT A BAD BOY!!! I'M NOT A BAD BOY!!!" Over and over, his words echoed; over and over it did no good.
"Is this what you want, Quatre? Boy's that look at other boys, this is what happens to them! Boy's that have sex with other boys, bad boy's like you, they get other boy's dirty parts shoved into their butt's! Do you want that, Quatre? Do you?! Do you want to be a bad boy?"
They all watched it happen, watched, Quatre's face crumple and his head fall to the side. His eyes were lifeless, but they looked towards the left of the camera. When he spoke, it was with the harshest sobs and greatest pleading any of them had ever heard. Hands released from their captivity, the small boy reached out from his reclined position to the figure to the left of the camera.
"Father.help me.please help me. I'm not a bad boy.Father.please.help me Father."
The muffled response sounded just before the vid cut out to black.
"I am helping you, my son."
The two seconds of silence that followed were shattered by Corinne.
"I'll kill that bastard, I swear by the gods I will!"
Trowa sat in stunned silence as the others shouted their agreements. What had just happened? What had he just seen? Quatre, his Quatre, brutalized by some man and his own father. Quatre. He'd never read anything in the journals that alluded to something like this, and yet the boy in the vid had to have been above the age when Quatre had begun to keep his journals. Oh God, Quatre!
"Trowa!"
He turned at his name, though he heard it only through the fog, Corinne was shaking angrily on the other side of the couch, tears traced down her face. He felt numb.
"Trowa, has Quatre ever told you about what you just saw? Has he ever mentioned it?" Her voice was desperate, colored with rage and unchecked fear.
Dumbly, he shook his head.
She swore violently. Standing she began to pace the room.
Quatre hadn't ever said anything about this. He'd told him that his father had beaten him, yes, verbally abused him, certainly, but this, molested him, Quatre hadn't said anything, he would have remembered. But why? Why hadn't Quatre told him? Why keep this a secret and yet tell him everything else? Why?
"Trowa." He looked up to find Corinne on her knees before him. "Trowa, I can sense what you're thinking. I don't think Quatre didn't tell you on purpose, in fact I'm positive of it."
Trowa cut her off. "I would have remembered, I would never have forgotten-"
"No Trowa, that isn't what I mean." She paused, and Trowa could tell it was to collect herself so she could remain in control of her rage. "What you just saw was a very old form of therapy." She scoffed at the word 'therapy.' "It's called Terror Therapy, and it was outlawed over two hundred years ago. The premise behind the therapy is to instill so much terror into an individual about something, that they won't do it, or say it, or whatever!" Throwing her hands up, Corinne resumed her pacing.
"They outlawed it because they found it did more damage than good to the patients. Two hundred years ago, they found that using the therapy was one of the leading causes of multiple personality disorder. All this time they'd been trying to cure people, and all they were doing was making them worse.
"Most people-especially young patients-don't ever remember even going through the therapy. It's such a traumatic experience, they block it from their minds. Usually some word or phrase from the session kicks out a terror response, stopping the patient from doing or saying, or whatever they weren't supposed to do.
"God, but with Quatre, with an empath, it must have been.it must have." She drifted off for a moment, shuddering at the thought of the pain Quatre must have been through. She took a deep breath and continued. "Empaths are highly susceptible to Terror Therapy. Their natural tendency to internalize all emotions makes them absorb the fear and anger coming from the psychiatrists. They soak it up and store it, holding those emotions and the answering terror until released at some key word or action."
She growled in rage. "You probably didn't notice, but that man standing over Quatre was one of the most famous psychiatrists in the universe about ten years ago. For all his wonderful ideas he held the worst of all, that Terror Therapy was still a viable treatment, eventually he was laughed out of the public eye, but it seems, not before he got to Quatre." She said the last part as she sagged against the wall. "Quatre most likely doesn't remember any of it. Obviously the trigger didn't work, because it was designed to keep Quatre away from men, and since he's sleeping with Trowa, and Koeran before that, something went wrong." Corinne closed her eyes, praying silently for strength.
Trowa's voice was quiet as he spoke. "What do you mean, 'wrong'?"
Corinne sighed. "The reason Terror Therapy doesn't work on empaths is because it takes a lot of negative emotions and a lot of just plain terror before it works. We're not talking month's or years, this isn't about time, but strength of emotion. The man dealing with Quatre was an empath, he was more likely than not using his abilities to pump Quatre full of pain and fear to help fuel the terror experience. If everything had worked out alright, Quatre would have been too subconsciously overwhelmed to have perused any kind of relationship with a man. Further more, if he had, the backlash from the therapy would have been like opening a flood gate, like him suddenly remembering all the terror all at once. It would have caused his mind to splinter, with all the years behind it that he's obviously had between his age there-which was about eight-and his sexual peek, and now, we'd be talking about an empathic storm on a caliber I've never experienced. Quatre is the strongest empath I've ever met, if the trigger were ever to be released.my god he'd kill himself and every sensitive in a hundred, maybe two hundred mile radius." She shook her head, dropping it too her chest at the enormity of it all.
Ever practical, Lady Une spoke. "This trigger word or action is the only thing keeping Quatre from an empathic storm like you speak of?" Corinne nodded. "Then we need to find out what that trigger is, before he hurts himself or others."
As a side thought, Trowa recalled that Marieminna was a sensitive, and this very minute with Quatre.
But Corinne was shaking her head. "It could be anything, anything at all! I'll have to take him under, and I probably won't even be able to do it myself. I'll have to call in three or four other empaths to help me, and Quatre's so guarded, we may very well have to mind rape him before we can even get into his thoughts. That fact could very well cause the storm we're worried about. I just don't know!" Brutally she ran her hands though her tangled hair.
From the floor, a quiet voice floated. "Killa does."
As a group they turned to look at the small blond girl resting in the arms of one of the worlds most deadly assassins, and then towards Shingam, who might some day usurp that title.
Trowa broke the silence. "What does Killa know, Shingam?"
"The word you want to know. It's obvious, even I figured it out."
Now wasn't the time for amazement. "What is it, Shingam?" His voice shook as he asked, afraid to know the answer.
Shingam shrugged his shoulders. "Bad boy. Quatre said it the whole time. Didn't you hear him?"
Of course they had. They'd watched the child Quatre scream and cry it for almost two minutes, a constant litany until the end.
Suddenly Corinne nodded. "Yes! Yes that's probably right!! Quatre didn't associate anything that was happening as an action he was suppose to avoid, more like he was getting punished, and not because he was looking at another male, but because he was-"
"A bad boy." Trowa finished for her. She nodded.
Lady asked the next needed question. "Can you help him, Corinne?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes. I'll need to explain to Quatre what happened without him seeing the footage. My guess is that in a proper house hold like the one Quatre grew up in, phrases that consisted of, 'bad boy' only, were never heard, that's probably the only reason half the empaths in the world are still breathing. He can't hear those two words together, if he does.let's just say he can't. I'll have to work through the emotions with him, and it'll take some time, but I think so. I think so."
Lady nodded solemnly. "Good. See that it's one of your first priorities. We can't allow-"
Suddenly the vid switched on again. Later they'd realize the vid disk was on a timer, now they watched in absolute silence as one more terror from Quatre's past was revealed in living color.
It was a perfect picture, one of twenty-one year old Cijen, a buster rifle against her shoulder, pointed towards two security guards bearing the WEI emblem on their uniforms.
"In the absence of my Father, the bastard, the oldest daughter in the manor holds power, seeing as how I'm older than Seeafa by three years, I suggest you open this door right now, do you understand?" There was deadly calm in her demeanor, but her voice shook with rage and fear.
The guard must have heard it. "Mistress Cijen, on orders of your father no one is permitted to see Master Quatre."
Sure hands released the safety on the rifle and Cijen moved it so it was pointing right between the guard's eyes. "Then consider yourselves fired and no longer held accountable for what my father's wishes are. Move away from the door, or I swear by Allah I'll kick you're lifeless bodies out of the way."
From behind the camera a voice spoke softly and with much fear. "Cijen, maybe-"
"Shut up, Seeafa. Now you," she pointed towards the guard. "Move." With a final nod the guards stepped away.
The guard that had not previously spoken did. "Mistress, your brother is.take care of him." The man handed the proud woman the door's key and then dragged his fellow guard away.
Swiftly, Cijen turned towards the door, hurrying to unlock it. Her words froze Trowa's heart.
"Hold on, Quatre! Hold on, Little Brother! I'm here, Little Brother, I'm here!" The key in the door, the lock released and Cijen Winner, followed by her younger sister and the camera, entered the dark room.
Cijen's voice. "Quatre? Quatre where are you? Can you hear me? Quatre?!" She was starting to panic, it was easy to hear the tremor in her voice as she cried out for her favorite sibling. "Quatre, answer me!"
But no sound came. They watched as Cijen tried in vain to light the room by command before turning towards the camera, the light from the hallway barely illuminating her face. "Seeafa, use the light on the camera."
An agreement and then the dark room was flooded with artificial light.
Trowa heard himself gasp along with the other occupants in the apartment, and the young women of over eight years ago.
"QUATRE!!!" For a moment all they saw was Cijen's back as she raced across the screen to kneel beside something on the floor. It took them a second to recognize the thing was actually a body, Quatre's twelve year old, broken and bleeding body.
He felt his heart stop in his chest. He'd read Quatre's journals, he knew what was happening, and even what would happen. He'd known that it was Cijen and Seeafa that had rescued Quatre from that horrible room, and worse the hands of his father. But to see it. To see his lover as a child, arms and legs broken, face unrecognizable from the bruises and blood; he'd never felt pain like this before, never, not even when he'd been the one beaten.
And Cijen. He watched her cradle the broken body of her beloved brother to her chest, calling out his name and begging him to hold on. There was so much love and fear in those eyes, such a fierce protectiveness as she turned to the camera and screamed at Seeafa to call Iria. Iria the doctor; the prodigal sister. Quatre had once confessed that he believed her to have been his father's favorite.
But Cijen. The woman that had made his partners life a living hell for the past year. The one betrayal that had begun this whole mess, and brought his lover to his knees in suffering. She knelt there, tearing off her jacket to lay it over Quatre's broken body, and leaning over him, begging with her tear soaked voice for him to stay with her, that she was there, that he was safe. Such love and fierce protectiveness, like a lioness caring for her cub. And suddenly Trowa understood.
He saw the broken body of Quatre, and realized immediately why Cijen had done and said all that she had all those months ago. The little blonde was so delicate, so selfless, craving love and comfort but asking for nothing. Cijen had acted much like Catherine had when he'd lost his memory; striking out at the person who had tried to take him from her. With Catherine, Quatre had been that person; with Cijen it had been him. And hadn't Catherine told him Quatre wasn't worthy of him, weren't those the same words Sekurra had said Cijen had cried as she's told her nieces and nephews the sins of herself and fellow sisters? Yes. Cijen had hurt Quatre, tried to come between himself and his partner, but as was not before, it was obvious to Trowa, she'd done it out of overpowering love for her little brother.
Quatre.
"Cijen." The voice of Seeafa was small and weak, the camera caught her lowered head and bent posture. "Iria-Iria says-says she won't come."
There was silence for a moment as even Cijen's tears stopped. "What do you mean she won't come?"
Seeafa swallowed. "She-she says she won't stand against Father. Maybe- maybe she's right, Cijen?" The last part was said looking away from the bloodied body of her younger brother.
If Trowa had doubted Cijen's love for Quatre before, he saw all he needed to know then.
Soft hands continued to run over Quatre's matted hair, her body was gentle, loving towards the precious bundle of life she held in her hands. Her eyes however, as she turned them towards Seeafa and the camera, were filled with as much hate as a human could possibly possess without going mad.
"Then go, Seeafa, go to your big sister and cry about how Cijen made you do it, made you go against Father. You go knowing your brother will think that you helped him as best you could, because that is what I will tell him. Because I'll die before he ever learns that he was betrayed by his own sisters, I'll die before he knows of your cowardliness; because that would kill him more than Father's fists ever could. But you go Seeafa, you leave this place and you tell Iria, that one day Quatre will be Lord over us all, and when that time comes, you, and the rest of your cowardly sisters, will feel his pain, know his suffering. Allah will make it so; an eye for an eye."
Leaning over, Cijen placed a kiss on Quatre's forehead as Seeafa ran out of the room. The young woman whispered reassuringly to Quatre, telling him over and over, to hold on, she wasn't going to let anything happen to him.
"Don't worry, Little Brother. I'm here now, and everything is going to be fine. No one will ever hurt you again, I swear it, by Allah and all the prophets, he will never touch you again. Stay with me, Little Quatre. Stay with your most beloved sister, stay with me, Little Brother. I'll take care of you, I'll always take care of you. My little Quatre, my little brother. I'll make it stop, I promise I'll make it stop."
From her back pocket she withdrew a phone, and a broken conversation was held between herself and some doctor that obviously knew of Quatre's frequent beatings at his father's hand. The camera then cut out, the last image of Cijen's weeping form, leaning over her broken brother, kissing his forehead and begging him to stay with her.
There weren't words or time before the next picture on the disk began. Cijen's hateful face stared darkly at the camera. This one, an obviously planned speech. Her threat answered so many questions.
"That was the last time, Father. I'm sending this to you so you can witness one last time exactly what you've done to your son. Did you see his face?! Did you?! His face may never look the same, never! My brother loves with a heart you couldn't possibly understand! He loves with his whole self, and even as he lay broken and dying in my arms he asked me not to damn you, that you'd only been trying to help him. But this ends now, Father!
"I've made copies of this vid, and given them to trust worthy friends; people not affected by the number of credits you flash in front of their eyes, because I've flashed more! If you ever, and I mean ever, lay another hand on Quatre, hurt him in anyway, I'll send the unedited version of this disk to every major news channel on both the colonies and Earth. The colonies may not be able to communicate, but they all do business with the great Raberba Winner. How do you think the masses will feel knowing the great pacifist that stood beside Heero Yuy, is nothing but a child abuser?! Do you think you're money will protect you? Think again!
"You'll leave Quatre alone from this day forward, or I swear by Allah I'll destroy you! Everything you've built, everything you've created, I'll bring it all crashing down around you like the castle of cards that it is! Lay a finger on him, and I'll know, don't think that I won't. You may have sent me away so you could better 'manage' Quatre, but I know what you do. You're not the only one with money, Daddy; and you're not the only one with spies!
"The time will come soon when I'll send for Quatre. You're going to let him go; you're going to let him come to me. I'll have people meet Quatre, people that will take care of him, treat him like a human being; people that will accept him as the loving boy that he is, nothing more and nothing less. Don't you even dare consider trying to stop him from coming when I send for him! If you even try, I'll make you regret it for the rest of you sick, pathetic life!
"So sit in your castle in the sky, Father. You sit up there and remember all that you've done, all the sins you committed against your own son. Sit there and shake in fear of your once thought weak son. Because one day Quatre will return, and when he does, when he's strong enough, he'll take all that is yours and make it his own; and on your death bed, he'll shed no tears, but laugh in joy that Allah is merciful and great. He'll laugh, not cry, knowing that you will suffer for all eternity in the bowels of Hell for the sins you've committed against your only son.
"You've damned yourself to Hell, and I wish I could be there when Quatreen Winner's spirit travels to torture the soul of the man she died to make happy.
"Damn you, Father! And know this, you've lost both a son and a daughter this day; the daughter you can replace, but the son will strike you dead before giving you the chance; I'll see to that personally. All my precious love, Father. Cijen Winner, out!"
It was because of her! Cijen had blackmailed her father into allow Quatre to leave L-4. She'd arranged for him to be ambushed by the Maguanacs, and admitted into their teachings. Her threats were the reason Quatre's father never made any real effort to bring Quatre home all those years ago. And most importantly, it was her promise of destruction that had prevented Quatre from being further brutalized. All these things. Cijen had silently been protecting her little brother for years; keeping him safe and far from those that would hurt him. God, she may have hurt his lover beyond all repair, but he found himself respecting her for it, for doing everything she possibly could to protect her brother, even risking losing him forever, just to keep him safe.
"Trowa?" He looked down to see Duo holding the remote; it had only been ten minutes since Quatre had left. "The selector says there's one more scene that was added three years later, this one isn't password protected. Should we open it?"
Looking towards the vid screen, he nodded.
Duo pushed play.
"Why not!"
"I already told you, it's too dangerous. You don't know the kind of people that will be there."
"It's not as if I'm going by myself, you'll be there with me, how bad could that be?"
"Quatre, I said no."
The camera must have been bumped and activated because it sat at an odd angle. Duo corrected for the skewed picture by use of the remote.
Quatre, this time only slightly younger than the first time he'd ever seen him, Trowa guessed he was about fifteen, stood in loose Arabic pants and a light blue, opened vest. Standing in front of him was a gorgeous and imposing figure. Nearly two heads taller than Quatre, the young man appeared to be a few years older as well. He was thin, long arms and legs, with a tangle of long reddish brown hair held by a leather tie in an intricate design. The young man was dressed much like Quatre and his handsome face held a stern expression as he spoke to an upset Quatre.
"Koeran, it's just a party. I thought you'd want to go with me. You're always saying you want us to go places together."
So this was Koeran. The boy that had had Quatre first. Trowa held the jealousy that immediately filtered through him in check. He studied the young man instead, realizing that he wasn't that much younger than they were now.
Blue eyes looked back from dark Arabian skin, and toned muscles accentuated his thin body. His face was hard now, but Trowa could easily see the gentleness inherent there. His presence was massive, but he didn't seem to dominate the space around him, only fill it, not asking for attention like some did. Proud, Trowa noticed that right away, this boy was proud of who he was, and obviously by the way he was looking at Quatre, proud of the blonde boy before him as well.
They stood together with an easy grace. They may have been having an argument, but there was no fear there. They weren't angry with each other, not really, they were simply talking things out, settling something that the camera had walked right in the middle of.
"I do want us to go places together, you know I do." Trowa noted that Koeran's voice, while soft, also required someone to listen when he spoke. "I know it's hard for you to be seen with me sometimes, but you're not going to Rattna's party."
Then Trowa remembered. Rashid had told him almost exactly what Koeran had just said. Quatre had been so ashamed of his new feelings for Koeran that he'd shied away from public affection. Quatre had later confessed that he'd been constantly afraid that his father would somehow learn of his relationship with the exotic Arabian and call Quatre back, or worse, make something happen to Quatre's first love.
"Koeran, please, I'll stay with you the whole time. I promise I won't wonder off, I swear it."
"It's not you wondering off that I'm worried about. Quatre, Rattna throws the wildest parties in the camp, anything could happen at one of them. In case you haven't noticed, there isn't a man in this camp that wouldn't love a chance to spend one night with you."
Quatre stubbornly crossed his arms. "So are you jealous or just nervous I'll find someone else?"
Trowa was startled by the sound of growling moments before he realized it was coming from Koeran. "Neither! You're mine, and I trust you. But you are not going to that party-"
"But Koeran-"
"Enough! It's final!"
In shock, they watched as Quatre's body lost all of its fight. There was a sadness and a touch of anger to his posture, but for the most part it was a simple expression of resignation, as if he'd conceded.
"Fine."
It was like watching himself and Quatre now. Koeran had used such a commanding tone for his final line, and Quatre had bent, submitted, so easily.
But like a mask lifting, regret showed all across Koeran's face and body. Slowly he stepped towards Quatre and reached for him.
Half-heartedly, Quatre shrugged away from his hands.
"Don't."
"Quatre, I wish I could let you go to that party. I wish I could. But it isn't safe for you there. I could only watch out for you if you stood right by my side the entire night, and I don't want you to go if you can't have fun."
"I know."
But Koeran wasn't convinced. Trowa watched with terribly mixed emotions as Koeran pulled Quatre into his chest and stroked his hair, lifting the blonde's chin to meet his eye.
"I hate not giving you what you want."
Quatre sighed, kissing Koeran's palm and nuzzling his chest with his cheek.
"I know, I'm just disappointed."
"I'll make it up to you. We'll stay in. I'll cook you a fancy dinner, you can show me those new strings on that blasted instrument, and then I'll teach you about the thrust engines you've been after me about. How's that sound?"
Quatre smiled. "It sounds nice, but you don't have to make anything up to me. I know if you thought it was safe you'd let me go. I trust you."
The taller boy kissed the top of Quatre's head. "I'm just sorry you're disappointed. It's just safer for you-"
"I can take care of myself, you know."
Koeran pulled him tight. "I know. But you don't have too right now. That's why we're together, so I can take care of you. As long as we're together, you're my responsibility, and I won't allow you into a situation I can't completely protect you in."
Quatre sighed but snuggled closer. "I know, and I do understand. I'll tell you what, I'll tune the violin while you cook dinner."
"You're not too mad at me are you, Little One?"
Little One? Hadn't that always been his nickname for Quatre?
But Quatre simply smiled and tried to look exasperated. "For the love of Allah! I'm not mad. We'll stay in for a nice quiet evening that'll end with me screaming your name anyway, so it doesn't really matter." The grin on Quatre's face was leering.
"You're convinced of that are you? What if I said no sex for you for a whole week."
Quatre pouted, and Trowa couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips. Even if he was jealous, he had to be thankful to this tall boy beside Quatre; Koeran could very well have been the one that kept Quatre safe from himself long enough for Trowa to find him.
"Well, I'd just have to run around completely naked and see how long you lasted."
A wicked gleam entered Koeran's eyes then. "You know, Little One, I'm not really that hungry right now, and I'm not really in the mood to practice that retched violin."
Quatre laughed. "Well I'm in the mood to learn about that thruster engine, so quite stalling and go make dinner. Remember, you may make the decisions, but you've still got to make me happy before I make, you, happy. So go to it!" Quatre winked before turning to leave. He must have seen some light from the camera, because the next thing was Quatre's face right next to the lens.
"Koeran, did you bump the camera when y-"
The picture stopped, and the remote accounted for the fact that there were no more segments on this disk.
"I understand now." It was Corinne's voice; Trowa turned to look at her. She smiled kindly to him. "Something Quatre said about Muslim relationships. I understand what he meant now. He was right, complete trust and it works just fine. I'll be damned." She shook her head to herself.
Trowa was about to say something when the door opened and Marieminna ran in, a box of chicken in one hand, and her kite in the other.
"Sorry we took so long, the guards couldn't find where Lt. Baker had put my kite. Here Shingam, this is the chicken." She handed the box to the quiet boy. "Hey, what's wrong? How come everyone feels so sad?" She looked around bewildered until Lady picked her up and asked her where Quatre was.
"I'm right here." And there he was. The Quatre of now, taller and fuller than he'd been at fifteen, his hair was the same, as was almost everything about him; Quatre hadn't changed all that much. And yet he had, he had an inner strength to him now, a power that radiated off of him. He may still be slighter than most men his age, but he was by no means less powerful. His Quatre, not Koeran's.
Carrying four pizza boxes, the blonde dropped them on the coffee table before getting his first real look around the room. He stopped dead in his tracks. Sensitive as always, Quatre must have felt it and he turned towards Trowa first out of concern.
"What's wrong?"
As carefully as he could, Trowa told him.