"I see.a camel."
"Hn."
"Oh.and over there! See-it's a bunny."
"Hn."
"And that one! That one looks just like a bird taking flight."
"Hn."
"And you see the one right beside me? That's Trowa Barton. He's a real dolt head because he never listens to a word I say."
"Hn."
"Trowa!" Quatre giggled, giving his friend a shove in the shoulder.
Trowa didn't budge, but he crack open one of his emerald green eyes and look over at him. Sitting up, Quatre crossed his arms and tried to give his friend a stern look as he stared down at him. He could barely conceal his laughter as he watched Trowa close his eye and settle himself more comfortably on the grass. Ankles crossed, arms cradling the back of his head. It was hard to imagine that it had only been three weeks since Trowa and his father's arrival at the Winner estate. It felt much longer than that; probably because it had taken Trowa so long to open up to him. But they'd been inseperable ever since Trowa's first night at the estate. One of their favourite pass times was lying up here on this grassy knoll overlooking the Winner grounds and pointing out interesting cloud formations to each other. Or rather-Quatre pointed out the interesting clouds.
Busy searching the sky for the crocodile shaped cloud Quatre had been certain he'd spotted, he didn't notice Trowa's slender arm snaking towards him before it was too late.
"Hey!" he yelled, tumbling down the hill from the force of his friend's shove. Laughing, he reached out and grabbed Trowa's ankle as he rolled past and dragged Trowa down the hill with him. The two laughed and took turns shoving at each other as they somersaulted down the hill. It was a familiar game they played together. Whoever reached the bottom first would run and hide somewhere while the other had to go looking for them. This was always an easy task because the two had played the game so often that both knew where the other's favourite hiding spots were and neither of them would ever think of changing tradition by finding a new hiding spot that the other didn't know about.
Rolling over completely on top of him, Trowa neatly pinned his much smaller friend beneath him. Grinning down into his face, Trowa winked his one visible eye and then leapt up and took off around a tree before Quatre had even blinked.
Quatre rolled to his feet and took off after Trowa. "Get back here, you cheat! I'm gonna get you for that! Just you-"
He ran headlong into Abdul. "Oof!"
Abdul went flying, his red cap falling askew over his eyes as he crashed into the tree that Trowa, just seconds before, had gone racing around. Quatre fell with him, landing with a thud on his chest. Quick as a leap frog, he was up and heading after Trowa. Abdul's hand stopped him.
"Master Quatre, wait! I've been looking all over the palace for you. You and Mr. Barton must come with me immediately."
Quatre frowned down at the grass stains covering his clothes and then stared longingly off in the direction that Trowa had gone, "Aw, Abdul.me and Trowa were playing hide-and-seek!"
Shaking his head impatiently, Abdul took hold of Quatre's arm again and steered him towards the Winner estates, "No time for that, now, Master Quatre. We have to get you cleaned up and in the parlour-immediately! Come, Master Trowa, I see you up there in that tree."
Leaping down gracefully beside Quatre, who was dragging his feet behind Abdul, Trowa gave Quatre a questioning look.
Just as lost as Trowa was on the reason for Abdul's hasty rush to the parlour he shrugged. Then grinned up at his taller friend. At least with his best friend by his side whatever unpleasant fate lay ahead of him-he would be facing it with Trowa.
Abdul led them through a side door and up the stairs into their adjoining rooms where they both changed into clean clothes before heading down the main stair case into the parlour. It was not a pleasant sight that met them. Standing in the doorway to the same room that Quatre had met Trowa and his father in only a few short weeks before, Quatre could see where both his father and Mr. Barton sat together on one of his grandfather's favourite leather back sofas. Quatre did not take it as a good sign that they were both glaring towards the doorway where Quatre and Trowa stood shifting awkwardly.
"Quatre, I'm glad you and young Mr. Barton were able to join us. It must be difficult to find time out of your busy schedules to greet your father's dear friends." Arabid gave his son a stern glare as Quatre came to stand beside him.
"You snivelling little excuse of a son-get over here!" Quatre winced at the vicious words Trowa's father hissed to him as he dragged Trowa roughly over to stand behind him. When Mr. Barton grabbed Trowa by hair to bring his face down on a level with his Quatre made to step towards them but his father stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.
"Quatre." he warned, then gave a false chuckle and gestured across the wide expanse of the room where a familiar massive shape sat squashed into a pink chaise.
Helpless to stop the soft moan that escaped unbidden from his lips, Quatre turned his eyes as if in slow motion towards the stocky shape that stood hunched in the shadows behind the chaise. If Mr. Orthello was here that could only mean one thing.
"If you ask me, Mr. Winner, I'd say that both Quatre and his little friend here deserve to be punished. You said so yourself; my father is one of your dearest friends and I personally find it unspeakably rude that these two little boys caused us to wait such a tremendously long time." As he spoke, William stepped out of the shadows in all his English glory of starched pantaloons that didn't reach his ankles and barely held in the girth of his massive stomach. Standing only a little taller than Quatre himself, with broad beefy shoulders that stretched the seams of his navy straight coat and hands the size of a small roast, William Orthello was the biggest boy that Quatre had ever met. His size also made him perfect bully material.
"Why," William continued, "I'm sure such important gentlemen as your selves have much more important matters to attend to this afternoon than to sit drolly in this old parlour waiting for your highly discourteous children to find the manners in themselves to come and greet their important guests."
Mr. Barton let out a bark of cruel laughter. "Right you are, my boy, right you are." Shifting in his seat he turned eagerly towards Quatre's father, "What say I take these boys up to my room and give them a good lesson in courteous behaviour.?"
Mr. Winner looked at a loss for words for several seconds, his shocked expression quickly turning to one of rage which, if Quatre wasn't mistaken, was directed towards Trowa's father.
"Uh.father, Trowa and I apologise for being late to greet your guests. Perhaps we could give William a tour of the stables?" Hoping to stop the storm that he felt brewing in the air, Quatre swivelled towards William and gave him a tight smile, "As you have visited the Winner estates several times before I thought.I thought you might like to see the new installations that have been put on the stables!"
His father's face was still beet red, but Quatre was relieved to see that his plan had worked to calm his father down, "Ah, yes.yes of course, Quatre. Just what I was thinking. You three run along now and Quatre-? Give William the full tour. I'm sure there are many things that he has forgotten about in the past year or so."
Quatre bowed to his father and the two men and then walked swiftly out of the parlour with a sneering William and a brooding Trowa in tow. Oh boy, he thought, this is going to be a looong summer. Strangely though, he couldn't keep the grin from spreading across his face. Why am I feeling so happy? He wondered. Is it because I know that no matter how bad things get with William, I know I'll have a friend like Trowa around to help me fend him off? Quatre grinned at the thought. The rest of the summer lay ahead of him; hot, sweltering and-bearable.
"Quatre, are you aware that your little friend here is from Germany?" William asked, his voice dripping with disdain.
Casting a curious glance over his shoulder, Quatre saw that Trowa and William were walking side by side, each of them jockeying for a position behind him. Trowa was shooting William such vicious looks that Quatre almost burst out laughing.
"Um." he began, "Well yes, actually, I did know that Trowa was from Germany. Why do you ask, William?"
"Well, it snows in Germany. All the time! And this is the desert, for goodness sake. Quatre, his skin is going to burn up. Just like in that vampire movie Edward and I watched." He sniffed, "I just can't believe you have been careless enough not to consider this!"
Quatre could almost feel Trowa's disgust emanating in waves towards William. At eight years old, Trowa may have been skinny and helpless to stop his father's physical torment, but he was not defenceless, as Quatre well knew. And far from reluctant to use the skills he'd learned to protect himself from his father's casual brutality.
"That kid can punch." Rashid had told him solemnly a few days ago, while he rubbed his then discoloured cheekbone. Rashid had been trying to coax Trowa to take a bath as he had Quatre do every night. Trowa, sweat, sand and all, had remained mutinously stubbourn to the notion that he needed a bath.
William's voice quivered when he spoke, "Quatre.he's looking at me strangely. Why is he looking at me like that? Make him stop! What's wrong with him, Quatre? He hasn't said one word since I've met him. Is he mute? Deaf? Retarded?!"
Sensing Trowa's body tightening behind him, Quatre reached back a hand and without looking let it slide down Trowa's arm until it reached Trowa's hand which he grasped gently and gave a reassuring squeeze.
"Trowa's just not feeling very well right now, William. That's why he's not talking."
He felt Trowa jerk his hand free from his grip, but not before giving him a quick squeeze back. Like most physical displays of affection, or any emotion for that matter, Trowa was uneasy about showing his. But he was learning: Quatre was determined to teach him.
William stared warily at Trowa, "Well, if he's not feeling well then he shouldn't be out in this heat."
Quatre bent his head and coughed politely to keep from laughing. Finally someone William wouldn't dare bully. "I'm sure Trowa will be fine, William. Let's go look at the stables."
He could feel Trowa and William's eyes boring into his back as he led the way. Trowa hated arrogant bullies like William and William hated any kid who was bigger and stronger than himself. The less physical dominance he could exert over them. Trowa may not have matched William in sheer size, but he was taller than him. Quatre knew they would both want to kill him when they got him alone later, but for now, he was content to sit back and see what happened.
The stables ahead were bustling full with stable hands and Maganacs alike. Iria had told him that one of the horse shows was soon to be held in a nearby city. He saw her up ahead, grazing several of the horses along with three of his sisters. All four of them looked up and waved as they came up to the fence. Iria set down the pale she was holding and loped over to them. William sniffed at the dirty brown overalls and old work gloves she was wearing. He wondered if William had ever seen a lady wearing anything but a dress. His father had changed his strict attitude on the dress code of Quatre's 29 older sisters in the past few months. Quatre thought it was because some of his sisters had moved out of the estate or had gone off to colleges, but Rashid had a different idea.
"He's given up, Quatre-sama. Not that I can blame the poor man after having to raise those she-devils almost all on his own."
"Quatre! Trowa!" Iria vaulted over the fence and scooped him up in a big bear hug, twirling him around. "How's my favourite little brother?" She leaned over and kissed his nose, her blue eyes twinkling. Quatre flushed, wishing William weren't standing right there. He didn't mind it if Iria gushed all over him in front of Trowa because Trowa often suffered the same treatment. But this would give William perfect ammunition to use against him when he got him alone later. And William would get him alone.
"Well, I'd have to say he's been quite impolite to me, Lady Iria. He was late to greet my father and I, and he and his friend have been making fun of me all day."
Iria finally noticed William and set him down, "Hello, William. I heard that you were coming for a visit. Welcome back."
William mumbled a reply and looked pointedly at him, as if hoping that Iria would reprimand him, but Iria had already turned to Trowa. "And hello, Trowa, how are you today?"
"Fine."
Iria smiled and got down on her knees in front of Trowa. "Now let me see those hands of yours, Mr. Barton. I know it's been six weeks, but that was a bad burn you got and they're still healing.
Quatre almost felt sorry for poor Trowa, he knew he hated being babied, especially by a girl.
Trowa's ears turned bright red and he shoved his hands into his pockets. "They're fine."
"Trowa Nickolas Barton, you show me those hands of yours this instant!"
William snickered and Iria glared at him.
Reluctantly, Trowa pulled his hands from his pockets and held them up to her. Quatre winced at the familiar sight of the blisters and angry red welts covering his friend's hands. Trowa had told him the whole story weeks after it had happened. He smiled at the thought. Trowa sure hadn't been very friendly at the start. But it was difficult to tell either way how he felt most of the time because of his blank expression and his tendency towards silence. Until you got to know him that is.
"My Lord! What'd you do, drop one of your little toys in the fire place and try to get it out?" William sighed dramatically, "Children, when will they ever learn?"
Trowa flew at him. Before Quatre had even blinked, Trowa had William down on the ground, fists pummelling at whatever body part he came in contact with. Quarter heard a distinct crack and knew it must have been William's nose.
Uh oh.
"Oh my God! Trowa, Trowa no!" Iria raced over to the two boys, grabbing at Trowa's shirt and trying futilely to yank him off a now whimpering and sobbing William. But Trowa was too big, even for Iria.
Quatre stood back and watched. He knew there was nothing he could do for Trowa or William. Trowa was in no state to listen to reason and he'd probably just get knocked over. Besides, he kind of liked seeing William as the terrified and blubbering victim for a change.
Soon a group of nearby Maganacs noticed the fight and came running to the rescue. But by the time they reached a curled up and blubbering William, Trowa was long gone; leaping off William in an instant and racing away like a jack rabbit across the yard, around the fence, and through the barn.
"Oh dear, I think his nose is broken!" came Iria's startled gasp from among the gathering of Maganacs who had immediately rushed to William's aid. Quatre knew for a fact that William was made of tougher stuff than that. With a perception that Rashid had often found surprising in his young master, Quarter knew that this show had a lot more to do with wounded pride than a broken nose and from the fierce shrieks coming from the throng that was growing ever larger, it sounded like William was milking his part as the innocent and slain young prince for everything it was worth.
And of course William was going to make everything look as if it had been all Trowa's fault. Trowa may have gone a little out of control for a few seconds there but in Quatre's opinion, he deserved to punch someone who needed punching after being helpless at his father's own fists. No, this was not Trowa's fault at all. But there was nothing that Quatre could do for Trowa. Who was going to believe Trowa over William when William was so good at manipulating adults and Trowa's own father was against him? Mr. Barton was going to kill Trowa now. And his father and Rashid were still telling him that how Mr. Barton chose to treat his son was none of anyone's business. That was so unfair that Quatre often felt like throwing Asghari's crossbow at Rashid and his father these days.
Feeling a deep pit of despair welling up inside of him, Quatre turned and raced for the stables. He knew exactly where Trowa had gone. Reaching Aquilla's, he readied his small horse for the long ride ahead. He noticed that Asghari's small, black stag was missing from the next stall and smiled to himself. If Asghari ever found out that Trowa had been riding her horse he was sure to meet the wrath of her sword, and maybe even her crossbow.
Still smiling to himself, Quatre rode off into the desert.
He found Trowa in their secret hideout where he knew he'd find him. It was the only place Trowa had where his father would never find him.
Trowa had his back to him and was hunched over with his knees pulled up to rest against his chin. His slim back was trembling violently. Slowly, creeping up behind him so as not to spook him even more, Quatre knelt behind Trowa and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Trowa.?"
Trowa spun around so fast Quatre lost his balance and landed on his back in the coarse desert sand. Before he knew it, Trowa was leaning over him, pinning him into the sand. Fierce green eyes bored into his and Quatre could see the rage burning in their depths.
"It felt good." Trowa hissed out from between clenched teeth.
Quatre stared unwavering back into his friend's eyes, not daring to blink, fearing that Trowa would pull away from him at any time now. With his own astute perception, Quatre knew it wasn't the physical distance that he was afraid of Trowa putting between them; but the emotional distance. Quatre felt both honoured and humbled that Trowa trusted him enough to show him the true face of his fears and weaknesses instead of the blank mask he showed the rest of the world.
"He was pathetic and weak and I was stronger than him. Do you hear me, STRONGER!" Trowa was shouting out his words now, viciously spitting them out as if they were scorpions that had somehow infested his mouth. Finally, as if drained of all his energy, Trowa collapsed sobbing against his chest. Quatre could feel his friend's heavier weight pushing him into the sand, but he ignored it, stroking gentle fingers through Trowa's sweat dampened hair.
"I'm so tired of being afraid." Trowa muttered quietly against his shirt, keeping his wet face hidden against Quatre's chest.
Quatre stared bleakly up at the clear blue sky.
"I hope you know that.that you're my best friend."
A smile too sad and all knowing for any eight-year-old to wear upon his face curved the corners of Quatre's lips.
"I love you, Trowa."
"Hn."
"Oh.and over there! See-it's a bunny."
"Hn."
"And that one! That one looks just like a bird taking flight."
"Hn."
"And you see the one right beside me? That's Trowa Barton. He's a real dolt head because he never listens to a word I say."
"Hn."
"Trowa!" Quatre giggled, giving his friend a shove in the shoulder.
Trowa didn't budge, but he crack open one of his emerald green eyes and look over at him. Sitting up, Quatre crossed his arms and tried to give his friend a stern look as he stared down at him. He could barely conceal his laughter as he watched Trowa close his eye and settle himself more comfortably on the grass. Ankles crossed, arms cradling the back of his head. It was hard to imagine that it had only been three weeks since Trowa and his father's arrival at the Winner estate. It felt much longer than that; probably because it had taken Trowa so long to open up to him. But they'd been inseperable ever since Trowa's first night at the estate. One of their favourite pass times was lying up here on this grassy knoll overlooking the Winner grounds and pointing out interesting cloud formations to each other. Or rather-Quatre pointed out the interesting clouds.
Busy searching the sky for the crocodile shaped cloud Quatre had been certain he'd spotted, he didn't notice Trowa's slender arm snaking towards him before it was too late.
"Hey!" he yelled, tumbling down the hill from the force of his friend's shove. Laughing, he reached out and grabbed Trowa's ankle as he rolled past and dragged Trowa down the hill with him. The two laughed and took turns shoving at each other as they somersaulted down the hill. It was a familiar game they played together. Whoever reached the bottom first would run and hide somewhere while the other had to go looking for them. This was always an easy task because the two had played the game so often that both knew where the other's favourite hiding spots were and neither of them would ever think of changing tradition by finding a new hiding spot that the other didn't know about.
Rolling over completely on top of him, Trowa neatly pinned his much smaller friend beneath him. Grinning down into his face, Trowa winked his one visible eye and then leapt up and took off around a tree before Quatre had even blinked.
Quatre rolled to his feet and took off after Trowa. "Get back here, you cheat! I'm gonna get you for that! Just you-"
He ran headlong into Abdul. "Oof!"
Abdul went flying, his red cap falling askew over his eyes as he crashed into the tree that Trowa, just seconds before, had gone racing around. Quatre fell with him, landing with a thud on his chest. Quick as a leap frog, he was up and heading after Trowa. Abdul's hand stopped him.
"Master Quatre, wait! I've been looking all over the palace for you. You and Mr. Barton must come with me immediately."
Quatre frowned down at the grass stains covering his clothes and then stared longingly off in the direction that Trowa had gone, "Aw, Abdul.me and Trowa were playing hide-and-seek!"
Shaking his head impatiently, Abdul took hold of Quatre's arm again and steered him towards the Winner estates, "No time for that, now, Master Quatre. We have to get you cleaned up and in the parlour-immediately! Come, Master Trowa, I see you up there in that tree."
Leaping down gracefully beside Quatre, who was dragging his feet behind Abdul, Trowa gave Quatre a questioning look.
Just as lost as Trowa was on the reason for Abdul's hasty rush to the parlour he shrugged. Then grinned up at his taller friend. At least with his best friend by his side whatever unpleasant fate lay ahead of him-he would be facing it with Trowa.
Abdul led them through a side door and up the stairs into their adjoining rooms where they both changed into clean clothes before heading down the main stair case into the parlour. It was not a pleasant sight that met them. Standing in the doorway to the same room that Quatre had met Trowa and his father in only a few short weeks before, Quatre could see where both his father and Mr. Barton sat together on one of his grandfather's favourite leather back sofas. Quatre did not take it as a good sign that they were both glaring towards the doorway where Quatre and Trowa stood shifting awkwardly.
"Quatre, I'm glad you and young Mr. Barton were able to join us. It must be difficult to find time out of your busy schedules to greet your father's dear friends." Arabid gave his son a stern glare as Quatre came to stand beside him.
"You snivelling little excuse of a son-get over here!" Quatre winced at the vicious words Trowa's father hissed to him as he dragged Trowa roughly over to stand behind him. When Mr. Barton grabbed Trowa by hair to bring his face down on a level with his Quatre made to step towards them but his father stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.
"Quatre." he warned, then gave a false chuckle and gestured across the wide expanse of the room where a familiar massive shape sat squashed into a pink chaise.
Helpless to stop the soft moan that escaped unbidden from his lips, Quatre turned his eyes as if in slow motion towards the stocky shape that stood hunched in the shadows behind the chaise. If Mr. Orthello was here that could only mean one thing.
"If you ask me, Mr. Winner, I'd say that both Quatre and his little friend here deserve to be punished. You said so yourself; my father is one of your dearest friends and I personally find it unspeakably rude that these two little boys caused us to wait such a tremendously long time." As he spoke, William stepped out of the shadows in all his English glory of starched pantaloons that didn't reach his ankles and barely held in the girth of his massive stomach. Standing only a little taller than Quatre himself, with broad beefy shoulders that stretched the seams of his navy straight coat and hands the size of a small roast, William Orthello was the biggest boy that Quatre had ever met. His size also made him perfect bully material.
"Why," William continued, "I'm sure such important gentlemen as your selves have much more important matters to attend to this afternoon than to sit drolly in this old parlour waiting for your highly discourteous children to find the manners in themselves to come and greet their important guests."
Mr. Barton let out a bark of cruel laughter. "Right you are, my boy, right you are." Shifting in his seat he turned eagerly towards Quatre's father, "What say I take these boys up to my room and give them a good lesson in courteous behaviour.?"
Mr. Winner looked at a loss for words for several seconds, his shocked expression quickly turning to one of rage which, if Quatre wasn't mistaken, was directed towards Trowa's father.
"Uh.father, Trowa and I apologise for being late to greet your guests. Perhaps we could give William a tour of the stables?" Hoping to stop the storm that he felt brewing in the air, Quatre swivelled towards William and gave him a tight smile, "As you have visited the Winner estates several times before I thought.I thought you might like to see the new installations that have been put on the stables!"
His father's face was still beet red, but Quatre was relieved to see that his plan had worked to calm his father down, "Ah, yes.yes of course, Quatre. Just what I was thinking. You three run along now and Quatre-? Give William the full tour. I'm sure there are many things that he has forgotten about in the past year or so."
Quatre bowed to his father and the two men and then walked swiftly out of the parlour with a sneering William and a brooding Trowa in tow. Oh boy, he thought, this is going to be a looong summer. Strangely though, he couldn't keep the grin from spreading across his face. Why am I feeling so happy? He wondered. Is it because I know that no matter how bad things get with William, I know I'll have a friend like Trowa around to help me fend him off? Quatre grinned at the thought. The rest of the summer lay ahead of him; hot, sweltering and-bearable.
"Quatre, are you aware that your little friend here is from Germany?" William asked, his voice dripping with disdain.
Casting a curious glance over his shoulder, Quatre saw that Trowa and William were walking side by side, each of them jockeying for a position behind him. Trowa was shooting William such vicious looks that Quatre almost burst out laughing.
"Um." he began, "Well yes, actually, I did know that Trowa was from Germany. Why do you ask, William?"
"Well, it snows in Germany. All the time! And this is the desert, for goodness sake. Quatre, his skin is going to burn up. Just like in that vampire movie Edward and I watched." He sniffed, "I just can't believe you have been careless enough not to consider this!"
Quatre could almost feel Trowa's disgust emanating in waves towards William. At eight years old, Trowa may have been skinny and helpless to stop his father's physical torment, but he was not defenceless, as Quatre well knew. And far from reluctant to use the skills he'd learned to protect himself from his father's casual brutality.
"That kid can punch." Rashid had told him solemnly a few days ago, while he rubbed his then discoloured cheekbone. Rashid had been trying to coax Trowa to take a bath as he had Quatre do every night. Trowa, sweat, sand and all, had remained mutinously stubbourn to the notion that he needed a bath.
William's voice quivered when he spoke, "Quatre.he's looking at me strangely. Why is he looking at me like that? Make him stop! What's wrong with him, Quatre? He hasn't said one word since I've met him. Is he mute? Deaf? Retarded?!"
Sensing Trowa's body tightening behind him, Quatre reached back a hand and without looking let it slide down Trowa's arm until it reached Trowa's hand which he grasped gently and gave a reassuring squeeze.
"Trowa's just not feeling very well right now, William. That's why he's not talking."
He felt Trowa jerk his hand free from his grip, but not before giving him a quick squeeze back. Like most physical displays of affection, or any emotion for that matter, Trowa was uneasy about showing his. But he was learning: Quatre was determined to teach him.
William stared warily at Trowa, "Well, if he's not feeling well then he shouldn't be out in this heat."
Quatre bent his head and coughed politely to keep from laughing. Finally someone William wouldn't dare bully. "I'm sure Trowa will be fine, William. Let's go look at the stables."
He could feel Trowa and William's eyes boring into his back as he led the way. Trowa hated arrogant bullies like William and William hated any kid who was bigger and stronger than himself. The less physical dominance he could exert over them. Trowa may not have matched William in sheer size, but he was taller than him. Quatre knew they would both want to kill him when they got him alone later, but for now, he was content to sit back and see what happened.
The stables ahead were bustling full with stable hands and Maganacs alike. Iria had told him that one of the horse shows was soon to be held in a nearby city. He saw her up ahead, grazing several of the horses along with three of his sisters. All four of them looked up and waved as they came up to the fence. Iria set down the pale she was holding and loped over to them. William sniffed at the dirty brown overalls and old work gloves she was wearing. He wondered if William had ever seen a lady wearing anything but a dress. His father had changed his strict attitude on the dress code of Quatre's 29 older sisters in the past few months. Quatre thought it was because some of his sisters had moved out of the estate or had gone off to colleges, but Rashid had a different idea.
"He's given up, Quatre-sama. Not that I can blame the poor man after having to raise those she-devils almost all on his own."
"Quatre! Trowa!" Iria vaulted over the fence and scooped him up in a big bear hug, twirling him around. "How's my favourite little brother?" She leaned over and kissed his nose, her blue eyes twinkling. Quatre flushed, wishing William weren't standing right there. He didn't mind it if Iria gushed all over him in front of Trowa because Trowa often suffered the same treatment. But this would give William perfect ammunition to use against him when he got him alone later. And William would get him alone.
"Well, I'd have to say he's been quite impolite to me, Lady Iria. He was late to greet my father and I, and he and his friend have been making fun of me all day."
Iria finally noticed William and set him down, "Hello, William. I heard that you were coming for a visit. Welcome back."
William mumbled a reply and looked pointedly at him, as if hoping that Iria would reprimand him, but Iria had already turned to Trowa. "And hello, Trowa, how are you today?"
"Fine."
Iria smiled and got down on her knees in front of Trowa. "Now let me see those hands of yours, Mr. Barton. I know it's been six weeks, but that was a bad burn you got and they're still healing.
Quatre almost felt sorry for poor Trowa, he knew he hated being babied, especially by a girl.
Trowa's ears turned bright red and he shoved his hands into his pockets. "They're fine."
"Trowa Nickolas Barton, you show me those hands of yours this instant!"
William snickered and Iria glared at him.
Reluctantly, Trowa pulled his hands from his pockets and held them up to her. Quatre winced at the familiar sight of the blisters and angry red welts covering his friend's hands. Trowa had told him the whole story weeks after it had happened. He smiled at the thought. Trowa sure hadn't been very friendly at the start. But it was difficult to tell either way how he felt most of the time because of his blank expression and his tendency towards silence. Until you got to know him that is.
"My Lord! What'd you do, drop one of your little toys in the fire place and try to get it out?" William sighed dramatically, "Children, when will they ever learn?"
Trowa flew at him. Before Quatre had even blinked, Trowa had William down on the ground, fists pummelling at whatever body part he came in contact with. Quarter heard a distinct crack and knew it must have been William's nose.
Uh oh.
"Oh my God! Trowa, Trowa no!" Iria raced over to the two boys, grabbing at Trowa's shirt and trying futilely to yank him off a now whimpering and sobbing William. But Trowa was too big, even for Iria.
Quatre stood back and watched. He knew there was nothing he could do for Trowa or William. Trowa was in no state to listen to reason and he'd probably just get knocked over. Besides, he kind of liked seeing William as the terrified and blubbering victim for a change.
Soon a group of nearby Maganacs noticed the fight and came running to the rescue. But by the time they reached a curled up and blubbering William, Trowa was long gone; leaping off William in an instant and racing away like a jack rabbit across the yard, around the fence, and through the barn.
"Oh dear, I think his nose is broken!" came Iria's startled gasp from among the gathering of Maganacs who had immediately rushed to William's aid. Quatre knew for a fact that William was made of tougher stuff than that. With a perception that Rashid had often found surprising in his young master, Quarter knew that this show had a lot more to do with wounded pride than a broken nose and from the fierce shrieks coming from the throng that was growing ever larger, it sounded like William was milking his part as the innocent and slain young prince for everything it was worth.
And of course William was going to make everything look as if it had been all Trowa's fault. Trowa may have gone a little out of control for a few seconds there but in Quatre's opinion, he deserved to punch someone who needed punching after being helpless at his father's own fists. No, this was not Trowa's fault at all. But there was nothing that Quatre could do for Trowa. Who was going to believe Trowa over William when William was so good at manipulating adults and Trowa's own father was against him? Mr. Barton was going to kill Trowa now. And his father and Rashid were still telling him that how Mr. Barton chose to treat his son was none of anyone's business. That was so unfair that Quatre often felt like throwing Asghari's crossbow at Rashid and his father these days.
Feeling a deep pit of despair welling up inside of him, Quatre turned and raced for the stables. He knew exactly where Trowa had gone. Reaching Aquilla's, he readied his small horse for the long ride ahead. He noticed that Asghari's small, black stag was missing from the next stall and smiled to himself. If Asghari ever found out that Trowa had been riding her horse he was sure to meet the wrath of her sword, and maybe even her crossbow.
Still smiling to himself, Quatre rode off into the desert.
He found Trowa in their secret hideout where he knew he'd find him. It was the only place Trowa had where his father would never find him.
Trowa had his back to him and was hunched over with his knees pulled up to rest against his chin. His slim back was trembling violently. Slowly, creeping up behind him so as not to spook him even more, Quatre knelt behind Trowa and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Trowa.?"
Trowa spun around so fast Quatre lost his balance and landed on his back in the coarse desert sand. Before he knew it, Trowa was leaning over him, pinning him into the sand. Fierce green eyes bored into his and Quatre could see the rage burning in their depths.
"It felt good." Trowa hissed out from between clenched teeth.
Quatre stared unwavering back into his friend's eyes, not daring to blink, fearing that Trowa would pull away from him at any time now. With his own astute perception, Quatre knew it wasn't the physical distance that he was afraid of Trowa putting between them; but the emotional distance. Quatre felt both honoured and humbled that Trowa trusted him enough to show him the true face of his fears and weaknesses instead of the blank mask he showed the rest of the world.
"He was pathetic and weak and I was stronger than him. Do you hear me, STRONGER!" Trowa was shouting out his words now, viciously spitting them out as if they were scorpions that had somehow infested his mouth. Finally, as if drained of all his energy, Trowa collapsed sobbing against his chest. Quatre could feel his friend's heavier weight pushing him into the sand, but he ignored it, stroking gentle fingers through Trowa's sweat dampened hair.
"I'm so tired of being afraid." Trowa muttered quietly against his shirt, keeping his wet face hidden against Quatre's chest.
Quatre stared bleakly up at the clear blue sky.
"I hope you know that.that you're my best friend."
A smile too sad and all knowing for any eight-year-old to wear upon his face curved the corners of Quatre's lips.
"I love you, Trowa."
