Slightly before Quatre wakes up.
Duo sat on the porch steps, arms clasped about his knees defensively. In the sky, the moon rose stubbornly heavenwards, too impatient to wait for the stars to catch up. To the west, the sun laboriously sank past the pine trees, orange light swallowed early by the grasping branches. The lengthening shadows fit Duo's mood perfectly.
Around him the nocturnal denizens of the mountain forest awoke; the soft hoot of an owl, the busy chirp of crickets, and even the distant echo of a howl, (no doubt the outcome of the reintroduction of wolves to this part of world), but louder still than any of these was the cabin behind him.
It was so quiet that it was deafening.
Duo sighed and turned his head to eye the silent building, completely unable to ignore its presence, like picking compulsively at a scab until it scarred. Its cozy windows were dark and empty, soulless eyes staring into the twilight. The screen door was torn and hanging off its track, testament to an angry exodus. Duo had the vague thought that he should probably fix it, before the bugs came out in mass and took over the residence, but it would simply require too much energy.
Besides, the little critters would probably make better use of the place then they had.
Duo's forehead sank back to his knees. His head hurt, the pressure that had been building behind his eyes for days had developed into a full-fledged migraine. The physical pain was a perfect accompaniment to the unexplainable feeling that was lodged somewhere inside his skull, the desperate, baffling sense that told him he should be elsewhere.
And really, that feeling was what had been the catalyst. The final straw that broke the camel's back, the end of an era, really, just pick any depressing cliché and it would describe it perfectly.
Because in the end, as always, it had been his fault.
First, he had been the idiot who had suggested this little retreat, because clearly their last vacation (also his idea) had been such a rousing success, what with the "dissecting doctor" out for Q's life and Duo's own near drowning. This time, instead of a crowded beach resort, Duo had found a nice secluded cabin (on earth) in the middle of a national park. Miles upon miles of practically virgin forest nestled among the jagged peaks of a majestic mountain range. It was the perfect place for Duo, Trowa, and Wufei to puzzle out their strange new relationship, away from the distractions of friends and work.
And really, that had been his second mistake. To trap three such different people together, with no distractions . . .
Well, just look where Duo was now: alone on the porch, with the screen door askew behind him.
Oh initially it had been great. Duo had seen the impressed widening of emerald eyes once Trowa had gotten a look at the locale. Even the perpetually grouchy Wufei had expressed his approval for the idea. After all, the location was beautiful, pristine even, and most importantly far, far away from any of the garish amusement parks that Duo could have chosen. Plus, the sex was great, really, truly, fantastic, (which, for three hormonally charged young men, had made all the difference). And for a while they had all been, if not happy (there was too much uncertainty for that), at least content in the potential of their relationship.
But then he had fucked up.
Nothing new there, but at least the other times he could explain why.
That night it had been raining out. Not just a gentle spring drizzle, but a full out thunderstorm, one bad enough to make getting down the mountain a perilous venture at best. That night, Duo had woken up in their shared bed, heart pounding, an outcry just barely trapped behind his clenched jaw. Spurred on by a mysterious sense of panic he had leapt out of bed. Fear and confusion made his usually nimble feet clumsy, and his lower half got tangled within the sheets (already twisted out of whack by previous activities), causing him to crash off the edge of the bed like a breaching whale.
The resulting clang was enough to momentarily drown out the steady thrum of the rain, and Trowa and Wufei had instantly awoken, battle-trained instincts kicking into high gear, both reaching for weapons they no longer slept with. Duo had been pretty out of it, all he could really recall was his overwhelming sense of panic, but apparently the fall had knocked his clenched jaw open, and he screamed something.
A name.
Quatre's.
Trowa and Wufei had gotten him calmed down (comparatively speaking), and managed to convince him that there was no way he was getting down the mountain with the roads all washed out. Though he couldn't explain to them where he was going and why he needed to get there.
And then Wufei had frostily informed him of whose name he had just screamed. Duo had just blinked at him, he didn't remember yelling anything, and the other man's attitude was puzzling, to say the least. He was acting like Duo had just screamed Quatre's name in the height of passion.
Cutting remarks followed Duo's stunned silence, and Trowa, the guy who was usually as cool as a mountain stream, got really angry, and not with Duo. The seemingly unreasonable jealousy that Wufei showed over Duo and Quatre's friendship had finally gotten to him. He exchanged some words with Wufei, rather caustic ones, and all Duo could do is sit on the bed and stare, feeling a little like a kid whose parents were fighting, (no matter how inappropriate that metaphor was).
Wufei and Trowa finally finished their little spat, and an uncomfortable silence followed, undercurrents of resentment charging the air. The only reason no one marched out in a huff was because of the dangerous weather outside. Eventually, Wufei stiffly moved his stuff into the living room, planning to sleep on the couch.
Not that any of them got much sleep that night, and it certainly wasn't because of the storm.
The bad weather continued through the next night, and things remained just as tense inside. The couple that had been so good at wordless communication was suddenly avoiding each other. Certainly a difficult prospect when trapped inside a cramped mountain cabin, but they were talented guys and somehow managed. Trowa's face was blanker than it had been during the war, and Wufei paced around with a scowl practically welded to his lips.
Duo hid in the bedroom, wishing he could crawl underneath the bed itself.
He was shocked; he had never seen Trowa and Wufei fight before. Ever. And when they did, it was all because of something he had done. Well, sort of.
The rainstorm had cleared up just an hour ago, and as soon as the local radio station had announced it (relatively) safe to travel Wufei had stormed out of the cabin, lifted the wet plastic cover off his motorcycle, and roared away for locations unknown. Trowa had watched him go, eyes like uncaring chips of emerald, and then he had declared that he was going for a walk, though not without laying a comforting hand on Duo's shoulder before he went.
And so here he was, sitting on the porch steps, waiting for Trowa to return so they could get the hell out of here.
Duo blew out an exhausted breath and lifted his hand to rub tiredly at his forehead. The pain behind his eyes throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and the urgent pressure in the back of his skull . . .
Duo blinked and looked up blindly, hand moving from his forehead to the back of his head. The strange, desperate feeling was just . . . gone. Duo got to his feet slowly, wincing slightly because though the feeling was no longer there, the headache that it had etched into his brain was. What the hell did it mean? The absence of the weird pressure was just as confusing as its presence. Something had happened, but what?
He might just be going insane, but . . .
Duo decided he wasn't going to wait for Trowa anymore. He headed into the woods, following the path that he had seen the green-eyed man take earlier. He'd find Trowa, and then get the fuck off this mountain.
It was time to go see Quatre.
A muttered grumble brought Heero's attention to his abdomen, which Quatre's physician, Dr. Alan Hark, was in the process of examining. The young man glanced irritably up at Heero, and amazingly enough, even the freckles on his face appeared affronted. "You're lucky you didn't bleed to death, Preventer or not. How the hell did you drive all the way over here with this many broken stitches?"
Heero just returned the look blandly, not surprised when Dr. Hark held his gaze evenly. For a man kidnapped and threatened mere hours before, the doctor was holding up well, especially considering the patient himself was the one who had done the aforementioned threatening. Very well, actually, though part of that probably had to do with the arrival of Lady Une and Sally Poe (plus a whole squad of Preventers) and their efficient smoothing over of the incident. The other part (no doubt) had to do with the miraculous recovery of Dr. Hark's patient. Though he had declared it a phenomenal coincidence, Heero thought that he was a little more awed with the whole situation than he let on. And speaking of the patient . . .
Quatre was propped up in a bed across the room from Heero's own. He was grimacing theatrically with every bite of food Sally was making him choke down. It didn't matter how expensive the place, hospital food was terrible the universe over. Duo swore that it was all an elaborate plot to make sure that the patients didn't over stay their welcome. Though why anyone would want to stay in a place where his or her every move was monitored so thoroughly was completely beyond Heero. But then, as Duo had so gleefully pointed out, he was a control freak. Being taken care of wasn't exactly his thing.
Dr. Hark finished patting Heero's bandages in place and then straightened up, hands locked in the small of his back as he stretched the kinks out of his spine. There was something very pointed about the whole display, as if he was letting Heero see exactly how much extra work he had created for the good doctor. The Japanese man held back a smirk. Sally did the same kind of things; doctors, at least the high-quality ones, seemed to take it personally when their patients didn't take care of themselves.
A soft chuckle from Quatre caused Heero's almost-smirk to vanish completely. His cobalt eyes locked unerringly on the blonde, like a missile to its target. There had been something about the sound that rang false, and Heero knew that it wasn't real laughter. It was just a smokescreen thrown up skillfully to mislead the enemy. And wasn't that just a strange thought to have, because there certainly wasn't anyone in this room who could be considered Quatre's enemy. Heero had been having these weird feelings ever since the blonde had woken up with that smile. Oh, the smile had been real enough, and it had been for Heero alone, but the display afterwards, the counterfeit, practiced way he had been acting with everyone . . .
As if he had heard Heero's thoughts, the young billionaire turned his head and smiled. This expression was a little more genuine, and clearly said: everything's fine, stop worrying, the gears in your brain are turning so loudly that I can hear them all the way over here.
Heero did not respond to the assurance, if anything the intensity in his expression ratcheted up a notch. The overlarge nightshirt the blonde wore (no paper thin gowns at this hospital) hung slightly off one shoulder, and the bones underneath stood out in stark relief. When had Quatre gotten so thin? He had always had a slender build, but the way he was now just didn't look healthy, and there was no way he could have lost this much weight just from being unconscious for a few days. In fact, when was the last time Heero had seen him eat a full meal? Certainly not lately, he picked at his food listlessly when they were at home, and Heero had a feeling that he skipped meals all together when at work. And lately, there had been a tension in him, especially when they had been around other people. His shoulders had begun to hunch forward slightly as if he was trying to protect himself from a blow, and he knew that Quatre wasn't sleeping well at night, as the dark circles under his eyes testified to.
But, whenever Heero had started to worry, before he could actually verbalize anything, the blonde would turn to him and smile, and then say something or do something to completely derail his train of thought. In fact, the more the dark-haired man thought about it, the more he realized how very often that happened. It disturbed him. Quatre had never manipulated him before, but he was now, and it was done so skillfully that Heero hadn't even caught on to it until this had happened.
Quatre's reassuring smile vanished, and he chewed at his bottom lip inattentively before breaking their shared gaze. His hand came up to rub at his chest absently, and Heero's focus fixed on the gesture. It was something that Quatre had been doing a lot lately.
Something made him turn his head, and he found Dr. Hark staring curiously at him. The man's eyes widened slightly as he inadvertently found himself on the end of that concentrated gaze, and to Heero's credit, it only took him a second to realize that he should probably temper the intensity of his expression. He did so immediately, but the doctor still looked unsettled, and his own gaze shifted to the blonde who was now picking at his food rather listlessly. Dr. Hark turned back to Heero. "What was that all about?" His voice was hesitant, but there was a strong thread of curiosity underneath, propping up the doctor's courage.
Heero shrugged, eyes locked back on Quatre. "I'm not sure," he murmured, voice so low that the physician had to strain to hear it.
Dr. Hark frowned at the Japanese man, but his curiosity wasn't quite strong enough to sustain his courage long enough to follow that line of questioning through. Not when he doubted the sanity of the one questioned. He was brave, but not stupid . . . at least that's what he liked to tell himself. "Well," he cleared his throat nervously, "I do have other patients to see to, so . . ." He said his goodbyes to Quatre and Sally. Then he spent another thirty seconds warning Heero against leaving the bed, because otherwise there would be dire consequences, (and no, he didn't specify what these consequences would be). Finally, he left.
Noticing the look that the Japanese man was shooting her, Sally abruptly cleared her throat and stood up. "Well," she started, with a smile for her blonde patient, "I'd better get going too, and I really should track down Une. There's paperwork to do, and you know what that's like." She patted Quatre's shoulder, ignoring the anxious glint in his eyes at being left alone with Heero and the inevitable questions that would follow.
The door thunked behind her on the way out, and Quatre flinched imperceptibly at the sound, shoulders tensing further in the sudden silence. The blonde moved his dinner tray to the side, very carefully not making eye contact with his lover. Heero's eyes, on the other hand, bored into the fidgeting figure on the bed, and he willed the blonde to look at him.
Quatre grew still for a second, then took a deep breath and lifted his eyes slowly, as if he were facing a firing squad. Their eyes met, and Heero didn't waste anymore time. "What happened?"
The blonde's eyes slid away from his face, and for a second Heero thought he was going to pretend to misunderstand. Then, finally, he spoke. "I'm not sure," he said quietly.
Heero continued to study him, a nearly unnoticeable frown pinching at the corners of his mouth. "You're lying," he stated suddenly, voice flat to hide the sudden sense of betrayal uncurling in his belly.
Quatre's eyes flew to his face, his own stricken. "Heero . . ."
"You've been hiding something from me. Ever since we've got back from the resort, there's been something wrong, and you won't tell me." The last was said in a low growl, and the dark-haired pilot threw back the blanket on his bed and started to painfully sit up.
Quatre's eyes widened. "What are you doing?" He said sharply. "You'll pull the stitches again, idiot!"
Heero ignored him and started to swing his legs to the floor. "I'm coming over there," he said grimly.
Quatre cursed at him. "Stay there damn it, I'll come to you!" Heero glared at the blonde as he pulled himself out of bed and stood on shaky legs, but this time Quatre glared back. "I'm not the one who just got shot and had surgery, and then went on to steal an ambulance and beat up fifty guards," he pointed out irritably.
"No, you're the one who mysteriously collapsed and just woke up from a coma," Heero said in a deadpan voice. "And besides, it was only six guards." Despite the words, he stopped trying to leave the bed.
Quatre crossed the tile, gaining more confidence on his feet as he went, and then climbed into the other man's bed. It was a tight fit, being a single, but the blonde didn't seem to care as he wrapped his arms around Heero, mindful of his injuries, and then rested his forehead against his lover's. "I'm sorry," he whispered miserably.
Heero returned the embrace carefully, arms made awkward by his injuries. He stroked the blonde's thin back; disturbed by the delicacy of the bones he could clearly feel underneath. "Are you sick?" He whispered quietly, terrified of the answer and yet having to know.
The blonde shook his head slightly, the smooth skin of his forehead sliding against Heero's own. "No, it's not like you think, it's nothing like that. Please don't worry."
Heero relaxed imperceptibly in his arms. "So what is it Quatre?" The words were an explosion of air against the blonde's mouth. "Don't tell me it's nothing. You haven't been eating or sleeping well, and you're acting strange. I should have noticed before now." The last words were a clear damnation of self.
Quatre pressed closer, arms tightening protectively around the injured man. "I'm sorry, I don't know how to explain, I don't even know if I can."
"Try."
"I will . . . just, please, not now. Would you . . . let me get my thoughts in order first?"
Heero was still against him, and then, he blew out a breath. "Fine. But I'm only giving you until tomorrow. You will tell me then, no excuses." Part of Heero thought he should keep pushing, he was good at being persistent. But Quatre was just as stubborn as he was, and he just didn't have the energy right now. Not when the blonde was so warm and frighteningly fragile in his arms.
Quatre sighed in relief, eyes closing as he snuggled more firmly into Heero's body, trying to convey through touch alone that everything was going to be alright.
Neither slept very much that night, but neither did they let go of each other.
Wufei Chang waited impatiently for the elevator to stop moving, arms crossed over his chest in a desperate attempt to keep from punching something. He should have taken the stairs, no matter that the Preventer offices were on the 33rd floor. At least he could have run off some his frustration. He had worked straight through the night, catching up after the disaster of his so-called vacation, in the hopes that doing something constructive would keep his mind off of things. The skeleton crew that had been on tonight had been easily avoided, and his need for solitude had been satisfied. If he had had to deal with any well meaning co-workers ribbing him about his absence . . . well, Preventer Chang wasn't exactly known for his even temper.
With a soft ding, the elevator finally reached the ground floor. It had barely shuddered to a stop before Wufei strode out in to the underground parking lot, the edges of his long black coat brushing the doors when they didn't open quite quickly enough.
The lot was empty, and Wufei's boots clicked smartly against the cement, echoing against the concrete of the low ceiling. His stride took him past the still metal hulks of the parked cars, their insides vacant and expectant for their owner's return.
Wufei rounded a truck so covered in rust that its original color was impossible to determine. On the other side, listing slightly to the side in rest, stood his motorcycle. Its usually shiny back and silver surface was flecked with bits of reddish-brown dirt form his ride down a mountain in the rain. His thin lips tightened at the sight, not because it offended his fastidious nature, (though it did), but because of what, and more importantly who, it reminded him of. And then there was the fact that he hadn't exactly handled the situation with any degree of reasonableness . . .
He threw his leg over the bike, doing his best to ignore the dirt, and scowled thunderously. For a second he considered finding the nearest bar and drowning his troubles with as many vile pollutants as he could stomach. But though he was feeling angry and stupid, he wasn't feeling quite that angry and stupid. The only time he set foot in those kinds of places was when Duo or Trowa managed to convince . . .
He slammed the lid on that train of thought quickly. Sure, he wasn't feeling angry and stupid enough now, but damn it, give him time.
Wufei revved the engine once, and the again for good measure, it's low growl deeply satisfying, certainly more so than anything he could produce. With the bike snarling underneath him, he left the garage for the feeble morning light.
As he roared away, a black car turned its headlights on before smoothly following.
Heero frowned as Dr. Hark examined the stitched incision across his stomach. The man was really beginning to get on his nerves, hovering around constantly, checking on either him or Quatre. That's what nurses were for, and they, at least, were easier to rattle than the good doctor. The one who had come in this morning and caught him and Quatre in the same bed had been blushing so badly that she could barely get a word out. Unfortunately, Dr. Hark wasn't nearly so easy, and the man just kept chatting away with Quatre. And it was the inane, completely irritating social talk that never ceased to set his teeth on edge.
Heero was reminded of how very much he hated hospitals, and he briefly entertained the idea of making an escape by window-jump. It's not like he'd never done it before.
But somehow, he didn't think Quatre would appreciate that. Right now, the blonde was eyeballing him wearily as if he sensed his thoughts. Heero tried to send him a smile, but it must have looked more like a pained grimace, because Quatre wasn't exactly looking assured.
Dr. Hark finished rewrapping the bandages and straightened up. He scratched his head, looking vaguely puzzled. "Well, these are sure looking surprisingly good. You heal awfully fast."
Heero shrugged indifferently, and from the other bed Quatre was muttering something along the lines of "good thing, too," only in less polite terms.
The door squeaked slightly, and Heero glanced up, expecting to see one of the oh-so-easily-embarrassed nurses, but the woman standing framed in the doorway didn't appear to be of that type. She was a tiny woman, thin and petite with red hair flecked with an equal amount of gray. Her outfit was eyestrain bright, painful shades of purple and green with beaded jewelry to match. She smiled brightly at Dr. Hark's back. "Alsandare!"
The doctor froze, a deer-in-the-headlights look. He stood like that for a moment, and then slowly turned around to see if the nightmare was real. "M-mother," he stuttered quickly, "what are you doing here?" He sounded afraid of the answer.
The woman gave him a disapproving look. "Alsandare, come and greet your mother properly," she said with a bright smile, lifting her arms in a motion that clearly meant "hug."
Dr. Hark walked over to her mechanically, shooting Heero and Quatre a horrified glance as he did, and then gingerly put his arms around the tiny lady. Her head only came up to his chest, but when her arms went around him and squeezed Heero thought he heard a rib crack. Only after a strangled "mother," did the woman let go.
"Alsandare?" Quatre asked curiously, regarding the mother and son reunion with amusement.
Dr. Hark turned red. "Mother, I've told you a thousand times that I like to be called Alan."
"Nonsense, Alsandare is a wonderful name, and so suitable too! It means protector of humankind, you know." She paused and chuckled to herself a little. "Actually, I believe the exact definition used the term mankind, but I thought that would be a bit too limiting." She winked. "Amazingly, it's perfect for his line of work, and I must have been especially clairvoyant the day he was born."
She looked up and smiled at Heero, then turned her head to face Quatre, where she suddenly paused. She regarded the blonde in a way that was briefly piercing, and then her smile turned sympathetic. "Oh, you poor dear. It's all wearing on you, isn't it?" Quatre's own smile froze, and he stared at her in confusion. She tapped her head for emphasis, and the sympathy in her smile reached her eyes. "It's difficult, isn't it? Being an empath, I mean."
