Listen up, Quat fans...today I'm throwing him in the path of a (figurative) oncoming train. =@_@= (July 6th, 9:27pm ...thanx to Silence for pointing out my spelling goof, it's fixed now. =^_^=)

Disclaimer: This year, for my birthday, I asked for omnipotent control over the five Gundam pilots contained herein, which I didn't think was too extravagant or outlandish. What did I get? A set of green plastic see-thru picnicware from Zellers. I hope my now-ex-boyfriend puts a little more thought into his next girlfriend's birthday gift. If you want to sue me for control of the picnicware, well, whatever floats yer boat, I guess... =P

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Episode Eight: Thicker Than Water

"It is a melancholy truth that even great men have their poor relations." ~Charles Dickens

July 6th, 1901

A rather uneventful week passed at the manor, to the delight of all but one of it's residents. The constrained, the anxious, the frustrated Heero Yuy had been watching Treize like a hawk for days and the man hadn't put a foot wrong, as it seemed. He appeared to be squeaky clean. How utterly boring.

The possibility that Lord Jeffrhyss had targeted the wrong man, however, was out of the question. Treize would slip up sooner or later, and Heero would be waiting; he hoped rather urgently that it would happen as soon as possible, because after a solid month of dusting, sweeping, serving drinks and answering the door, Heero could literally feel the neurons in his brain beginning to atrophy.

Another hindrance had been the guests' staunch refusal to vacate their rooms for more than five minutes until they had sorted out their many belongings, making prowling around the guest suites rather difficult. This morning was turning out to be different, though; Treize and Dorothy had left their cozy little cocoon for an extended stretch of time during which Heero wasn't needed elsewhere. While they sat out on the back terrace sipping tea and reading the newspapers, Heero naturally took advantage of their absence, and went snooping.

He slipped into Treize's room first, second in beauty and luxury only to the master bedroom, which had laid vacant since Lord Peacecraft's passing. Velvet was the predominant theme; the curtains around the bed, the curtains over the windows, the upholstered chairs and footstools, the plush throw cushions...and the red velvet pajamas neatly folded on the bed, which Heero ignored with a sneer.

The Count's equally plush dressing gown lay in a heap on the floor. He didn't look like a messy person at first glance, but he was probably too used to servants picking up after him all the time. In a subservient gesture he hoped would never have to be repeated, Heero picked up the robe, honestly intending up hang it up where it belonged; a folded slip of paper fell out of the pocket as he did so.

Heero looked disappointed. Spying on you offers no challenge whatsoever. You should be ashamed. He picked up the paper and opened it, revealing a not entirely unexpected series of numbers. With high hopes that he'd stumbled upon a Swiss bank account or the combination to a safe, he dutifully copied the numbers down in a notebook and put the slip of paper back in the dressing gown pocket.

Arthur's working out the front today...I can hide this in the cottage until tomorrow.

Since his eager assistant was getting better at reading, all clippings, letters, and notes of a sensitive nature that Heero didn't want Duo to see were no longer kept in their room, but stored in Arthur's cookie jar without his knowledge. Then, they were transferred to the old room over the pub on Heero's days off and locked securely away. So far, it had worked flawlessly.

Deciding to sneak out to the cottage after searching Dorothy's room, he scrounged around the room for a few minutes longer, then left quietly, finding nothing else of interest.

**********

Three top representatives of the upper class sat out on the back terrace with their tea and scones, leisurely frittering away their time, as is the mark of all true aristocrats. Treize was studying one of the fine red roses Quatre had coaxed into blooming especially for Count's visit, and he complimented the gracious gardener as he passed by the group carrying a potted geranium.

Dorothy was sunning herself, tilting back and forth in an elegant white rocking chair, having deemed it too pretty to leave indoors. Anna-Maria was cuddled up in her lap and had purred herself to sleep to the sound of Relena reading tidbits from the society column of the newspaper.

"'The Earl of Doncaster has departed for a holiday in the palaces of India,'" she read, "'and is rumoured to be meeting his clandestine mistress in Morocco later this month.' Oh, how wonderfully scandalous!" It was the usual drivel and gossip that served as the black and white dagger that socialites stabbed each other in the back with on a regular basis. "'Lady Windermere of Shropshire held the season's most elegant gala yet to celebrate her daughter's upcoming marriage, with such guests as Bishop Flaherty of Dunblane, and Lord and Lady Eastman of Middlesborough in attendance.'"

Relena set the newspaper in her lap and stared up at the clouds with a prolonged sigh. "I wish we could attract people like that to our parties."

"Give it time, my dear, give it time," Treize reassured her, still gazing at the single red rose in his gloved hand. "With my help, the whole of Europe will be clamouring to get just a glimpse of you."

The girl brightened at the thought, and shivered with anticipation of what wondrous things her uncle could teach her. As she picked the newspaper up and went back to scanning the society column, Quatre brought more potted geraniums onto the terrace, to be housed in great stone planters all around them. Trowa came from the carriage house to help, and they both worked quietly behind her Ladyship, planting the pretty red and pink clusters in fresh soil.

Relena turned the page and came across something she found startling, something she just had to share. Her eyes widened and she leaned forward a bit in her white wicker chair, as if getting closer to the words would make them more believable. "Listen to this...'It is reported that thirty siblings in the far east stand to divide a fortune of several million pounds.' Thirty children in one family! Can you imagine?"

Quatre slowed his work and tilted his head to listen. A grim pallor crept across his face, and Trowa looked up at him with concern as he crouched over one of the ornate planters. Their eyes met briefly and Quatre turned away, rising to fetch another geranium.

Dorothy sniffed in distaste. "They must breed like rabbits there. How uncouth."

Relena ignored the remark and went on with her reading. "'Mr. Peter O'Shaughnessey of Whitehall Street was present in the city of Shaqra when the patriarch of the illustrious Winner family passed away of an apparent heart attack on the--'" A loud crash came from behind her. She jumped a few inches out of her chair and whirled around to see Quatre standing weakly where he had been working, with shards of broken pottery at his feet. "Good heavens!" she chided, "you nearly scared me to death! Whatever's the matter?"

Treize, Dorothy and Trowa were all looking at him now too, and the blond boy felt suddenly faint. His face was morbidly pale and his limbs were shaking badly. "I...I'm sorry, miss, it just...slipped out of my hands." He stooped quickly to gather up the broken pieces and geranium stems. Treize and Relena looked away, disinterested, but Dorothy was watching him very closely; only she had seen the look on his face while Relena was reading the article, and her wicked curiosity told her there must be a connection. She patted Anna-Maria behind the ears as her fiendish mind worked away.

Quatre gathered up an armload of shards and leaves with Trowa's help and darted limply behind the nearest hedge. The taller boy was at his side instantly, face stricken with worry, as he held his frail friend up by the shoulders. "Quatre, what is it? What's wrong? Are you sick?" he demanded in a concerned whisper.

The gardener was quivering and dropping bits of clay everywhere, about to fall over. "No, I...just get me inside, please!" he whimpered in a tiny, crackling voice. "Don't let the others see..."

Trowa made him drop the rest of what he was carrying, wound an arm underneath his shoulders, and half-carried him to the kitchen door, out of sight from the garden terrace. They stumbled down the steps together, sped straight past Duo, whose back was turned anyway, and finally made it through the hall to their stone-walled quarters, shutting the door behind them. Trowa sat Quatre down on his bed and touched a hand to his forehead, searching for traces of fever or other illness.

"Now, what's happened?" Trowa prodded gently. "Tell me..."

Quatre sputtered and choked inaudibly, as if struggling against a torrent of tears. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a light rap at the door followed by a soft voice startled the pair of them. "Hello? Is everything okay in there?" Hilde's voice. She must have spotted them from across the hall and seen the state they were in.

Trowa looked at the sickly boy for permission to acknowledge the summons. He shook his head. "Ignore it, Trowa. She'll go away...I hope."

They listened quietly a few minutes more. The call repeated and the knocks grew louder, but eventually they disappeared. Hesitantly, the two boys turned back to one another...and suddenly a new knocking came, heavy and insistent. "Hey, Q-Man? Didja get stung by a bee or something?" Hilde had gone to fetch Duo. Drat.

Quatre looked feebly exasperated and waved towards the door. "Oh, let them in, then." He sank into the mattress while Trowa rose to open the door; in ran the worried pair, one covered in dust, the other covered in flour. They started chattering away, wanting to know what was wrong, and Trowa wasn't getting anywhere by telling them his friend had come down with a mild sunstroke.

Hilde sat down next to Quatre and held his hand comfortingly. "If something's upsetting you, maybe we can help. And if you're sick, Miss Relena will have to send for the doctor, so the whole house will know something's wrong anyway."

Still very pale, the trembling gardener looked at all their troubled faces; they were genuinely concerned for him, and out of the very least respect for his friends' happiness, he couldn't let them worry indefinitely. "Alright...but not here. Someone else might walk in on us, and I don't want anyone else to know."

The four of them tried to come up with a spot somewhere on the estate that was reasonably secure, but Duo was thinking especially hard. My first real crisis since teaming up with Heero and he's not here...which means I get to handle this one myself. If I do a good job, maybe he'll buy me a bag of sweets from the corner shop! Duo licked his lips and whipped together a quick plan. "Arthur's painting the fence out front today, right? Why don't we hide out in the shed? Nobody else goes back there, not even to talk to the guy."

They agreed, and all three of Quatre's guardians helped him back down the hall, up the half-flight of stairs and out the door in a flash. His breathing was slightly laboured and he was clutching at his chest, but he managed to walk upright past the garden terrace, hoping not to rouse anyone's suspicion.

Treize and Relena didn't bother looking up at the group and went back to their leisure as soon as they passed. Dorothy, however, watched Quatre carefully out of the corner of her eye, her curiosity greatly piqued by the sight of his entourage. When they had gone, she counted to fifty, then rose and excused herself from the others 'to take a short walk.' Setting her sights on the fair-haired boy in the distance, she put Anna-Maria down on the ground gently, and followed him.

**********

It took Heero three tries to make the lid of the cookie jar sit straight, as it was getting rather full with newspaper articles and bits of notepaper. He was very lucky indeed that Arthur didn't eat cookies, or he would have to switch to the even less-used coffee ground container, which was smaller than the cookie jar. With one last push, he jammed the contents further down the jar's throat and replaced the lid, shaking his head.

Still not good enough. I'll have to find something bigger... He started poking around the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers, looking for something Arthur probably wouldn't be using in the near future.

"There's a heavy-lidded toureen ye can use," a thick Scottish voice said behind Heero, making him spin around and draw his revolver in the wink of an eye. "Ah don' think we'll be needin' it until Christmas." Arthur stood on the other side of the kitchen, looking quite calm considering there was a presumably loaded weapon aimed at his chest.

"Mr. Dunnet," Heero said flatly. First Duo sneaks out while I'm sleeping, and now Arthur somehow...am I getting soft living here? Am I losing my touch? He raised an eyebrow. "I obviously thought you were elsewhere."

Arthur hefted up a large, squarish metal tin with a worn label. "Ran out o' paint thinner." Nonplussed, he set the tin on the kitchen table and eyed the butler with his hands in his overall pockets. "Laddie, are ye gonna use that pistol, or are ye just holdin' it up for display purposes?"

Heero looked down at his right hand, which had grabbed at the weapon automatically. He really didn't want to eliminate Arthur; not only would he be breaking the promise he made to himself, but his cover could be blown wide open, and unless he pinned the crime on someone else, he would have to leave Bridlewood and the mission would be aborted. Far less loathsome was the option of simply trusting Arthur. He looked back up at the kindly carpenter, then slowly put the gun away.

Arthur strode easily into his sitting room and went back to his usual armchair, leaving behind a silent invitation for Heero to follow, as he did the first time they met. The butler stood between the carpenter and his red brick hearth, and they eyed each other with calculating glances. Arthur was first to break the silence.

"Ah suppose a gesture o' good faith on my part would be in order, seein' as how you're the one with the revolver," he said, taking his pipe off the little wooden coffee table. "I'll tell you something her Ladyship doesn't even know, if ye like. Since I know a bit about your secret now, it'd be only fair to trade."

Heero couldn't help but find that appealing; any chance of adding a secret to the treasure trove of underhanded information he carried around in his head was a potential asset to the mission. He sat down in the other armchair. "Go on."

Arthur lit his pipe and leaned back. "You needn't call me 'Mr. Dunnet' no more, for a start. Me real name's Arthur MacDougall, but the upper classes dinnae care one way or t'other what I'm called, so long as the work gets done. Ah came here thirty-five years ago, when Lord Peacecraft was just a wee little lad, and got meself a job as assistant groundskeeper. Mrs. MacDougall was the nanny and spent most of her time in the house." Having two armchairs suddenly made sense to Heero, but it was clear without being said that the poor man's wife had passed away some time ago.

"For the first several months, the family barely bothered to notice I was there," Arthur continued. "They'd keep askin' the other servants how things were getting fixed when there was no one there to fix 'em. 'Who plastered over the hole in the wall?' 'Arthur done it.'" A faint hint of a smile teased at Heero's lips as he saw how the carpenter got his name. "'Who sealed the crack in the goldfish pond?' 'Arthur done it.' 'Who cut down the stinging nettles from the back fence?' 'Arthur done it!'" The carpenter chuckled warmly. "After awhile, it just stuck. Even today I get the occasional letter from a past guest addressed to Mr. Dunnet."

Heero weighed carefully what he had been told. "An amusing story...but I hardly think it makes up for what you know about me...or what you think you know."

"What I know," the carpenter said crisply, leaning forward in his chair, "is that when people think they're too good for ye, they'll talk right in front o' ye without payin' no mind to what they're sayin'...the result o' which I might have heard one or two things over the years that you might be interested in." He leaned back and watched the boy's hands tighten almost imperceptibly around the armrests of his chair.

Arthur took another puff of his pipe and set it down on his knee. "And I know you're watching Khushrenada, and aye, I think he bears watching too. I've been through all those articles you stuffed in me biscuit barrel, and I kin tell ye that they're only a fraction of the real story. The man's a villain, pure an' simple."

A pause followed, during which Heero calmly calculated the risks involved with taking Arthur into his confidence. Gaining the knowledge he possessed could make it necessary to reveal more about himself than was generally allowed by Lord Jeffrhyss' instructions. But then again, it could be worth it. "Name your price."

The carpenter leaned back and shrugged. "Price? What price? I'm old, I live simply, I've no children or granchildren to provide for...to put it plainly, I've no use for money." He looked over at his guest, one of the few people to take an interest in him for years, even a casual interest, and softened his voice a little. "Come and visit me now and then, that's all. Hardly anyone else bothers, except wee Quatre...he's almost like a grandson to me."

Heero relaxed considerably, comforted by the thought that his early, glowing impressions of Arthur had been correct. "I'd say we have a deal."

Arthur gave him a broad smile. "Then we might as well get started. I'll make us a pot of tea."

With that, the gray-haired Scotsman rose and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. No sooner had he arrived there, than the front door to the cottage was pried open from the outside, and in ran a small mob of teenagers, one of whom looked weak and faint. They stumbled around in the unfamiliar surroundings looking for a place to put their feeble patient, until they found the empty armchair in the living room and lowered their charge lightly into it. It only took another moment for them to sense someone standing right next to them, having risen from his chair with his arms folded and his face drawn. They all stared.

"Uh...Heero! Eheh...didn't expect to see you here...umm..." Duo sputtered.

Heero immediately crouched in front of the ailing Quatre and pulled up one of his eyelids methodically. He was white as a sheet and clutching at his chest. "What's wrong with him?" the butler demanded.

"We don't know," Hilde said sadly, "he hasn't told us yet...I mean, he was going to tell us..."

By now, Arthur had seen the terrible state the boy was in and rushed to his side without uttering a word. He located a soft footstool and propped Quatre's feet up on it, pressing a hand to his forehead.

Quatre looked at the crowd around him and tiredly decided he'd rather tell them all at once than look for another place to hide. "It's alright, Hilde...it's alright if they know too...I trust them." He struggled to sit upright as Arthur went to answer the whistling kettle. Trowa perched on one arm of the chair and propped his friend up. "But you all must swear to me that you will tell no one of this, ever."

They all nodded their assent and found places to sit as close as possible. Heero gave up his armchair to Hilde and found a piano bench instead, which Duo was quick to share with him. Arthur brought in a kitchen chair for himself, along with the teapot, from which he poured Quatre something to steady his nerves.

The gardener sipped the warm liquid, then braced himself against the five pairs of curious eyes before him. He turned to look up at Trowa first. "Trowa, do you remember the article in the newspaper that Relena was reading, before I..."

An emerald eye blinked, and the boy soon nodded. "It was an obituary for a very wealthy man with thirty children. Somewhere in the east, it sounded like."

Quatre looked down at his tea and nodded. "He was an Arab, like me. His wife passed away long ago, leaving him with twenty-nine daughters and only one son. He had a fantastic fortune and dozens of beautiful mansions all over the world...where I come from, the Winner family is legendary." The boy loosened the death grip on his shirt, letting his hand fall down into his lap. "He was my father."

Gentle gasps and softly spoken condolences floated in from the tiny circle, but Trowa noticed that they didn't help. Quatre was still staring trance-like at the floor, not even looking up to offer a brave smile, as he thought his friend would have done. He put a hand on his shoulder. "There's more...isn't there?"

Quatre looked at their puzzled faces and collected his thoughts. "It all started when I was a boy living in the desert with my father and sisters. We knew what it meant to belong to that family, that someday when father passed away, we would all share in his riches as dictated in his will. No one would be left out, and we would all be treated equally.

"That was before he came...Hassan...the old teacher father was duped into appointing as his chief aide." Quatre's voice dripped with bitterness and contempt as he remembered the crafty intruder. "My guardian, Rashid, never trusted him. He said before Hassan came into our family he was nearly beheaded for stealing from the Aga Khan himself...but somehow he talked his way out of it. He set eyes upon my father's fortune and began manipulating him. Father grew ill in time...Rashid still suspects that Hassan was poisoning him, but what we are sure of is that he somehow convinced father to rewrite his will."

Duo ran an agitated hand through his spiky bangs. "So...what, you don't stand to inherit anything because of this guy?"

Quatre looked up with terror in his eyes and shook his head slowly. "Oh no...no, I'm perfectly eligible, but it's not the amount that worries me at all. It's the method." He swallowed, gripping the cup and saucer like a holy talisman. "According to my father's revised will, the recipient of his inheritance will be decided by way of a tontine."

Duo, Hilde and Trowa looked at each other in confusion; none of them had ever heard that word before, nor did they know what it meant...but Heero knew, and Arthur knew. The pair looked at Quatre with sadness, and their gazes eventually shifted to the floor. The others looked clueless.

"What's a tontine?" Hilde asked.

"It's like a contest," Quatre said in a shaky voice, "between me and all of my sisters. The last one of us to survive inherits everything."

The entire room was in shock. "It's monstrous, that's what it is, monstrous!!" Arthur shouted; nobody was surprised at the usually silent man's outburst.

"You haven't heard the worst of it!" Quatre mewed plaintively. "There's been no love lost between my sisters for a long time, as long as I can remember. None of them get along, and some of them hate each other! They've all been able to amass small fortunes of their own, and a lot of them have personal armies...they could start a war over there!"

"Oh, come on, they're really gonna start blowing each other away over a few thousand pounds?" Duo said in disbelief. "No family is like that!"

Quatre gave him a frosty look. "Duo, try a few million pounds. In fact, try several million. Father could have bought England outright if he wanted to, and besides...our family isn't really a family anymore. Rashid, and my personal guard, forty strong men who would die to protect me...they're my real family, the only ones who never stopped caring about me.

"The day I turned fourteen was the day father's new will came into effect. The day after, Rashid gathered together a few of my belongings and packed me off to England, to hide me. Relena doesn't know. Nobody knows except you five, and it's imperative that we keep it that way. Now that father's dead, you see...they'll be looking for me. Since I'm the only male hair, my claim on the inheritance is traditionally strong, even though I'm the youngest."

"Can't you just turn down the money?" Hilde begged, nearly in tears.

"It wouldn't matter to my sisters, they'd come for me anyway. I'd gladly give up everything to be left unharmed, but the will says once you're in, you're in till the end."

"But if you have forty soldiers at your disposal, why didn't they come with you?" Trowa asked. "They could have watched over you and protected you...why did they stay behind!?"

"They were father's guards long before they were mine, and their first duty is towards the family as a whole, which means they'll be fully occupied with keeping my sisters from killing each other. Taking them with me would only have drawn attention to myself anyway...instead I took a secret identity, but it won't hide me forever. Sooner or later...they'll come for me."

Heero was fuming inwardly at the horrendous circumstances, but he also cursed himself for threatening to use Quatre's secret against him the day they met, without even knowing what it was. No wonder he was so afraid of me when I spoke to him in his own language. He must have thought I was sent by his sisters to find him. He folded his arms resolutely. "Only if they can get past us."

Quatre looked up again. "Don't underestimate them, Heero. Even without their guards, they'd make formidable enemies." He gave an exasperated shrug at his own helplessness. "They're all physically bigger than me, even. That's how I came up with my name, Sagheer...it means 'small.'"

Duo smirked to himself; Quatre wouldn't be so apprehensive about standing his ground if he knew Heero was armed and dangerous, but unfortunately, Duo couldn't tell him that. Instead, he opted for good old-fashioned confidence boosting. "Don't sweat it. If any freaky gals start hanging around wielding sabers and finger cymbals, we don't know you and we never saw you."

They all chimed in with words of encouragement, finally coaxing forth the tiny brave smile Trowa knew was hiding behind Quatre's fears. No plan was in place, save that they would all guard his secret closely, and keep an eye out for anyone suspicious. Everything about the boy made more sense now, from his unrivaled knowledge about money and the finer things in life, to his reluctance to be seen outside the house for any reason other than a direct order from her Ladyship. Gut-wrenching as it was, though, to let go of his inhibitions, Quatre found it strangely comforting to know that his new friends were all on his side and would look after him as if he was their brother instead.

Perhaps if the afternoon hadn't been so emotionally-charged already, Quatre's peculiar emotional sixth sense might have picked up on what was just outside the cottage, leaning against the wall next to the window. Dorothy ran her fingers through her long blonde tresses over and over, smiling to herself at what she had just heard.

Well well well...the little gardener's a potential millionaire, is he? Not if his sisters get ahold of him first, it seems. Sounds like what he needs is a powerful ally with connections that matter, not a bunch of rag-tag servants from the cellar. Her smile widened as she sauntered quietly back to the house with her fingers languidly hooked together behind her back. Don't worry, little one, I'll keep you safe...for a price.


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Next, in Episode Nine: The secret of the Winner Tontine is not as safe as Quatre had hoped, and as word slowly spreads, he's in more danger than he realizes. It's just one more worry for Heero, as he tries to train his new assistant amidst treachery and deception.

Evil...eeeeeviillllllll! *cackle* I do believe I get more sasdistic with each passing day. =^-^= And, er...I'm very sorry if "Hassan" happens to be in the name of anyone reading this, I meant no disrespect...I just needed a name beginning with an "h" and Hussein would've been rather obvious, doncha think? Episode Nine will be here, let's see...lemmie try for July 12th. *crosses fingers* Baibai!