Trowa stared into Milliardo's ice blue stare, a million thoughts racing
through his mind. What do I do next? Should I kill this man too? But,
this man means so much to Heero! And Judas ruined Milliardo's family!
He'd want revenge too! Does Heero know Milliardo is here? If so, does
Milliardo know about me?Trowa stood still, the knife in his hand
beginning to slip with the lubrication provided by Judas' blood.
Urged by the controversy going on downstairs, Milliardo took the few steps it took between himself and Trowa and stood face to face with the boy. He was nearly a head taller than Trowa, and he stared down at the younger man, not saying anything, but indicating that Trowa follow him quickly.
Milliardo led Trowa to the powder room, and through a door, allowing them to exit Heero's home. With a sharp whistle, Milliardo's strong steed galloped around the corner, large, sleek, and black. Trowa felt like he was in a surreal dream as Milliardo mounted the horse, and offered his hand for Trowa to follow. Trowa raised his blood- stained hand nervously, but Milliardo did not want to waste time with polite gestures. He gripped Trowa's hand firmly and hoisted the light boy onto the horse, wrapping his arms around Trowa's form as he took hold of the reins. With a sharp nudge to the horse's underbelly,
they galloped away. Trowa could hear the screams of fear begin to uncoil from inside Heero's house. His eyes fluttered shut.
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A scream from upstairs shook Heero from his half drunken stupor. Miss Lila, a small, timid young lady in her late teens, clambered down the stairs, tears streaking her cheeks and her hands half covering her face.
The guests present looked upon the girl either in shock or disgust; it wasn't ordinary to see Miss Lila become to exasperated.
"Someone's been killed!" she sobbed loudly. "Upstairs, right outside the powder room!" With that, she collapsed at the foot of the stairs, overwhelmed with the sight she had just seen.
A resounding gasp was heard, and two women quickly swept across the room to Miss Lila's side as the majority of the men ran up the stairs to see if Miss Lila's account was indeed true.
Heero stood abruptly, looking around for Sebastian; he would know what to do. Sebastian had some running in from the kitchen as soon as he had heard Miss Lila's blood-curdling scream. Heero ran to Sebastian with panic in his voice.
"What's going on, Sebastian?" Heero asked.
"I'm not quite sure, Mr. Yuy," Sebastian answered honestly. "The last man I let in was that well known-art critic—"
"Mr. Judas DiAndretti's been murdered!" called a voice from upstairs.
Heero looked to upstairs, to Sebastian, and back again. Sebastian nodded solemnly, and nodded to Mr. Yuy, leaving the young artist in attempt to calm the other guests down. Heero instead weeded through the mass amounts of people and took the steps two at a time, passing various other people who were green in the face and covered their mouths with sickness; Heero guessed that they had already seen the corpse of Judas.
Judas,Heero thought with both disgust and pity. He reached the scene of the crime, many gentlemen forming a circle around the corpse. He pushed two aside as he approached them with haste, his eyes bulging at the sight.
It was the same Judas he once knew, the same Judas he'd remembered from over ten years ago. The same wavy brown hair, the same large blue eyes. Only now, that wavy brown hair was matted with crimson blood which was quickly drying into a dark brown; those large blue eyes were glassy, the blue hardly visible as Judas' pupils were rolled back into his skull. The crisp white shirt Judas wore was now drenched in his own blood, numerous slits in his shirt marking the obvious stab wounds.
Heero scanned the corpse and stopped at Judas' chest where a single rose lay innocently. The shouts and screams of panic and worry around him began to fade into a dull hum as Heero knelt in front of Judas, beside the dead man's face. He slowly picked up the rose, dropping it suddenly as he was pricked by a small, but sharp thorn. A small bead of blood formed on his forefinger, and he instinctively placed his finger in his mouth and recognized the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. He had yearned to see Judas like this.
But I DIDN'T do this,Heero thought, his mind clouded with contemplation. If I didn't kill him, who did?He scanned the room silently. Where's Milliardo?He began to stand until his eyes came in contact with Trowa's bedroom, the door cracked open and the lights dark.
Ignoring the odd looks from others, he ran into Trowa's room, grabbing the candle that always sat by the table next to the door. He lit the candle hastily and scanned the room for any signs of Trowa. There was none.
Laying across the bed was Catherine's case of throwing knives. Quickly, so that no one else could see, Heero threw open the top to the knife case. One knife was missing. Heero quickly shut the case and threw it under Catherine's bed. He turned back to his guests and to his relief, everybody was so concerned with the newly deceased art critic, they had long forgotten about Heero and his "unnatural" paintings.
He stood outside the room, his back against the doorframe. Everything became nebulous and unclear as he slid down the wall and sunk to the floor. Trowa was gone. Milliardo was gone. His eyes began to close as he began to feel completely and utterly alone.
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What do I do with this boy?Milliardo asked himself as his horse carried them to the outskirts of town. He'd have to feed the steed extra tonight; the poor horse worked doubly hard. Early in their journey, the young boy's head had dipped back onto Milliardo's arm, which still held the reins steady. The boy's tanned face would have radiated innocence, if it weren't for the blood that splattered the boy's flawless cheek.
The wind beat against Milliardo's face; it was early autumn but the air was getting crisp and cool quickly. Trowa began to shiver slightly in his sleep. Milliardo pulled the boy closer to his chest as they approached Milliardo's new home, a small farm house surrounded by beautiful, strong trees. An orangey pink spread across the wide sky, welcoming Milliardo and his new guest back home.
With a grunt, Milliardo's horse came to stop at the side of the house. Careful not to topple the slumbering boy, he dismounted the horse and let Trowa fall into his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something shiny and silver fall to the ground. It was the weapon.
Ignoring it for the time being, Milliardo walked up the slowly decaying stairs to the side entrance of his house; it would lead to his bedroom where a warm bed awaited. Milliardo decided it was best for Trowa to use his bed; he'd set up a cot for himself. The boy needed more comfort than he did.
The boy's hand slipped from Milliardo's cradling arms, and it hung limply. Milliardo glanced down at his arm and noticed the sanguine streak it had left there. He furrowed his brow and tried to decide what to do.
With intention, Milliardo lay Trowa down on the bed, Trowa beginning to stir and shiver again once Milliardo left his side.
"I'll be right back," Trowa heard Milliardo say, his voice paternal and loving.
Trowa couldn't help but continue to shiver. His eyes were still closed; any light made his head begin to pound. His breaths were in short gasps. Trowa became quiet as he heard the sound running water. After a short while, he felt Milliardo by his side again, slowing unwrapping the boy of his clothes. Trowa began to shiver violently, whimpering slightly.
"It's alright," said Milliardo, his voice slow and steady, soft and sure. He removed Trowa's shirt, which stuck to Trowa's skin with dried blood. Milliardo found that Trowa's skin was incredibly smooth, despite the firm muscles that rested beneath such tenderness.
"Now, I'm going to remove your pants, Trowa," said Milliardo softly, his hand resting on the waistband on Trowa's slacks. "I'm not here to harm you in any way. I'm just going to bathe you. Is that alright with you? If you're not comfortable with this, say something now."
At the word "bath," Trowa's ears perked up, and he nodded slowly, eyes still closed, and felt a chill run up his spine as he felt himself being unbuttoned and removed of all his clothing. However, instead of feeling exposed, he felt safe, and instinctively moved towards sources of warmth.
Milliardo sat on his bed and found a Trowa nestled in his lap, shivering slightly, but not nearly as badly as before. He smiled slightly, lifting the boy with ease and carrying him to the bath. He eased Trowa into the warm water, Trowa's shivering immediately stopping and a small noise of contentment emerging from his throat. Milliardo smiled and rolled up his sleeves, dampening a cloth with the water surrounding Trowa's body. He began to wash the blood off of Trowa's face, his arms, washing away the evidence to Trowa's happiness.
He began to speak to Trowa, curious as to how much Heero had told his new lover. "Trowa?" he said, his voice a soft growl.
Trowa made a noise signaling that he was indeed conscious and aware he was being spoken to.
Milliardo laughed a bit before continuing. "Trowa, do you know who I am?"
Trowa said nothing, only making satisfied murmurs. Milliardo shrugged; perhaps Heero didn't tell Trowa anything about him. There really wasn't a need.
"My name is Victor," Milliardo said, his new name sounding strange on his lips.
Trowa shook his head, opening his eyes so that they remained half-lidded. "No; you're Milliardo Venire."
Milliardo stopped his bathing to look at the young creature that lay before him in the now murky water that was beginning to stain a shade of pink. These were the first words he'd heard from the small boy; he realized that this boy was not as young as he had thought.
Trowa's voice was weak, but it was clear and certain.
"Yes, that's right." He squeezed the water out of the cloth and began to wash Trowa's face. Trowa leaned his face against the welcoming warmth, and purred quietly. He pressed Milliardo's hand against his face, his mouth dropping.
"I know who you are," Trowa said softly. "You were Heero's lover."
Milliardo swallowed. "Yes, that's right," he repeated. Reluctantly, he dropped his hand away, and let the cloth soak up more water before squeezing it out again and repeating the process until all evidence of blood drained into the water surrounding Trowa, which was now beginning to cool. Trowa began to shiver.
"Christ, you must be cold," Milliardo said. He stood to get a towel before he felt Trowa's damp hand grab his arm. He looked back to see Trowa's face begin to crumble.
"Please don't leave!" Trowa said, his voice beginning to break into sobs. Milliardo didn't know exactly what to do, but knelt beside Trowa as the young man began to cry. His tears dropped into the tub to blend with the bathwater. A bit unsure, Milliardo pulled Trowa out of the tub and into his lap, the boy's body soaking his clothes; Milliardo soon realized he didn't care. He sat on the floor of the bathroom as Trowa cries echoed on the bathroom walls.
Trowa cried, not quite sure why he was crying, but the fact that he had someone to hold him made it easier to let go.
Milliardo felt his clothes soak further as the boy's tears began to soak his chest. He remembered when he was a boy, he would go to his mother to cry, his mother who worked so hard in the days they were part of the train. He mimicked what he remembered his mother did to comfort him, and did his best to console Trowa, holding the boy close and running his fingers lightly through the boy's hair, murmuring "shh" as the boy's sobs began to die down.
"Are you alright now?" Milliardo asked, once Trowa's weeping became small whimpers. He felt the boy nod against his chest. "Okay. I need you to do me a favor and stand up. You'll probably be cold for a second, but I have a nice fluffy towel here that you can have."
Trowa nodded again and pressed against Milliardo, who, in the short time he'd been acquainted with the strong, handsome man, was beginning to be a large comfort. Trowa stood on weak limbs and was immediately enveloped in a large white bath towel. Milliardo lifted Trowa, who wrapped his legs around Milliardo's waist, clinging to the
man for safely. Milliardo smiled as he held Trowa with one arm around the boy's waist, and carried the him to the bed, turning down the blankets with his free hand. He removed the towel from Trowa's body as he slipped the boy under the covers. He tousled Trowa's hair with the towel, making it remotely dry so that Trowa wouldn't wake up with a cold the next day.
"Alright," Milliardo said, after he'd tucked Trowa in to his satisfaction. "I'm going to go get the cot—"
Trowa's hand darted out from under the covers to grasp Milliardo's. He shook his head violently, pulling on Milliardo's arm.
"No, Trowa, I think we should—"
Trowa's eyebrows began to furrow and a pleading look stretched across his face. Milliardo sighed in defeat and crawled under the covers with Trowa. Trowa immediately tangled himself in Milliardo's embrace, resting on top of the blonde's heaving chest. It wasn't sexual in any way to Trowa; Milliardo was someone he quickly began to trust. Milliardo was safety.
Milliardo smiled slightly. "I don't know when I can bring you back to Heero, Trowa," he said. As Milliardo spoke, Trowa's cheek vibrated against Milliardo's chest. "But not very soon. You're going to have to lay low for awhile. I don't know exactly what's going to happen; I'll give Heero a call tomorrow and see what's going on. Otherwise, I'm sorry to say, you're going to have to stay here. It's not the most expensive place, but I rather like it."
Trowa's eyes began to droop, and Milliardo's words began to lull him to sleep. Milliardo, realizing he no longer had an audience, smiled a bit. He moistened his fingers with his tongue and extinguished the candle beside the bed, wrapping his arms around Trowa's torso and drifted off to sleep.
- to be continued -
Urged by the controversy going on downstairs, Milliardo took the few steps it took between himself and Trowa and stood face to face with the boy. He was nearly a head taller than Trowa, and he stared down at the younger man, not saying anything, but indicating that Trowa follow him quickly.
Milliardo led Trowa to the powder room, and through a door, allowing them to exit Heero's home. With a sharp whistle, Milliardo's strong steed galloped around the corner, large, sleek, and black. Trowa felt like he was in a surreal dream as Milliardo mounted the horse, and offered his hand for Trowa to follow. Trowa raised his blood- stained hand nervously, but Milliardo did not want to waste time with polite gestures. He gripped Trowa's hand firmly and hoisted the light boy onto the horse, wrapping his arms around Trowa's form as he took hold of the reins. With a sharp nudge to the horse's underbelly,
they galloped away. Trowa could hear the screams of fear begin to uncoil from inside Heero's house. His eyes fluttered shut.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
A scream from upstairs shook Heero from his half drunken stupor. Miss Lila, a small, timid young lady in her late teens, clambered down the stairs, tears streaking her cheeks and her hands half covering her face.
The guests present looked upon the girl either in shock or disgust; it wasn't ordinary to see Miss Lila become to exasperated.
"Someone's been killed!" she sobbed loudly. "Upstairs, right outside the powder room!" With that, she collapsed at the foot of the stairs, overwhelmed with the sight she had just seen.
A resounding gasp was heard, and two women quickly swept across the room to Miss Lila's side as the majority of the men ran up the stairs to see if Miss Lila's account was indeed true.
Heero stood abruptly, looking around for Sebastian; he would know what to do. Sebastian had some running in from the kitchen as soon as he had heard Miss Lila's blood-curdling scream. Heero ran to Sebastian with panic in his voice.
"What's going on, Sebastian?" Heero asked.
"I'm not quite sure, Mr. Yuy," Sebastian answered honestly. "The last man I let in was that well known-art critic—"
"Mr. Judas DiAndretti's been murdered!" called a voice from upstairs.
Heero looked to upstairs, to Sebastian, and back again. Sebastian nodded solemnly, and nodded to Mr. Yuy, leaving the young artist in attempt to calm the other guests down. Heero instead weeded through the mass amounts of people and took the steps two at a time, passing various other people who were green in the face and covered their mouths with sickness; Heero guessed that they had already seen the corpse of Judas.
Judas,Heero thought with both disgust and pity. He reached the scene of the crime, many gentlemen forming a circle around the corpse. He pushed two aside as he approached them with haste, his eyes bulging at the sight.
It was the same Judas he once knew, the same Judas he'd remembered from over ten years ago. The same wavy brown hair, the same large blue eyes. Only now, that wavy brown hair was matted with crimson blood which was quickly drying into a dark brown; those large blue eyes were glassy, the blue hardly visible as Judas' pupils were rolled back into his skull. The crisp white shirt Judas wore was now drenched in his own blood, numerous slits in his shirt marking the obvious stab wounds.
Heero scanned the corpse and stopped at Judas' chest where a single rose lay innocently. The shouts and screams of panic and worry around him began to fade into a dull hum as Heero knelt in front of Judas, beside the dead man's face. He slowly picked up the rose, dropping it suddenly as he was pricked by a small, but sharp thorn. A small bead of blood formed on his forefinger, and he instinctively placed his finger in his mouth and recognized the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. He had yearned to see Judas like this.
But I DIDN'T do this,Heero thought, his mind clouded with contemplation. If I didn't kill him, who did?He scanned the room silently. Where's Milliardo?He began to stand until his eyes came in contact with Trowa's bedroom, the door cracked open and the lights dark.
Ignoring the odd looks from others, he ran into Trowa's room, grabbing the candle that always sat by the table next to the door. He lit the candle hastily and scanned the room for any signs of Trowa. There was none.
Laying across the bed was Catherine's case of throwing knives. Quickly, so that no one else could see, Heero threw open the top to the knife case. One knife was missing. Heero quickly shut the case and threw it under Catherine's bed. He turned back to his guests and to his relief, everybody was so concerned with the newly deceased art critic, they had long forgotten about Heero and his "unnatural" paintings.
He stood outside the room, his back against the doorframe. Everything became nebulous and unclear as he slid down the wall and sunk to the floor. Trowa was gone. Milliardo was gone. His eyes began to close as he began to feel completely and utterly alone.
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What do I do with this boy?Milliardo asked himself as his horse carried them to the outskirts of town. He'd have to feed the steed extra tonight; the poor horse worked doubly hard. Early in their journey, the young boy's head had dipped back onto Milliardo's arm, which still held the reins steady. The boy's tanned face would have radiated innocence, if it weren't for the blood that splattered the boy's flawless cheek.
The wind beat against Milliardo's face; it was early autumn but the air was getting crisp and cool quickly. Trowa began to shiver slightly in his sleep. Milliardo pulled the boy closer to his chest as they approached Milliardo's new home, a small farm house surrounded by beautiful, strong trees. An orangey pink spread across the wide sky, welcoming Milliardo and his new guest back home.
With a grunt, Milliardo's horse came to stop at the side of the house. Careful not to topple the slumbering boy, he dismounted the horse and let Trowa fall into his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something shiny and silver fall to the ground. It was the weapon.
Ignoring it for the time being, Milliardo walked up the slowly decaying stairs to the side entrance of his house; it would lead to his bedroom where a warm bed awaited. Milliardo decided it was best for Trowa to use his bed; he'd set up a cot for himself. The boy needed more comfort than he did.
The boy's hand slipped from Milliardo's cradling arms, and it hung limply. Milliardo glanced down at his arm and noticed the sanguine streak it had left there. He furrowed his brow and tried to decide what to do.
With intention, Milliardo lay Trowa down on the bed, Trowa beginning to stir and shiver again once Milliardo left his side.
"I'll be right back," Trowa heard Milliardo say, his voice paternal and loving.
Trowa couldn't help but continue to shiver. His eyes were still closed; any light made his head begin to pound. His breaths were in short gasps. Trowa became quiet as he heard the sound running water. After a short while, he felt Milliardo by his side again, slowing unwrapping the boy of his clothes. Trowa began to shiver violently, whimpering slightly.
"It's alright," said Milliardo, his voice slow and steady, soft and sure. He removed Trowa's shirt, which stuck to Trowa's skin with dried blood. Milliardo found that Trowa's skin was incredibly smooth, despite the firm muscles that rested beneath such tenderness.
"Now, I'm going to remove your pants, Trowa," said Milliardo softly, his hand resting on the waistband on Trowa's slacks. "I'm not here to harm you in any way. I'm just going to bathe you. Is that alright with you? If you're not comfortable with this, say something now."
At the word "bath," Trowa's ears perked up, and he nodded slowly, eyes still closed, and felt a chill run up his spine as he felt himself being unbuttoned and removed of all his clothing. However, instead of feeling exposed, he felt safe, and instinctively moved towards sources of warmth.
Milliardo sat on his bed and found a Trowa nestled in his lap, shivering slightly, but not nearly as badly as before. He smiled slightly, lifting the boy with ease and carrying him to the bath. He eased Trowa into the warm water, Trowa's shivering immediately stopping and a small noise of contentment emerging from his throat. Milliardo smiled and rolled up his sleeves, dampening a cloth with the water surrounding Trowa's body. He began to wash the blood off of Trowa's face, his arms, washing away the evidence to Trowa's happiness.
He began to speak to Trowa, curious as to how much Heero had told his new lover. "Trowa?" he said, his voice a soft growl.
Trowa made a noise signaling that he was indeed conscious and aware he was being spoken to.
Milliardo laughed a bit before continuing. "Trowa, do you know who I am?"
Trowa said nothing, only making satisfied murmurs. Milliardo shrugged; perhaps Heero didn't tell Trowa anything about him. There really wasn't a need.
"My name is Victor," Milliardo said, his new name sounding strange on his lips.
Trowa shook his head, opening his eyes so that they remained half-lidded. "No; you're Milliardo Venire."
Milliardo stopped his bathing to look at the young creature that lay before him in the now murky water that was beginning to stain a shade of pink. These were the first words he'd heard from the small boy; he realized that this boy was not as young as he had thought.
Trowa's voice was weak, but it was clear and certain.
"Yes, that's right." He squeezed the water out of the cloth and began to wash Trowa's face. Trowa leaned his face against the welcoming warmth, and purred quietly. He pressed Milliardo's hand against his face, his mouth dropping.
"I know who you are," Trowa said softly. "You were Heero's lover."
Milliardo swallowed. "Yes, that's right," he repeated. Reluctantly, he dropped his hand away, and let the cloth soak up more water before squeezing it out again and repeating the process until all evidence of blood drained into the water surrounding Trowa, which was now beginning to cool. Trowa began to shiver.
"Christ, you must be cold," Milliardo said. He stood to get a towel before he felt Trowa's damp hand grab his arm. He looked back to see Trowa's face begin to crumble.
"Please don't leave!" Trowa said, his voice beginning to break into sobs. Milliardo didn't know exactly what to do, but knelt beside Trowa as the young man began to cry. His tears dropped into the tub to blend with the bathwater. A bit unsure, Milliardo pulled Trowa out of the tub and into his lap, the boy's body soaking his clothes; Milliardo soon realized he didn't care. He sat on the floor of the bathroom as Trowa cries echoed on the bathroom walls.
Trowa cried, not quite sure why he was crying, but the fact that he had someone to hold him made it easier to let go.
Milliardo felt his clothes soak further as the boy's tears began to soak his chest. He remembered when he was a boy, he would go to his mother to cry, his mother who worked so hard in the days they were part of the train. He mimicked what he remembered his mother did to comfort him, and did his best to console Trowa, holding the boy close and running his fingers lightly through the boy's hair, murmuring "shh" as the boy's sobs began to die down.
"Are you alright now?" Milliardo asked, once Trowa's weeping became small whimpers. He felt the boy nod against his chest. "Okay. I need you to do me a favor and stand up. You'll probably be cold for a second, but I have a nice fluffy towel here that you can have."
Trowa nodded again and pressed against Milliardo, who, in the short time he'd been acquainted with the strong, handsome man, was beginning to be a large comfort. Trowa stood on weak limbs and was immediately enveloped in a large white bath towel. Milliardo lifted Trowa, who wrapped his legs around Milliardo's waist, clinging to the
man for safely. Milliardo smiled as he held Trowa with one arm around the boy's waist, and carried the him to the bed, turning down the blankets with his free hand. He removed the towel from Trowa's body as he slipped the boy under the covers. He tousled Trowa's hair with the towel, making it remotely dry so that Trowa wouldn't wake up with a cold the next day.
"Alright," Milliardo said, after he'd tucked Trowa in to his satisfaction. "I'm going to go get the cot—"
Trowa's hand darted out from under the covers to grasp Milliardo's. He shook his head violently, pulling on Milliardo's arm.
"No, Trowa, I think we should—"
Trowa's eyebrows began to furrow and a pleading look stretched across his face. Milliardo sighed in defeat and crawled under the covers with Trowa. Trowa immediately tangled himself in Milliardo's embrace, resting on top of the blonde's heaving chest. It wasn't sexual in any way to Trowa; Milliardo was someone he quickly began to trust. Milliardo was safety.
Milliardo smiled slightly. "I don't know when I can bring you back to Heero, Trowa," he said. As Milliardo spoke, Trowa's cheek vibrated against Milliardo's chest. "But not very soon. You're going to have to lay low for awhile. I don't know exactly what's going to happen; I'll give Heero a call tomorrow and see what's going on. Otherwise, I'm sorry to say, you're going to have to stay here. It's not the most expensive place, but I rather like it."
Trowa's eyes began to droop, and Milliardo's words began to lull him to sleep. Milliardo, realizing he no longer had an audience, smiled a bit. He moistened his fingers with his tongue and extinguished the candle beside the bed, wrapping his arms around Trowa's torso and drifted off to sleep.
- to be continued -