Memento (Part Twenty-Two)

When page after page of words yielded no significant findings, it was inevitable that his concentration would waver. Having spent the last several hours sifting through years of data, Trowa found himself quite bored. With another few stacks of papers to go through, he estimated to be out of there in a minimum of two weeks. The group of people he'd had locked up in a room must have felt the hours pass by too slowly.

Rubbing his forehead in and outward display of annoyance, Trowa stared again at the file before his hands. Nothing made sense when he wanted nothing more than to stop reading. It was best to take a break for the time being and make sure that the temporarily imprisoned members of the investigation team were not about to take down the three people in charge. He was afraid that only Wufei would last when their patience was tried. Duo could be very irritating when bored. Not to say that it was anything bad. Heero, on the other hand, was probably close to performing illicit acts of homicide.

"Heero," he spoke into his handheld radio. "Is everything under control? Over."

"It depends on how you define control, over," was the answer through the static and the noisy background that could only have been the sound of several annoyed people complaining.

"Can you keep them in there longer?"

"...As long as you want. I've smashed the keypad. There's no way to get out of here unless you access it from the outside, over," Heero responded.

"Thanks," Trowa said, putting the radio down. At least he could take comfort in the fact that he could take as long as he wanted without interruptions.

Trowa craned his neck backwards, hoping to relieve the crick in his neck. That was when he noticed Quatre still sleeping peacefully on the couch. Blinking, Trowa found it disturbing that he'd forgotten about Quatre's presence the moment he started looking through the mounds of files he'd discovered.

"Still asleep?" he asked out loud, hoping to stop himself from going insane. Although he'd been known for his silence, spending years around rather loud, boisterous people caused him to miss the constant commotion that usually surrounded him. "Not even an inch, huh?" Trowa continued, having noticed that Quatre was in the same position he'd left him in. It seemed that his unconscious ward was not going to show any signs of life anytime soon.

Disappointed that he did not receive even a slight movement in response, Trowa turned back to the mess he'd made on the large conference table before him. Somehow, his organizational skills had abandoned him not more than a few hours into his work.

"You could at least show me a sign," Trowa muttered, leaving his chair in exchange for a more comfortable perch atop the table. Sitting cross-legged on the large expanse of mahogany, Trowa placed both elbows on his knees and dropped his cheeks into awaiting palms. He sighed, staring at the blank projection screen at the other end of the room. Perhaps he should watch a few videos instead. It was easy work and did not demand the same attention reading through paperwork did.

Satisfied that he'd found something productive to occupy himself with, Trowa crawled to the section where a box of tapes was in. The box held years of surveillance found within Quatre's supposed body, but maybe he could figure out which were more significant based on the labels attached to them. Finding something rather naughty might just be another plus side to that. At least there was nobody else watching.

By the time Trowa made it to the box, he was smirking like he'd found his most favorite treat. Sure, he may have been slightly perverted, but that may just have been the result of being celibate for the past three plus years.

All of a sudden, Quatre shifted as if having sensed the presence of a potential pervert when he was so vulnerably unconscious. His body moved to curl up on his side with his hand coming to rest automatically on his stomach.

"What, now you react?" Trowa said, having been interrupted from his hunt. It made him wonder if Quatre was simply feigning sleep. "You could at least tell me what to watch then," he said, making sure to stare at Quatre a bit longer just in case the other responded. Strangely enough, the hand on Quatre's stomach moved so that his palm was now almost flat against the couch. His fingers seemed to have formed the sign for three.

Coincidence or not, Trowa found the non-exchange amusing and did as Quatre had supposedly indicated, looking through the third column of tapes and picking the third from the top. That should have been good enough. At least he had somewhere to start. It wouldn't have been any better had he watched the tapes chronologically anyway. All he was hoping for was not a scene of himself brushing his teeth. That would have been too mundane and insignificant.

Unfortunately, having placed the tape into the mechanism, Trowa ended up watching a scene of himself on a sunny morning reading a newspaper. That was when he decided that he was the most boring person he knew. Dissatisfied, he picked the third tape from the bottom. It was labeled 'Quatre finds out'.

"About what?" Trowa murmured, depositing the tape into the mechanism and waiting as the static cleared, giving way to the event that was recorded almost two and a half years back.

The screen revealed a dark backdrop, so dark that he could not decipher what was going on. The same blankness went on for about five more minutes before Trowa decided that the tape was not worth watching. Not within an inch away from pressing the stop button, Trowa noticed a flicker of movement within the dark. He blinked, noticing himself in the scene in what seemed to be the dining area of their former home.

With rapt attention, Trowa watched as brightness suddenly flooded the scene. The light switch must have been turned on. The sudden presence of illumination revealed Trowa's seemingly preoccupied form. He was indeed sitting on a chair, staring off into some unknown corner as if the sudden emergence of light did not affect him.

"It's late." The sound byte was not worthy of the owner's voice but it was nevertheless a memorable sound. Within moments, Quatre seemed to materialize from behind the serious man in the scene. He looked healthy and glowing, far different from the person resting on the couch. Quatre's drawstring pajama bottoms were hung so low, Trowa could have sworn that it was meant to tease him. His shirt, which was being lifted by a wayward hand attempting to rub at his stomach was revealing a little too much. Too bad Trowa was being such a grump back then.

"I know," Trowa, dressed in pajamas, answered. Whatever was occupying him then may have been grave if he refused to look at Quatre.

"Why aren't you in bed?" Quatre asked as he lifted a hand to run down Trowa's neck in a soothing gesture.

"I was thinking."

Abandoning his position behind Trowa, Quatre hopped up to the table and positioned himself to sit directly opposite Trowa. With his height advantage atop the table, he stared down at Trowa, placing each foot on top of the arm rests of the chair to prevent escape.

"Tell me what's wrong?" Quatre suggested, leaning down so that each hand hooked itself to the back of Trowa's neck, leaving his thumbs free enough to rest gently on cheeks forever frozen with no expression.

"I'm worried about tomorrow," Trowa answered, looking up at Quatre. The angle of the camera was bad but workable so that he noticed himself with the same look of nonchalance despite his concern.

"I do it all the time," Quatre answered frowning a bit as he moved his hands forward to massage the back of Trowa's neck. "The speeches, they're all the same. It's nothing but a formality."

"It's a dangerous formality," Trowa said automatically, choosing to look somewhere within the vicinity of Quatre's chest instead. "I can't do this anymore. I can't keep on just watching you every time, not knowing what the outcome will be. I always know that somebody somewhere is aiming." He'd imagined everything from guns to poisonous darts.

Quatre sighed, combing his fingers through Trowa's hair before holding it back so that Trowa's face was not obscured by his hair. His other hand remained hooked on to the back of Trowa's neck. Leaning further down, he placed his forehead directly against Trowa's own and then closed his eyes.

Trowa found it fascinating to watch a scene he was familiar with, especially when he was seeing it from a third person perspective.

"I'm sorry Trowa," Quatre said. It was a phrase so often heard that Trowa couldn't help but grow an adverse reaction to it. "I was born into this life and I'll die living it," he said, moving to deposit his head on Trowa's shoulder.

Trowa said nothing, merely sat there as still as a statue, as unresponsive as always. Trowa, seeing himself as he was then, could not help but shake his head in disbelief. Somehow, all those comments about him being nothing but a brick wall came to mind. It made him wonder how Quatre managed to stand his seeming detachment.

Sighing at having watched himself act so cold, Trowa noticed Quatre's face, which happened to be directly facing the camera, contort into one of concentration. Quatre's eyes narrowed having noticed the surveillance device but did not alert the still somber Trowa to his discovery.

"Hmm?" Trowa said, watching on the screen as Quatre frowned. Alas, that was what the title of the tape meant. That exact moment was when Quatre discovered that they were being watched. Trowa, now himself aware of that fact, frowned as well.

"We should head on back to bed," Quatre voiced, his visage staring icily at the intrusion from the other side of the screen.

Trowa watched as Quatre jumped off the table, pulled him up, and turned off the lights. The pitter-patter of footsteps went on for a few more moments before there was silence. What followed was static, a sign that there was nothing more to see. Of course, what happed after that was something he clearly remembered. Mind-blowing wasn't even the word for how Quatre consoled him right after.

"Why Quatre, you exhibitionist," Trowa scolded the still unconscious man lying only a few feet away. "You wanted to give them a good show?" he continued his teasing although he felt scandalized. Despite his perverted tendencies, he was still reserved about such private matters. Whatever happened next was for nobody but them.

Then, suddenly hit with realization, Trowa slapped a hand hard on his forehead. If Noin, Sally, or anyone else, most especially Une, watched the particularly explicit tapes then he would be mortified, not that the thought didn't embarrass him enough already. For a moment, he almost felt his cheeks burn, but that never did happen when he sensed the presence of someone else behind him.

"I suppose they don't keep you under lock and key," he said, not facing the person who'd successfully sneaked up behind him. He may have been too distracted to notice, but it was still not an excuse for him to let his guard down.

"There was nobody watching me. It was easy to sneak out."

"Don't touch him," Trowa warned, leaving his position on the table to stand guard before Quatre. He didn't need to look at who the intruder was. He already knew.

"Shouldn't you be glad to see me?"

"Not after what you've done, no."

Trowa grabbed a chair and deposited it on the space in front of Quatre before taking his seat. After all that had happened, it was easy to deduce that prevention was the key to success. Keeping all untrustworthy parties away from Quatre was the first step. The woman walking toward the table was certainly one of those not allowed near the slumbering figure.

"But I'm the only one who'll be able to tell you what really happened," was the smug reply. Lara, the one person Trowa had hoped to avoid, grabbed a chair and seated herself at a safe distance away but still opposite Trowa. "You've got a lot of dedication," she said.

Trowa did nothing but stare at her.

"But if there's anyone with more determination than you," she continued, crossing her legs in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. "It's the person behind you."

"I know," Trowa said, making sure that he would not fall for whatever trap she had prepared. Perhaps there was some merit to having her around. She may just tell him the whole story and that would help him in his quest. She could provide the shortcut he'd been desperately trying to find.

"So tell me, Trowa," she said, emphasizing the stolen name. "Why do you think he never told you that he knew?"

"He was trying to protect me," Trowa said automatically. It was the most obvious answer no matter how trite it sounded. As if seeking comfort, his hand unconsciously reached back, seeking the hand he knew was resting motionless on the makeshift cot.

"It's not that simple, Trowa," she said, presenting him with a short laugh that must have been meant to provoke him. "It was not to protect you. It was to give you what you wanted."

"What?" Trowa said. Not for the first time, he found himself confused. With each passing day brought riddles that he'd been finding harder and harder to solve.

"Try to figure it out yourself. Otherwise, his sacrifice would have had no meaning."

Trowa clenched his unoccupied fist, angry that some stranger was demoralizing him like she knew him better than he did his own self. However, he could find nothing to say to counter her so he remained silent.

"I'm rather sad to see him like this. He was a worthy opponent, you know."

"Am I to believe that you fought on common ground, that you had no advantages over him, that your fight was fair?" Trowa said bitterly. The way Quatre had ended up was far more dreadful that she probably ever looked. She was healthy. He was not. She must have cheated somehow.

"I must admit, I had all the resources while he had none."

"What exactly was the battle for?"

"It was a battle for his mind."

Trowa felt his eyes narrow into slits. Based on her answer, it sounded like the conflict had nothing to do with him. All this time, it had been confirmed that he was the target. She was being illogical. It was like she was trying to confuse him.

"...or rather, it was a battle for you within his mind," she continued, grabbing a file off the table and throwing it up into the air as if it were an unimportant piece of information that held no meaning. In a sense, it almost meant nothing compared to what she knew. Trowa could do nothing but watch with morbid interest.

"But, let's start where it all begins, shall we? Destroying someone requires that you find their weakness, the one thing that if taken away will throw them off balance. Well, let me tell you that it was difficult to find yours. Why, if I may ask, does Mr. Winner never wear his wedding ring on his finger?"

Trowa relinquished his hold on Quatre's hand as if now only realizing that he'd held on to it in the first place. It was one thing when the enemy knew your weakness, but it was another when they witnessed it so plainly.

"If they knew he had a spouse then his foes would attack the spouse. It's an underhanded method," Trowa answered, realizing what his own explanation meant as he said it.

"And that was the reason why he wore his ring in a chain held over his heart rather than publicly display it on his finger," she responded. "You, however, had the luxury of wearing yours, which brings me to the problem of finding that crutch of yours which didn't seem to exist. Your other half had so carefully hidden himself so that it didn't look like you had anything to do with him. It worked well for you, I suppose. His enemies never did get their hands on you, but then your enemies managed to get their hands all over him."

"You had no right to take him away from me," Trowa responded heatedly. If he was all they needed then they should have headed straight for him, not involve someone who did not deserve it.

"And taken you instead? Why Trowa, how selfish of you. If you were gone, then what would become of Quatre?" Lara said, leaning back on her chair and crossing her arms.

Trowa, realizing that he'd been caught in a dilemma, could not respond. She was smart, he had to admit. If she managed to force him into a dead end then he could imagine just how well she manipulated Quatre.

"We're going in circles, aren't we?" she said.

Trowa did not look at her and instead stared at the ground before him. They were, indeed, going in circles and he was the dog blindly following.

"You must be asking yourself why it would be so selfish of you when Quatre himself had so selfishly beaten you to it. Doubting him now, are we?"

Trowa refused to be manipulated, but it did not mean that her tactics weren't working. The cogwheels in his head moved so frantically that he imagined they would fall off their course and leave him dumb. He did not want to blame any of this on Quatre, but he was finding himself on the verge of doing so. That must have been the purpose of the constant repeat of the words 'I'm sorry.' This must have been the reason. Quatre knew that his disappearance would devastate him and yet he went ahead with it anyway.

"You... Whatever it is your organization is, you've done enough damage," Trowa said, admitting defeat. He felt helpless and extremely saddened but never regretful. He never had control over the matter. He couldn't have stopped something he didn't know was coming.

"I figured as much," Lara answered, picking herself off her seat and proceeding to look through the papers haphazardly scattered across the table. Trowa made no move to stop her.

"Why did you bring him back here?" Trowa said, ignoring the intruder in favor of running a hand down Quatre's bandaged head instead.

"What would hurt more, his physical absence or the absence of you from his mind? How would it feel to have the person you love forget about you? ...Although I shouldn't be asking that. I'm sure you're well aware of the answer to those questions. So tell me Trowa, who is it that is most selfish in this situation?"

Trowa stilled his movement, surprised that she had figured him out. Her hate for him must have been so strong that she managed to find out everything there was about him. She was right. Everything she'd said was right. All her assumptions, all her speculations, all her interpretations of him were so accurate that he knew he was dealing with somebody he could not take lightly.

"You're right. At some point within the last few months, I did prefer his dead body over the entity who knew nothing of me," Trowa said, glad that none of his friends were there to hear it. He was ashamed that he'd so carefully hidden that fact all this time. "I trusted him to keep at least the memory of me alive. I was disappointed that he couldn't do just that."

"It's the same selfishness that drove you to take over my brother's legacy," Lara said, although she was more composed this time around. She scattered numerous papers around, uncaring of the people who would have to pick them up and arrange them afterwards.

Trowa ignored her delusions for the time being. He still believed she had nothing to do with the Barton family. Nobody but Marimeia could have possibly confirmed her identity.

"As I said earlier, Trowa," she continued, momentarily dismissing the fact that Trowa still refused to acknowledge his wrongdoing against her family. "You're selfish."

She pointed to the person behind him and then spoke again. "He valiantly fought for you within his mind. If there was one memory he refused to forget, it was you."

Mortified that he did not realize it sooner, Trowa stood up abruptly before accidentally kicking his chair down and landing himself next to Quatre's unmoving body. He stared at her, disbelieving, unable to come up with anything to say. Quatre's warm breaths were so apparent on the back of his neck that he couldn't help but look behind him. His eyes forced him to look into slightly parted lips that released breaths of air, the truest sign of life from his vantage point.

"He..." Trowa said, unable to continue.

"We brought him to the Preventers to see how well he could find you. I was surprised that he gravitated toward you despite not knowing who you were."

Dismissing his uninvited guest, Trowa put a hand up to his face and broke down in tears. The relief he felt was so overwhelming that it could not be put into words. It was as if it only now occurred to him that Quatre was alive. It did not matter what circumstances had brought them to the situation they were in. All that mattered was that Quatre was here now, breathing against the back of his neck, radiating his body heat into Trowa's own.

"Quatre," Trowa kept on repeating, remembering the scene from the video he'd just witnessed not too long ago. Quatre had said it himself, only death would take him away from his public duties, the public duties Trowa had always detested. He killed himself entirely and somehow managed to return as somebody else. Again and again, Quatre had found him, relentlessly pulling him from a memory bank that no longer existed. It was the craziest stunt anyone could have ever pulled.

"You're such a fool," he scolded, scrambling clumsily off the ground before he deposited himself on the couch. His cheeks found their way to dull blonde hair that lost its luster long ago and his hands hung on to a bony back that exposed a barely protected spine and hard shoulder blades that were uncomfortable to the touch. Nevertheless, he continued to clutch Quatre's upper body against his heaving chest, against the frantic beating of his heart. Quatre was here with him now. That should have been all that ever mattered.