Trowa POV

I could only remember bits and pieces of what happened after the mercenaries left me. The hot sun beating down on me. Voices. An angel kneeling in front of me with a knife hovering above. Water. Being carried, the angel beside me. Cool. My angel with the knife. My costume disappearing. Water again, my angel pouring it into my mouth. Blue eyes. Voices, people all around me. Ice. A voice, speaking quietly, in low, soft tones that I couldn't quite make out, but I liked the sound of anyway. Then I slept.

I knew I was in pretty bad shape at the time, especially when I started seeing blonde haired, blue eyed angels, but I wasn't sure just how badly I was hurt. I didn't think a little sunburn would be able to affect me like that, but it did. I was just so tired, but I felt I needed to stay awake until I knew what they were going to do with me, or who they even were. However, once angel got me cooled down and into bed, there was nothing I could do to keep from sleeping.

The next time I awoke was to the sound of footsteps in the halls. I immediately opened my eyes, my fight or flee instincts kicking in. To my left, angel was sleeping peacefully in an armchair. Now that my brain had cleared I could see that he was really just a boy, but he looked so angelic and the fact that he had white wings with gold tips made it so I could understand how I would mistake him for an angel. However, he was obviously the demon I had heard worked with the maganacs. I pondered him for a bit, I had heard stories about him and his lineage from the mercs, but I didn't know enough about him to come to any conclusions.

The door opened and I recognized Rasid, the leader of the maganacs, as one of the men entering. I realized that the maganacs must have decided to take me along even though I had been burnt. I wondered, hesitantly, if they would want me to... perform my duties in the shape I was in. The mercs would have, so I decided that maganacs probably would. There was really nothing I could do about it, if the maganacs didn't like me they'd simply leave me in the desert. The best I could do was to stay alert and minimize the damage they did to my body. But... Rasid was so big! If what I couldn't see was in proportion to what I could, I'd be hard pressed to take him even at my best.

"So I see you're awake," the other man said. I didn't recognize him, he was dressed all in white and held a small leather bag in front of him. He put the bag down on the floor and neared me, holding open one of my eyes with his fingers. I was frozen, not knowing what to do, so I stayed still.

"Can you hear me?" the man asked, then frowned when I didn't respond. I was barely able to keep myself from jumping when he lifted the sheet off of me and started collecting the melted bags of ice.

"I think these have served their purpose," he said to the other man, throwing the bags into the garbage, "The last thing we want is for him to get the chills."

The man pulled something out of his bag and stuck it under my tongue, I realized belatedly that it was a thermometer.

"Master Quatre has fallen asleep," commented Rasid. The other man nodded.

"I knew that boy was working himself too hard. Always needs to be doing something. I doubt he got a whole lot of attention when he was little with so many sisters around. Probably doesn't even realize this is his way of getting attention any more. Once I've finished my exam you can put him into bed."

"Are you sure that's wise? We don't know this boy."

"Do you really think I would have left Quatre alone with him if he could do more than lift his head? I'm amazed he's still awake, but that's about the extent of his abilities right now, he's helpless. Damn mercs, leaving the kid out in the sun like that."

"We knew they were scum when we first started trading with them, but I never thought they would do something as low as this."

The man pulled the thermometer out of my mouth and looked at it.

"101," he said, "That's much better. I think he'll be alright if he rests and get plenty of water. Though... the fact that he's still awake worries me. Better safe than sorry. Flip him over for me, would you? His back's the only damn part of him that isn't burnt," the man muttered, pulling something out of his pack and writing something down on paper. The bigger man, Rasid nodded in understanding, then moved to the side of my bed. My heart was racing, but I didn't let that show in my face. Grabbing my arm where it wasn't burnt, he rolled me onto my stomach. I knew what was coming next and closed my eyes, since they couldn't see it, and fisted my hands in the pillow. I waited for them to yank down my shorts and take me, keeping my body limp and lifeless. It only hurt more if I fought.

I was a bit surprised when, instead of pulling down my shorts, I felt them pull one side up. There was a sharp pinching pain just above my thigh, then nothing. I waited anxiously for something to happen, but Rasid simply rolled me back over and the other man moved away. Once I was on my back again, I noticed that the man was putting away a small glass syringe.

Drugged? Why would they have drugged me? My mind couldn't understand their reasoning, I was already theirs to do whatever they wished with. Soon, my eyes started getting heavy and I realized I wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer. At least, I thought, I won't feel whatever they're going to do to me.

The last thing I saw was Rasid slipping the blonde boy into the bed next to me and pulling up the covers. Then my eyes closed and I was lost to the world.

My next set of memories are disjointed at best. I felt the world shift underneath me and tried to pull myself into the world of the living. I barely managed to, and when I did wake up my eyes wouldn't focus on anything. The world lurched again and I grabbed for something to hold on to. My hand came in contact with something, but it fell away with a loud crash. Then there were hands on me, grabbing me and forcing me back down. I struggled, trying to dislodge my attacker, but was too weak. There was a small whimper and I was astonished to find that I was making it. Suddenly, the hands grabbed me and, instead of forcing me down, pulled me into a sitting position against something warm and soft.

"Shh. It's alright. It's okay, it's just a little turbulence. Just relax, alright, I'm right here," a soft voice said, running gentle hands down my back. Everything I had known for my entire life screamed at me to get away, that it wasn't safe to be around someone when I was so helpless, but it felt safe. Maybe it was the gentle way he touched me or the soft sound of his voice, but I knew, I just knew that this person wasn't going to hurt me. Slowly, I relaxed and fell asleep again.

I've been a whore all my life, I've seen thousands of others boys and girls die because they simply gave up and didn't care anymore. They just didn't want to live. It was different for me, I had always wanted to be alive, and that's what had allowed me to live to the age of seventeen. There had been moments, short incidents, where I wished for death to end the pain, but I had always been able to force myself to get up, to keep living. There were many times I wondered why I would do that, since there was nothing in my life but pain and hunger. Even so, I wanted to live.

So I learned how to stay alive. I learned to stay quiet, no matter what, to never say anything that they could use against me, to hide all my feelings no matter how strong they were, and to stop hoping.

Of course, there were reasons for all of these rules. Never make a sound because if they don't hear you, they probably won't see you. You can't hide, because that would reveal fear, but as long as you were in plain sight and they didn't hear you, you might be left alone. The best idea was to never say anything at all, too, because they had a tendency to twist my words and use them against me, it was best to just be silent unless forced to answer. Never show your feelings because they can be used against you. It's alright to have them, just as long as no one knows you do. And finally, don't hope. Because every time you hoped and every time hope died, there would be a little piece of yourself that went with it. Hope too much, and you'd be nothing.

Those were the rules that I laid down for myself, that I followed no matter how much pain I was in, so why was it so hard to follow them in the prescience of my angel? I had shown emotion, weakness even, in front of him. I had let my guard down, I had made noise and forced him to notice me, and I had, somehow without even noticing it, I had begun to hope I could stay with this man. Hope could be a deadly thing.

When I awoke the next morning, I expected to be in agony. And I was, really, but it wasn't from being used, it was from the sunburn. The skin on my chest and face felt like someone had pulled and stretched it so it was too tight for my face, then ran a hot iron over it. However, I wasn't laying on my stomach, nor was my ass sore. Carefully, I moved just enough to tell that there wasn't any residue inside me that would have been there had I been taken.

Cautiously, I opened my eyes to find that the room was dim, though it had to be late in the morning. I looked around the room, memorizing my surroundings. On the floor was a thick, red rug. Broken glass from an ornament candle holder and the half-burned candle lay strewn about it. There was a heavily stuffed armchair pulled close to the bed, a table with a glass of what looked to be water next to the bed, and a dresser against the far wall. On the dresser was a small glass bottle and some kind of tea bag, next to that was several bandages and a piece of paper. Also on the far wall was a waist height book shelf, brimming with books. I scanned a few of the names and was pleased to find that there were several classics among them, including I few I had never heard of. I wondered if I'd get the chance to read any of them. Some of the mercs had let me read their books, and some hadn't noticed when I took them as long as they got back within a week, but a couple of them beat me for taking the books so I wasn't certain if I would try it.

Reading was one thing I prided myself on. Most of the mercenaries couldn't even read, but I had been lucky enough to meet on that could. Trowa Barton had taken me under his wing, teaching me to read and do maintenance on some of the machinery, so I wouldn't have to be a whore all my life. He even told me once, jokingly, that since I didn't have a name he'd name me after himself. Of course, he always just called me kid, but I liked to daydream that some day I could go up to someone and tell them, without any doubt, my name was Trowa.

Unfortunately, the real Trowa died in combat only a year after I met him. I never told the mercenaries about my name, I didn't think they'd like me stealing the name of their fallen comrade.

As I looked around, I found that I couldn't see the blonde boy. Behind me, I felt something soft and warm and looked up to find that I was nestled in the boy's arms, my head resting on his chest, nearly lying on top of him. Above me, the boy still slept and I wondered why he would be holding me like that when we obviously hadn't had sex. A few of the mercs had held me after sex, but their grip was more territorial, like they didn't want me to get away. The boy's grip was loose and I probably could have gotten away had I wanted to, but I was comfortable and, since there was nowhere for me to run, there was really no use in me getting away.

Eventually, the boy stirred and opened his eyes. I didn't know the boy, so I wasn't sure how to react to him. I stayed perfectly still in his arms, keeping my eyes open and on his face so he would be aware that I was awake. The boy smiled at me, his eyes sparkling in the most pleasant way as he sat up just a bit.

"Good morning," he said, his voice as calm and gentle as ever, "How are you feeling?"

Again, I didn't know how I should answer, so I kept my mouth shut. However, as the moments dragged on, the boy began to frown so that it was obvious that he did expect a response.

"Fine," I told him my voice just above a whisper. The boy smiled again, though not as brightly as he had before.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked. I nodded.

"Good. My name is Quatre. Quatre Rababera Winner. What's your name?"

"...Nanashi," I answered hesitantly. It wasn't really my name, but it was what everyone called me.

"Nanashi? Like Japanese for no name?" he asked, I nodded, "That isn't really a name. What do you call yourself?"

I deliberated over what to tell Quatre long enough that I think he was starting to lose hope that I would answer him. On the one hand, if he had known the real Trowa, he might be angry at me for taking his name. On the other hand, if I didn't tell him anything, he'd be mad at me for not answering his question. I decided that there was a lesser chance of him knowing Trowa than excusing my disobedience.

"Trowa," I told him quietly. He beamed.

"Well, Trowa, it's nice to meet you," he said, then threw off the covers, slipped out from under me, and climbed out of bed. Flipping open a door on the bedside table, he pulled out a bottle and poured its contents into a glass, then offered it to me. I sat up and took it, drinking the contents which I recognized as the slightly sweetened water I had been given before. Spiced water, Quatre had called it.

"So," Quatre said, taking the glass and putting it aside, "do you think you can stand?" he asked. Quickly, I assessed myself and found that, though I was weakened, I should be able to stand. I nodded once and swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up in one swift motion. A motion that left my head spinning so that I almost toppled to the floor. It was only Quatre's quick intervention that stopped me from falling, he instantly grabbed my shoulders and righted me. He must have soon seen that I couldn't sit on my own, for he sat down beside me and let me lean on him as I tried to stop the room from spinning and quiet my angry stomach. It was a few minutes before I was sound enough to look up.

"Sorry," I mumbled, hoping he wasn't angry. He simply smiled again, concern in his eyes though his voice was gentle.

"No, it's my fault. I should have warned you, you've been on you back since we picked you up yesterday, you'll have to take it slow. The only time you were up at all last night was for drinks and when you had a small panic attack as the ship hit some turbulence and shook us up a bit. But you might not even remember that."

Quatre moved away from me and I found that, since the spinning had stopped, I could sit up on my own. I was amazed at how weak I felt, though. I knew I would be hard pressed to stand if he asked me to.

He was watching me, watching my face. The mercs had done that, too, but they had been looking for signs of weakness when they did it. I didn't feel like I had when they had done it, like I had to make my face be stone or they'd see how frightened I was. Actually, I didn't feel afraid of this boy at all, but I knew that he was very powerful and I was still careful not to show him how I felt.

"Do you think you could eat something?" he asked me. I was hungry enough that I would have risked a trip to the galley back on the old ship, which contained a highly unpleasant cook, several surly men that didn't have the skills to become a real merc, and some mercs that had committed crimes against the captain of the mercenary ship and were being punished. None of which were very helpful toward me, I tried to avoid them at all costs. Figuring that if I had risked all that to get a meal on the merc ship I could at least nod to the blonde haired boy.

Quatre smiled and turned away from me, walking to the door. He opened it and called to someone in the hall, then closed the door and came back to me. He glanced from me to the plush chair, a frown on his face.

"I think we should have you sitting while you eat, it might tire you less than sitting on the edge of the bed like this. Don't try this on your own, let me help," he said, carefully reaching down to me. I wasn't sure how to react; in general, I don't like to be touched. My body has learned that touch usually means pain, so that I try to avoid human contact. But there was nothing I could do. My own rule not to show fear kept me from flinching away, so I stayed stock still as he grabbed me gently under the arm where I wasn't burnt and pulled me up from the bed.

Quatre looked small and weak, but he was truly neither. He was a little under average height, but still not to be considered short. And in those few minutes I lay on top of him I felt a bit of muscle tone on his arms telling me that he wasn't as scrawny as he looked either.

Still, I am above average height, though probably below average weight, and I didn't expect him to be able to hold much of my weight.

Taking one arm, he pulled me out of the chair supporting nearly all my weight easily. He moved, ever conscious of how he was holding me, the few feet to the chair and let me down. I had barely even had to shuffle my feet to get to the chair as he nearly dragged me.

Of course, I am more than aware that most of this is due to the fact that I was drastically underweight at the time, but I was still impressed. Quatre was a demon, and most demons were considered nobles in our country. Not only that, but his father had been a sheik, though his mother was said to be a normal human. I had thought that someone like him would have been spoiled and useless, needing to be pampered at all times. So far, Quatre had only shown himself to be kind and gentle. I was still wary, because I had known some of the worst people alive to look kind and gentle on the outside, but somehow I didn't think Quatre would be like that.

I sagged against the chair, so tired that I didn't even notice Quatre had left until I heard him open the door and enter again. He was carrying a small tray and smiling warmly. Quickly, he set the tray on a small table and pulled the chair, with me still sitting in it, over to the table.

"I hope you don't mind oatmeal. Doc didn't want you to have anything that might upset your stomach," he said, handing me the spoon. I took it and slowly put it in the light brown oatmeal, so tired that I could barely hold the spoon. I was shaking with exhaustion from the simple task of being moved from the bed to the chair. It was pathetic.

Quatre had busied himself with straightening out the bed linens, so I allowed myself a second to rest before trying to get the spoon from the bowl to my mouth. After a moment, I lifted the spoon out of the bowl and tried to get it to my mouth. It felt like it weighed a ton and my hand continued to shake no matter how hard I tried to coax it to stop. I was so tired.

I think I knew what was going to happen even before it did. I saw my hand suddenly stop shaking and fall to my lap, losing its grip on the spoon. Quatre gave a startled gasp and I realized that he must have turned around without me noticing. Deftly, his nimble fingers caught the spoon and all the oatmeal that had slipped out, keeping it from landing on my burnt leg.

There was a moment of silence where neither of us moved, then Quatre sighed and turned to smile at me.

"You should have said something. This would have hurt landing on your burnt leg like that," he told me, then put the spoon back in the bowl and walked through a door. There was the sound of running water and Quatre returned wiping his hands on a towel. I wondered if he was going to take the food away, but didn't have the courage to ask.

Quatre set the towel across my legs and knelt before me. Though I was surprised, I managed not to show it, that or Quatre didn't notice. Even more surprising than when he sat at my knees was when he picked up the spoon and held it in front of my mouth. I was so shocked that I couldn't move for a second, I simply stared at the utensil at my lips.

"Come on, I promise it's good," Quatre urged and I opened my lips immediately.

The oatmeal was warm and sweet, the taste of brown sugar and honey. It was also the first thing I had eaten in over three days, serving to make it all the sweeter. I would have taken the time to savor the taste and commit it to memory had Quatre not moved to get a second spoonful immediately after depositing the first. Instead, I let the warm food slide down my throat and opened my mouth for more.

After years of living on the brink of starvation, I had learned a little about eating habits. It had been three days since my last meal, and though I felt like I should have been able to eat anything and everything set in front of me, I was not surprised when I felt myself grow full after a surprisingly small amount. I knew not to force myself to eat, since that would only end in vomiting. Usually, if I had enough food I would simply stash some away, but that was not an option with Quatre so close to me. Instead, I simply shook my head when Quatre offered me a mouthful of the sweet treat. Quatre frowned in worry, but there was understanding in his eyes and I was glad he wouldn't try to force feed me.

"If you get hungry again, just tell me," Quatre said, rising and putting aside the dish, "What do you think, do you want to sleep some more? I think that would be best, you look exhausted. Come on," he said, and helped me back into bed. With my stomach full and my strength waning, it was only a matter of seconds after my head hit the pillow before I was sound asleep.