Chapter 4

Trowa placed a hand gently against his love's pale forehead. The Arabian's skin was still cool and clammy, attesting to the state of mild shock that hadn't lifted since he had collapsed nearly three days before.

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They had all seen Sandrock. The Gundam was practically falling apart, his metal shielding cracked and peeling away, one arm hanging in pieces, useless. He could hardly have been in worse shape had Quatre chosen to self-destruct. Knowing this, the other pilots were still stunned by their friend's condition.

Though he had no visible injuries, Trowa had felt Quatre's breathing become quick and strained as he carried him to the bedroom. Settling his frighteningly light burden gently on the bed, Trowa began to carefully remove the dark vest. Duo moved to help, ignoring his own aching ribs, as Heero leaned silently against one wall and Wufei observed from the doorway. Once the vest was out of the way Trowa and Duo moved on to the light shirt, handling the blond boy like a piece of fine glass, as though he might shatter at any moment.

Trowa felt his stomach turn as the shirt slid from his love's pale skin. Every inch of exposed ivory was fading to a dark purple, the deep bruises mottling the pilot's chest, shoulders, and arms. Duo scowled and Trowa caught a muttered curse from Heero's direction.

They began to lower Quatre gently back to the blankets, but he immediately began to cough. Violent spasms racked the slender frame as blood appeared on the pale lips. Quatre's small form shuddered and attempted to curl in against the pain while Duo's and Trowa's arms wrapped and held him, seeking to soothe and support. As the spasms died, Quatre's broken body found solace in the warm embraces of his friend and lover.

Trowa gently wiped the blood from his mouth and slid behind him on the bed, pulling the thin frame back against him. Quatre rested quietly against his lover's chest, head tucked lightly to Trowa's shoulder, as Duo carefully checked him over for injuries.

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Sitting at his unconscious lover's bedside, Trowa silently ran the list again. Two ribs broken, three more cracked and all seriously bruised, a fractured collarbone, broken wrist, sprained knee, countless pulled muscles, and a concussion. Trowa sighed. It was truly a miracle that his koibito had survived this battle at all, and to have walked away so easily after . . . He still didn't know what to think.

Each of the Gundam pilots had had his own . . . experience . . . with the cursed system, and each had nearly been destroyed in his own way. Luckily -- though only for the rest of them -- the Arab had been the only one allowed to follow through with the system's influence, and even he had been saved from ultimate destruction. Trowa still shuddered at his memory of his battle with Quatre in Wing ZERO. His lover's usually gentle voice had been cold, flat, and utterly devoid of emotion. Even his eyes had seemed gray and lifeless, radiating none of their beautiful warmth. It was never an expression he wanted to see again.

After his own "mistake"{1} Quatre had done everything within his power to keep his friends from repeating it. He had saved Heero soon after his own recovery in a mirror-like confrontation. He had risked his life by climbing aboard the still damaged Mercurius to fight Wing ZERO, and from Heero's rather muddled account added to data reports, seemed to have nearly gotten himself killed in his determination to protect his friend. Later, after reluctantly bringing him back to the battle, the little blonde had simultaneously prevented Trowa from destroying the things he held most dear, and given him back his memories. Though the memory of being inside ZERO was not a pleasant one, Trowa was still grateful to have regained his past, for along with the pain and sacrifice, it held his family, friends, and beautiful lover. He attributed all the valuable results of this nightmare to Quatre, not the system, for it had nearly drowned him, while Quatre pulled him deftly back to the surface.

Trowa was constantly amazed by his light lover's ability to give so much of himself to everyone he knew, yet never ask for anything in return. It bothered him, slightly, somewhere deep in his chest, each time his koi protested that he was fine and flashed that dazzling smile, but Quatre never seemed to tire. His endless energy and love never ran out.

'Until now, when he almost kills himself with that damned system.'

Trowa sighed and brushed his fingers once more through the fine blonde silk before curling in the chair beside the bed.

He had never been entirely comfortable with his lover's selfless nature. When they had first met, he had assumed the blonde boy wanted something in return. He could not imagine any other reason for the beautiful boy to want to be nice to him. Trowa's childhood spent among mercenaries had taught him many things, the most important being: "trust no one". In battle, weakness was either painful or fatal, and he had grown up in a war zone. By closing himself off, Trowa had made himself invulnerable, but also untouchable.

It wasn't until later, after Quatre had melted that barrier and restored hope with his own breath, that Trowa realized he had been truly lonely. He had always known the hollow ache in his chest, but only absence had given it a name. Without Quatre, the real Trowa Barton, the man who was more than just a nameless soldier, would never have existed. That was the most precious gift his angel had given him, and though he knew it could never be equaled, he had vowed to do everything within his ability to try.

'But you won't let me help you. I know something's wrong, I can feel it, but you have to let me in.'

'I can't do this on my own, Quatre. Please help me . . . let me help you.'

He sighed and allowed his eyelids to flutter against his cheeks, but fitful thoughts followed him into slumber.

'Why won't you open up to me, Quatre?'

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Worry and pain were the first things to pierce Quatre's numbing blanket of oblivion.

'What happened during the battle? Is everyone all right? Why do I hurt so badly, and where am I?'

Momentarily ignoring the dull ache throbbing along his entire body, Quatre forced his eyes open a tiny bit. Bluish-white fuzzy spots blended into inky shadows for a dizzying moment before ceasing their flow and settling somewhat into the moonlit chiaroscuro of familiar nighttime shapes. He was in his own bedroom on this estate, the one all five pilots had been using as a base for the past week and a half. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but it was night, and someone was asleep in a chair at his bedside.

'Trowa.'

He smiled, albeit weakly, at the spiky shock of hair shadowing the face of his lover. He looked so beautiful, so sweet, so perfect sitting there in the moonlight, and Quatre was suddenly very lonely. The room instantly became very large, very dark, and very suffocating, and he needed desperately to see his lover's clear eyes.

He needed Trowa's warm embrace to soothe the ache in his heart, clear his head, and help him breathe.

As his shallow breaths quickened the thick bandages binding his chest, as well as the sharp bursts of pain that accompanied each slight movement of damaged ribs, fueled his rising panic. He couldn't breathe, couldn't get enough air, and was quickly getting dizzy in his efforts. Pain stabbed through his chest with each frantic breath, and the throbbing fire worsened with his desperation. He wanted to cry out, desperately needed Trowa to hold him, fix him, make things all right, but his ever active, observant, analytical, and self-sacrificing mind refused to allow it. He couldn't be sure how long he had been here, but he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that Trowa had not left his side, most likely foregoing both food and sleep since the battle. He surely needed the rest, and Quatre would not allow himself to be so selfish as to wake him.

Through sheer will he attempted to control the panic that was overwhelming his mind and body, but he knew it was an uphill battle and he was rapidly loosing ground. In another moment he would pass out, either from pain or lack of oxygen. In one last futile effort he attempted to sit up, but cruel knives sliced through his arms and chest, much worse than the fire in his ribs, and forced a weak cry from his lips. The pulsing darkness of unconsciousness loomed closer and he squeezed his eyes shut against the pressure, ignoring the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He knew now that his injuries must be extensive, and sent a silent prayer to Allah that he would indeed wake up to see his love again.

Then Quatre felt himself lifted up, and for a moment his senses were lost to the pain that screamed from every jarred nerve. When he could finally feel again, he became aware of an arm wrapped loosely around his waist and gentle fingers stroking his hair. He could smell Trowa's shampoo, and hear the soft murmur of soothing sounds, though words were still beyond him. He was sitting upright, lying against his lover's warm chest, with his head tilted slightly back over his shoulder. He found that he could breathe again, and that the pain had indeed lessened -- though not vanished altogether -- in Trowa's loving embrace.

Soon his eyelids fluttered open to reveal dulled blue depths and were met with Trowa's gently smiling profile. He felt his lover's entire body relax beneath and around him, long hours of worry and tension draining away at a single glimpse of sky blue. Trowa smiled down, tilting his head slightly to touch a gentle kiss to Quatre's pale forehead.

"Welcome back, love."

"T . . . rowa?" His voice came out raspy and dry, and scratched harshly across his throat.

"Shhh . . ." Trowa admonished gently, brushing silky blonde bangs from tired eyes and shifting to more easily view his love. "I've missed you. We've all been worried about you, little one." He lovingly kissed the pale forehead.

Quatre frowned. "I'm sorry," he rasped, but the words caught in his throat. He coughed shallowly, jarring his shattered ribs, and curled down against his lover's body, trying to shy away from the burning pain in his own. Trowa shifted forward to wrap himself more securely around the quaking body in his arms. He murmured soft assurances and stroked the baby- soft golden hair as the coughing subsided and Quatre slowly regained his breath.

As Quatre's aching body relaxed, Trowa sank back against the headboard, cradling his fragile lover to his chest with the reverence bestowed a newborn. Quatre sighed as he sank back into the painless balm of sleep and pressed his lips weakly against his protector's throat.

"I love you, Trowa," he murmured just before drifting off.

Trowa sighed, laying his cheek against the blonde boy's forehead.

"I love you too, angel."

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{1} I liked the term and filched it from "Sweets", so I hope Lady Bast doesn't mind.

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