Notes: Just to illustrate how air-headed I really am, I completely forgot that I hadn't posted all of this at sweatdrop Forgive me?

Chapter Nine

1/

The little maid rushed into the kitchen and breathlessly informed anyone who cared to listen that her sister, who dusted the fourth floor every day except for Monday, swore up and down that Mr. Chang and Master Winner had confessed their love--and so romantically!--and even (she giggled) consummated it the night before.

"Oh my Lord," breathed the head cook, nearly fainting. The dish boy fanned her worriedly, a blush staining his young face.

"How does she know, eh?" Another maid asked doubtfully. "Was she there? Did she see it?"

"Nay, she heard it. An' I says we check them sheets an' find out for sure!"

"It's really none of our business," protested the dish boy. "That is, if it's even true."

But no one was listening to him, much to his annoyance. All of the girls and young women were laughing among themselves, whispering and blushing and vowing to get a look at the Sheets, which had suddenly become the most coveted objects in the entire manor.

2/

Hana delicately traced one finger along the length of a short branch of cherry blossoms someone had placed upon her desk. She thought it might have been Iria--only her sister would think of something so sentimental and sweet. And Quatre, but she hadn't seen Quatre all morning, though he should have been dressing for the banquet and the ball afterwards.

When has he ever come willingly? She frowned. Too often I think he'll never fully accept his birthright.

That morning's conversation with Investigator Jordan kept swimming to the surface of her mind. His eager, almost fanatical eyes boring into her own, his words like cold water. The man we caught in connection with a scheme to infiltrate the manor has escaped. We don't know where, but we're searching everywhere for a name, for a picture, for any information at all. He left his computer but no one can get past his security program. You can't trust anyone, Miss Winner. Any of the servants could be a spy--any groundskeeper--even that bodyguard. We're still trying to find any fingerprints on that rosary, but we've had no luck so far. Give us time. We'll find someone who will reveal all. But in the meantime . . .

"You can't trust anyone," she murmured. Looking down she saw that she had crushed the branch, scattering the cherry blossoms all over the desk.

3/

Quatre opened his eyes to find another pair staring back at him, black, deep, and comforting. He smiled, reaching across to brush a lock of dark hair out of Wu Fei's face. A warm sensation tingled within him--he was so full of happiness he could have cried, but he didn't. He liked not waking up alone.

"G'morning," he said softly, almost afraid that words would break the peace apart.

Wu Fei rolled his eyes, but his lips were curved in a helpless grin. Quatre flushed, remembering the way those lips had felt upon his own. He wanted more, but didn't know how to ask for it. Kisses were good enough for now. Thinking this, he leaned forward and stole one, only to be rolled onto his back by Wu Fei, who smirked mischievously. Months ago, Quatre wouldn't have believed it if someone had told him Wu Fei could look like that.

"You make me feel so good," Quatre said breathlessly, immediately regretting his boldness when Wu Fei ducked his head, hiding his face from the other boy.

"Wu Fei--"

"Oh gods," Wu Fei croaked, and now Quatre realized he was pinned down, and Wu Fei was actually larger than he was (heavy with muscles and so overheated)--the Chinese boy's leg was between his own, and that sudden hardness against his thigh . . .

"Ah!" Before he could stop himself, Quatre had flipped the other boy off of himself and onto the floor. A loud embarrassing thump as Wu Fei's skull connected with the carpet which only cushioned him a little. He groaned, and Quatre quickly tumbled down next to him, apologies stumbling out of his mouth. "I--I'm sorry, I didn't m-mean to--are you okay, Wu Fei, you--I'm so sorry!"

"I've never been so mortified in all my life," Wu Fei muttered, covering his eyes with his right arm.

"Don't be, please. It's just that . . . Wu Fei, I've never done anything like this before," Quatre admitted shyly. "I've sort of known for a long time now that I might not . . . might not be the sort to marry. But I . . . you're the first . . ." He forced himself to meet Wu Fei's dark gaze.

It seemed as if Wu Fei was about to say something, but at that moment there came a knock on the door and a hesitant, "Master Winner? Are you up?"

"Y-yes!" Quatre called, hastily getting to his feet and watching as Wu Fei did the same. "You may come in."

The servant entered, a child of no more than seventeen years. She bowed to both boys and said, "Miss Iria Winner says you're to report to her quarters so that she may help you dress for the ball, sir."

"Er, if it's all the same to you," said Quatre, "I'd rather dress in my own room. Could you bring whatever I'm to wear to me, please?"

"Yes, sir." The girl bowed again. "I must strip your bed first, sir."

"We'll have breakfast while we're waiting," Quatre told the girl and he and Wu Fei hastily pulled on yesterday's clothes before leaving the room. They walked in silence to the dining room, where seven of Quatre's sisters were already seated around the long table, eating their respective breakfasts and talking animatedly.

". . . should have told him to stuff himself," Mara, a cool-eyed woman at the age of twenty-two, was telling Tara, her identical twin.

"I did," Tara said, her large eyes becoming larger when she caught sight of Quatre. "Hey!"

"Well if it isn't our little brother," Mara grinned. "How've you been?"

"Who's the Oriental fellow?" Dirty-blonde Sarah didn't bother to hide her interest, candid as ever.

"Um, hello," Quatre said, trying to seem dignified and at the same time wondering how to get out of dining with all the girls.

"Bodyguard," Mara was explaining to Sarah, who nodded but didn't seem to care what Wu Fei's profession was so much as whether or not he was eligible. "You know everyone and his mother wants a piece of our little Quatre."

"That's not--" Quatre started to protest, but was cut off by a high-pitched squeal from the other end of the table.

"Quatre! Oh, Quatre, I'm sooo glad to see you!" A hyper young woman jumped from her seat and attached herself to the shaken Winner heir. "I still have that outfit, you haaave to try it on, baby, you'll look so sweet, I just know it! Come to my room, won't you?"

"I-I'm afraid I have to eat on the run," Quatre stuttered, nightmarish images of bunny costumes flashing through his mind. "Iria--"

"Oh, that wet blanket!" The woman (Cora, but at the moment he was thinking of calling her another four-letter name) pouted but obediently let Mara pull her away. Quatre and Wu Fei escaped into the kitchen, which was populated by quiet maids who brushed past them silently.

"Well," said Wu Fei. "That was . . . quite an ordeal."

"My sisters are insane," Quatre said earnestly, hailing the cook to save them some food and collapsing into a nearby chair. Wu Fei stood by him, a steady presence that calmed him and made him regret (just a little) his callousness in dealing with his sisters. They really did care for him, and hadn't seen him in so long--what had he expected? He'd have to make an effort to be more patient with them.

Wu Fei was pushing his hair out of his face in aggravation--he hadn't tied it back up and the black locks kept falling into his eyes. "Why are they staring at us like that?" he said in an undertone, gesturing to the gawking maids who immediately found something to be busy with.

"I don't know--I guess because I don't usually eat in here." An assistant cook approached them and bowed low, only to present them with a neat tray of food, which the two promptly devoured, Wu Fei fastidiously taking what he wanted from where the tray was balanced on Quatre's lap.

Afterwards they took the servants' stairway back to Quatre's new room, where they found that the servant girl had laid out the elaborate costume that Quatre was to wear to the ball on top of Quatre's newly changed bed linens. The costume was of the finest dark blue cotton, embroidered in gold and dotted with tiny pearl buttons. The sleeves were narrow and business-like, as was the current fashion, but the pale white silk at the throat seemed from a distant period, and Quatre fingered the material thoughtfully. "She overdid herself this year," he murmured.

Turning, he smiled at Wu Fei. "Of course, you don't have to dress so lavishly. A tuxedo should do. I'll have someone find you one--in the meantime, I think our baths are ready."

"Baths?"

Quatre laughed, surprised to find himself almost looking forward to the ball. It didn't seem so bad, if Wu Fei would be there. "Yeah. We have to look our best tonight, right?"

"I . . . suppose so," the Chinese boy said doubtfully.

4/

Two hours later Wu Fei followed Quatre into the parlor, uncomfortable in his stiff tuxedo and smelling strongly of rosewater, which he vaguely thought was too womanly for a bodyguard. He would rather have died than admit out loud that he didn't mind the scent on Quatre. The bath had been very relaxing, except for the fact that it had been a Japanese style bath--he and Quatre had washed off outside of the huge hot tub and then entered together, both carefully averting their eyes. Wu Fei had been almost more aroused than he could stand, and had hidden this from Quatre, who had already shoved him away once before because of his seemingly uncontrollable...appetite.

Thinking of this, he couldn't help but flush with shame, and he tried to compose himself before the guest waiting in the parlor, who greeted Quatre with a strong handshake. The Winner heir grinned delightedly, his outfit bringing out the blue of his eyes. "Rashid!"

"Master Quatre." The man bowed, ridiculously huge next to the petit blond. "Best wishes on this special day."

"Thank you, my friend." Abruptly, Quatre took Rashid's hand and boyishly tugged him towards a sofa, bidding him to take a seat. "Tell me all that has happened to you in the last few months. Where have you been?"

"When I've been off duty," the Arabian man said, "which hasn't been often, I've been helping with the investigation. A few of my men informed me you attended one of their disgraceful excuses for a party."

Quatre waved a hand carelessly. "That was a hundred years ago, Rashid. Anyway, Wu Fei keeps good watch over me."

Wu Fei met the Arabian man's sharp gaze and held it. He was full of pride over Quatre's assessment of his performance, and his chest swelled a little within the confines of the tuxedo, though he made a show of polite indifference.

"Have there been any threats recently?" Rashid's attention was on Quatre again.

"Nothing besides the--the rosary."

"I heard of that incident."

"Everyone has." Quatre sighed. "It's pretty serious, but I can't figure out why anyone would go through all this trouble when they might have killed me instead of bothering with throwing a religious ornament through my bedroom window."

"Intimidation," said the Maganac shortly. "Psychological warfare. The physical appearance of the Gundams followed the same logic--remember the American boy's Gundam?"

"Deathscythe was quite frightening," Quatre admitted. "But I still stand by Sandrock. It could hold its own in battle and I'm rather glad it wasn't quite so fierce as Duo's Deathscythe . . . you know how I feel about killing soldiers without warning, Rashid."

Rashid smiled wryly. "Indeed I do. And now I think you had best report to the ballroom--your sister seemed quite anxious to see you earlier, and you avoided her like a cat avoids water."

"Iria is more freaked out about this whole thing than even Hana," Quatre said, a faint note of annoyance in his tone. But he stood anyway and said goodbye to his friend, motioning for Wu Fei to follow him.

Wu Fei lingered behind, and the Arabian man said to him quietly, "Be especially alert--enemies walk among us tonight."

The Chinese boy nodded and ran to catch up with Quatre, who gave him a searching glance but was too wrapped up in his worries about his sister to question Wu Fei.

5/

Hana Winner smirked at her sister Iria, who was scolding Quatre gently about his tardiness. He was supposed to be greeting guests and making them feel welcome, as was proper and correct behavior for a young Winner. It was amusing to see the boy visibly shrinking away from Iria, his blue eyes nervously looking anywhere but at her. The little Chinese bodyguard stood indifferently off to one side, half listening to his charge being told off and half admiring the now elaborately decorated ballroom. It was quite nice, if Hana did say so herself (and she did, because she had been the one in charge of the decorating). All dust had been cleared away--paint retouched--windows cleaned until they were like crystal. White lace tablecloths on all the tables. Handsome young servants standing by, ready to serve the guests as soon as they all arrived. A small orchestra performed upon the dais. She'd had to order a new violin; a maid claimed the old one must have fallen out of the instrument case when someone was dusting--but it hadn't been her, no miss, she'd only found it broken on the floor.

Hana sighed. That had been Quatre's favorite violin, though he didn't play much these days. He didn't do much of anything anymore, and she felt somewhat responsible. She shouldn't have let him retreat into his shell--should have kept him involved in politics and world affairs. Now that the milk was spilled, she wasn't sure what she could do. She didn't think the world leaders would appreciate a sincere, "Sorry, my bad."

Well, this ball was a step in the right direction. If Quatre would only be a bit more . . . enthusiastic. As it was, he was dragging himself around like a boiled noodle.

Iria was approaching, her teeth clenched not in anger at their little brother but in fear. Hana knew that Iria was terrified of this room; for her, it was drenched in memories of Catherine and their father, though that was about all Hana knew of her sister's phobia.

"Sit down," Hana advised practically, leading Iria to a chair.

"O-okay." Breath whistled out from between the girl's lips. "God, I hate this place."

"Yeah." Hana frowned. "You should really see a shrink about that."

"No, it--it isn't relevant." Iria closed her eyes, then opened them again slowly. "Does Quatre look like he's having a good time?"

Hana smirked. "Another brilliantly subtle change of subject. No, he doesn't look like he's having a good time, dear sister--in fact, he looks rather like a mouse surrounded by cats."

This was true; all of the young (and not so young) daughters of the wealthy guests were gathered around Quatre, who was blushing furiously and trying rather desperately to avoid the giggling crowd. Hana observed as the unimpressed bodyguard calmly bowed to the girls and said something that, judging by the looks on the girls' faces, was probably sharper than strictly necessary. Then the two boys departed from the room, polar opposites in appearance and manner--Quatre was tucking a strand of blond hair behind one ear, talking animatedly, while Chang Wu Fei was listening intently to whatever his charge was saying, black eyes fierce.

"Ah. The mouse got away," Hana murmured.

Iria pursed her lips, clearly annoyed. "Half the reason we have this ball every year is so that he'll meet prominent members of society and hopefully make connections that will benefit him in the future--"

"You yourself said 'he's only a boy'," Hana pointed out smugly.

"Forgot myself," Iria replied. She crossed her legs primly, pretty in her dark blue dress. Too much satin for Hana's taste. "Hana, darling, don't you--I mean, surely . . . oh, I can't figure out what to make of him anymore. Ever since the war he's been distant."

"What did you expect?" Hana breezily took a seat next to her sister, twisting her feet around in her high-heels, which had turned out to be a size too small. "Moving right along. Have you heard anything recently from the investigator? He lit out of here this morning so fast I had no chance to speak with him."

Iria shook her head. A passing guest greeted the two girls and they stood as one, curtsied, and sat again, resuming their conversation. "The last thing he told me what not to trust anyone--not in those words exactly, but that was what he was getting at."

"Hm." The orchestra started playing a waltz, and pretty young couples flooded the dance floor--girls in queenly dresses and boys in stiff tuxedos, facing each other like opposing sides in a war, taking hands and floating away. "He told me that same thing."

"Think he's on to something?" Iria's foot tapped rhythms against the marble.

Hana shrugged.

6/

Wu Fei stared at Quatre's back, at the way the muscles and bones moved and contracted beneath the thin fabric of the other boy's outfit. He'd long ago stopped trying to follow Quatre's monologue--it had something to do with the women who had nearly tried to abduct him in the ballroom, but beyond that Wu Fei was lost. They were walking by the rooms nearest the ballroom, just killing time and occasionally stealing glances at one another when Quatre let his one-man conversation die down.

"Wu Fei?"

"Uh, yes?" Wu Fei said, startled. They'd stopped at the corner under the pale light of a lamp. Quatre's hair seemed almost white. The Arabian boy laughed softly.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Er--"

"I asked if you thought that Marigold D'Huit was going to eat me alive."

"And what should I answer?" Wu Fei allowed the tiniest hint of a smirk to appear. "I know you don't want me to say that I think those girls were as eager to get away from you as you were to get away from them."

"What?" Quatre looked horrified. "Are you implying that I am not every bit as handsome and charming as I've been led to believe?"

". . . Maybe."

"You wound me, Wu Fei."

"Mr. Winner!" The two boys turned away from one another and stared down the hallway at the shabbily dressed man rushing towards them, a gun held securely in one hands. Behind him marched about seven other men, all in uniform and armed.

"Investigator Jordan?" Quatre blinked. "What're you--"

"No time--you and you," Jordan beckoned two of his men over, "Escort Mr. Winner off the premises. We'll do a thorough search of the property and evacuate as I deem necessary--"

"Wait!" Quatre backed away warily. "Please explain yourself."

Wu Fei, who had caught on to the urgency in the investigator's speech and manner, took Quatre's arm and pulled the boy over to where the two uniformed soldiers waited. "I think you're in danger," the Chinese boy muttered, glancing sideways at the investigator. "Most likely there's been another threat."

"I can't leave," Quatre replied just as seriously. "My sisters--I can't just abandon them, Wu Fei. Tell him that."

The investigator was already giving loud orders to his men. Wu Fei obediently pulled Jordan aside and said, "Mr. Winner is worried about his sisters. He wants your assurance that they'll be well protected."

"Of course they--hey, hey, wait!"

Wu Fei whirled around just in time to see Quatre dart into the ballroom, his two escorts close behind. "Oh, shit," he cursed with feeling, and heard the shot go off before he saw anything of his attacker. He was on the ground in less than a second, gun in hand. Next to him he felt the investigator collapse, groaning and clutching at his arm.

"Goddamn." The investigator tried to aim his own gun but couldn't. Shots rang out again and again--Wu Fei pulled the trigger until he ran out of bullets. Something fell to the floor--the attacker, he realized when he saw the soldiers beginning to rise. Without waiting for them, Wu Fei stumbled to his feet and raced into the ballroom, pulling a knife from the sleeve of his tux. That damn Maganac warned me, was all he could think, and I didn't take him seriously enough--I let my guard down--I failed.

None of the guests or the guards stationed at the doors were moving, all standing in petrified silence. Wu Fei pushed past them. There in a corner was Quatre, standing erect before his sisters Iria and Hana. A servant faced the Winner heir, arm outstretched and gun cocked.

"Do you repent?" The servant was saying.

Quatre's hands rolled up into fists--his voice shook. "Why are you doing this?"

"Do you repent?"

Wu Fei approached on silent feet, imagining the blade of his knife sinking into the servant's flesh, seeing it disappear all the way to the hilt--one clean thrust into the back, or better yet, across the neck--

Quatre's eyes met his for an instant, clear and blue and beautiful, and then the servant pulled the trigger, and someone screamed. Without thinking, Wu Fei pulled the servant to his chest and slit his throat, tossing the man aside to bleed himself to death and reaching for Quatre, all in an instant.

A body hit the floor--pretty Iria Winner, a messy hole blown through her chest, blood already staining her blue dress purple--Quatre moaned and leant towards her, shrugging off Wu Fei's arms. Women were crying--men demanding to know what was going on--soldiers rushing in--but time had stopped for the three Winners. Hana knelt next to her sister, disbelief written all over her face.

"Iria," she breathed. "Iria . . ."

"Quat . . . Quatre." The word was edged in pain, and every breath Iria took bubbled with the sound of blood. "I didn't mean to . . . push you so--"

"Don't care," Quatre said shakily, one hand covering the wound and the other cradling the girl's head. "I don't care, stop talking, just stop . . ." "Your m-mother . . . she would've been so--so proud of you . . ."

"Wh-what?" Shock fought with agony for control of Quatre's face. "What did you--Iria!"

The girl's eyes had stopped moving--the horrible gurgling breaths had ceased. The soldiers had succeeded in clearing most of the guests out of the room, and were now trying to dislodge both Winners from their dead sister, though neither wanted to let her go. Tears were streaming down Hana's face, and she couldn't seem to get a word through her grief. Quatre was almost calm in comparison--jaw set, shoulders straight, eyes dilated but focused. Wu Fei helped the boy to his feet, noting the blood staining the front of his clothes and his hands.

7/

Sometime later Wu Fei emerged from the large closet that had been converted into a temporary office, blinking owlishly. He'd been questioned for well over an hour concerning his part in the assassination attempt--how had he killed the murderer, why hadn't he been quicker, what was his first impression of the killer, had he ever seen him before--the questions went on forever, and there were no clean-cut answers. All he wanted now was a cup of coffee, a comfortable set of clothes, and Quatre by his side.

He'd been informed that Quatre was being held in a secure room on the first floor, watched at all times by cameras and guards. It was to this room that Wu Fei was headed, pulling at the buttons of his shirt as he went--he'd long ago removed the black jacket and the shirt was soaked through with sweat. When he arrived on the first floor, he found it in disarray. Books and drapery were thrown everywhere, chairs overturned and carpets awry. A soldier stopped Wu Fei and asked him what his business there was.

"I'm Mr. Winner's bodyguard," Wu Fei said firmly, making to go around the soldier.

"His bodyguard?" The soldier stepped in front of the Chinese boy. "I'm in charge of the search party. Maybe you can lend a hand since you probably know where he'd be likely to go."

"Search party?" Wu Fei went white as a sheet. "You mean he's gone?"

"Disappeared less than half an hour ago. We've been combing the area ever since--even called in the local law-enforcement officers. No one's seen a trace of him." The soldier turned to upbraid a slack comrade, and Wu Fei quickly walked past him and out through a side door, into the humid dark night. He stood for a moment thinking. Then he set off for the nearby garage, thoughts whirring through his brain faster than the speed of light.