Chapter Eleven

1/

The eastern horizon was pale blue, lightening steadily, the threat of the rising sun evident in the reflection in the calm water. The beach was just as he remembered it--isolated and beautiful, smelling of dirt and water with not a hint of salt. He parked the car where sand met grass and pulled off his fancy dress shoes, holding them in one hand as he trudged up the dune separating the rest of the beach from view. His feet sank deep into the warm sand, and the hem of his black pants was slowly becoming tan.

My father loved this place . . .

A thin lithe form stood at the edge of the water, a black shadow against the horizon. The small waves, weakening as they approached, lapped at the boy's bare toes.

My sisters and I used to play on the beach when the weather was hot. This is the off-season, but I like being here anyway.

Wu Fei came to a halt next to the boy, toes twitching a little in the goopy sand. The two stood in silence for an eternity, and then Wu Fei said, "Quatre, it isn't your fault."

"I should have realized what she was thinking," the boy muttered. "She only ever thought of me. I only ever thought of getting away from her. What does that make me?" He looked at Wu Fei. "Iria's better than me. She's always been better than me. She cares about other people. They all think I'm so generous, but I'm not. I don't want their pain."

"Listen, Winner. Your sister was the exception, not the rule. I don't want to deal with other people's pain anymore than you do. I've got enough problems--you've got enough problems. We're both pretty messed up, but so is everyone else."

Tears traced the curves of Quatre's face; two shining droplets fell from his chin to the ground. "I know but I k-keep thinking of all the time I've lost--I sh-should've told her--" He stifled a ragged sob, and then hiccoughed twice. Sat down hard, rubbing away his tears stubbornly. "Should've t-told her that I--"

Wu Fei knelt and allowed Quatre to burrow into his arms, tucking his wet face against his neck. He wanted to say, She knew you loved her, but he wasn't sure about that. He wanted to say, You don't have to worry any longer, because I'm here, but he wasn't sure about that either. Instead he let Quatre weep himself into exhaustion, and then laid back in the sand, watching the edge of the sun rise golden over the horizon, where black trees imprisoned its light.

2/

The guards saluted Quatre when he approached the manor, dirty and tired as he was, Wu Fei trudging along beside him. They went in through the servants' entrance, unnerved by the silence--every servant in the place had been taken in for questioning and none had returned to their duties yet. The two boys washed in the kitchen, shivering from the cool sink-water--their clothes were tossed in the open laundry and they acquired fresh trousers and shirts, too exhausted to care about appearances.

"I'd better report to that damn investigator," Wu Fei muttered, hiding a yawn behind his hand. "He'll want to know you're safe--probably already has word of your return, so if I were you I'd hide."

"Yeah." Quatre's eyes were red-rimmed. Reality hadn't quite hit him yet, but it would. "I'll be in a guest bedroom on the third floor--you'll find me, won't you?"

Wu Fei smirked and took his leave, formulating in his mind exactly what he would say to Jordan to explain Quatre's disappearance. "You know it."

3/

"Hana?" Quatre twisted the gilded doorknob, disturbed to find that the door was locked. "Hana, open up, please!"

"Sir, she won't--she hasn't come out in two days." The nervous little maid toyed with the corner of her apron, not daring to look her master in the eye. "We--we've tried to bring her food but she won't see anyone."

"She'll see us," said Wu Fei grimly, reaching over Quatre's shoulder to rap briskly upon the well-polished mahogany. "Miss Winner, your brother wishes to speak with you." He paused, then added, "I'm not above breaking down this door."

"Mr. Chang!" The maid looked scandalized. "Master Winner's grandfather had this door built over a hundred years ago, along with the rest of the manor!"

"And this concerns me why . . . ?"

"Listen."

All three were immediately silent, ears straining for any sound from the closed off room. After about a minute, Wu Fei exhaled loudly, not bothering to hide how annoyed he was. "I'm truly sorry, Grandfather Winner," he muttered aloud, and then aimed a powerful side-kick at the door. The ancient wood quaked but didn't give. He was lifting his foot for the second time when the quiet yet distinct sound of a lock being turned reached their ears.

Quatre looked at his bodyguard, respect lighting upon his features for a moment, then said to the maid, "Please bring something up from the kitchen--leave it outside the door, won't you?"

"Yes, sir," the maid replied, her voice light with relief. Quatre gave her a half-hearted smile and watched her until he was sure she couldn't eavesdrop.

"Um . . ." he began, unsure how to phrase his request so that it wouldn't offend Wu Fei.

"I'll wait here," the Chinese boy said quietly, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was wearing his typical more-professional-than-thou outfit--black trousers and white shirt, neatly pressed, understated and honest.

Quatre felt his pulse quicken. He could taste alcohol on his tongue, though he hadn't had anything to drink that day. Anticipation maybe. Just the thought of it made him want to . . .

He took a deep breath, nodded to Wu Fei, before quickly pulling open the door to Hana's room, pausing when the blast of hot air hit him. He reluctantly closed the door behind him, already beginning to sweat though he wore a casual shirt and light shorts. All of the lights were turned off and all of the windows thrown open--which explained the unbearably stifling humidity. It almost made Quatre long for the desert, for dry heat that didn't cling like a second skin.

Hana was not cowering in a corner as he'd half expected to find her. She was sitting upon her bed, arms crossed and lips pressed tightly together. The bed had not been made, and she was dressed in her pajamas still. Quatre bit the inside of his cheek, debating whether to take a seat next to her on the bed or sit in the armchair on the other side of the room. He finally settled for leaning against the wall, close to his sister but not close enough to make her feel as if she were cornered.

"I'm sorry," Hana muttered darkly, one hand raising to tuck a curl behind her ear. Her hair was a little oily; Quatre made a mental note to have a bath prepared for her later.

"For what?"

"For . . . you know." Her eyes were focused not on him but on the wall, just left of his ear. Uncomfortable in his presence. "All the press--I know you hate shit like that. Now, anyway. You used to be, I dunno, involved, and now . . . " She paused. "Now you're hiding yourself from the world, aren't you?"

He realized he'd been holding his breath, and let it out forcibly. Tried to think of a good excuse. So she was right; of course she was right. After the Eve Wars he'd buried himself in a grave of personal concerns, political life be damned. Today had been the first time he'd walked out the front door into a sea of reporters in a very long time. And to the surprise of his bodyguard and every other member of the estate's staff, Quatre had not ordered the anxious press off the premises. He had firmly stood his ground and delivered a short statement, off the top of his head, pausing only once when the image of his sister flashed before his eyes (purple, her dress was purple with blood). But then he'd forced himself onward because. Because it was his duty.

"Maybe not anymore," he murmured gently, a tiny smile playing over his lips.

Hana shook her head, expression unchanging. "Quatre . . . I don't know what exactly to do. It hurts to open my eyes." She covered them. "But it hurts to keep them shut, too. I keep--keep seeing her. Must be going crazy--"

"No," he said. It was too much like . . . that time. Father dead, and something inside of him had snapped and he'd . . . he wouldn't think of it. "You're hurt, Hana, but you're going to be fine."

He said it like he meant it.

4/

Wu Fei watched Quatre exit his sister's room, blue eyes downcast. Wordlessly the Chinese boy followed his friend up the familiar hallways, down steep staircases, and finally into the kitchen. No servants were to be found; most had been dismissed until further notice. Quatre seated himself in the chair that he was most accustomed to, slumping a little; his face was paler than usual, Wu Fei noted unhappily.

The bodyguard busied himself with making lunch; though he thought to himself rather harshly that he was not this boy's servant, he had to admit that Quatre couldn't cook worth a damn, and if Wu Fei didn't do it, they would both go hungry.

"Honey please," Quatre said when the other boy began to make the tea.

Wu Fei said nothing, but grimaced and pointedly left his tea unflavored.

"I'm not sure I helped her at all," Quatre sighed, gratefully accepting the hot mug of sweetened drink. Wu Fei could feel eyes following him as he went about fixing their meal, but chose to ignore this. "I don't like to think about Iria anymore. But I--I sort of have to, because otherwise..."

"Duty," Wu Fei muttered.

"Yes. It's my duty." Quatre paused thoughtfully. "For a long time . . . I didn't want to accept that, but now I'm no longer afraid."

Wu Fei, unable to reply to this, stared out the small window above the sink. Clouds gathered over the treetops and the few reporters still stationed outside. A storm coming on fast.