((Voila? Anyways, I realized shortly after I started this one that with my picky long, drawn-out scenes writing style, we wouldn't be getting to the evil adult rating just yet (sucks, don't it. ). And still, this scene lasted longer then I had planned. But yes, the next chapter will undoubtedly be very short on this site, and then I will be giving the look-up information to anyone that wants the whole thing on , though it might be long in the making since I'm rushing through my spring cleaning right now and preparing for a visit from someone dear to me. Also, for those impatient fans, don't worry, Wufei is coming back and will be getting more attention shortly, and I will work out that sad Trowa-neglect that some of you have been pointing out in the reviews.pets soothingly In my writing, that tends to happen a lot, I've noticed. Forgive me.))
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A cool circle of metal again touched him through the shirt, and Quatre jumped a little as he tore his eyes off the man before the fire and back to the one that stood just over his shoulder. His guard's eyes still rested on that unusual figure, but after that nudge he spoke gently. "Move closer to the table."
His steps were forced now, he discovered, stiff and reluctant as if his legs were divorced from his body as they carried him towards the elaborate feast. More and more, this scene was becoming less like the torture he'd expected and been trained for… But more like his father's banquets. Great affairs he'd attended as a child, a multitude of new faces looming over him and smiling, an army of outfits deserving of royalty, then voices directed to the older man beside him. Not holding his hand, of course, not there where he was supposed to be the perfect little gentleman on his own. But always close and smiling reassuringly when he remembered to properly address someone, or to use the right spoon. Those were his childhood 'trophies', those smiles and occasionally a pat on the back.
It was that training, which had begun when he was only four, and not his experience as a gundam pilot that kept him from bolting when the older man suddenly sat up from the chair and came striding gracefully towards.
"Welcome! Right on time." He stopped about three feet from his 'prisoner' and his prized general, glancing to him now as he gave an approving smile. "And I see you've done as excellent job at improvising as you always do."
Though he wouldn't talk back while he still considered himself on duty, Zechs did narrow his eyes at the attempted compliment before murmuring a soft 'thank you, sir'. It was just Trieze's way of trying to lighten him up about the situation, he knew, and that was something he just couldn't foresee happening. The blonde in front of him, whose frail shoulders were lifting as if he was bracing himself for some heavy load, shouldn't have been taken from his cell. He shouldn't have been bothered by the other man, he shouldn't be here in Trieze's private chambers. And yet now the pale-eyed gentleman had the nerve to try to convince him it was all okay? With just one shabby compliment? Besides, he -knew- he'd done better than okay where this was concerned. As usual, he'd taken a casual order and succeeded at it on a level others would never have been able.
Trieze watched these emotions flicker dimly over his lover's face and noted that he'd be in for more of a challenge than he'd originally planned for, but that was one reason he was so fond of the icy perfectionist. Zechs always made him work for what he wanted, there was no being offered things on a silver platter with him. Any ground that the general of OZ thought he had, was hard won and well deserved.
He waited until Zechs saw him watching and lost that easily read expression for one as informative as a mirror, then looked back down to the almost delicate features of their newest guest. He has a right to be mad on some level… If I'd been in his place, I'm not entirely sure I could have brought myself to share either. And together? Standing there in just the light from the fire, Zechs' protective stance over his shoulder and those faintly nervous eyes on me, they look like an artist's rendition of paradise… I would trade all of the power I have to see them sitting together holding one another, and to have a portrait of that moment immortalized. I think I could waste away happily with that frozen image to keep me company. Is it so wrong to want to push your lover into the arms of another man, just so you could bask in the beauty of such a union?
But he was lying with those thoughts and he knew it, because as much as he wanted to see Zechs with an arm gently wrapped around the boy (he had a feeling that this little blonde wouldn't have to deal with his lover's frigid temperamental moments ever), he also wanted to be touching them both.
Trieze sighed softly, ignoring the mild flicker of suspicion that flooded Zechs' face at the sound, and looking instead to the now anxious eyes of the prisoner. First things first. "Forgive me, where are my manners. We should make introductions first, shouldn't we? We can't sit down for a meal together and have no way other than perhaps 'hey you' to address one another."
Those lovely eyes, so different than Zechs and his own he noted silently, stayed fixed on him, but the boy's mouth remained closed. If anything, it drew into a slightly tighter line of determination. For a few seconds, Trieze continued to look at him expectantly before the knowledge he wouldn't be getting an answer finally sank in. That hint of strength didn't deter him, but rather forced him to struggle to hide a pleased smile.
"All right, than I will go first. My name is Trieze Khushranada." He glanced up to the stiff form behind the boy and motioned with one graceful hand. "The man who's shown you here and whom you met earlier, is my finest employee and closest friend, Zechs Marquis."
The tall blonde soldier raised an eyebrow at the introduction, but gave a barely perceptible nod of gratitude. Trieze's hadn't immediately gone into truly personal details, and as far as he was concerned, that was all that mattered.
His smile widened at the sight of that nod before he lifted a hand and motioned encouragingly to their small 'guest'. "And you are?"
A solid minute of silence ticked by according to Zechs inner clock before his older leader drew back with a disappointed frown, even though that didn't prevent that challenged light from appearing in the cornflower blue orbs. "… Would you be so cold as to deny us the pleasure of having your name, young sir?"
Quatre drew his shoulders back, sighing inwardly as he raised his own eyes to the figure only a few feet from him. Why is he so close? And why does he keep looking to the man behind me? Is he signaling him to sedate me again or something? "Forgive me. Please don't think me rude or cold as you put it, but I refuse to forget why I am here with you now, and I believe that giving my name, even if it is part of the usual social scene, would be a remarkably bad idea. I am your prisoner, if by some chance I am delivered from your hospitality, which I will say has been quite nice up to now, I think I would like to know you won't be finding me that quickly because I felt compelled to bond."
Behind him, Zechs blinked in surprise. It was a feeling that only grew when Trieze's lips curled into first something very close to a grin, and then the general started chuckling.
"Perhaps you are right in your concerns." He reached up and lightly let one of his fingers stroke down the shorter blonde's hair, marveling at it's baby-fine texture before tracing across his temple, down one cherubic cheek and towards the boy's strong mouth. Before he got there, the boy gave a soft gasp at the contact, then took a startled step back only to find himself pressed harshly against the barrel of a gun, and against the lithe body that was holding it. "Because I'm not sure I wouldn't attempt to find you if you weren't in our company any more."
Quatre's mind was a mess as he tried to shift away from the person he'd backed into, but preferably without moving forward towards that other strange man. His cheek still tingled from the touch, a small hot path that felt that finger moving over it repeatedly, like some unchecked memory. What is he -doing-? He attempted to take a step sideways, only to feel the guard's hand settle lightly on his shoulder, keeping him in place with that unspoken warning.
Slowly, he worked through the shock of that contact (only by realizing answers weren't as important as appearing strong in the path of it) and raised his face back to the man that had identified himself as Trieze. He's closer… And he was, by at least a foot, the young blonde now able to feel the very soft change in the air temperature around him from being so close to two other people. And something else, a barely perceptible hum in the environment, an energy that reminded him oddly of how he felt just before he went into battle. A mingling of emotions that were almost a scent to him, of excitement and anxiousness, fear tinged with the desire to survive. Normally, he welcomed that strange stream to wrap around him and remind him was alive and all right, but now it made him tense up. Because the only one that he clearly identified as his own was the fear he was struggling to keep under the surface. The rest were from his captors, and it made him suspect they were indeed planning something. This was just another form of torture, and they were warming up by making him feel so crowded, trying to frighten him with those unexplained touches and make him start babbling.
It was seeing the warring concerns in the blonde's eyes and then watching his light frame grow stiff like a live wire that kept Trieze from letting his control sway any more.
Like some little creature a child stumbled across and picked up, scared enough that when you hold it, you can feel the precious melody of it's heart's terror vibrating through your hand… Too much fear, and it's heart will cease, and you could unwittingly destroy what you just wanted to touch. Tipping his head down in a nod that Quatre identified as gracious apology and acknowledgement, Trieze took a step back. But the relief that the blonde felt at that retreat was short lived as the older man smiled, the gesture tinted with open impishness. "We still have the issue of names though, and I will not simply call you 'you'. It's rude, impersonal, and I despise not having something of a more proper title for someone like you. So…" He lifted a hand, lightly touching one finely shaped cheekbone before lifting his eyes to the person behind Quatre's shoulder. "I am leaning more towards Dove myself. It seems so fitting when one considers his innocently beautiful features and the emotions we have been able to see so far. Delicate, able to rise above the rest, a symbol for things so much bigger than it. A lovely little white Dove."
Zechs' expression darkened and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from immediately answering 'a dove who's wings you'd clip. A dove who you'd cherish within a gilded cage of gold while it silently wept in lonely misery.' only by that. But that nickname was one he wasn't going to just nod about, not like everything else where it seemed so much easier to agree with his lover. "I believe Angel would be more fitting, -Sir-."
He raised a golden eyebrow. You might as well have your hands on his shoulders and be snarling 'mine' at me, my darling. Still, compromise was something he'd never forgotten the value of. "Angel, hm? … I can see where you'd favor such a term, and it does have it's appeal. " For now, this was a battle he was winning to tip in Zechs favor. That light blue gaze shifted back to the blonde between them. "Would that suit you for the remainder of our dinner and company?"
Honestly, Quatre wasn't sure he liked or disliked either of them. Dove made him think of something beautiful and free, but also something fragile. It reminded him of one he'd seen in the park of the city, it's wing broken, most likely from a car on the nearby street, and it beating that futilely anyway on the ground to get away from the tramping feet of the uncaring pedestrians on the sidewalk. It's beak had been open, seeming to gasp to the startled and immediately sympathetic pilot, and the red that came from that dark opening was far too bright against the clean feathers of it's breast. But it wasn't going anywhere except in the tight circles it's flapping allowed it. Despite being busy and on his way to something, Quatre had stepped forward to try and help that small thing, but it's luck had run out just as the same time he got his feet moving. The next boot that went by had hit the bird, and the crunch that the owner of that boot had ignored even though he'd taken the time to wipe his shoe carelessly against the ground, leaving a streak of accusatory red, had sounded like someone taking their first step in untouched snow. And then it was too late, no point in even trying to scoop up the broken mess. He'd stepped over anyway though just to gently nudge the limp form out of the way and off the main path into the bushes, sparing it any more pain even if it's death if that was all he could do… But he hadn't forgotten that encounter. He considered it yet another silent and rather cold lesson from the world.
And as for the angel one… Well, inwardly he wasn't entirely sure he believed in them. The idea was beautiful and one he could appreciate, of something so perfectly pristine in it's soul and constantly watching out for the little guys, but in actuality, he couldn't comprehend someone being completely clean of any 'sin'. He certainly wasn't, he knew that much between all of the killing he had had to do and his lack of worship, especially of the god said angels supposed came from, so the nickname seemed almost in jest.
But ultimately, it didn't matter what he thought of the names and he couldn't possibly relate his reasoning for his answers without foolishly opening up to his captors. And it also didn't matter what they called him, as long as it wasn't his real name. The blonde lifted his chin defiantly and met Trieze's eyes. "Call me what you will."
Both of his older companions were caught off guard by the answer and his tone, but recovered quickly. Trieze almost grinned, silencing the immediate response that wanted to bubble out 'then I shall call you Mine.', and Zechs simply looked down on the top of that fair hair and mentally commended the boy. His lover might be determined, but he wasn't immune to the cold shoulder and if this boy proved to be uninterested long enough, there was the small chance he could return to his cell unbothered.
But looking up and seeing that amused emotion flicker over Trieze's expression, he felt that chance's fluttering success rate diminish even further. Because if there was anything he knew Trieze liked, it was a challenge.
"Then Angel you are to us, until we've received your name." After that announcement, the regal man turned abruptly and walked to the feast. He stopped behind one chair and pulled it out, then looked up to the still unmoving pair of blonde just within his doorway. Zechs was looking back at him with one of his most blank faces (an expression that Trieze knew meant there was actually a lot of warring feelings going on within), and the other blonde, their angel, looked confused by the gesture. Clearly, he would have his work cut out for him.
"Zechs? If you would be so kind and lead our guest over to his chair before seating yourself?"
There was just enough of a trace of annoyance in that question that it jarred the soldier in Zechs into action, exactly as Trieze had hoped. The cool blonde straightened up with a quick nod, then gently gave his captive a nudge, murmuring- "Move. That's your chair."
Well, duh, as Duo would say. But that didn't mean he understood the gesture any better. This was not a ball or party, they were not age old friends sitting down for a dinner together to play catch-up, and he certainly wasn't the pretty damsel in a gown who needed someone to pull out his chair for him. He stepped forward, a minor flash of relief as that gun's presence left his back even though he knew it still hovered inches from him, and made his way to the waiting seat.
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It was an hour later, and Quatre was surprised to find himself actually enjoying the dinner with the people who'd caught him.
At first, things had been tense between them all. Trieze served them himself to a room of silence, trying to talk with him at first, then when he got no answer, trying to speak with the tall, blonde guard. And while he got answers from Zechs, they didn't seem anything short of clipped and cold, baring only the needed information, so he soon gave up on that as well. But when they all started eating, (after watching his meal be pulled from the same bowls and such as everyone's, Quatre was nearly certain this wasn't some weird attempt at poison), things lightened up. Trieze had started chatting again, and he stayed away from personal subjects, opting instead for getting his opinion on some rather open matters like music and food, and Quatre couldn't see a reason not to answer it. Once he'd started talking politely with the general, Zechs almost grudgingly joined in as well.
While working his way through a wonderfully soft roast beef (soft enough to be cut with a fork, and that was a good thing considering how quickly he noted the absence of anything that could potentially become a weapon), they discussed opera. He was amazed to find himself arguing the finer points of the Italian music with Trieze, and even more startled when Zechs informed him of his and Trieze last trip to see one, and how they had both loved it enough to get the musical disk, and to hired the show to come again next year. Somehow, the way they'd both laughed at that memory, and then looked at each other made Quatre wonder about their relationship. The opera just seemed more like something to do with your love… But then again, when he last went, hadn't he considered dragging Trowa or Wufei out to it? It was something he thought that one of them could appreciate. Maybe Trieze and Zechs had just been lucky to find each other and share such interests, and that was what had made them friends.
And now when Zechs was smiling slightly and laughing at Trieze's last comment about the decline in good music that had occurred recently, and as he finished his own wonderfully sweet desert of chocolate mousse, he could see that they were just that and it wasn't a ploy against him.
It was clear to see that Trieze was the dominating form in their friendship, with the way he had earlier ordered the blonde around and even with the way he carefully controlled the conversation, and in a way, Quatre respected that. It reminded him of Heero's no nonsense way of dealing with things, only with a diplomatic edge. And though he still looked to each question as though expected a hidden trap, so far there had been none and it was easier and easier to relax into a gentle companionship.
That slow, accepting calm was something both Trieze and Zechs had noticed through the meal, and as it came to a close, they'd shared a silent exchange over the table. Trieze's victorious smile was simple to read, 'I won you over, didn't I? Did you really doubt I'd get him too?'. Zechs slight frown answered him right back, 'Be slow though. Don't scare him or hurt him, or I'll walk out on you myself'. This passed over Quatre's head without him having a clue what was being decided in the air around him, and by the time he finished the last bit of chocolate cream on his plate, unable to remember a time when he'd felt so contently full, the pair were now discussing movies.
Quatre carefully stacked his plates neatly on themselves, then looked up to give a small but genuine smile to his 'host'. "I can honestly say I haven't had such a wonderful meal in years. That was delightful, Sir, and I appreciate your inviting me to it."
"Trieze, please. I insist that no one who's shared a dinner with me in my private quarters call me such a formal title, and you are very welcome. Truthfully, it was my pleasure to have such a lovely and intelligent dining companion."
Across the table, the blonde gave a soft laugh as he set his empty wine glass aside. Quatre had been careful to only sip as his own, because whether it was deliberately set by these people or not, that was a trap in itself for him. He learned that several months ago during Duo's 'poker and alcohol bonding nights' Zechs however, seemed to have no such qualms, and had finished off four glasses by his last count. "You say that as though my company is anything but, Trieze. Tell me, do I bore you now?"
Who was Trieze to ignore such a perfect, 'slow' opportunity. A way to gently introduce Quatre to the truth behind their interests. Smiling, the older man pushed his chair back and stood, lightly setting his napkin over the plate as he gave Zechs a fond expression. "No, love. Never."
From the corner of his eye, he watched the young blonde's head lift up and his eyes widen, watched as Quatre looked between him and Zechs with a dawning understanding. What he saw in the beautifully aqua orbs wasn't disgust or horrified shock, it was simply a light of getting a more complete answer, and then beneath that, a tiny smile formed. Trieze couldn't have hoped for a better or more promising answer. A romantic. I thought so. Love is love, isn't it pretty angel? You don't care about gender, race, or those silly things… You heard that and were just happy that two people had found each other, weren't you? Despite our being enemies. How much you give away with that sweet smile…
Zechs gave another laugh at his answer, then actually rolled his eyes as he also stood and discarded the napkin that had been laying on his lap. "Ever charming, aren't you? The king in his self-made court."
"Does that make you my queen, Zechs, or just a loyal subject? And what of the pretty prince in our midst?" That was soft enough for Quatre to catch from his end of the table along with the wink from the older man, causing the boy to bite back a little laugh, but Zechs missed it as he stacked his plates and straightened his uniform jacket. "Well, now that we're all done, I believe we should head over to the fire to sit and talk some more, perhaps share some brandy?"
Quatre's slight smile faded just a little at that, not because the offer didn't sound nice even if he wouldn't have the drink, but because Trieze's voice had momentarily regained that leader quality to it. That hadn't been a polite question, it had been a strangely worded order. Watching Zechs' eyes lift and his body straighten, he saw he wasn't the only one who'd caught that subtle shift, and once again, those nibbling concerns started up within him.
When Trieze turned and walked regally over to scattered chairs and small couch before the fire, Zechs stepped around to his end of the table, his intents obvious. Quatre had a feeling if he hadn't risen on his own, that maybe that unwelcome gun might have reappeared, but he was up before Zechs had made it to his chair and so he never tested that theory.
With his hands still clasped together before him, joined with a thin chain of metal that he'd discreetly tested under the table and decided wasn't going to just break away, and with Zechs' hand a warm weight upon his shoulder, they walked over to join the man who now sat in the large chair before the flickering fire.