Chapter 21
"Isn't Abdule coming?" Quatre asked as Rashid propelled the younger boy through the empty camp.
Rashid smiled reassuring down at Quatre. "As I have said, Abdule is already in the Mosque. He and everyone else are awaiting us."
Quatre didn't answer, but Rashid noticed that the boy seemed to drag his feet even more as they neared the holy place of worship.
It had been nearly two weeks since Quatre had been released from the infirmary. The small boy had been steadily gaining strength, and had even begun to accept more flavorful foods into his diet without repercussions. His walk was slow, but Rashid was just grateful the boy had mastered it again, it had taken nearly a week for Quatre to find the strength to walk even short distances, and he was completely willing to carry the boy if he became too tired.
But Quatre wasn't tired now, only afraid. He'd tried to explain that the ceremony was neither dangerous nor scary; but was the ritual all Maguanacs went through to determine their specialties in the ranks. He'd described his own ceremony, and even Abdule had explained his, but Quatre had still seemed terrified until Duo had made a surprise visit.
Sitting in a chair across from Quatre's quietly listening form, Duo explained his ceremony.
"It's like this, plain and simple: Rashid brings you into the ceremony, Ralph brings Trowa. From there everyone gets to stare at you, while Master Habsaba and four other council members--including my Howard--talk about how wonderful it is that we've got two handsome new recruits to bless the ranks- -blah blah blah! Anyway, after that, the council will take you and Trowa into another room where Master Habsaba will ask you a bunch of questions. You answer the questions, the council analyses your answers, and poof! You get an assignment. It was so strange when Heero, Wufei and I all went in and all came back as pilots. Most of us get only one assignment, like Rashid is the General, and Abdule is an engineer, but the three of us all got two separate assignments. I got soldering/piloting and the thieving path. Heero got soldering/piloting and the assassin path. And Wufei got the soldering/piloting and the medicinal path. It surprised a lot of people, but the council is made up of the wisest of us all, and they haven't been wrong yet. I mean I love my placement! Sometimes being in more than one is hard, you have to do twice as much training as everybody else, but since Heero, Wufei and I were all in the same boat, it didn't really mater.
"So stop worrying about it, Q-Baby! Everything's going to be just fine." He'd closed with a wink and ended up staying for supper. Afterwards, Quatre confessed to feeling more comfortable with the entire thing. It didn't escape Rashid's attention that it was Duo who calmed Quatre's nerves, and the seemingly possessed Trowa's words from two weeks ago played once again in his mind.
"You were his best friend, if anyone beside myself could, it would be you."
He'd gone to Habsaba and demanded answers many times, but without fail Habsaba refused to answer. Subtly--so as not to scare the boy--Rashid had tried to question Quatre, but the blond seemed genuinely to have no answers, and on the one occasion he'd pushed too far, Quatre had shrunk away from him in sudden fear, and he'd vowed to keep his interrogations to Habsaba for the time being. He'd attempted to question Trowa once too in the camps, but the boy had been even less responsive than Quatre, and he'd known that would not provide any answers--the taller boy didn't trust him. Questioning Ralph about Trowa had yielded little results, and so Rashid waited, biding his time, knowing that Quatre was at least safe and slowly adapting to the world he now lived in.
Indeed, Quatre was assimilating nicely for a boy with nothing but negative human contact for the last five years. He still refused to be touched by anyone except himself and Abdule--and surprisingly, Duo, Heero, Wufei and Trowa. That revelation had come on one of the first days Quatre had ventured out to the camps alone to get his daily dose of UVB rays from the artificial sun. By then he'd been taking classes for a week, and knew Trowa as well as anyone did; he'd also spent time with the other three boys in their advanced literature classes.
Duo had somehow enticed the boy into one of the shallow pools where the others had been sitting when Quatre had arrived. Quatre later told him it had been the water, the sheer abundance of the commodity he'd been denied for so long, that had prompted his weeping. But the other boys had been terribly worried and had flocked around Quatre, shielding his body from the others in the camp and offering comfort. Rashid had gone looking for his Recruit when he'd seen the boys surrounding Quatre, their hands gently touching him, Trowa's hand running through Quatre's hair.
Quatre's ease with their touches had been proven again over the last week, most recently by a visit from Trowa the day before.
Rashid smiled as he remembered his expression when he'd opened the door to find Trowa standing there nonchalantly. Quatre had asked the boy to come so that Trowa could help him with a set of math problems he couldn't understand. Quatre was still hesitant to appear "stupid" in front of either himself or Abdule, but they were slowly making progress.
During the session, Rashid watched from his perch on the couch as the two sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Neither spoke much--a simple question here, a simple answer there--but Rashid sensed something more happening than a study session. Unconscious of their actions, the two would often find ways to touch each other. He'd noticed it when Quatre had gotten up to offer Trowa a drink only to find that he couldn't reach the glass he wanted. Without a word, Trowa had stood from his seat and gone to assist Quatre; but instead of moving Quatre aside or working around him, Trowa had stood directly behind the boy, raising up to capture the glass, leaning against Quatre's body. Neither seemed to notice the suggestiveness of the action, as if it were commonplace and expected.
Other things, like the brush of a hand, or when Trowa had guided Quatre's pencil with his own hand so that they both traced the letter "K", the letter Quatre had the most trouble with. When Trowa had left, Rashid had question Quatre carefully about whether or not Trowa's touch bothered him. It was then, as Quatre had looked at him bewildered, that he'd learned that Quatre hadn't even noticed the touches. Even with himself, Quatre was always wary of his touch, always afraid--but Trowa hadn't prompted that response, and Rashid found himself more and more concerned about what was going on with his Recruit.
Suddenly, Quatre slowed, and Rashid notice that he was looking at the massive doors of the Mosque to where Trowa was standing, leaning against them, Ralph leaning into him non-threateningly. But the way Quatre watched them, as if something inside of him recognized a familiarity in their stance, in the aloofness of Trowa, or the way Ralph inclined his body towards the boy. Rashid saw the sudden stiffness in Quatre melt away suddenly to be replaced by a soft smile and a quicker pace as they neared his friend.
It wasn't that Quatre didn't like Ralph, but the Recruit was wary of the man. Rashid figured it had something to do with Ralph's size, but he also harbored a secret--that it had something to do with the fact that Trowa was Ralph's Recruit.
Walking carefully, Quatre moved to greet Trowa. Unlike most boys, the two only nodded to each other and shared a soft rounding of the lips before looking in expectation to their Teachers.
Ralph chuckled. "Well Rashid, I suppose that's our cue." At Rashid's nod the two men moved to the great doors and pushed.
* * *
The first thing Trowa noticed when he saw Quatre was the hesitation in the other boy's steps. Those steps had grown bolder as the boy had neared him; but now, as they walked past their fellow Maguanacs, Trowa couldn't help but notice that Quatre teetered with ever step, as if forcing himself to continue. With a thought he barely recognized as his own, Trowa promised to watch the boy carefully, to make sure he made it through this day unharmed.
They were at the end of their walk now, facing the council of elders. Trowa recognized Master Habsaba and Howard, Duo's Teacher. Beyond them, the other three were mysteries. He'd met them of course, Ralph had introduced him to everyone. But Trowa had made it a point of committing to memory only those that seemed to be strong enough to take him down if he decided to run; the three old men before him hadn't even registered.
Suddenly a warm hand descended upon his shoulder, and Trowa fought hard not to wince at the contact. Touch still made him skittish, and it was no wonder; but Ralph had been good to him, and Trowa had learned over the past weeks that his Teacher asked for nothing in return for the kindnesses. That left him in an awkward position of not knowing what to do, and in his defense, he chose to keep his mounting trust in his Teacher a secret.
With a glance of acknowledgement, Trowa turned back to watch as Master Habsaba stood, stepping towards the four of them.
It was Rashid who spoke, and it startled Trowa a little to hear the note of contempt and anger in his voice when he spoke to their leader.
"By our rites and traditions, I, Rashid of the Maguanacs, bring forth to the council of placement, my Recruit, Quatre."
"By our rites and traditions, I, Ralph of the Maguanacs, bring forth to the council of placement, my Recruit, Trowa." Ralph's voice was clear, proud, and Trowa felt the need to please his Teacher course through his veins like some drug.
This need to please someone--a man no less--was so foreign to him. He'd spent much of his young life doing everything in his power not to be noticed by men at all, now to change so drastically, it was odd and a bit frightening to him. But Trowa was a man of reason, after a quick contemplation, he decided it was a mixed up sense of gratitude towards his Teacher for taking him in and being kind to him--nothing more, nothing less. Master Habsaba's voice drew him back to the ceremony taking place around him.
"By our rites and traditions, the Maguanacs are servants of Allah, the great god of Islam. Who among you would die to protect these two who now face placement?"
In a roar that seemed to shake the very ground they stood upon, every single Maguanac in the room, who had once been kneeling now stood and shouted to the heavens.
"I will lay my life down for my brothers!"
He hadn't heard it during the roar of the crowd, but once their fellow soldiers were quiet, he felt it. It was a disturbance on the air, a vibration that waved across the skin of his left shoulder. Turning, he saw what it was and felt a sense of such profound protective need that it overshadowed all others he'd ever had in his entire existence.
Most likely startled by the sound, not to mention the ceremony happening all round him, Quatre had his arms wrapped about himself, his insignificant frame shaking violently in distress. Every fiber of Trowa's body willed his arms to wrap about the boy, but something kept him in his place, some fear of seeming weak in front of those he had catalogued as cause for concern should he try to leave this satellite one day. Guilt suffused him, and Trowa nearly took a step away from the other boy at that thought--he couldn't remember ever feeling guilty because of another, not ever.
But as Trowa watched, Rashid's arm came around the bony shoulders of the blond, and with mixed gratitude and something more sinister, Trowa watched as the smaller boy leaned onto the embrace of comfort and strength. Master Habsaba continued as if nothing had happened.
"By Allah's decree through Aisha, most beloved wife of Mohammed, there are eight paths a Maguanac may take. First is the path of medicine, those among us charged to care for the sick and injured of our brethren. Second is that of the assassin, accurate and cunning, these individuals need but one opportunity to strike and their blows often decide between a short war or an epic. Third is that of Thief, trained to walk in shadows no other man can inhabit, they take what is needed for the betterment of others, working by Allah's hand. Fourth is the path of espionage, those gifted with the ability to blend where others cannot, working against evil by taking a measure of it into themselves. Fifth are the strategists, planners and thinkers, the brightest among us who possess the ability to find the least destructive way to end a conflict. Sixth, are the riders, charged now, not to take up the reigns of old, but to control the powerful Mechas now used in combat, they are the best fighters among us, sworn to protect the Muslim people. Seventh is the General, wise in all areas of war and politics, he is the one among us capable of crushing mountains and offering comfort to those left in the wake of battle. Finally, the eighth and final path is that of Leader, the one chose by Allah to command as He would, to lead with wisdom and faith, with heart and conviction. These are the paths of Allah.
"Before you, my brothers, are two which need placement onto one of these paths. As one now, pray that the council is granted the wisdom to place them on the paths Allah has put them here for. Kneel and pray for Allah's grace."
Behind him, Trowa heard the fall of fabric and limbs that could only mean that the Maguanacs were doing as told, kneeling to pray to some god for wisdom. Trowa didn't place much stock in this Muslim god known as Allah, but he'd fought for less honorable reasons than defending a people, so as long as he was here, he didn't mind lending his weapon to the effort.
Then there was a flurry of movement around him. The council was slowly descending the four steps of the platform, while Ralph and Rashid slowly moved away from the two newest Recruits. He heard Quatre take in a shuddering breath, and he turned his head to see that the boy was still shaking badly. Trowa had it in his mind that the moment they were alone, he'd hold the other boy tightly and never let him go. He didn't allow himself to dwell on that thought.
Suddenly, Howard was before them, smiling kindly. Quietly, he spoke as he ushered them to follow the other council members who were exiting a door to the right of the platform. "OK you two, hard part's over now. Come on, let's move onto the fun stuff." He offered them a wink, and with a shrug of his shoulders, Trowa followed him, careful to make sure Quatre walked in front of him.
As they passed, Trowa turned in time to see Heero offer an encouraging nod from his front row position beside his two lovers. He watched with humor and sadness as Duo offered Quatre a thumb's up that the blond boy did not see because of his fear. It startled him then however, the look Wufei offered him, it beseeched him on a level Trowa didn't understand, to watch out for Quatre, to protect him. He thought about it the entire way across the room and through the doorway.
* * *
As always there were too many. Too many emotions, too many people, too much to take in all at once. He'd sought comfort from Rashid while he could, but now, away from his Teacher, Quatre sought comfort from the only one willing to offer it, Trowa.
The room they entered would have been without a spot of light if not for the hundreds of candles that lit the room in flickering firelight. A stone platform was directly across from the entrance door, and it was to the platform, and the five stone chairs that the council of elders moved to take their places.
On instinct, Quatre followed, coming up to stand next to Trowa before the middle seat, occupied by Master Habsaba. Even though the room was lit by so many candles, the stone walls and floor made the room seem cold and chilled, uncomfortable and confining. The small blond shivered.
He could sense strong emotions from the five council members, most of which was hesitation--and much fear. Were they afraid of Trowa? Quatre didn't know why; but in their seats of power, five men sat afraid, but none more than Master Habsaba and that fact alone frightened Quatre even more than before.
The room was silent for a long time, the hiss and occasional pop of the flames the only orchestra. Duo hadn't mentioned the silence, for that matter, neither had Rashid. But the five stood their ground, almost as if they were expecting Trowa and he to suddenly take direction in this play.
Five minutes, then ten, and still no one spoke or looked even remotely like they were about too. Quatre's shaking had not subsided, and his rising fears about what was happening only spurned the quaking on. He noticed that Trowa too was becoming restless. Quatre knew from their brief discussion the day before that Heero had told Trowa what to expect. They'd swapped stories, and after agreeing that both seemed similar, agreed that Duo and Heero had been telling the truth. But this was nothing like what was supposed to happen, and suddenly the idea that Duo and Heero had tricked them, plotted against them, flashed into Quatre's mind and would not let go.
Beside him, Trowa drew a deep breath, and likewise Quatre followed. But his breath wasn't as even, his draw not as smooth. The combination of his shaking and circumstances forced the hitch that finally ended the standoff.
It was a tiny sob, at least compared to the others he'd uttered since coming to this place, but it was just as frightened and desperate as the others had been. He barely noticed it when it happened, the forceful tug of his arm, the quick stumble of his feet, the instant warmth he felt as the portion of his chest not covered by his vest came into contact with Trowa's flesh. He heard the growl that rumbled deep in Trowa's chest when he closed his eyes, his body finally noting that the fear was gone, replaced by warmth and comfort. His hands moved from their lifeless places at his sides, to rest against two distinct pectoral muscles, the sudden flex of each unnoticed. Blond hair fell against a chest oiled to protect it from the artificial sun, and Quatre inhaled the fragrance of long dead Egyptian gods on Trowa's skin.
He didn't allow himself to think about it, indeed, a different part of his mind seemed to take over, forcing him to lie dormant, to feel these sensations but take no action with them. So he rested, leaning against this boy--who by all rights--was just as broken and evil a child as he was.
* * *
The growl emanated from his throat as he buried his hands deep into course cotton strands that should have been silk. His nostrils flared at the scent of Quatre's body, at the warmth he felt as those too tiny hands fell across his chest. He didn't question what he did as he maneuvered Quatre's lips to rest against his neck, none of it registered because it didn't have to, this was destiny, this was faith and religion all rolled into one moment of his existence. He'd felt this way before, in a dream he'd had off and on since coming to this place, the dream of this sense of rightness, this sense of reward for all that he'd been through in the past. He didn't notice that Quatre fit perfectly against him, didn't notice that Quatre stopped shaking the instant he'd fallen against his chest; none of these things did he notice because they were already known, an instinct older than any Trowa had ever been born with. Quatre always calmed when in his arms, always, ever since.
He sensed the shift the moment it happened, sensed the way Quatre's body seemed to let go of the tension that had coiled inside of him, sensed the now laxed muscles that held up only half of the blonde's weight while Trowa himself held up the rest. Instinctively he knew what was happening, knew that Quatre was silent now and would remain so until the danger had passed, because this time around, Quatre needed him to be stronger--and he would not let his partner down.
His voice was cold and quiet when he spoke, and he watched with satisfaction as the men before him leaned back into their stone thrones in fear of him.
"Speak or hold, either way, in five minutes, we are leaving." His point was made clear when he pulled Quatre even closer to him, felt those tiny fingernails bit lightly into his flesh.
As one, the men looked to Habsaba, but the leader was gone, his eyes vacant as he stared into a spot just between Quatre's shoulder blades. For a long moment their was silence then, until Howard dared to end it.
"Trowa, is Quatre alright?" There was disguised fear in his voice, but no lack of sincerity, which was perhaps why Trowa answered him at all.
"He's fine, just scared. He's listening. This is not like before." Trowa didn't understand the answer he'd just given, but took it as any good answer.
Howard however, didn't. "Which Trowa am I speaking too?"
That earned the Hawaiian shirt-wearing ex-hippie an odd look from Trowa. He had no idea what the old man was talking about. "Which Trowa am I speaking too?" That didn't make any sense, there was only one Trowa in this room, wasn't there?
"What kind of question is that?"
"Nothing!" The answer was given too quickly, too readily, and too big a lie to possibly be true, but now wasn't the time to consider it.
Shrugging his shoulders, Trowa looked at the man pointedly, waiting for the questions Heero told him would be asked. Trowa trusted Heero, he wasn't sure how much just yet, but understood that this was not the typical placement ritual, something had happened and things were going very, very differently.
Howard looked to Habsaba to say something, but upon seeing that the old man was still staring into Quatre's back, he cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. Trowa had to give him credit, the man looked about to have a heart attack, and yet still managed to appear dignified; Trowa respected that a great deal.
"Trowa, normally, the council asks about your past experiences, the skills you've acquired in your life prior to being selected as a Maguanac. From there we then ask what it is you'd be interested in doing, what your likes and dislikes are. After that we congregate and decide which of the eight paths would best suit you. There are many sub-paths to choose from once you are assigned a main path, for example, being a rider does not mean you will fly Mechas, instead you could become an engineer like your fellow Recruit Abdule. Only a select few are choice for the main rolls of each category, the exceptions being that of General and Leader, which are the only specialized paths. Do you understand?" It was a nearly complete boxed speech, and Trowa realized quickly that five years ago, Heero, Duo and Wufei had all heard it the exact same way. It brought a slight smile to Trowa's lips, knowing how stuffy the whole thing had become from the times of.old? Where had that thought come from?
His pause must have been too long as he contemplated his mind's odd mental dialogue. Howard's voice was shaky at best, concerned as well. "Trowa, do you understand?"
Absently he nodded his head. "We both understand." He didn't notice the looks of fearful understanding draw across the faces of four of the five seated men.
"Good. Then, Trowa, what can you tell us of your skills? What did you do before becoming a Maguanac?"
He shrugged, mindful of Quatre in his arms, always mindful of Quatre. "I killed people."
Silenced reigned for nearly a full minute. "W-What else, Trowa?"
He looked up then, his eyes meeting those of his judges. "I just killed. Up close, hand to hand, far away, Mecha to Mecha. I can use any weapon developed After Colony 1, and a good selection of those Before Colony as well. I have murdered men, women and children, and did so without compassion. I feel little to no regret for all save the children, and even with those I understood it was myself or them and I made a decision I would make again. I killed on the battlefield and off, and I am not opposed to doing it again. I am a man of few talents, but those that I possess, I possess fully.
"As to what I want to do.I've never given much thought to it. I'll kill until the day I die, and when I die it will most likely be the effect of someone else's kill. I do however, enjoy Mechas, especially their repair and precision. Beyond that there is nothing useful I can offer. I am a mercenary, I wonder if you fully understood that before accepting me into your peace?"
Silence had yet to be so quiet. It was as if the flames stopped their movements, and lungs stopped their breathing. But against him, Quatre snuggled tighter, and the part of Trowa which was running on instinct, knew that Quatre had sensed his distress and was offering him comfort. Absently, he ran his hands through Quatre's hair, wishing it felt like it used to.
When still the silence continued, Trowa filled it. Why, he did not know.
"Quatre has fewer skills than even I. He's an empath, but untrained, dangerous to himself if the truth be told. But he is a brilliant strategist, adept at all things required to move an army from one position to another. He destroys only when necessary, and does so with grief in his heart. He is loving and kind, compassionate, far beyond that which is healthy. He feels.so much more than Allah ever intended him too." At his last line, Trowa faltered. H-how did he know all that about Quatre? He didn't know that Quatre was a born strategist. He didn't know that Quatre's empathy was dangerous, especially not to the boy himself. He didn't know that Quatre was loving and kind. He had no idea that he felt more than Allah intended him too. And yet, he did. He understood that everything he had just said had been true, how he knew was beyond him, but it mattered little now that it was said.
He didn't dwell on the fact that some ridiculous half answer, as the one he'd just given himself, would never have worked a month ago. He'd changed, but he refused to acknowledge those changes for the time being.
It startled him when Howard didn't ask how he knew all that about Quatre, but he assumed that Duo had told his Teacher that the boys had all started spending some time together, and that that must account for his knowledge.
What did startle him was the soft murmur that came from his neck, the vibrations chasing a chill of something very similar to desire down his spine.
"Thank you, Trowa."
He couldn't help but smile as he used his hands to gently maneuver Quatre's face from his neck so he could see into their blue depths.
"As always, you are welcome, Little One." That earned him a soft smile, and Trowa felt warmth in a part of his heart thought long dead by circumstance and abuse.
But his quick conversation with Quatre pulled his attention away from what was happening around him, and before he had a chance to react, Master Habsaba was tearing down from the stone like chair and past the two embracing figures of himself and Quatre. He watched as Howard and the others called after him, rising from their own chairs and following him back into the main room.
And then, for a moment, he and Quatre were alone. Trowa felt his consciousness shift for a moment, and then he had his head buried in Quatre's neck, the blond--supporting both his own and now Trowa's weights-- carefully running tiny fingers over the back of his neck.
"Quatre?"
"Shhh, Trowa. You did so well. I'm proud of you. Things are happening much faster now, faster than even I thought possible. Already, they understand they can depend on each other in times of distress. Trust in Him a little more, Beloved. Perhaps this will not take the full eleven years as once thought."
His voice caught as he spoke. "It's so hard, Quatre. I feel his fears, he doesn't understand. He fights it, but he's terrified. I-I don't know if he'll be strong enough."
"Oh my love, only time will tell all that. Now we must celebrate the little victories, however small they might be. Come, they have need of us now."
"I love you, Little One."
"And I you, my most precious Trowa."
Then the veil lifted, and with it so too did their positions. His knees locked, and Trowa rose to his full height, towering over the smaller blond. His muscles once again supported the bodies of both his own and Quatre's, only this time, completely, as Quatre's body lost all feeling and sank under the power of oblivion.
With tempered familiarity, Trowa lifted the younger boy into his arms, and carried him carefully into the other room. He heard Habsaba's declaration-- much to the protest of the other council members--as he neared the door with his precious bundle.
".and so my word is law! Trowa shall be placed onto the path of espionage; Quatre, that of strategy; and both will be pilots. SILENCE! Too this end I have also chosen--"
Trowa passed through the doors then, all eyes moving towards him as they saw what he carried in his arms. Absently, he watched Duo as if on mute cry out and race towards him, Heero and Wufei directly behind him. He watched as Ralph too made to move, and saw Rashid and Abdule pull away from the crowd as well.
But, as if all action was stopped by Habsaba's new words, all in the room paused, and like before, it was as if lungs stopped drawing in breath.
".Trowa to be our future General, and Quatre to become our Leader!"
After five seconds of untainted silence, all hell broke loose.
"Isn't Abdule coming?" Quatre asked as Rashid propelled the younger boy through the empty camp.
Rashid smiled reassuring down at Quatre. "As I have said, Abdule is already in the Mosque. He and everyone else are awaiting us."
Quatre didn't answer, but Rashid noticed that the boy seemed to drag his feet even more as they neared the holy place of worship.
It had been nearly two weeks since Quatre had been released from the infirmary. The small boy had been steadily gaining strength, and had even begun to accept more flavorful foods into his diet without repercussions. His walk was slow, but Rashid was just grateful the boy had mastered it again, it had taken nearly a week for Quatre to find the strength to walk even short distances, and he was completely willing to carry the boy if he became too tired.
But Quatre wasn't tired now, only afraid. He'd tried to explain that the ceremony was neither dangerous nor scary; but was the ritual all Maguanacs went through to determine their specialties in the ranks. He'd described his own ceremony, and even Abdule had explained his, but Quatre had still seemed terrified until Duo had made a surprise visit.
Sitting in a chair across from Quatre's quietly listening form, Duo explained his ceremony.
"It's like this, plain and simple: Rashid brings you into the ceremony, Ralph brings Trowa. From there everyone gets to stare at you, while Master Habsaba and four other council members--including my Howard--talk about how wonderful it is that we've got two handsome new recruits to bless the ranks- -blah blah blah! Anyway, after that, the council will take you and Trowa into another room where Master Habsaba will ask you a bunch of questions. You answer the questions, the council analyses your answers, and poof! You get an assignment. It was so strange when Heero, Wufei and I all went in and all came back as pilots. Most of us get only one assignment, like Rashid is the General, and Abdule is an engineer, but the three of us all got two separate assignments. I got soldering/piloting and the thieving path. Heero got soldering/piloting and the assassin path. And Wufei got the soldering/piloting and the medicinal path. It surprised a lot of people, but the council is made up of the wisest of us all, and they haven't been wrong yet. I mean I love my placement! Sometimes being in more than one is hard, you have to do twice as much training as everybody else, but since Heero, Wufei and I were all in the same boat, it didn't really mater.
"So stop worrying about it, Q-Baby! Everything's going to be just fine." He'd closed with a wink and ended up staying for supper. Afterwards, Quatre confessed to feeling more comfortable with the entire thing. It didn't escape Rashid's attention that it was Duo who calmed Quatre's nerves, and the seemingly possessed Trowa's words from two weeks ago played once again in his mind.
"You were his best friend, if anyone beside myself could, it would be you."
He'd gone to Habsaba and demanded answers many times, but without fail Habsaba refused to answer. Subtly--so as not to scare the boy--Rashid had tried to question Quatre, but the blond seemed genuinely to have no answers, and on the one occasion he'd pushed too far, Quatre had shrunk away from him in sudden fear, and he'd vowed to keep his interrogations to Habsaba for the time being. He'd attempted to question Trowa once too in the camps, but the boy had been even less responsive than Quatre, and he'd known that would not provide any answers--the taller boy didn't trust him. Questioning Ralph about Trowa had yielded little results, and so Rashid waited, biding his time, knowing that Quatre was at least safe and slowly adapting to the world he now lived in.
Indeed, Quatre was assimilating nicely for a boy with nothing but negative human contact for the last five years. He still refused to be touched by anyone except himself and Abdule--and surprisingly, Duo, Heero, Wufei and Trowa. That revelation had come on one of the first days Quatre had ventured out to the camps alone to get his daily dose of UVB rays from the artificial sun. By then he'd been taking classes for a week, and knew Trowa as well as anyone did; he'd also spent time with the other three boys in their advanced literature classes.
Duo had somehow enticed the boy into one of the shallow pools where the others had been sitting when Quatre had arrived. Quatre later told him it had been the water, the sheer abundance of the commodity he'd been denied for so long, that had prompted his weeping. But the other boys had been terribly worried and had flocked around Quatre, shielding his body from the others in the camp and offering comfort. Rashid had gone looking for his Recruit when he'd seen the boys surrounding Quatre, their hands gently touching him, Trowa's hand running through Quatre's hair.
Quatre's ease with their touches had been proven again over the last week, most recently by a visit from Trowa the day before.
Rashid smiled as he remembered his expression when he'd opened the door to find Trowa standing there nonchalantly. Quatre had asked the boy to come so that Trowa could help him with a set of math problems he couldn't understand. Quatre was still hesitant to appear "stupid" in front of either himself or Abdule, but they were slowly making progress.
During the session, Rashid watched from his perch on the couch as the two sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Neither spoke much--a simple question here, a simple answer there--but Rashid sensed something more happening than a study session. Unconscious of their actions, the two would often find ways to touch each other. He'd noticed it when Quatre had gotten up to offer Trowa a drink only to find that he couldn't reach the glass he wanted. Without a word, Trowa had stood from his seat and gone to assist Quatre; but instead of moving Quatre aside or working around him, Trowa had stood directly behind the boy, raising up to capture the glass, leaning against Quatre's body. Neither seemed to notice the suggestiveness of the action, as if it were commonplace and expected.
Other things, like the brush of a hand, or when Trowa had guided Quatre's pencil with his own hand so that they both traced the letter "K", the letter Quatre had the most trouble with. When Trowa had left, Rashid had question Quatre carefully about whether or not Trowa's touch bothered him. It was then, as Quatre had looked at him bewildered, that he'd learned that Quatre hadn't even noticed the touches. Even with himself, Quatre was always wary of his touch, always afraid--but Trowa hadn't prompted that response, and Rashid found himself more and more concerned about what was going on with his Recruit.
Suddenly, Quatre slowed, and Rashid notice that he was looking at the massive doors of the Mosque to where Trowa was standing, leaning against them, Ralph leaning into him non-threateningly. But the way Quatre watched them, as if something inside of him recognized a familiarity in their stance, in the aloofness of Trowa, or the way Ralph inclined his body towards the boy. Rashid saw the sudden stiffness in Quatre melt away suddenly to be replaced by a soft smile and a quicker pace as they neared his friend.
It wasn't that Quatre didn't like Ralph, but the Recruit was wary of the man. Rashid figured it had something to do with Ralph's size, but he also harbored a secret--that it had something to do with the fact that Trowa was Ralph's Recruit.
Walking carefully, Quatre moved to greet Trowa. Unlike most boys, the two only nodded to each other and shared a soft rounding of the lips before looking in expectation to their Teachers.
Ralph chuckled. "Well Rashid, I suppose that's our cue." At Rashid's nod the two men moved to the great doors and pushed.
* * *
The first thing Trowa noticed when he saw Quatre was the hesitation in the other boy's steps. Those steps had grown bolder as the boy had neared him; but now, as they walked past their fellow Maguanacs, Trowa couldn't help but notice that Quatre teetered with ever step, as if forcing himself to continue. With a thought he barely recognized as his own, Trowa promised to watch the boy carefully, to make sure he made it through this day unharmed.
They were at the end of their walk now, facing the council of elders. Trowa recognized Master Habsaba and Howard, Duo's Teacher. Beyond them, the other three were mysteries. He'd met them of course, Ralph had introduced him to everyone. But Trowa had made it a point of committing to memory only those that seemed to be strong enough to take him down if he decided to run; the three old men before him hadn't even registered.
Suddenly a warm hand descended upon his shoulder, and Trowa fought hard not to wince at the contact. Touch still made him skittish, and it was no wonder; but Ralph had been good to him, and Trowa had learned over the past weeks that his Teacher asked for nothing in return for the kindnesses. That left him in an awkward position of not knowing what to do, and in his defense, he chose to keep his mounting trust in his Teacher a secret.
With a glance of acknowledgement, Trowa turned back to watch as Master Habsaba stood, stepping towards the four of them.
It was Rashid who spoke, and it startled Trowa a little to hear the note of contempt and anger in his voice when he spoke to their leader.
"By our rites and traditions, I, Rashid of the Maguanacs, bring forth to the council of placement, my Recruit, Quatre."
"By our rites and traditions, I, Ralph of the Maguanacs, bring forth to the council of placement, my Recruit, Trowa." Ralph's voice was clear, proud, and Trowa felt the need to please his Teacher course through his veins like some drug.
This need to please someone--a man no less--was so foreign to him. He'd spent much of his young life doing everything in his power not to be noticed by men at all, now to change so drastically, it was odd and a bit frightening to him. But Trowa was a man of reason, after a quick contemplation, he decided it was a mixed up sense of gratitude towards his Teacher for taking him in and being kind to him--nothing more, nothing less. Master Habsaba's voice drew him back to the ceremony taking place around him.
"By our rites and traditions, the Maguanacs are servants of Allah, the great god of Islam. Who among you would die to protect these two who now face placement?"
In a roar that seemed to shake the very ground they stood upon, every single Maguanac in the room, who had once been kneeling now stood and shouted to the heavens.
"I will lay my life down for my brothers!"
He hadn't heard it during the roar of the crowd, but once their fellow soldiers were quiet, he felt it. It was a disturbance on the air, a vibration that waved across the skin of his left shoulder. Turning, he saw what it was and felt a sense of such profound protective need that it overshadowed all others he'd ever had in his entire existence.
Most likely startled by the sound, not to mention the ceremony happening all round him, Quatre had his arms wrapped about himself, his insignificant frame shaking violently in distress. Every fiber of Trowa's body willed his arms to wrap about the boy, but something kept him in his place, some fear of seeming weak in front of those he had catalogued as cause for concern should he try to leave this satellite one day. Guilt suffused him, and Trowa nearly took a step away from the other boy at that thought--he couldn't remember ever feeling guilty because of another, not ever.
But as Trowa watched, Rashid's arm came around the bony shoulders of the blond, and with mixed gratitude and something more sinister, Trowa watched as the smaller boy leaned onto the embrace of comfort and strength. Master Habsaba continued as if nothing had happened.
"By Allah's decree through Aisha, most beloved wife of Mohammed, there are eight paths a Maguanac may take. First is the path of medicine, those among us charged to care for the sick and injured of our brethren. Second is that of the assassin, accurate and cunning, these individuals need but one opportunity to strike and their blows often decide between a short war or an epic. Third is that of Thief, trained to walk in shadows no other man can inhabit, they take what is needed for the betterment of others, working by Allah's hand. Fourth is the path of espionage, those gifted with the ability to blend where others cannot, working against evil by taking a measure of it into themselves. Fifth are the strategists, planners and thinkers, the brightest among us who possess the ability to find the least destructive way to end a conflict. Sixth, are the riders, charged now, not to take up the reigns of old, but to control the powerful Mechas now used in combat, they are the best fighters among us, sworn to protect the Muslim people. Seventh is the General, wise in all areas of war and politics, he is the one among us capable of crushing mountains and offering comfort to those left in the wake of battle. Finally, the eighth and final path is that of Leader, the one chose by Allah to command as He would, to lead with wisdom and faith, with heart and conviction. These are the paths of Allah.
"Before you, my brothers, are two which need placement onto one of these paths. As one now, pray that the council is granted the wisdom to place them on the paths Allah has put them here for. Kneel and pray for Allah's grace."
Behind him, Trowa heard the fall of fabric and limbs that could only mean that the Maguanacs were doing as told, kneeling to pray to some god for wisdom. Trowa didn't place much stock in this Muslim god known as Allah, but he'd fought for less honorable reasons than defending a people, so as long as he was here, he didn't mind lending his weapon to the effort.
Then there was a flurry of movement around him. The council was slowly descending the four steps of the platform, while Ralph and Rashid slowly moved away from the two newest Recruits. He heard Quatre take in a shuddering breath, and he turned his head to see that the boy was still shaking badly. Trowa had it in his mind that the moment they were alone, he'd hold the other boy tightly and never let him go. He didn't allow himself to dwell on that thought.
Suddenly, Howard was before them, smiling kindly. Quietly, he spoke as he ushered them to follow the other council members who were exiting a door to the right of the platform. "OK you two, hard part's over now. Come on, let's move onto the fun stuff." He offered them a wink, and with a shrug of his shoulders, Trowa followed him, careful to make sure Quatre walked in front of him.
As they passed, Trowa turned in time to see Heero offer an encouraging nod from his front row position beside his two lovers. He watched with humor and sadness as Duo offered Quatre a thumb's up that the blond boy did not see because of his fear. It startled him then however, the look Wufei offered him, it beseeched him on a level Trowa didn't understand, to watch out for Quatre, to protect him. He thought about it the entire way across the room and through the doorway.
* * *
As always there were too many. Too many emotions, too many people, too much to take in all at once. He'd sought comfort from Rashid while he could, but now, away from his Teacher, Quatre sought comfort from the only one willing to offer it, Trowa.
The room they entered would have been without a spot of light if not for the hundreds of candles that lit the room in flickering firelight. A stone platform was directly across from the entrance door, and it was to the platform, and the five stone chairs that the council of elders moved to take their places.
On instinct, Quatre followed, coming up to stand next to Trowa before the middle seat, occupied by Master Habsaba. Even though the room was lit by so many candles, the stone walls and floor made the room seem cold and chilled, uncomfortable and confining. The small blond shivered.
He could sense strong emotions from the five council members, most of which was hesitation--and much fear. Were they afraid of Trowa? Quatre didn't know why; but in their seats of power, five men sat afraid, but none more than Master Habsaba and that fact alone frightened Quatre even more than before.
The room was silent for a long time, the hiss and occasional pop of the flames the only orchestra. Duo hadn't mentioned the silence, for that matter, neither had Rashid. But the five stood their ground, almost as if they were expecting Trowa and he to suddenly take direction in this play.
Five minutes, then ten, and still no one spoke or looked even remotely like they were about too. Quatre's shaking had not subsided, and his rising fears about what was happening only spurned the quaking on. He noticed that Trowa too was becoming restless. Quatre knew from their brief discussion the day before that Heero had told Trowa what to expect. They'd swapped stories, and after agreeing that both seemed similar, agreed that Duo and Heero had been telling the truth. But this was nothing like what was supposed to happen, and suddenly the idea that Duo and Heero had tricked them, plotted against them, flashed into Quatre's mind and would not let go.
Beside him, Trowa drew a deep breath, and likewise Quatre followed. But his breath wasn't as even, his draw not as smooth. The combination of his shaking and circumstances forced the hitch that finally ended the standoff.
It was a tiny sob, at least compared to the others he'd uttered since coming to this place, but it was just as frightened and desperate as the others had been. He barely noticed it when it happened, the forceful tug of his arm, the quick stumble of his feet, the instant warmth he felt as the portion of his chest not covered by his vest came into contact with Trowa's flesh. He heard the growl that rumbled deep in Trowa's chest when he closed his eyes, his body finally noting that the fear was gone, replaced by warmth and comfort. His hands moved from their lifeless places at his sides, to rest against two distinct pectoral muscles, the sudden flex of each unnoticed. Blond hair fell against a chest oiled to protect it from the artificial sun, and Quatre inhaled the fragrance of long dead Egyptian gods on Trowa's skin.
He didn't allow himself to think about it, indeed, a different part of his mind seemed to take over, forcing him to lie dormant, to feel these sensations but take no action with them. So he rested, leaning against this boy--who by all rights--was just as broken and evil a child as he was.
* * *
The growl emanated from his throat as he buried his hands deep into course cotton strands that should have been silk. His nostrils flared at the scent of Quatre's body, at the warmth he felt as those too tiny hands fell across his chest. He didn't question what he did as he maneuvered Quatre's lips to rest against his neck, none of it registered because it didn't have to, this was destiny, this was faith and religion all rolled into one moment of his existence. He'd felt this way before, in a dream he'd had off and on since coming to this place, the dream of this sense of rightness, this sense of reward for all that he'd been through in the past. He didn't notice that Quatre fit perfectly against him, didn't notice that Quatre stopped shaking the instant he'd fallen against his chest; none of these things did he notice because they were already known, an instinct older than any Trowa had ever been born with. Quatre always calmed when in his arms, always, ever since.
He sensed the shift the moment it happened, sensed the way Quatre's body seemed to let go of the tension that had coiled inside of him, sensed the now laxed muscles that held up only half of the blonde's weight while Trowa himself held up the rest. Instinctively he knew what was happening, knew that Quatre was silent now and would remain so until the danger had passed, because this time around, Quatre needed him to be stronger--and he would not let his partner down.
His voice was cold and quiet when he spoke, and he watched with satisfaction as the men before him leaned back into their stone thrones in fear of him.
"Speak or hold, either way, in five minutes, we are leaving." His point was made clear when he pulled Quatre even closer to him, felt those tiny fingernails bit lightly into his flesh.
As one, the men looked to Habsaba, but the leader was gone, his eyes vacant as he stared into a spot just between Quatre's shoulder blades. For a long moment their was silence then, until Howard dared to end it.
"Trowa, is Quatre alright?" There was disguised fear in his voice, but no lack of sincerity, which was perhaps why Trowa answered him at all.
"He's fine, just scared. He's listening. This is not like before." Trowa didn't understand the answer he'd just given, but took it as any good answer.
Howard however, didn't. "Which Trowa am I speaking too?"
That earned the Hawaiian shirt-wearing ex-hippie an odd look from Trowa. He had no idea what the old man was talking about. "Which Trowa am I speaking too?" That didn't make any sense, there was only one Trowa in this room, wasn't there?
"What kind of question is that?"
"Nothing!" The answer was given too quickly, too readily, and too big a lie to possibly be true, but now wasn't the time to consider it.
Shrugging his shoulders, Trowa looked at the man pointedly, waiting for the questions Heero told him would be asked. Trowa trusted Heero, he wasn't sure how much just yet, but understood that this was not the typical placement ritual, something had happened and things were going very, very differently.
Howard looked to Habsaba to say something, but upon seeing that the old man was still staring into Quatre's back, he cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. Trowa had to give him credit, the man looked about to have a heart attack, and yet still managed to appear dignified; Trowa respected that a great deal.
"Trowa, normally, the council asks about your past experiences, the skills you've acquired in your life prior to being selected as a Maguanac. From there we then ask what it is you'd be interested in doing, what your likes and dislikes are. After that we congregate and decide which of the eight paths would best suit you. There are many sub-paths to choose from once you are assigned a main path, for example, being a rider does not mean you will fly Mechas, instead you could become an engineer like your fellow Recruit Abdule. Only a select few are choice for the main rolls of each category, the exceptions being that of General and Leader, which are the only specialized paths. Do you understand?" It was a nearly complete boxed speech, and Trowa realized quickly that five years ago, Heero, Duo and Wufei had all heard it the exact same way. It brought a slight smile to Trowa's lips, knowing how stuffy the whole thing had become from the times of.old? Where had that thought come from?
His pause must have been too long as he contemplated his mind's odd mental dialogue. Howard's voice was shaky at best, concerned as well. "Trowa, do you understand?"
Absently he nodded his head. "We both understand." He didn't notice the looks of fearful understanding draw across the faces of four of the five seated men.
"Good. Then, Trowa, what can you tell us of your skills? What did you do before becoming a Maguanac?"
He shrugged, mindful of Quatre in his arms, always mindful of Quatre. "I killed people."
Silenced reigned for nearly a full minute. "W-What else, Trowa?"
He looked up then, his eyes meeting those of his judges. "I just killed. Up close, hand to hand, far away, Mecha to Mecha. I can use any weapon developed After Colony 1, and a good selection of those Before Colony as well. I have murdered men, women and children, and did so without compassion. I feel little to no regret for all save the children, and even with those I understood it was myself or them and I made a decision I would make again. I killed on the battlefield and off, and I am not opposed to doing it again. I am a man of few talents, but those that I possess, I possess fully.
"As to what I want to do.I've never given much thought to it. I'll kill until the day I die, and when I die it will most likely be the effect of someone else's kill. I do however, enjoy Mechas, especially their repair and precision. Beyond that there is nothing useful I can offer. I am a mercenary, I wonder if you fully understood that before accepting me into your peace?"
Silence had yet to be so quiet. It was as if the flames stopped their movements, and lungs stopped their breathing. But against him, Quatre snuggled tighter, and the part of Trowa which was running on instinct, knew that Quatre had sensed his distress and was offering him comfort. Absently, he ran his hands through Quatre's hair, wishing it felt like it used to.
When still the silence continued, Trowa filled it. Why, he did not know.
"Quatre has fewer skills than even I. He's an empath, but untrained, dangerous to himself if the truth be told. But he is a brilliant strategist, adept at all things required to move an army from one position to another. He destroys only when necessary, and does so with grief in his heart. He is loving and kind, compassionate, far beyond that which is healthy. He feels.so much more than Allah ever intended him too." At his last line, Trowa faltered. H-how did he know all that about Quatre? He didn't know that Quatre was a born strategist. He didn't know that Quatre's empathy was dangerous, especially not to the boy himself. He didn't know that Quatre was loving and kind. He had no idea that he felt more than Allah intended him too. And yet, he did. He understood that everything he had just said had been true, how he knew was beyond him, but it mattered little now that it was said.
He didn't dwell on the fact that some ridiculous half answer, as the one he'd just given himself, would never have worked a month ago. He'd changed, but he refused to acknowledge those changes for the time being.
It startled him when Howard didn't ask how he knew all that about Quatre, but he assumed that Duo had told his Teacher that the boys had all started spending some time together, and that that must account for his knowledge.
What did startle him was the soft murmur that came from his neck, the vibrations chasing a chill of something very similar to desire down his spine.
"Thank you, Trowa."
He couldn't help but smile as he used his hands to gently maneuver Quatre's face from his neck so he could see into their blue depths.
"As always, you are welcome, Little One." That earned him a soft smile, and Trowa felt warmth in a part of his heart thought long dead by circumstance and abuse.
But his quick conversation with Quatre pulled his attention away from what was happening around him, and before he had a chance to react, Master Habsaba was tearing down from the stone like chair and past the two embracing figures of himself and Quatre. He watched as Howard and the others called after him, rising from their own chairs and following him back into the main room.
And then, for a moment, he and Quatre were alone. Trowa felt his consciousness shift for a moment, and then he had his head buried in Quatre's neck, the blond--supporting both his own and now Trowa's weights-- carefully running tiny fingers over the back of his neck.
"Quatre?"
"Shhh, Trowa. You did so well. I'm proud of you. Things are happening much faster now, faster than even I thought possible. Already, they understand they can depend on each other in times of distress. Trust in Him a little more, Beloved. Perhaps this will not take the full eleven years as once thought."
His voice caught as he spoke. "It's so hard, Quatre. I feel his fears, he doesn't understand. He fights it, but he's terrified. I-I don't know if he'll be strong enough."
"Oh my love, only time will tell all that. Now we must celebrate the little victories, however small they might be. Come, they have need of us now."
"I love you, Little One."
"And I you, my most precious Trowa."
Then the veil lifted, and with it so too did their positions. His knees locked, and Trowa rose to his full height, towering over the smaller blond. His muscles once again supported the bodies of both his own and Quatre's, only this time, completely, as Quatre's body lost all feeling and sank under the power of oblivion.
With tempered familiarity, Trowa lifted the younger boy into his arms, and carried him carefully into the other room. He heard Habsaba's declaration-- much to the protest of the other council members--as he neared the door with his precious bundle.
".and so my word is law! Trowa shall be placed onto the path of espionage; Quatre, that of strategy; and both will be pilots. SILENCE! Too this end I have also chosen--"
Trowa passed through the doors then, all eyes moving towards him as they saw what he carried in his arms. Absently, he watched Duo as if on mute cry out and race towards him, Heero and Wufei directly behind him. He watched as Ralph too made to move, and saw Rashid and Abdule pull away from the crowd as well.
But, as if all action was stopped by Habsaba's new words, all in the room paused, and like before, it was as if lungs stopped drawing in breath.
".Trowa to be our future General, and Quatre to become our Leader!"
After five seconds of untainted silence, all hell broke loose.