Trowa was on guard, and his steps were silent on the carefully mown grass. Since the girls had gone to another party, he knew this would be the best opportunity for another attempt. With Dorothy a member of high society, there was no way the girl could possible fail to notice that Quatre had declined his invitation. So Trowa was ready. He would have been happier if he could have secreted Quatre somewhere else rather than actually having the boy as bait, but he was convinced someone would be watching the house. He'd had dealings with Finelli before, and he knew the man would not make the same mistake twice. Also, if he had anyone keeping an eye on them, he was bound to have recognized Trowa.

Reaching the back of the house, Trowa found his eyes drawn to Quatre's dim window. He'd made certain the boy locked the door and window, and he'd checked the other windows in the large house. For a moment, he wanted to just go inside and turn on the light. It was stupid, but he didn't like the thought of him sitting up there in the dark. He dropped his eyes, lifting his hand to remind himself of the gun he held beneath his open coat. The automatic was cool, but he sighed, well aware that he couldn't put the boy from his mind so easily. His eyes continued their sweep of the grounds, and he didn't drop his guard, but his mind was wondering off. He couldn't help but think of what they'd spoken of the other night, the ramifications of which he was still trying to grasp.

For as long as he could remember, he'd spent his life as a mercenary for hire, brought up by a group of such people. Catherine had entered his life more than seven years ago, and their association had given him a freedom, as she became his informant. That was the life he knew, he was comfortable in that. Now, he found himself wondering if it would be possible to leave it all, to just go on as he was now, as the boy's lover and protector. With Quatre, there'd be no reason for him to take jobs that involved murder, but the thought of taking money from the boy made his stomach churn. The first time they'd made love had eliminated the possibility of him accepting payment for the 'job' Quatre had hired him for. He didn't want the boy's money, of course he didn't.

There was only one thing he could think of that would cause him to accept payment. If he had the money, he'd get Catherine out of that district. He knew the girl was capable of caring for herself, but he would have liked to know that she was safe, especially since he wouldn't be with her anymore. Quatre's admission had removed any chance of his leaving, even once the boy was safe. The boy loved him, and there was no way he'd hurt him by leaving, not when he so obviously wanted him there. He knew Quatre's sisters would accept it if he were to live there permanently, and while he thought they'd eventually push them toward marriage, that was one decision he wouldn't bend. He didn't doubt Quatre's love for him, but marriage was sacred to him, he'd never let the boy enter into such a binding contract of lifelong commitment without knowing the full truth. He had nothing to offer the boy aside from himself, and his blood-tainted past was not something he ever intended to share.

It wasn't a sound that made his eyes narrow suddenly, but a feeling, and Trowa stilled, letting his instincts rule. With catlike movements, he stayed close to the wall, rounding the corner but staying in the shadows. The front of the house was brighter than the back with lamps near the street, and the man was easily spotted. He was standing across the street, the shadows thrown from the tree he leaned against hiding his face but doing nothing to conceal his presence. Obviously, he didn't feel a need to hide and Trowa's muscles tensed. The openness of the man's presence told him this attempt was definitely planned more carefully, and he sensed the person across from him was a professional. Looking at the front of the house, Trowa searched for signs of forced entry, but there weren't any. That didn't mean anything, though, and he turned, going to the back of the house again.

There were no signs here, and he was certain no one had come in the few seconds of his absence. No, the man was watching the front, and he was convinced someone had gained entry from that side, meaning, the intruder would be making his way toward Quatre. It seemed like years since he'd watched the blonde boy climb down the trellis beneath his window, but Trowa climbed it now, his gun hanging from the strap slung around his neck. His light taps on the window were very quiet, but the curtain shifted immediately, and Quatre peeked at him then hurried to let him in.

"They're here," Trowa whispered. Quatre was armed, and he handed the boy an extra clip and watched as he quickly slipped it into his pocket. Trowa took his arm, directing him toward the bathroom just in case. "Stay in here, no matter what, okay?"

The boy nodded quickly, and turned to follow his orders. Trowa caught him at the doorway and kissed him suddenly, Quatre's arms holding him tight. Then the boy backed into the small room, and he waited till the newly installed lock slid home before turning back to the window. Crossing the room, Trowa glanced out the window, his narrowed eyes scanning the darkened yard but not seeing anything. Locking it again, he closed the curtains and slipped out the door. The hall was dim, as he'd left it, and he watched the stairway, knowing the intruder would have at least learned which room was Quatre's. With this in mind, he moved into one of the girls' bedrooms, the door closed enough to hide him but still giving a view of the hall. Then was the wait.

Silence filled the large house, Quatre had sent all of the servants away, but Trowa was well aware; a professional could move without making noise. His hand tightened reflexively when a soft creak came from his right; someone was coming up the stairs. Reaching into his coat, he drew the gun up to his chest, his eyes glued on the hall visible through the crack in the door. A moment passed, then he caught a shadow moving forward and he moved.

The scream registered first, and Trowa rocked back on his heels, eyes wide, then he lowered the gun quickly. The girl was panting, one hand curled over her chest and he recognized her immediately as one of Quatre's sisters, Karen.

"What's happening!" the girl cried, her voice bordering on hysterics.

Trowa didn't answer as his eyes flew over her shoulder, a click sounding in the hall and he shoved her suddenly, his shoulder knocking her to the floor. Raising his gun, he leveled it on the figure who was crouched on the stairs, but he lunged forward when the man fired. Heat clipped his shoulder, but Trowa didn't slow, and he hit the man hard, the gun flying back. Together, they fell down the stairs, the man striking the wall where the staircase curved. Pushing to his knees, Trowa gripped the man's wrists as the intruder tried to wrestle his gun away from him. He could hear the girl screaming at the top of the stairs, and he chanced a look to her, but she was alone and his attention was turned when a bullet buried itself in the wall over his head. He ducked quickly, burying his fist in the man's stomach then rolling to the side. The man was limp when he pulled him up, and he had no compulsions about using him as a human shield. His arm was curved around the man, and he aimed his gun at the man crouched at the foot of the stairs. The man dove down, disappearing around the corner. Cursing, Trowa dropped the man. The girl was crying, crouched in the corner of the hall, but he didn't take the time to worry about her as he punched the unconscious man, making certain he wouldn't wake. Then he took off in pursuit.

.-.

Quatre had never heard one of his sisters scream in terror before, but he knew that was what he was hearing now. The sound of gunshots made his heart clench and he gripped the doorknob, desperate to do something, anything. His heart was racing and he jerked when the girl screamed again, dim thuds reached him and his hand closed over the lock, shoving it back. He had made up his mind when he heard something much closer to him, glass shattering. It was his window, he knew, but the girl was still crying. There was no way the intruder would ignore the sounds, and he held his gun against his chest, turning the knob slowly, quietly. Then he jerked the door open and ducked back, pressing against the wall. The mirror across from the door was immediately riddled with multiple bullets, and he pulled the door open a bit wider, his hand holding the doorknob so he was hidden behind it.

Swallowing roughly, he leaned forward, squeezing off a shot at the dark silhouette before jerking back behind the door. The man returned fire, but Quatre found himself calmer now as the screaming had stopped, but he worried that the silence might not be a good sign. He released the doorknob and sank down, crouching behind the door. This time, when he leaned into the doorway, he had a clean lock on the man and he squeezed the trigger, the gun bucking in his hands. The man reeled back at the first impact, then he jerked and fell, silence once again filling Quatre's ears. Shoving himself to his feet, his eyes swept over the man before snapping away just as quickly.

His stance was a bit unsteady, but his heart was racing and the silence from the house only worried him more. Gun in hand, he ran to the door, jerking it open easily as Trowa hadn't locked it earlier and his eyes lit on the girl huddled in the corner. "Karen." At his light whisper, the girl looked up, and she let out a low moan, sobbing. Despite her obviously shaken state, the girl met him halfway and he was nearly knocked down by the force of her embrace. "Shh, it's okay. Are you all right?"

The girl nodded, but he didn't take that for an answer, holding her back a bit so he could look over her pale green coat. He couldn't see any blood, no wounds, and he drew her back, toward the nearest bedroom. It was too risky to leave her in the hall, and he needed to move. "Trowa..."

"Stop right there!"

Karen's eyes grew huge, and Quatre froze, looking over her shoulder at the man who crouched at the top of the stairs. A large gun was held on them, but his body was shielded behind the girl's taller stature, and his hands flew. Slipping a hand into his pocket, he loaded his gun as quickly and with as little sound as possible. A glance upward found Karen's eyes on him, and he gave a tiny shake of his head, grateful when she took a shaky breath, her hand tightening on his back. He moved his head so the man wouldn't see his lips, and his whisper was a mere breath. "It'll be okay, I promise."

With his eyes on the gunman, he moved out from behind his sister, standing still and showing his empty hands. Then his right arm lifted slowly, and he pressed her into one of the bedrooms, infinitely grateful when the man made no move to stop him. "She's not involved," he said slowly, holding his hands out in front of him.

The boy was harmless, and the man didn't spare a single glance for the door the girl had gone through. He was thinking of the mercenary who'd tackled him earlier, and he knew Nanashi would be back. They'd only come with four men and there was no way Finelli would risk his own life in such an open area. There'd be no help from him, and he had no intention of dying. The job had been to kill the boy as soon as he had a shot, and there was the chance that Kegar and Len would finish off the other one, but he doubted things would be that simple. If the other two failed, the blonde would serve as a hostage in case Nanashi returned before he could get out of the house.

Quatre waited impatiently, his eyes taking in the dark bruise on the man's face and he was sure Trowa was responsible. He wanted to look down the stairs, afraid he might find the boy there, but he didn't dare move. Then the man waved his free hand, and Quatre walked to him, not showing any hints of rebellion. He winced when the man grabbed him, his arm twisted behind him as if to remind him of his helplessness. The stairs abruptly came into view as he was turned, held in front of the intruder, and he stumbled, shoved forward.

"We're going outside now," the man said roughly, pressing his gun against the boy's neck. He was answered with a nod, and he prodded him again. "Down the stairs, quick."

It was hard to walk with the increasing pressure the man was putting on his arm, and Quatre stumbled again. The man didn't seem to realize he was pressing him down more than forward, but he said nothing. His mind was flying, and he was wondering if he should do something now, when the man was so focused on getting out of the house. He wasn't a very good shot with his left hand, but the range was so close he didn't think accuracy would be a problem. No, the problem was the girl upstairs, and he knew that without him as a hostage the man would definitely go for her. There was no choice but to wait; if anything happened to her, he'd die just a surely as he would if the man made it outside.

He was so close, he'd almost relaxed when the door was thrown open, and he shoved the gun tight against the boy's neck, mindless of the way he choked. His entire attention was focused on the boy who stood in the doorway. Blood was dripping off his dark shirt, his arm covered in it, but a long automatic was leveled on them, green eyes blazing. For a moment, he felt fear, and he swallowed roughly. "Nanashi..." The boy's eyes narrowed more at this, and he suddenly remembered his hostage, pulling Quatre close against him.

"What are you going to do?" the man asked, turning the gun and digging it into the blonde boy's skin till he made a small sound of pain. The boy across from him flinched in reaction. "You want to save him, right? It wouldn't do you any good to shoot me, he'd be dead too, then."

"You are not getting through this door alive." The man blinked at the sheer lack of emotion in his voice, and Trowa was very careful not to look at Quatre. He couldn't risk it.

His own laughter sounded fake in his ears, but he managed a smirk at the boy, trying to hide his nervousness. "You're afraid I'll kill him once I'm clear. Well, you're probably right, but which would you prefer? My killing him now, because of you? Or later?"

"Neither," Trowa murmured, his voice a devoid monotone. "If you kill him, you're dead. And you know it. It's a standoff." He didn't move, but his eyes flicked upward, over the man's shoulder and he caught sight of movement on the stairs. He wasn't sure if his unspoken message was understood, and he quickly returned his gaze to the man in front of him. Then the girl cried out Quatre's name, and Trowa's muscles clenched. The man's head turned, pinpointing the source, and Trowa fired, lined up as he was visible over Quatre's shoulder.

Karen screamed at the spray of blood, then she sagged to the carpeted stairs. The man had pitched forward, but Trowa knew his shot had been accurate as he'd seen the man's face disintegrate. Crouching beside them, he shoved the body off Quatre and pulled the boy into his arms. His eyes were closed, and Trowa winced at the blood and gore that had showered his face. The right side of his own shirt was soaked, but he lifted the clean side, wiping gently. Hours seemed to pass before pale blue-green eyes flicked open, and he groaned, holding Quatre as tightly as possible without hurting him. For a moment, he hid his face against the boy's shoulder, then his eyes snapped open, staring at the floor.

There was one more, at least one more as he hadn't seen the man who'd been by the tree earlier. This was his chance, to get them all, and he was prepared to track the man back to Dorothy if it came to that. But he didn't know if the man had hung around or not, he could even be inside the house. Trowa's hands clenched around Quatre's shirt, and he knew he couldn't leave the boy to look, but he couldn't risk being shot in the back either. With this in mind, he pulled Quatre to his feet, supporting him whether he needed it or not.

His heart was racing in his chest, and he leaned against Trowa, absorbing what he could of the boy's seemingly endless strength. The he straightened suddenly, eyes wide as he turned toward the stairs. Trowa didn't hold him when he jerked away, and he ran to the girl, remembering how she'd distracted the gunman. He was grateful, but he knew he'd have to yell at her later for having done something so foolish. If there was a later. The girl seemed to be fine, and he pulled her up, leaning against the wall. Trowa was still standing where he'd left him, and he stared at the boy, his eyes moving over the bloody cloth slowly. "Is it over, Trowa?"

"I don't know..."

.-.

He was surrounded by people, but Quatre had eyes only for the boy who was moving steadily toward the door. They hadn't spoken, but he knew Trowa was going to find Dorothy, to finish it for good and he wished he could join him. Despite his lack of experience with such things, he was sure he could have been of some help. But he knew he was fooling himself. I'd just get in the way, I wouldn't be helping him, I'd put him in more danger just by being there. No one really seemed to notice when Trowa left the room, and he could hear his sisters talking around him. The police asking them questions since he'd already given his own account. He couldn't look at them, couldn't tear his eyes away from that closed door. I'll never see him again.

It was a completely irrational thought, but he could feel his body growing cold, and he huddled on the couch, closing his eyes. There had been something in those green eyes when Trowa had looked at him last; he couldn't deny the finality of that gaze. Even if he lives...he won't come back... Ireia was saying something, but he didn't hear it, his own low cry drowning her out as he shoved off the couch and bolted for the door.

.-.

"Trowa Barton, wasn't it? I must say, I'm surprised to see you, and so late at night, too."

The girl blinked at him, and Trowa glared, his left eyelid twitching at her innocent expression. They were beyond pretenses, yet she seemed eager to continue to play the game. The man who'd led him to the room shut the door behind him, but he didn't glance back, his eyes glued on the girl's dark eyes. Then he stiffened suddenly.

"Well, I'm not surprised."

Turning his head slowly, Trowa stared at the man who slowly moved out from behind the curtains behind him. He recognized the coat as the one the watch-out had worn, but that didn't matter. He also recognized the man's face. Ignoring the gun Finelli held, he pulled his own hands out of the deep pockets of his coat and held his arms out. A black gun shone in each hand, and he turned, just a bit so they were aimed at both the man and the girl. "Convenient," he said slowly, his voice void of any emotion as his eyes flicked between them. "I can kill both of you at once."

"You fool," Dorothy muttered, moving back a few steps despite her brave words. "You can't kill me, you'll be dead."

"You die first, then him."

The boy's voice made her shiver, and Finelli smirked, catching Trowa's eye. "Put down the gun, Nanashi." He hadn't expected a response, and he got none. "Fine, kill her, but you won't get past me alive."

"What! You traitor!"

The girl seemed honestly shocked, horrified even, and he laughed at her, a wide smile curving his lips. "I don't care about your money. I never did. I just used you as an excuse to get to Nanashi. With him gone, I will rule this city." Dorothy's eyes had narrowed to slits, and he smirked when her hand slipped behind her, going for her own gun. Glancing at the tall boy, he noted that those cold green eyes were still on him. "One thing before I kill you, Nanashi. I never wanted your little blonde." The boy didn't move, and he leaned forward a bit, his voice dropping. "I prefer redheads; Cathy says hi."

Trowa's scream sounded a moment before the shots, and he fired both guns simultaneously.