Review replies:

Pandora-chan: I'm glad you liked these two chapters. I like action-packed, myself. (grin) As for listing gun prices, I just copy right out of Guns and Ammo – the prices are quite old by now. I'm betting that they've gone up. (whimper) But I don't think there's anything against posting them – just gives an average thought as to what Tro's wielding compared to what the super-spy owns. (shrug)

Yurikitsune: Wow, you always write such thorough reviews! I feel privileged. (smile) Piano is technically a string instrument. (nodnod) I can understand the confusion, though! Hammers striking strings is almost leading towards percussion. Quatre with a sax is a sexy thought (Trowa proceeds to drool profusely). As for Tro in denial… I think he's just shy, personally, even though Quatre's told him point-blank how he feels. (laughs) Kind of like saying it makes it that much more real. I don't know. And I like Quatre the 'I'm serious, then I'm flirting like mad, and now I'm sulking before I flippantly suggest we watch a movie!' It reminds me of how he acted with Duo around in the series. The sudden swings from 'I'm happy and smiling at my friend and now I'm contemplating life, the universe and everything while pouting cutely' was irresistible. (cackle) Stiches - yeah, they suck. I've gotten more than a few in my lifetime. (sigh) No shooting - mine were due to an incident with a knife. (grimace) And personal experience with deploying airbags? Yeouch. Glad you made it through alright. (whimper) My old car never deployed – until the radiator got shoved into the engine block and the air conditioning compressor got mashed into the cooling fan (blasted SUV, slamming into my innocent Metro and running away), it was never considered totaled because the airbags never came out. (hangs head in despair) And no need to apologize for getting off topic. I really don't mind. (smile)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gundam Wing or any song by the Smashing Pumpkins. Don't sue; I am simply an E5 in the USN, and therefore I have no money. Ha.

-BEGIN FIC-

By starlight I know you
as lovely as a wish granted true
my life has been empty, my life has been untrue
and does she really know, who I really am?
does she really know me at last
dead eyes, are you just like me?

By Starlight

-- 10:54 --

Trowa lifted his head from the cradle his arms had formed on the hardwood table that occupied the small hotel room he sat in and yawned loudly. Wincing, he reached behind himself with a stiff hand and rubbed the back of his neck in a vain attempt to work out the vicious knot that had formed at the base of his skull with the awkward sleeping position he'd assumed earlier that morning after he'd put away the receiver box he'd utilized to listen in on James Waverly's target, Xavier Johnson. A quick glance to the empty bed reminded him why he'd chosen to use the table as his sleeping station, even though his brain now was screaming at him to forget that it was ever occupied by the single man he most loathed yet was forced to vaguely respect in the entire universe and was home to more beer bottles than the trash can was. Another rub on the back of his neck encouraged him to rise from his seat and stretch the rest of his body, knowing that it would take quite some time to work all the kinks out of his lanky frame that had without doubt formed during his nearly seven hours of slumbering in his uncomfortable position.

Stretching, he cursed under his breath as practically every muscle in his body screamed in vivid protest to his movement and the bruises he'd acquired with the accident he'd been in the day before made their presence well known. A stiff-legged waddle carried him from the table to the bed previously occupied by his prior partner and his eyes narrowed as he looked it over. 'It wouldn't be so wrong or terrible. I'll just clean off the comforter. It's guaranteed to be a hell of a lot more comfortable than that stupid chair.'

Movement on the bed he used to claim soon drew his attention, dragging his gaze from the rumpled, beer bottle covered bed to the stirring lump under the warm comforter and sheets that were sprawled over the soft mattress. A frown touched Trowa's lips as he watched his blonde companion toss and turn. 'He's going to rip his arm apart if he continues with this. It's only bandaged; we should really get some stitches into that this afternoon.'

Walking over to the other bed, he stiffly bent at the waist and attempted vainly to straighten the rumpled edges of the comforter that covered the stirring lump.

Soon he was staring at his hand, wondering why it had moved of its own accord to rest atop what he presumed might be Quatre's arm. Gently giving the shape underneath the thick covers a squeeze, he sighed and seated himself on the edge of the bed.

"Why would anyone be after you, Quatre?" he mused quietly to himself. "Why would anyone be out to destroy a businessman? Is it as you thought? Is it because you're one of the primary representatives of the Colonies during this time of tenuous relations, pushing for complete disarmament and peace?"

"Or is it some other reason altogether? I wish you'd tell me everything that you know is going on; I'd be able to better protect you if I had something to go off of."

"Or is it that you don't really know what's going on that you don't tell me anything? Are you trying to give me some illusion of confidence and calm by portraying that you know what's happening when you truly don't?"

A small sigh escaped Trowa's lips as he leaned over, looking at the small, pain-drawn brow of his partner. "I promise I'll find out what's happening, Quatre. Because you don't truly seem to know."

"If that lousy bastard was still here, he'd probably be able to fill me in on something of importance. Makes me wonder where he is."

-- 03:10 --

Trowa turned up the volume on the receiver as the static finally broke.

He narrowed his eyes as he listened to the conversation that poured over the microphone in the absence of the loud engine noise that Trowa realized had been dominating earlier.

"He failed?"

Trowa narrowed his eyes. 'Xavier.'

"- s, he d i-. They ma – ip away in do – n," a voice Trowa failed to recognize said, breathing just outside of the small receiver's limited range for clarity.

"Hmm. Well, this is pro - ng to be an interesting de - ment, isn't it?" Xavier's voice answered, before continuing with, "And wha – f the other one?"

"Se – red, for th – me bei -."

"Perfect."

The loud roar of the engine being started was nearly deafening. Trowa quickly fished the microphone out of his ear and tossed it onto the table, rubbing his ear after it exited the channel and wincing. Reaching over, he calmly turned the receiver off.

'Secured…?'

-- 11:12 --

'Secured….'

Scratching his chin with his free hand, his right still laying on the covered blonde's arm and tenderly holding him still, Trowa closed his eyes.

'They were speaking about Mr. Waverly, I'll bet. And by 'secured' they have him. He's been captured. Or he returned to them to report to them….'

'But if he's working in conjunction with them, he would probably have been the sniper at the Aquarium. Quatre would be dead. Of that, I'm certain; that man is more competent than whoever it was that struck at us.'

'Getting information from him is obviously out of the question. I have to do this on my own.'

'I HAVE to find out what's going on.'

Lifting his legs off the floor, he swung them onto the bed and curled beside the now still body of his companion, draping his arm fully over the thin body. It stirred slightly before a pale skinned hand pushed the top of the sheets down and freed a blonde-haired head with tired blue eyes from their folds. "Nm?" Quatre grunted quietly, his eyes unfocused but attempting to stare at what he presumed was Trowa.

"I…" Trowa started before his voice failed him completely. 'What am I thinking?' his brain screeched in horror, taking into account his movement and his current position on the bed with the blonde.

"S'kay," Quatre's sleepy voice cooed as it caressed his ears. "Other bed stinks of beer, neh?"

"Yeah," Trowa quietly agreed.

With the slightest of nods, Quatre let his good arm snake under Trowa's body, shielded from contact by both sweatshirt and sheets. Snuggling close to his taller companion, he laid his forehead against Trowa's chest and sighed with content.

Trowa lightly petted the blonde haired head as Quatre drifted off to sleep and sighed quietly. 'I'll figure out what's going on. I'll protect you from whoever's after you.'

'I promise.'

-- 14: 26 --

Trowa walked behind Quatre, his hands stuffed in his jeans' pockets, glancing almost nervously from side to side. They were once again on the streets, this time in Los Angeles, and were approaching a large office building.

Earlier Quatre had told him that they had to head out in order for him to meet with the representative he was supposed to meet the day before, when they'd skipped his meeting to visit the Aquarium and had fallen under attack. Mr. Fugardi from the California Software division of Winner Industries, Trowa recalled. Though why he suddenly felt compelled to see this man had slipped past the green-eyed ex-pilot completely.

Entering the plush lobby of the office building, Trowa relaxed slightly as Quatre merrily whistled and made his way to the receptionist's desk. "Is Mr. Fugardi in his office, Brenda?" he chirped, eyes closed and a friendly smile on his face.

"I'll page him for you, Quatre-sama," she quickly replied, reaching for the phone handle and letting her fingers dance quickly over the keypad that handle was connected to.

Trowa glanced around their environment, taking in the view with a stoically straight face.

The ceiling, nearly 10 feet over their heads, shined brightly with the reflected light from the chandeliers that hung from it, their images and those of everything that dwelled below them perfectly mirrored in the glass panels that were the ceiling's covering. He stared for a moment at his own reflection looking down at him before letting his eyes rove elsewhere, taking in the grandeur of the spectacular modern art masterpiece prints that decorated the eggshell colored walls, their silvery frames sparkling with the gentle amber light that poured from the silver-colored, simple and crystal-lacking chandeliers above. Large plush chairs, all eggshell in color to match the walls and contrast sharply with the dark burgundy carpeting with its intricate black whirling pattern reflective of the swirls presented in those paintings on the wall, were situated around small round dark wood tables that carried magazines and a few pages of newspaper on their surfaces. A vending machine with soda sat beside one loaded with snack food off to the east wall, behind a potted plant that made the otherwise out of place machines blend in with the rest of the room. A few more potted plants – miniature trees and yucca plants – were sporadically placed here and there, adding a bit of green life to the otherwise plainly colored and dead though spectacular room.

Another quick glance around allowed Trowa's stance to completely relax. There was nowhere large enough for any potential attacker to hide in this room. Drawing his hands out of his pockets, releasing the haft of the Davis Derringer he always carried with him, he cracked his knuckles and walked over to the vending machines to buy himself a Coke and a Twix.

After acquiring what he wanted, he strolled easily back to Quatre's side and waited patiently with him by what he assumed was the mirrored door to an elevator for Mr. Fugardi to arrive.

Soon, the resounding 'ping' that signaled the elevator's arrival rang through the immediate space around the door. As it slid open, a balding middle aged man who Trowa assumed was this supposed head of Quatre's Software Division in the California state stepped out of the comfortably sized chamber and wiped his brow. "Where were you yesterday, Quatre-sama?"

Quatre let his friendly smile remain upon his face, his eyes opening to regard the man before him. "Oh, come on. I don't get to come to California all that often. I went sight seeing because the weather was absolutely perfect."

Trowa crossed his arms, watching Mr. Fugardi carefully. A shorter, stocky man who stood perhaps five and a half feet in total height, he was sweating slightly at Quatre's merry proclamation and narrowing his dark brown eyes. Running thick fingers through the ring of brown hair that still remained upon his otherwise smooth skinned head, he let an exasperated sigh escape his heavy chest.

"Really, Quatre-sama," Mr. Fugardi grumbled even as he dropped his arm, shaking it slightly to straighten his dark gray business suit jacket's sleeve, "you must take a little more responsibility. If your father knew you were neglecting your duties for your own pleasure, he'd be-"

"Rolling over in his grave if he had one, I know, I know. But I think he'd agree with my reasoning in this case. You forget – he often tried his damnedest to escape work at times as well."

"Well, yes. But can we please dispense with the pleasantries and get down to business, Quatre-sama? I have a good deal of business I need to discuss with you."

"Of course," Quatre said with a small nod. "Let's get up to your office then, neh?"

"Right this way."

"I know the way. You don't have to remind me," Quatre laughed.

Trowa simply followed, staring incredulously at the boy as he accompanied his associate into the elevator beyond.

'That smile upon his face is nothing more than a lie, is it? He's truly agitated and annoyed; his frustration with this situation is so easily seen in the way he has his fists clenched and how he's digging his shoe's tip into the carpet.'

'Why couldn't I ever see through this mask before? Why didn't I ever realize that it was a cover to show the world?'

'How many times has he used this on me in the past?'

Trowa bowed his head, staring at the carpet as his thoughts seethed about in his brain. 'He's just like I am, isn't he?'

Daring a glance, he frowned.

Though he was smiling, Quatre was staring straight ahead at the door before them. His eyes, their dark blue-green color reflecting the light that danced down upon them from the florescent bulbs that claimed the perimeter of the mirrored ceiling and shown from behind the panes of shining reflective glass that made up the walls and the top of the transportation chamber, failed to shine with a life of their own.

'Those eyes; they're completely dead.'

Glancing into the mirrored door before them himself, Trowa stared at the reflections that met his gaze.

'Just like mine.'

The door opened, destroying Trowa's view of their reflections and allowing the smiling dead-eyed blonde and his business partner to depart the elevator for the hallway that now ran before them, heading straight for the door at its very end and the office it held behind its protective shielding.

Trowa frowned as he followed.

'He's not as I remember him. The last time I saw him, his eyes were bright and beautiful, shining with the spirit and life that had almost been stolen from him by Ms. Catalonia's rapier. They shined with glee and merriment. Before that they glittered with determination and fierce desperation.'

'Now they shine with nothing at all.'

'He's still as lovely as I remember him being, but something's changed….'

'Has your life been empty these last few months as well, Quatre? Has it been as untrue as my own?'

"Are you just like me?"

-- 12:51 --

Trowa crossed his arms over his chest as they stood in line, waiting for the people in front of them to finish their orders and move to the pickup line.

Quatre chewed on his bottom lip, perfect white teeth leaving small indentations in the light pink flesh as he stared at the menu. "What are you ordering, Trowa?" he chirped, glancing over.

"A number six," he replied, having made up his mind minutes ago.

"A monster burger with fries? Mmmmm… doesn't look half bad."

"Don't tell me you're going to order one yourself."

"Nah, I'm looking more at a number nine or a number two."

"Go with the chicken strips instead of the super star."

"Alright," Quatre said with a nod before quickly adding, "Relax, will you?"

Trowa arched a brow. "With what happened yesterday, you think I'm going to relax?"

"They won't strike this soon."

"You never know, Quatre," Trowa quietly warned.

Huffing quietly, the blonde crossed his arms over his chest before stepping up to the counter. "I want a number nine and a number six," he ordered, forking over the money to pay for their meals when asked for it.

Trowa returned to his surveillance of the fast food restaurant. Thus far, nothing seemed out of place. No one was acting suspiciously or nervously, nor was anyone bothering to give them a second glance.

For the moment, it seemed they were safe.

Moving to the pickup line, Quatre huffed softly. "Your nervousness is drawing more stares than I am, Trowa. Calm down."

"I can't help it," he softly grunted. "By the way, how's your shoulder doing?"

Grimacing slightly, the blonde shook his head. "I could really use something stronger than Motrin, but I'll live. The stitches you put in are holding."

"You don't have to worry about that. I've done plenty of dental-floss stitches through the course of my life to know how to do them properly. They won't slip."

"That's quite a skill to have," Quatre said with a wry smirk. "Where'd you pick that up?"

"When I traveled with my mercenary corps during my childhood."

"Ah, I see. Then it was a skill learned more out of necessity than anything, wasn't it?"

Nodding, Trowa leaned against the planter that separated the high-traffic ordering and pickup area and the eating area of the Carls Jr. restaurant they were in.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice barked right behind him, "Quatre-sama! What grand luck!"

As Trowa tried to regain the rhythm of breath he'd lost with the shock that had pounded into him, Quatre turned on his heel and smiled brightly. "Ah! What a coincidence! What are you doing here?"

A bright smile lit the dark-skinned Arab's face as he pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to peer over their darkened lenses at the blonde and his taller companion. "We've been looking for you, to tell the truth. Rasheed told us to scour the area for you after you missed yesterday's meeting. We were just stopping for a bite to eat."

A smile sneaking across a moustache-bearing lip, the bespectacled man's partner chuckled. "And here I'd tried to tell Abdul that we should continue on with our search instead of stopping. We might have missed you entirely."

"Indeed," Quatre said with a grin, walking around the planter to slip into a seat next to Ahmad. "Then this is a truly lucky meeting, isn't it? But tell me, why are you out looking for me? You could have simply called me."

"We could have simply called you if you had been carrying your cellular phone, Quatre-sama," Abdul said with a smirk and a shake of his head.

"Oh yeah," Quatre said with a giggle as he rubbed the back of his head with his off-hand.

Noting the clumsy gesture, Ahmad narrowed his eyes slightly. "What's wrong with your right arm, Quatre-sama?"

Trowa glanced over his shoulder. "He was attacked yesterday."

He failed to react as Quatre set an icy, seething glare on him.

Both Arabs were instantly out of their chairs, hovering over Quatre, attempting to mother him and check him over while chastising him for getting himself hurt and for not calling for their aid the moment he knew he was in danger.

Trowa shook his head and stepped forward to receive their order. After fetching the food-laden tray, he walked over to the table that the furiously flushed Quatre was seated at and put it down on its surface, stealing the beverage cups away to fill them at the fountain.

As he returned, he arched a brow as he listened to their conversation.

"So why are you really here?" Quatre quietly asked.

"Rasheed though it best that you know that someone's been showing interest in your properties back home," Abdul said, his voice soft and barely audible, his eyes dark and serious as they retained their gaze on the blonde's face over his sunglasses.

"My properties…?" Quatre gasped.

Ahmad leaned back in the plastic seat he'd returned to after Quatre had shooed both of them off of his person and sighed. "They didn't find what they were looking for. We repelled them from your lands before they could."

"But what's troubling us is that they knew to look there in the first place," Abdul grunted.

"They haven't been tied to me yet, have they?" Quatre grumbled, rubbing his temples.

Abdul shook his head. "No. Your properties still technically belong to the Maganac Corps. However-"

"They knew where our home is, and knew what they were looking for."

"Yes," Ahmad confirmed before taking a sip of his soda.

"Move it," Quatre said simply before unwrapping his burger. "I don't want anyone else's grubby hands on my stuff besides yours and mine."

"We're already doing such. Auda's securing your storage unit as we speak."

As they all fell silent, Trowa simply blinked, his mind reeling with the information he'd just heard.

'Your properties? Don't tell me they were talking about….'

Quatre looked over at Trowa and sighed quietly. "We'll discuss this later."

"You mean this is something I'm allowed to know?" Trowa questioned.

"I believe you've already got it figured out, and would just like a little bit of confirmation."

Trowa blinked once. 'I see.'

The remainder of their time in the fast food restaurant was spent in silence as they ate and drank what they'd purchased. Soon the quartet was moving towards the door, two to the battered Mercedes they'd driven in from the low desert and the other two to a white rental Chevrolet Cavalier.

"Keep in touch with me concerning this, will you?" Quatre softly asked as the two tall Arabs marched towards their vehicle.

"Of course, Quatre-sama," Abdul said with a friendly smile. "You don't have to worry about this at all. Just take care of yourself while we take care of the rest. You can depend on us."

"I've never doubted that I can count on you, my dear friends," Quatre said while bowing his head. "And Trowa will help take care of me in your place. Please, do not worry about me any more than you already have."

Both men nodded, Ahmad turning to Trowa and setting a gaze upon him that screamed 'if you fail in your duties to protect Quatre-sama, we shall hunt you down and stuff your testicles down your throat if we're feeling merciful at that moment.'

Trowa nodded. "I will protect him," he quietly assured.

Satisfied, the two got into their car and left the parking lot.

-- 22:30 --

Trowa arched a brow as he watched over Quatre's sleeping form, staring as he cuddled his pillow as if it was another person and calmly drooled onto its case-covered surface. Trowa shook his head as he rose from his chair and walked as silently as he could through the rubble and cascade of laundry and beer bottles that still littered the floor of the Barstow-located hotel room to the edge of the plush queen-sized bed his blonde partner occupied to tug the sheets he'd wrapped himself firmly in straight and tuck them in around his small frame.

Laying a hand upon the tiny boy under the covers, Trowa sighed quietly.

'God, I wish I really knew everything that was going on here. First, some unknown force that won't bring itself into the light for us to see is hunting Quatre. Second, Mr. Waverly's gone missing without explanation. Third….'

'Third, the Maganac Corps is having to move Sandrock Gundam because someone's been searching for it.'

'This is deeper than you've made it out to be, isn't it Quatre? It's more complex than even you know.'

'That's why you aren't telling me anything. Because you truly have nothing to tell me. Because you're playing this game one move at a time, and you haven't yet determined your enemy's playing style so you can't formulate a strategy yet.'

'That's why you're abandoning your companions on the board – because you're too busy trying to figure out your enemy's motives and your enemy's next move to pay attention to every piece on the board, focusing instead of whoever has the most power and most availability to strike out against whatever's threatening you.'

Frowning, Trowa lightly brushed blonde bangs away from a pale skinned face, listening to the calm breathing that seeped from the form buried in the warmth of the comforter.

'That's what you were showing me on that board.'

-- 20:10, 2 days ago --

'His play was so incredibly sloppy. Why? What was his focus?'

'Or was that his point? That he has no focus, and he's simply blindly running about in a vain attempt to stop whoever it is that's striking out against him with no plan or focus because he also has no clue what's really going on?'

'Or was his blatant lack of concern for all of his pieces because he was focused only on using the queen for his moves? Because every piece he could utilize he made certain became a queen?'

'Because, maybe, he sees himself as being alone against whoever is attacking him? Because he's running scared from an enemy who could crush him if he made a single wrong move? Because he's scampering under the gaze of an enemy who's waiting for him to try to shield his companions from it, to expose himself to danger instead of protecting his own hide, to crush him completely?'

'Because aren't you, Quatre… aren't you always the most powerful yet most readily sacrificed piece on the board?'

'All those other times we played, it was the queen that found its demise on the board, allowing the pawns and rooks and knights to complete the work it had started, following the directives you'd already plotted out in your skull.'

'Is that why you had the influx of the queens? Because they represent yourself? Because….'

'Because you're alone?'

Setting his stare upon the small boy, Trowa crossed his arms over his chest.

Quatre arched a brow. "Think you learned something?"

"Never underestimate you, especially when it looks like you're defeated."

A small laugh escaped the blonde. "That wasn't the lesson I expected to teach."

Trowa smirked slightly, nodding once. "Right. But you have to admit, that was a merciless way to end things. You could have shown a little caring before you crushed me like a bug."

A frown touched Quatre's lips. "Shown mercy…?"

"Yeah. As much as you showed the soldiers you faced when you first arrived on Earth, at least," Trowa jokingly said, his green eyes shining in the newly instigated room light, him having turned on the lamp that hung over the table as the sun's dying rays had finally slipped from the window and left the room dark.

Bowing his head, Quatre shook his head. "There is no mercy like that anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"That our lives change with the progression of time. They change inevitably and forever. And the more you change…"

Trowa waited calmly for him to finish.

"The less you feel. The less you care. The less you are concerned with what happens around you, as long as you survive to see tomorrow."

Emerald eyes widened.

'The game… he truly was abandoning his companion pieces. He was striking out on his own, leaving them to their own devices to flounder and die or run and escape as they saw fit. That can't be! That's not… that's not like the Quatre I know. The Quatre I know would take the blows meant for his companions before abandoning them. That's not our Quatre. That's not the Quatre that sent me that recording. That's not my Quatre… that can't be true!'

"Believe."

'No.'

-- 22:31 --

'It wasn't that you're being ruthless or purposefully abandoning everyone. It's that you're lost, your confused, and you're running scared.'

Closing his eyes, Trowa bowed his head. 'I promise I'll try my damnedest to figure out what's going on, Quatre. I'll find out why they're really after you. I'll find out who 'they' truly are.'

'I promise you this. Because you've placed your trust in me. Because, as you said in that letter you sent me, you love me. And because….'

Leaning at the waist, he dared to set a small kiss to the sleeping blonde's cheek, careful to keep the touch light enough to not disturb him in his slumber.

'Because I love you.'

tbc...