Castles to Sand

Chapter 4: Recovery

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam...

The circular room felt hot with the bustling of people. The secretary had been able to pull up more information than Preventers could have hoped for. Quatre picked up the file on his desk and was, for once, pleased with his father's insistence on keeping detailed records. Most of which, the CEO of WEI had discovered under his heavy scrutiny of the collection, had been scrawled in his father's meticulous style. Each detail had been placed and each jot and tittle was in perfect order. Quatre straightened, bleary eyes ignored and resolve burning strong in his chest. Now was the time for him to become the leader that Dorothy had described. Now was the time to put his life on the line for what he believed in. Now was the time when his speeding pulse and shaking hands had to be ignored for the greater importance of his people.

Yes. They were all his people.

This private counsel chamber buzzed with curious anxiety as Quatre approached the podium but Trowa looked on with absolute reverence. The blonde strode onward, posture straight and proud with overwhelming charisma. His tired eyes shone bleak yet clearly truthful and each fibre of his being resounded with a harmonious chord. The violin played his soul in his stance and resolve, silver vibrations echoing from him unseen from the walls. Not a single seat in the auditorium felt a dead spot, the strength of his personal acoustics sang, flawless. This performance was Quatre's alone and Trowa watched with quiet eyes the solo played out on Earth's stage.

Suddenly, the auditorium was quiet. Each member of the audience fell captivated by Quatre's presence and stared at the leader stepping up to serve the people he'd so long fought to protect. Once more, they saw the pilot climbing the steps to face the figurative executioner. Cerulean eyes washed the audience once-over before his lips even parted to speak. "We at WEI have stood for the economic support of the people. We have been a firm pillar for those who have been left deserted and incapable of self-care by the cruelties of men's war." He shook his head slowly. "Society imposes on us the belief that peace is something that can be won with guns and treaties, but these declarations of peace and war by the government are nothing without the will of the people. Human nature is to fortify its will and in doing so, it locks us in a cage of our own Id until soon we drop to our most animalistic instincts and fight the people we have so long wanted to keep close.

"As a pilot and a pacifist, I understand that many people look on me as a hypocrite and one of these same beasts who lower themselves to primal instinct for the feeling of self-attainment. As a pilot I must admit that my actions during the war were not against one side or the other, but against war itself. The people I've killed and the blood I've shed were side effects of a decision from which none of us could back down. We believed in peace. We believed in mankind.

"Society also imposes on us that man is either innately good or innately evil. Is an animal good or evil simply because of the actions it takes to survive? Yes, I am a pacifist, but I must stress, just as I have done with my past actions that to achieve a goal such as peace, there must, at times, be certain actions placed forward. Man cannot simply fight one another and decide that conflict is resolved. However, in fighting a certain calm is placed on the psyche. The resolution of a conflict allows man to phase out these instincts programmed into our mainframe, but the cycle remains to which our instincts eventually infer that in becoming placid, we become weak and the conflicts arise once more to feed the thirst that each of us contains in our deepest centres."

Quatre paused and followed the walls of the auditorium around to the rows and the seats of those watching. He exhaled and stepped back from his post of nearly leaning against the podium. "We have been made targets of someone's instinctual drive and even though man, while placid, is weak, man as a whole is a mob. He is a beast: a power with which to contend. We of WEI have been targeted for RN Tech's war and we must stand proud and quell these attacks of our pillars with the strongest mortar and stone we can find. Our base will remain firm and in such, our buildings will heal themselves.

"I have gathered you here today because I trust you. I, The pilot and the pacifist and the human, trust you. You are each my battle partners in life and in conflict and I have done all I can to watch out for you and your families in turn for the trust you place in me. Now, I regret to ask each of you for a return in favour.

"Maynard Segal of RN Tech has placed upon me a war from which I cannot fight alone and cannot ignore. My strength alone isn't enough to protect your families and your futures. This is what I ask of you: fight with me. Support the family that we have created and strengthen the unity that has long been the standing pillar of WEI. Together we are a formidable entity and an opponent not lightly reckoned with. Each of you become the stones and mortar and give us support while we smother the fires that RN Tech has set at our feet. Let them bring the fire; we will turn the winds back on their walls."

"Man, for a moment I thought Q was going to rally all the execs to infiltrate the bases," Duo snorted as he followed Trowa down the hallway to the residential district. "I never thought he had it in him, y'know? Pacifist Quatre Raberba Winner calling on his people to hold him up." He scoffed. "Who'd have thought."

Trowa checked his watch. "It's always been the people, Duo."

The braided man looked up shoved his hands into the pockets of the rumpled suit he'd donned for Quatre's speech. "Whaddya mean?"

"We've always fought for the people. We're the representatives for their decisions. If the people wanted war, would we fight it so hard?" Trowa paused. "Would we even fight it at all?"

Duo's brows furrowed and he pursed his lips. "Well, I guess not, but why did Q have to go about telling people that way?"

They stopped at the corner of the hallway and waited for Quatre to meet up with them. Trowa watched the drained, but strong figure approach from the adjoining hall with the shadow of a smile on his lips. "He needed to know that he was doing the right thing." To this Duo whistled then fell into a silent grin.

"Preventers on the line. 01 and 02 in position. Ready to move out at your signal, Q." Duo's voice was just as laid-back as usual. Quatre could almost see the wide grin splitting his face almost directly across. He could also imagine the stoically centred Heero Yuy quietly leaning against the wall with his mouth in a precise line, eyes closed.

He, however felt quite queasy. Quatre wasn't exactly the most suited for the battlefield and was far more comfortable working behind the scenes on information organization and infiltration tactics. Now he sat in his limo in a well-tailored suit acting as a decoy to a Preventer's mission. No. That wasn't right. The CEO shook his head. He was taking a risk for the betterment of mankind. "Second unit, what about you?" He asked after he was sure that his earpiece was as inconspicuous as possible.

There was a pause and then a cool, sharp voice responded. "03 and 05 in position." For a moment Quatre felt a fleeting sense of depression. Trowa hadn't responded and he'd given no insight on his view of the plan that Preventers had offered, but the blonde soon regained his composure. He had his entire company at his back and even if Trowa didn't agree with the route being taken, there was no way that he would try to keep Quatre from his personal responsibility.

Quatre, wait. I—you can't go. Trowa's voice echoed in his mind. Quatre furrowed his brows. That was different. Sure moving out to New York had also been his responsibility, but there had been alternatives that, while they wouldn't be as effective, would have helped the executive underemployment. Rashid could have gone in his place. The man knew more about the estates of WEI than Quatre, himself did. What Trowa had asked wasn't an impossibility. I love you. There was where the impossibility had come, but now the world had flipped upside-down and there was no time to consider the repercussions of his actions. WEI had to be protected. The people were his soul and if they failed, so would he. "Be ready to dispatch on your unit leader's signal. Operation is commencing." He gripped the handle with a pale hand and stepped into the evening's golden wash. Eyes set and mouth tight, Quatre moved on towards the lion's den.

It had been a long time since all of them had been stationed on a mission together, Trowa noticed quietly. Duo and Heero had done their best to use the information Quatre provided to their advantage. Maynard was prone to outbursts, but wasn't to be underestimated because of his impulsive mood swings. While the rest of the pilots had been worried about the repercussions of one of Maynard's furies, Duo had sniggered and compared him to a pregnant woman. They all had managed a smile, even Heero. Trowa stared placidly at a spot on the wall with his weapon at the ready. Perhaps that was why Duo had gotten on so well as Heero's partner; if no one else could, Duo could break through Heero's defences.

Trowa, himself had been done in much the same. What had it been? He couldn't place the point precisely. Quatre wasn't as innocent as people made him out to be. He was good-natured and a model leader, even if his emotions often caused him to question himself. Green eyes frowned, but he didn't move. Sometimes Quatre didn't seem stable enough to support himself and would gladly sacrifice his own well being for that of his people. Nobility? Trowa asked himself. Is that what broke through? If it was, then Trowa wondered why it hadn't been Heero.

No, it couldn't have just been the nobility. There was something about Quatre… he had a genuine core that many people lacked. While he'd been raised in a proper house with everything provided that would be necessary for his survival, he cared more about the welfare of the people than his own situation in life. Quatre called it his 'little rebellion' but if he hadn't been there with the rest of them, there was a good chance that the pilots would have failed in their mission due to a lack of resources. His intentions had been pure. It must have been that core that woke Trowa's humanity. It must have warmed the ice enough for him to become a person again. He refused to allow Quatre's fire to be erased.

"We're on standby." Wufei whispered to his partner and Trowa nodded. "Keep focused, Trowa. We can't afford to have you ruin our cover."

The mission is of utmost importance, Trowa agreed internally and readied himself for his next action.

The hallway stretched out before him much the same as the catwalk Trowa had walked the night he'd been shot. Quatre could hear the proverbial rattling of their plans behind the walls, but he straightened his back for the cameras and continued forward. He had business with Maynard: a personal conference that was a necessity to clear both of their names. As he continued down the hallway, a guard force came to meet him with guns drawn and cold eyes. Quatre met them, then fell to a stop. He looked up at the commander, but his facial expression didn't change. His time as an active Gundam pilot didn't include the same activities as Heero and Duo's. Quatre couldn't blame his training on the terribly accurate acting because he'd never really been involved in anything that was under cover.

The lead guard's voice came out sharp and commanding, green eyes flatly staring back into fierce cornflower blue. "Admittance is prohibited beyond this point, sir. Please turn back or we will have to escort you by force."

Trowa's script had been written not long ago, but Quatre wasn't surprised that he'd made sure to completely memorize it. The lines came out just as he'd practiced: perfectly clipped and perfectly clear. "I'm Quatre Raberba Winner, chairman of WEI and I request a meeting with Mr. Segal. I have come unarmed," he admitted, "have your men search me, for his protection, but send him word that if my request is denied, then there will be serious repercussions."

The tall man nodded back to one of his battalion and as he left through the doors, Trowa called another two up to search for weapons. They came up short, as planned and when the messenger returned, Quatre was surrounded and led deeper into the building.

He could feel the heat of the others around him. He knew that among them his own people were stationed. Preventers strictly knew the specifics, but he could see a few faces that were familiar and this helped to rest his insecurities. This was the moment he had been waiting for. The blonde straightened and walked like a nobleman sentenced to execution. Everything in this building was about to fail. Everything was about to end, right here and right now. He could feel his heart pounding strongly in his chest.

This was the battle his soul had hoped to extinguish, but now, with his people intermingled at his back, he felt strangely more at home than he had in years. He stared forward with eyes far older than they had been in the years of the War. His face had matured and slimmed out, his body had filled in where his adolescence had been lacking. He was the single pillar of Greece and the people were his stone and mortar. No single Plebeian could take him down. Not Maynard. Not with all the ammunition the world had to offer.

The room Quatre was led into opened widely in front of him. The office was made for a full conference and in an instant, Quatre knew the man at the table. He had aged from the image his father had on file. The sandy blonde hair that had been salted with white now shone snow white and was neatly slicked back against his head. A prominent widow's peak reached down the forehead that was so thoroughly lit by the overhead lights. He sat with his elbows on the table and his fingers laced in thought, but an all-knowing smile spread beneath his wrinkled hands.

The commander saluted Maynard and announced, "CEO Quatre Raberba Winner of WEI. He insisted on speaking with you, sir."

"Let him in, by all means," Maynard said and waved his hand to the uniformed guard. Green eyes held firm as he saluted again and stepped aside. Quatre took a step forward; his mouth was pulled into a tight line. "Mr. Winner, I'm disappointed to see that you're so lacking in your father's pleasant disposition," he gestured to a chair directly across from him and Quatre had no choice but to sit.

From the corner of his eyes, Quatre could see the doors that flanked the table on either side, in addition to the entrance through which he had just arrived. He didn't dare to make any sign that he noticed the accuracy of the Preventers' blueprint. Instead he narrowed his eyes and crossed his hands cordially on the top of the sterile metal table. "I assure you that I'm not my father," he admitted in a clipped voice, "Though I'm sure you know that already."

Maynard laughed in a way that made Quatre's stomach feel like it was filled with cold mucus. The elderly cackle sounded like smoke and illness. It cracked and changed pitch as though he had no control of it, but it remained at a soft volume—a chuckle if it was to be classified as anything that would come from someone of healthy body… or of healthy mind. Something was distinctly off about Maynard Segal. "Of course you are nowhere close to your father." He smiled a grin filled with yellowed and aged teeth. "He was a man of true value—such a pacifist the world could never match. Not even the Peacecrafts could dream of coming close. Even the Darlian girl used that pilot dog to her own ends." He lowered his chin and said with no change in his voice, "Excuse me, I seem to have forgotten that you were one of the boys, weren't you? Such a pity that your father was betrayed in such a callous fashion."

"I'm not here to discuss my past actions, Mr. Segal," Quatre quipped, "but simply to ask you to back down. Your insistence to use violence against my workers is entirely unnecessary. Your own prejudices are no reason to put innocent people in danger." Quatre listened to his mind race. The words in his earpiece ran a mile a minute.

"Ready when you are, Q. Just give the word and we're in." Duo's voice was clear amidst the other confirmations. The feed was being sent to the Preventer's headquarters as they spoke.

Maynard quirked a brow and sneered. "Your people aren't innocent. They're just as fucking hypocritical as their leader." He pushed out of his chair and stood. Despite his facial age, his body was strong and lithe. The man had kept himself healthy and active, despite his absence in the military. He, like the rest of them, was a natural fighter and no declaration of peace could end his battle with the world. "A leader is everything the followers believe in. If your people believe in you, then they believe in a man who turned his back on his own homeland to leech off of an economy to which he has no claim. They believe in a man who fights under false pretences to win the support of either side. They believe in a murdering flip-flopper who will do anything to achieve his own goals. How is that good for them? How is that good for any of us?"

"Mr. Segal, may I remind you that you are under suspicion for the attempted murder of one of my men?" Quatre didn't move from his spot. He refused to allow this madman's words to affect him. This was for his people and there was no room for mistake. "Your words are further proof of these accusations."

The laugh came again, but this time much louder and Maynard seemed to bend backwards under the stress of the laughter. It was crazed, phlegm-filled and in no way natural. When he calmed, he asked in mocking disbelief. "Are you threatening me, Mr. Winner? Threatening me in my own compound with my own soldiers at your back. I don't believe that you have much leverage here. These people—my people—the true loyalists, follow a man who lives by his word: a word that has no double meaning. In this world there are only those who live and die and to live you must stand firm in a single belief, whether it's pacifism or war. This is the only surety and to follow an upstanding man like myself is to thrive in the destruction of two-faced politicians like you, Mr. Winner." He approached Quatre's chair with his hands in the pockets of his pinstriped blue suit and the young CEO clearly saw the gun holstered beneath it. "I don't deny that my men have infiltrated your compound in an effort to erase the world of the one lucky rat who won his stature by his noble father's death. A young upstart such as yourself has no place in this man's world." He laughed slowly and reached into his jacket to draw his gun. "I have no reserves in erasing you right now. My efforts are real and will be respected by my peers, but you, Mr. Winner…. You will never leave this room."

Quatre stared down the barrel of this snub-nosed cassul with a smile. His brows furrowed in a dare. This wasn't the first time he'd stared down death and this time he simply smiled with his hands crossed in perfect, calm control. "Mr. Segal," Quatre replied with a laugh in his voice and a stone heavy in his stomach, "the Reaper is a friend of mine. If he was going to take me somewhere, don't you think he would have taken the chance before now?"

Maynard's brow furrowed and his smile contorted into a bestial expression Quatre had only before seen covered in blood and grime. It was the look of a desperate man living the only way he knew how with the battlefield as his home. "What are you saying, filth?! Do you think you can get away from me now? Fucking Gundam freak that you are, without your suit you're nothing! You've never been a real warrior. You've never been face to face with the ones you love dying right before your eyes."

Sadly, Quatre closed his eyes for a moment and he could almost hear Maynard's finger squeeze on the trigger. "Mr. Segal. We all saw more than we wanted. We all did what we had to. We fought for the people. We fought to gain peace. We were catalysts and to become truly effective all those who we were close to were taken away. Whether they died or disappeared or even lost their memory of us…." Quatre could see Trowa staring at them blankly behind his eyelids and remembered his need to reach out to him and will him to remember. He felt the pain of that moment rise up into his chest and he opened his eyes slowly, "but no matter what the reasoning or to what end, we will all meet our maker."

The side doors were kicked open at the exact moment the trigger was pulled. The shot rang through the air and jolted Maynard's hand back. Quatre stared with the same sad cornflower eyes while Preventers agents grappled the leader of RN Tech to the ground. The practiced motions of Chang Wufei one by one incapacitated the soldiers at the door and the room was thrown into complete chaos, but Quatre didn't see any of this.

He fell into strong arms and closed his deep eyes. His blonde hair fell over Trowa's shoulder as he tiredly clung to the military uniform. He was exhausted. Despite all of his strength while he looked down the short barrel of Maynard's gun, the unfaltering attitude mingled with the stress of the days past had simply wrung him dry. He could barely hear Trowa murmuring in his ear about how stupid he had been not calling the troops in sooner. He could feel Trowa's hands shaking as he stroked the back of Quatre's head.

Distantly, Quatre thought that this was the most he'd ever heard Trowa say at one time.

Once they arrived at the Preventers base, Quatre was called into a back room where a woman was being held for questioning. He had been warned when he went in not to disregard the subject lightly and so, when he entered, he did so with an unyielding heart. To be truthful, he was too tired to feel anything. His fingers were still numb and he just wanted to get back to his room to sleep.

He opened the door and apologized to the observers of the interrogation for his interruption. Quatre immediately found Heero standing with apt attention and made his way towards him. The sharp voice of Change Wufei came to them from the other side of the window, but Quatre didn't want to hear much of anything. He'd rather hear what was going on from someone he knew wouldn't skirt around the official questions. "Heero," Quatre called and the Asian man met his eyes for just an instant to show that he was listening, "What have they found out?"

"Relena's guard captain," Heero said coldly. "She was waiting in Maynard's office, but she hasn't said anything."

Quatre sighed and turned his eyes to the room with complete disappointment. "But… she was supposed to protect Relena wasn't she? Why would she…."

Heero gave a nasal response, but said nothing more.

Slowly, it seemed to dawn on Quatre as he watched the interrogation. "No," he whispered to himself, "She's of the mind that Peace can't survive if we're still here." He smiled and chuckled to himself. Would they be fighting this prejudice their whole lives? Absorbed in his own thoughts, he didn't see Heero peer at him askance and give a slight, understanding smile. Quatre was finally starting to see that not everything was black and white. The CEO shook his head and put his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "Thanks, Heero," he said, "For everything you've done to help us with this. Extend my regards to Duo, but I think I'm going to go home and rest." He ducked his head to leave, but was caught off guard by a hand on his shoulder.

Quatre turned curious cornflower eyes to Heero who looked at him with sharp blue eyes. The blonde man felt those eyes pierce his skin and stare right into his soul, but simply stared back since he was far too lacking in strength to shrink away. "Talk to him," Heero said after a long moment, then released his hold on the slighter man.

"Do you think something's wrong? Talk to Trowa?" He asked, concerned, but Heero just gave that same nasal response and remained silent. Quatre finally sighed and decided that he had no choice but to do what Heero said.

The suitcase was thrown open and there were suit pieces already packed in tightly folded precision. Everything was pristine. It was all just as it had been when he'd arrived. The salmon bedspread with the uncharacteristic flowers was made neatly and the room still smelled like a hotel. The burnt orange chair in the corner was now bare of any clothing. The only sign of any life was the suitcase and the tall man who was placing the last of his belongings into it. He took the last article—Quatre's worn pink shirt—and laid it precisely on top. There were no wrinkles, just the same soft fabric with which he'd become so familiar. He closed his eyes and took a long inhale, and then simply listened.

He could hear the fan whirring above them. The inconstant tap of the chain against the light bulb, accompanied by an equally sporadic squeaking provided just enough noise to keep his mind focussed. The mission was over. That was that. It was time for him to return home in the colonies. It was time for him to get back to work and to put together his life again.

Trowa stared with gold-flecked green eyes at the suitcase. This was everything, wasn't it? He had his toothbrush, his socks and his dress clothes. He ran through the list once more in his mind and the moment he finished, three knocks sounded at the door and it was pushed open almost meekly. Trowa turned those same warm eyes to a tired-looking Quatre. He felt his pulse skip just barely and he gave the smallest nod possible before he closed up his suitcase.

Quatre looked down at the floor and ran a hand through his blonde hair. He gave an uneasy chuckle. "Didn't pack last night?" he asked, not quite as smooth as he had hoped it would come out.

The brunette couldn't help but smile. So they were at least back to their old routine. "I did," Trowa replied evenly, "but I changed my wardrobe at the last minute."

This pulled Quatre from his unease and, as though a release had been pulled on all the stress, he started laughing. At first it was full and spontaneous. It was the laugh Trowa had so rarely heard during the war and grown to love soon after. It was the sign that Quatre was truly happy. Green eyes watched as Quatre's tired face lit up and seemed to shine with relief, but slowly the laugh became almost frenzied. He couldn't stop it from escaping and he clutched at his side and waved his hand at Trowa when he failed to be able to speak through his hysterics. "Are you going to be all right?" Trowa asked with a confused smile.

Slowly, Quatre was able to sober up. He put his face in his hands and just shook his head. "I never thought that we would be able to go through this again." He let his hands drop to his side and he looked up with pleading blue eyes. "I fucked up, Trowa." His brows knit together almost desperately. "I fucked up so badly…. That day when I left, I pushed you away. I was so willing to destroy our friendship just because I didn't know how to listen. I didn't know how to connect." Quatre shook his head and raked a hand through the blonde locks once more. "I was so wrapped up in everything that—I don't really have an excuse. There was no reason for me to turn you away."

Trowa stared blankly. Were they really bringing up this untouchable topic? He had never imagined that it would show its face again. He furrowed his brows, "You don't have to," he offered, but Quatre waved his hand and Trowa quieted. It wasn't often that Quatre did this, so he was willing to listen if that's what had to be done.

"The irony of it is that when I came here I wanted to ask you to stay and it wasn't until I walked in that I realized what exactly I wanted." Quatre straightened and tilted his head back to the ceiling with closed eyes. "Then I heard the fan and I thought 'this is exactly the same as before, only….' What I'm trying to say is: You can't go." He smiled and turned cornflower blue eyes to the silent onlooker, "You can't go, because I love you."

Quatre felt like he was on stage again. He could feel the desperate chord in him wail like the strings of his violin. It was something he'd never noticed before. The abstract notes filled him from the core and he wanted nothing more than to express this raw emotion. He needed to tell Trowa, he had to explain. "When I told you to go home when you first came here, I was afraid. I was angry… I didn't know what to do. Still, you stayed and you protected me. You did everything in your power to get the job done and when you got shot…. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to think. Everything I knew was suddenly gone. The world stopped and still I refused to acknowledge what I've known all along." He felt hot tears spring into his eyes and they rolled down his face. He couldn't control them, nor did he care to. He needed to let all of this go. He needed these notes to flow from him in any way possible or else he'd explode.

"Then today when you saved me from Maynard…. I was thinking about you. I was thinking about when you lost your memory and all I wanted was for you to be right there and then you…."

Trowa shook his head and cleared the distance between them in two steps. He placed a palm on Quatre's face and wiped away the tears with his thumb. "Of course I'm right here," he whispered, "I've always been right here." He gave a small smile and Quatre dissolved into tears. He launched himself forward and gripped desperately at the back of Trowa's shirt. The taller man rested his cheek against the soft blonde hair and held Quatre tightly to him. He felt a tumult of emotion flow through him and he refused to push it away. It had been far too long since he'd even allowed himself the satisfaction of even imagining this scenario. He silently supported the man he loved through his tears and when Quatre was able to look up at him with bleary eyes, he rested his forehead against Quatre's and said, "Just ask and I'll stay."

To this, Quatre bit his lip and nodded. "Please. I don't want to you be gone again. It's been a nightmare." He reached up with a cool hand to Trowa's face and leaned in to plant a soft kiss on the velvety pads of his lips. There was a firm resistance against him, strong and supportive. Quatre felt the vertigo set in almost immediately. With Trowa's solid hand at the base of his back, he allowed himself to be steered closer until he was pressed flush against him. The blonde could feel the well-toned muscles he's been so envious of since their partnership in the war and his body heat seemed to rise. The blood coursed through his body strongly so that soon enough, the kiss that had started out so innocent had turned into a frantic effort to be closer. Quatre wanted to be filled with this feeling. He couldn't imagine anyone else in the world that he trusted and loved as much as this man holding him in his arms.

At some point, Trowa pulled away just enough to catch his breath. Quatre could feel his quickened pulse in his throat beneath his hands. "Trowa…." Quatre breathed, "I'm so sorry."

Trowa shook his head and tightened his hold on the blonde man (if that was possible), then sighed. "You always told me not to be sorry for your emotions." He visibly reddened, as though he hadn't expected the words to come out of his mouth. "All we can do is try to make things better from now on."

With a nod and a smile, Quatre replied, "Then starting today."

"Starting today," Trowa agreed.

"Starting today, I guess Heero and Duo have something to say 'I told you so' about."

The brunette chuckled and leaned in to kiss Quatre once more. His hand slipped up the back of the blonde's shirt and he ran his fingers along the soft skin at the base of his back. The light peach fuzz stood up on end at his touch and pulled away from the kiss to give Trowa a sort of look that said, "Did you really?" but said nothing. Instead, he contented himself with unbuttoning the dress shirt that was partially undone already.

This sent a shocked expression across Trowa's eyes, but he smiled and allowed his hands to rest on Quatre's waist. He used his thumbs to trace the ribs he found there and was even further surprised when Quatre discarded Trowa's dress shirt and feathered kisses along his neck. He could barely feel them, had it not been for Quatre's ragged breathing. The blonde paused a moment and boldly locked eyes with Trowa before he started backing the man up to the bed. When the backs of Trowa's calves met the cushion, he shook his head and picked Quatre up with a smirk, depositing him onto the mattress before he discarded his suitcase and crawled in, himself.

Despite his brazen actions, Quatre met Trowa's gaze with a blush. "I feel overdressed," he admitted to the brunette who, himself, was bare from the waist up. Trowa blinked and took note of this and began unbuttoning the dress shirt that Quatre had already untucked before he arrived. The soft fabric whispered against his fingers when he touched it. The silk shirt was something Trowa hadn't before noticed, but now he felt it slide against Quatre's slight, but firm muscle. Soon enough he helped Quatre pull it from around his shoulders and discarded it at the foot of the bed.

Quatre reached out to run his fingers through Trowa's hair and revealed both startlingly green eyes. It was a rare occasion for him to see both at once and, now he revelled in it. He could feel Trowa's warm gaze taking everything in and storing all the information in the back of his mind. He knew that, when he was silent, he would sort through these things until every detail was imprinted into his mind. This was how Trowa worked. This was now Trowa survived. Quatre's blue gaze explored the terrain of Trowa's chest and abdomen as it hovered above him. He eyed the scars and the scrapes and the bruises until his eyes found the deep purple surrounding the fresh bullet wound and suddenly his gaze turned to one of worry. "You should be resting," he realized with guilt.

Trowa's eyelids drooped and his smile returned to the normal pout. "We should both be resting."

To this Quatre slowly nodded and he pulled Trowa back down into bed with him. "It's all right, though," he said softly when he had gotten comfortable against Trowa's chest. "We have time now. We can continue this anytime." He closed his eyes and inhaled the simple scent of Trowa—the mix of soap and his personal musk that Quatre could never pinpoint. He felt comfortable for the first time in what seemed to be ages. He was comfortable with himself and all he wanted to do was regain the sense of home he'd left when he decided to come to New York… when he'd decided to leave Trowa.

Trowa nodded. "Tomorrow," he said with a joking smile. "Starting tomorrow."

Quatre chuckled and poked the man in the ribs. "Fat chance."

He could almost feel his life stretch out in front of him. He saw all the destinies he could have with Trowa, strong and supportive at his side…. Quatre sighed and drifted off to sleep, listening to the humming ceiling fan and the heartbeat that would forever interrupt that listless silence.

Owari