Title: The Devil Has Blue Eyes

By: Aina Song

Fandom(s): Gundam Wing

Genre: Yaoi (with some Het thrown in)

Rating: PG-15

Warning(s): Contraband; Fusion; Language; Death; Murder.

Pairing(s): Heero/Quatre (constant mentionings of Het pairings)

Reviews: Yes, please.

Author's Note: (I'm afraid my usual Disclaimer will not be enough this time, so bear with me.) I, Aina Song, hereby acknowledge the illegality of the following fusion fiction, which is based very thickly upon Clara Wimberly's The Jeweled Heart of Rosemont Castle. I do not claim any rights or privileges her book may have earned her, nor due I claim credit for the book itself. This fanfiction follows her plot almost to the letter, with few changes tossed in here and there, but I must again press that it does so without the explicit permission of Ms. Wimberly, her editor(s), or her publisher(s). This fiction was not written for money; I do not profit from this in any way, shape, or form. Please excuse the illegality of it all, and I do hope my own readers will try to look past my unlawfulness and enjoy the fiction nonetheless. Thank you.

Teaser: He did not care that he was the lost heir to a winery fortune - especially since he couldn't remember that earliest piece of his childhood. He only wanted to reclaim the family that had been kept from him. But there was another who was determined to unmask him as an imposter. And, at the same time, a strange cold presence stirred again at his return, anxious to finish what it had started so long ago…

Chapter Five

He paid little attention to the room, except to note that it was dark and somber. Even though the spring sunshine was bright outside, the curtains in the room had been closed and the lamps lit. Treize Khushrenada sat in a high-backed chair at the windows and the dim light filtered through the closed curtains, casting his face in shadow. But Quatre could feel the man's eyes watching him anxiously as he moved closer. There were two other chairs near him, but hesitantly Quatre turned to look at the man behind him before going to sit down.

His brows lowering in a slight frown, Heero motioned toward the chairs. The blond quickly sat. The darker man took the other chair just across from him. Those eyes this morning were cold and unrevealing, and his sensuous lips were slightly pursed as he watched Quatre thoughtfully. The skepticism on his face could not be missed, and Quatre's heart sank toward his stomach.

He looked at the man he had come to see, trying to focus all his thoughts and attention shutting out Heero Yuy's presence. The older man was staring at the blond, and there was a look of worry across his face. "You claim to be my son," he said. His voice was surprising. Quatre had expected resentment, or defensiveness. But instead the man spoke warmly, in a smooth, deep voice that was infinitely patient.

"Yes, sir," Quatre replied, barely realizing he had inched forward and was sitting on the edge of his seat. "I-I apologize for upsetting you last night, but I had no idea of the circumstances of my disappearance. You see… I know very little about my past. And I learned of your existence only a few weeks ago, when my father… when the man I thought was my father… died."

Treize Khushrenada leaned forward in his chair, and Quatre was surprised at the hope in the older man's tired eyes. "And who was this man? What was his name?"

"Maguanac," Quatre said. "Rasid Maguanac."

He frowned and glanced quickly at his stepson. "Rasid… Maguanac. I know no one by the name of Maguanac. But Rasid… there was a man named Rasid." He stopped for a moment as though composing himself and the look on his face was one of bitterness. "Do you have a picture of this man? Or can you tell me what he looked like?"

"Well… I don't recall that he was ever an ugly man," the blond began, hesitantly. "He was… about your age, I'd say, although he rarely spoke of anything personal. In fact, I know very little about him or his past. He always said to me that he had no living relatives. He was tall, a big man, with dark hair that only gleamed brown under direct sunlight… Dark eyes…"

Mister Khushrenada stood quickly and clutched his head as though he felt faint. Heero stood at the same time and moved toward him.

"No, no," the older man said, placing a restraining hand on Heero's arm. "I'm all right. I think I only got up too quickly." He walked slowly to the center of the room and turned to look at Quatre again. "And you say this man is dead, now?"

"Yes," the blond replied weakly. "Just a few weeks ago. He died of consumption."

"And where were the two of you when he died?"

"In… in Sanc, a small community across the mountain."

"Yes," he said with a wave of his hand. "I know where Sanc is."

All the while Heero Yuy watched Quatre, studied him. The blond, unable to tuck his hands into his pockets to steady them, clasped them together in his lap instead… but nothing he did could still the quivering in his stomach.

"We crossed into the area only last winter. Rasid seemed determined to get us there before he died. And I thought later that perhaps this was the reason."

"Did he give you any proof, a picture of you, or of… your mother?"

Quatre did stand now and reached into his pocket and passed the older man a folded scrap of faded red cloth, which had once been embroidered with black thread. "Only this. He left me very few possessions - we had little between the two of us to begin with - but this was the only thing I thought had any connection to my childhood."

Treize Khushrenada took the cloth, his fingers moving over it as though it might give him some clue as to its origin. He studied it carefully, a frown between his brows, but there was no recognition. He sat back down, still clutching the scrap of cloth in his hands.

"You say you were raised by Rasid alone. When did… when did your mother die?" It seemed a hard question for him to ask.

"My mother? I-I have no recollection of her."

Quatre saw the slow smile on Heero Yuy's face and the blond knew the darker man thought he had won. He clasped his hands together again.

"Treize's son disappeared from Rosemont when he was three years old," Heero said confidently. "Surely… if you were that son… you would have some recollection of her." His blue eyes shone triumphantly.

"I'm sorry. I don't remember her, that's all I can tell you. But it is the truth, Mister Khushrenada, what Rasid had told me. If there is any deceit, I swear it is not mine."

He took a deep breath. Quatre could see the older man struggling to believe him, and he remembered something. "Last night - when you called me Leia - wasn't that because I look at least something like her? Like my mother?"

Heero bristled noticeably, but he said nothing.

"Yes," Mister Khushrenada admitted softly. "Despite the difference in gender, you look so much like her that I thought…"

"Treize," Heero interrupted. "Let me get you a cup of coffee, something to eat."

"No," he said with a weak smile. "I appreciate your concern, son, but I'm fine. What I need more than anything is just to talk… to think this thing through."

With a heavy sigh Heero sat back in his chair, glancing restlessly at Quatre. His angry looks made the blond feel uncomfortably hot.

Treize sat looking at the material in his hands. Then he suddenly rose and went to the fireplace at the end of the room. He lit lamps on both ends of the mantel and in the reflection Quatre saw a large gilt-framed portrait above the fireplace.

"Open the curtains," he whispered, still gazing up at the portrait.

Heero and Quatre both rose at the same time, not knowing to which the older man addressed. Their hands touched, and Quatre flinched away as though his skin had struck something hot. With a slow, sarcastic smile, Heero reached over the blond's shoulder and pushed the curtains aside. Quatre could smell the crisp, masculine scent of the darker man and feel Heero's breath on his skin. Quickly he stepped away and went to the fireplace.

He held his breath as he looked up at the portrait, awash now in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. It was of a woman and a little boy, and Quatre knew instinctively that it was his mother… and him. It was a feeling as ingrained as love, as natural as the joy of laughter. And as he looked into the eyes of Leia Khushrenada, it was as though he looked into his own. The little boy in her arms seemed not nearly so familiar to Quatre as the beautiful blonde woman who held him. It was his mother… had to be… as surely as anything.

Quatre couldn't speak, nor even move. He stared at the portrait, transfixed, and when he turned to Treize Khushrenada, the older man watched him with tears in his eyes. "You recognize her, don't you?" He asked, with quiet surprise.

"Yes," Quatre whispered, brokenly. "I-I think I do…"

Treize held the scrap of cloth up to the portrait of the little boy, to the fancy red shirt the boy had been wearing. And although it certainly seemed similar, Quatre could not tell from the faded, worn piece whether it had come from that same shirt… and he suspected the older man couldn't, either.

"I believe it's the same," the man declared in an emotional voice, turning to the darker man standing behind them. "Heero, tell me what you think."

"I think it's what you want to believe, Treize," he said softly.

"Yes, I'll admit that. It is." The older man turned to Quatre and placed his hands on the blond's shoulders. "But it's more than that… It's something I feel… something here, in my heart." He touched a hand to his chest.

Heero was noticeably disturbed, chewing at his lip as Quatre had seen him do before. "It's your decision entirely, Treize," he said, though Quatre could tell how badly he hated to say it. "I will abide by your wishes in this matter, regardless of what you choose."

Treize went to the younger man and embraced him. "You don't know how much it means to me, Heero, hearing you say that. If the boy is my son, I want you to know it will not change things between you and me - not one bit. When I married your mother, it was as much because of you as her. I regarded you always as another son."

"I know that, Treize."

"You have been as loyal and good to me as if you were my own, and I love you; I always will. Nothing will ever change that."

As they embraced, Quatre thought for a second there was a hint of moisture in Heero's cool blue eyes. But within moments it was gone, replaced by a quiet, fathomless indifference when he turned to look at Quatre.

"I want you to set your man Lowe on this, Heero. I want us to do everything we can to find out about Rasid and this boy. And I want to know what happened to Leia after she left Rosemont."

"I'll attend to it right away," Heero said quietly.

Treize Khushrenada looked like a different man now. The tiredness was gone from his eyes, and his shoulders seemed stronger, not so stooped. He turned to the blond with a happy smile. "I didn't even ask your name, my boy."

"It's Quatre, sir," he said, almost timidly.

The man turned to Heero with a quick look of hopefulness. "Quatre… You see, Heero? His name is Quatre." Then he rested hand to the blond's shoulder, explaining, "My son's name was Quatre… Quatre Raberba."

He went to the chair by the windows as though he were suddenly exhausted. Quatre glanced at Heero nervously, waiting for the darker man to make the first move.

"He needs to rest," was all Heero said as he bent over the older man and handed him as glass of water.

Quatre nodded and stepped toward the door, wondering if he'd been dismissed. He had the strangest feeling, one of joy and apprehension, and he hardly knew what to do or how to express what he was feeling.

Heero helped Treize Khushrenada from the chair, walking carefully with him to the large bed in the corner of the room. As tenderly as a woman would do, he helped the older man into bed and covered him with a quilt before going to close the curtains again. Then he turned to Quatre, and blond shuddered at the look on his face.

He came and took Quatre's arm, practically dragging him from the room and down the hallway to the blond's bedroom. Unceremoniously he pulled the blond inside and closed the door. Quatre backed away from him, uncertain of the cold fire in those eyes. But the man made no effort to come closer.

"If you're lying to him, I swear…"

"I'm not!" Quatre denied quickly. "If he believes me, why can't you?"

He laughed then, a laugh devoid of humor. "Oh, you're very good at this, my little gypsy. I'll give you that. With those great, aqua blue eyes and that tremulous little pout on your pretty lips, who could deny you anything?" Then he did step closer, almost stalking. "But I am not Treize Khushrenada, and my heart is not involved. So be careful of me, little one. For if anyone is to discover your lying little secrets, it will be me. And when I do, I'll destroy you as surely as you're trying to destroy him. Do you understand me?"

Quatre was shaking so badly he couldn't speak. The quietly spoken threat angered and shocked him more than if Heero had shouted and raged at him. When the darker man was angry his odd, rolling accent became thicker, more pronounced - as though when in anger he had no control.

Heero stepped closer to him, his warm, slender fingers wrapping themselves around the back of Quatre's neck. His thumb pushed against the blond's chin, forcing Quatre to look up at him.

"Do not mistake me, warabe. You'd better have covered your tracks well."

When he left, Quatre's knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor. Hot tears of humiliation ran unchecked down his cheeks.

At that moment he hated Heero Yuy with all of his heart.