Disclaimer - all the usual stuff…this is a non-profit story, and I don't own any part of Gundam Wing.

Author's Note: Back to Quatre. All sorts of past/present angst and references to …not very nice things happening..

Quatre's Theories on Heero:

He'd lost track of time. Time, place, everything.

They'd stopped drugging him, which should have been a good thing, but somehow wasn't.

Either they'd decided to give him a break before resuming, or they'd realised it hadn't worked. Not the way they'd wanted it to, anyway.

There were three of them, all in white coats. Doctors - scientists - torturers all. A woman and two men who had tried to rip his mind apart for their own purposes.

The woman terrified him the most. She looked at the young man laid out on the metal table and saw not a human being, but an intricate puzzle to be taken apart and rebuilt to her own specifications. The older man enjoyed inflicting pain. On his shift, the restraints were always pulled just a little too tightly around his wrists and ankles.

The second man wasn't much older than Quatre himself, perhaps in his mid-twenties, and he was the easiest to read. There were flashes of desire when he had to touch his subject, and his hands lingered just a little too long when he was readying him for the next trial.

The others seemed to have noticed too, since he'd never been left alone with Quatre for long. It was a possibility, though. One to be remembered. Maybe someone would slip up one day. He'd been trying to hold eye contact with the younger doctor, trying so hard to look pleading and vulnerable.

Maybe it would work.

There was irony in there somewhere. In all his life, he'd never wanted another person but Trowa, and now he was trying to attract someone who had only ever caused him pain.

'I'm sorry, Tro. I'm so very sorry. I've ruined everything.'

He couldn't stop the tears falling after that. He didn't know if it was the drugs or his situation or whether he was picking up on someone else's emotions, but he'd been crying continuously for what seemed like days. Or it might have only been an hour; he couldn't tell any more. Before the last trial, the youngest doctor had gently wiped away the tears, drying his face with a tissue; a gesture so unexpected he'd started to cry again.

He didn't even know anymore whether was he was feeling was someone else's emotions. It might have been memories or his imagination or the empathy, but he'd been getting flashes from Duo and Trowa, probably because he was thinking about them most of the time. Duo, especially; he couldn't always tell what Duo was feeling simply because he was so good at hiding things, but his dreams didn't lie.

They were - they always had been - the two most important people in his life, and he'd done unforgivable things to them both.

Oh, Allah. He missed them both so very badly. Duo would be all right; he had Wufei and Zechs, but Trowa's whole life had revolved around Quatre for so long. Who was going to look after him?

Shit.

Sometimes borrowing Duo's vocabulary helped.

He'd tried so hard to protect them like he always had, and he'd only made things worse. He'd been so unbelievably stupid. Oh, he'd meant well; he'd always meant well, but that didn't mean anything, not really. He'd always tried to be there for them both, from the very beginning…..

'Just go, Quat, OK?'

'Don't be silly. Of course, I'm not going anywhere.' Quatre stood by the side of the bed and gave his friend what he hoped was a reassuring smile. 'I'll run and say goodbye when he 's ready to leave.'

'Look, it's going to be daylight in a few minutes, I'm wide awake, I think I can survive by myself for an hour or so.' Duo sighed. 'Listen, Q, just stop with the martyr act, OK? Tro'll be gone in the next hour and I'm not letting you sit here with me when you could be with him. Now, go and say a proper goodbye to, before I get up and kick you out. Go!'

'Are you sure? I'll just go and dress and then…'

'Why bother?' Duo grinned at him. 'Give old Tro a treat and let him see you like that.'

Quatre looked down at himself and flushed crimson. He'd been in bed with Trowa when Duo's nightmare had started, and he'd just snatched up the first things to hand before rushing in to his friend's room; one of Heero's tank tops which had somehow got mixed up with Trowa's laundry, and a pair of Trowa's shorts, which were far too big for him, and hung precariously on his narrow hips.

'Duo, I couldn't!' Between the two pieces of clothing - and how in the world did Heero go around all the time dressed in those skimpy tops?- Quatre felt like he was practically naked.

'Sure you could,' Duo encouraged, sitting up in bed and pulling the duvet up around his shoulders. 'He sees you naked all the time, doesn't he? And you look way hot like that. Now, go already!'

Trowa was leaning over the porch railing, watching the sky gradually lighten in the east. He looked peaceful, serene almost, enjoying the birth of a new day. Nothing like the trained Gundam Pilot he was.

'Good morning.' Quatre could have stood there watching him all day, but they didn't have time. The dark head lifted slowly; he'd known Quatre was there all along, of course, and he smiled. Just a quirk of one corner of his mouth, and it was enough to propel Quatre into his arms.

Oh, Allah, his father would kill him if he could see him now; half-naked and snuggling up to another boy in broad daylight. Quatre squelched that thought; his family would never forgive him for any of the things he'd done lately.

Trowa hadn't bothered to shave, and Quatre loved the rasp of stubble against his own smooth skin.

'How is Duo?'

'Better, I think. He dozed off a bit for a couple of hours; I didn't want to leave him alone again.'

'No way,' Trowa agreed. 'Kit, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't any help last night.'

'It's all right,' Quatre soothed, sliding Trowa's bangs from his forehead. It was always a waste of time; the thick, uncontrollable hair fell straight back into place, but it meant that for a moment he got to see both of Trowa's eyes. 'Really.'

'It's not all right.' Trowa ducked his head and that was that; the thick fall of hair was down over his face.

'Stop that,' Quatre said firmly, snuggling a little bit closer; Duo probably hadn't realised how cold it would be before sunrise when he'd suggested the inappropriate attire. He was definitely not feeling 'hot' now.

'We should go in, angel, or you'll catch a chill, the way you're dressed.'

'You don't like it?'

'I never said that.' Trowa said huskily, holding Quatre at arms' length to look at him. It had taken weeks for Quatre to let him see him naked; at first, he'd insisted on having the light off, and their first attempts had love-making had primarily involved Trowa fumbling under Quartre's many layers of clothing in pitch darkness.

He'd been brought up in a culture where nudity was considered unacceptable; sinful even. A way to tempt weak human flesh into wickedness. But when he'd finally let Trowa strip him, when they'd been naked together for the first time, it hadn't felt wrong at all, but wonderfully right, and Trowa had poured caresses and compliments over him like cream.

'Sure?' Quatre grinned, giving a daring little wiggle and letting his shorts slide a few degrees further south; something he would never have done a few weeks ago. Trowa moistened his lips slightly, breath catching, and Quatre slipped one thigh between those long legs.

'It is a little chilly, though. Maybe you could warm me up?'

Trowa subsided onto the bench, pulling the smaller boy into his lap. Their relative heights were perfect for this, and he loved cuddling with Trowa, but he wanted more this morning.

'I love you so much,' he murmured. He loved saying it aloud, and seeing the way Trowa's eyes never failed to light up, no matter how often his lover said it. 'More than anything in the world, ever.'

Trowa's one visible eye gleamed, and Quatre craned his neck to kiss him, just below the ear where his collar would hide it, sucking just hard enough to leave a little mark, and make Tro moan.

'Love you,' Quatre repeated. It didn't matter, really, that Trowa didn't say it back very often. He knew Trowa loved him and that was the important thing. Fastening his lips to his lover's earlobe, he carefully shifted position so he was sitting astride Trowa's lap, and pressed as close as he could.

'Oh, Christ,' Trowa groaned, deep in his chest, and threw his head back. Quatre flexed his hips again, grinding closer, and nipped at the pale, long throat.

'You're going to have to stop that. Now.'

'Aren't you enjoying it?' Quatre tried to make his expression soulful and innocent and seductive all at once.

'I'm enjoying it way too much,' Trowa gasped, his body making it all too clear just how much it was enjoying the contact. 'But we don't have time, angel, and you're still sore from last night.'

Drat; he was far too observant for his own good, was Trowa Barton. Quatre had tried so hard not to wince as he'd swung both legs around Trowa's waist. He was, also, unfortunately, perfectly right. Sex was going to be out of the question for a while; they'd still only done it like that a handful of times, and no matter how careful Trowa was with him, there was always a little pain. And it hurt, afterwards.

'Don't call me that,' he pouted. 'I'm not remotely angelic.'

'My beautiful fallen angel,' Trowa whispered, gripping Quatre's hips and lifting him up slightly. 'Save it 'til I get back? Please?'

'But I don't want to wait,' Quatre murmured, sliding out of Trowa's arms and between his legs. 'And I don't think you do either, not really. Hmm?' He pressed his cheek to Trowa's crotch, loving the feel of him; that delicious hardness that he'd caused.

'Quatre…' It had, just possibly, started out as some sort of token protest but by the time Trowa had unrolled the last syllable, Quatre had unzipped his jeans, and tugged them down slightly. Once Quatre's lips had touched the head of his flaring erection, there weren't going to be any more objections.

He'd learnt how to give what Duo called one hell of a blowjob, over the last few weeks. Trowa had told him so, not in words but in moans and gasps and all the pure pleasure that his empathy could convey.

He still wasn't entirely comfortable with deep-throating; with having a large, demanding object thrust half-way down his oesophagus, but he wrapped the fingers of one hand tightly around the base of Trowa's cock to compensate, the way Duo had told him to.

Of course, being Quatre, as soon as he'd mastered the basic principles, he'd begun adding little refinements of his own. He'd always liked to excel at any given task, and he liked to please, and he liked giving Trowa pleasure most of all.

'Quatre,' Trowa rasped, 'if you keep that up, I'm going to come right now.'

'Not yet, Tro,' Quatre pulled back to murmur, a nicely mingled blend of command and entreaty. 'Please..'

He wanted to make it last as long as possible, to give Trowa this last proof of his love. Duo and Heero had a tradition of never saying goodbye, but Quatre liked to make a ritual out of it, so that Trowa would know, just in case…

He choked off that terrible, traitorous thought and concentrated on Trowa. His lover's orgasm set off his own, and Trowa slid on to the ground to join him, enfolding Quatre in those long limbs.

'Angel. I'm going to have to leave in a minute,' he said sadly.

'I know you do,' Quatre whispered. He reached up and slipped one hand through Trowa's bangs, revealing both eyes. 'Be safe, love. And come back to me.'

'Always, you know that. You take care. And look after Duo.' He hesitated. 'I hate leaving you both like this.'

'We'll be fine,' Quatre tried to sound positive. The last thing he wanted was Tro going off on a mission while distracted. 'Wufei should be here tomorrow and we Heero might be all right. He's only been missing for twenty four hours.'

'Fuck, I hope so.' Trowa's face took on that bleak, closed-off expression again, but his arms tightened desperately around his partner. It had always been an ever-present threat, that one of them wouldn't come back some day. They'd always known it, but now it had actually happened. 'Quatre, I … you do know I love you, right?' The words themselves were almost indistinct, with his head muffled against his lover's fair hair, but the sudden flare of emotion made them unnecessary.

'Of course I do. I can feel it,' Quatre placed one hand over Trowa's heart. 'I always can. I just wish you could feel how much I love you; then I wouldn't need to say it all the time.' He made a brave attempt at his usual bright smile, and then tilted his head for one last kiss. 'Call me if you can, love. And take care.'

He waved until Trowa had driven out of sight, and then sagged down on to the porch, feeling a tiny niggle of guilt that he wanted this little bit of time to himself, when he should be going inside to check on Duo.

Duo… It was three weeks since Heero had left to rescue him from the OZ base; had brought him back covered in bruises and bandages. Being Duo, he'd refused to speak of it, but they'd all heard him at night; seen the way he flinched at sudden noises, or if someone got that little bit too close unexpectedly.

It had been bad enough while Heero was there; but Heero had left two days before on a mission with Wufei, and the Chinese pilot had called the night before to say they'd lost contact after a battle with OZ troops.

Quatre had spent most of the previous evening with Duo, reassuring him that of course everything would be all right; that of course Heero would be fine, saying all the futile, stupid things they told each other and that didn't really mean anything. Duo had listened without really paying attention, and then insisted Quatre go to Trowa's room, that he'd be perfectly fine by himself.

Except that he hadn't been; he'd started screaming an hour or so after midnight, and Quatre had had to try to calm him down, because Duo's nightmares were far too close to Trowa's to ask him to cope.

He didn't even want to start thinking about how Duo would cope if anything had happened to Heero.

Move, Winner. He needs you.

Duo was in the kitchen, slumped over the table.

'Heero called. He's OK; he should be here tomorrow.'

Quatre's face lit up. 'I told you he'd be all right. That's wonderful, Duo. Did he call you? What happened?'

Duo offered a shrug. 'No idea. I didn't talk to Heero; it was Chang who called. He wasn't exactly forthcoming, so I thought you could maybe call him later and get the details? You know how he feels about me.'

He mimicked the other boy's educated, refined accent. 'What are Gundam Pilots coming to now? Bad enough when it was that mercenary, but now they're taking in the scum of L2. Letting himself get captured, jeopardising a mission, leading 01 astray.' Duo slammed one fist on to the table. 'Prissy bastard. I've seen him sneaking looks at Heero when he thought no one was looking. It's not like he's ever going to get any, not unless he takes that stick out of his ass, anyway.'

'Of course I'll call him. And don't worry about him; he's probably just jealous.'

'Yeah, right,' Duo scoffed. 'The almighty Chang jealous of me.' Duo lifted his head and Quatre saw his expression.

'What's wrong? Heero's not hurt, is he? I'm sure he'll be back soon.'

'Yeah. Except I won't be here. Just got a message in; I have to leave this afternoon. Life sucks, hey? So… you want some breakfast?'

'Duo, you can't! You're not properly healed yet.'

Duo's mouth twisted. 'I'm functional, as Heero would say. And it's not like there's anyone else, with Sandrock out of action.'

'I could take 'Scythe. Duo, please…'

'Nope. My mission, my Gundam. So…what d'you want for breakfast?'

Quatre swallowed hard, trying to focus on something outside Duo's emotions, forcing himself not to get sucked in. Duo was his closest friend, but he needed to be handled carefully, sometimes, and he didn't like to be pressured or pushed into anything.

He'd liked Duo immediately; the other boy was funny and clever and had seemed to like him too. They'd got on from the start; the first night in the desert base, they'd stayed up all night talking, about the Gundams and their training and the things they'd seen since coming to Earth. Quatre had told Duo about the flamingos that had perched on Sandrock, and Duo had talked about a rainbow he and Heero had seen.

The next day, Quatre had been longing for Duo to wake up and talk to him, but it had all gone horribly wrong. He'd only asked Duo a few harmless questions about his life on L2 and the other boy had clammed up completely. Quatre had tried to find out what he'd done wrong, but Duo had refused to discuss it.

Heero had sat down with him one day and told him just to back off, that his persistence was only making more Duo uncomfortable, and that maybe there were things in his past he didn't want to discuss with the Winner heir.

He'd known from little things that Duo had let slip that he hadn't ever had much money, and he hadn't cared about that. It wasn't as if Quatre knew nothing about poverty.

His sisters and their friends all attended luncheon and tea parties in aid of various suitable charities, and until her marriage Mariam had organised picnics and outings for the children of the immigrant labourers on the Winner Estate. Twice a year, she'd helped Quatre sort out his old clothes to donate to the poorer families. He had gone with her, sometimes, to the staff quarters and stood quietly while she chatted to the women and doled out sweets to the children. It would have been fun to play with them, or even talk to them, but the children were on their best behaviour in the presence of the son and daughter of their parents' employers.

He'd sometimes thought that he wouldn't have minded being poor, very much, and having to live in a small house, provided he could keep his pony and his violin. It would be fun to have so many other children to play with, and a father who didn't have to go away all the time, and maybe even a mother.

H wouldn't even mind having to wear other people's clothes. His sisters picked out all his clothes anyway, and maybe if he could wear another boy's castoffs, they mightn't be pink all the time.

Allah, he'd been so innocent back then about how most people had to live. People whose lives hadn't been cushioned by wealth and power and privilege.

'Breakfast, Q?' Duo prompted, looking at him expectantly.

Quatre tried to smile back. 'I thought we might try making oatmeal.'

'Oh.' Duo looked down at the spoon in his hand. 'I don't think so, Quat. I sort of blew up the microwave. Did you know you're not supposed to put silverware in those things?'

Quatre shook his head; it wasn't as if either of them had ever seen a microwave until recently. 'Trowa knows how to make it in a pot, on the stove. We could try that?'

Two pairs of eyes drifted toward the cooker, and two heads shook in unison.

'Or we've could have some cold cereal instead.' Duo jumped up, headed for their store cupboard. 'I swear I'm never going to let Heero go shopping by himself again. All he got was that high fibre rubbish. Basically, you can have your pick of wood shavings or wood shavings with rabbit droppings,'

'He got the muesli with the dried blueberries?' Quat's eyes sparkled. 'I love that.'

'Freak,' Duo muttered. 'You know you can get really nice sorts of cereal; with chocolate chips and maple syrup and even little marshmallows.'

'They're really unhealthy, though,' Quatre pointed out. 'All that refined sugar and additives.'

Duo rolled his eyes. 'Hello, Earth to Quat! Didn't you get the memo about us being terrorists fighting an evil organisation that's trying to conquer the world? You think a little sugar is going to make a whole lot of difference to our life expectancies?'

'Don't talk like that!'

'Sorry,' Duo muttered. 'Heero got some packages of those dried apricots you like as well; not sure where he put them though.'

'Top shelf,' Quatre reached one arm up to get them, and Duo immediately noticed the bruises, a delicate blooming of lemon and amethyst on his pale skin.

'Quatre. What the fuck? Who did that? Was it Trowa? I'll fucking kill him.'

'Duo! Stop it. It's nothing.'

'It's not 'nothing'!' Duo snapped. 'Why the hell didn't you tell me he was hurting you? I'm going to kill the bastard. And that's assuming Heero doesn't get there first!'

'Duo, please. Please, just calm down. I'm fine. I swear, Tro didn't hurt me. We just got a bit carried away, that was all.'

'He forced you!'

'No! It's nothing like that. Duo, you've no idea how long it took for him to stop treating me like I'm made of porcelain. Please, calm down. I'm fine, I swear it. I didn't even notice at the time.'

'What the fuck are you saying? That you let him hurt you because you get off on it?'

'No.' Quatre sat down, clutching his head. He didn't, not really. It was just that he liked it when Trowa took charge, liked relinquishing control for that brief, precious time. And there was always that nasty voice in his head, whispering horrible, vile things, sometimes sounding like Father, or the strictest of his tutors, the one who'd lectured him for hours about the sins of the flesh. If Trowa hurt him, even just a little, it somehow balanced out all the pleasure he got from it, and made it acceptable.

He didn't think Duo would understand that though.

'It's just - you know what it's like?'

'No,' Duo snapped. 'I don't frigging know what it's like! And probably never will at this rate. judging by how Heero's carrying on.'

'Oh! I thought you and Heero had…'

'Well, we haven't. Because he doesn't want to.'

'Duo, he adores you. You know that. He just doesn't want to pressure you into anything.'

'I offered, OK? And he turned me down.' Duo shrugged. 'When did we start reversing roles like this, Quat? With you the wild sex kitten and me carrying on like a blushing virgin. I asked him straight, for fuck's sake. And he refused.' Another shrug, with his braid twitching like it had a life of its own. 'So, FYI, that's how much he … 'adores' me.'

'I think you're over reacting slightly,' Quat said calmly. 'I know how Heero feels about you. There's nothing wrong with wanting to wait.'

'Wait for what? A fucking engagement ring? He's fifteen, Quat! He's not supposed to care about anything except getting laid.'

'Did you want him to?'

'Hell, yeah! Sort of. I don't know. I wanted to give him something for a change, you know?'

'He wants you to want it as well, Duo.'

'Whatever,' Duo flopped down on one of the chairs, wrapping both arms around himself.

'He just worries about you,' Quatre said softly. 'After what's happened to you.'

Violet eyes glared at him. 'What, now you can read minds as well as everything else? That was weeks ago! And nothing happened anyway, so it's no big deal. I'm not making a production out of it, so why can't the rest of you just forget it?'

Quatre sighed. 'Duo, they half-killed you. I saw you the next day, remember? And you know what else I'm talking about. It's only natural that you're going to have nightmares.'

'What?' Duo yelled. 'If you've been screwing with my head; so help me Quatre, I'll swing for you! Got that! Stay out of my damn mind!'

'I wish I could,' Quatre shouted back, suddenly submerged by all of his friend's fears and insecurities.'I don't enjoy feeling your emotions, you know! I hate it and I hate that you pretend everything is fine and you won't even try to let any of us help you, and I know everything isn't fine, and I wish you'd just stop lying about it all.'

'I don't lie, Winner.' Duo's voice could have frozen steam.

'Well, you don't always tell the truth, do you? Not even to yourself?'

Duo hunched back in his chair, knees pulled up to his chin and arms wrapped around them. They glared at each other, until Quatre dropped into a crouch in front of him.

'I'm sorry. Really. I - I want to help you, that's all. I think maybe it would help if you could talk to someone.'

'That's what you think,' Duo muttered, chewing his bottom lip. 'You don't know shit, Quatre. I told Heero stuff and he never wants to touch me again.'

'Oh, Duo.' Quatre tried to make his voice gentle. 'That isn't true. You know it's not. Heero worships the ground you walk on; the very air you breathe. And he's terrified that he'll do something wrong and you'll run off. He knows what ha- nearly happened to you, and he's blaming himself for not getting there sooner. That's all.'

'So? He hasn't tried to touch me since it happened; not once. Like he thinks I'm soiled or something now.'

'Or he knows you went through an incredibly traumatic experience and he's scared to do anything you might not be ready for?'

'You think?' Duo nibbled on the end of his braid; never a good sign. 'I told him, Quat. You think anyone's ever gonna want to be with me after they know all that?'

Quat conjured up the faintest gleam of a smile. 'Duo, Heero was a trained assassin. I don't think he'll be judging you.'

Duo shrugged, muttering something around a mouthful of hair that sounded like 'not the same'.

'No,' Quatre said firmly. 'Because he killed people. And he wouldn't care about anything you've done, anyway. You just have to let him know what you want. He isn't actually capable of reading your mind.'

Duo shook his head. 'I know you're trying to help but you've got it all wrong. I offered, OK? I practically threw myself at him the night before he went on that crappy mission. And he turned me down flat. So don't tell me I need to let him know what I want, because I already did and he made it pretty fucking obvious that he wasn't interested.'

'Of course he's interested in you!'

'You don't know shit about it, Quat! He fucking rejected me, OK? How'd you feel if you'd come on to Trowa and he turned you down?' Duo blinked rapidly.

Quatre took a deep breath, trying to block out the emotions spilling over from Duo. 'He's just worried about you. He doesn't want to - do that, until he knows you're…'

'Functional?' Duo wondered bitterly. 'Is that the word you want? Exactly how fucking functional do I have to be to bend over and let him screw me?'

'Duo, don't. Please.' Quatre sank back on to the floor, as if putting that little physical distance between them might help..

'Yeah, right,' Duo said. 'Don't use nasty words in front of the nice sheltered little L4 boy, right? It's all hearts and flowers and making love for you, isn't it? You don't know anything about it, Quatre.'

'That's not what I meant,' Quatre snapped suddenly.

'Sorry,' Duo's arms were around him and he was gasping apologies. 'I'm sorry, Quat. I'm just so screwed up about all this. I thought - that night he rescued me - that we'd really got somewhere, you know? That we'd got some sort of understanding, just the two of us. But since we got back here, yeah, he lets me sleep in his bed, and he held me the first night, 'cause I asked him to, and I spent the whole damn night wondering if he was only doing it 'cause he felt sorry for me, and after that I waited for him to make the first move, and he never did. I just … wanted him to hold me, OK? To know that he still cared. So what do you think I should do?'

'I think you should tell him exactly that. Oh, Duo, I swear to you, he loves you.'

'I know,' Duo whispered miserably. 'I hurt him and then he went off on that mission and I thought he'd died and now I don't know when I'll get to see him ever again. If I ever will.'

'Of course you will.'

'Yeah.' Duo scrubbed his hand across his eyes and Quatre tactfully pretended not to notice. 'Quat…what's it like? Really? Not just all that shit about how you can touch each other's souls and stuff.'

Quatre tried not to feel offended; he loved that quote. It was from his favourite book and it described his and Trowa's relationship exactly.

'It's - like, do you remember the first time you flew 'Scythe?'

Duo nodded, and Quatre saw the sudden flare of comprehension in his eyes, knew he understood.

Power and terror and freedom and control and limitless, heart-stopping potential. The sense of owning and being possessed. Wonder at the sheer rightness of it all.

'That good?' He asked, almost reluctantly.

'Better, actually. It's with a real person, who cares about you.'

In Sandrock, he'd always felt he could touch the sky, but with Trowa he'd been able to touch another person's heart and soul.

And he'd destroyed that.

Quatre bit his lip as hard as he could, trying to focus on the physical pain instead. There was someone one coming; he could hear the heavy bolts being slid back; the scrape of metal on wood.

More experiments.

It was Barton, instead. He stood looking down at Quatre with all the passion of a scientist examining a new, mildly interesting specimen under a microscope before speaking.

'Tell, me, do you know a man named Jason Irving?'

'He's one of the councillors for L2. I've met him at ESUN meetings; he's a corrupt, unscrupulous man and he should never have been elected. He's hardly been back to L2 in the past three years.'

'Well, one can scarcely blame him for that,' Barton commented. 'And incidentally, he does possess a few scruples. He's made some mild objections to a vital part of my plan in fact; he apparently has some small sentimental attachment to his colony.'

'Perhaps he simply prefers not to participate in mass murder,' Quatre said coldly.

'Dear me,' the older man tutted. 'You aren't exactly in a position to talk, are you? Tell me, precisely how many people died as a consequence of your little tantrum during the war?'

Quatre turned his head away from that taunting voice; he was right, of course. So many people had died because of his actions.

'Oh, I'm sure you regret it now, but that doesn't change your actions, does it? It doesn't bring back all those poor people?' Barton stood up. 'Fascinating as this discussion may be, I don't have time to indulge right now. I simply wished you to know that I have found an .. little incentive to persuade Irving to support my cause fully. Just a pretty little piece of bait to lure him to take the hook.'

'Not Trowa,' Quatre gasped, before he could stop himself.

'I have told you not to use my son's name for your whore,' Barton's hand cracked across Quatre's cheek, the signet ring on his little finger splitting his lip. 'Irving would hardly be interested in that mercenary trash,' he sneered. 'Oh, no. I offered him Maxwell.'

'No! Allah, you can't do that.'

'But I can,' Barton crooned. 'I can do anything I choose, and you are quite, quite powerless to stop me. How do you like being the helpless one, for a change? Tell me, are you starting to know how I felt, with all that vaunted empathy? My only son was killed, all my plans were ruined, and it was all due to a handful of unruly children! Irving was the main investor in the original Deathscythe; did you know that? He lost s a very great deal of money because of your little friend.'

'No!' Quatre forced a deep breath, forced himself to speak calmly. 'Please. Not Duo.

Surely, there's something I can do in exchange. Please.'

'But you have nothing I want,' Barton hissed. 'I already have that piece of circus trash as guarantee that you will do whatever I ask. Maxwell, simply, is expendable, and besides, I really couldn't disappoint my friend Irving at this stage. I gather he has all sorts of plans for …entertaining 02. He is said to have very eclectic pleasures.'

'No,' Quatre whispered, starting to panic. Not Duo. Not after everything that had happened to him already.

'Oh, dear. Is that too much for you to bear?' Barton mocked. 'I shouldn't worry; I'm sure Irving will make it his business to keep Maxwell alive, if not overly well and happy, for a very long time, assuming he gives ..satisfaction. Or perhaps he may enjoy it…I saw those newspaper articles about his behaviour while he was recovering from that accident. He likes it rough, doesn't he? And it's hardly the first time he's whored for a living, after all.' He patted the blossoming bruise on Quatre's cheek. 'You really need to pick your friends more carefully, don't you?'