Thanks, as ever, to the amazing Kaeru Shisho for editing, and to the people who have been kind enough to review.

Chapter 87 -World Closing In:

Can't not.

Oh, just stop it, Quatre admonished himself, closing his laptop lid firmly, closing off any link to Trowa, and thinking about spiders.

He had a plan, and a schedule.

First things first. He could think about Trowa later.

Perhaps.

It didn't matter; time to fix this.

He looked from Trowa's portrait to the painting on the wall opposite; the massive oil of delphiniums. Trowa had filled their bedroom with his favourite flowers just a few months ago; for Valentine's Day. Quatre hadn't come home at all that night; he'd claimed a crisis had kept him at the office. Back in February, he'd been running out of time. Only a couple of months to go. He'd needed to do something drastic.

He still did.

He picked up the phone and dialled an internal number. He made his voice imperious, the tone of a spoiled young man summoning a servant. His communications had been monitored for months; enough time for him to gauge just how diligent the people listening to him were. Not even Dekim Barton had unlimited resources, after all. In all probability, they would ignore him, particularly today of all days, facing the ESUN ultimatum.

He knew Barton well enough at this point. He would never imagine that anyone in Quatre's position would actually confide in a subordinate.

Rashid turned up two minutes later, and helped him into the bathroom. Obeying a little flick of Quatre's head, he turned the shower on full-blast. It was rudimentary counter-surveillance; of course, they would have programmes to rectify it, but that would take time and he really just needed a few hours.

'Quatre? Tell me what's wrong.'

Quatre. Rashid almost never called him that.

'Everything,' Quatre said briefly. He sat on the edge of the bathtub, with the big man crouching beside him. He could trust Rashid. Trowa had said so. He had to. It was all coming down to that now. There were parts of the plan he couldn't carry out alone.

'I'm sorry. I should have told you before. I just didn't want to involve you.'

'I've always been involved. You know that.'

'I know. I should have trusted you. I wasn't entirely sure I could. It was stupid.'

He saw the moment Rashid understood, saw his face change from concern to anger. 'Sarab?'

Quatre nodded jerkily, knowing how much it had to hurt. Sarab had lost his parents very young; Rashid had treated him like a younger brother.

'He killed Miss Carrick? And my brothers?'

'He was waiting for us,' Quatre said painfully, 'after we left Delphine's parents' house that morning. Of course, he knew exactly where we'd be; he knew it was the private road to their estate and that there wouldn't be any other traffic. No witnesses. Auda was driving and he pulled in to the side of the road. He pulled down his window and made some sort of joke. Sarab leaned in the window and started to say something. Delphine and I weren't even paying attention; she was telling me about her mother's plans for an official engagement party when he shot them. She realised what was going on first and started to scream.'

He took a deep breath, wishing he truly did have the amnesia he'd claimed. 'Sarab said that if I co-operated, he wouldn't hurt her. He killed her anyway, though. A warning, for trying to tell Heero what was going on.'

'What is going on?' Rashid pressed.

'Dekim Barton. He's behind all of this. He has been from the start, although I didn't realise it. I never thought Delphine would get involved.

'She was a very fine young woman,' Rashid said quietly. 'She would have given you great honour, if she had truly married you.'

'I know.'

There were so many dreams and hopes and disappointments there. Rashid had been his surrogate father for over a decade, for almost half of his life. He'd dreamed of Quatre having children; of being their friend and tutor and guard.

'He was a traitor.'

'Dekim Barton threatened his wife,' Quatre said tonelessly. He'd had months now, to come to terms with it and it still hurt. He'd counted Sarab as a friend, someone who would never betray him.

'Well for him that he's dead,' Rashid snapped. 'He threatened Trowa as well, yes?'

Quatre didn't even bother to nod. Rashid knew him far too well.

'He threatened everyone, really. Wufei. Duo. My sisters. Everyone who's important to me. That was why…I had to get Trowa off L4. Even if Barton didn't really believe we'd broken up, he'd be safer on Earth.'

'Sarab showed me that file you made, of what he did to you. It wasn't real?'

'Some of it, yes,' Quatre said carefully; Rashid had always disapproved of Trowa, right from the start, and hadn't usually bothered to hide it. 'But it was all my fault. No one was ever meant to see it. He was supposed to have destroyed it. Trowa … has always been everything to me. I burnt the original myself, but there was a copy at the cottage. I sent Sarab to get it, to destroy it so no one would ever see. '

'You have a plan.' It was a statement, more than a question.

'Yes. I'll need your help.'

Rashid nodded. 'Of course. You're planning to kill him when he comes tonight. Yes?'

'Yes, but I don't want it to come down to a fire-fight. Not in this house. Not if it can be avoided at all. Too many innocent people will get killed. He's the moving spirit behind all this. I think, if he's not here, everything will collapse. I don't know anymore, really.'

'What can I do?'

'I'm going to ask if I can speak to him privately, up here. I think he'll agree if it seems important. I can take care of him, but I'll need you to keep his guards occupied. However's necessary. Can you do that?'

'Of course. Do you need a gun? We have arms hidden.'

'I can't. I'm always searched, before I'm allowed to speak with him.' He put out one hand, touched Rashid's shoulder. 'Thank you. And I am truly sorry that I ever doubted you,' he said shakily. 'I just – I was trying not to involve you, really. I couldn't bear for Barton to think you were a threat, to try to use you against me.'

'Quatre.' Rashid shook his head, looking at him steadily. 'Nothing could ever force me to betray you. You are as dear as any son could be. You know that.'

He could only nod. 'Thank you.'

Rashid's mouth set. 'I haven't done anything yet. Now, come. You need to be ready.'

Rashid helped him to dress in an outfit he'd had made for his sister Lola's wedding. She'd wanted an Arabian Knights Extravaganza and the robes were layers of sheer silk, shimmering with gold and silver threads when they caught the light. Barton wanted the evening to be a celebration of Arabian culture, and he didn't really have anything else that was in any way suitable.

He looked pretty and a little ridiculous and wholly inoffensive.

David Souhef, as arranged, was the first guest to arrive. That was a good sign; he hadn't lost his nerve yet. Not quite anyway.

Quatre was sitting on the terrace when he was announced, watching dispassionately as the man walked over to him. He was dressed in what looked like a traditional Berber costume. Stupid. He'd admired David Souhef once.

Their fathers had known each other; Quatre had grown up listening to the achievements of Amir Souhef's dutiful son; the honours business degree; the marriage to a suitable young lady; three children, two of them boys.

The very pattern of what a son should be; not like Quatre himself, who only wanted to play the violin, and who could read people's thoughts, and who liked other boys and was wrong in every possible way.

He'd been flattered when Souhef started to take an interest in him, a year or so ago. A sign perhaps that he was no longer being seen as the odd Winner boy, but was being accepted by his peers.

So stupid.

'Quatre This is a nightmare. He's insane. He's going to get us all killed. He killed Ali. I saw the photos of what he did to him.'

Ali. He'd met the boy once, a few months previously. By then, he'd worked out that David wasn't quite the perfect family man he liked people to believe and it had been a bond between them. When David invited him to visit a club one evening and meet his 'friend', he'd seen it as an extra sign of trust.

He'd been to nightclubs on Earth with Trowa, and naively, stupidly expected something similar. A bar, a dance floor, loud music. People having fun with friends. After all, there were other gay men on L4, they just had to be very discreet. David took him to an unmarked building, which wasn't that unexpected, and vouched for him through three security checks. Even then, he hadn't quite realised what sort of place it was.

The front rooms had looked much like any well-appointed coffee house, air dense with the smoke from hookahs. David had given him a quick tour; saunas and steam rooms and a staircase leading to private rooms upstairs. Some of the boys holding towels or trays of coffee and pastries had been very young. Some of the men hadn't bothered to seek the privacy of an upstairs room.

Quatre had met Ali, whom he'd rather liked, and made his excuses as soon as possible. Trowa had been waiting when he got home; on the verge of a serious fury until he saw Quatre's face.

'I told you,' he'd said, taking Quatre in his arms. 'I told you what it would be like.'

Quatre had just nodded, clinging to him, fiercely grateful that he had this man, this love in his life and at least a measure of freedom to be with him.

'I'm sorry about Ali,' Quatre said, meaning it. The boy had been only seventeen and utterly dazzled by Souhef's attentions. 'But David, everyone's going to die if we don't do something. The ESUN is never going to let L4 secede. If one colony leaves, everything starts to unravel. They're going to make an example out of us.'

'They can't!' David said wildly. 'They can't fire on a peaceful colony! They wouldn't dare!'

'Hardly peaceful any more,' Quatre noted. 'And, yes, they will. They'll sacrifice us as an object lesson.'

'But we have to stop it. Somehow.'

'Well, of course we do.' He couldn't, really, find any pity or compassion for this man. He'd wanted to play at spies and conspiracies, and now a boy was dead, and that was just the start. 'Listen. Find your wife. You need to be with her. All right?'

Barton arrived almost an hour later; Quatre had spoken to most of the guests by then, mingling like a good host, before claiming his ankle had begun to ache and letting Rashid help him back upstairs for a brief rest before dinner was served.

Barton walked in, flanked by a pair of guards. One did a quick tour of the room; the other frisked Quatre professionally. The little knife, sheathed in an elaborately jewelled and gilded belt, warranted little more than a glance; a pretty toy, part of his costume. The man never even thought to test the blade.

Barton watched the little show, dismissed the guards with a curt nod, before turning to look at Quatre. 'So. You think you can summon me, like a servant?'

He'd obeyed though.

Quatre dropped his eyes to the silly curling slippers he he'd put on. 'I needed to see you. Thank you.'

His careful planning had never really got further than this point; than the two of them alone in a room and he couldn't just do it, couldn't kill an old man in cold blood, an old man who'd been driven mad by the death of his son.

'We can't let this happen.' He was pleading, hating the supplication in his tone. 'Please. So many people will die. We have a chance to stop it now. We've made our point; the ESUN's seen that the colonies want at least some measure of independence. They'll listen, if we try to negotiate. I've been watching the news; plenty of people on Earth sympathise with us.'

Barton lowered himself into the armchair by the window; Trowa's favourite seat, overlooking the gardens. 'Since when has the ESUN cared what the people think? If they allow us our independence, even if they agree to grant us more autonomy, they'll have to admit that the current system isn't perfect. They can't afford to do that and you know it. One admission of problems and the whole system will begin to fold. Individual countries on Earth may start seeking independence. They won't allow even the slightest chink.'

'What's the alternative?' Quatre snapped. 'Sit back and wait for them to destroy this colony? You can't truly want that, want so many people to be sacrificed.'

'No? You can hardly afford to take the moral high ground, can you? I don't need lectures from someone who blasted entire colonies in a moment of pique.'

'That was Zero,' Quatre whispered.

Barton actually laughed. 'Come, Quatre. You know better than that. Zero does nothing more than channel and magnify emotions that are already there. You can't really use it as an excuse. The entire Zero system exists because of you. I spent several fortunes developing it, once the empathy was confirmed. Then those idiot scientists decided it was unethical.' He barked another harsh excuse for a laugh. 'After all they'd done, they actually dared to baulk at this one last thing. Ridiculous. Of course, it all worked out in the end. Enough to make one believe in destiny, almost. It called to you, didn't it? Even before your father's death, you knew there was something. So very fitting, that you should be the one to build it, when you were the reason in the first place. So symmetrical. It scared you though; you knew it was dangerous, knew what it could do. I thought you'd succumb more easily, but you fought it for too long. You needed a reason to find it and your father's death was perfect. You couldn't hold it back then, could you? Not through all the grieving and all the need for revenge.'

'No.' It wasn't possible. It wasn't. 'No. He died in a riot.'

'Yes. So very simple to orchestrate. You're supposed to be so very intelligent,' Barton drawled. 'Haven't you worked it out yet? It's always been about you, Quatre. Your whole life's been run by the Barton Foundation, since before you were born. I was the one who arranged for your parents to meet. Did your father ever tell you that? Two perfect bloodlines, and that strain of empathy in your mother's family. She had to die, of course. A happy little boy with two loving parents would never have run away like you did, would never have thrown his life away to fly a Gundam.'

'No. No. My mother died at my birth because of complications.' He'd looked it up once, hacking into the computer system of the hospital where she'd died. She'd died because of him, of course.

'A healthy young woman doesn't just die because of a few vague complications. Not when she's in one of the world's top hospitals and attended by the best physicians money can buy.'

'I don't believe you.'

'You've always blamed yourself for her death, haven't you?' Barton's voice was a travesty of concern. 'And of course it was your fault, ultimately. We needed her to die. Of course, the fact that your father never became close to you was just an added bonus. Poor thing; such a lonely, unloved little boy.'

'Why? Why the hell would you do something like that?'

'Strategy is supposed to be one of your gifts, isn't it?' Barton purred. 'Well, it's also a strength of mine. This has been a very, very long time in the planning. We needed a figurehead; every revolution needs a visible focus. It was originally between you and the Long girl on L5. Heroines are always popular with the public, but she managed to get herself killed too soon, so it was down to you. Probably a better choice anyway; hardly anyone had heard of an obscure clan on L5, but everyone knew about the celebrated Winner family. You could have united the Colonies, all of them. You and Trowa.'

'Your own son was part of this?'

'Well, of course.' Barton looked faintly amused. 'I'm not immortal; I needed an heir. Trowa was unsatisfactory in so many ways, but he did inherit my blood and my name. He could have inherited everything if he'd been less of a fool. If your mercenary hadn't killed him.'

'He didn't,' Quatre said instantly. 'He was there, but he didn't kill your son.'

Barton ignored him. 'He was responsible for Trowa's death. I thought he'd be here by now, actually. Do you think he's finally given up on you?'

Breathe, Quatre reminded himself. Just breathe.

'Never.' He was surprised at how firm his voice was, and then he wasn't. 'It's all been about him, hasn't it? All along. Despite all these high-flown sentiments about winning freedom for the Colonies, it's all about you avenging your son.'

Barton didn't bother to deny it.

'It doesn't even make sense,' Quatre said quietly, and then realised, as he said, that of course it didn't. Trowa – his Trowa – was just an excuse. A visible target.

'I'll never let you near him. Never.'

'You won't do it.' Barton sounded almost bored, looking at the dagger in Quatre's hand. 'Quatre, I know you. Put it down.'

He was a superb shot; he could wield a fencing foil like an extension of his body, a pure expression of his will. The dagger felt horribly awkward in his hand though; the size and shape and balance were all wrong. No one had ever taught him to fight with knives.

He'd killed that man in the back alley, the man who'd wanted to rape him, but there had been no finesse to it. He'd panicked and somehow managed to snatch the blade from the man's own hand, and then he'd just acted on fear and instinct and adrenalin, stabbing into soft flesh until he hadn't been moving any more.

It had been hideous. He'd never killed anyone at close range before, he'd never felt a dying man's emotions.

The door opened, the sound horribly loud in the silence. No. No one should be able to come inside. Rashid had promised to keep anyone away from the upper floor.

Barton smiled at whoever was at the door; a smile tinged with just a shade of relief. He'd been worried then, at some level.

Out of the corner of his eye, Quatre saw the person coming in; a tall wearing the uniform of Barton's elite guards.

'Like he said, put the knife down.'