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"Secrets"Written By: Honor Disclaimers: All of those who agree that the boys
should belong to me say “Aye!” Pairings: 3x4 Spoilers: Nope. Warnings: Lemon, yaoiness, bit of language, AU,
I wrote it (duh). Rating: NC-17 Betas: Lucy and Velvet Archived: Gundam Wing Diaries Author’s Notes: Driving an hour to and from work is dangerous. It gives the plot bunnies time to play. For people who love a build-up of a 3x4…here you go! Oh, and just so you know, I’m putting a whole new spin on empathy, telepathy and whatnot. *grin* That’s your only hint. /other people’s thoughts/ //Trowa’s or Quatre’s thoughts// <phone> <<mental conversations>>
"Secrets " Chapter Seven: Ramifications
Or maybe it did. //And if it does for me…then maybe it does for Quatre as well…shit.// Tilting his body on the couch, he dug his cellphone out of his pocket and quickly punched speed dial four. It rang twice before Quatre answered. <Trowa?> “Quatre, my control over everything is practically nil. Are you alright?” <No.> Trowa could hear the strain in that voice and clenched his jaw in frustration. “How bad is it?” <I can’t keep it straight. Everyone’s emotions keep running into mine; I’m not even sure which ones are mine right now. Trowa, we can’t stay separate like this. At the rate this is going, I might be able to hang on for another day or so but I won’t be able to take much more of this.> “I know. Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you.” <I’m sending Rashid for you. He can get you here faster, even with the added delay of having to fetch you.> “Alright. I love you. Just hang tight.” <Love you too. I’ll do my best.> Trowa dropped the phone back into his pocket and raced up the stairs, determined to be completely ready when Quatre’s bodyguard came to get him. + Quatre dropped the phone, breathing in deeply in an effort to keep whatever control he did retain in place. After a long moment he called to the next room, “Rashid! Come here a moment.” The huge bodyguard came in immediately, eyes moving over his younger master in concern. “Quatre, what is going on?!” “It’s my empathy,” Quatre answered weakly. “It’s gone out of control. I can’t shield much at all right now. Listen to me; I’m not going to be able to stay conscious much longer. I need you to go get Trowa. As quickly as possible.” Rashid nodded, but he didn’t fully understand. Quatre had learned as a child how to defend against others’ emotions—what broke that control so badly that he couldn’t pull his usual shields back into place? “I will. Let’s get you to a hospital first.” Quatre shook his head stubbornly. He could feel Rashid’s concern and confusion like a battering ram against his mind. “NO! Please, nothing else will help but Trowa!” Rashid threw up his hands in surrender. “I’ll go now.” Quatre looked up from the chair he was slumped in, still breathing harshly with effort. “Everything depends on him. Hurry.” Without another word Rashid sprinted out of the room, calling on his cell for a private jet as he ran. + Six hours later Rashid pulled up in front of Trowa’s house with a flurry of dust. He was relieved to see that Trowa was waiting for him. Only a second was needed for the lanky teenager to jump into the vehicle, then they were off again, racing to the airport. Rashid had made the torturous flight in worry and a continuous cycle of phone calls. He had called Iria to tell her what was going on, interrupting her in the middle of moving. She had dropped everything and called on the landline immediately to get one of the family’s jets up and running even as she demanded details from him on her cellphone. Then he had called every half hour to get an update from Abdul. Barely twenty minutes after Rashid had been airborne the young Winner heir had completely collapsed. Abdul reported that no one could touch him with bare skin—the one time the doctor had done it Quatre had screamed in raw agony. After that he had become nearly comatose, showing little to no reaction to the outside world. The one thing that he had truly wanted to know he wasn’t able to find out—why Trowa was so necessary to Quatre. He glanced at his passenger as they drove, noticing that the boy looked as white and strained as his lover. Whatever was going on had some kind of an effect on him as well. But why? How? “I called Abdul an hour ago. He told me Quatre is sleeping, and has been admitted to a hospital.” A muscle in Trowa’s jaw jumped. “You look you might need a bed in that same hospital in a few hours.” “If you don’t get me there within the next couple of hours, I will.” Rashid kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel out of pure willpower. “What is going on, Trowa?” “I’m not sure,” Trowa admitted. “Quatre and I will have to figure that out. But I can give you a guess. I think Quatre shifted his focus completely to me—he’s lost the ability to shield at all.” Rashid cursed softly. “It’s why he needs you.” That, unfortunately, made too much sense. “He can’t reinsert his shields until I’m with him,” Trowa confirmed quietly. “And you?” Rashid turned a corner sharply, heading straight to the runway where the plane was still running, keeping its engines hot. “Why is this affecting you?” “…because he’s my shield as well.” + The flight was a blessing to Trowa. Rashid forced him to take a mild sleeping pill as soon as they boarded, and he slept peacefully for six hours. Besides, with only three other people in the plane, it wasn’t as near as crowded in his head as it was on the ground. He only hoped that Quatre was sleeping it off as well. Upon landing they went straight from the airplane to a waiting car and were rushed to the hospital. Trowa kept his eyes closed, mind constantly reaching out for his lover. But the bond was still too weak, and he couldn’t do more than determine that Quatre was still alive and somewhat aware. “Why did this affect him harder than it did you?” Rashid demanded. He’d become more and more grouchy as the hours had passed. He hated this feeling of helplessness, but wasn’t willing to vent his anger on undeserving bystanders and so had perforce been growing even more irritable by keeping it bottled up. “Because he’s in LA, surrounded by people,” Trowa answered shortly. Rashid started cursing again at the statement. Of course. Trowa had been in a relatively empty area, living on a ranch as he was. Quatre, on the other hand, was in a city saturated with people. Dammit, he should have seen Quatre moved to a deserted area before going to fetch Trowa! They pulled in front of the hospital with a squeal of tires, Trowa out and running for the door before the vehicle had completely stopped. Once he was inside, he gained a firmer hold on Quatre’s mind. Up. Without waiting for the elevator, he bolted for the stairs. Rashid was right behind him for all three flights before Trowa felt that he was on the correct floor and stumbled out of the stairwell and into the main hallway. He walked rapidly around people and empty gurneys, turning sharply toward the right door so suddenly that Rashid almost plowed into him. + Sally Po studied the teenager on the hospital bed with a visible air of frustration. Physically, she could find nothing wrong with him. He was the epitome of health. And yet…even now he was in a light doze, curled up in a defensive ball on the bed and almost whimpering in pain. The heart monitor next to his bed acclaimed that his body was under a high rate of stress. If this continued, the boy would drive himself to a heart attack. He was sweating heavily, soaking his hair and plastering it to his head. His breathing was labored and stuttered, skin so white and translucent that he looked more dead than alive. She started pacing near the foot of the bed, thinking rapidly. She had touched him only once—the moment her skin had touched his he had jerked away, crying out as if she had burned him. She hadn’t dared to touch him again. Could it be some kind of drug? Something that would dissolve in blood and become untraceable? He was the sole male to a very large and wealthy family. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities that someone had tried to poison him. But what kind of poison would make the skin so sensitive like that? Mr. Winner was standing just inside the door, glowering like a wounded bear. “Well?!” “I don’t know!” Sally snapped back. “The only thing that I can think of is that he’s been poisoned, somehow, but I can’t think of any poison that would dissolve instantly in blood and make his skin so sensitive like this. He whimpers if anyone touches him.” It had nearly killed her to make her examination, although it seemed to help if she wore gloves when she touched him. She really wanted that part explained. “Then get me a doctor that will know!” Winner growled. “If you know of one, call him in by all—” She cut herself off as the door crashed open. A tall brunette skidded into the room, eyes fastening on the bed’s occupant. Without pause he threw himself onto the mattress, gathering the prone figure up in his arms. Sally broke from her paralysis and started for the bed. “Don’t touch him, he’s—” The glare the boy gave her could have melted steel. She flinched back in surprise. “It’s alright, doctor.” Sally’s eyes snapped to the blond and went wide. He was no longer trembling, or incoherent. He was leaning against the other boy with his weight completely supported on the taller teenager’s body, arms around his waist—but his eyes were clear and steady on hers. Carefully she approached the bed, checking the heart monitor as she moved. His rapid pulse from only a moment before was steadying into a more even rhythm. Unable to believe the sudden turn around, she cautiously reached out and placed two fingers against the boy’s throat. He didn’t jerk away from her, or show any sign of pain. Under her fingers his pulse was steady and even. What was going on?! Mr. Winner moved from the doorway to loom over the bed. “Who are you?” Trowa eyed him coldly, but didn’t respond. “This is Trowa Barton. I told Rashid to bring him here,” Quatre replied with soft finality. “So this was all a ploy to get your lover here, is that it?!” Sally felt like slapping the man. “You’re an idiot! That kind of illness can’t be faked! There is something seriously wrong here, even if you don’t care to hear it! And somehow this boy is the key even if you don’t want to acknowledge *that* either!” Her patience with the man—which hadn’t been strong an hour ago, when she had been called in early to examine his son—evaporated like magic ink. He had been hostile and uncooperative from the beginning, and she was fed up with it. “Out!” “You can’t order me out!” he stormed, turning a purplish hue in rage. “Oh yes I can! OUT! Or I’ll have security throw you out!” Sally, unwilling to wait a second longer to have this man gone, grabbed him by the arm and forcefully tugged him through the door. The she slammed the door satisfactorily in his face. After a deep, much needed, calming breath she turned around again. “Now, gentlemen, what in god’s green earth is going on?” + Quatre stared at the doctor in front of him, bringing his abilities completely to bear. His shields had snapped back into place as soon as Trowa touched him, for which he was profoundly grateful. He had regained his usual control over his empathy immediately after, even if he was so mentally tired from fighting off emotions over the past four days that using it felt like exercising with sore muscles. <<Stop that,>> Trowa’s voice chided. <<You’re tired. You shouldn’t be using your mind at all right now.>> <<I wanted to know if we could trust her.>> <<Why? You think we should tell her everything?>> <<Yes. It would be wise to have at least one doctor aware of our situation, in case something happens.>> Trowa wordlessly shrugged. <<So? Do you think she’s trustworthy?>> <<Yes. Besides, I like her attitude.>> Trowa mentally chuckled. <<So do I.>> Quatre turned to her and held out a hand. “I’m Quatre Winner, and this is my lover Trowa Barton.” Sally hesitantly came over to him and shook hands. “Sally Po.” “Sit down, Doctor Po. This is going to take a while to explain.” As Sally pulled a chair up close to the bed, Trowa rearranged it so that the bed was tilted up at an angle and he was resting beside Quatre. The Arabian sighed in contentment as he settled his head comfortably on his taller lover’s shoulder, settling his hands on top of Trowa’s as they circled his waist. Once he saw that Sally was settled, he began. “In order for you to fully understand, I must start when I was eight years old. It was then that I began to realize that I could feel what other people were feeling.” Sally’s eyes went wide at that statement. “You’re an empath?” Quatre nodded. “As I grew older, the ability rapidly grew in strength and range. Soon I was able to tell what an entire city was feeling—but I couldn’t stop it. It took nearly three years of constant work, but I finally was able to create mental shields around myself that allowed me to see what people were feeling but at the same time keep them separate from my own.” “A…city?” “He’s not exaggerating,” Trowa assured her. “If anything, it’s an understatement.” Sally forced herself past that mental hiccup—she’d never even heard of a range like that before—and went back to trying to understand what was being told to her. “When you refer to a shield, do you mean something like a mental glass wall?” She suggested. “That’s actually a very apt description,” Quatre granted, smiling at her. “My ability still grew, however. In fact, I’m not sure if it’s ever stopped growing. The largest development began nearly six months ago when I met Trowa.” <<Er…how much am I allowed to say?>> Trowa’s mouth twitched. <<I’d leave out any details of us shagging each other.>> <<You’re a *lot* of help, lover. Thanks.>> <<No charge.>> When Quatre blinked back into focus, it was to see Sally watching them both carefully. Mentally he applauded her observation abilities. This woman was one sharp cookie. “After a month of knowing each other, I reacted to a situation in such a way that it was unexplainable unless you knew of my abilities. I firmly believed that I could trust Trowa with my secret, and so I told him.” “And then I told him mine,” Trowa stated softly. Sally’s eyes locked onto his face. “Yours?” “Ever since I was eight years old, I had been fighting as well. Only I was fighting to keep people’s thoughts out of my head.” “Telepath,” Sally whispered. “My god, of course. That’s what you two were doing just now. You were talking to each other.” Quatre nodded approvingly. “Yes. How could you tell?” “If I ignored the fact that your mouths weren’t moving, then I could see that your facial expressions would fit perfectly with two people speaking to each other.” <<I really am beginning to like this woman.>> Quatre grinned. <<So am I.>> “Ha! You did it again!” This time Quatre actually started laughing. “You sound so proud of yourself.” “I am!” Sally assured him. “But we’re getting sidetracked. Why would your abilities affect you like this?” “Ah, we’re still getting to that. Trowa?” “One of the reasons why I chose to associate so much with Quatre when I first met him was because I couldn’t hear him.” Trowa could see her puzzled expression and hear a baffled ‘what?’ echoing around in her head so he tried to elaborate. “I’ve been quiet most of my life simply because it was boring talking to people. I heard everything twice—mentally and physically. But from the beginning I couldn’t hear Quatre. I wanted to know why. And…well, it was a relief to be able to talk to at least one person without hearing everything in duplicate. After he told me of his ability, I realized it was because of his own shields that I couldn’t hear him. And it was…a disappointment because by this point he was the one person that I *did* want to hear.” “When Trowa confessed that wish to me,” Quatre continued smoothly, “I realized what my own shields were doing. They were cutting me off from him. After talking it over, I decided to alter my shields to include him.” “This worked as a benefit in two ways,” Trowa was gratified to ‘hear’ that the doctor wasn’t thinking about what they were saying yet; she was simply processing everything. “One, I could hear him easily. And two, his shields were much stronger than mine ever were. By extending his barriers to include me, I was shielded as well. And I learned by studying them how to strengthen my own.” “In theory, what we did should not have crippled us.” Quatre sighed, eyes falling closed for a moment. “But…over time, it became more than an extension to include each other.” “What changed it?” Sally whispered. “We fell in love,” Quatre replied softly. “I think, in our desire to become as close as possible, we unconsciously altered our shields even more—until we were each other’s focal point.” “When Quatre left, his shields crumbled.” Trowa hugged him hard for a moment, not liking that he was right in his guesswork. “Without the keystone there to build them on—me, in other words—he wasn’t able to put any defenses up at all. Everything that everyone felt around him hit him without any buffer. I’m surprised he lasted three days under that kind of assault. Especially in a city this crowded.” “Why were you not as affected?” Sally asked, taking in his more rested state. “I live on a ranch.” “Ah. Not as many people.” Well, that made perfect sense to her. He nodded. “Okay. Second question. How can Quatre hear you?” Quatre blinked. He’d never even questioned that ability. “I put my thoughts into him.” Trowa said this as if he was saying that there was a possibility it might rain tomorrow. Sally’s eyes bugged out. “Trowa, there have been two recorded cases of telepaths being able to put a message into someone else’s head. *Two*. And it required a great deal of effort when they did it! I’ve been watching both of you for the past fifteen minutes, and I can see that it takes no effort at all for you.” Trowa considered this. “It’s easy.” “You’re very possibly the strongest telepath in recorded history,” she muttered to herself. /I wonder if Quatre is as strong as Trowa? He certainly can’t be considered ‘weak’ by any means, but Trowa claimed his shields weren’t as strong as Quatre’s so the blond might actually be stronger…/ “He is,” Trowa told her. Sally jerked upright in her chair. “You heard that?” “Clearly. And you’re right, he is stronger than me.” Quatre was shaking his head. “No, you’re just as strong. But I’ve been practicing with my abilities for years while you tried to shut yours down.” “That would make a difference,” Sally allowed. “Third question. Quatre, why did it hurt you so badly when I touched you?” “Bare skin amplifies what you’re feeling or thinking,” he explained patiently. “Or I should say, it bypasses our shields completely. When you touched me, it’s as if you turned up your emotions to the boiling point.” Sally winced. “Sorry. Does wearing gloves help?” “Normally, when I’m in control, it just means that I see emotions much more clearly. You caught me when I had no control at all. But yes, a cloth barrier of some sort helps tremendously.” Sally made a mental note to keep a pair of gloves handy, just in case. “Alright. I now understand the situation. What do you need me to do?” “Apparently it’s a bad idea to separate us,” Quatre was smiling up at Trowa over his shoulder ruefully as he said this. “For now, let us just stay in the same room and give us a few hours of uninterrupted peace to recuperate. We still have to figure out the full extent of how our shields changed before we can really make any decisions on what to do next.” “I can do that,” Sally told them firmly. “But I think the middle of a hospital is a bad place for you both right now. You won’t get any peace here. I’ve got a good friend who lives outside the city, and I can guarantee you will get nothing but quiet there. Are you willing to move?” “We don’t want to impose—” <<Quatre, hush.>> “Yes. We’ll need his clothes.” “Right.” Sally gave him a wink. “One thing more before we get things moving. Who can I trust to speak to about this?” “My sister Iria, Rashid, and Abdul.” Quatre cocked a brow at Trowa. “No one in my family knows the full story,” Trowa told Sally thoughtfully. “But you can tell the gist of it to my sister Catherine right now. My parents won’t be home for the next few weeks.” “Then I take it that I’ll have to claim patient confidentiality as a defense against Mr. Winner?” Quatre nodded darkly. “I think I’ll eventually have to tell him something about this—but not right now. I want to have a firmer understanding of everything first.” “That’s fine. Now, let me call Wufei.” + Some two hours later, Trowa guided a sleepy Quatre by the elbows into a sprawling house tucked into the mountains surrounding LA. A trim Chinese man was waiting for them by the door of a sprawling two story house, face dispassionate. Trowa tuned in on the man, a little surprised that he needed to bring so much focus onto him in order to hear something. A mind that strong and controlled was rare. /…first time she’s brought patients here. They look alright, although the blond’s about to fall asleep on his feet./ “This way.” Trowa nodded, half-carrying his burden through the door as he followed his host down a dim hallway and into a guest bedroom. The room was already prepared for them, the huge four poster bed turned down and a single lamp near the bed turned onto its lowest setting. Trowa settled Quatre onto it, arranging him sideways and snatching his shoes off before covering him with a blanket. Quatre’s head hadn’t even hit the pillow before he was out like a light. “The bathroom is across the hall,” Wufei offered quietly. “Don’t hesitate to wake me if you need something.” “We’ll be fine,” Trowa assured him. “Thank you for doing this.” Something that might have been a smile crossed his face before Wufei bowed himself out, closing the door behind him. Trowa stripped down to boxers and a t-shirt and gratefully sank into the bed, barely managing to spoon up behind his lover before falling fast asleep. ~*~*~*~
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