|
"Apres La Guerre "Written By: Waterliliylf Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. All rights
remain with Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. No profit being
made here. Rating: R Warnings: Duo POV, angst, sap, humor Pairings: eventual 1x2 Summary: Post War Fic, mostly Duo POV set seven
years after the end of the War and absolutely oozing angst and sap
and humour and confusiona and Duo-suffering.. Long 1x2 get together
fic "Apres La Guerre "
Chapter 90: 03 – 04: After a doctor had bravely overridden Trowa's protests
that he just had a couple of scratches and didn't need any medical
attention, they were left in the room that had once been theirs;
Quatre lying on the bed, with his freshly-bandaged ankle propped on
a pillow and Trowa sitting in a chair by his bedside, and breakfast
laid out on a small table. He looked terrible, his skin waxy-pale except for the
shadows under his eyes and the mottled bruising on his chest. Trowa
had seen that when the robe gaped open, and had wanted to kill Barton
all over again. Slowly, this time. There'd been a fucking battle on the estate, and he'd
slept through it. It was beyond scary when he let himself think about
it. He'd shot Barton; he remembered that, and then time had suddenly
fast-forwarded nearly twenty-four hours later with Quatre pressing
him to eat something, and talking about Zechs getting shot in Florence,
and Preventers declaring martial law on L4, and he hadn't really cared
about any of it. Something seriously weird going on there. Just to shut Quat up, he'd drunk a glass of orange juice,
and eaten a triangle of toast, and realised halfway through that he
was starving and wolfed down the whole plateful before he could stop
himself. 'Better?' Quatre was watching him, with an odd expression
on his face. 'Yeah,' Trowa muttered. A lie, obviously; never good
to put a large quantity of food in an empty stomach, and the acid
in the juice wasn't helping. He wanted to throw up. Quatre shook his head. 'The doctor left pills for you.
I think you should you take them.' 'I don't need them.' 'He said you're suffering from severe dehydration,'
Quatre said quietly. 'I think you do need them. Tro, do you remember
anything of what happened after you shot Barton?' He started to answer and then remembered something.
'You kissed me. What else was there?' 'There was….something. I don't really know. I think
you flashed back, a little, to before the war. You were talking about…the
other Trowa Barton.' 'I don't remember that,' Trowa said uneasily. 'Did I…..
do anything?' Quatre reached out, and placed his right hand, very
precisely, over Trowa's heart. 'You never talk about what happened
with him. You never let yourself think about it. Last night, I …felt
it. All of it.' His voice broke. 'So much pain, Trowa. I don't think
you really knew what you were doing, where you were.' Trowa shifted in his chair. 'I managed OK.' 'Of course you did. You always do.' He hesitated, moving
his hand in little circles around Trowa's chest. 'I was scared.' 'You were scared of me?' 'No! I was scared you were going to… to hurt yourself.' 'I don't remember any of that.' He felt very cold, inside,
even with Quatre touching him. It had to be true, if Quat had felt
that from him. 'I don't feel like that now, do I?' 'No.' 'Well, then.' Subject closed. He took Quatre's hand
in his own, carefully, and removed it. Quatre flinched a little, but didn't object. 'The doctor left you pills too,' Trowa said abruptly.
'You should take a couple.' 'I'm all right.' 'Quatre.' Trowa rubbed one hand across his eyes. He
couldn't still be tired, surely. 'Is this some stupid way to punish
yourself?' It always came down, in the end, to guilt and remorse and
atonement. Quatre's mouth twisted. 'I'd deserve it, wouldn't I?
But no. I just don't want to take any more drugs.' That made sense, given what he'd been through. It was
stupid as he was obviously hurting. He'd been cutting himself again,
too. The doctor had rolled up one sleeve to give him an injection
and Trowa had seen the little tracery of scars on his left arm, some
barely scabbed over. 'What happens now?' Quatre asked. Trowa just shrugged, because he didn't really know.
'We wait, I suppose. You don't have to worry. You can say it was a
plan all along; that you were a deep-cover agent for Preventers. They're
not going to say otherwise. This way, they actually come out with
a bit of credit. Seriously, what else are they going to do? Try to
arrest you? No way would anyone on this colony let that happen. Not
unless they want to start another damn war.' Barton was an acceptable villain by any standards; he
was bitter and obsessed with revenge and generally freaky. By default,
that meant Quatre got to be the hero. Trowa wasn't sure where he came
into all of it; probably still top of the Preventers' Most Wanted
list. He'd killed the guy who'd threatened to unleash a global war.
He might get a bit of credit for that. Enough not to be locked up
anyway. Maybe. He couldn't bring himself to care much, one way or
the other. Quatre nodded, not looking overly interested. Of course,
he'd probably been planning that all along, just in case he'd survived.
There were always contingency plans and best/worst case scenarios
and calculations. He had a mind laid out like a chessboard. Trowa couldn't bring himself to be angry, quite. Not
yet. They'd both come too close to dying. 'Une won't like it,' Quatre said finally. 'Is that not a good thing?' The blond almost smiled, but then his mouth tensed again.
'Trowa. I didn't mean about that. I meant about us.' 'No.' He said it more harshly than he'd meant, perhaps.
Or perhaps not. 'That's over.' Like any master chess-player, Quatre took defeats in
his stride, already focussing on to the next move. Because he'd always
been a romantic, he probably saw Trowa as his white knight. Knight
to L4. 'You're here. You came for me.' 'No. I told Barton the truth. I came for him.' From Quatre's pained gasp, he actually believed that. 'Please, will you at least let me explain?' 'There's nothing you can say.' Quatre, quite naturally, set out to prove him wrong. 'At the start, it was an adventure,' he said, a little
haltingly, as if he expected Trowa to storm out or tell him to stop.
'I know that sounds stupid, but it's true. I was so tired of being
me, of having to be perfect, all the time.' Trowa shook his head, remembering something Duo had
once said. That if Quatre didn't spend 99% of his life trying to please
everyone, then maybe he wouldn't lose it so spectacularly when he
did break out of his perfect mould. 'It was …fun,' Quatre elaborated. 'I know it was
all a bit silly, but we raised a lot of money for charity, and wrote
petitions and things to the ESUN protesting about some of their policies
and I liked being part of a group. Working for something.' 'Yeah,' Trowa said heavily. 'You always did have to
have a cause. The war, taking over WEI. Me.' 'No,' Quatre said firmly. 'No! You were never that.' Trowa shrugged that off. Everything in Quatre's life,
at some level, was a problem for him to solve. 'Whatever. So you had
this fun little secret club. I knew all about that. What happened
then?' 'About six months ago, it all changed. We'd started
to communicate with similar groups on the other colonies, on Earth
even, some of them. From the beginning, we'd said we were totally
opposed to violence, under any circumstances, but then people started
saying that maybe we needed to change tactics. To be more…assertive
about what we wanted. I couldn't work out what had changed, at first.' 'Barton.' Trowa nodded. 'The Preventers have been watching
him for years. Did you know that?' Quatre nodded. 'They were watching me too. They weren't
very good, though.' 'Well, you had a couple of good teachers.' He'd known
about the Preventer surveillance, naturally. Quatre was…who he
was. Of course the ESUN was going to keep tabs on him. Try to. 'So. You knew something else was going on. It didn't
occur to you to tell someone?' 'I didn't know who to tell. It was all…very uncertain
to begin with. Nobody really knew what was going on. And there was
nothing definite, not at the beginning. I don't know. Nobody was talking
about it, really. It was all very odd. I tried to find out what exactly
was happening. That was the first time Barton contacted me. About
six months ago.' 'That long?' Trowa asked, appalled. He'd known –
worked out – guessed a lot of it already, but he'd somehow assumed
Barton was a more recent factor in the equation. 'He said he'd kill you,' Quatre said tightly. 'He almost
did. That party we had at home, last October. When you stopped Aarif
from shooting that night. You assumed he was there to kill me, but
he wasn't.' 'He was just a kid.' Trowa said, sickened, remembering
that night. It had been one of those interminable dinner parties
that Quatre was expected to hold every so often, for family and business
contacts and people who'd known his parents. An endless parade of
courses, garnished with gossipy small talk, and snide remarks from
Quatre's sisters, and the occasional half-heard pointed comment about
why Quatre Winner's bodyguard was permitted to sit at the dining table. 'Do you know, I spent about ten minutes talking to my
cousin Zara… and I thought of twenty different ways to kill her?
Isn't that awful?' Quatre pulled a face. 'She was trying to set me up with
one of her friends. I know her a little actually; Delphine Carrick.
She used to come here for tea parties when I was little. She's nice.' 'Delphine short for Delphinium?' Trowa had teased. 'Maybe
a good omen. Maybe you should date her; you'll need some suitable
girl on your arm if you're serious about running for the L4 Council.' 'You wouldn't mind?' Trowa shrugged. Of course, he minded, but it
was L4, and Quatre couldn't be openly gay, openly in love with a man,
so every now and then he gave in to his sisters' nagging and escorted
a suitable young lady somewhere or other. 'Mind that you bring someone
who isn't me to some stultifyingly boring function every now and then?
Nah, I can live with it. Once you don't start getting curious about
the other side.' 'The only person I've ever been curious about in my
whole life is you,' Quatre had said sincerely. 'How serious?' 'Insatiably. Let me show you,' Quatre stepped into his arms; Trowa's fingers lingered on the knot in his tie before slipping a couple of buttons undone and sliding under his shirt to stroke warm skin. Quatre had made a faint, very faint, protest about someone coming out, and Trowa had kissed him. Everyone in the dining room was occupied with tea and
sweets and scandal, and they'd hear if someone did decide to come
out. When one of the terrace doors did slide open, Trowa
had been more irritated than anything. He knew the boy; Aarif or something
like that. He was dating one of Quatre's nieces. Dating by L4 standards,
which meant he could escort her to decorous, well-chaperoned parties.
He seemed a nice enough kid. He hesitated and then stepped outside. Damn. Trowa gave
Quatre one last quick kiss, and a whispered promise of just what he
planned to do to him later, when all their guests had left. Quatre had been smiling as he walked toward the boy,
saying something charming. Aarif didn't answer him; didn't smile back.
Trowa still didn't register that there was something wrong until Aarif
walked under one of the lanterns strung along the terrace, and the
soft light shone on something cold and metallic. He'd shoved Quatre out of the way just as the shot sounded
and in that tiny window of time, the boy pulled the trigger again,
and shot himself. He'd been seventeen or so. They hadn't been able to
cover it up, so they'd fabricated a story of mental illness; a disturbed
young boy who'd taken his own life. Quatre had never wanted to talk about it, after, and
that should have been a clear signal that something was seriously
wrong. He always needed to know everything, but he'd never wanted
to talk about Bahiya's family-approved first boyfriend pulling a gun
on him. 'Oh, fuck.' Trowa said, sickened. 'It was a warning,' Quatre said. 'Barton wanted to show
me that no one was safe, that I couldn't trust anyone. Anyone at all,'
he repeated sadly. 'Sarab?' Quatre shook his head. 'He's dead. He killed himself
this morning. At least, I think it was suicide. Trowa.' His voice
broke. 'Yasmina's dead. Barton's men killed her. He made me watch
a film of her dying.' She'd been Quatre's favourite sister; she'd always been
nice to Trowa, even teased the two of them gently sometimes. He didn't
bother saying anything, just took one of Quatre's hands in his, knowing
Quatre would feel his sorrow. 'Every time I tried to tell someone, something awful
happened. He kept threatening you, and Duo. I was in too deep by that
point, but I thought I could somehow keep you two out of it; make
it look like we weren't together any more.' 'You really thought he'd fall for that?' 'Not really, but I had to do something. I knew
it probably wouldn't work, but it was better than nothing. Then I
started to find out what Barton was really planning but by then I
was being watched. All the time. I'd seen in the papers that Heero
was coming to L4 on a case, and I thought I could somehow pass him
a message.' 'That's why you faked that suicide attempt?' 'Yes. Of course. I knew Duo would see it on the news,
and I guessed he'd ask Heero to visit me. It didn't work though. I
was on so many painkillers and he thought I was raving about old memories
from the war. And Barton was furious. That's when he killed Daphne
and Faisal and Badahur; a punishment for me stepping out of line.' Trowa almost put out a hand to touch him, and then pulled
back. 'What the hell happened there? We could never work it out. Was
it Sarab?' 'Oh.' Quatre blinked. 'It was, yes. Of course, he knew
where we were; when we were scheduled to leave Delphine's parents'
house. He was waiting for us on the main road. It was…horrible.' Trowa gently squeezed the hand he was still holding.
'I'm sorry.' He'd known them all. The two Maguanacs, and the girl
who'd agreed to marry Quatre and died because of it. He'd liked her. 'Yes. It wasn't Sarab's fault, really. Barton threatened
Maysoon, and she was pregnant. Anyway. I think you know some of what
happened after that.' 'We found that little carving of Sandrock in the apartment.' Quatre shuddered. 'That place! I never knew there were
places like that on L4. There were children picking through garbage,
and rats, and it was so filthy, all of it. There wasn't even
running water. I thought I was back fighting the war, at first. I
thought it was L2. I'd been given some sort of drugs. Then Kyle told
me it was L4. I didn't believe him until…oh. Is he dead? Trowa nodded. 'I thought they probably killed him but I didn't see
it. He tried to help me.' 'He did.' Trowa tightened his grasp on Quatre's fingers.
He'd been to that place, with Duo and Heero, the morning after. Even
in daylight, he hadn't been able to imagine Quatre somewhere like
that. Hadn't wanted to imagine it. If he'd been there at night, alone
and injured; if the boy hadn't offered him a place to shelter…Trowa
didn't want to imagine that either. 'And now he's dead,' Quatre said sadly. There was nothing, really, that Trowa could say to that.
'How did you get there in the first place? We never worked that out.' 'Oh. They wanted me to escape. They wanted me to contact
you, and I refused. I kept refusing to involve you. It was ridiculous;
they left my door open and made sure there was no one in the room
next door, just a computer and a phone. It was so obvious; a child
would have noticed. Instead, I jumped through a window. That's where
I hurt my ankle.' Trowa nodded; Quatre'd never really been the jumping-through-windows
type. 'How high?' 'Two storeys,' Quatre said with a hint of pride. 'Anyway,
they hadn't been expecting that. I stole a motorbike and just drove
as fast as I could. I thought they were OZ; some new battalion. I
didn't recognise the uniforms. I don't know what I thought, really.
Then I hid the bike and tried to find an internet café and
a man tried to, well, hurt me. I had to kill him.' 'We found the body.' Quatre nodded. 'I didn't have time to hide him. Then
I met Kyle and he lent me a computer. That was when I mailed you.
That was what they'd wanted, all along. I'd refused, before. Barton
wanted you back here. I think was always about that, really. He blames
you for his son's death. It's all about revenge.' Trowa nodded. He hadn't even been the one to kill the
man whose name he'd stolen, but he would have, if he'd had a chance.
Is someone else hadn't been slightly quicker. 'He was insane, wasn't
he?' 'I think so. All those years, plotting this. He kept
raving about Heero Yuy, the first one, and Treize Khushrenada, and
Zechs, even. And us, how we'd foiled the first Operation Meteor. I
think he just wanted us all to suffer for what we'd done to him. After
they found me in that apartment, they drugged me. I don't know what
they gave me, but I had to watch you die, over and over and even thought
I knew that it couldn't be real, it felt real.' He took a deep
breath, eyes absurdly blue with unshed tears. 'I met Barton for the
first time, after that. I'd just spoken to him on the phone before
that. He had a film of our new R and D building, being blown up. He
said, the next time, there wouldn't be a warning to evacuate. Just
an explosion.' 'What exactly did he want you to do?' 'He wanted you and Duo. He wanted me to be a figurehead
for colonial independence. I think he just wanted lots of people to
suffer, more than anything, and you especially.' His clutch on Trowa's
hand tightened suddenly. 'That's why I told Une I thought you were involved in
abducting me. I thought if you were arrested, on Earth, you'd be safe
from him.' 'Oh. Partly. Barton made me set the company up a few
months ago. WEI has so many subsidiaries, he thought no one would
notice a new one. It was a way to channel funds into L3 that looked
legitimate. I thought someone would notice the name before and realise
what was going on.' 'Quatre,' Trowa said a little helplessly. 'You really
have to realise that not everyone in the universe is as clever as
you. not that many people even know what my real name is.' 'I know. It was just something I thought I could do
without Barton noticing. I'm sorry,' he said suddenly. 'So sorry about
sending Preventers after you.' 'Yeah.' Trowa let him go, carefully, and sat back in
his chair. Of course he was sorry. He always was, after. 'Une believed
I was involved because she saw that file. Of what I did to you.' 'She was never meant to,' Quatre said in a quick, breathless
rush. 'No one was meant to. Ever. I thought it was destroyed.' 'Why did you have it in the first place?' Quatre scrambled to sit up, and jarred his ankle, and
winced. Anyone else would have sworn. 'I know. It was stupid. I was
trying, very hard, to get you to leave me, and it wasn't working.
I was trying to save you. It was a …last ditch scenario, really.
I thought if I needed to, I could show you the photographs, and you'd
realise there was a problem, and you'd leave…I'm sorry.' 'Save me?' Trowa repeated, the words thick and bitter
and full of pain. 'Like that? By making me hurt you?' He stood up,
very deliberately not looking at the man on the bed. 'Quatre. I would have rather died a hundred times than
go through that.' When he walked away, he didn't look back. ~ * ~ |
