They painted up your secrets
And the least they ever gave you
Was the most you ever knew.
And I wonder where these dreams go
When the world gets in your way
And they try so hard to reach you
But you're falling anyway.
Goo-Goo Dolls: "Acoustic #3"
Duo looked up from the steel sink, watching the Hawaiian shirt clad man's movements closely.
"Her name is Blair. Know her?" he asked absently, wringing out the thoroughly soaked green dishtowel. Howard nodded slowly, pushing the bridge of his ever-present sunglasses down his nose, carefully studying Blair with the concerned eyes of an old friend.
"Winner. Blair Winner."
Duo froze, a quiet shock filling him. Surely not.
"As in a relation to Quatre, Winner?" he asked, giving the heavy cloth one last squeeze before moving back to the island, all the while his eyes firmly fixed on the ex-scientist.
"Dunno," Howard sighed as his mind slipped into old memories accompanied by an expression that Duo could not even begin to comprehend.
"I'll give Quat a call here in a few hours and ask him if he knows her or something," the braided man replied, gently running the moist terrycloth over lips framed with faded creases that whispered of late nights of laughter long since past. Slowly the towel drifted to her forehead where more recent lines, that would pull her brow down into a frown, bled into dark circles that spoke of restless nights and living hard.
She looks like I did after the war.
"She's going to self destruct if she keeps living like this." Howard turned to leave the room and scoffed softly at the younger man's remark.
"I'm surprised she's still alive," he paused and then shook his head, "I'm gonna see if I can dig up some extra clothing for her. You get her cleaned up." Duo watched the brightly printed shirt disappear through the doorway, his head tilted to one side, confusion plainly etched on his face. Howard was not one to react strongly to anything, yet he was reacting very strongly to this woman. The braided man shook the thought off and returned his concerned violet gaze downwards again to rest on the catalyst of this strange turn of events.
"Lady, you and I are going to have a long talk when you wake up."
Trowa openly swore as the insistent beeping that was the COM system shattered a particularly blissful night of sleep. A blonde angel groaned and buried his head into his lover's bare chest, willing the infernal device to explode into a million pieces.
The beeping continued.
Quatre sighed deeply against hard muscles before pushing himself away from Trowa's warm body, shivering violently as his bare feet touched cool tile. Tugging hard, he dislodged a comforter from under the tall brunet and wrapped it around his slight form.
"Coming," he murmured, pale blue eyes squinting as an eerie liquid crystal glow filled the room.
"Wow, Quatre, nice look for you." The blonde slipped a pale hand out from underneath the warm blanket to his eyes in an attempt to rub the sleep from them.
"Duo?" Quatre asked, brows drawing together, mind struggling to surface from under the heavy cloak of sleep.
"The one and only."
Sandrock's pilot stared intently at the view screen, his heart clenching in response to his friend's forced smile, tired eyes, and dead panned words.
"You sound tired. What's the matter?"
"Nothing much. Been up for about twenty hours straight. Went out raving. Met a girl. Got jumped" his voice trailed off as he ran a hand through chestnut bangs.
"And." The blonde intuitively made the word a statement.
"She got drugged," Duo chewed on the inside of his lip the next sentence coming in a rush, "Do you have any relatives by the name of Blair Winner?"
Quatre visibly started and almost dropped the only material covering his body.
"Blair?" he whispered breathlessly, disbelief and hope woven tightly into the name. Duo nodded slowly.
"She's my sister." The braided pilot openly blinked, mouth hanging slack for a brief moment, completely caught off guard by the fairer man's answer.
Sister?
"You look nothing alike, are you sure?" Duo asked calmly while his mind reeled.
"Positive," Quatre replied numbly, thoughts racing, promises long ago broken echoing in his ears. "Could you please try and keep her there until I can arrange for a transport? It should only take a few hours." His voice sounded distant even to his own ears. Duo nodded slowly in response, the younger man's words yet again surprising him.
"Sure thing, Quat. When you get here just go to the sweepers compound and ask for me. Alright?"
"Thank you, my friend, I will. Quatre out." The blonde man stared at the green "transmission complete" screen, desperately trying to sort out the newly uncovered well of emotions he had long ago buried.
"Quatre?" In response to his name, the man turned to face his lover. Strong fingers reached out and delicately brushed away pale bangs from blue eyes.
"What's wrong, little one?" Trowa asked softly as the slighter pilot cleared the distance between them and wrapped his arms tightly around his green-eyed partner. Long fingers gently slipped into short blonde hair as others traced lazy circles on Quatre's back in an attempt to ease away the tension that had manifested there.
"Blair is the youngest of my sisters, only a year older than I really. When we where little, everyone treated us like twins. But because I was the only boy..." Quatre's voice trailed off as he rested his head in the hallow of his lover's neck.
"They favored you over her," Trowa finished for him.
"Hai. And she was so different. So out going, so alive. She had a fire in her spirit."
"She wasn't a pacifist."
"No, she wasn't," Quatre laughed sadly as a wave of memories washed over him.
The lanky blonde eight-year-old plopped unceremoniously onto the purple comforter covered bed. Blue eyes watched the chubby longhaired girl move around the room who every now and then paused to shove a piece of clothing or personal item into a large suitcase. Long frizzy curls rebelliously bounced in the air, creating an unearthly halo around her head everytime she passed the room's only window.
"I don't want you to go," his soft, almost timid voice lazily floated in the sun-warmed air. The older sibling stopped her buzz of movement, fingers absently playing with the hem of her white shirt.
"What father says, I must do," she sang the learned response automatically. "The training I'll be getting from the school will," she paused and tilted her head to one side, searching for the words their father had repeated to her so many times in the last month, "Will quell my wild spirit." Blair grinned impishly, a mischievous innocent light filling her dark eyes. "Whatever that means," she said, tossing a long peach skirt at her little brother's head. Quatre laughed as he easily avoided the airborne garment, only to be assaulted by tickling fingers. He yelped in surprise and quickly launched an attack all his own. The war lasted only a few minutes yet both sides were reduced to tears and giggles.
"Oi, Quaty, I'm gonna miss you."
"Promise me you'll write." Blue eyes locked with brown for an intense moment.
"Hai. Only if you do to," Blair replied as she reached out and tweaked the blonde boy's nose playfully, rekindling the battle as another chorus of easy laughter filled the room.
The brunet listened to his partner intently, pitying a girl he had never met.
"She never wrote?" Quatre sighed softly at the question.
"I don't know. I asked father once when she was coming back and he became furious with me, saying that Blair was no daughter of his."
"He disowned her," the Heavy Arms pilot said what his lover could not. The shorter man nodded with the barest of movements, tears welling in his kind eyes. Trowa inwardly cursed the elder Winner for the hundredth time in his life. He was not one to condemn the dead, however he had made an exception for the man who had caused not only one but two of his children so much pain because their nature did not fit into his mold of "perfection."
His lover's trembling broke through Trowa's brooding thoughts, his heart breaking as he watched salty droplets slide down pale skin. Gently, he gathered Quatre up in a tight embrace, whispering meaningless words of comfort into his pale hair.
"She's on L2 with Duo," the words cracked tumbling through the fairer pilot's emotion constricted throat as he pulled away slightly from the embrace.
"I have to go, Trowa." In response, the Heavy Arms pilot shook his head and raised two fingers to Quatre's soft lips.
"No love, we have to go," a whisper of a smile faintly lit wet blue eyes, their owner silently thanking Allah for the green eyed pilot he cherished so much.
Erin Johnson
Please send comments to: johnsoel@purdue.edu