28 May 2001
3+4 in this part.
No citrus, its just there, and as one person put it, very bluntly. *g*
Angels, lend me your might
Forfeit all my lives to get just one right
All those colors long since faded
All our smiles are confiscated
Never did we know what the future would hold,
or that we'd be bought and sold,
When we were innocent.
Fuel: Innocent
Trowa Barton openly swore as a constant high pitched double beep shattered a particularly blissful night of sleep. Slowly, sleep-heavy eyelids drifted open and revealed two intense green eyes. A double beep meant that the call was on a personal channel.
He should probably answer it.
Probably.
Yawning, he ran a hand through his lover's mop of blonde hair. "Quatre?"
The man curled up beside Trowa groaned tiredly as if trying to will the offending device to explode. The previous day had been more than taxing for the blonde man. It had started with a morning of trade negotiations between the colonies and earth, and then followed by trying to iron out labor disputes four weeks old. In essence, Quatre Rabba Winner, head of Winner Enterprises, was completely exhausted.
"What do you say we hide out in a cave in Tibet for a few years," Quatre murmured hopefully.
An amused smirk quirked Trowa's lips at hearing the old familiar line.
The beeping continued.
Quatre sighed deeply against his partner's chest before pushing himself away from the warmth and comfort his heart craved. Lacking the grace and poise most associated with the nineteen year old Winner, he rolled out of bed almost getting caught in the covers.
"Cold," he mumbled, shivering violently as his bare feet touched the frigid tile floor and tugging hard at one of the comforters in an attempt to dislodge it from under the tall brunet. In turn, Trowa laughed and rolled to the other side of the full bed, relinquishing control of the fluffy sky blue blanket.
"Coming," Quatre called out as he wrapped the cloth tightly around himself, mind trying to will away the chill creeping into his body. "Open channel." Pale blue eyes squinted as an eerie liquid crystal glow filled the large room.
"Wow Quatre, nice look for you."
The blonde man reached 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."
The young head of Winner Enterprises stared intently at the view screen, his heart clenching in response to his friend's forced smile, exhausted eyes, and deadpanned words. "You sound tired. What's wrong?"
"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 though chestnut bangs.
"And," Quatre made the word a statement. It was the same keen intuition at work that had made him an excellent negotiator not only for resources but also for peace after the war.
"She got drugged," Duo let out a deep sigh, the normally talkative man seeming at a loss for words "And, her name's Blair Winner. I thought I'd drop you a line to see if she was one of your brood." A small smirk quirked his lips as he spoke the last word.
Quatre visibly started almost dropping the only material covering his body. "Blair?" he whispered breathlessly, disbelief and hope woven tightly into the word. Hurt mingled with other old emotions as they ran across his features, transforming one of the most influential men alive into the kind-hearted boy that circumstance had forced to become a soldier that hated to kill.
"She's my sister."
"What?" violet eyes widened slightly.
The blonde man nodded numbly. "I think she may be my sister..."
Duo leaned back, slumping into a chair as he ran his hands over his face, "Welcome to yet another episode of as the colony turns... You sure she's your sister? You two look nothing alike. "
"I don't know," Quatre replied softly, 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 and detached even to his own ears.
The braided man nodded in response as a slightly dazed light settled into his exhausted eyes. "Sure thing. When you get here just go to the Sweeper compound and ask for me, alright?"
"Thank you, my friend. I will. Duo?"
"Yeah?"
"H...how is she?"
Duo let out a low breath as Quatre watched the real Duo Maxwell emerge from behind the happy masks. Violet eyes darkened and became harder, but not harsh, just painfully old. When he spoke again his voice had lowered slightly, more even and more intense.
"I don't know, you're the empath remember? On looks alone though, she looks like she's about ready to snap. Been livin' hard for too long would be my guess." Duo shrugged sadly, "I donno."
Quatre nodded and smiled, his heart going out to his long time friend. After the war had been messy for the five-gundam pilots, each having to deal with his own demons while trying to learn the art of living and not just surviving. It was ironic in a way. Duo, the one who had laughed and kept everyone's spirits up, had been the last of them to finally begin to heal.
That had only been two years ago.
"I'll be there shortly. Take care, and get some sleep."
In the instant it took for Duo to flash a cheeky grin and thumbs up, the masks of easygoing sarcasm had resurrected themselves. "I'll give it a try. Later Quat." With that said a green "Transmission complete" screen consumed the braided man's image and cast the room into near total darkness.
"What's up?"
Quatre jumped, heart skipping a beat as his already frayed mind sparked a nervous jitter throughout his tensed body. The blonde man closed his eyes tightly, focusing all his attention on trying to slow his heart beat and even out his breathing.
"Hey," the word was soft and caring, showing more emotion than Trowa could have ever conceived expressing only a few short years before. The Winner heir found himself being turned around gently to face his lover taking great comfort in the hand that lightly held his upper arm and the warm caress that slid from his cheek to neck.
"Talk to me, Quatre."
"Have I ever told you about Blair?"
Trowa shook his head no.
Taking a deep sigh, the young Winner stepped forward, pressing his cool forehead into the warmth of his partner's shoulder.
* * *
The lanky eight-year-old boy plopped unceremoniously onto the purple comforter covered bed. Blue eyes watched the chubby longhaired girl moved around the room who, every now and then, would pause 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 every time 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," 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 blue 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 of his own. The war lasted only a few minutes yet both sides were reduced to tears and giggles.
"Oi, Quatty, I'm gonna miss you."
"Promise me you'll write," Blue eyes locked with blue for an intense moment.
"Promise. 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.
* * *
"She's the youngest of my sisters, really only a year or so older than I. As children we were inseparable, most people treated us as twins to an extent. She had a lot of fire in her."
"Not a pacifist?"
Quatre laughed, the outburst almost sounding bitter and jaded. Almost, but not quite. Trowa's eyes widened as he wrapped his arms even tighter around his lover. It had been a long time since the blonde man had been pushed emotionally close to the edge or fell into one of the many flavors of depression that seemed to forever follow the ex-pilots.
It was in that moment that Trowa Barton realized how much this sister meant to Quatre.
It was in that moment that he cursed the dead senior Winner for the millionth time. Quatre's father had been a harsh man, his heart and mind locked into a strange vision of pacifism that had gripped many a great mind. It was that ideal for which he had lived and eventually died for. It was that ideal that had justified disowning Quatre, his only son, when the boy had decided to fight for his own set of morals and ideals.
"I asked him once when she was coming back. He got very quiet and very mad and told me to never say her name again."
It was that ideal that had let the elder Winner damn yet another one of his children because she had not fit into his mold of perfection.
"Trowa?"
"Hm?"
"Duo may have found her. I...I think she's hurting Trowa."
The brunet smiled, a bare turn of his lips before pressing a kiss into fine blonde hair, "When do we leave?"
Quatre laughed softly. This time the sound was true and kind as he pulled away slightly from the light embrace. What little light there was in the room danced in the tears that had silently slipped down his pale cheeks. "Thank you, Trowa."
Green eyes caught blue before the taller man replied with a comfortable ease that only time and trust can build. "I love you too."
End part 3
Erin Johnson
Please send comments to: johnsoel@purdue.edu