13-Jul-2004
Title: Echoes and Postscripts, No. 1: Knotted Chord
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: R
Warnings: adult situations, humor, voyeurism
Disclaimer: Repeat after me, class: I do not own, I make no money, I am doing this purely to boost the fandom. Honest!
Archived: Sweetlysour & GWA
Notes: Ah, well, and I'd sworn it'd never happen. This is actually a sort of side-story to Drums of Heaven, except that it occurs after the end of the story. It's not necessarily in direct chronological movement, as you'll see, and I don't know whether I'll do any others. Expect that if I do, they'll be pretty far and few between, because I don't really want to get into the whole thing. Besides, I still have TWT and Tet waiting, but this plunnie's been begging for air for about two weeks now.
And the darkness still has work to do
The knotted chord's untying
--- Peter Gabriel
Dear Enny:
The young man took a breath, frowned, and carefully hit the backspace key until the line was blank.
Hey, Enny.
Jeet smiled to himself, and leaned over the keyboard, his fingers poised. Hesitantly he typed out, index finger alternating with index finger, a laborious message, if short.
Got job at school bookstore. Trey
Jeet frowned, and hit the backspace button several times.
Trowa says hello. We might get a cat.
He ran a hand through his bleached hair, scowling at the rough feeling of the coarse hairs under his hand. Jeet exhaled sharply, blowing the bangs out of his face, and reviewed the email. Shrugging, he added what he was really thinking, figuring if anyone would understand, it would be Enny.
I miss you. When are you coming to visit?
Jeet leaned back, satisfied, and clicked on 'send'. The screen didn't change, and he frowned, clicking a few more times. Sighing, he got up, and wandered down the hall to Trowa's room.
"Hey, Trey..." He tapped lightly. "I... uh... the email's not working."
The door didn't open, and for a second, Jeet wasn't sure Trowa was even home. Then Trowa's honey tenor came back with a sleepy reply.
"Did you make sure to enter the address you're sending to?"
"Oh." Jeet rolled his eyes. "Right." He paused, about to say something else, his instincts caught by the hitch, the inflection, something just a little off in Trowa's voice. He hesitated too long, and the moment was past. Jeet sighed, and dropped his hand, padding back down the hallway to his little bedroom.
Sometimes in the middle of the night, Jeet would wake up for no reason he could identify. He'd sit up in bed, unsure, and after a long breath, would turn on the light. His room wasn't much larger than would fit the twin-sized bed and the small desk with its chair. Trowa's room was perhaps a few feet wider, but contained a double bed, a bedside table, and nothing else.
Jeet would get up, uneasy, and head to the kitchen for water, ghosting past Trowa's door on one side, the bathroom on the other. He'd pause, listen, and only once he could hear the deep, even breathing echoing under the door...then, and only then, could he continue to the kitchen. Trowa was in class when Jeet was home, and vice versa, most of the time, but there was something comforting about knowing Trowa came home at night.
Jeet wasn't sure what he'd do if Trowa didn't come home. There was too much that was too new, too unfamiliar, even two months from L2 in time if not distance. There were too many things that surprised Jeet. They had a sofa in the living room; Jeet often found himself running a hand over the armrest, just to make sure it was real. There was a coffee table, and a small vid-screen. Trowa rarely watched television, but Jeet liked to turn it on and watch the news before he left for class in the morning.
The investigation into the Preventers was continuing, but Jeet never mentioned to Trowa that he had been following it. It was his secret; both the fact that he knew, and the fact that he cared – could afford to care – about more than making enough money to pay for food and a cheap motel for the sake of a shower.
The kitchen was barely a closet, but Jeet had his own mug – a Preventers' mug, a gift from Enny – and his own set of chopsticks, from Hito and Day.
Heero and Duo, Jeet amended.
The names were the hardest to adjust to, he'd found. Jeet clicked on the kitchen light, moving to the sink. He turned the tap on a trickle, low enough that the pipes wouldn't groan loudly and wake Trowa. He watched the clean, crisp water pool in the bottom of his blue mug, and pondered the fact that he slept down the hallway from one of the most lethal men in the Earth Sphere.
As always, it was a comfort, not a worry, and for some reason that amused him. Then again, having had his mouth on the dicks of two of the most dangerous men in the Earth Sphere, he figured he was in a relatively rare position. If they hadn't killed him for that, they certainly weren't going to kill him for knowing, or using, their real names.
Jeet sipped at the water, running his fingertips over the metal cabinets, across the surface of the fridge, and around the rim of the sink. When he finished his midnight drink, he set the mug upside down on the drying rack, admiring it for a second. He'd had stuff before, but it was always used, second-hand, chipped. What he had now still wasn't the nicest, but it wasn't second-hand, and that was good enough.
Like every night he woke, Jeet flipped off the kitchen light and walked on cat-soft feet through the tiny living room with its two-person table, down the short hallway back to his room. The colony's streetlights lit the way, turning shadows to pitch and reflecting off the tile floor. A throw rug in the hallway was soft against his bare feet, and once again he paused outside Trowa's door.
That night, though, he could hear the hitch in the breathing, a panting. Trowa sobbed, and Jeet's hand was on the doorknob before he even realized. Holding his breath, he turned it, wincing at the click. He pushed the door open and froze.
Trowa was sitting up in bed, his gun trained on Jeet.
"Hey," Jeet whispered, softly, not moving. "I heard...I thought..."
"I'm fine," Trowa said, but gently, and shoved the gun back under his pillow. "Go back to bed, Jeffrey."
Jeet sighed, hearing the exhaustion in Trowa's voice, and something else – something indefinable, something chipped and cracked and second-hand. He couldn't find the words, so instead he pulled the door gently shut, hearing the click as the tumblers turned and the door caught on the jamb.
He drifted back to bed, but for a long time, he lay awake, wondering why Trowa's voice always reminded him of deep space. Encompassing, grand, cold, somehow cruel, but embracing. When he finally turned off the light, the darkness was Trowa's silence.
"Hey!" Jeet set the phone against his shoulder, and rinsed the pan. Enny's calls were rare. "What's up?"
"I'm on L3," Enny said, laughing. "Sally sent me to escort one of the investigators on the Syndicate case."
"You're a big shot now," Jeet teased, and wiped the pan down. "So are you free? I have class in four hours. I was going to go to the library, but I can put that off."
"Hell yeah, I'm free, I wouldn't be calling just to torture you when I can do that in person!" Enny was quiet for a bit, speaking to someone in the background, then she returned. "I'll be around in about fifteen. That enough time for you to get beautiful?"
"I'll be ready in two," Jeet promised. "Just need to put on shoes."
"He's lonely," Enny said.
She looked good, Jeet decided. The black-and-tan Preventer's jacket was fitted nicely to her curves, and with the black pants, she looked every inch the officer. Her walk was straighter, but with just a faint hint of the hip-swinging strut that had drawn looks on L2. She was carrying, he could tell, but the weight seemed to make her solid, and she ordered lunch and paid with an ease that told him she was happier now than she would've been had she stayed with him on L3.
"I don't know what to do about it," Jeet replied, poking at ice cubes in his soda. "I don't see him a lot, anyway, but..." He shrugged.
"I think I know who he misses," Enny said. She shook her head. "Talked to Day recently?"
"Few weeks ago," Jeet said. "They're doing well. Hito's got this project going, something with street kids, I think."
"Mm."
"Day's making noises about joining Preventers," Jeet added. "He didn't say if Hito had decided yet."
"He'd better," Enny replied, her face settling into hard lines. She looked older, determined, and for a moment Jeet could see in her the same distant cruelty he sometimes saw in Trowa and Duo. "Things are getting hot, and if he's not clearly with the good guys..."
"You think they'll come after him?" Jeet sipped his soda, feeling the cool liquid trickle down his throat and pool in his stomach. It made his gut feel chilly, and he belatedly realized it was fear.
"Maybe," Enny said. "At least Trey's agreed to join, once he's done with school. But the way some of the head honchos in Preventers are talking..."
She sighed, and brushed her hair back from her forehead. It had grown longer, but she still wore it in a ponytail. The green streak was gone, and Jeet found he missed it. She looked so normal, now, and it made him feel he was the last remnant of something no one else would understand.
"I'll let him know," Jeet told her. "But I don't know...sometimes, when he talks, I just..." He grinned ruefully, trying to force himself into the invulnerable position of his days on the street. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and a jeans jacket, though, and the amount of clothes against his skin made him feel more exposed, not less. Odd, he thought, and laughed silently, then sobered. "A blowjob wouldn’t fix it."
"Didn't think so," Enny said.
Jeet got in from class, dropping his keys in the little basket hanging by the door. He kicked the door shut behind him, and headed straight for his room, dropping his books and bag on the desk. Changing out of his school clothes, he pulled on a sweat suit. His sneakers went in the row of shoes in his closet, and he nudged them with a toe to make sure everything was lined up neatly. Enny's monthly deposit to his account had come through a few days after her visit, and she'd encouraged him to go buy a poster or two for his room. He stared at the blank walls, and decided he'd go shopping once he'd had a chance to unwind from his morning exam.
In the living room, he noticed the vid-phone message light was blinking. Curious, he hit the button, and Duo's face flashed on the screen.
"Figures! You two are always out," Duo fussed. Behind him, Heero was leaning over his desk, his back to the vidphone. Duo spun in his chair, his gaze traveling across Heero and around again to the camera. "We're doing cool here, but expect a visitor where you are. Day or two, I'd guess." Duo leaned in close to the camera, and grinned wickedly. "Hey, Tro," he murmured, sounding almost lascivious. "Be sure you have plenty of ammo." He snickered. "Wouldn't want you to run out..."
The screen clicked off, and Jeet stared at it, confused. He played the message a second time, but nothing in Duo's demeanor indicated that the visitor was reason for panic. In fact, Duo sounded almost excited – but in a subdued, hopeful manner.
Jeet pursed his lips, not sure what to make of it. In the end, he reset the vid-phone so the message would continue to blink as if unread, and left it for Trowa to decipher.
The next day was Wednesday, which meant Trowa was home for dinner. Jeet showed off his new posters – one was a reprint of an abstract artist that Jeet had started to get into, and the other was for the L3 University's rugby team. Jeet was considering trying out the next fall, but something held him back from mentioning that to Trowa. He was sure he could do it; he was small, but he was tough and wiry and he'd taken on plenty in his days on the street.
He knew he was afraid to bring it up because he didn't want to hear that Trowa wouldn't be there the following year. Trowa was graduating; Jeet found it hard to forget that, sometimes. He just didn't want to think about it, so he listened to Trowa's easy tenor, discussing the surgery he'd performed that day, and Jeet pushed away the knowledge that eventually his haven would fade, his halfway point lost between then and now.
After dinner, they played a game of Othello. Trowa won, but Jeet made it a bit farther before getting stomped. He was getting better, and it pleased him.
Thursdays were Jeet's evening at the bookstore, and from there he usually went straight to studio, working until two or three in the morning. But the knowledge of the unknown visitor was eating away at him, and he wavered on the doorstep of the bookstore while the manager locked the door behind him. Finally, he shouldered his bag and turned his steps towards the apartment.
It was dark, and Jeet moved silently through the apartment, not needing the lights. In his room, he dropped his school stuff and changed into his usual sweat suit before heading to the kitchen to make dinner. In the hallway he stopped, surprised to find Trowa's door open a few inches. Curious, he pushed the door open wider. The first thing he saw was a suitcase sitting by the bed. Jeet pondered that for a second, and pulled the door back to its original position.
He carried his meager dinner to his room, and ate while reading over his essay for English composition. The school's tutoring center had suggested edits, and Jeet dutifully typed them in before setting that aside and moving on to studying for his history class. His light was low over the table, his door closed, but he couldn't miss the sound of the front door opening and shutting. He tuned it out, even as he registered something in him relaxing at the knowledge that Trowa had returned.
It was the realization that he could hear soft voices that made him instinctively click off his desk lamp. He was supposed to be in studio, after all. Jeet cocked his head, trying to hear. He couldn't make out the words, and he tiptoed to his bedroom door, listening intently.
The voices were too low, with long pauses. Jeet carefully opened the door, peering around the corner of the short hallway to look into the living room.
Trowa was leaning against the small table, his arms crossed, his head down. He looked relaxed and unconcerned, but Jeet knew the tilt of the chin, the tension in the legs; Trowa was waiting, perhaps even a bit annoyed. Jeet frowned, wondering, ready to spring to Trowa's defense, or watch his back.
He's a Gundam pilot, Jeet reminded himself, and not for the first time. He doesn't need me to be there at his side.
Jeet ignored the ache in his chest, unable to stop watching from the darkness. The living room was lit in shades of blue from the streetlights through the blinds. A golden pool of light just reached to Trowa's knees; the light from the table by the sofa. The golden light was blocked, casting Trowa in shades of blue and black. Someone stepped in front of Trowa. Jeet's eyes widened, and he inhaled sharply.
Quatre was facing Trowa, his head down as well, his arms hanging lax at his sides. He seemed relaxed, confident, and then Jeet realized, squinting at the image: Quatre was leaning into Trowa, just a little. The cadence of his whispers rose and fell, and slowly Trowa's hands unhooked, came undone; his arms slid down his stomach and reached out. Quatre stepped forward, his blond hair turning to blue-gold, sliced by shadows from the blinds.
The two men were motionless, silent, a few inches apart, until Trowa brought his feet under him and stood up, his hips still pressed against the table. His hands hovered over Quatre's arms, as gentle and hesitant as Jeet in the moment before he set pen to paper. What was now, was blank, Jeet knew; in a moment, the first mark would be made – the picture drawn – and everything would change.
Jeet held his breath, and waited.
Slowly, cautiously, Quatre's chin came up, and Trowa leaned forward, his head canting. Trowa's auburn hair swung away from his face, revealing heavy-lidded eyes, focused on Quatre's lips, and then – a gentle whisper, a moment's pause – they were kissing.
It wasn't a challenging kiss. It certainly wasn't the closed-mouth, distant kisses Jeet had gotten a few times from Duo, and it wasn't the vigorous roughness of the kisses he'd exchanged with Trowa, when the man had been Trey and pretending he didn't care.
Jeet's fingers curled around the doorjamb.
Quatre's hands came up, threading into Trowa's hair, pulling the other man towards him. Trowa pushed off from the table, and pressed himself against Quatre. Their lean bodies were outlined in the blue and gold, merging into a single shape. Trowa's hands slid down to grasp Quatre by the hips and pull him closer.
Jeet swallowed hard and backed away, but remained on the threshold of his room. Trowa would leave now, he knew; he could feel the movement towards another and knew it wasn't towards him.
He's a force of nature, Jeet thought, and sighed, both sadly and happily. Jeet knew he was a child, sometimes, in some ways, where Trowa contained an agelessness that he couldn't fully comprehend. It was the weight of those green eyes, assessing him, measuring him, and finding him lacking. He was acceptable, but he was not enough.
Jeet chewed his lower lip, and leaned forward again, unable to stop himself. Trowa's leg was nudging between Quatre's, a hip insinuated against groin, and Quatre pulled away from the kiss long enough to groan deep in his throat. Trowa murmured something, and his fingers became claws at Quatre's hips. A swivel, a thrust, and Quatre took the momentum, turning it against Trowa with a second shove of his body. Trowa swayed, and pushed forward into the kiss, his hands clawing and scratching, yanking Quatre's shirt up to get at bare skin.
Two cats, Jeet thought, watching the men claw at each other, a needfulness, wanton growls both vulnerable and strong. They had no idea he was there, but he felt compelled to watch, to make sure. Trowa had waited for so long, Jeet knew, and even if he couldn't be the one to arrive for Trowa, he could at least make sure...
It only took a second for him to make his choice. Slipping back into his room, he knelt down by his bed, digging around for one of his storage boxes. Pulling off the cardboard lid, he rooted around in the bottom, shoving through the two sweaters from Hilde, the winter socks from Enny. His fingers caught the edge of a box, and he grinned tightly, pulling out the items he sought.
In the hallway, he moved with a silence born of midnight wanderings, his eyes fixed on the sight of Trowa and Quatre, arms around each other, jaws moving, lips pressed together, eyes shut. Trowa pulled away long enough to moan at Quatre's movement against him, and then the kiss resumed, fierce, longing. Jeet knew the quality of desperation; he'd had enough johns who wished to pretend, if only for a few moments, and it struck him that neither Trowa nor Quatre showed that now.
They weren't scared, Jeet thought, and laughed. He couldn't imagine anything scaring the five men he'd met. Yet Trowa was trembling, his fingers running down Quatre's arm and back up again, his hips thrusting slowly against Quatre in a timeless dance. And Quatre was whimpering, a soft catch in his throat, audible only when their mouths pulled away long enough for tongues to tangle, silhouetted against the bare wall, angle and movement against the alternating light and dark of colony lights.
Jeet shook himself, and ghosted forward the last few steps, pushing Trowa's door open. Two steps and he was across the room, leaving his gifts – a box of condoms and a tube of lubricant – on the bedside table. Almost afraid to breathe, he was out of the room and backing down the hallway, relieved the two men weren't aware of his presence. He nearly laughed, as it dawned on him: Trowa could come awake with a gun in his hand at the creak of a doorknob. But in this moment, neither of those men were aware or caring. Jeet wondered if they'd react if he strolled past to get a drink.
He smiled to himself and decided against testing the theory.
Letting his door drift to half-closed, he positioned himself mostly behind it, tensing when stumbling footsteps moved from the living room and down the hallway. Someone bumped up against the wall, and Trowa's soft laugh echoed through the apartment. Quatre muttered something, and Trowa's laugh became a moan.
Trowa's bedroom door swung wide open – Jeet knew by the creak as the hinges moved all the way, and the thump of the doorknob hitting the wall. Then the door swung back, but there was no click of the door catching. Broken footsteps, pauses, murmurs, soft growls, and Jeet followed the progress mentally, smiling in the darkness at the creak of bedsprings.
He sighed, and moved backwards to settle down on his own bed, wondering how soon they'd begin, end, and fall asleep; at what point could he move about the apartment and not be intruding? Jeet nearly chuckled. If he'd watched them for several minutes and they were so unaware, he could probably run in booted feet around the dining room table at this point and they wouldn't stop whatever they were doing that was producing such low moans from Trowa's throat.
For a moment, Jeet's heart clenched, remembering the orgasms he'd given Trowa, and the fact that in all those times, Trowa had never cried out, never put a hand to Jeet's head to steady him, guide him, or even just touch him. It had been all business, in those moments – a comfort, a much-needed contact, but it was not...
It was not of the heart, Jeet knew, and for once he didn't grieve to learn of what he'd missed. The lack of bitterness brought him to his feet, and he moved forward, smiling into the empty hallway. What he wanted now, he decided, was to share this. Perhaps it was only an echo of Trowa's need, but Jeet didn't care...and he knew just who to call.
He tiptoed into the living room, and switched off the lamp that Trowa had left on. Angling his body to block the light from the vidphone, Jeet tapped in the auto-dial and waited. The screen came on at the third ring, and Jeet immediately leaned forward, a finger to his lips.
Heero blinked, and frowned. "Hmm," he grunted, and rolled over, showing his bare back to the camera. "Duo," he muttered, and sighed, falling back into sleep.
Jeet grinned, unsurprised when Duo's head popped up from behind Heero. Duo crawled over Heero, who swatted at Duo ineffectually, and mumbled something rude. Duo rolled his eyes, and lifted the vidphone. The image shook, then stilled as Duo set the vidphone down.
"Get that offa me," Heero's voice said, suddenly quite loud, too near the speaker.
"Hey, Jeet," Duo said, and Jeet figured out where the vid-phone had just been set. The image was jostled again, and Heero's sleepy snarl was uncomfortably close. Duo just grinned, and raised his eyebrows at Jeet.
"Shhhh," Jeet said, making shushing gestures with his hands.
Duo frowned, but dropped his voice to a whisper. "It's got to be midnight your time, Jeet. There a fire somewhere?"
"Kind of," Jeet mouthed, hoping Duo would understand.
"Ah," Duo said, and scratched his head. His braid was half-undone, and he looked pleasantly comfortable for someone just woken from a sound sleep. He made a so-what motion with his hands.
Jeet paused, then grinned widely. "Shhh," he said again, finger to his lips. "I'll show you," he whispered, barely breathing the words, and Duo looked baffled.
The vid-phone was bumped again, and suddenly Jeet could see both men. The camera showed the breadth of Heero's chest and the underside of his chin; Duo's cheek was on Heero's shoulder, an inquisitive expression on his face. Heero just looked annoyed, but Jeet ignored that. Undoing the cord, Jeet played out the length, judging there'd be enough. He picked up the vidphone, turning it around so the camera was angled across the living room.
On careful, tentative feet, Jeet moved towards the hallway. Outside Trowa's door, he knelt down, then lay down, and set the vidphone on the floor. He turned it around to face him, and put his fingers to his lips again. Duo nodded emphatically, while Heero rolled his eyes and let his head fall back to his pillow. Something squeaked, and Jeet wondered if that were Heero. Duo's grin was certainly quite wide, suddenly.
Jeet frowned, and Duo gave him an exasperated look, making a 'get on with it motion'. Just then, Quatre's voice went from a quiet murmur into a long pleased moan, and Duo's eyes shot open wide. Heero's head came up off the pillow, startled. Jeet shoved a hand into his mouth to keep from chuckling. Setting the vidphone on the floor, he turned it around to face Trowa's room, and carefully pushed it through the gap between the jamb and the door. It was a tight squeeze – the door was only a few inches ajar – and Jeet could just barely hear Duo's gasp under Trowa's tenor voice bubbling incoherent words, a lilting stream of begging and pleading that devolved into a groan, fading into a whimper.
Jeet let the vidphone stay for a count of sixty, and then he retracted it cautiously from the room. Turning it around, he could see Heero's gaping astonishment, while Duo had his head buried in Heero's armpit and seemed to be shaking uncontrollably. Jeet crawled backwards on his belly, dragging the phone with him. He was about to the living room when something thumped, and Trowa's door flew open.
"Trey," Jeet said, stunned, the vidphone forgotten.
Trowa was staring down at him, one eyebrow arched, the picture of utter dignity despite the fact that he was holding what looked like a paperback book over his crotch. Jeet blinked, and dragged his eyes back up to meet Trowa's gaze.
"Jeffrey," Trowa said, calmly, "go back to bed."
Jeet nodded, dumbly, and Trowa shut his bedroom door. The doorknob turned, catching in the lock. On the vidphone, Duo burst out laughing, and even Heero chuckled. Jeet was about to shush them again when Trowa's door flew open a second time. Now Trowa had a shirt over his groin, and he squatted down, pulling the vidphone around to face him.
"Duo, I know you put him up to this," Trowa said. Duo's protests of innocence were cut off when Trowa slammed the lid on the vid-phone, disconnecting the call. Trowa pushed the vidphone to the wall, but stayed there a moment, crouched before Jeet, his expression inscrutable.
Jeet didn't move, feeling suddenly like the cobra before the mongoose strikes. All his street prowess wasn't worth jack, compared to the naked man; even with only a shirt to cover his nudity, Trowa was intimidating. Jeet could only stare back, apprehensive, until Quatre muttered something from inside the room. Trowa's lips curved, and he made a quick gesture with his fingers.
"Bed, Jeffrey," he whispered. In the half-light of the midnight hallway, Jeet wasn't sure, but it seemed as though Trowa winked. Then Trowa was standing, gliding back into his room, shutting the door securely behind him.
Jeet got up, and padded down the hallway to his room, both chastised and pleased. He expected to lie awake, kept up by the lonely sensation of hearing two people screw around in the room next to him, but that didn't happen. Instead, he found himself lulled into sleep, his dreams echoing with whispers and soft cries of lovers, not johns.
Jeet crept from his room the next morning, book bag in hand, and stopped short in the doorway to the living room. Quatre was sprawled across the sofa, coffee cup in hand, fully dressed and apparently waiting for him.
"You have a minute," Quatre said, waving to the other end of the sofa as though he owned the place and invitations were his to bestow.
"Yeah, a few," Jeet said, instantly on guard. It wasn't just knowing Quatre was one of the five; it was the ease with which he occupied a space. Like he was born knowing he could be someplace, be someone, without explaining. It set Jeet on edge, and he perched on the sofa, feeling for the first time as though he were a guest instead of an equal.
"You prefer Jeet, or Jeffrey?" Quatre sipped his coffee, his blue-green eyes glowing in the colony's fake morning light.
"Either," Jeet said, and shrugged. "Trey...Trowa only calls me Jeffrey when he's annoyed," he added, not sure why he'd bothered to explain.
"Jeet, then?" Quatre lowered the mug to his knee, and smiled. It was a gentle, sincere expression, but both sorrowful and exhausted at the same time. "The investigation is moving into the next stages."
"I know," Jeet retorted, and frowned at the recalcitrance in his voice. "I watch the news."
Quatre nodded. "You realize you may be brought in as a material witness."
"I answered all the questions when things went down," Jeet replied. "Not like my story's going to change."
"Not what I mean," Quatre said, and sighed. "You were part of the team, and as such, you may be brought up on charges, too." He raised a hand, forestalling Jeet's response. "We'll do our best to make sure it's minimal, and that you receive immunity and protection in return for your efforts."
"I ain't gonna lie," Jeet said. "But I'm sure good at forgetting anything that would..." He shook his head, not sure how far he could push it with this unknown variable, sitting so casually in his living room. "It was important," he finally said. "Not saying I like knowin' people died an' all, but---"
"I know." Quatre cut him off with those two simple words, and Jeet sighed, dropping his head to stare at his bag. Quatre shifted to set the coffee cup down on the low table, mirroring Jeet's position: elbows on his knees, leaning forward, staring downward. "In the meantime, Trowa's returning to earth. He'll finish out his last semester at the University in Bremen, while working for Preventers."
"But..." Jeet swallowed hard. He couldn't afford the apartment, and he began making rapid calculations. Four, five tricks a night, two or three nights a week, and he'd make enough to pay for it, if he stayed clean and didn't blow it on clubs or drink. And as long as Enny didn't know---
"I'm paying for the apartment from now on," Quatre said, in a nonchalant tone. "I find it's a good thing to have a place to come back to, if need be. And you'll find Trowa feels the same way. So as long as you don't mind letting him have the small room if he's back on L3---"
"I don't need your charity," Jeet snapped. "I can take care of myself."
"That's not in question," Quatre replied, his tone smooth and unassuming. "I'm just asking that you be willing to take care of Trowa, when he needs it, if he needs it...as you have been."
Jeet's head came up, and he stared at Quatre for several minutes, before dropping his gaze. "Trey's not too good at letting me do that," he mumbled.
"From where you sit, maybe it looks that way." Quatre shrugged. "But he doesn't allow anyone else to do for him, with the exception of we four...and you. Even Hilde and Enny don't get that allowance."
Jeet considered that carefully. Trowa had accepted Jeet's pressure to eat right; he tolerated Jeet's fascination with nutrition and testing decent, cheap coffee. He'd nodded calmly and paid without complaint for the dining room table and two chairs when Jeet decided that eating while standing was bad for digestion.
"If you'll make sure he has a place when he's here, I'll take care of the financial side of things," Quatre said, almost rueful. "I can do that much, at least. Please let me."
"Yeah," Jeet said, casting a sideways look at Quatre, only to catch Quatre's gaze and hold it, unexpectedly.
For a moment, he could see a younger boy looking out of Quatre's eyes, then the illusion was shattered and Jeet felt the power radiating from Quatre with every coiled muscle, every efficient move. It was both like and unlike Heero; the sense of anticipation, Jeet decided, the awareness that these men were powerful not because they could kill him, but because they chose not to. It was a strange, frightening, heady sensation. He managed a smile, and swallowed hard when Quatre smiled in return.
"Thanks," Quatre said. A low murmur sounded from Trowa's bedroom, that rose on the last syllable, and Quatre rolled his eyes as he stood up.
"Oh," Quatre added, glancing down as he stepped past. "Thanks for the stuff. Came in handy."
Jeet gave Quatre a crooked grin. "Someone's gotta look out for you guys."
End Part 1
(:./sol/echoes1)
