22-May-2006

Title: The Properties of Zero 4/?
Authors: TB and Marsh
Archived: GWA and http://www.geocities.com/brother_maxwell/TB_home_page.html
Category: yaoi, AU
Pairings: 6x4x6; past 2x4x2; there's another pairing but it's at the bottom if you sincerely can't stand the surprise
Warnings: lemon, drug abuse, angst, some discussion of suicidal thoughts and sap (a little teeny bit)
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: The characters and plot of Gundam Wing are the property of their creators, not these humble fic writers, who have borrowed them without permission with no intent to profit from their use.
Notes: See Part 1 for explanation of AU elements and ZERO.
Feedback: Thanks to everyone who has replied privately, and especial thanks to Phoenix Fire for her comments on the first three parts posted here.

The Zero Property of Multiplication:
Multiplying any number by Zero leaves Zero.

The noise of Quatre slipping out of bed had waked him, and he'd rolled over in time to watch the boy shrug into a ragged bathrobe and pad quietly from the room. The light filtering half-heartedly through the curtains told Zechs it was probably mid-morning. The grit in his eyes, the cottony feel inside his mouth, and the uncertain cramps in his midsection told him exactly how long it had been since he'd been home.

It was not like Zechs's bedroom, a coordinated affair of matching colours and carefully selected furnishings. The bed they'd shared was barely a double, a little short for Zechs's height and a lot creaky, an ironwrought bed that looked like it belonged to a woman, not a young man. There were photographs on the walls, but Zechs ignored them, focusing instead on the lamp opposite him, maintaining dusty pride of place beside an old clothes press. His thoughts tumbled like his gut, time slowing to a crawl as he waited for Quatre to return, beginning to wonder if he was meant to follow, until he began to feel trapped in the cramped little bed and the quaint bedroom with its lime-wash walls. Quatre had laughed at him last night, struggling not to jump at every cringe of mattress springs, had slept with his hand creeping down between Zechs's thighs, while Zechs stared blankly at the wall, uncomfortable, uneasy, trying to convince himself he could wait it out and deal with it, survive it.

The lamp glared back at him. He wanted to fix.

He wanted ZERO to be silent. For a moment, the slivers of sunlight on the lampshade fell into a grid pattern, but when he blinked, it was gone.

Suddenly Quatre was back in the room. Zechs hadn't even heard him enter, though he was no longer so quiet. A heavy tray slid onto the bed beside Zechs's legs, and then Quatre sat above it, crossing his bare legs under him like a plaid-clad sheik. Seeing him already awake, Quatre kissed him on the shoulder, and presented him with a tumbler of orange juice.

Zechs dragged his eyes to Quatre's face. "Thank you," he said, finding a smile and willing it into place. He sat up carefully, risking a spill with the juice, and sipped it slowly. It tasted too tangy, but it eased the tightness in his throat. "You didn't have to cook," he added.

"I wanted to, but I can't, really, so it's all stuff I could just put on a plate." Quatre's own smile was cheeky.

"It looks good, nevertheless." He managed one more sip of the juice before his stomach rebelled. He looped stray hairs behind his ear, and tried not to look too closely at what the tray held.

"Good. I was hoping you were hungry." Quatre took a bowl of apple slices from the tray, biting into one with an audible crunch and offering another section to Zechs. He held it until Zechs reluctantly obeyed, nibbling at the edge as much as he could stand the tart taste.

"Do you have plans today?" he asked.

"No." Quatre looked sideways at him, his fingers dipping to the tray again and returning with something that smelled sour and dairy-- yogurt. "You?" he added, almost managing to be casual.

Aside from getting high, no. But Zechs knew better than to say it aloud. "Not really. We could go for a drive." He wondered how much slack could be found in Quatre's chains. "Have some dinner somewhere." He, too, was nonchalant.

Quatre's voice was falsely bright. "We could take a walk. It's really nice out today."

"If you like," he murmured, disappointed. He paused, turning the sticky apple slice between his fingers. "When is the last time you left the property, Quatre?"

"Silly. I just spent half a week with you." But a moment later, Quatre grimaced, and his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. That sounds just as shitty aloud as it did in my head."

"Not since then?" Zechs pressed.

The folds of the bathrobe whispered as Quatre rubbed a hand down the fabric covering his thigh. "I don't really have anywhere to go, Zechs."

"I could take you places."

Fine blue eyes turned up to his. "Where would you take me?" Quatre asked him softly.

His throat was tight again. His voice emerged husky. "Anywhere." Something seemed to soften about Quatre, and he added, "Away from your jailors."

It was the thing wrong to say and he knew it instantly. There was no way to withdraw it, though, as Quatre's expression smoothed into blankness. Nimble fingernails peeled the purple skin from a grape, and Zechs stared at the lashes casting shadows on immobile cheeks. Even Quatre's lips were still, his breathing just barely stirring his chest.

Zechs had been a soldier long enough to know when to retreat. "A walk on the grounds, then," he said instead. "After that, I'll go home, and you can call me if you want to see me again."

Quatre swallowed. "I answered badly, huh."

"This isn't a test." But it was, and he didn't see how they could pass it. He sighed, and leant back against the limp down pillows. "There aren't any right or wrong answers, Quatre. I'm just figuring out how to be with you."

"I shouldn't make it so damn hard," he whispered.

"You aren't."

"Don't-- try to make it sound better, or whatever. I don't-- I know how crap this is."

They were both getting frustrated. "Then explain it to me, because I still don't know the boundaries."

Zechs was stunned to watch Quatre suddenly boil over like a pot left too long on the stove. His fair skin went red all the way down to the triangle of bare chest revealed by the bathrobe, the anger in his voice barely controlled by an iron will. "They don't want me to see you," Quatre said flatly, biting each word off at the teeth. "I hate it. I never-- I never felt like I had to fight them on any of it before, but-- I don't think I wanted anything this badly before."

He felt moved by that declaration. He took Quatre's hand in his, tangling their fingers. "I could take you out of here, Quatre," he said intently. "Disappear where they won't find us."

The look on his face told Zechs that Quatre had thought about it. Enough to be scared of the possibility. He confirmed it with the desperate squeeze on Zechs's knuckles, in the hopeless shading of his eyes. He said, "Maybe I deserve this, Zechs."

"Why would you say that?" he asked softly.

Dark pupils roved over Zechs's face. "I proved I needed to be watched. I proved I needed to be contained. I can't do it for myself."

He didn't wholly understand. "Are you afraid that if you go with me, you'll just be replacing one set of jailors with another?"

He watched Quatre's adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "I'm afraid I would need to."

"Maybe if you trusted yourself a little more, you wouldn't," he felt compelled to point out.

"I trusted myself to know the war was over. I trusted myself to know the difference between appropriate and deadly force." Quatre was bitter and drained. "I didn't."

"You did," Zechs insisted. "ZERO interfered."

"Is there anything to prevent it from doing that again? Not in me."

"You don't know that." But he was losing the drive to fight over it. It was abundantly clear to him that Quatre simply wasn't ready or willing to break out of his cage. Zechs knew what that meant for him; he knew what it meant for them in their fledgling-- whatever. They wouldn't have a relationship until Quatre truly wanted his freedom. They were over before they'd really had a chance.

He let go of Quatre's hand. "Fine," he said.

"Tell me you don't wonder what you could do!" Quatre demanded. "I don't see you going out all the time. You live in that prison of a house with drugs as your prison warden. Are we really any different?"

He winced. "No." The apple bruised under the pressure of his thumb. "Stupid of me to think I could save you, when I can't save myself."

Tentative fingers brushed his knee beneath the duvet. "I'm sorry," Quatre told him, painful sincerity in each word. "I didn't mean that-- I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes," Zechs returned, "you did. And you were right."

"I was cruel. And I was wrong. My god, Zechs... I've felt more--" The hand on his knee tightened convulsively. He sounded oddly choked. "I don't feel alone anymore. I thought I'd die alone until I talked to you on the balcony."

That hurt, somehow, worse than the accusation that he was an addict. "It's a pity you have no one better in your life," he said harshly. But didn't he? He'd had Duo, until Duo had let cowardice drive them apart. And Quatre no less so, still so obviously in love, whatever attraction he felt for Zechs. And Duo was the companion in prison, the self-appointed guardian. Quatre would always feel safer with him, comfortable in his gilded walls as long as Duo was there to ease the path for him. Last night Zechs had told Duo that one day he expected to be replaced, but in that moment Zechs truly felt the inevitability of it.

Quatre broke into his thoughts furiously. "I hate that you don't believe in yourself."

He pulled his eyes back to Quatre's face. "I hate that you feel so trapped."

Their gaze held for a long minute. Then Quatre took the apple from Zechs's hand, dropping it into the bowl on the tray. "Let's go for the drive," he said.

"And what will the consequences of that be, Quatre?" he sighed.

Very seriously, Quatre answered, "Better than the consequences of sending you home without ever trying to see what we can have."

One day, one of Quatre's heroic little acts of kindness, or whatever it was he was doing trying to make Zechs happy with a terrible situation, would put them squarely in disaster. He couldn't be any more sure of that than he was that his own heroically stupid desire to steal Quatre away would result in tragedy, for all that he was thinking of it more and more. It was all so damn hopeless, but he was powerless to stop himself from wanting.

Zech curled a hand about the back of Quatre's neck and pulled him close. The kiss he pressed to Quatre's yielding mouth was hard and a little desperate, and it put the tray at serious jeopardy as Quatre fell against his chest and held tightly to him.

"I'm not going to put you at risk," he said, reluctantly parting them. "We'll spend the morning, then I'll go home. I can come whenever you ask. When they see you're not influenced negatively by my company, they'll back off." Quatre's arms snuck about him. His bright head turned into Zechs's shoulder as he lay close beside him, legs tucked up to avoid the tray. The cheek pressed to his bare skin felt damp, but perhaps he was only imagining it. He threaded his fingers through Quatre's soft hair, and dropped his own cheek to the fine strands. "I've been a coward all my life, Quatre."

"No. No, Zechs."

"Don't argue with me on this. You don't know me well enough. The point is, maybe it's not wrong to be a little afraid this time."

"I'm tired of being afraid," Quatre confessed, his voice small and weary.

"So am I," he replied. With a little exhale, he urged Quatre to straighten, and added, "Eat your breakfast."

Quatre obeyed, if reluctantly. "You first."

He stretched out an arm, and found a new apple slice. He ate it, just to prove he could, ignoring the unhappy rumble from his midsection. He said, "I saw Treize yesterday"

Quatre spoke around another grape. "I didn't really think you liked to talk to him."

"I don't."

He stopped chewing. "Did he call you?"

"More specifically, his secretary did, but yes."

He blinked. "Bastard."

He laughed at that, trying not to be bitter. "Yes."

Quatre's dimple made an appearance on the tail of a tiny grin. "I bet you give him hell."

"No," he confessed wryly. "I think I lose in every encounter. I don't know why I don't just refuse him."

"I don't think anyone has ever refused him anything." Quatre drank the orange juice, and set the cup on the floor while Zechs leant away, feeling abruptly stiff and-- watched. And part of him, a not-insignificant part of him, was back in the room with Treize, listening to his oldest enemy rip away one more oasis of good with a few well-placed daggers of words.

He hated himself for asking, but it came out of his mouth all the same, a little too innocent, a trap laid to catch a truth he didn't want to hear again. "Have you?"

And it stung, it absolutely stung when Quatre neatly sidestepped it, so naturally Zechs couldn't be sure that he'd even seen it. "I've managed to turn down a few invitations, but I always regret it later," he was saying, dipping a slice of peach into the yogurt. "Once he dressed me down in front of an entire room full of WEI trustees. I haven't blushed so much since I was ten."

He felt a glimmer of hope, that maybe Treize had lied to him, had made up that story of seduction simply to test how attached Zechs was to Quatre. Was that possible? Though he often told himself Treize was capable of anything, the reality was that Treize rarely needed to lie to anyone to get what he wanted. Feeling as if he were walking into a firing squad, Zechs pressed, "Why would he have such an interest in you, Quatre?"

Quatre seemed surprised. "Does he?"

"How often does he invite you?"

"I don't know-- I get one every two months or so."

Was Quatre truly blind to what he was fishing for, or was there simply nothing to catch? There was nothing in Quatre's body language to suggest that he was hiding anything, but his answers seemed a little too bland, a little too deft.

No. Treize hadn't lied.

"Just dinner parties?" he said.

"Hunting, a couple of times. Some fundraising dates."

It snapped into place. "Hunting," he repeated softly. "Of course."

Quatre's puzzled eyes met his.

"Treize has always loved hunting."

His voice came as if from far away. He could hear it, as if he were standing outside of himself, but he knew it wasn't him. It asked, "Did you feel hunted, Quatre?"

He was aware of Quatre going very still. "What are you saying?"

"It's what he does," his voice continued, sounding dull and remote. Zechs tried to blink, and couldn't. "Chooses his prey," it said, "then hunts it down. Me. Chang, for a while. Yuy. You. Anyone that interests him." He felt his lungs expand as he drew a deep breath. "He's my enemy. Is he yours?"

Quatre's small tongue emerged to lick his lips. "I... " Quatre was looking at him. "I don't know."

And just like that, he was back in control. ZERO retreated as if it had never taken over, but it was laughing, laughing at him. Zechs discovered his hands were trembling. "I should go now," he said hoarsely, throwing aside the covers and nearly knocking the tray to the floor. Only a quick grab saved it, but the yogurt toppled and spilled. He swore at it.

A hand captured his wrist. "Zechs?"

For a moment he looked through Quatre, not at him. He wrenched himself back with an effort that left him shaking. "Sorry," he rasped.

They stared at each other. Then, in a flash, Quatre's eyes went from frightened blue to a green that almost blazed. He shoved the tray to the floor, heedless of the crash, and he straddled Zechs's thighs in a quick move. His fingers trailed warm paths down Zech's shoulders, coming to rest over his thumping heart.

"I'm not your enemy," Quatre said solemnly, fiercely. "I'm not, Zechs."

His own palms settled awkwardly on Quatre's slim hips. "I know you're not," he said. "I never thought you were."

"I will never be."

He could only nod. He was exhausted, drained, and ZERO whispered all about him, but Quatre's eyes held his, and the hands on his chest were gentle. "Do you think I'm yours?" he asked.

"No." There was no room for doubt in Quatre's tone. Zechs surrendered to it, and nodded. "Okay," he whispered.

Quatre licked his lips again. "I did sleep with him," he said. "About a year ago, maybe. And once when he first came to Bolsover. I didn't love him. I'm not terribly sure I like him. But I respected him, and it was... nice... to feel attractive, to feel wanted. He's done favours for me. When he sends invitations, my sisters always let me go. Sometimes it just felt so damn good to be out from under their thumbs. And he's the one who suggested they reopen this cottage, because a young man should have his own place to live, he said. I was very grateful. I didn't think I owed him-- owed him sex, but it was one way to show him that I appreciated all he'd done on my behalf. Do you understand that?"

The thought of them together still made him nauseous. Somewhere deep inside, he really had been hoping that Treize had only made it up to hurt him. And Quatre may not have connected Treize's little "favours" with their affair, but Zechs did, and he knew that Treize had anticipated exactly what he got. Treize had a way of making you feel it was all your own idea, but Quatre did not have the years of experience that Zechs did, had not had that slow awakening to the truth. He didn't even know he'd been skillfully manipulated, had given away something precious for a few casual words.

Quatre's fingers spread wide over his pectorals, digging in just a little as if trying to gather him up in handfuls. "But it was nothing like what happened between us," he said vehemently. "At the party that night, we started out fighting, but I could feel how lonely you were, how much you wanted to let someone in. Maybe you're right, maybe we are alike, because I felt that way, too. So tired of keeping everyone at arms' length. Then at your house-- I thought for a while you were going to make me leave, that it wasn't going to mean anything in the long run. I asked you to give me your drug because I wanted something to change. I wanted something I could fight. I wanted to come home angry and hurting, because then I'd have something to fight that I could beat." He hesitated, his palms an intense pressure on Zechs's breast. "Instead, I got someone to hold my back."

That caught him broad-side. "I've never given anything to anyone," he managed to deny.

"Yes," Quatre said simply. "You have."

"I wish I knew how I did that," he said, trying for and not quite achieving a lighter tone. "I might like to do it again, some time." He lifted his own hand, and traced the hard line of Quatre's sternum, hairless and hot skin against the pad of his finger. "I shouldn't have said those things."

"Maybe some things are better in the open." He brushed Zechs's hair away from his face carefully. "I can make it go away," he said softly, "at least for a little while."

He caught Quatre's gaze almost by accident. "Can you?" he asked. "And can I make it go away for you?"

In answer Quatre bent to place a tender kiss beside Zechs's mouth. He slowly pressed their torsos together, his hands sliding down Zechs's bare sides, before slipping around to his back in a long caress. Zechs held him close, and closed his eyes on a final, hateful whisper from ZERO.

Trading one addiction for another.

He tightened his grip on Quatre's hips, then turned his face to bring Quatre's kiss to his lips. He felt suddenly parched, soaking up everything Quatre had to give him. The soft mouth moving over his accepted his dominance at first, but let him know with a gentle nip when they had to part for breath. Quatre's warm exhale against his cheek sounded like a sigh. Fingers moved over his forehead, pushing back his hair again.

"I knew you were handsome," Quatre murmured. "But I didn't think you were sexy until we met at the party. Or even really until that night on the couch... you held me while I slept. You try to hide it, like you're almost embarrassed of it, but there's this tenderness in you. You have all this love you're afraid to give."

He found his voice again. "Jesus, Quatre, do you blame me? You of anyone should understand why I keep myself separate."

Quatre kissed him gently, but briefly. "I do understand." He kissed him again on the forehead. "But when you're ready to stop holding on so tight-- I want to be the one who helps you let it go."

He sounded so frighteningly well .

Zechs caught Quatre's shoulders. "I never wanted to be with anyone like I want this." Quatre's smile was like daybreak, and Zechs finally felt one on his own face.

"Let me touch you?" Quatre asked plainly.

"Yes," he answered, just as honestly.

Quatre kissed him again, this time so lightly it was barely a kiss. Then he licked Zechs's lips, sliding down Zechs's body until he was draped over the bigger man, a heavy weight of roving limbs and soft flannel. "Nothing messy," he promised. "Nothing scary. I want you to feel better than you ever have."

Zechs watched him curiously, accepting his passive role. His lips felt wet with Quatre's saliva, cold in the air. "Why does it feel like magic when you touch me?" he wondered aloud.

They shared a final smile. Then Quatre bent his head to Zechs's throat, his mouth creating a line from the column of his neck to his collar. Each touch mimicked the way he'd kissed Zechs on the mouth, with touches of a bold tongue and the light pressure of sucking. Quatre freed a hand to draw a circle about Zechs's right nipple, tracking just the very edge of the sensitive skin, circling again and again as he mouthed the hollow between Zechs's collarbones.

Zechs shivered. "You like teasing," he observed. He sifted through Quatre's hair. "You can do anything you want, as long as you don't stop."

"I want you to know what it feels like to be loved," Quatre whispered against the wet spot he was creating. "I want you to feel so good you come just from being loved."

"Do you think I haven't felt that every time I've been with you?" Zechs asked him. "I don't have any problem recognising what you're giving me." He sighed as Quatre tweaked the raised flesh of his nipple, a touch that went straight to his groin, buried beneath Quatre's thigh. "I just don't know why you'd want to, or how to give it back to you."

"As for why I want to--" Quatre shifted until he had the angle to bite gently at the inside of Zechs's upper arm, making him shudder again. "Because it's damn time someone did. And as for giving it back-- this is it."

They were both aroused. Zechs was hard, almost painfully so, but bound down by Quatre's weight on his hips. But he wasn't alone; his bathrobe had slipped, and Zechs helped it slip more by pulling apart the knot in the belt and pulling the fabric from between them. Quatre gasped into his arm as their erections touched, hot and already damp.

"Tell me what to do," Zechs said.

Lips and tongue dipped into the crook of his elbow, lapping at old injection bruises. "Just tell me what feels good and what doesn't."

He couldn't help another smile. "Everything you do, Quatre. It's all the most wonderful and terrible thing I've ever known." He followed the contours of Quatre's face with the tips of his fingers and the pads of his thumbs. Soft, feathery touches inadequately conveying the feeling that was filling him.

Quatre reached between them to cradle Zechs's cock in his hand. He didn't stroke, though Zechs wanted him to. Instead he only held it, curled his fingers loosely around the length of it, rolling the vein on the underside, nudging his tightening balls with a knuckle. He kissed Zechs's wrist, and then he was sliding down again, shedding the robe and tossing it aside and urging Zechs to crock a knee and open himself to the room. Zechs obeyed, planting his foot flat in the bedding, his face reddening a little as he did so. He managed to keep his hand on Quatre's head, rubbing the curve of his skull, scratching his nails lightly down Quatre's neck.

"This isn't just about me, Quatre," he mumbled.

He was stroking Zechs's leg, slowly, sharing his body heat, cradling that, too. His fingertips played in the hairs of his calf and thigh, teasing out shivers and spasms right up to the curve of Zechs's buttocks, to the soft crinkled skin where his groin became his ball sac.

That earned him a soft groan. "Quatre." He pulled hard, and Quatre came back up to him. Quatre inhaled quickly just before he mashed their mouths together. Zechs followed Quatre's demonstration, worrying Quatre's lower lip with his teeth, pressing open lips to his jaw, his temple, his nose. He went back for a deeper kiss, their tongues fighting wet and slippery. Quatre squeezed the head of his cock, massaging it with a firm thumb in rough time with the thrusts of his tongue. Clever fingers worked his uncut foreskin back and forth, maximising the sensation at the head without ever moving lower.

Quatre's naked skin was flushed. It had been a little while since Zechs had seen it do that, and the sight elicited a jolt of affection from him. He gathered the presence of mind to reach for Quatre's penis, sliding in a little avenue of pre-ejaculate along his thigh. He encircled the head as Quatre had done for him, but turned his attention to finding the slit in the reddened tip, tracing it once and then probing it open. Quatre broke away from their kiss, eyes dipping closed until he could breathe evenly. He hugged Zechs's leg close about his hip, and pressed Zechs down until he lay on his back with Quatre leaning over him, his arms on either side of Zechs's head. It had been a little while since Zechs had been in that position, too, but he knew immediately what it meant.

"Do it, Quatre," he said. "I want you to."

But his command had no effect. Quatre shook his head with a tiny smirk hovering in the corner of his swollen mouth. His cock pressed against Zechs's balls but stayed clear of penetrating him, for all that he'd proclaimed himself willing. Quatre's hips made tiny thrusts against his, bringing them skin to skin in an erotic rhythm. He bent his head and swallowed Zechs back into their kiss, but Zechs could only focus on what wasn't happening below. He fumbled between them, arching his back, and finally managed to shift at the right time to achieve real contact between his hole and the head of Quatre's penis. The head pressed against the ring of muscle in a gentle push, creating a strange blossom of nerve endings firing off together. It felt exotic to have Quatre there between his legs, almost like a role reversal. He tried to bear down on the cockhead at his entrance, but Quatre pulled away limberly.

"No deeper than that," he whispered against Zechs's ear. "Just think about me in there. Think about how it would feel."

"You're driving me mad," Zechs complained.

"Don't worry about how it's going to end," Quatre chided him, amused. "Think about how it feels."

He tossed his head to fling his own hair away. "Worry is the last thing I feel right now," he muttered, and Quatre chuckled. Zechs gazed up at him, and said, "You're so astonishingly beautiful."

"I was just thinking the same thing." Quatre stroked up Zechs's sides to the soft skin under his armpits, then ran his palms over the undercurve of his pectorals. He'd found a slower rhythm with his hips, a smooth wash and wave that lowered the urgency a little. Zechs traced Quatre's ribs from his spine forward, ending at the center of that blushing body. His hands were unsteady. Trembling. The touches swept downward by his conscious thought, all the way to where Quatre's groin pressed to his, then outward again to the borders of his hips. His touch collected light sweat and raised gooseflesh in its wake. Quatre dropped a heated forehead to Zechs's chest, and asked, "Does it feel good?"

"Yes." He closed his heavy eyelids. "Don't stop."

Quatre's voice followed him in a rough murmur. "When you were in me-- you went so deep. I could feel you filling me-- I felt whole. It was so good." He paused, his thrust harder, then missing the beat. When he resumed, he continued, "It was different from your mouth. That was good, but it's different. You know what it feels like. You were in me. How did that feel? Tell me."

He'd never liked talking while in bed. When he'd been younger, it had stolen away the mystery; as he'd aged, it had only underlined the flaws. But for Quatre, he tried, and was surprised to feel a blush of his own as he fumbled for words. "It felt like... for once, I wasn't alone. I stopped feeling so-- bloody hollow. Whenever I touch you at all it feels like that. I can't-- can't lose that."

Quatre's struggle to keep his breathing deep and even was audible, tangible in the tremors running through his body.

"It's never been like this with anyone else," Zechs said suddenly. "Not once." He reached under his own leg and found Quatre's cock. With the other hand he touched the point of a peaked nipple, then twisted it between thumb and forefinger. Quatre's entire body jerked with it, and, guided by Zechs's hand, he pushed a little further into Zechs's anus. He relaxed himself as much as he could, squeezing Quatre's length again, trying to coax him inside. His throat strained to produce voice. "I want you to feel what I felt," he said. "I want to know how it is when you're inside of me."

Quatre's cheek lay still against his chest, his breath hot on Zechs's skin. One moment became another, seeping into a third. Zechs opened his eyes, and Quatre raised his head to meet them. "Are you sure?" he asked very seriously.

He all but groaned it. "Yes." Despite the awkward angle, he managed another squeeze of Quatre's cock. "Do you want to?"

Quatre pulled away abruptly, and for a moment Zechs thought he'd been rejected. Before hurt could really sink in, however, he realised that Quatre was only reaching for the bedside bureau, digging through a drawer filled with paper and magazines. When he sat back on his heels, he held up a slender tube-- lubrication.

"It's two years old," Quatre said, a frown creasing his face as he stared down at it. "Do you think it expires--"

Zechs stretched out a hand to halt him. "It's okay like this," he interrupted.

Quatre's frown only deepened. "No," he said gently. "This isn't fucking. We're doing it right."

He tried to explain. "I don't want anything between us."

Quatre hesitated. Zechs knew a compromise was coming, and resigned himself to it. "Just a little," Quatre said a moment later. "To make it easier."

He gave in, and nodded. Quatre unscrewed the tube and squeeze a cautious amount of the clear gel onto his fingers, showing them to Zechs first for approval. He nodded again tightly, watching as Quatre, flushing and biting his lip, spread it over himself. Then his hand was between Zechs's thighs, still uncomfortably spread. He brushed Zechs's hole, and then his thumb pressed in through the ring of muscle.

"Quatre, please."

It had been so natural before, so easy to ride the wave along to completion. He dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling, knowing he was losing his hardness and that it had to be visible. He had always hated this process, so inescapably clinical, and the liquid squish of the gel inside of him. In a burst of decision, he reached down and scraped the remaining lube from Quatre's hand, fisting it quickly over Quatre's cock. "This is all we need," he growled, and dropped back again to the mattress.

Quatre seemed to sense that something had gone wrong. He took his hand away from Zechs's cleft, crawling back alongside him to find his mouth. The kiss did help, restoring some of their lost connection, replacing Zechs's nerves with the tenderness from earlier. Quatre sucked on his lower lip, gently at first, then more roughly, working him back into full arousal. He traced the inner seams of Quatre's lips with his tongue, and when Quatre finally took hold of his dick with a slippery hand, Zechs was hard and hot again.

"Think about when you were in me, while I'm in you," Quatre whispered to him.

The instruction produced an array of memories, images flashing against his eyelids. "I've never needed to be touched more, Quatre. Your touch."

He sighed, and his head touched Zechs's shoulder in what felt oddly like an attitude of prayer, indefinably different from the other times he'd made that gesture. "I know," he breathed.

It was so different from the first times on the couch. Those had been rushed, almost attacks, meant to satisfy individually, via the other. This was not like that. And Zechs knew what Quatre was trying to do-- not erase those times, but retroactively encase them in a romance they hadn't had. It was a sweet thing to do, young and warm and-- and the word for what he felt hovered on his lips, held back from some lingering sense of self-preservation and the knowledge that the middle of the sex act wasn't the time to go blurting things out.

Quatre caught Zechs's hand, and wrapped it around Zechs's own cock, just under Quatre's where it gripped the head tightly. "Keep it there-- pretend you're inside me," he instructed.

Zechs almost laughed at the bizarrely charged reaction his body gave to that fertile image. "I will, yes," he agreed breathlessly.

Then Quatre was pushing in, slowly, carefully. Zechs smoothed a palm along the straining muscles of Quatre's back as he opened his body, accepting the heavy thing breaking him open like a chisel in a chink between slabs of rock. There was pain, but it was bearable, and it eased a little when he wrapped his legs about Quatre's waist.

"Yes," Quatre whimpered. Softly, "Yes."

"All I can hear is the sound of your breathing," Zechs told him quietly, as Quatre slid home the final inch, and came to rest embedded in him. He watched Quatre's eyes grow red and wet, and cupped the back of his head to bring him close. His own lashes were damp, and he could feel a tear gathering at the corner of one eye.

Quatre began to move. He picked up that slow rocking motion from before, his hips almost languid in their pull and thrust, but he went deep each time. Endorphins replaced shrieking nerves, and the feeling of fullness became something amazing. His own hand on his cock, sweaty and slick with dregs of the lubricant, bumped Quatre's as he unconsciously began to pump himself.

Quatre had done this with Duo. And with Treize.

Zechs knew where the sudden thought had come from, and he fought back with a vicious snarl that sent ZERO running. He roughly pulled Quatre's lips to his, thrusting his tongue as deep as he could get it. That was all it took. Quatre spasmed, choking out a cry into Zechs's mouth as a burst of hot liquid suddenly filled Zechs's cavity. Zechs followed quickly on the tail of that unique sensation, on the hard final push that accompanied it, on the slap of Quatre's thighs against his and the last squeeze of the tunnel of their hands catching his own frantic stab.

When the haze cleared, he found himself on top of Quatre, their legs tangled, his arms wrapped convulsively about Quatre's slender body. And Quatre was crying, silently, his eyes closed, and crammed between them, he was pressing his hand to his chest as if it ached.

Zechs shifted, loosening his hold with popping joints. Quatre wiped his eyes in dragging little-boy movements, wrung out. Zechs propped himself on an elbow to look down at him, to catch the eyes when they finally opened, hoping to find them green and clear.

They were.

"I'm falling in love with you," Zechs told him.

Quatre touched Zechs's face, and that was when he discovered he'd been crying, too. Quatre wiped the moisture away, with a little brush of the backs of his fingers to complete the job. "Good," he said sleepily. "I'd hate to be alone out here."

Zechs lay beside him, then changed his mind and brought Quatre back beneath him. "Just let me hold you a while longer," he murmured, and they were quiet.

When Zechs made his way down the stairs at nearly noon, showered and a little sore, he heard noise in the kitchen as he approached it. He was tense until he remembered that he was not in his own house, where such noise would be out of place and possibly dangerous. Here, it was probably Duo.

He was correct. Duo stood at the low butcher's table in the centre of the kitchen, a fat textbook propped open on the table and a jam-spread crumpet hovering halfway between the book and his mouth. His eyes caught Zechs as soon as he reached the doorway, letting him know that his progress had been noted. Then Duo stuck the crumpet in his mouth, and Zechs inclined his head.

"Good morning." He crossed the kitchen on the other side of the table, going to the cupboard Quatre had said held glasses. He found tumblers to match the one that had held orange juice earlier, and filled it with water from the tap. He knew he was overstepping bounds with Duo watching his every move, but trying to explain would have made him look like a fool.

As he drank from his glass, Duo suddenly grunted. "Morning," he said, a bit grudgingly, and licked his fingers clean.

Silence fell between them. Zechs refilled his glass, just to have something to do. The tension was building, and he could see Duo getting antsy. Duo didn't have the willpower to tamp it down, though, and Zechs felt a sigh start just before the lid blew.

"How's he doing?" Duo demanded gruffly.

"He had a good night," Zechs said. Immediately he regretted saying it that way, as Duo's ears visibly turned pink. "I'll leave in a short while," he amended, softer, sadly.

The braided man rubbed at the back of his neck, his elbow jutting sharply at an awkward angle, his shoulders oddly hunched. Duo wore all his conflicts in his face, in the set of his bones, Zechs realised. Every emotion he had was there in his expression, in the down-turned eyes, in the fingers dragging down the page of the book. Zechs hadn't spared him much thought the night before after he'd left, but in the light of day it was clear that Duo hadn't gotten much sleep. Had he sat up all night, chewing on his own gut? Had he lied for them, spinning some story so the infamous sisters wouldn't descend on them in the cottage?

He had set his glass down without thinking about it, and found himself standing behind Duo a moment later. He placed his hands on Duo's shoulders, then brushed aside the heavy braid and began to knead strained muscles. He caught himself just as he began to do it, wondering at this unprecedented reflex, this foreign feeling that resembled... compassion.

And a second later Duo was flinching away from him, ducking from beneath his hands. "What're you doing?" he demanded.

Zechs was back at the sink immediately, cursing himself. "You seemed uncomfortable," he answered lamely.

"Well-- yeah, but--" Duo grabbed at the end of his braid, a seemingly unconscious gesture that hid it behind his back. "You weren't-- coming on to me, or anything?"

"No," Zechs assured him quickly and flatly, feeling his face heat. He stared into the sink, hoping Duo couldn't see his flush. "You've been clear in your distaste for my company." He flung the rest of his water down the drain, and took a tea towel from the counter to dry the glass. "My mistake," he added tautly. "I apologise."

When he turned around, he found Duo as red as a pickled beet, shuffling his weight from foot to foot like an errant schoolboy. "Erm. Me, too. I mean-- look, it's not personal. It's not you." Somehow, he managed to turn an even deeper scarlet. "Why does it sound like I'm trying to break off with you?"

He let the sigh escape him. "Because you wish I'd just go, and leave you alone."

Duo snatched the towel from his hands. "I don't. I mean, I do, but mostly I don't. I-- I did a lot of thinking last night. About stuff that you said. And other things." His shoulders were still stiff, but he faced Zechs honestly. "And-- look, he's been a lot better since he ran off after the party with you. He's taking his medication. And he's been happy, and he wasn't happy for so long. So-- yeah, I wish it was me making him happy, but it wasn't. So I think-- that it's good you're here. And, uh, thanks for-- trying to be nice to me just now. It was a nice thought. Sorry I fucked it up."

"You didn't." It seemed there ought to be more, but he couldn't think what. He hated not being able to read a man; but Duo was too quixotic. Tough and self-assured, but so openly vulnerable. Peaceful, but so angry. Zechs couldn't be anything but off-balance about him. And standing so near him now, after the year of the war, studying the smiling boy who'd called himself the God of Death, trying to know him-- trying not to know him, because knowing him would have meant respecting him. Liking him.

And now it was even more dangerous.

He cleared his throat. "I want to take him off the grounds for a few hours."

He expected Duo to turn wary, but it still set his teeth on edge. "How far off?" Duo asked.

"I don't know. Off."

Duo slapped the textbook closed. "Well... I guess so."

"Come with us." He couldn't help but add sarcastically, "Apparently the family trusts you."

Whatever response that sally might have earned disappeared from Duo's face abruptly. He turned his head away toward the door, his eyes abstracted. Zechs automatically looked where Duo was gazing, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"Do you hear that?" Duo said sharply.

"No." Zechs listened, straining to hear anything strange, though he wondered if Duo wasn't a little bit off-kilter, himself. Duo ignored his answer, anyway. He dodged through the dining room and the den and halted at the bottom of the stairwell. Zechs followed curiously, and froze when he heard what Duo had.

It was Quatre, in the bathroom at the top of the stairs. He was talking to himself. He said, "I don't believe you." There was a pause, and then he added, almost petulantly, "He wouldn't do that."

Duo was up the stairs before Zechs, but they reached the top at the same time, and Zechs brushed past the smaller man to push on the bathroom door. "Quatre?" he called ahead, and let it swing open.

Quatre stood at the sink, his hair damp from the shower, his fingers twisting a button on his half-done shirt. He turned at his name, but he looked straight through Zechs as if he were nothing more than a phantom. It chilled Zechs to the bone to see it.

"Quatre," he repeated aggressively. "I'm speaking to you."

"Shut up," Quatre retorted softly, a venomous undercurrent darkening his voice. But his eyes were dilated and roaming the small space, and Zechs knew it wasn't directed at himself. Barely aware that Duo had disappeared, Zechs stepped into the bathroom, putting on his firmest voice of command.

"ZERO is finished speaking to you now. "

"I said shut up! I'm done listening to you."

Zechs reached for him and curled his fingers around Quatre's biceps. "Don't do this, please."

He knew the moment Quatre returned to himself. His eyes suddenly settled on Zechs as if just seeing him in the bathroom, and he wrenched back with a gasp. Zechs was already reaching after him when Quatre whirled back to the sink. He raised his left arm and slammed his hand to the marble edge as hard as he could.

Zechs felt a spark of panic. He grabbed Quatre with both arms, pulling him close and immobilising both his wrists, using his superior height and weight to lock the smaller man to him. Quatre struggled, but he held on grimly as Quatre thrashed about in his hold. "You're going to hurt yourself," he grated out. "That's enough!"

Duo reappeared as silently as he'd left, squeezing past Zechs and dropping an armload of supplies into the sink. He flipped the tap and ran water into a glass, the other hand working independently to uncap a bottle of pills.

"I have this handled, Duo," Zechs told him. Quatre gave lie to his boast by kicking backward with a bare heel, connecting painfully with Zechs's unprotected shin, but he kept his grip. "I know what's happening to him. " Duo was glaring at him, and Zechs glared back. "I know ."

It was hardly an instant win. "Well, excuse me, but I'm the one who's been here for three years, so I'm not exactly a novice at dealing with him like this!" Duo snapped.

"Does ZERO speak to you?" he demanded.

"I don't care who speaks to who, I just want him to calm down, okay!"

Quatre began a low, breathy moaning. It was nothing like the noises he'd made in bed; this had a frightening quality to it. He managed to wrench them both sideways by throwing his weight to the right, but Zechs fetched up his shoulder against the wall and kept them still. "Then get out, and let me deal with this," he told Duo.

"You're a fucking bastard!" Duo spat. He set the glass down, though. A moment passed in hesitation, then another as Quatre groaned again. When Duo turned his face away, Zechs knew he'd won. Duo slipped out, a creak of wood from down the hall announcing that he'd retreated to his room.

Zechs closed the door with his hip, and set his back to the wall again. "Tell me what it said," he instructed Quatre. "Tell me every detail."

Quatre was shaking his arms. "Let go of me."

"After you tell me."

Quatre started to cry. He sagged in Zechs's hold, his back hot and heaving where it pressed to Zechs's chest. Zechs gently kissed his burning neck. "It's okay," he murmured. "Tell me."

"Let go!"

"In a minute."

"I hate you!" he moaned.

It hurt to hear, even knowing Quatre wasn't in his right mind. "No, you don't," he corrected firmly.

Without warning Quatre let all of his weight fall. As Zechs struggled to hold him up, his tears became harsh, chest-deep sobs. It was over, then, Zechs determined. He aimed his behind at the covered commode and sat heavily, pulling Quatre down into his lap. He pressed the overheated face with its salty tears to his own neck, rocking Quatre gently as he cried. His own episodes with ZERO were no longer this emotionally devastating, but there was a time when they had been. In Siberia, ZERO had come on him like a maelstrom, a blizzard screaming all things he needed to do and didn't do and wasn't capable of doing. He was sure that was Quatre was feeling, alone in a storm of white noise and accusations. He did the best he could to provide what he'd never had, then-- something solid, warm, and stable to cling to.

It seemed to be subsiding. He let go with one hand, transferring it to Quatre's hair and finding it sweat-soaked. He stroked it tenderly, rocking them both back and forth.

The elbow that exploded into his solar plexus drove the breath out of him and speared a sharp pain through his chest. Quatre tried to escape him, and Zechs only barely managed to keep his grip long enough to stop him. He wasn't crying now, and his struggles took on a brutal edge. He bit Zechs's arm and tried to smash him back against the wall. When he had enough air for voice, Zechs shouted, "Stop it! Don't make me hurt you, Quatre." He got no answer but Quatre's free hand slamming backwards into his nose.

He grabbed whatever of Quatre he could hold on to, and shoved to his feet. He threw them both forward the two steps to the wall and pinned Quatre there face-first, pressing all his weight on the younger man to keep him there. He was completely unprepared for Quatre to scream, and the shock of it almost made him let go. His face stung and his eyes were full of tears of pain from the blow he'd taken, but it was that awful violent scream that made him realise he might not be able to bring Quatre safely through.

He clapped a hand over Quatre's mouth, muting the sound. "Stop it!" he repeated. He waited until he had compliance, and dropped his hand. "You can't make it quiet like this, so just stop. No one's hurting you except yourself, Quatre."

The small body trapped between him and the wall was trembling with strain. Quatre made no more noise but his harsh breathing as seconds dragged on. Then, "Let me go, please, please," he pleaded, in barely a terrified whisper.

"Why?" he asked sternly.

"I can't... stand being trapped."

That made him ache worse than any blow, but he didn't let go. "I will when I can trust you again," he made himself say.

"You can!" Quatre burst out, a shudder working through him. "I'll be good."

"Do you promise?" he pressed, knowing that word would mean something to Quatre even in this state of agitation.

He got a vigorous nod in answer. "Yes, yes, I promise."

He let go slowly, backing up enough to put a few inches of space between them, but he took the precaution of bracing his arms on either side of Quatre. Quatre straightened and turned, but his head bowed and stayed that way. Zechs looked, and found his eyes closed tightly. He pressed a kiss to Quatre's forehead as Quatre was always doing to him, and sighed into his hair.

"You scared me," he confessed. "Duo as well."

Quatre didn't answer. But a moment later, a beat too late to be in response to his statement, he shook his head.

"What?" Zechs asked him. His lips moved, but no sound emerged. Zechs watched him carefully for signs of another attack. "ZERO lies sometimes," he told Quatre abruptly. "You have to be careful."

This time he heard it. "I don't believe you."

He couldn't tell if that was meant for him, or the machine that ruled them. He tilted Quatre's chin up, and dropped a kiss to his tear-salted mouth. A kiss fixed all wounds-- or so they'd always told him.

Quatre gasped and shoved him back. "Don't touch me!"

"All right," he agreed, chastened, but he stepped back into place, and didn't back down, even when Quatre turned shattered eyes the colour of stormy oceans up to him and demanded wretchedly, "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

It made his throat dry. "Because you need me, and I need you," he said softly, deliberately echoing ZERO. If he could just replace ZERO with something real, with something truly loving and good, he thought. And for a moment he thought it had worked; Quatre's eyes seemed to clear, and he straightened from his cringing slump-- but a second later, it was gone.

"I'm not leaving you," he said again.

"I'm thirsty," Quatre whispered.

He hesitated, but only for a moment. When he dropped his arms, Quatre made no move to run. Maybe it was over? He stood still as Zechs finished filling the glass that Duo had left, and when he took it from Zechs's hand, their fingers brushed with no reaction from Quatre. He stood as if exhausted, taking small sips, his eyes roaming the bathroom aimlessly.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Zechs asked.

"Nothing happened," he said dully.

"You might get away with that lie with Duo, but I understand too well to just accept it."

Quatre sipped again without answering, staring at the shower curtain almost dazedly. Zechs waited, sensing something was coming.

It was. Abruptly, Quatre said, "Go after him."

After Duo? "Shut up," Zechs snapped, his emotions getting the better of him. He regretted the slip immediately, but Quatre barely reacted to his voice. He turned strangely blind eyes to Zechs.

"He could still be alive."

Zechs considered his lover cautiously. "Who?"

Quatre's mouth worked silently. Then, suddenly aloud, he said, "You have to save him, Heero, he could still be alive."

"Is this what ZERO says?" Zechs prompted uncertainly. He didn't know what that cryptic reference to another Gundam Pilot meant, from where in Quatre's scrambled psyche it had emerged. ZERO had never told him anything about Heero Yuy.

Quatre drew a shuddery breath. "Kill me if you have to, but please, save him."

He couldn't bear that. He reached for Quatre, throwing caution to the wind, and touched the centre of his chest. "No one is going to harm you," he promised. But Quatre was fading away, into an unresponsive silence. Would he lose him completely if he didn't fight to keep Quatre in the present? The fear of it motivated him. "I'll go after him," Zechs pushed, "but I want something from you in return."

It worked. Quatre dragged eyes that looked almost drugged to Zechs's face.

"That's right, look at me," he commanded, making his voice hard, compassionless. "You have to stay awake, and you have to help me."

Quatre nodded carefully, but he was losing the battle. Already he seemed more glazed. Zechs dared to shake him slightly. "Look at me, damn it," he snapped, tilting Quatre's head back until their eyes were locked. "You're going to do as I say?"

"Yes," Quatre agreed softly.

"And you'll do as Duo says? Because he's going to help us too."

"Yes."

"Good." He brushed Quatre's hair back with fingers that trembled a little. "Do you want another glass of water?" Need swamped him for a moment, but he pushed it down. He could get high when Quatre was out of the woods, free from ZERO.

Quatre's voice was careful as a little boy's, lost but still polite. "No, thank you."

"Are you ready to come out and have breakfast?"

"Yes."

"Okay." He reached for the latch, and opened the door before drawing Quatre toward it, not wanting to turn his back on the younger man. "Come downstairs then."

Quatre hesitated before obeying; he held his glass out to Zechs uncertainly. "You can carry that yourself," Zechs told him, not sure what to do with it himself. Quatre held it close to his chest, and he passed under Zechs's arm and into the hall on shuffling feet.

Duo may have gone to his room in a temper, but he hadn't been able to stay. He was in the hall waiting for them, wearing a path in the floorboards. He all but devoured Quatre with his eyes, checking for injury, and then his gaze skipped into the bathroom to assess the damage. There was, Zechs was glad, none. Duo looked relieved when he glanced at last to Zechs.

Zechs feathered his fingers through Quatre's hair, petting and reassuring him. "What would you like to eat?" he asked.

Tentatively, Quatre asked, "May I please have some toast?"

"Absolutely." He met Duo's eyes. "Join us, Duo?"

ZERO spoke suddenly from Duo's lips. "Do you think fixing him is your redemption?"

He was unable to hide his flinch as his world shifted back to reality. Duo stood exactly as he had when he'd asked the younger man to join them in the kitchen, but now he wore a look of worry that had nothing to do with Quatre. Zechs felt rattled, but did his best to shake it off and push ZERO far away.

Duo took the glass from Quatre. "I can make a hash for us all," he said.

"We'll help," Zechs said. "Won't we, Quatre?"

Quatre's head turned toward him. "Yes."

"Duo will make the assignments."

Always were a good little follower, ZERO taunted.

Duo was speaking when he cleared his head. "You want to peel the potatoes?" he was asking Quatre. "Zechs can cut them." He'd buttoned Quatre's shirt as well, and smoothed him out gently, and now he took Quatre by the hand. Zechs barely noticed the walk down the stairs and back to kitchen. He found himself standing at the taller counter, a long-bladed chef's knife in his hand and a pile of peeled spuds in front of him. He was so startled that he slipped, and stared at the red slice that appeared on his finger in amazement.

He shouldn't trust you with it any more than Quatre, ZERO mocked, a familiar murmur in his ear. And the pilot is alive-- but you'll never find him alone.

The knife hit the floor with a clatter. Zechs rubbed his spasming hand, and glanced up to find the other two looking at him. "Sorry," he said gruffly. "It slipped."

Quatre left his peeler and bent to retrieve the knife. Zechs wouldn't have seen it if he had not already been facing Duo, but as it was he caught the tensing of Duo's shoulders and his instinctive lean toward the blond. "Don't," he forestalled Duo harshly. "Let him get it."

Duo fixed him with a burning purple glare, but he made no comment as Quatre picked up the knife. When Quatre straightened, however, he gave the tool to Duo, not to Zechs, and he couldn't help the twinge of self-loathing that told him that was probably for the best.

He pressed his hands flat to the cutting board and gathered his strength. "Thank you, Quatre," he said levelly. "I'll be more careful now." He caught Duo's gaze again. "I have to go."

Duo had the grace not to look pleased, but he did agree quickly. Quatre, however, did not. "No!" he said, turning back toward Zechs with a child-like expression of betrayal.

A soft groan escaped his control before he could hide it. "Quatre, I have to."

"Why?" he demanded. He reached for Zechs, but the man who had been called the Lightning Count had already left the counter, stepping back out of range. "You know why, Quatre," he said deliberately. The need in him was desperate. It had been years since he'd let ZERO grow so strong, and didn't need to see the future to know he'd look, and be, crazy before he even made it home. He should never have tried to go so long without his drug, should never have trusted the silence to last.

A glimpse of Quatre's distressed eyes made him falter, though. He gave in to another need, and pulled Quatre close for a kiss. He put all the love Quatre was convinced he had to give into that kiss, hoping Quatre would know it for it was it. "I have to take care of it, Quatre," he murmured when they parted. "And I have to find out about Heero. I'll come back. Just call me, and I swear, I will."

Pale hands clutched his shirt for a moment, and then Quatre let him go. Zechs drew a deep breath to centre himself, and looked for Duo. "Call me?" he asked.

Duo blinked. "Yeah. Okay, I will. You need..." He hesitated. Zechs knew what word he wasn't saying, and was grateful for its absence. He shook his head in reply, and turned to the doorway when Duo suddenly broke his stance and darted toward the stainless steel refrigerator, wrenching the doors open. He gathered containers of the leftovers they'd eaten the night before at their awkward dinner meal, and added a bottle of juice and two apples to the stack. All of it went into a bag from under the counter, and then Duo thrust the bag at him.

He was thunderstruck by that odd gesture of goodwill. His hands fluttered uselessly at his sides as he tried to form words. "I don't eat much," he managed finally. "But-- thank you." He took the bag by the straps, trying to avoid touching Duo's fingers there.

You are such the poor little prince. Maxwell will be in his pants before you're off the property.

He shoved the bag back at Duo, and he fled.

The phone began to ring mid-morning the day after he'd run out of Quatre's kitchen. Whether it was Treize, his sister, or Duo, he didn't know, and didn't particularly want to. He let it ring. They left him alone for a while after that, but it woke him from a doze on the couch later that afternoon. It rang ten times. And again two hours later, and then later that night. The next morning it rang every hour, driving him from room to room like electronic laughter.

He made it to nearly four o'clock before his jangled nerves surrendered. He was sitting in his bedroom, once again immaculate since the maid had come, staring at the pictures that lined the desk and wondering where they'd come from, why they'd been selected, what his decorator had thought he would see in them. The phone rang almost next to his head, and he nearly jumped from his chair. Grinding his jaw, he picked up the receiver, only barely managing to stop himself from hurling the phone across the room.

He didn't even have a chance to snarl a greeting. The caller was already assaulting him. "What the fuck is up with you?"

"What?" It took him a moment to recognise Duo's accent. "Nothing." He rubbed a hand over his face groggily. Then he remembered he'd been ignoring the phone for nearly twenty-four hours, and sudden fear jolted him upright. "Is Quatre all right?"

"He's fine," Duo snapped. "He's fucking driving me up a wall. Why didn't you answer your god-damn phone?"

"I was sick," he answered shortly. "Driving you up a wall how?"

"Wondering where you were. We were both wondering where the hell you were."

"As I said." He hesitated, wondering if he even had it in him to go if Duo affirmed his suspicion. "Does he need to see me?"

"I think he'd like to see his boyfriend, yeah."

That knocked all thought clear out of his head.

"Hello?"

He remembered to breathe. "When?" he managed.

"When?" Duo paused for a moment. "Tonight. Tomorrow."

Zechs licked his lips, and found them dry and cracked. "Look, I-- this is difficult for me. I'll be there. Tonight."

"Wait, what does that mean, this is difficult?"

"Loving someone." He winced. "I have to go."

"Zechs!"

The shout stopped him from hanging up. "Yeah?"

"What the hell does that mean?" It took Duo only a second to make a hairpin turn into protective. "If you break his heart, I swear to God I'm going to break your fucking kneecaps!"

Irritation washed over him. "I'm not good enough, you ass." He closed his eyes, and dropped his head to the hard wooden back of the chair he sat in. "But I'm not running away from it."

Duo's silence was seething, and it didn't last long. "Yeah, well, you don't get to be not-good-enough. If you're not good enough, get better."

"I'm trying, damn it."

"Try faster. And get your ass over here."

His hair felt lank under his hand as he pushed it out of his eyes. "What's so urgent, Maxwell? You couldn't wait to be rid of me before."

"I didn't choose you. He did."

There was no point in arguing it over the phone. "All right," he said tiredly. "Fine. Give me an hour."

"Fine." There was no good-bye; Duo hung up on him. Some part of him not concerned with being put out chuckled at that, but the rest of him was sour. It would take energy he didn't have to get ready, to be ready to face Quatre and be-- a boyfriend.

He'd never been a boyfriend before. With Treize he had always been a subordinate first, the right-hand-man of his only captain, no matter what they were when the bedroom door closed. And though Noin had perhaps wanted him to be that, she had never forced him to act except as he was. Did Quatre think of Zechs as his "boyfriend"? Or was that merely Duo's expectations? It carried more... it carried more responsibility than "lover." Even if Quatre had been the healthiest man on Earth and in Space, it still meant-- things that Zechs wasn't sure about.

He only had to close his eyes to see Quatre supine against his chest, to feel hot skin against his, to remember the strange twist in his gut whenever Quatre smiled. He was old enough to know what falling in love meant, and old enough to know how selfish that could be. He'd fallen in love with Treize, after all, but Treize had never needed him.

Quatre did.

He showered and scraped three days of stubble from his face and brushed his teeth twice, but the face that looked back from the mirror was still that of a man who'd gone on a bender. There was nothing he could do about it, though, and he was going to be very late as it was. He dithered just long enough to decide on bringing his entire pouch with him, this time. It felt strange to take it out of the den, to carry it with him to the car. It sat with the presence of a passenger in the seat beside him as he drove, and when he reached a stoplight, Zechs had to toss his coat over it just to stop himself from looking at it every few seconds.

There were cars at the Big House this time, a number of them, as he passed the mansion and turned down the little lane to the cottage. It looked exactly the same, except for the bank of daffodils beginning to sprout on the little hill before the door. Zechs left his car on the roadside, and trudged up empty-handed. He reached for the bell, but never pressed it; Duo opened the door just as he extended his hand, and stood there frowning mightily at him. He was barefoot once more. He had long toes.

"Hello," Zechs said, mustering some vestige of courtesy. "May I see him?"

Duo's eyes raked him over, and his expression did not change. "He's changing. Again. When you were late he got nervous."

"Sorry." He was, but it came out sounding only weary.

Whatever the case, Duo seemed to forgive him abruptly. "Not entirely your fault," he said. He stepped away from the door, leaving it open for Zechs to follow. He did, and when Duo pointed to the corner between the closet and the umbrella stand, he took off his shoes obediently and almost tried to take off the coat he wasn't wearing. When he stood in stockinged feet, Duo nudged the door shut.

"Was he all right after I left?" Zechs asked him.

"No," Duo answered bluntly.

The attitude was setting him on edge. "What happened?"

"He thought it was his fault you left."

"I'll make him understand," Zechs said.

"That," Duo said, "would be wise." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Look, I'm going to say this once, and then if I have to say it again, you're never coming back here."

He knew he'd earned the lecture. When he admitted that to himself, it was easy enough to pay it the attention it deserved. He nodded his sufferance.

Duo was grim. "Do not ever, ever hurt him without reason, just because you can't handle it."

"I had reason," Zechs told him. "Maybe not a reason you'd understand, but reason enough."

"I can guess what your reason is; I grew up on L2." Duo's gaze was unimpressed, as Zechs stiffened. "You handle your end and you handle whatever he throws at you. That's what you have to do when you love someone."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zechs demanded defensively.

"That you have to make a choice. Whatever your chosen poison is, or him. You can't have both."

Was it just a lucky guess? Had Quatre told him? Duo's stance did not invite questions. But-- he didn't truly need to ask, and Duo didn't want explanations, only proof that he was exactly what he feared he wasn't-- good enough. It was, Zechs sensed, a rigid standard which Duo himself had failed to meet, and he was receiving the full force of Duo's own guilt. But that didn't mean he didn't have to answer to it.

He kept his eyes level with Duo's purple ones. "Without that poison, I'll be no good to him. None. I'd be the same as he is."

Duo was already shaking his head. "How good are you to him if you leave when he needs you?"

"I won't leave again." It was a promise, and he didn't know if he could keep it; but Duo surprised him by accepting it.

The tension between them bled away, and they were just two men standing in a foyer again. Zechs sighed, and said, "Answer something for me. How did I suddenly become necessary enough to be tolerated?"

Duo turned on his heel and began to walk toward the kitchen. Zechs followed him, his socks sliding a little on the wooden floors. "I know the look in his face," Duo told him. "I used to see it directed at me. That's how."

He thought about the gathering of cars on the mansion lawn. "Does the family agree?"

Duo's reply startled him. "What they don't know doesn't hurt them any," he said.

He blinked at Duo's back as they entered the kitchen. "They're going to find out."

Duo went to the fridge and tugged open the door. "I'm putting a lot of effort into not thinking about that," he muttered.

"I can't afford to be so complacent," Zechs retorted, propping a hip against the counter. Treize had been very clear; Zechs could only wonder why, if so many people were so unhappy about his relationship with Quatre, they hadn't already been forcibly separated. Unless Duo really was lying for them, or at least not telling the whole truth.

Duo popped the caps of two brown bottled beers, and held one out to Zechs. "Well, if you've got better, I'm happy to hear it."

He took it. "Thank you. There really isn't anything to do about it, I suppose."

"You haven't heard from them, have you?" Duo asked, his brows dipping together in another frown, this time concerned.

"Not directly."

"What does that mean? Messages on the machine?"

He hesitated, not sure how much to reveal. "What's Quatre's relationship to Treize?"

Duo's face went dark immediately, and he took a long drink from his bottle. "The man's a fucking user," he said flatly. He looked up. "You know why he invites Quatre to all those fancy parties? So he can show the world he conquered us. He won the fucking war, and we're nothing more than trophies to him."

He was almost compelled to point out that the war had ended unbelievably well, for such a messy and bloody conflict involving so many factions. OZ had certainly come out well, but the colonies had at last achieved independent status within the ESA, and Pacifism had spread like wildfire, become a political banner for dozens of the member nations. But that wasn't what Duo meant, and he knew it. He amended what he'd nearly said, and left it at merely embellishing Duo's own words. "A powerful, fucking user."

"Yeah." Duo drank again, but his eyes were already narrowing. "Has he done something?"

If he did tell Duo the truth-- or at least part of it-- he might learn something from watching his reactions. Zechs took his first sip of the brew, and found it rich with a hint of peaches. "Summoned me to his home for interrogation and a warning."

Duo seemed to hesitate. At last, he said, "The Winners have bought in big with him. I don't know all of it, but they're tight."

"I'm not afraid of them."

A brown eyebrow quirked, and a hint of a smile began on Duo's wide mouth. "Which is both admirable, and not very smart."

He laughed at that, though it sounded bitter even to him. "And a lie." That made the little smile blossom into a rakish grin. He shared it for a moment, but the next words were impelled from him by sudden honesty. "I can't go back to prison."

Duo sobered. He swallowed from his bottle again, and toyed with the neck before setting it aside. "No," he murmured. "I don't imagine you can."

He drank. "It won't happen."

After a moment, Duo asked, "Do you really hear ZERO?"

It seemed an odd time for that question, but he knew why it was being asked, and he knew that Duo was going to listen. "Yes," he said simply.

Another moment passed between them as Duo judged his sincerity. In the end, Duo only nodded.

Zechs set his beer carefully on the counter. "Maybe I should go up and rescue him."

Duo snorted. "He's probably staring at his closet, hating everything he owns."

"That sounds serious."

"Only every other day."

"Do you mind?"

"That he hates his clothes? Not particularly."

He couldn't tell if he was being teased. "If I go up," he clarified.

"Oh. No. Food won't be here for a while anyway."

He nodded, and pushed away from the counter. "Thanks for asking me back."

"Yeah." Duo waved him out. "Next time answer your damn phone."

"Right." It was a dismissal, and he took his leave. The stairs creaked as he climbed the narrow well, but it already seemed more familiar to him than his own home did. He walked down the hall to Quatre's room, and found the door open. He leaned against the frame, finding Quatre standing before the bureau holding two different socks and glaring at them.

"Duo, pick for me," he commanded, turning. He froze when he recognised Zechs. "Oh," he said. Hi." A red blush spread over his cheeks and neck.

Zechs found himself smiling. "Hi."

Quatre held up the socks. "Um... so, which do you think?"

"The grey." Quatre tossed the other back into the open drawer, and sat on the bed to pull on the grey pair. He was wearing a brace on his left wrist, Zechs couldn't help but notice, remembering how he'd dashed his hand against the sink. Duo hadn't mentioned a serious injury, so perhaps it was only a precaution. Zechs left the doorway until his toes were at the edge of the rug. He said, "You're funny."

"Am I?"

"Yeah, you are. I don't care what you wear." Quatre finished with the second sock, and Zechs put out a hand. "Come here."

Quatre took the offering, interlacing their fingers, and Zechs tugged him close and bent him back for a kiss. "I missed you," he murmured.

"Here I am."

"Do you think you can stand it if I stay a couple of days?" he asked. He got his answer when Quatre's face lit up with a smile. It warmed him. He cupped Quatre's cheek. "That's promising."

"Like birthday and Christmas," Quatre joked.

"Duo says I'm your boyfriend. Is that true?"

The blush returned, turning Quatre pink. "Well... I think it's a nice word."

"Yes. It's a nice word. But that's not what I asked you."

"I suppose it's what I'd like you to be."

"Then I suppose it's what I am." Quatre grinned, and squeezed their hands together. Zechs smiled down at him. "That the best you can do?"

He won a laugh. Quatre's bandaged hand snuck behind his head and pulled him down, and Quatre's mouth opened under his for a deeper kiss. Zechs shifted his legs to balance them both, bringing his hands to Quatre's hips and rubbing along the waistband of his denims. Quatre chuckled into his mouth, sending vibrations along his tongue and teeth.

At last they had to part to breathe. Quatre licked his lips as he rocked back on his heels, letting Zechs go with a small sigh. "Do you eat Peking duck?" he asked.

"I like duck, yes."

"It's Duo's favourite," he said. "Not mine, but anyway, it's my turn to suck it up, I guess."

"I could make you a sandwich."

"Thanks, but it's all right. It's sort of a competition. To see which one of us can eat the most of what we don't like."

Zechs made a face. "That doesn't make any sense at all, Quatre."

He laughed. "I made him eat squid, once. It was on, after that."

"I'm not going to ask for details," he said drily. "Let's go down. I'm famished."

When they left the stairwell Duo was at the front door accepting two large bags from a delivery man. Quatre ignored the exchange, and Zechs followed him to the dining room, where the table had once again been set for three for dinner. Feeling oddly resigned to the prospect, Zechs took the same seat he'd had before while Quatre fetched serving spoons and chopsticks from the kitchen. Duo came in just as Quatre left the room, and began transferring containers from the bags to the table.

Quatre put his head through the doorway. "What would you like to drink, Zechs?"

"Juice, if you have it." He glanced at Duo. "What would you like?" he asked politely.

"Soda." Duo passed Zechs one of the spoons to serve himself, but he took Quatre's plate before his own and heaped it high from the steaming bowl of duck, a little grin hovering on his lips as he did so. It was clearly an old joke between them. Zechs dished a conservative amount of rice and duck onto his plate, as well as vegetables from a separate container, and took the glass of juice Quatre returned with.

When they were all seated and ready to eat, Duo propped his foot on the seat of his chair and clicked his chopsticks together nervously. "I thought it would be instructional for us to set up some ground rules," he said abruptly.

It had the air of a set-up. Quatre was paying avid attention, but he didn't look upset. Zechs knew better than to disagree. "All right," he said, a little warily.

Duo lifted a sliver of duck to his mouth, his eyes on the food and not returning Zechs's curiosity. He said, "I'm not going to leave the house anymore when you stay over."

"No one asked you to in the first place," Zechs pointed out.

"I know." Duo fidgeted with his chopsticks. "I let myself get flustered. I shouldn't have. And I won't again. I think it's my responsibility to be here in case anything happens."

It seemed to be Quatre's turn. They both spoke with an air of recital. He said, "And it's my responsibility not to be a jerk and kick you out."

He could see where it was going. "And it's mine not to overstay my welcome?" he guessed.

Duo nodded. "Or to leave when you have to, and not try to stay because you think you ought to."

Zechs tamped down on the glare that he wanted to point at Duo. It was an effort not to confront that, given their "conversation" at the door. But there were fine lines of difference between what Duo had said earlier, and what he was saying now, and Zechs grudgingly admitted he knew what they were. "Fine," he agreed tightly.

Quatre's foot found his under the table-- a gesture of apology? But aloud he continued, "I have to ask for help if I need it."

Zechs sighed, and coated a piece of meat in the sticky rice. "We all should follow that rule."

"I have to recognise that I'm not the only one who can give that help." That came from Duo and was directed to Zechs, but his eyes were defiantly locked on Quatre's, who nodded gratefully.

He wondered how long they'd argued over that one. "I appreciate that," Zechs said in reply. He added, "I have to recognise that I'm not the only one who wants to give that help."

Duo nodded, and fixed his eyes on his plate. "Chick flick over," he muttered, shoving a large mouthful past his teeth.

End Part 4

(:./erin/zero4)