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Quatre…..Quatre…..Quatre…..the words fell through he silence of her mind like the clear notes of the piano that he loved to play so much. He was sleeping beside her, his breath coming in quiet intervals, rising and falling in a rhythm that matched her own. The only other sound in the room was that of the fan that turned slowly back and forth, following its mechanical course to the letter, mindlessly circulating the still and warm air of his expansive master bedroom, just as it had been designed to. One of his hands rested on her breast, his fingers flexing every now and then in response to whatever dreams danced through his mind. The other arm was curled beneath him, his hand cupping his cheek, a childlike expression resting on his features as he slept. Her thoughts were her own at the moment, he wasn’t conscious to share them.

//No, I don’t love you sweet one, any more than you love me; yet we’re here, resting together, just as if we were lovers. Quite queer isn’t it? The whole situation…eh, I’ll leave you to your sleep. There’s too much on your mind as it is.//

She let her mind drift free, rolling her head to a more comfortable sideways angle, facing away from the quiet blonde. The smell of her own lightly vanilla scented shampoo wafted up to greet her mixed and intermingled with Quatre’s spicy and yet indefinable scent. Without another coherent conscious thought, she slept, her opalescent eyes drifting shut with ease.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

 Quatre woke early the next morning, around three, to find Dorthy still resting beside him, just as she always did when he needed her there. Last night had been especially hard for him; silently he gave her thanks as he slid out of the comfortable flannel sheets of his bed and into the chill pre-dawn air. His bare feet made no sound as he quietly padded over the wood paneling of his room, moving ever closer to his bathroom. Once he got there he turned on the lights to a low setting, knowing that light filtered out into the room and might disturb his sleeping guest.

 He turned on the shower and instead of getting in, half sat and half stood against the counter, staring at his reflection and silently waiting for the water to warm up. He didn’t think that he could take the cold shock of the water as it hit him this morning, it didn’t seem to be something overly pleasant. The rhythmic sound of the droplets hitting the tiling of his shower soothed what few of his jangled nerves remained. Peering into the silver and reflective surface of the mirror he pondered himself.

 Outlined in hazy light stood a boy, free of all confining clothing and standing only in his own skin. It was a pale suit that he wore, fitted tightly over taut muscle and a lack of fat. Some of the more pleasing ways that he had heard his figure described were, lean, wiry. Those made him feel good inside. He knew somewhere in the deeper recesses of his mind that clinically he was anorexic, but trivial details such as that didn’t matter to him. He just didn’t have the time to eat, that was all that it was. His blonde hair fell about his face and almost to his shoulders, woven of spider’s silk and sunlight, accentuating his skin tone, and his eyes. Ah yes, his eyes. Meeting eyes with the stranger in the mirror Quatre found himself staring into crystalline blue depths, large and expressive, shaped so delicately as to almost be feminine, but not quite. There was something there that held him apart from the female populace, sharply defining him as male. He watched the stranger run a hand down his own chest, tracing his long and graceful fingers over his collar bone and down the flat expanse of his chest, stopping briefly at a pierced nipple, fingering the silver ring slowly. Done on a whim, on a fleeting fancy, and kept because like everything else, he made it look good. On further down now, over a flat stomach, the envy of male and female alike, no one could hold a candle to his figure, save some old friends that he had long ago lost touch with. Still, Quatre couldn’t help staring into the mirror boy’s eyes once again, and trying to figure out what shadows were held visible in their depths.

 There, that tiny hint of uncertainty, that small flash of insecurity, focusing on that little bit of emotion held in the beautiful and glittering depths of the boy’s eyes he could see into his soul. The man-child; the boy surrounded by people and yet the possessor of only a tiny handful of those that he could call friend. A boy of twenty one, an adult by the standards of society that had shaped and molded him, yet inside still somehow a child, even after sampling everything that was said to rip innocence away. Quatre blinked. The air of the bathroom was beginning to grow muggy, he smiled and shook his head, his blonde tresses falling about his face once again, finding new and interesting ways to fall. The temperature was correct for him now. Without much more hesitation he stepped in, thanking whatever deity came to mind for hot water.

 Dorthy sat up, staring at the small red clock that glowed in the darkness of the room. Quatre was in the bathroom, getting ready for the day. She would have to do that as well, rather soon in fact. With a sigh she got up, pulling one of the sheets from his bed with her, wrapping it around her slim frame, over the crest of her breasts and safely tucking a corner under an arm to make sure that the whole set up, stayed up. With the same sort of padding steps Quatre had used only hours before she came up to the bathroom door, sticking her head in liberally, not really caring how she caught the small blonde. She needn’t have worried, he was sitting there in a pair of boxers with a towel wrapped around his head, assisting with the drying of his hair and filing his nails.

“I’m going, see you this evening?”

 Quatre nodded the silent affirmative, not once taking his eyes off of the work on his hands. “Of course, I’ll be by to pick you up around nine. Wear the salsa dress, I feel like Latin dance tonight.”

 She smirked. “You like that dress on me a lot.”

 He laughed quietly, knowing her unconscious game. “It looks good on you, shows off your killer body and you know it, now get going or you are going to arrive late.”

 She smiled back at him, a superior and yet amused tone in her voice. “You know just as well as I do that being the boss I can show up whenever I so choose.”

 He nodded, unwrapping the towel from around his hair, letting the slightly puffy blonde strands fall as they pleased before he went to the trouble of combing and brushing. “I know it, I indulge in that liberty every now and then, but it helps to set a good example for your underlings does it not?”

 She nodded, giving in, letting him have the minor battle. “I concede, your point.”

 He looked up at her and smiled, his luscious blue eyes utterly entrancing in the dim light of the bathroom. “Have a good day Dorthy.”

 She nodded and left the doorway, walking off into another room to get her clothes from where she had hung them up.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

 Quatre sat at his desk, filling out paper work with a quarter of his actual interest. It was just busy work so that he didn’t drive himself insane. Things had been rather slow as of late, which was a good thing as far as the Winner Corp. was concerned, yet fatalistically droll for him. With a single tap of his slim fingers a vid-screen appeared on a nearby wall, flipping onto the news, already halfway through. He snorted as he saw a picture of Heero Yuy and Relena on camera, Relena smiling and pleasant and Heero looking as if someone had just died, as photogenic as always.

“-news, Earth Sovern Relena Peacecraft announced her engagement to the former Wing Gundam pilot Heero Yuy. A date has not been set, and details should be soon forthcoming. In other news-“

 With a disgusted snort Quatre clicked off the screen, no more interested with the rest of the galaxy than he was at the news of Heero’s engagement. He sighed, annoyed; if there were getting married then he would be most likely invited to attend. He was invited to all sorts of high-brow occasions. They were all monotonous and droll, one occasion blurring into the next.

“She finally bullied you into marrying her, didn’t she Heero?”

 He sighed, half expecting an answer from the single photograph that he possessed of all of them together, Trowa, Duo, Heero, Wufei, and himself. They were all there, caught in the utter euphoria of victory, just after Heero had done it, saved the Earth one more time by putting his life on the line. They were so young then, staring into the face of his past self he saw a child, standing there amongst teens, so different from the other boys. He always had been. With a  sigh he looked away from the few faces of those that he could call friends and looked into the mail. There wasn’t much there that couldn’t be passed off to different departments, and then there was a letter from Divina Corp. He raised an eyebrow and opened it, using the –very- sharp letter opener sent to him as a gift a couple of Christmases ago; a nice gift. The opener looked like a little dagger, it was a favorite of his.

 He opened it, looking appreciatively at Dorthy’s intricate letterhead and read the small message.

Quatre

Are you okay?

Dorthy

 With a smirk he pulled out of oh-so-official stationary and wrote her a reply in kind.

Dorthy

No, Yes, Maybe, I don’t really know any more. Glad to have a best friend who gives a damn.

Quatre

 He set it into an envelope and put it in the express mail box. It would get there soon enough. After that was done he replaced the dagger in his pencil cup and leaned back in his expansive and very comfortable chair. That was one of the few perks of being the boss. Set your own hours and get a damn comfortable chair.

 There was a knock at his door. He let his feet down and found his business tone, something clear and companionable but with a hint of sharpness.

“Come in.”

 His eyes fractionally narrowed as he saw Jones step in the door. He was a small man, uber-tidy and a Born Again Christian. (1) He knew that the thirty-year-old would oust him from his seat as Chairman of the Board and head of the Winner Corp. if he could find a way to do it. He was perfectly aware of the small man’s animosity toward him, and some of his policies.

“Good morning sir.”

 Quatre clicked his smile into the ‘on’ position. “Good morning Jones. How has your day been?”

 Jones smiled at him, pleasantly, like a little weasel about to steal and unsuspecting bird’s egg. “I’ve been fine sir.”

 His face took on a mildly concerned set, even though both he and Quatre knew that it was just as fake as his smile. Quatre found himself smiling back, and glaring from behind his eyes.

“How can I help you this morning?”

 The weasel look glittered in Jone’s eyes. “Well, I have some disturbing news sir…”

 Quatre’s eyebrow twitched marginally, a nervous tick he had acquired over the last few years. “Really?”  He purposely kept a fraction of the ice in his tone carry out into his speech, warning Jones not to toe any lines. The weasel man faltered slightly but kept that damnable smile on his face.

“I’ve heard some ugly rumors circulating around about you sir, that a few weeks ago you were at a club, seen making out with some guy there, intoxicated.”

 Quatre new full and well that if such a rumor got to the board his credibility would be shot to hell. And he knew the little ferret had gone to special trouble to have someone follow him. The ice fell through his words in icy currents, he couldn’t stop it.

“Where did you hear this?”

 Jones flinched slightly. “Around” he murmered vaguely.

 Quatre glared at him, ice still setting his tone freezing. “I was in the company of Ms. Dorthy Catalonia the evening that you mentioned. We were dancing that evening.”

 Before the little weasel could get a word in he caught Jones with his fearful icy blue eyes. “Do I, in your opinion, Mr. Jones, do anything, anything at all to damage the credibility, honor, or workings of this company?”

 Jones was growing pale. He knew he shouldn’t have pushed Quatre today, but he had gone and done it anyway. “No sir.”  He answered almost without a tremor in his voice, Quatre had to give him points for that.

“Then, why is my personal life, suggested as it may be, -any- of –your- business?”

 Jones involuntarily backed up a step as Quatre almost hissed out the word your. Quatre sat back in his seat where he had leaned forward slightly.

“ I suggest, Mr. Jones, that you quell any such rumors about me that you may have heard, as it is your job to do so, otherwise, things might become difficult in the future. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

 Jones nodded. Quatre smiled pleasantly, looking like a small Adonis sitting behind a desk. “Good, now go to work. And have a good day won’t you?”

 Jones scurried out of there faster than Quatre would have given him credit for. With a sigh he massaged his temples, trying to get the throbbing migraine to stop pounding his skull. Another day, another fight, another threat to his position, he was getting too old for this.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

 Quatre sat out on the roof, humming quietly, listening to the strains of random music that floated through his mind. It had always been with him, he felt alive when he played it. There were so few other times in his life when he could claim that he was alive anymore. It all seemed to have melted away after the war. And he knew why too, because they had left. They who had flown with him, known his joys, known his sorrows, and who had pulled him back over the brink of sanity.

 His thoughts flowed quietly back to the few quiet times, when he had found comfort in Trowa’s arms. He missed those times so much. He had known that he loved the other boy with all of his heart and would do so even more if the taller pilot had ever asked. But he hadn’t asked.  The ‘dreaded’ L-word had never passed between them. Now that he looked back he saw that Trowa had just been finding comfort wherever he could find it. With a sigh he looked out into the glowing expanse of the city’s lights. Trowa had been as straight as all of the rest of them. Even Duo, who he could have sworn was a raving homosexual. None of them were like him, none of them at all. Cold tears traced slowly down his cheeks at the wind played at his face and hair.

They all had lives now. He’d checked up on every one of them. Trowa was performing with one of the best circuses on the world. They moved between the Earth-sphere and colonies and were a sellout wherever they went. Duo had moved back to L2 and was working a scrap-yard with Hilde. Wufei had gone to the preventers and was working with them, keeping their democracy from falling apart at the seams. And then there was Heero. Heero  had found his place at Relena’s side, just as he was supposed to. Everything was perfect for them, even if their lives weren’t the best they still lived happily. He couldn’t be happy, not if he wanted to keep his job.

 His back pocket beeped. With an exasperated sigh he thought about throwing the stupid beeper off the building, but instead he checked the number. Dorthy was calling, checking up on him. She had the same sort of ‘gift’ that he did, a mind that could feel what others felt. With a  growl he threw the beeper off the building and smiled slightly as he heard the ever-so-faint tinkle of it smashing against the pavement.

 _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _

 He picked up Dorthy at six that evening, just as he had planned to. She was wearing the afore mentioned salsa dress that even –he- wouldn’t touch. He’d been known to wear some very (interesting) things when the mood struck him, but the heels she had chosen looked frightening.

“You sure you can wear those things? Your feet look like they’re almost vertical!”

 She smiled, giving a dismissive gesture as she walked the rest of the way up the steps so she was level with him. Even after having a late growth spurt he was still shorter than her normally, and with heels he seemed tiny. She smirked at him and ruffled his hair ever-so-slightly.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

 Quatre sipped at his drink and observed the dance floor. There were some pretty specimens out there that evening.  There was one dancer, his or her, (he couldn’t tell from this distance)  hair wrapped into a tight bun and in a pair of pants that made him sweat. He hadn’t seen form fitting leather like that since he’d last seen Duo Maxwell, several years ago.  He looked out to watch Dorthy, indeed she did look good in that dress, it suited her figure perfectly.

 The music was blaring, lending an ear to the track currently playing he caught the lyrics:

“ She walks like she talks
and she talks like she walks!
She bangs
she bangs
wasted by the way she moves
she moves –“

 Quatre snorted and paid the song no more mind than that, the beat was good but certain words should be changed in his opinion. It ought to go, -he- bangs. With a sigh he slipped out into the throng of people, blonde tresses falling into his eyes, a fallen angel radiating innocence and seduction all at the same time. He knew his clothes hugged him, he realized that people were looking him over, checking him out to see if he would be a good lay or not. He knew that he was, he didn’t need to prove it to any of them. After a little while of ignoring the faceless people that writhed and twisted in front, behind, and around him he realized that Dorthy was dancing next to him, close, her movements breathing  the fact that she was confidant to –exactly- what she was doing.

“Want to dance?”, he purred in her ear.

 With a nod she accepted and they twined through the dance floor, perfectly in sync with one-another, wowing those around them. The sinuous voice of the Spanish guitar mixed and mingled with the sound of moroccas and little bells, binding the group into a tense and hot spell. After a little while Quatre had parted from Dorthy and was dancing with the man with his hair up. He had identified the person as male after noticing a lack of breasts when the individual was pressed up against him, chest to chest in accordance to the dance. The other boy had a sinuous grace about him that Quatre found arousing and a familiarity that was almost frightening. He could swear that he knew the boy. Yet he couldn’t place the face, his pretty eyes were hidden beneath a crest of bangs that fell haphazardly in his face and further distorted by the shifting lights and eye makeup he wore.

 The rest of the evening Quatre was his dance partner alone, he didn’t care to dance with any other. He contemplated asking the boy to spend the night with him, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was just a hunch, but he always trusted his hunches. After falling deeply into the euphoric daze of the party he didn’t even realize it as it ended. The stranger, whose name he had never received, captured his mouth for a single moment in a kiss that gave him a jolt. Then he was gone, flitted away like a spirit in the forest.

  With a sigh he went to collect Dorthy and drive her home, the hedonistic gentleman. When she was safely at home he came in just in time to receive a vid-call. He punched on the screen and found Duo there, looking a little sweaty and disheveled. Yet that was to be expected, considering what he did for a living. Quatre smiled tiredly, a little surprise mixing into his voice as he spoke.

“Duo…it’s nice to see you.”

 The braided boy smiled, sheepishly. “You too Quat-man, it’s been too long. I just haven’t kept in touch…”

 Quatre shook his head, his blonde bangs falling about his face in an ever-so-alluring manner. “Not entirely your fault my friend, I haven’t kept in touch either. It’s a mutual fault I think. So, how’s Hildy?”

 Something indefinable flashed through the Deathscythe pilot’s eyes and then he spoke as loquacious as ever. “She’s doin’ good. She’s pregnant.”

 That news hit Quatre like a knife in his breast. “Really?” He was surprised at how calm and interested his voice sounded. Duo smirked. “Before you even think that way, take a look,” he held his hands up to the screen. Quatre saw no ring, when Duo’s face came back on he raised an eyebrow.

“So you two aren’t married?”

 Duo laughed out loud. “No! She’s pregnant by her boyfriend Greg. He’s a hell of guy. If he wasn’t I’d pound the hell out of him. They’re getting married soon.”

 The braided boy’s tone and smile quieted. “She’s not the person for me Quat-man. Just as dear to this blackened heart as a sister.”

 Quatre noted that his battered silver cross still endured, hanging outside of his black turtle-necked tank-top in an almost officious manner. He found his interested and almost chipper voice saying, “so, did you hear about Relena and Heero’s wedding?”

 Duo frowned slightly. “Yeah, I heard about it…I really don’t want to go though.”

 Quatre blinked in honest surprise. “Why not?”

 Duo sighed, sitting down, the screen following his motion. Quatre saw him curled up in a large, beaten and overstuffed black leather chair.

“Y’know, way back when we were all flying?”

 Quatre nodded, his plastic smile melting away into the haunted and almost sad expression that he wore whenever he was alone.

“I remember those times quite vividly Duo, more so then you would even imagine.”

 Duo nodded, his eyes fixed somewhere else entirely. Quatre could see a picture of Heero and Duo together, the braided pilot attached to the Wing pilot’s shoulders, grinning in his manic fashion, peering over an ashtray with a half-lit cigarette ground into the porcelain surface. The ashes were still glowing slightly, trying to hold onto their fading heat.

“Back then,” Duo’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper, with no hint of his usual cheer. “Back then, we were all real close. We had something to fight for, we had…each other, y’know?”

 Quatre nodded, seeing that perhaps he wasn’t the only one that missed the old times. “We all fucked around. I know you were with Trowa at some point, and I was with Wing-boy. I don’t think I can handle watching him walk willingly into a life time with the she-whore.”

 Quatre’s throat had clenched involuntarily. “Yeah, I know…I think I’m going to go though, the media gets suspicious when I don’t show up at really ‘important’ occasions.”

 He was surprised at just how jaded his voice sounded. Had business and the war done this to him? Or had he done it to himself? Duo was speaking again.

“I see how it is, it must be bad huh? Getting yanked around to where ever?”

 His own soft tone filled the empty room in which he stood. “One tends to get used to it…it comes down to survive or die.”

 Duo nodded sagely. “Seen Trowa?”

 “Not in four years.”

 “He has a kid.”

 “Really?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Oh.”

 “Sorry to be the one to tell you.”

 “That’s fine, if you hadn’t told me then I wouldn’t have known anyway.”

 “So, you still seeing Dorthy? I always see you two together in the news, the head of the Winner Corperation and the head of Divina Co. There could not be a better match made in heaven.”

 “Dorthy’s a lesbian. We sleep together sometimes, comfort sex.”

 “She good in bed?”

 “I’ve seen better, I’ve seen worse.”

 “God Quatre, what’s happened to you?”

 “Not much. Could ask of you the same my friend.”

 “Exactly what you say. A lack of anything.”

 “Call more often?”

 “Only if you will.”

 “Gotcha.”

 Quatre hung up, a bone-weariness filling him to the core. The combination of fatigue, mal-nourishment and spiritual desolation filled him in one fell swoop. He fell down onto his knees, crying out of anger, crying out of fear, crying out of loneliness, crying for Duo, for Heero, for himself.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

 He stood out on the edge of the roof, the strains of violin filling the night air as he played, blonde hair moving over his face like inquisitive fingers. Dorthy had been over earlier, the sex was unremarkable, more of a comfort for them both than anything else. The song was ending. It had been an ongoing melody in his head for twenty one years. He was sure the day that it stopped was the day that he would die, naturally, through accident, or perhaps suicide.

 It was faltering now, dimming and quieting. He sighed, the CD’s downstairs on his dresser were filled with the melody, as much as he could play of it. It had been months since he had seen Heero clamp the chain around his own ankle and go off with Relena. It had been a painful sight, and more painful still to Duo, who, by the end of the ceremony, had tears running discreetly down his cheeks, he the boy that never cried.

 Now he was standing on the roof, playing his violin. His neighbors weren’t home and wouldn’t have cared had they been home. They knew him to be slightly eccentric, that was the way that they expected an artist’s mind to be. He let the bow slip from his fingers and watched as it spiraled down through space to land with a crack on the pavement several stories below him. The violin went next, spinning out wildly as he threw it. Then he stood, his hands held out to either side of him, fingers flexing slowly in the wind. He could feel the moving air, rushing without hurry over his face, intent on getting wherever it was going. It blew through his silky hair like the gentle hands of a lover, like Trowa’s hands… He stepped closer to the edge of the roof, remembering a quote from a movie.

“You have to make the decision, and just….fall.”
 

 He smirked, hearing the song slowly sputtering away in his mind, little strains of a piano joining the quieting voice of the violin, several cellos humming quietly along with the duet. The symphony in his head was finally drawing to a conclusion. Jones be damned, the whole world be damned. He was up ten stories, he was going to fall, and instead of dying, as everyone seemed to want him to, he was going to FLY!

 His bare feet moved closer to the gutter, as he closed his eyes and listened to the wind sing around him. Just a little closer. There, his feet were on the edge of the roof, a defiant smile resting on his pale lips.

“Let’s see how you think of me now, eh Trowa! Your little fuckdoll doesn’t want to play anymore!”

 He didn’t even realize how the tears cascaded slowly down his porcelain cheeks. “You left me alone! Alone with these people who all hate me! They don’t want me as a person, they want me as a figurehead, just because I’m the heir. They don’t give a DAMN about me. Just like you don’t, out there with your fiancée, hell your wife, one kid there, another on the way, planning for your goddamned future. I don’t have a future with anyone…it’s not like that for me, there’s no one there that I come home to in the evening! I know that Dorthy’s girlfriend is going to pronounce tomorrow. Dorthy just doesn’t want to tell me, ‘cause then we’ll both know how alone I am. And Duo’s out there, living with a friend. He’s looking for someone too and I’m not the right person for him.  We’re both aware of that. I wanted to pretend that night that we were dancing, I really did.

 I can’t understand why I’m the one that had to end up gay! Why can’t I just leave this place where everyone else is happy but me?!”

 His choked and tearful sobs rang through the crisp autumn air like knives, finally cutting through the bullshit to find the truth. His bathrobe fluttered uncertainly and his plastic smile tugged at his lips. “This is the reality where no one finds happiness with the perfect boyfriend, no one lives happily ever after. Welcome to reality ladies and gentlemen, pack your bags and dreams at the door!”

 With another sobbing sigh he let himself fly off of the building, bathrobe rushing up and fluttering behind him, the ground rather quickly advancing. He didn’t feel the rush of terror that he thought he would. Then something happened, he was going slower. In the background he heard a mechanical voice repeating, “The colony is undergoing minor gravitational difficulties, we’ll be back online in a moment!” With much reduced speed he hit the ground, bones snapping but not enough to make it fatal. Blood decorated the ground but he knew if he wanted to, he could get up and walk away from it.

 With a  whimper and a sigh he watched his blood pooling around him, cautiously creeping out to touch the cracks in the pavement. In a whispered and pain loaded voice he heard himself speak.

“I guess I don’t have the wings to fly with after all. I’m denied even that. I can’t even die properly…”

“QUATRE!!!”

 He heard his name called somewhere distantly in the background. It sure as hell wasn’t Dorthy unless she had dropped a few octaves over night. The sound of footsteps thudded through the night, adding to the thudding of his pulse in his ears. Slim hands glided carefully over his frame, checking to see what was broken and how much blood had been lost. The hallow sounds of a cell phone being dialed made him blink slightly. There was someone there, but he couldn’t quite see, there was red clotting his vision. Droplets spilled quietly on to his cheeks as the heaving sighs of someone in distress filled his ears.

“How could you do something like this?”

 He still couldn’t place the voice, yet it seemed so maddeningly familiar. There was such accusation there, he couldn’t understand who he had hurt that badly. The wail of the ambulance sounded off in the distance and the speaker turned (his?) attention once again his way.

“Just rest, I’m getting you some help, you’re going to be fine.”

 A warm hand brushed over his sore forehead, the bangs brushed out of his face where they had been tickling. A whispered prayer. Blackness.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _

 He woke up slowly, like a corpse waking from death. The lasting vestiges of blackness faded from his consciousness. He became aware of three things immediately. The first being that he was in such immense pain that he couldn’t sleep. The second was that Dorthy and her girlfriend were curled up in a chair, Dorthy half-watching him through sleep-deprived eyes. When she saw he was awake she smiled at him, a bright and glittering thing, showed off her ring finger and fell into a doze, secure in the knowledge that her best friend was safe. The last thing that he became aware of was that there was someone asleep beside him, holding his hand. It felt warm and safe. He turned his head carefully over and found Duo curled up asleep, his silky braid falling over his back and reaching toward the floor. It had grown unchecked for a long time.

 When Quatre moved, Duo stirred, moving sleepy violet eyes to look into Quatre’s. He rose, and pulled the blonde into a gentle hug, carefully placing his arms so that they wouldn’t interfere with the busy amount of tubes that entered and exited his shattered body.

“Never again Quatre. Never ever again. Because I’m going to stay right next to you to make sure that you don’t ever fall again.”

 When he looked at the hand Duo had been holding, he saw a ring there, a simple, silver ring. Duo’s eyebrows were raised and he was looking at Quatre, waiting for an answer. The little blonde started to cry, tears slowly falling down his cheeks. He’d loved Duo every moment they had been together, especially back in the old days. There had been times when Trowa’s silent ways had been too much for Quatre, and there had been times when Heero’s icy cold front had driven the braided pilot away, and inevitably, pushed them together.

 Quatre nodded, holding onto Duo tight. “That’s fine with me.”  He'd finally found a place to be where he felt safe, Duo's arms. Somewhere in the back of his mind a flute trilled triumphantly..the symphony continuing.
 
 

<- - Owari - - >

1. I have nothing against Born Again Christians, that was just the first set of religious people that popped into my head that would be against a gay boss….no offense meant and I hope none was taken.
 
 
 

-Kuriyamimizu-
Keeper of Duo's Bloody Nightmares
Keeper of Duo's really bad migraines
Another occupant of the happy hentai house
Proud Member of the SDDI
Madam Hydra’s Sadistic Pet (mew ^-^)

Computer Caretaker of the Shinigami organization.
The Shinigami Organization
www.ShinigamiOrg.homestead.com/index.html
The only mob dedicated to Shinigami

ICQ me at #82315185
contact @: darksideduo@yahoo.com

See the art of the insanity that is the story?

White Reflection (my yaoi nook)
http://www.fortunecity.com/marina/tripcock/835/index.html
(Heero will show you in)

"The lights are on, but nobody's home.."-some really spiffy movie I saw
"Everything you want is not necessarily everything you need.
Every second counts" -Vertical Horizon Music Vid.
"Fuck you no da!" -things chiri chiri will never say
"Every revolution begins with a single act of defiance"
 

Possessor of a mighty set of Two muses:
Chibi Kuri: little blue haired sayajin with quite a temper
Griffin: The little Duo-esque muse with a dark black braid and a kawaii set of batwings (not to mention a cute .. *BEEP*..)