Gundam Wing/AC 1. Mistakes and Repentance

((Okay. First a few things. From one obsessed fan to another. I still don't own this, please don't sue me?  
  
Next. I usually am against posting stories chapter by chapter. Although the suspense might be good that way, I've always hated being left in the dark and not knowing when or if I'd find out what happened next. So typically I avoid writing like that myself, because there is no reason to further provoke insanity in readers... However this time I'll be doing just that, and namely for the reason of my first fic I ever wrote and the sweet reviews that three people gave me on that. I suspect that it'll have about six chapters when it's done, but I don't know yet, so be patient with me. Anyways, this fic is dedicated to the three kind people who gave me such sweet reviews and nearly left me in tears of gratitude, since that's the reason I was motivated at all to try and do another. That probably sounds odd, but I hate to lie. So thank you, jkb, MissyIrene, and Merit Somnia.))  
  
-----  
  
"Winner! You gods forsaken fool, get out of the way!"  
  
Quatre's shoulders slumped with the weight of some invisible burden as he slipped quickly through the door of their safe house and into the dark living room. Behind him entered the rest of his team, Wufei still glaring in his direction as he assisted Trowa inside, the tall brunette quite noticeably favoring his right leg where a makeshift split lay. Behind them was Duo and Heero, and neither of them looked precisely pleased either. Heero had part of Duo's shirt wound around his upper left bicep, but spots of red were already seeping through on it, and Duo's hair was messily fluffed up around his face like that of a peeved cat. Little scrapes were tinted red on his cheeks and forehead, leftover wounds from their two mile trek back to the jeep… A walk that had led them through a rain-covered forest and several unavoidable stretches of thorn bushes.   
  
All of the team was thoroughly soaked, water running from their torn clothing and pooling in darker puddles on the faded carpet of this small apartment, and most all were bleeding from some wound or another. And it was all Quatre's fault.  
  
He more or less slunk over to the lumpy couch that dominated most of the floor space in these small chambers and cradled his head in small hands. He would have tried to help with the more seriously injured ones, either with Trowa and his broken leg, or with Heero and his gunshot wound, but when he'd done so earlier all he'd gotten was Duo rather angrily saying he had it covered and Wufei coming within an inch of punching him. He didn't necessarily blame them.  
  
-----  
  
It was that child that caused Quatre to make a rash decision, and caused the mess they were now suffering through. The mission, just your standard infiltrate, 'place bombs, download information, then get out and set off said bombs', had been going fine until he'd seen that child. Duo and Trowa were off placing explosives, Duo supposedly doing it room by room and Trowa somewhere up in the air vents to get into the harder to reach areas. Wufei was outside as look out, watching the building from a peak a few hundred feet away and ready to alert them of any trouble at a moments notice. And Heero and him were in the main computer room of the base. While the brunette was seated at a terminal and working on hacking his way into the system, Quatre had heard a sniffle from one corner where there shouldn't have been one.  
  
Peeking over the back of the large computer set-ups, he'd seen a little shape curled up in the shadowy corner, and that shape had been moving. Even in the dark, he could see the huge doe-like brown eyes staring back at him. Before anyone could have said or done anything, Quatre had moved around the desks and approached, gun drawn and his finger on the trigger, ready to kill whatever guard had seen them and could identify him. But then he heard the soft sob of terror and understood.  
  
Instantly his weapon was put away and before he knew it, he was cradling the young boy in his arms and trying to hush him. The child couldn't have been more then five years old, his dark blonde hair a tarnished halo around cherubic features and eyes glimmering with fresh tears. Quatre didn't question why he was there, in the computer room of an OZ base in the middle of the night, he just tried to calm him. The fear he felt radiating from that small form was enough to make his heart ache in sympathy. By the time Heero had looked up from his own part of the mission, the young Winner heir was opening the door of the computer room and shooing the boy out.  
  
Heero was on his feet in seconds and tearing after the boy, pulling his gun and spitting some unintelligible reprimand in Quatre's direction as he moved to the door. Quatre had cut him off with his spread body across the opening, trying to use their mission as a reason to hurry and not to give chase. The stoic face of Heero silently called him a fool, but after poking his head into the hall and already seeing the child gone, in any number of possible directions, he had turned back to the terminal and together they had started downloading the information they needed.  
  
The alarms went off about a minute later.  
  
They hadn't had a chance to get the data before the door flew open and there were guards everywhere. He and Heero had been forced to turn and dive through the long picture glass window at the front of the room with bullets flying past them like hellish confetti. Heero had been hit then. The worst he'd suffered and only discovered later, was a small burnt hole in the collar of his shirt. Another inch and it would have torn through his throat, but he'd been lucky. They hit the ground some twenty feet below, tucked in on themselves and rolled down the embankment of the base and towards the dark woods surrounding it. Above them in the hulking form of the base, chaos reigned on.  
  
Heero and he started towards the vehicle they'd left parked some distance away, walking in silence since the first time Quatre had tried to check that wound and had gotten one of Heero's best death glares and a shove that sent him barreling into the trunk of a nearby tree, but he got the details from the others when they met there. Duo had gotten automatically locked in one of the office rooms he was trying to bomb, and he didn't even have the options of windows they'd had. He'd ended up having to wiggle his way down a dumb-waiter and into the base's kitchen, and then had to break out of a garbage shoot to even get outside… Then only to discovered he was enclosed in a barbwire fence. When he'd actually reached the jeep, his cloths had been hanging in shreds off him and he smelled like something that had died last week.  
  
Trowa faired even worse. Those alarms hadn't caught him trapped anywhere, but when they went off and there was suddenly the thunder of feet beneath him as the guards ran wild; in surprise at the sudden noise in the previously silent night, he'd dropped the flashlight he was holding in his teeth and it created a rather loud echoing sound through the air ducts. Below steps had stopped and they'd aimed their guns upwards in unison. Miraculously, he'd managed not to get utterly ripped apart by those careless bullets, only receiving a graze on one shoulder and then another going through his boot and thus through the soft pad of his left foot. He'd scurried through the small, silver square corridors like a rat in a maze, and finally emerged among the pink instillation fluff of the top floor. But the guards weren't far behind.  
  
The only exit in that make-shift attic turned out to be a small circular window, and just as the herd of guards were yanking down the trap door and preparing to come up and shoot Trowa like a fish in a barrel, the circus employee dove through the thin glass and out into the dark of night beyond it. He was about four stories up, and could have snapped his neck from a fall like that, but luckily a tree broke his fall. Unfortunately, that tree also broke his leg.  
  
They'd survived with their lives, but it shouldn't have happened in the first place. What should have been an amazingly simple mission became a disaster, and Heero had told them all why when they'd all emerged and were standing beside the branch masked vehicle. Since then, Quatre had apologized numerous times and his teammates hadn't cooled down even one iota. Even Duo, who the blonde regarded as his best friend and normally the most cheerfully optimistic of their little group, was snappy and told him to just shut up right now. He hadn't said much since that.  
  
-----  
  
Duo led his wounded boyfriend over to the other side of the couch and gently set Heero down, looking over him with concerned eyes. He looked a little like a mother hen as he fluffed a pillow and set it behind the brunette's head. "Wait here, I'll get the med kit and we'll have that bullet out before long."  
  
"I don't need it right now, just hand me my laptop."  
  
Same old Heero. The braided boy ignored the request and made his way towards the hallway and to their small bathroom, and Quatre thought it likely Heero wouldn't get his computer until Duo was sure he was properly taken care of. Trowa, who was being lowered into one of two patch-covered armchairs in the living room, rolled his eyes slightly then closed them as a wave of pain washed over him like ice water. The Chinese youth noticed this and shot Quatre another look that clearly said 'are you regretting your foolish choices yet', but kept his mouth closed against any more verbal insults.  
  
He didn't need to say anything anyway, Quatre had also seen that shift in Trowa and he looked ready to start crying. He opened his mouth to offer another apology, and this time was silenced by Heero's head jerking in his direction and his monotone voice breaking the quiet.  
  
"Don't. Even. Say. It. If I hear you say you're sorry one more time, I'll kill you, Quatre. You knew better. You knew you shouldn't have even when you were doing it. You fucked up, and we failed."  
  
Wufei tensed at the reprimand, then nodded in agreement as he started fixing Trowa's split properly. Even Trowa, who was usually so unexplainably different when it came to the blonde, looked like he was agreeing with the sense of Heero's statement if not with the words themselves.  
  
Quatre's head drooped, his response just a remorseful whisper. "I know… But he was just a kid, Heero."  
  
"A kid who was somewhere he had no place being! A kid, awake at midnight and in one of the enemies computer rooms! And YOU just let him walk away!" Cobalt eyes were now flashing with anger, and Quatre just knew it was because he was thinking about what he'd have to write in his report tonight.  
  
By then, Wufei just had to interject his own thoughts in the matter. "At the very least, you could have knocked him out, Winner, and left him there. He would have been fine and then none of this would have happened."  
  
"I'm sorry! I didn't think of that at the time, he was upset and I just wanted to calm him down! I let him go, I messed up and I know it! I'm sorry you guys got hurt and maybe I would handle it different if I had another chance, but I don't regret letting him live even if he did cause us getting caught."  
  
Heero only heard the first part of Quatre's sharp response, that apology. He stood up and reached for the gun on his back, pulling it out and lifting it to the blonde's face to make good on his earlier statement only to find Duo suddenly back and standing between him, the med kit held to his chest like some freakish teddy bear.  
  
"Put that damned thing away, Heero. Right now. He didn't kill the kid, I couldn't have either. He just didn't make the right choice and I think that's pretty understandable considering what was going on at the time. He is sorry, and although that doesn't make up for what happened and he knows it, shooting him isn't going to do any good either. It'll just be another piece of crap that happened tonight that you'll have to explain. So put that thing back in your pants." Looking over his shoulder to Quatre, Duo's face was pale other then two upset patches of red high on his cheeks. He was being forced to come between his boyfriend and his best friend, and it was straining him. "And Quatre, just go to your room, okay? Get in there and let us clean this thing up."  
  
"But Duo, I can-"  
  
"Quatre, bug off. Please?"  
  
It was how tired Duo sounded that forced him to agree. He stared at his friend until Duo's form started to shimmer like a mirage from the tears he couldn't hold back, then rose jerkily from the chair and stumbled his way down the hall. As he was walking away he heard Heero's soft comment 'you should have let me shoot him' like something from a bad dream.  
  
-----  
  
Sleep took a long time to overtake him. He had entered the room he shared with Trowa, (the small, already furnished apartment in the nowhere town they were using as a safe house only had three bedrooms, and after Duo and Heero had claimed one for themselves and their rambunctious activities, Wufei in one and he and Trowa in the other had seemed the most reasonable arrangement) and moved to flop onto on side of the lumpy bed. There was only one of them in here, some huge thing that looked fifty years old, but with how small he was and how thin Trowa was, it wasn't much a problem.  
  
With one hand tucked behind his head and the other thrown carelessly over his flat midsection, Quatre had lain there for about an hour. His tears had dried up as soon as he'd come in here; despite his emotional state, he just couldn't see the point to them and didn't have the energy for it. He lay and listened to the rise and fall of his teams' voices in the living room, the anger in Heero's like a dull blade in his mind, Duo's exhausted attempts at peacemaking icing on a very bitter cake.  
  
He barely heard Trowa, just a loud sound and then a pained gasp that he thought could have been his green eyed friend, and oh how that made his heart break. Wufei's voice was just a soft presence behind Duo and Heero's, and it was while he was trying to focus on his distant words that he finally drifted off into a troubled sleep.  
  
An hour later the door open and with bleary eyes, he watched Trowa make his limping way over to the bed. The light of the moon through the thin gauze of old lace curtains illuminated the tallest of the pilots while he struggled through removing his shirt. Quatre didn't want to embarrass Trowa by watching, or to let him know he was awake and be forced into conversation by rolling onto his other side to give Trowa the privacy he deserved. But he did close his eyes as the edge of that green turtle neck was finally lifted from a muscular midsection and started inching upwards.  
  
His decision was made for him when he heard it drop to the floor in a hiss of fabric and then heard the tired grunt from Trowa as he started trying to handle his pants. He knew that his friend was in for a lot of effort with that task, since the pant leg had been torn to allow Wufei to treat him and he wasn't going to be able to slide them down without some help. Quatre sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, glancing up at the green eyed boy in silence explanation as he reached for the fastens on Trowa's jeans.  
  
After a moment where Trowa froze like a statue, the 'it's Quatre' truth clicked in his mind and he allowed his hands to fall away. Just turned his head to the side, permission for Quatre's help given without an uttered word on it. But he did have something to say and within the safety of his room with Quatre, he felt securing in doing so. "Heero shouldn't have said that. Or pulled his gun."  
  
"I know…" He started carefully pulling the waist of Trowa's pants down, using one hand to lightly hold the hem of what proved to be dark green boxers so they wouldn't come as well. He knew there was more to come. After forming a strange and comfortable friendship with the quiet pilot of Heavyarms, he'd come to understand certain things about the other boy.  
  
"But he's right about the boy. You acted foolishly. We could have all been killed."  
  
He winced and bit back on the apology building in his throat, lowering his head as he took one of Trowa's hands and braced it on his shoulder so that the taller boy could free his uninjured leg without too much trouble or pain. "I know."  
  
"We failed the mission, and that's one thing Heero's really mad about. And this is the first one he's been on since he and Duo started dating. I think it scared him to have to think of Duo getting hurt, whether he'll admit it to himself or not. That's why he's so mad with you. Not the report, or even the data."  
  
Again came that soft and tragically unhappy response. "I know, Trowa."  
  
Trowa looked down at the blonde as he shifted out of his pants, then sat awkwardly on the bed to start working on the real task. Getting the skin tight jeans he insisted on wearing off around the bulky brace holding his leg together. Once he was settled, he reached a long hand out to tip Quatre's face up and give him one of those rare smiles that usually forced Quatre to return it. "We're alive though… You made a mistake, but we are all going to live, and I know you won't make it again. He'll realize that tomorrow and things will cool down."  
  
Today Quatre's face remained pinched in worry when he did that though, and the best Trowa got for his effort was a slight slackening in the frown that dominated full pink lips. The blonde sank down and muttered a 'sorry' as he tore Trowa's jeans further, and then pulled the offending material away. That sad expression, even after what had happened tonight, bothered Trowa… But for right now he was just too tired to think on it or try to get rid of it. He thanked Quatre, then fell back on the flat pillows at the head of the bed.  
  
From within a soft cloud of exhaustion, he felt the small pilot tuck him in under the thin blankets, and then that telltale shift of the bed as Quatre himself crawled in and wiggled around into a comfortable position beside him. He'd shared rooms with him enough to know almost all of the blonde's quirks, and knew that Quatre was probably going to be tossing and turning all night from just those few signs. Maybe even with those nightmares he occasionally woke Trowa up with by flailing and never wanted to talk about.   
  
However, if he did any of those things, Trowa never felt it. He dozed off within seconds and didn't wake until the healthy hour of eight the next morning when his leg started to sing with sharp pain. After going back to sleep failed as an option, he decided to see if Quatre was up, to ask him if he could please get some of the painkillers they carried in the kit and bring them to the room if it wasn't too much hassle since he refused to spend the day bedridden.   
  
Rolling over onto his side with a low groan, he reached to touch Quatre's shoulder, and when he did, he saw that the blonde was already gone.  
  
He'd been wrong about things cooling down. 


	2. In the Hands of the Enemy

((I find myself amazed at the number and sheer kindness of the reviews I got on the first part of this story, especially considering it isn't one of the most popular (or normal) of the pairings, then again neither was the other story I wrote, but just two of my personal favorites. I suppose that is why this chapter is being put up so quickly. . I'm beginning to understand those people who claim to survive off reviews. In any case, I hope this one does equally well, now that it's getting a little deeper into the plot. Ah yes, and I believe my 'seven chapter' guess on the last one might have been off, as I'm already writing the third and it looks no where near done. I tend to get carried away, forgive me? And again, all my gratitude to those kind enough to tell me what they think. ))

-----

It took Trowa almost twenty minutes to 'crawl' from the middle of the bed he shared with Quatre out into the main rooms of the apartment, and by the time he did, he was already wishing he had stayed in bed. Although the lack of a small, warm body next to his had surprised him and left him again with the odd thoughts he'd been finding frequently lately, thoughts that maybe he was getting too used to the blonde and beginning to need him in some strange way, it hadn't exactly worried him. There had been days before when the blonde rose before him, though they were few and far between. After the rough day yesterday, it could only be expected. But the moment he exited the hall and caught sight of the scene going on in the living room that nibbling voice of concern started doing it's work.  
  
Duo still wasn't up or at least, he wasn't out here, but the other two members of his team were. Heero and Wufei were sitting together on the couch and neither looked pleased. The black haired boy was sitting cross-legged on the old cushions, wearing nothing but plain white sleep pants that he somehow made elegant and a scowl. His golden skinned arms were locked tightly over his chest (the only chest in the group that the brunette felt moderately jealous of despite his own efforts and Quatre's constant compliments), and Trowa could only imagine he was inwardly fuming about something.   
  
Heero's appearance bothered him even more. The usually messy and untamable brown hair was worse then normal, hanging in disarrayed clumps around his face as if someone had been running their fingers through it for hours. As he watched Heero's hand raise and tug impatiently on the short locks before returning to typing, he saw that was exactly the case. He was also still in his nightwear, and Trowa couldn't remember the last time he'd seen that… A pair of black silk boxers decorated muscular legs, and after taking a second glance at the shirt above those, Trowa decided he was probably wearing one of Duo's. Last he checked Heero Yuy didn't own a red shirt with a chibi-style fat hamster on the front flipping the world off and with the words 'bite me' beneath said rodent.  
  
Heero didn't seem to care about his outfit though, he was bent over the beeping laptop that was balanced on his legs and typing away at it furiously with a fierce expression that made the tallest pilot want to creep away. Quatre's laptop. For a moment his mind tried to deny that, because Heero never pried into other people's business, but he could see the stickers on it that Duo had impulsively stuck there one day a month ago. The little bumblebees and lazy looking flowers decals (he thought they were probably daisies) stuck out even from several feet away, and Trowa could suddenly remember Quatre throwing a piece of pizza at the braided boy when he'd discovered those, even though he was smiling as he did so. The blonde was the only one in their group that could have been okay with silly insects and flowers on his mission equipment. If it had been Heero's, dating or not, Trowa thought he probably would have scalped Duo.  
  
His indecision as to whether to fully enter or to creep back to bed came to an end when Wufei suddenly looked up and spotted him.  
  
It seemed he blinked, and then suddenly the black haired boy was in front of him, shaking his head and pointing towards the other figure on the couch. Trowa glanced to Heero to see he hadn't look up and then back at Wufei. After a few seconds of dazed disconnection, he realized Wufei's mouth was moving and focused on that finally.  
  
"-locked us out! After pulling a stunt like this and -knowing- we'd have to know and check, he had the nerve to lock it up! Yuy's been hacking at it for twenty minutes and gotten NOTHING yet! Heero!! Did he talk to you about this? Did you know?!"  
  
Trowa took a step back, leaning against the wall and staring at Wufei dully. "Know about what?"  
  
"About what? What I JUST told you! Winner intercepted one of the missions and- … Barton? What's the matter with you?" The oriental boy paused in the middle of his upset rant, looking at the taller pilot thoughtfully. "Your cheeks are flushed… And you're sweating. Do you have a fever?"  
  
Wufei didn't wait for an answer, just stuck his hand out and laid the back of it against one of Trowa's cheeks, his frown again appearing. "You're sick. Might be infection from your wounds… Get back in bed, Heero and I can handle this, and I'll bring something for the fever in a bit."  
  
Nodding gratefully and silently thinking about snappy responses of 'yes mother' that would never be spoken, Trowa turned and started making his way right back to where he'd come from, one hand bracing on the wall. He paused at the doorway to his and Quatre's bedroom, looking back at the still unmoved Wufei with some doubt. "But what did Quatre do?"  
  
"We don't know. He intercepted some mission and accepted it before it could go to the other computers, or maybe he chased after it an erased them once they got in, we don't have the details or anything. He should have told us or left a note like he usually does for his own missions, but we haven't found anything of the sort. He was already gone when Yuy got up at five. His packs and gear are gone too, and one of the bikes. We wouldn't have even known this, but he had to move the computer off the couch to sit down, and when he did he noticed it was still on. It was the 'mission accepted, 04' shutdown screen, so he must have only just missed him… We haven't gotten much more past that. He's got security codes all over that it, and Yuy thinks he's only gotten through -half- of them. It's just a matter of time."  
  
"I noticed the other things. It's probably nothing, Barton, so don't worry. It just feels… Strange, not finding any of his notes and that he didn't tell us. Especially after yesterday. Maybe Winner just needed to go out and take a ride before reporting this to us, to calm him."  
  
Even Trowa heard the doubt in Wufei's statement and looked at him flatly. "And Quatre usually goes out on a motorcycle, tearing around town when he's upset, doesn't he?"  
  
That jerked black eyes up to his, a flash of anger in them before Wufei sighed. "No. But never mind that. Go to bed, Barton."  
  
"If you get through the computer walls, wake me up and tell me what's happened." With that, he turned and slipped back into the blissful cool, darkness of his room. Back on the bed with both pillows gathered under his head and his brain throbbing hotly like an infection inside his skull, Trowa found sleep wasn't so easy to come. _Where did you go?_

_-----  
_  
At the same time that his teammate was finally breaking through the last of the security codes on his computer several dozens of miles away, Quatre was opening his eyes to his new fate.  
  
The harsh glow of fluorescents lit the chamber in uncaring perfection, burning the image of the cell in Quatre's vision long after he'd closed his eyes from the sudden stinging brightness. Unconsciousness had granted him a few minutes (or hours, he really didn't know) of blissful denial, and now that he was flickering back into awareness, he was left with the miserable memories of where he most likely was.  
  
He'd been caught.  
  
Again, he'd 'messed' up, though this time only with himself, and before things had gone down hill, he had completed his objectives. He could remember waking up early next to Trowa, and staring through the dim light in their room at the split that covered the tall pilot's leg. A wound that he had inadvertently caused and only one of the many. Heero thought him incompetent, his best friend was angry, and even the quiet pilot he'd somehow gotten to warm up a little was suffering the consequences of his rash decision. Wufei… Well, he didn't quite understand that lean youth. He either disliked everyone, or had a strange way of showing his friendly affection. But Wufei had been irritated as well.  
  
And so when he'd wandered out into the living room in hopes of making some tea for the long night that lay before him and suddenly heard the incoming beep of his computer, it had seemed like he'd made the most natural choice. He could redeem himself. And protect the others also, since they were no where near recovered enough to already take another mission. They would have accepted it and probably failed because of the injuries, and since he wasn't hurt…  
  
Intercepting the message, he typed in his 'yes' answer before he even fully read through it, determined to keep it from heading to the others computers. Afterwards he was relieved to see it was a mission that was possible to complete alone, maybe better with two people on it, but it wasn't as if he was sending himself on a suicide run by taking it on. Find the labs mentioned in the memo. Infiltrate and reach the main office of one of the head officials there. Hack into the mainframe from his terminal. And finally download the information on several new drugs that the lab was producing that the Doctors had their suspicions of. After that, it was exceptionally easy. He had his handheld transmitter, so the moment he'd taken the information unto a disk he could start sending it to them, and then he was supposed to walk out.  
  
Things had gone amazing well until that last step.   
  
He'd gotten in without a problem, slipping through the garage at the back of the lab through the delivery docks. He'd avoided the few wandering guards with ease, hiding in open corridors and shadows until they passed, with his gun drawn in case but aimed downwards for the most part as he sneaked around. Having gotten the layouts earlier when he'd gone online to scan the main reports he could get of the place, finding that office had been simple, even in the dusky dark of pre-morning. And the lock on the glass office door proved incredibly easy to undo, even for him having only had Duo try to teach him that particular talent four or five times. It was going wonderfully, and he expected to be back before at least half of his team had even risen for the day.  
  
Likewise, getting to the office's computer and breaking through that's defenses was just… Fine. He'd gotten the information in record time and started transmitting it to the Doctors. It was once that was finished and he was pulling the plug of his transmitter out of the computer that he heard the sinisterly soft step behind him and realized he was no longer alone. He barely had time to wonder how anyone had been quiet enough to get the drop on him, OZ soldiers were so often badly trained in his experience, and to set his hand on the butt of his gun, before there was the stealthy puff of an air gun and the stinging pain in the base of his neck. The world had dimmed to black in amazing time, and he remembered just the shadowy trip downwards, blinking at the coldness of the tiles against his face and at the leg of the desk he had just been standing beside.  
  
And now, here he was.   
  
The blonde struggled to make his limbs react as he told them, finally shifting up into a sitting position and leaning his back against the wall behind his cot. The room he found around him was far better than most he'd seen or read of, but it was a cell nonetheless. Three solid walls of smooth white metal stared back at him, the fourth largely broken by a mirror and he didn't want to think who could be on the other side of that looking back at him. At least there were no cuffs on him, he had that to be grateful for. Other then the cot, there was the wonderfully stainless steel basin against one wall, and the matching toilet. He gave that contraption a distasteful frown as he rubbed at the back of his neck and gently fingered the raised area from the needle's entry. He planned on being long gone before he'd ever have to use such a thing with Allah knew who peeking in at him like a rat in a glass tank.  
  
They'd come with their deals and promises in return for information, and when they did, it was only a matter of finding an opening to attack.

-----  
  
"I would have thought we would have had a few more days before an attack of any form, Zechs." The honeyed blonde raised his eyes in the mirror where he was straightening his ruffled collar to meet those of the man standing behind him.  
  
"Actually so would I... A week at the least. But nonetheless, we've had one, and we've now got the intruder in holding cell eight… Awaiting your decision on the matter."  
  
He finished his adjustments and turned, resting one shoulder back against the mirror as he openly studied the suited form of the other male. "What did he get away with? Do we have any idea?"  
  
As always, the paler blonde looked right back at him, blatantly ignoring the approving glances until Trieze could just about sigh with disappointment. It had taken him nearly three years to convince the beautiful younger man to become his lover, another two to actually make Zechs want and need him back, and he **still** found it impossible to get him to intermingle work and pleasure from time to time. Right now Zechs was in 'business' mode, and he's probably receive nothing more then a cold glare if he truly pursued the matter. But later… Well, he'd be melting that untouchable ice queen and turning Zechs right back into the passionate male he'd originally fallen for years ago.  
  
With another sigh, he stepped around Zechs stiff form and moved to his desk, seating himself behind it and folding his hands on the polished surface as he listened to his top general report - "Some of the reports on the new nerve drug. Nothing incriminating or incredibly useful, just the effects it has on the human body after it's been processed. Not how to make it, or our plans for it… That bothers me. More so, that if it weren't for some of the weight sensors I placed for this very event, we wouldn't have caught him period. The night guards are incompetent, I've told you before we need to replace them or train them better!"  
  
_Well, there's a bit of passion. Maybe if I started a new training regiment and placed him in charge, I really could start bringing both sides together._ For now, he dismissed the thought and gave Zechs a soft , winning smile. "Yes, I know, and we will. But you need to remember, that information isn't going to be helpful to anyone, Zechs. Let them do whatever they will with it, it's only a false front… And if they happen to use it and focus on that, it's exactly as we've planned, isn't it? They'll be ignoring the true activity in our other bases…" He glanced down at his hands, then leaned back in the chair with one lean leg crossing the other.  
  
"I understand you are upset that security was broken through, but even that was what we wanted. Not too easy to seem suspicious, but enough so that someone would be tempted. We've gotten exactly what we want now. This intruder has broken in, gotten that false information, and sent it to whomever hired him. They will no doubt inform others of what they found… And while anyone who would stand against us is focusing on Solution 13 nerve gas, we will quietly be building our newest model of suits in the other basis. It's a decoy, and it's doing precisely what it's been intended for."  
  
Rather then looking soothed by the information, his lover's expression tensed more at the dismissive tone. "I understand that, -Trieze-." Oh, how forced that name sounded and it made the older blonde wince. He'd asked Zechs not to call him Khushranada or Sir no matter what the circumstance, but the result was this choked name… When alone or off duty, his name never sounded so beautiful as it did coming from those lips, but the rest of the time Zechs managed to somehow make it sound like a curse. "But that isn't the point I am trying to make. Yes, he got in easily. Yes, we want that. But that it happened so quickly… We only just put this decoy plan into effect, no one should have moved on it for several more days at least. The quickness of this infiltration is almost impossible. We finalized the plan only yesterday morning, and this morning I caught this intruder on the main database downloading the statistics on the drug… In order for that timeline to work, the person would have likely had to know less than three hours after we'd made out choice on the matter."  
  
That last sentence drilled something home for Trieze. Lips curled into a frown, his own mildly playful manner vanished. "And no one left the base within that time frame, we made sure of it… You are suspecting someone from here leaked then?"  
  
"Someone from the meeting itself, yes… And if we'd been completely honestly there and told even one of them that we weren't truly interested in their scientists and chemicals, the plan would have fallen through. As it is now, any connection about our real building plans that surface here is a threat to your decoy until we discover who spoke out."   
  
Now standing before Trieze's desk, the young soldier was an immovable rod of perfection in training… And it was hard to doubt what he said. The blonde hadn't earned his position because of Trieze's interest in him, but for his own deeds and efficiency. If Zechs suspected they had a spy, even a bad one at that, he believed him without question. If Zechs already had his guesses on whom, he would have felt safe in betting that he'd turn out right.  
  
"Then we find the spy, and have him executed… And make that fact known as well." At Zechs momentary look of protest, he lifted a hand and continued steadily. "Not usually the way such things are handled, I know. But by doing so, whomever he gave the information to is almost guaranteed to hear, and it will look like we really do have something to hide. It even further masks our illusions."  
  
Seeing that his top general was again quieted and accepted the suggestion, he nodded and leaned forwards over the desk again. Steepling his fingers before him, he moved to the other subject that had brought his formal lover here. "Now, as for the captive… We can also use him in this matter. -Make- him talk, find out who hired him, and through that we can possibly uncover the person working inside here without too much effort. You have your ways, kill him if necessary, and I'm sure you'll have the news to report to me by the end of the day."  
  
Zechs blinked up at Trieze as those words washed over him in uncomfortable waves and gained an unusual expression of reluctance before his instincts again claimed him. After dipping into a clipped bow, the blonde turned in a whirl of flawless platinum silk that could have made an angel wept with envy and strode from the room.  
  
Behind him, Trieze Khushranada, the wealthy, powerful, and often suave warlord and politician of battles, sat at his desk in puzzled silence. It was that expression that danced in the forefront of his thoughts. He couldn't remember seeing such an uncertain look on Zechs face for years, and more importantly, he didn't know what he had said that caused it... But he planned to find out.


	3. Thoughts of an Angel

((Whoot. Another chapter. Sorry it took so long, but I had issues with this one. I redid it twice, thinking it sounded way to much like Zechs was obsessing... But in the end, I went with the first draft of it anyway. . Mainly for the reason that although it does sound like that, it's accurate. If anyone's ever seen someone and fallen in love (or lust) at first sight, then they'd probably be the first to agree. When that happens, sometimes just the way that person's hair kisses their cheek when they move, or the way an anklet laying over their skin sparkles, can set you off. So yes, forgive it if it sounds creepy... That emotion often is just that when witnessed from a outside point of view. Also, another big thanks for all you people out there who read the first two chapters and nicely nudged me to continue. It's helped. ))

-----

He listened to the sharp click of his heels on the base's pristine floors, and decided he hated the sound. It echoed hollowly in his ears, and right now that was exactly how he felt. Empty. And it held a ring of finality in it that made his heart twitch unhappily in his chest.   
  
On the outside, Trieze's finest general looked as he always did. Impeccably neat, stern and serious, and so surprisingly beautiful even as his expression and stance warned the world not to touch. But inwardly, the blonde found himself having one of those rare moments when he really wished he wasn't involved in this war… Or any war for that matter.  
  
It was a normal thing, he knew. Being around countless soldiers and hearing their similar feelings told him that, but that didn't stop the twinge of guilt he felt at the thoughts. Because even with all the things he'd done in silence while truly hating them, things that sometimes left him waking in the middle of the night and biting his lips until they almost bleed just to keep in screams, this war had also introduced him to new people and possibilities… And some of those he couldn't imagine a life without. He knew who he was now, and he wouldn't go back to that nameless confusion of before without a damned good reason.  
  
That didn't change how he felt right now though, as he stiffly made his way past the computer rooms and labs where hundreds of paid workers scrambled to make more of a nerve gas that really had no purpose for them. He didn't want to be here right now. He hadn't wanted to actually, since he'd shot a dart into the back of someone's neck, watched the body slump down to the carpet, and then flipped him over to the see the face of an angel.  
  
Zechs didn't believe in heaven or hell.  
  
Or at least he hadn't.  
  
But when he'd seen that far-too-young face, frozen in forced slumber, a wedge of doubt had instantly been drilled into his mind. He'd knelt beside the form and had raised a hand to his mouth to stifle in the questions that wanted to bubble out, because somehow breaking the silence he'd created seemed wrong… And he'd stared at the boy.  
  
He wasn't stupid, he knew this was a person before him. One that bleed just as he did, that needed to breath to survive and needed food and shelter, but that still didn't shake the near iron thought that he was being granted something rare. A glimpse at proof that some deific being had granted people. Looking at that face he wondered how some people could disbelieve. Because angel or not, there was still enough innocence and… And -goodness-, in those features that it should have been enough to make people at least pause and wonder what they were doing with their life and if it was right.  
  
He wasn't even aware the hand that was moving to touch the soft feathers of golden blonde on the boy's head was his own until he actually felt that silken hair beneath his fingers… And by then, it was too late for him to pull them back anyway. That crown of hair was like solid bliss to touch, and he sat awestruck as he moved the mussy bangs off a pale forehead and wondered at what color the eyes beneath those fluttering lids would be. His guess was blue… Maybe a pale blue like his own, or a brighter cornflower blue like those of Trieze, one feature of the older male he frequently found himself thinking of.  
  
It was the thought of the other blonde that made him finally jerk his hand back with a startled hiss of breath. _This is my enemy. I'm sitting here petting an enemy and comparing him to my lover… The very man I serve and have brought this boy down for. The man who will undoubtedly decide the fate of this boy that I think maybe I craved from the first second I turned him over..._   
  
There was something so twisted about that idea that it made Zechs turn from his fallen prisoner and stifle a gag.   
  
By the time he heard the clattering footsteps of more guards approaching (he'd called for backup and it'd taken them this long to get here, another thing to talk to Trieze about), he'd collected himself again and was now sitting in the chair behind the desk, moodily staring down at the limp form.  
  
They'd clamored in and he actually had to bark at them to keep them from walking all over the delicate body, such little respect for their surrounding. Another sign of bad training that made him mentally wince.   
  
After specifically ordering them to be careful with the little intruder and watching them cart the boy off to place him in a cell until they knew what to do with him, Zechs sat in the dark of that office for a long time. Just another silent shadow in the early morning glow, but his thoughts were those that were better left to the darkest of nights.  
  
-----  
  
And now here he was again.  
  
Somehow, he'd managed to keep from going to check on the young man he'd captured for a few hours. A task that should have been easy, but one he could admit inwardly was anything but. Since emerging from the office and waiting for Trieze to summon him for his report, Zechs had found himself pacing like a wild beast more often then he cared to acknowledge.   
  
His men had noticed it and had gotten edgy around him, perhaps fearing that he was having one of his even more strict days and was going to randomly grab the nearest of their rank to make some example of. He preferred they think that though. Better than the truth, that his mind was actually several halls away, focusing on the enemy and the way his candy pink lips had looked so soft and childish as he breathed in his sleep.  
  
_Maybe this is my hell.  
_  
That was the unwelcome thought that repeated itself unmercilessly in his mind as he trudge on to fulfill his lover's order. Believing in it or not before now, it seemed so suiting. _Maybe this is my hell… I've certainly earned it. But must it have come with such a sweet face to slowly drive me mad and make me regret every minute of my life?_  
  
Of course it had to. That was the true agony of the situation. Granted such a glimpse at that strange perfection, he would now have to destroy it to satisfy the only other man who truly knew him.  
  
He turned the last corner and slipped in through the doors of the their surprisingly small prison, only needing to flick his eyes to the stony faced guard behind the clear-topped desk to continue on his way undisturbed. And for a good thing too, since with his nerves this strung out, he thought he might honestly shoot someone for creating more of a problem for him. Or at the least, make whoever had dared's next shift very, very unpleasant.  
  
Past that almost uncomfortably clean office-y room (that was one thing he was pleased about. At least the men they'd hired to make their useless drug insisted upon the neatness.) lay just one hallway to lead into the actual cells. There were only six, three laying to both his left and right. But here that was probably plenty considering they weren't expecting that many guests (at least none that would get to stick around), and they were all state of the art. Walls without seams, nothing that could be broken off of either the small cot in each or the toiletries, and that unbreakable glass wall that actually made up the hall itself. One could walk down here at any time and view the people within like fish in a tank.   
  
It was disgusting… And very practical. At the very least, the people that went in could be positive they weren't entering into a trap, because there was no chance of the prisoner hiding behind doors here, or hanging from lights to choke them. All of the illumination for each cell came from the well entrapped fluorescents in the roof. Just changing those was a pain for people who knew how, Zechs had seen this and found it both comical and reassuring to the cells' safety. And the doors didn't even need to be opened for food, a small tray slot in each door covered that.  
  
Somehow, the whole set-up reminded him of those people that bought a beautiful rambunctious kitten, then promptly had it neutered, de-clawed, and sent to obedience school… Then a week later complained to their friends that it was lazy and they were bored with it, and weren't kitten's supposed to be playful? Theirs just skittered away and hide under the sofa…  
  
In other words. -- He found this prison to be tame.  
  
And he despised it.  
  
Oh, the safety was nice. And the fact that he knew even the incompetent imbeciles he was currently forced to work with couldn't possibly mess this up… But it was boring, and that made him twitchy. One reason he'd never minded guard duty before he'd advanced rank was the -possibility- of excitement. Of course, nothing ever really happened, or when it did it was small and typically handled with ease… But still. There was always that possibility that you were doing something dangerous, and you might be right in the heart of some action about to take place. An emotion in the air of the men you worked with that was nearly electrical. Fear, anticipation, and appreciation for the unexpected. You risked your life to check in on these sometimes violent men, and it made your heart pound and your mind start working on possible ways to protect yourself.  
  
There was none of that in this prison. _Prison_, he mentally rolled his eyes as he walked past the large reinforced windows of the first pair of cells. Both were spotless, still brightly lit, and without anyone in them. _More like a glorified hospital. Or a scientists' lab filled with unsuspecting subjects in their own caged worlds._ That last thought actually bothered him quite a bit.   
  
It brought to mind images of the old wars they'd had to read about while still in school. Men in tailored suits of war hunting people for no better causes then the color of their skin or their religion, or a difference in a minor belief. Catching these people and torturing them, killing them, making them do things that no human should ever have to endure… And all of the experiments that were never documented. Yet that people knew of them somehow anyway and feared the very idea of them with instant distaste, and often with haunted eyes.   
  
People were more civil now, he knew… But history always repeats itself; and in every man, there is that small seed of evil that is just waiting for the right moment to fully blossom.  
  
The third and fourth cell he passes are likewise empty, awaiting their miserable dweller to arrive in his or her own time. Nothing so patient as an inanimate object. And nothing so hungry sometimes, comes the uninvited thought.   
  
Though he can feel the chill winding down his back and is aware that for whatever reason, this particular trip down these halls is making him more than just uncomfortable, that it's actually frightening him and he can't stop that feeling no matter how he tries to redirect his mind; nothing changed outwardly in his sharp steps or expressionless face.  
  
He takes the last few steps to the final pair of holding chambers and feels his heart lurch. The fifth one is just as empty as the rest, but the sixth…  
  
The tall blonde soldier had to -force- his body to comply with his mind, and almost numbly, he turned to face the window of the sixth cell.  
  
The boy he'd shot with the dart was sitting on the bed, his feet resting on the floor and his delicate hands placed in his lap in a strangely proper way. In fact, his whole stance surprised Zechs… Part of him had thought he'd catch the blonde asleep, curled up like some faerie tale princess perhaps, just waiting for the kiss to awaken her from her nightmares. Or at the very least, sitting on the bed against the wall and staring at the impenetrable room around him with the teary eyes of the knowingly condemned. Instead he found the boy to be bolt sitting upright like he was expecting an important guest any minute or was waiting for a dinner party to begin around him. And no tears shone in his eyes… Not just blue like he'd predicted, but some combination of the fairest blue and deepest green that he wasn't sure there -was- a name for. He could see that strange color so clearly, because the boy was staring directly at the mirror… Seemingly, at him. Even though he knew that was impossible.  
  
It was that set expression, one of keen knowing and detachment to his predicament, that caught him even more off guard. Weeping, he could handle. Anger was even better, because sometimes it helped with the guilt afterwards when he was standing alone in his bathroom washing away the blood. But this seemingly frail creature was just calm… Waiting for whoever might walk through that door with his fate in their hands, and ready to handle the next step thrown at him.  
  
And somehow, it suited him although Zechs couldn't say why. As much as the unexpected unearthly beauty he'd seen when he'd flipped the blonde over had grabbed his attention, this glimpse at what could possibly be an inner strength to match his own was almost stronger.  
  
Drawing his gun purely for procedure's sake, since he wasn't -certain- that even if his life depended on it he could shoot this prisoner, he started punching numbers on the code box besides the heavy door. Inside where he knew the beeps could be dully heard, he watched as those strangely bright eyes shifted from the reflective surface to the back of the door, and noticed that still no fear appeared in them.  
  
The last number was pressed in and after the hissing sound of the door sliding back into the wall, Zechs stepped around the mirror and walked slowly into the room, body tense with expectation.  
  
On the bed, the young man made no move towards him; he just tipped his head slightly to the side and gave the gun in Zechs' hand a quick glance before again peering up at his face.  
  
Keeping his eyes on the boy, Zechs reached a hand behind him and pressed the button that would close the door from inside. Once he heard the solid sound of it moving back into place, he leaned his shoulders lightly back against the surface, trying to will himself to fall back into the normal role he took while doing these interrogations… But it wasn't working. He couldn't just accept his usual layer of ice and distance. All he found himself capable of doing was staring right back into the large, vividly colored eyes of the small blonde before him.  
  
To break the silence, to begin the charade he knew must eventually take place, felt like sacrilege. No matter what was said, it would be a dishonor to this being, he knew that. And no matter what the boy said, he had a feeling it wouldn't shake the image the blonde presented. _Does he know what he looks like? Surely he must. He must have people stare all the time.  
_  
The boy however, shared none of his qualms about the quiet thickness in the cell between them.  
  
Quatre would have been perfectly happy to sit and wait for whatever 'fate' this guard was going to bring him, to wait and then to act. But already several things about this encounter were making him think it would be taking a bit more effort than that. First and foremost, was the fact that the lean and somehow elegant man that walked in wasn't what he was expecting. Some obviously under trained and overworked older man was what he had hoped for and thought he'd even be lucky enough to get, a bit galoot who'd wave his current 'power over him' in his face, and then just blinked stupidly while the blonde drove him to the floor and escaped over his crumpled body. But -this- man… Well, aside from being young, perhaps only slightly older then himself, he looked like he was the type that just might catch any punch thrown at him and return it in duplicate before you knew what hit you. _He looks quick too. Even if I knocked him down, I think I'd only get a bullet in my back for my efforts._  
  
The second thing that changed his mind about waiting, was the unnerving way that this tall stranger's eyes were moving over him. It reminded him of people looking at those confusing pictures of little colors and shapes pressed together and hoping to see the real image that someone had miraculously put inside of it. One of his sisters had had one of those, and he had liked it because of the blue and greens blotches alone. It felt peaceful and simple, but it had taken him years to see that it was actually a picture of dolphins moving around a sunken ship. And now this man was looking at him in the way he remember people trying to see that hidden picture.  
  
He had seen himself in the mirror just on the other side of this cell, knew he wasn't disfigured or covered in blood and bruises, so what could this guy be looking at? A small hand started to raise to check his features, then the thought that this could just be a scare technique hit his mind and Quatre forced the hand back down again.  
  
Unnerved now, the blonde straightened up again and gave his captive a cool, reproachful glance as he rather briskly stated- "It's rude to stare. Just get to whatever business brought you here."  
  
That brought the situation crashing back to reality for Zechs. Though the voice was rather childishly light, there was a definite cold indifference in it's tone, one that clearly stated he knew what he was doing here. He wasn't here on his free time to mingle or with the option of just watching the beautiful boy until he could figure out what to do with him; he was here because of work, and it was time to start.  
  
"Forgive me." It slipped out before he had sense to hold it back, and Zechs' lips twitched unhappily at that momentary lapse.   
  
The boy on the bed just blinked uncomprehendingly at him.  
  
"I am here, obviously, to find out who sent you and what their intentions were… And I will get that information, one way or the other. So I strongly advice you to cooperate." Even as he said that, the words felt like poison on his tongue. There was -nothing- to get or learn about here, it was all a foolish decoy… So why did he have to interrogate this young man at all? They would do just as well to simply leave him in here, alone, until the plan was complete. Trieze would undoubtedly let him go then, wouldn't he? So why play the charade out to this extreme?  
  
He was shaken out of his thoughts and all half-formed hopes dashed to hell, by the clipped and unswayable answer of the little mock-angel.  
  
"No."  
  
-----  
  
On the other side of the two-way glass, Trieze's lips curled into a smile at that answer that the cell's inner speakers brought clearly ringing to his ears. _No wonder you looked so miserable with my orders. Never one to share your treasures, were you, my love? Even when you couldn't admit that's exactly what they were to yourself… And oh what a find this is. I believe new directions are in order now._


	4. Knowing You

((Okay, this is most definitely not my favorite chapter, but I felt the need to reverse my direction and tie up loose ends. Plus I've had a few people who are curious about Trowa and his thoughts on the blonde (anyone who knows me knows that doesn't mean he'll get him ), and then how Wufei's getting involved. I apologize to anyone who's wondering about Trieze and his 'wicked ways', but I promise we'll be getting back to him in the next chapter. So, forgive the long ramble?))

-----

Once again, Trowa found himself awakening with the world pounding and breaking apart around him.  
  
His head was a throbbing core of agony, eyes feeling like they were burning in his sockets, and he had no idea what time it was. Truthfully, he didn't care. The bone-deep itching in his leg seemed more important right now. Through his cloud of fever thickened confusion, he felt his dry aching throat begging for liquid, and that he realized, had been his reason for slowly returning to real life… Well, that and the commotion going on down the hall.   
  
He could hear Duo's sharp voice drilling into his mind like an ice pick, and then a low murmur of someone else. Probably trying to calm him from some mundane tragedy. Or maybe from Heero's, as always, blunt answers. For some reason, nothing seemed to get under Duo's skin so quickly as their stoic leader-figure, and vice-versa on Heero's part. If that's what it took to make a good couple, Trowa thought he could be happy dying alone. In the privacy of his room where no one could see, Trowa snickered wryly.  
  
Opening his eyes and actually focusing them proved to be almost as hard a task as shifting his leg towards the side of the bed. He was in the middle of the lumpy mattress, which made it even more of a problem, something he knew was the result of not having a certain little body beside him to remind him to stay on one side.  
  
_Quatre._  
  
Wufei's words came back to him, and flashes of the strange scene he'd witnessed before crawling back to this room. Quatre was missing, off on a mission… Or if he was lucky, maybe back already.  
  
Again came that troubling thought that maybe he needed his blonde companion a little more than was normal, but for now he pushed it away and returned to the task of pulling himself out of bed. If Quatre was back, he'd talk to him about vanishing without a word (mildly scold in his own way. That was all one needed when dealing with his little friend), then check over him for injuries, and at last drag him back into the dark of their room and lay the blonde down so he could get some form of restful sleep… And perhaps, though no one would ever be able to drag that confession from him even with death as a threat, get some kind caring for.  
  
Amazing how a man who didn't like to be touched normally and enjoyed not associating with the world on a general basis, had come to appreciate the feeling of a soft cool hand on his forehead, and a gentle worried smile directed just at him. It made you feel special. But that was just Quatre. Even if he hadn't liked it, the blonde still would have tried to fuss over him.   
  
Hadn't he spent three days last month after a mission caring for Wufei's broken leg, an accident from a hasty escape, despite the Chinese man snapping at him at every opportunity and trying to stubbornly do everything for himself? Quatre had just smiled and nodded to Wufei's sharp words, rather like he was dealing with an old temperamental animal that he knew couldn't help itself. Even he'd been forced to smile at the scene, and Duo didn't even try to hide his laughter whenever he passed. There was just something cute about seeing Wufei laying on a couch red faced and sputtering while Quatre brought him food and tucked him in.  
  
So, freshly motivated and hopeful (not that it showed in his glossy green eyes and as par usual blank expression), Trowa managed to haul himself upright, then began the long, treacherous and limping expedition out into the living room.  
  
By the time he reached his target destination, little beads of sweat dotted his forehead from his efforts and each step with his bound leg felt like he was shooting it… Though putting it and himself out a misery, like a lame horse, was sounded better and better. But something told him it was more than worth it.  
  
Duo sat on the couch with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, face turned to the side and expression one of seriously perturbed pouting. Heero sat on the other end of that furniture, his laptop open and set on his legs, and his fingers clicking rapidly over the keys in that makeshift electronic melody that he preferred. Of Wufei, there was no sign yet. Nor of Quatre… And since he didn't hear anyone moving in the kitchen, music coming from somewhere, or the happy humming that usually accompanied his happy little friend, his hopes went plummeting.  
  
His first thought upon seeing them both like that, was that he'd been right about it being a lovers' squabble. Then Duo looked back to Heero and again started the angry whines that had originally awoken him, making everything painfully clear in record time.  
  
"Can't one of us at least go check? Just to make sure? I mean, we don't have to get involved, necessarily, since it wasn't our mission. We could just-"  
  
"No."  
  
Duo was unfazed. "Well, what about tracking the vehicle he took? To see if he's on his way home, or still off somew-"  
  
"No."  
  
"Maybe we could try to get a hold of the Docters and see-"  
  
Heero growled and lifted his eyes from the screen before him, though his fingers never ceased in their typing. "Duo. No. Just no. Will you please go do -something-? You are driving me mad, and I've got a lot to do."  
  
The braided boy visibly wilted under that harsh reprimand, dark purple eyes growing large and shiny even as Trowa watched from the hallway arch. It was a little like watching a pet grow scared and slink away from what had been a trusted hand before now. Animals, he at least understood, and with that comparison, it was obvious to him that Duo was actually hurt and not just using the 'puppy-eyed' look to get what he wanted.  
  
Not that Duo would show that expression for long, it was quickly replaced with one that was worse in it's own ways. He hopped off from the couch and crossed his arms tightly over his black clad chest, scowling down at his boyfriend and snapping- "Ya know, sometimes you can be a real prick, Heero!"  
  
Cobalt eyes again lifted off the screen before him with dull confusion as he watched Duo turn on his heel and stomp away, then met with Trowa's when the braided boy had to pass him to continue on to his room to sulk.  
  
"Trouble?"  
  
Heero blinked, features going neutral as he realized he had a witness, then gave a snort and lowered his head back down. "Not really."  
  
Quatre here or not, he wasn't ready to even try to return to his bed, and so the lengthy pilot continued on his awkward path, this time aiming for the couch that Heero was occupying. After a minute he was settling on the plush, lop-sided surface and sighing quietly in relief.  
  
"He's just worried."  
  
Seeing he wasn't getting off that easy, Heero gave him a dry look and nodded. "I know. But right now, there isn't anything I can do. He comes to me like he thinks I'm a superhero sometimes."  
  
"So?" Trowa shrugged, "To him, you are."  
  
"He needs to know better then. I can't stop everything he doesn't like or fix it, and I don't intend to try. Sometimes, stuff just has to be left alone."  
  
Trowa listened to all of that in silence, then looked down at Heero's computer screen, spotted the little program that was tucked off to the side with the blinking red dot in it, and had to keep from smiling. _Of course he's tracking him. Not for Quatre most likely, but because -nothing- comes between Heero and missions, whether they are his or not._ "So… Where is he?"  
  
The darker pilot blinked, looking down at the computer before giving a mild frown. _If it's not Duo, it's the rest of the world._ "The motorcycle has been in the same place for hours. Judging by what I know of the terrain and the maps I compared it with, it's in a forest… About four miles from a military compound. Wherever he is, he's still finishing his mission and hasn't returned to it for a while."  
  
He didn't like that. Not one bit. "Or something came up and he -can't- return to it."  
  
Heero's shoulders tensed, as close to a wince as the stoic pilot got. That sounded exactly like something his boyfriend would say, and something that had crossed his mind. "I know."  
  
"Is that what you think happened?"  
  
"… I read his mission perimeters, Trowa. It was a simple one. It was meant for two people, but that was just a precaution, and one -could- have handled it alone." Now confronted or perhaps just asked by someone he could stand hinting at his own worry too, Heero's words emerged in a quiet tone that was almost dismissive. Trowa that it might be what he was using to hide his actual concern, no matter how little it was, for one of his teammates. "But calculating the time we think he left this morning, what the mission entailed, and then the layouts of the base that I've gone over… He should have been finished almost four hours ago. And even wounded, he would have been able to make it back to his vehicle in that time."  
  
Trowa was tempted to agree with Duo's crude label at that time, but he held it back as his own mind racked over the possibilities. "If he could come back, he would. You know that. And the bike was in top condition when we checked it last week, so it isn't that. He's not stupid enough to just wander off after completing a mission, not before reporting it and especially not before coming back and letting us all know he's fine. And he definitely wouldn't just walk away from it. He's like that, Heero."  
  
"I know… Something's gone wrong. He was either caught during his mission, or…"  
  
That unfinished sentence hung chillingly in the air, both of the serious young men knowing exactly what followed after it, and neither liking it. Trowa suddenly felt like 'or' was probably the most hateful word in the dictionary. _Or he's dead. He was killed… Someone caught him wandering around and shot him. Probably in the back without ever seeing his face._ It was thinking about how that sweet face always had a smile for him that got the brunette moving again.  
  
"I'm going after him. If he's alive, then I'll find him and bring him back."  
  
Heero actually had to snort back laughter, motioning to Trowa's broken leg and flushed complexion with one hand before stating in his typical blunt manner- "You'd never make it. You'd get yourself caught when we don't even know if he's alive or not. So don't be a fool. I'll go."  
  
He said that with such a determined tone, that for a second Trowa wasn't up to arguing… Then he looked over Heero and actually rolled his eyes as he pointed out - "You're hurt too."  
  
"Not as badly as you. I'm also used to working with injuries."   
  
"That doesn't mean we need the added risk. You stand just as much risk as getting caught because of them as I do." Trowa smugly informed him of that fact. Truthfully, he knew Heero was right about his own wounds though, and knew as much as he wanted to be the one to find and rescue the little blonde of their team, it wouldn't be happening one way or another. But he wouldn't just pass it off to someone who might not be able to do it either. If Quatre was alive, he wanted him back here safely. The sooner the better.  
  
"I can handle myself, Barton." Heero was close to growling now as he glared at the feverish boy beside him.  
  
"You're still hurt. If he's been caught, he needs someone who won't be limping in to get him out or start randomly bleeding from wounds and pass out before he even gets to him."  
  
"I can-"  
  
That was all Heero managed to snap out before the calm voice from the doorway cut their arguments to shreds with it's soft interjection. "-I'm- going after him."  
  
Both cobalt blue eyes and the one visible emerald from Trowa turned towards the speaker.  
  
Wufei was leaning against the wall where Trowa'd been only moments before, though it felt like hours to the ill pilot on the couch, and he had enough sense to recognize Wufei probably made a much better image then he had then.  
  
The Chinese pilot was dressed in his usual pristine outfit of white, managing to look both impossibly clean and untouchable in their grungy little safe house. His golden tanned skin giving the perfect picture of health even from within the dark corridor, and without the 'beneath-him' scowl that Wufei typically wore, Trowa thought he looked… Peaceful. And deadly in his own quiet efficiency.  
  
His face was a little flushed, and the just-below-the-chin length hair was free and still damp from an earlier shower. The ebony silk strands danced gracefully along the skin of his neck and face, one stray cluster sliding across his cheek and kissing the swell of his mouth. With the exotic dark almond of his eyes above that, and the way he silently moved away from the wall and strolled into the room, Wufei looked like royalty in their midst.   
  
Just looking at him made Trowa want to go take a shower and get dressed. Maybe he couldn't compare in the end, but lounging in dirty clothing around such a figure made him feel rather slug-like. A sideways glance at the storm that passed over Heero's expression made him wonder if perhaps the same wasn't true there. But at the very least, just the image Wufei presented made the ill brunette feel a little more confident in the matter at hand.  
  
Heero was another matter. Offering a moody 'hn', he dropped his gaze back to the screen before him. "Why should you go? I know the layout at least. I have a good guess where he'd be if they caught him."  
  
"Then you'll tell me."  
  
Trowa kept quiet, but was inwardly congratulating the brisk business tone from Wufei. He would be going in the end, despite whatever debate Heero might be feeling up to, of that Trowa had little doubt.  
  
"You haven't read the mission perimeters. It would be foolish to send you in blind like that. I'm more capable in this circumstances."  
  
Wufei snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at the injured forms on the couch. "If being wounded makes you more capable, then Winner is as good as dead. I will simply read whatever you've found before I go. But I will be going. Barton is right about sending someone damaged after him, and that narrows it down to myself. I'm fine… Duo only has a few wounds, but between the two of us, this is more in my field and you know it."   
  
Yes, he knew it, but that didn't mean Heero had to like it. In his own way, he had come to think of the four other boys as -his- team. Despite what Duo in private frequently called his 'I stand alone' complex, they had somehow fallen into the role of a team, and not even he was immune to that. He'd gotten used to leaning on them in one for or another. When it came to places he needed to be and couldn't get, Duo had a point about it being easier to pick the lock than to blow the door up. He kept things from ever seeming too dire and lost, making sure they all could laugh even through the pain. And he often envied Trowa's natural grace when he watched the taller pilot move around, the silence that followed him was effortless. If they were ever caught an interrogated, it was Trowa he was least concerned of leaking. Wufei was that perfect pillar of strength, but that was at the same time as occasionally emitting this perfectly calm aura. Heero had yet to truly see him break down and for that he respected him perhaps more than anyone else. And then there was Quatre… It was almost too easy to dismiss the blonde as the weakest of their team and one who really had no place in battle… At least it was easy until you saw the plans he could come up with. Heero was trained to be able to create new routes and alter his missions as circumstances arose, and for the most part he was good at it. But more than once when he was positive they'd come to a dead end and was prepared to fall directly into his rather violet defense mode, Quatre had turned to him and listed off sometimes an obscene amount of other possibilities he never would have considered. Just looking at a computer screen simulation, Heero had watched him come up with flawless formations and attacks. So weak in body and with his intense emotions or not, that was another teammate he now needed in some way.  
  
And now that teammate was in trouble, and he was supposed to sit back and just wait?  
  
"Fine. You'll go. But you will be wearing a transmitter, like he should have been. I want you connected at all times so that we know if you need back-up, or if you can't find him. If something comes up, we can be here to figure out how to proceed and direct you from here. Understood?"  
  
Wufei nodded his agreement. By the gruff tone that Heero's voice had taken, he also understood to even start to argue about that little thing would probably to get a 'no' answer again… And he didn't want to waste any more time.  
  
"Take the other bike. You can follow the same path he took, maybe it'll turn up some trace of what happened to him." Heero's lips turned down slightly in a frown when he lowered his eyes back to that small program in the corner. "If you find him, get him out then. If he's too injured to ride, just get him out of the base and we'll come back for him later. … If he's dead, leave him."  
  
Beside the darker brunette, Trowa felt his world sway from another feverish wave, and those words seemed like they hung around him mockingly. _He's not dead. He can't be dead. This is war and we all die, but he isn't dead yet. Not like that._  
  
Wufei knew all too well that if Quatre had been caught, the chances of them shooting him on the spot were high… But worse, if he wasn't killed immediately, he was probably kept for information. The idea of Quatre locked somewhere and screaming as they questioned him and prod him with various devices made his stomach turn. He would have gone to get any of them, these members of his odd makeshift clan, but this one… After how many times he'd watched the boy he'd originally dismissed as weak and just another spoiled child who wanted to play at war care for their team, how often he'd seen him go out of his way on mission with no care for danger to himself just to pull one of them out of gunfire's way… There really wasn't any other option in his mind. It was almost divine justice.  
  
-----  
  
Less than an hour later, Heero stood at the dirty window of their safe house and watched the smoke dissipate into the air, all that was left of Wufei racing away on the motorcycle he thought was best for this mission. There was something almost reassuring about the figure the black haired boy had made as he put on the masking helmet and then stepped over and onto the shiny bike. There was no hint of someone barely more than a child himself going out to get involved in something to big for him. _He looked… Purposeful.  
_  
When Duo came up and slipped an arm around his waist to murmur a grudging apology in his ear, Heero felt secure enough about the situation that had shifted out of his control to turn and gently pet one hand over the long mane of hair his lover sported, to reassure him now and to tell him of what had come about. Time, he supposed as the last of that vehicle smog vanished like a dream into the cold air, to fix the things that he could.


	5. Here There be Lions

((I know, seriously long pause (in my writing style anyway) between this chapter and the last, and I do apologize for that. I've been busy, like seriously busy, so working out time to escape and relax myself by writing has been holy hell. But I am moderately pleased with this chapter despite the time it took to get it finished, and I can almost promise that either the next one or number seven won't be postable here because of some adult content. In otherwords, when we get to that, if you still want to read, you'll have to follow the story along through my account on The name there is different than this one, but it's the same stories, and I'll give that out when we get to it. Also, be warned, this chapter is continuing off where we left them before I did that interlude back at the crummy safehouse.

Which brings me to another point. I am still surprised with the attention this story was getting, extremely please, but still a touch shocked... Namely for the fact that the writing is liked at all, because I wasn't expecting that, but more so for the fact that this one is doing better than my first attempt, which I still consider to be the better of the two. So, here comes the hook. -- If you haven't read that one (which you can find by looking at my user name or under the title 'Winter's End', while you are waiting around for the next chapter here, I pitifully beg you go look at that. The pairing is different, but over all, I think that story is better... And it's finished too. Mush thanks as always to the people that read this, and all my gratitude for the sweet reviews, plus my undying love to my two biggest supporters, the ever loyal Quinn and the gorgeous Fishie.))

-----

"No?"  
  
The boy looked up and gave him a dry 'are you deaf' look, then nodded and repeated himself. "No."  
  
Zechs winced inwardly. It seemed unlikely that there was chance to get the blonde begging before he started now, impossible to make him look like some kind of misinformed child so that he could use that image and label him helpless with no real information to offer them. That stubborn attitude would only make people around here more angry that he'd dared to break in, and even being caught, he didn't regret it… And Trieze would want his example made.  
  
But perhaps if he was careful, he could make this as easy as possible for this prisoner. He could skip over all those little crimes and pains that warmed others up to be broken. Go directly for the 'kill' as it was and make it look like he was going to do something that would scare him badly enough to break before he'd actually begun.   
  
Still, before immediately leaving to get his supplies for that idea, he was willing to try to see if the boy's mind could be changed, despite that solid negative answer.  
  
Leaning slightly away from the door, he looked around the brilliantly lit chambers thoughtfully, then back to that neat little form. All he needed was an edge. It was too soon after he arrived for food to have been delivered. Perhaps that was the perfect way for him to make himself look less like an enemy and more like a friend who'd just be introduced through uncomfortable circumstances. "Are you hungry?"  
  
One golden eyebrow arched. _Food? They are going to try to lure me into babbling about my mission with food? I haven't been here a day yet! Surely he can't believe I'm already -that- hungry!_ Still, even if it was to be used in that regard, it was worth trying for and he knew he more than had the restraint to be able to deny the urge if they were using whatever they brought for that.. He needed his strength if he was to escape. He tipped his chin up and gave the soldier before him a tight-lipped smile. "Yes, I am. Very kind of you to offer."  
  
_Not just young,_ he thought as he contemplated those words. Between that answer and the posture he'd witnessed since entering, certain things became obvious to him. _But from a well-to-do background as well. So what was he doing here? This isn't even just a little petty crime. Why would someone like that do something like this? It's absurd!  
_  
But maybe those were answers he could get through this method. "Very well, I'll order you a tray then." Keeping himself facing the potential danger, he paused with his finger almost on the speaker's switch. Rather just taking whatever was given, here was another way to warm the youth up to him. A little wedge to put between the term of prison guard and friend. "… What would you like?"  
  
Quatre blinked up at the elegant face of his captor, surprised in spite of himself. "I… I'd like-"  
  
"I think he'd like to sit at a nicely set up table, have a real four course meal brought to him, and some polite conversation with people who aren't going to hurt him if that's at all possible, that's what I think."  
  
Both of the blondes within the small chamber jumped as that contented sounding purr rolled out from the speaker that Zechs had been about to touch. To Quatre, it immediately made him think of his training at home. Of those regal gentlemen who could go about doing -anything- and who always seemed to come out clean anyway. It brought to mind images of polite parties, of people who handled everything with that same, trained grace. To Zechs… It reminded him of a large cat of prey. A huge lion perhaps, sitting outside of this cell with his tail swishing behind him in expectation and a large, dopey grin on his otherwise noble features because he knew he'd just cornered something he wanted.  
  
If his own training had been anything less, he probably would have slumped in disappointment and cursed his bad luck while making silent promises that the older man would pay. Trieze had seen his little prisoner, and now the beautiful angelic creature had worse things to worry about than his torture.  
  
"Sir." He used that word grudgingly, turning slightly so he was looking at the window and at the figure he knew was just behind it. _As if he doesn't already know-_ "This is the intruder we caught earlier."  
  
There was a soft chuckle, and again came that rumbling, almost soothing voice. "Of course it is. But intruder is such a crude sounding term… More like 'shamefully uninvited guest'. I think that better suits this handsome young man, don't you?"  
  
On the bed, those indefinable eyes widened minutely. _Handsome young man?_  
  
For Zechs, all of his earlier statements were ringing true. Yes, he was in hell… However, as uncomfortable as Trieze's rather blatant approval of this prisoner made him, it was a good sign that he wouldn't have to go about the things he'd been worrying over. For better or worse, he doubted this blonde male was ever going to have to worry about his body being hurt.  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
Unseen, Trieze's lips curved into a small smile as he watched Zechs inwardly struggle. Of course he was trespassing where his lover obviously didn't want him, but he knew the cool blonde would get over it… Would, perhaps, even thank him later. And even if Zechs did give him the cold shoulder for a while, he had no one but himself to blame for trying to discreetly hide this boy. Why, if he hadn't followed out of curiosity, he might have given the order to have this lovely little creature killed without a second thought, and then where would they be? With Zechs having another hissy fit, and in that case, one that he had no clue about. This, he could handle with pleasure.  
  
"And as a previously uninvited but now much welcome guest, I think this young man ought to be apologized to in person, over that meal. Don't you?"  
  
_No. I think he should be left right here in the cell, where it's boring but safe from you._ He managed to give the mirror a tight smile, nodding even as he noticed the rather shocked look of his prisoner's face in the reflective surface. "Yes, Sir."  
  
"Wonderful that we all agree. Well then, I believe the first order of business would be to get him some proper attire while I go attend to the dinner plans. See to that, will you?" That voice would have sounded normal to everyone else, but Zechs heard the hint of smugness on it's edges. Within minutes he'd been temporarily demoted from the captain and competent soldier he was, into this fair youth's personal attendant.  
  
By the time Quatre gotten over his initial shock at the change in direction this meeting was taking, he'd realized the new opportunities it could open. In here he had no chance of escape unless it was through this tall soldier (not at all a good option he was becoming more and more certain), but if he was removed however suspicious the reason sounded to him, the possibilities would be limitless. And though the next thing that rich voice said eliminated a few of those, it still seemed promising.  
  
"We will need to make sure our guest is completely willing to enjoy our company before just letting him run ramped though, so I hope it doesn't seem too rude of me to insist that we keep you mildly restricted in the mean time. I believe hand cuffs and leg restraints would be the most suitable and still allow you to dine with us."  
  
Without missing a beat and to Trieze's great amusement, the young man tipped his chin haughtily up and smiled graciously as he answered- "Quite understandable, and thank you for your delightful invitation."  
  
Outside of the glass, Trieze smiled slowly again and looked over that delicate face. It reminded him a little of when Zechs was young and they'd first met, before the war split his personality (and names) apart. _Another precious child thrown far too young to the wolves of battle._ "The pleasure is completely mine, I assure you. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll see you in within an hour. I look forward to meeting you face to face then."  
  
The speaker gave a soft click as the button on the other side was released.  
  
Zechs let his eyes drift down to the youth's face again, noting that slight twinge of surprise that was still flickering over it. If he knew Trieze, he imagined he'd be seeing that look several times tonight.  
  
-----  
  
It took Zechs about thirty minutes to first find someone that had 'proper' or at least acceptable clothing that could be made to fit the prisoner's slight form, and then to get it on the boy and begin the trek toward Trieze's chambers. He knew anyone else would have taken twice as long, and that Trieze had suggested he was fine with waiting a full hour, but he still wasn't satisfied with himself.  
  
Looking to the side, he studied the profile of the young man behind him.  
  
The corn silk fine blonde hair tumbled gently over a pale forehead, softening the minuet worry he saw in the lines there but not all together vanishing it. With the delicately pursed lips, he thought the over all affect was surprisingly precious. A stunning man-boy who wasn't getting his way but had enough dignity not to burst into tears or start throwing things… Zechs would have given his fortune to know what was going on behind those lovely sea-like eyes.  
  
But what he would have found there wouldn't have pleased him. It might even have taken all his thoughts of angels and destroyed them.  
  
Several times since leaving the cell, Quatre had thought he saw the perfect opportunity for escape, but each and every one had been thwarted before he could lift his hands to begin it. Either the soldier watching him had the luck of the damned, or was better trained then he had the nerve to imagine. Because luck would fall apart sometime and he could wait for that as long as things stayed at this creepy, but somewhat comfortable level. But training… He couldn't work around that. He wasn't ready to admit to being bested yet, but he wasn't liking that he'd even had to consider that.  
  
When they'd gone for the clothes, he'd been sure there'd be a time when the blonde man would face away from him. But those pale blue eyes never left his, not even to speak to the people he was addressing about obtaining them. The men they had past stared, all with surprised expressions that Quatre wasn't sure how to take, but his guard never minded them. So he had hoped perhaps that he'd trip, or hit a wall and be caught off guard for even a second, long enough for Quatre to take the chains that had been their first stop in getting, and wrap those around his slender throat. He would have killed him if necessary, but he thought he might be able to just take him hostage and then make a clean break for the exit of this brightly lit hell. But the man hadn't tripped. He hadn't even been the one to approach him with the handcuffs. Instead he'd leaned against the wall of that cell with his gun trained right between his eyes, and had had an aide do it. And he might have tried it anyway, if it weren't for that dull look on the older male's face that made Quatre certain that the man wouldn't care about shooting through his own helper to get the bullet into him.  
  
So he'd let that escape attempt pass him by, and had fallen back into the quiet of his mind to come up with another. He was -certain- that with the event he'd been offered one would come along again, it was just a matter of when. But it had to be today, because he was also certain that if he wasn't back by then, his 'failure' in mission by not escaping would become a fact to what he considered his team. And if that was the case, by the next morning they'd come for him. Not to help him escape though… Heero was already angry enough with him for Quatre to even try to reassure himself about being 'friends', and it was protocol.  
  
_At least I'd get to see one of them again before they shot me.  
_  
The thought of begging if that circumstance came about didn't even flicker in his mind.   
  
So, he had to escape today, had to make it back just a little late but before they could decide he was a threat to their continuing mission. And late or not, he had already retrieved the data that he'd been sent for, so he would be successful if he could just make it to safety. Without being injured or having lost anything, he couldn't see it as a complete loss… Just an unplanned delay. Though admittedly, he needed to more finely train his stealth operating if he got out of this one. Maybe Duo or Trowa would be willing to help.  
  
At last the form behind him informed him quietly that they could stop and were 'here'.  
  
Agreeably, he moved to the side when directed, watching without any surprise as that gun remained steadily on him while the tall figure blindly (and with perfect precision of course, another fact that left him unhappy) opened one of the pair of doors they'd stopped before.  
  
The first thing that his quick senses picked up on was the slight breeze of air that moved out of the open portal, and the dim light beyond. The scent in that air was one of fine wine, some sort of roasted meat, fruits, and then the underlying smell of cologne. He'd never worn it himself, felt foolish doing so for reasons he couldn't explain without blushing, but he knew the scent from his rooming with the other males, and liked it. He thought he could even recognize the brand that was coming from the room. Something 'Water'. It was a calming fragrance, cool… But still one that made your heart jump just a little faster in your chest and your head feel light. His first thought was that it had to be Trowa's since he spent so much time with the tall pilot, but Trowa's didn't immediately bring to mind unexplainable images of blue waves and of sand under a moonlit night.  
  
He held his body stiffly as a shiver tried to work it's way through him. So it's Duo, or Wufei's even. He tried to dismiss the reaction and strange train of thoughts.  
  
The lighting was another matter. Just from that quick glance, he could tell it wasn't electrical. His first guess then would be candles, except his mind usefully supplied the information that it was too large for that. So, perhaps a fireplace. It's warm yellow glow (such a contrast to that scent) flickered on what he could see of a pale white wall by the open door.  
  
The cylinder of the gun nudged him gently on the shoulder and brought him out of his observant daze. He glanced over his shoulder briefly to the blonde behind him.  
  
Zechs' answer was slow in coming as he looked over the youth's noticeably confused features. He could hardly blame him. He hadn't even entered Trieze's room --Den. Lion's den-- and already it held the waiting air of a liar of seduction. "Step through, and wait."  
  
The boy didn't move. Those beautiful wide eyes _(aqua? Or maybe teal…?)_ just peered up at him in blank miscommunication. He didn't blame him for not responding either. It didn't take a genius to know something was up from just the offer he'd gotten after very obviously being caught for breaking into their base and then the room they were about to enter. But the look that the boy was trying to hide, like a little kitten trying to slowly slink back from something that scared it, made him wish he had the power to just turn and lead him back to the medical cell… And than maybe sit him down on the cot, and try to befriend him again. To comfort and keep that look from ever needing to reappear.  
  
But wishes weren't something he had ever put much stock in, even as a child. And even now the thought was fleeting before he dismissed it and gently nudged the boy again, shaking him from his daze with the cold mouth of the gun on his shoulder. "Step through… It's okay."  
  
That last bit had been added when that expression hadn't left the boy's face; a soft, rather awkward throw-in, but to Zechs relief it did seem to help. The worried darkness in the boy's eyes abated, and giving a barely perceivable nod, he faced forward and laid his small hand on the door to push it the rest of the way open. Then he entered the private chambers.  
  
-----  
  
In the hour's time he'd been given, Trieze had actually been more busy than he had been in days. Surprising considering he was on the verge of creating a war, perhaps… But that plan was in motion already, and it was only now and then that anyone felt the need to approach him and question the directions that had been completely set-up months ago. For now, he was there just in a case, almost a figurehead in the idealistic battle he dreamt up. It didn't upset him though, because that was the way it almost always went. Just like how he knew he'd be the bad guy to the people because of the methods he'd chosen, no matter how grateful they might be with the outcome. And how he had no doubts when he died, he was still be made into some legend. His mortality and simple mistakes, his minor achievements… All of that would be brushed aside for something so much more glorious. He'd cease to be Trieze the man like anyone else, and become someone who children read of in history books and a person that old soldiers drunk too with cheers.  
  
It was one of the few trade-offs he found almost disturbing, it's dark irony not altogether lost on him. And to think he was perhaps on of the few people who'd done this sort of thing that wanted nothing more than to -be- human. He made his errors and never tried to deny them, he had his weaknesses and flaws, and he liked them. He liked laughing at comedies, and was brought to tears by the high reverberating notes of a fine opera. He enjoyed snuggling with his partner when he could convince him it was safe, and he had a strong addiction to white chocolate… But in a few years, when he really had no doubt he'd be dead (either by battle or by execution, or even by assassination after he'd won), those tragically mortal features would be swept under the carpet by time and historians. Only his friends, what few true ones he claimed to have, would remember them as the rest of the world got to know him.  
  
But for now, he had no time to be bitter about a future he'd already laid out before himself; he was just grateful to be busy again. That last hour had been a whirlwind for him. Between having a meal whipped up by the base's small kitchen, the best he could manage without hours of preparation, turning his room into a pleasant, relaxing but vaguely enticing atmosphere, and then finally getting to work on himself, the young general was beat.  
  
The table was stretched out in the main room, far too large for just the three of them, but laid with a dinner fit for a king and his small army. It's glossy surface was covered with a layer of regal white lace, the candles placed at various intervals making this fabric shine like spider webs in the moonlight and seem like a faerie's banquet in the middle of a children's storybook.   
  
Beyond the table a fire flickered in the hearth welcomingly, it's red glow warming the room both physically and in a way that soothed the mind. And before it in a large plush chair, Trieze sat.  
  
It was to that figure that Quatre's eyes were drawn towards first. Widening, they swept over the older man in surprise, noting the white ruffles that rested at his throat like the eager hands of an admirer and the way his dark blue velvet jacket clung to an impressive chest. Beneath that rested a flawlessly white pair of pants that caressed long, lean legs, ending finally in a pair of boots so polished they were almost black mirrors. With his posture of being leaned casually back in the chair as he watched them enter and with one leg crossed gracefully over the other, not to mention the way those long hands were both curled around the ends of each arm of the elegant chair, Quatre had the fleeting thought that he was before a king now.  
  
Unbeknownst to him or the tall blonde that slipped in behind him and closed the door with a sinister click that made them both jump a bit, that thought nearly mirrored Trieze's own perfectly.  
  
_Welcome to my court and your cage, little dove._


	6. Sweeter Than Chocolate

((Voila? Anyways, I realized shortly after I started this one that with my picky long, drawn-out scenes writing style, we wouldn't be getting to the evil adult rating just yet (sucks, don't it. ). And still, this scene lasted longer then I had planned. But yes, the next chapter will undoubtedly be very short on this site, and then I will be giving the look-up information to anyone that wants the whole thing on , though it might be long in the making since I'm rushing through my spring cleaning right now and preparing for a visit from someone dear to me. Also, for those impatient fans, don't worry, Wufei is coming back and will be getting more attention shortly, and I will work out that sad Trowa-neglect that some of you have been pointing out in the reviews.pets soothingly In my writing, that tends to happen a lot, I've noticed. Forgive me.))

-----

A cool circle of metal again touched him through the shirt, and Quatre jumped a little as he tore his eyes off the man before the fire and back to the one that stood just over his shoulder. His guard's eyes still rested on that unusual figure, but after that nudge he spoke gently. "Move closer to the table."  
  
His steps were forced now, he discovered, stiff and reluctant as if his legs were divorced from his body as they carried him towards the elaborate feast. More and more, this scene was becoming less like the torture he'd expected and been trained for… But more like his father's banquets. Great affairs he'd attended as a child, a multitude of new faces looming over him and smiling, an army of outfits deserving of royalty, then voices directed to the older man beside him. Not holding his hand, of course, not there where he was supposed to be the perfect little gentleman on his own. But always close and smiling reassuringly when he remembered to properly address someone, or to use the right spoon. Those were his childhood 'trophies', those smiles and occasionally a pat on the back.  
  
It was that training, which had begun when he was only four, and not his experience as a gundam pilot that kept him from bolting when the older man suddenly sat up from the chair and came striding gracefully towards.  
  
"Welcome! Right on time." He stopped about three feet from his 'prisoner' and his prized general, glancing to him now as he gave an approving smile. "And I see you've done as excellent job at improvising as you always do."  
  
Though he wouldn't talk back while he still considered himself on duty, Zechs did narrow his eyes at the attempted compliment before murmuring a soft 'thank you, sir'. It was just Trieze's way of trying to lighten him up about the situation, he knew, and that was something he just couldn't foresee happening. The blonde in front of him, whose frail shoulders were lifting as if he was bracing himself for some heavy load, shouldn't have been taken from his cell. He shouldn't have been bothered by the other man, he shouldn't be here in Trieze's private chambers. And yet now the pale-eyed gentleman had the nerve to try to convince him it was all okay? With just one shabby compliment? Besides, he -knew- he'd done better than okay where this was concerned. As usual, he'd taken a casual order and succeeded at it on a level others would never have been able.  
  
Trieze watched these emotions flicker dimly over his lover's face and noted that he'd be in for more of a challenge than he'd originally planned for, but that was one reason he was so fond of the icy perfectionist. Zechs always made him work for what he wanted, there was no being offered things on a silver platter with him. Any ground that the general of OZ thought he had, was hard won and well deserved.  
  
He waited until Zechs saw him watching and lost that easily read expression for one as informative as a mirror, then looked back down to the almost delicate features of their newest guest. _He has a right to be mad on some level… If I'd been in his place, I'm not entirely sure I could have brought myself to share either. And together? Standing there in just the light from the fire, Zechs' protective stance over his shoulder and those faintly nervous eyes on me, they look like an artist's rendition of paradise… I would trade all of the power I have to see them sitting together holding one another, and to have a portrait of that moment immortalized. I think I could waste away happily with that frozen image to keep me company. Is it so wrong to want to push your lover into the arms of another man, just so you could bask in the beauty of such a union?  
_  
But he was lying with those thoughts and he knew it, because as much as he wanted to see Zechs with an arm gently wrapped around the boy (he had a feeling that this little blonde wouldn't have to deal with his lover's frigid temperamental moments ever), he also wanted to be touching them both.  
  
Trieze sighed softly, ignoring the mild flicker of suspicion that flooded Zechs' face at the sound, and looking instead to the now anxious eyes of the prisoner. _First things first._ "Forgive me, where are my manners. We should make introductions first, shouldn't we? We can't sit down for a meal together and have no way other than perhaps 'hey you' to address one another."  
  
Those lovely eyes, so different than Zechs and his own he noted silently, stayed fixed on him, but the boy's mouth remained closed. If anything, it drew into a slightly tighter line of determination. For a few seconds, Trieze continued to look at him expectantly before the knowledge he wouldn't be getting an answer finally sank in. That hint of strength didn't deter him, but rather forced him to struggle to hide a pleased smile.   
  
"All right, than I will go first. My name is Trieze Khushranada." He glanced up to the stiff form behind the boy and motioned with one graceful hand. "The man who's shown you here and whom you met earlier, is my finest employee and closest friend, Zechs Marquis."  
  
The tall blonde soldier raised an eyebrow at the introduction, but gave a barely perceptible nod of gratitude. Trieze's hadn't immediately gone into truly personal details, and as far as he was concerned, that was all that mattered.  
  
His smile widened at the sight of that nod before he lifted a hand and motioned encouragingly to their small 'guest'. "And you are?"  
  
A solid minute of silence ticked by according to Zechs inner clock before his older leader drew back with a disappointed frown, even though that didn't prevent that challenged light from appearing in the cornflower blue orbs. "… Would you be so cold as to deny us the pleasure of having your name, young sir?"  
  
Quatre drew his shoulders back, sighing inwardly as he raised his own eyes to the figure only a few feet from him. _Why is he so close? And why does he keep looking to the man behind me? Is he signaling him to sedate me again or something?_ "Forgive me. Please don't think me rude or cold as you put it, but I refuse to forget why I am here with you now, and I believe that giving my name, even if it is part of the usual social scene, would be a remarkably bad idea. I am your prisoner, if by some chance I am delivered from your hospitality, which I will say has been quite nice up to now, I think I would like to know you won't be finding me that quickly because I felt compelled to bond."  
  
Behind him, Zechs blinked in surprise. It was a feeling that only grew when Trieze's lips curled into first something very close to a grin, and then the general started chuckling.  
  
"Perhaps you are right in your concerns." He reached up and lightly let one of his fingers stroke down the shorter blonde's hair, marveling at it's baby-fine texture before tracing across his temple, down one cherubic cheek and towards the boy's strong mouth. Before he got there, the boy gave a soft gasp at the contact, then took a startled step back only to find himself pressed harshly against the barrel of a gun, and against the lithe body that was holding it. "Because I'm not sure I wouldn't attempt to find you if you weren't in our company any more."  
  
Quatre's mind was a mess as he tried to shift away from the person he'd backed into, but preferably without moving forward towards that other strange man. His cheek still tingled from the touch, a small hot path that felt that finger moving over it repeatedly, like some unchecked memory. What is he -doing-? He attempted to take a step sideways, only to feel the guard's hand settle lightly on his shoulder, keeping him in place with that unspoken warning.  
  
Slowly, he worked through the shock of that contact (only by realizing answers weren't as important as appearing strong in the path of it) and raised his face back to the man that had identified himself as Trieze. _He's closer…_ And he was, by at least a foot, the young blonde now able to feel the very soft change in the air temperature around him from being so close to two other people. And something else, a barely perceptible hum in the environment, an energy that reminded him oddly of how he felt just before he went into battle. A mingling of emotions that were almost a scent to him, of excitement and anxiousness, fear tinged with the desire to survive. Normally, he welcomed that strange stream to wrap around him and remind him was alive and all right, but now it made him tense up. Because the only one that he clearly identified as his own was the fear he was struggling to keep under the surface. The rest were from his captors, and it made him suspect they were indeed planning something. This was just another form of torture, and they were warming up by making him feel so crowded, trying to frighten him with those unexplained touches and make him start babbling.  
  
It was seeing the warring concerns in the blonde's eyes and then watching his light frame grow stiff like a live wire that kept Trieze from letting his control sway any more.  
  
_Like some little creature a child stumbled across and picked up, scared enough that when you hold it, you can feel the precious melody of it's heart's terror vibrating through your hand… Too much fear, and it's heart will cease, and you could unwittingly destroy what you just wanted to touch._ Tipping his head down in a nod that Quatre identified as gracious apology and acknowledgement, Trieze took a step back. But the relief that the blonde felt at that retreat was short lived as the older man smiled, the gesture tinted with open impishness. "We still have the issue of names though, and I will not simply call you 'you'. It's rude, impersonal, and I despise not having something of a more proper title for someone like you. So…" He lifted a hand, lightly touching one finely shaped cheekbone before lifting his eyes to the person behind Quatre's shoulder. "I am leaning more towards Dove myself. It seems so fitting when one considers his innocently beautiful features and the emotions we have been able to see so far. Delicate, able to rise above the rest, a symbol for things so much bigger than it. A lovely little white Dove."  
  
Zechs' expression darkened and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from immediately answering 'a dove who's wings you'd clip. A dove who you'd cherish within a gilded cage of gold while it silently wept in lonely misery.' only by that. But that nickname was one he wasn't going to just nod about, not like everything else where it seemed so much easier to agree with his lover. "I believe Angel would be more fitting, -Sir-."  
  
He raised a golden eyebrow. _You might as well have your hands on his shoulders and be snarling 'mine' at me, my darling._ Still, compromise was something he'd never forgotten the value of. "Angel, hm? … I can see where you'd favor such a term, and it does have it's appeal. " For now, this was a battle he was winning to tip in Zechs favor. That light blue gaze shifted back to the blonde between them. "Would that suit you for the remainder of our dinner and company?"  
  
Honestly, Quatre wasn't sure he liked or disliked either of them. Dove made him think of something beautiful and free, but also something fragile. It reminded him of one he'd seen in the park of the city, it's wing broken, most likely from a car on the nearby street, and it beating that futilely anyway on the ground to get away from the tramping feet of the uncaring pedestrians on the sidewalk. It's beak had been open, seeming to gasp to the startled and immediately sympathetic pilot, and the red that came from that dark opening was far too bright against the clean feathers of it's breast. But it wasn't going anywhere except in the tight circles it's flapping allowed it. Despite being busy and on his way to something, Quatre had stepped forward to try and help that small thing, but it's luck had run out just as the same time he got his feet moving. The next boot that went by had hit the bird, and the crunch that the owner of that boot had ignored even though he'd taken the time to wipe his shoe carelessly against the ground, leaving a streak of accusatory red, had sounded like someone taking their first step in untouched snow. And then it was too late, no point in even trying to scoop up the broken mess. He'd stepped over anyway though just to gently nudge the limp form out of the way and off the main path into the bushes, sparing it any more pain even if it's death if that was all he could do… But he hadn't forgotten that encounter. He considered it yet another silent and rather cold lesson from the world.  
  
And as for the angel one… Well, inwardly he wasn't entirely sure he believed in them. The idea was beautiful and one he could appreciate, of something so perfectly pristine in it's soul and constantly watching out for the little guys, but in actuality, he couldn't comprehend someone being completely clean of any 'sin'. He certainly wasn't, he knew that much between all of the killing he had had to do and his lack of worship, especially of the god said angels supposed came from, so the nickname seemed almost in jest.  
  
But ultimately, it didn't matter what he thought of the names and he couldn't possibly relate his reasoning for his answers without foolishly opening up to his captors. And it also didn't matter what they called him, as long as it wasn't his real name. The blonde lifted his chin defiantly and met Trieze's eyes. "Call me what you will."  
  
Both of his older companions were caught off guard by the answer and his tone, but recovered quickly. Trieze almost grinned, silencing the immediate response that wanted to bubble out 'then I shall call you Mine.', and Zechs simply looked down on the top of that fair hair and mentally commended the boy. His lover might be determined, but he wasn't immune to the cold shoulder and if this boy proved to be uninterested long enough, there was the small chance he could return to his cell unbothered.  
  
But looking up and seeing that amused emotion flicker over Trieze's expression, he felt that chance's fluttering success rate diminish even further. Because if there was anything he knew Trieze liked, it was a challenge.  
  
"Then Angel you are to us, until we've received your name." After that announcement, the regal man turned abruptly and walked to the feast. He stopped behind one chair and pulled it out, then looked up to the still unmoving pair of blonde just within his doorway. Zechs was looking back at him with one of his most blank faces (an expression that Trieze knew meant there was actually a lot of warring feelings going on within), and the other blonde, their angel, looked confused by the gesture. Clearly, he would have his work cut out for him.  
  
"Zechs? If you would be so kind and lead our guest over to his chair before seating yourself?"   
  
There was just enough of a trace of annoyance in that question that it jarred the soldier in Zechs into action, exactly as Trieze had hoped. The cool blonde straightened up with a quick nod, then gently gave his captive a nudge, murmuring- "Move. That's your chair."  
  
_Well, duh, as Duo would say._ But that didn't mean he understood the gesture any better. This was not a ball or party, they were not age old friends sitting down for a dinner together to play catch-up, and he certainly wasn't the pretty damsel in a gown who needed someone to pull out his chair for him. He stepped forward, a minor flash of relief as that gun's presence left his back even though he knew it still hovered inches from him, and made his way to the waiting seat.  
  
-----  
  
It was an hour later, and Quatre was surprised to find himself actually enjoying the dinner with the people who'd caught him.  
  
At first, things had been tense between them all. Trieze served them himself to a room of silence, trying to talk with him at first, then when he got no answer, trying to speak with the tall, blonde guard. And while he got answers from Zechs, they didn't seem anything short of clipped and cold, baring only the needed information, so he soon gave up on that as well. But when they all started eating, (after watching his meal be pulled from the same bowls and such as everyone's, Quatre was nearly certain this wasn't some weird attempt at poison), things lightened up. Trieze had started chatting again, and he stayed away from personal subjects, opting instead for getting his opinion on some rather open matters like music and food, and Quatre couldn't see a reason not to answer it. Once he'd started talking politely with the general, Zechs almost grudgingly joined in as well.  
  
While working his way through a wonderfully soft roast beef (soft enough to be cut with a fork, and that was a good thing considering how quickly he noted the absence of anything that could potentially become a weapon), they discussed opera. He was amazed to find himself arguing the finer points of the Italian music with Trieze, and even more startled when Zechs informed him of his and Trieze last trip to see one, and how they had both loved it enough to get the musical disk, and to hired the show to come again next year. Somehow, the way they'd both laughed at that memory, and then looked at each other made Quatre wonder about their relationship. The opera just seemed more like something to do with your love… But then again, when he last went, hadn't he considered dragging Trowa or Wufei out to it? It was something he thought that one of them could appreciate. Maybe Trieze and Zechs had just been lucky to find each other and share such interests, and that was what had made them friends.  
  
And now when Zechs was smiling slightly and laughing at Trieze's last comment about the decline in good music that had occurred recently, and as he finished his own wonderfully sweet desert of chocolate mousse, he could see that they were just that and it wasn't a ploy against him.  
  
It was clear to see that Trieze was the dominating form in their friendship, with the way he had earlier ordered the blonde around and even with the way he carefully controlled the conversation, and in a way, Quatre respected that. It reminded him of Heero's no nonsense way of dealing with things, only with a diplomatic edge. And though he still looked to each question as though expected a hidden trap, so far there had been none and it was easier and easier to relax into a gentle companionship.  
  
That slow, accepting calm was something both Trieze and Zechs had noticed through the meal, and as it came to a close, they'd shared a silent exchange over the table. Trieze's victorious smile was simple to read, 'I won you over, didn't I? Did you really doubt I'd get him too?'. Zechs slight frown answered him right back, 'Be slow though. Don't scare him or hurt him, or I'll walk out on you myself'. This passed over Quatre's head without him having a clue what was being decided in the air around him, and by the time he finished the last bit of chocolate cream on his plate, unable to remember a time when he'd felt so contently full, the pair were now discussing movies.  
  
Quatre carefully stacked his plates neatly on themselves, then looked up to give a small but genuine smile to his 'host'. "I can honestly say I haven't had such a wonderful meal in years. That was delightful, Sir, and I appreciate your inviting me to it."  
  
"Trieze, please. I insist that no one who's shared a dinner with me in my private quarters call me such a formal title, and you are very welcome. Truthfully, it was my pleasure to have such a lovely and intelligent dining companion."  
  
Across the table, the blonde gave a soft laugh as he set his empty wine glass aside. Quatre had been careful to only sip as his own, because whether it was deliberately set by these people or not, that was a trap in itself for him. He learned that several months ago during Duo's 'poker and alcohol bonding nights' Zechs however, seemed to have no such qualms, and had finished off four glasses by his last count. "You say that as though my company is anything but, Trieze. Tell me, do I bore you now?"  
  
Who was Trieze to ignore such a perfect, 'slow' opportunity. A way to gently introduce Quatre to the truth behind their interests. Smiling, the older man pushed his chair back and stood, lightly setting his napkin over the plate as he gave Zechs a fond expression. "No, love. Never."  
  
From the corner of his eye, he watched the young blonde's head lift up and his eyes widen, watched as Quatre looked between him and Zechs with a dawning understanding. What he saw in the beautifully aqua orbs wasn't disgust or horrified shock, it was simply a light of getting a more complete answer, and then beneath that, a tiny smile formed. Trieze couldn't have hoped for a better or more promising answer. _A romantic. I thought so. Love is love, isn't it pretty angel? You don't care about gender, race, or those silly things… You heard that and were just happy that two people had found each other, weren't you? Despite our being enemies. How much you give away with that sweet smile…  
_  
Zechs gave another laugh at his answer, then actually rolled his eyes as he also stood and discarded the napkin that had been laying on his lap. "Ever charming, aren't you? The king in his self-made court."  
  
"Does that make you my queen, Zechs, or just a loyal subject? And what of the pretty prince in our midst?" That was soft enough for Quatre to catch from his end of the table along with the wink from the older man, causing the boy to bite back a little laugh, but Zechs missed it as he stacked his plates and straightened his uniform jacket. "Well, now that we're all done, I believe we should head over to the fire to sit and talk some more, perhaps share some brandy?"  
  
Quatre's slight smile faded just a little at that, not because the offer didn't sound nice even if he wouldn't have the drink, but because Trieze's voice had momentarily regained that leader quality to it. That hadn't been a polite question, it had been a strangely worded order. Watching Zechs' eyes lift and his body straighten, he saw he wasn't the only one who'd caught that subtle shift, and once again, those nibbling concerns started up within him.  
  
When Trieze turned and walked regally over to scattered chairs and small couch before the fire, Zechs stepped around to his end of the table, his intents obvious. Quatre had a feeling if he hadn't risen on his own, that maybe that unwelcome gun might have reappeared, but he was up before Zechs had made it to his chair and so he never tested that theory.   
  
With his hands still clasped together before him, joined with a thin chain of metal that he'd discreetly tested under the table and decided wasn't going to just break away, and with Zechs' hand a warm weight upon his shoulder, they walked over to join the man who now sat in the large chair before the flickering fire.


	7. Kisses Like Confusion

((whimpers I know, I know, this one took me -forever- to get up, and I do apologize for that. I have legitimate reasons though, trust me. Namely, I wasn't at my house for two weeks and had no computer. Yay for summer trips, and before that I had a special visitor for a week and had to devote -all- my time to her, and now have been in a feverish daze for the last nine or so days. Aside from that, there's just been a hell of a lot going on. Blah, blah, right? And now I am posting, but I'm so cheating with it, namely on my little version of an ending. I know I promised you all some yaoi, but that's going to have to wait for the next chapter. I got sidetracked in trying to make the whole scene a little more realistic to me and not just another of those 'Oh, you're cute, let's do it!' fics. I hate those with a passion, and refused to make this one without a really good reason. So, sorry, but please be patient with me? I promise not just one of those naughty scenes coming (with two tasty older men nonetheless) but two because of the later pairing!

Also, just to note it. I am not entirely pleased with this chapter. I redid it four times (thus more time in-between posting and that irked me), but I finally got it to a point I can stand it. If it seems a little spacy, blame my lack of an immune system. Any how, on with the story, right? As always, thank you so much to any loyal readers. You make my day, in all honesty.))

**-Kisses like Confusion-**

"The couch, please."  
  
His steps righted themselves even as that hand shifted to guide him, and a moment later, he was turning and settling on the end of the soft velvet closest to the burning light of the fire. His own descent onto it's cushions was more clumsy then he'd like, a thing of trust rather than grace because of the metal bands that had only just begun to truly bother his wrists.  
  
But at the soft and undeniable 'You too, Zechs' from Trieze, he didn't feel quite as embarrassed about it. Zechs had turned and dropped onto the other side of the couch in an almost casual sprawl before he finally appeared to catch himself and straighten slowly up, eyes attentive for more orders but sparkling dully from the effects of his earlier drinks. _Perhaps_, Quatre thought, _if he has just a few more glasses of alcohol, maybe that brandy that was offered, he'll be drunk enough that I can just slip right by him._ That wouldn't take care of Trieze, but it was a start in the right direction. If it came to it, he was sure he could at least get behind the older male and wrap his cuffs about the elegant throat above those clean ruffles, using him as a shield if necessary and a tool of bribery for freedom otherwise.  
  
His eyes followed Trieze as that slim form rose and moved towards the fire, then as hands reached up and extracted the amber-filled bottle that sat upon it's mantle. After he'd opened it, he pulled a short crystal glass from a stack of the like down and glanced over to the young blonde with a disarming smile. "Would you care for some, petite one?"  
  
"No. Thank you kindly though, Sir. I don't drink."  
  
Trieze silenced a soft chuckle that wanted to come at the sight of that pale face tipping it's chin regally up, despite the cuffs that rested heavily in his lap and dwarfed the small wrists. "Is that a personal preference, or because you are too young to have that privilege yet?"  
  
It was close to a personal question, but not one that he found immediately alarming or able to tip his captures off later. "Both. I don't care for it's taste or the effects it causes in people, the sudden lack of mental abilities, and I have tried it to know…" _Thanks, Duo. Never ever again_. His braided friend had said that most people had trouble handling it the first time, but he still didn't care to ever feel that muddled sense of incomprehension fall over him again. It took away perhaps the largest talent he had to offer the mismatched band that had formed with them all. "And it wouldn't be legal for me."  
  
Glancing discreetly to the side, Trieze watched Zechs' eyes widen at that knowledge. _But you aren't **that** surprised, are you, love? You knew he wasn't yet an adult when you found him, I would bet money on it. And even knowing, that doesn't dim that light of 'I want' within your eyes… Sweet child or trained thief, you'd cradle and covet this one._ Not that he blamed him, and not that it changed any of his unspoken plans as Trieze turned and made his way back to his large chair. It did however, make him pause briefly, enough to wonder at why then this boy had been sent to do what he did. It wasn't on his own, he felt sure of that… But why had someone picked a boy for the task then? It was clear there was something remarkable about the youth's wits just from what he'd already seen, but otherwise the little blonde didn't strike him as a soldier, or a professional robber.  
  
_Neither did Zechs when he first started._ The soft inward voice made him blink in consideration, but it was true. He glanced again to the long haired beauty on the couch, watching the way the red and yellow flames reflected in his nearly white locks. They created a mirrored fire that rippled over Zechs' shoulders and almost into his lap, the effect breathtaking now that he'd noticed. Perhaps the blonde fought him for every inch he gained, but Zechs was still his in every sense of the word. Even as his lover sat there, slightly mulled by the drink and relaxing into the soft embrace of the couch, it was easy to pick out the hard training of a fighter within him like steel beneath a silken surface. The way his eyes darted to the fire when something popped noisily in there, calculating before dismissing it as harmless. The way he looked ready to leap up if someone should suddenly come breaking through his door. Looking at him now was to look at a perfect picture of efficiency.  
  
But when he'd first met Zechs, he'd looked something like the boy that now sat beside him. Trieze didn't want to remember himself then, to consider the blind idealist he'd been and the goals that had been shattered on the world's hard cobblestones since, but he remembered the fey figure of the blonde coming back from his practice, smiling, damp with exertion and worn, but oh-so proud of his success. That boy had been able to float on a wave of happiness with even the slightest praise from his tutors then… While one harsh word was enough to leave him coming to Trieze in tears, seeking comfort but only by pretending he didn't really need it. Zechs was self sufficient, and didn't need anyone, and although Trieze knew even then that wasn't the truth, he was willing to pretend if it brought him closer to the blonde. He had still been a puzzle as a child, but one that the slightly older Trieze had been able to figure out from time to time. Loving Zechs was like mastering any game of skill out there.  
  
Now with his lovely companion, it was always trying, and some days he just -couldn't- understand why Zechs acted as he did. It was the perpetual mystery that continued to entice him and draw him to the occasionally frigid beauty.  
  
Zechs had been pretty then, an almost delicate thing of long limbs and curving pink lips, his hair a soft feathered halo around his features. He's looked as much 'fighter' and 'threat' as a kitten playing with string… But Trieze had seen the blood of the boy's first kill and mission when he was only thirteen. That instant when Zechs had been standing outside his door with the red still drying on him like so much guilt, was one he'd never forget. That sweet child existed still within the dirty form, but it had started to fade and die right then, and he had mourned for it.  
  
As he looked across the room to the pale cherubic cheeks of their little 'guest', he wondered if this boy had sat down before he went to bed one night already, and found himself scratching blood out from under his nails with that carefully blank look. Maybe theft was as far as his corruption went, but there was something in his thoughtful gaze that made Trieze want to assume otherwise. He'd do well not to turn his back on the seemingly delicate male.  
  
Child or not, and whether he knew the exact reasons or never would, -someone- had chosen this boy for this task, he was sure of it. So that sweet little body must have been hiding some talent.  
  
As he looked away from the round curves of the boy's features, skin that begged to have fingers cup and treasure it, he noticed Zechs' gaze resting heavily on the child's hair. He smiled slightly as he understood his lover was watching the same miracle of the flames he'd noticed only moments before. Of course, with him there'd only been the stunned amazement he hadn't noticed such a thing before and perhaps found a way to forever capture it; in Zechs cool blue glance, he saw the first flickerings of his decision as to what he wanted. The game was on.  
  
Several moments of silence stretched on with them remained in their fixed positions; the youngest blonde staring into the fire and 'ignoring' the scene around him while clearly getting more and more tense, Zechs staring at him, and Trieze patiently waiting for one or the other to snap.  
  
What he didn't expect was for them to both do so at once.  
  
The boy turned in place, his mouth already open to form questioning words no doubt, and was halted by the smooth press of lips against his. If he'd turned just a second earlier, he would have seen something in Zechs eyes light up with his decision, would have seen the blonde's gaze shift from his golden hair to his full mouth, and would have noticed the silent advance of the other male over the couch's surface, but as it was he was perfectly caught by such an 'attack'.  
  
Quatre lost his equilibrium for a moment under such an unexpected assault; he stared almost blindly to the face so near to his, mostly into the half-closed cool blue orbs, and just felt the warm sensation of another person's form so close. It was like feeling his body warm up after walking home in the snow, a slow tingling that started and spread. There was something like a drug about the texture of the other male's mouth against his, or perhaps it was just that part of him knew this for what it was and wanted to freeze the moment in time to sort through later. His first real kiss. Whether he would be fine with it hours from now or try to deny it ever happened wasn't left to pondering now, because a moment after that small little voice in his head was softly wondering about the feelings it brought and if he should react, his soldier's training kicked in.  
  
From where he sat, Trieze watched the advance and silently cheered Zechs' initiative on. He saw the bliss that touched onto his lover's features when he caught those childishly plush lips beneath his, something no one else might have noticed but that was plain as day to him. He watched, and had time enough to wonder if the beautiful male ever looked that way when they kissed. That was about all he managed to consider before the prettily stunned aqua eyes of their prisoner cleared, and the next thing he heard was the sharp thud of a fist connecting with Zechs' cheek.  
  
The blonde's head whipped back, more out of surprise then the clumsy cuffed punch that Quatre had thrown, and for a good thing too. As Zechs' mouth dropped open and he stared at the youth that was now pressed against the other arm of the couch and glaring balefully at him, he felt the stinging heartbeat-like throbbing high on his cheekbone, and knew if he'd totally caught that attack, he might actually be unconscious on the floor now.  
  
_So much for pleasant beginnings._ Trieze carefully lifted himself out of the chair and started making his way silently around to the back of the couch. At the same time, Zechs finally came back to himself and lightly rubbing the red flesh of his cheeks, he gave the youth stern frown. "What is the matter with you?"  
  
Now it was their prisoner's turn to gape. First in stunned muteness at the question, then in anger as he snapped defensively- "I should ask you the same thing!"  
  
"There's nothing the matter with me." His slightly fuzzy mind tried to chirp up that perhaps something -was- wrong with him if the littler blonde was reacting in such a way, but he quickly crushed that inner voice and gave the youth a petulant scowl. "I was merely trying to kiss you, and you struck me."  
  
He blanched at that blunt response. "Of COURSE I did!"  
  
"It wasn't necessary. I wasn't trying to hurt you in anyway, and I think we've been more than kind up to now." Zechs sounding almost like he was pouting, and oldest of the males working his way around the fireplace now winced._ Oh Zechs, bad choice._ This was not that way he had hoped for things to go.  
  
"Kind?! What does that have to do with you suddenly kissing me? You are my captors! Not my prom date! I'm not just going to sit back smiling when the person who's caught me breaking into their establishment decides to… To come onto me! And while the man who is clearly your lover looks on. That's ludicrous, and I resent that you'd even try such a thing!"  
  
The hint of hysterics in the boy's tone cut through Zechs' daze like a knife and instantly his disappointment and sulking behavior left him. Looking more than a little ashamed and alarmed with his own actions (hadn't he been thinking earlier that this boy deserved nothing more than perfection, and here he was behaving like an oversexed teen in the backseat of a car), he reached forward with the intent of somehow comforting the angelic being.  
  
Of course, that wasn't how it looked to Quatre.  
  
He saw the slender fingers of his now not so stoic guard coming towards him again, and warning bells sounded loudly in his mind that Zechs had decided to continue that kiss with or without his consent. His back pressed painfully against the arm of the couch as he retreated as best he good, and he raised a fist again to defend himself, even as his shaky words of defense emerged - "If you try that again, so help me I'll-"  
  
"Now now, there's really no need whatsoever for violence around here, Dove." With that calmly purred comment from just behind him, the little blonde felt a hand wrap gently but securely around his wrist.  
  
His first instinct was to start yanking from the grip while he twisted around, to perhaps trip up his would-be attacker and gain the upper hand. Despite that quick thought though, he held himself carefully in place as he remembered exactly what he was dealing with here. Not one person, but two, and both of which had already shown some potential in being clever in battle circumstances. Not just your average pompous businessmen. If he tried to flip the man that called himself Trieze, or to run him into Zechs by pulling his wrist to himself, he'd likely only end up with angry 'hosts' and be no better off for his trouble. He needed to escape, but he was smart enough to know now wasn't the time he'd be doing so.  
  
Those options and considerations raced through his mind rapidly, and a few seconds after Trieze had asserted his hold around the boy's wrist, Quatre had forced himself to calm down. He let the appendage go mostly limp in Trieze's grasp, then tilted his head up to look at the tall form behind him with a small, pinched frown.  
  
_I know you aren't happy with this, precious one. You aren't in danger though, and for the rest, you'll have to trust us, won't you?_ He smiled softly and reassuringly to that upturned face, resisted the urge to reach up and stroke the feather-soft looking sun kissed locks, then shifted his gaze to the pale blonde who was now watching them with a carefully blank look. It was an expression Trieze knew how to calculate, however. Zechs knew he'd made an error in that hasty move, and regretted it. He'd ceased his movement forward over the couch, good intentions now or not, and was just sitting halfway over it's plush surface with his hands placed no threateningly in his lap and his eyes shifting between his lover and the youth he wanted to share that title with.  
  
For a long moment silence stretched out in the swaying red glow of the fire, and this time Trieze allowed it to. In the quiet, he watched as the nameless boy they'd caught slowly worked through his own turmoil with what had just happened and as Zechs mentally scolded himself, then patiently corrected what he'd done wrong in his mind before he finally glanced up at Trieze and gave the slightest of nods. That gesture might not of meant anything to anyone else, but the older man understood it perfectly. Control of the situation was now his.  
  
When he felt a vast majority of the tension in the teen's form leave, translated to him by the racing pulse just beneath his fingers in that small wrist and in the almost unnoticeable thrum that crept over the mock porcelain flesh, he slowly bent over the youth. Trieze allowed him to see that move so he wouldn't be too scared, and although he felt the blonde's heart rate pick up slightly again, he reached his goal without any protests from the boy or serious alarm. He stopped with his chin almost resting on one of the prisoner's (was he truly still that to them though?) shoulders, his mouth hovering only an inch or two from the soft shell of one ear.  
  
"Zechs didn't mean to trouble you, Dove. Nor did he mean to make you feel like he wanted to take advantage of you. Already, he has a good deal too much respect for you to dream of doing such a distasteful thing."  
  
That voice was a soothing rumble to him, something that almost tickled the senses. It didn't vanish the uncomfortable nervousness he felt at someone, some -stranger-, being so close to his person, but it took the edge off a little. _It's almost like being hugged with words… How unusual._ The larger male was still too near, still a potential enemy, but Quatre knew he wasn't an immediate danger. The voice wouldn't have been enough in itself to make him so sure of that and to put himself at possible risk, but the way the older gentleman was cautious about approaching and mindful of his perception of the situation, along with the careful hold Trieze still maintained on his hand as though he didn't want to hurt him, furthered that belief considerably.  
  
In front of him, the other male was nodding softly to Trieze's words, in silent agreement and apology. Quatre wasn't sure if he'd forgive so fast, he had just been -- _Been what? Kissed? You're holding a grudge for being kissed?_ The boy blinked. Well, yes, that was exactly what he was planning on doing. Didn't he have a right to do so?  
  
Perhaps not, and that was what troubled him. Truthfully, he wasn't sure if hitting Zechs had been the right response now or not. It worked in television shows, sure, but being part of it was a lot different. He'd been a little thrown by the contact but hadn't he, at least for a second, thought it was also nice? He sighed and shook his head softly. "Why did you do such a thing though?"  
  
"Why?" - Came the echoing answer from -both- of the hovering males, accompanied by startled expressions.  
  
He scowled petulantly and gave a nod as his gaze darted between them.  
  
Trieze laughed. The older male actually burst out in a low tide of chuckles, as if he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. Quatre gave him a look of indignant confusion until Zechs' answer drew his attention back.  
  
"Because you are beautiful. You are here now, and you're like something that fell from a dream. The sight of you can't help but bring thoughts of touching, holding, of even getting to talk to you. Because I saw you first when I flipped you over, from where I had struck you, and I felt sure I would be damned for hurting such a divine being." He reached a hand slowly towards Quatre, not that the boy who was currently staring at him in a state of shock with his mouth hanging slightly open was likely to pull back if he -had- been wielding a knife, but he'd learned his lesson the first time. Long slender fingers came gently in contact with the flaxen gold of the hair on the side of the young man's temples. "For hair that looks like it's solidified sunlight, and for getting to see every storm on the sea in your eyes."  
  
He sighed softly and drew his hand back, though not before letting his fingers just barely drag across the full rise of one of the boy's cheeks. "I kissed you not because I wanted to attack you on a new level or throw your mind a new problem to deal with, but because I was helpless -not- too. If getting hit was the cost of such a wonderful thing, it's one I'd gladly pay a thousand times over."  
  
Sometime during the course of that answer, the eldest of them had fallen silent again, simply listening with admiration as he lightly traced circles with his thumb over the soft incurve of the prisoner's wrist. Once Zechs had fallen silent, looking somewhat embarrassed with himself actually though he honestly thought he'd never heard his lover be so truthful, Trieze took the opportunity to lean forward and murmur into his ear once more.  
  
"I wasn't jealous, Dove, simply for the reason that when involving someone like you, you -can't- be jealous. That would be like blaming the moon for rising, or blaming the sea for rushing to the shores. It's something that just -is-, do you understand that? Zechs saw you, and knew in a heartbeat that he wanted to be near you… Then I followed him, and I knew the same. You are in no danger from us, no matter how you came to be here. You are only a prisoner to us in your own mind…"  
  
No, he didn't understand. _Couldn't_ understand. How could anyone? Things like this just -didn't- happen, and certainly not to mousy teens like him. He was supposed to be lying in a room somewhere dreaming about a girl, wasn't he? About taking this girl (who of course was too high on the school popularity ladder for him to ever get) to a prom, about getting the perfect tuxedo and the perfect corsage, and about maybe getting a kiss goodnight. He was supposed to be worried about grades and his image… Instead, battles were his biggest concern and what he 'crammed' for night after night. Friends were something of a valued commodity and not something he just happened to stumble across. His room changed from week to week, only made his really, by a familiar worn backpack and a few personal items he took everywhere. School was an option only when part of a mission now. And girls… Well, who in the hell had time for them in the mess that the world was? It was an insane notion. Besides, he was too dirty now for girls and proms. It was all he could do to convince himself that maybe, just maybe, he deserved a chance with someone more like himself.  
  
That was a secret desire though, and one that had no place in his current stream of darkened thoughts.  
  
The point was that he wasn't supposed to ever have had to face something like this. Not just one admittedly attractive person speaking beautiful words about **him**, words that did affect him even when he wanted to be as ice to them, but two.  
  
He wanted to dismiss it all as just a joke, but it was getting more and more difficult to do that. Especially when Zechs and Trieze were looking at him now, their own expressions of calm patience not truly masking the anxiousness he saw in both sets of blue eyes. It can't be just a game to them… They couldn't know how their real emotions on this show. _What am **I** supposed to do about this though?!  
_  
Luckily for him, the choice was taken completely out of his hands the next moment.


	8. Mythological Seduction

((Yes, I cheated. Forgive me. I know what I promised, but... Well, it got too long to be one chapter, and so here you have it. No real 'naughty bits', but it is another chapter, and it's a lot closer. Admittedly, this took me forever to put up, and I apologize for that. It will get done eventually though... And likely with a few more stories inbetween. Hope you are still enjoying reading, and thank you as always for your reviews and suggestions.))

-----

It was Trieze that that made that decision for him, and for a good thing since Quatre felt he could have sat there in stunned silence until the apocalypse itself ended his 'suffering'. The older male had seen the warring emotions on that youthful face, and had interpreted them correctly.

Looking into those large cerulean eyes, he saw fear (not of them, he understood that right away, but of the little blonde's own feelings), a resigned blankness that was perhaps just a shield for his own protection… And sparkling right beneath those discouraging expressions, he saw a little flash of dim hope in their guest's lost gaze. He -wanted- to believe that maybe he was special, **could** be at any rate, and nervous or not, the boy -wanted- for it to be proved.

That was something he thought he could eventually achieve, though only if he handled it very, very carefully. This boy was like a timid kitten. One wrong move, and Trieze knew he and Zechs wouldn't be able to do anything to calm him back down or convince him they weren't just going to throw him over the table and rape him. The beautiful youth that had fallen into their life by accident would be beyond their reach, probably permanently.

He thought he was guessing correctly though that his 'Dove' would need a take charge figure though, which made everything a touch more challenging. It had to be enough to make him feel protected, sheltered and loved, maybe even worshiped on some level… Yet still commanding.

Trieze leaned forward again as if to resume his soft whispering to the shell of his ear, and was silently relieved when the younger male took that in stride. This time however cooing words of courtship weren't his goal. Softly, he pressed his lips to the tender flesh just beneath the pale blonde's ear; just a brush of contact over the delicate area but one that was unmistakable in its real intents.

From his seat in front of them both, Zechs watched with that same calm expression, one that was completely untouched by the fact that his innards felt like they were twisting themselves into knots as he waited for the boy to strike at his lover. The older male was smooth; he knew that first hand and could remember how a simple game of chess had turned into an affair with his then leader, but this case was something that defied all other examples.

Which was why he was stunned when the boy closed his eyes and then slowly, as if operating from within the grasp of a dream, tipped his head to the side as though encouraging that new sensation, baring more of the seemingly delicate curve of his throat to the elder man.

Zechs took in a sharp breath as he felt the strings of desire return and twist throughout his still shocked body, instantly having to quell the urge to reach forward and let his hand touch the so-soft looking skin inches from his lover's lips. That thought was silenced and held in place quickly as Trieze lifted his eyes to him. Without a word, those smoldering orbs of warm blue warned him _'Be still. He isn't ours yet.'_

So he sat there and focused on not destroying the fragile beginning his older mate was making.

Perhaps that wouldn't seem like such a hard task to anyone else, but they weren't watching the way Trieze's eyes slipped blissfully closed as his lips slowly sought out the bundle of nerves on the side of the boy's throat, as though he were tasting the very essence of heaven, and they certainly weren't seeing the way those beautiful cheeks were gaining color even as his head sank back and came to rest lightly against Trieze's chest. Once again he was in hell, a teasing torturous pit of desire, but this was one that Zechs thought with time he could handle.

As for Quatre, he had no awareness of either heaven or hell, he just felt lost… Wonderfully so. Though confusion still sang within his mind like a harpy, but even it was fading into the background. That little voice of reason that was forever making him the 'worry wart' or 'mother hen' of their misfit group was utterly gone, and in it's place was a kind of heated acceptance and yearning. The lips moving against his skin felt like amnesia, and although even in this state he was aware that eventually he'd have to remember, right now he wanted nothing more than the oblivion they were promising him.

So when Trieze slipped his hand off of his shoulder and brought it up to his chin, tipping his face slowly towards his own, Quatre's heart froze for one painful second -- _My friends. My **mission**. Dear god what am I doing?! It's not too late yet, I could_ -- but then that velvet mouth was against his own, and he gave up his fleeting struggle for reality absolutely.

_Just… To be normal. For a minute. Forget the missions. Forget Gundams and orders, war too. To be a teenager, and to feel…_

In that first true kiss between them, he felt like he was being pulled beneath the surface of a burning lake. Trieze's mouth pressed encouragingly against his, lips nudging Quatre's into action, and the blonde actually felt desire pool within him and then flood the senses almost as if it'd been waiting for a moment just like this. As that new wave claimed him, the boy shifted on the couch until he was on his knees mostly turned towards the figure standing by the arm (there was no hesitation from Trieze in releasing his wrist now), taking only a second to adjust before his hands drifted up and came to rest on the other male's cloth covered chest, just beneath his pectorals.

With the boy leaning that way, with his face lifted sweetly up in offering to the oldest blonde, Trieze wasted no time in bringing that now free hand up to slide it into platinum strands, marveling at the feel of silk sliding through his fingers for a second before he answered that silent request and lowered his lips to meet his Dove's again.

Even from his as of yet uninvolved position, Zechs could see the electricity that appeared to move through both males with that contact. Trieze's shoulders drew rigid for a moment, then the fingers of his hand curled in an absently possessive way in the youth's hair, and he had no doubts his lover was actually at the boy's mercy whether he knew it or not. As for the little blonde himself; he only needed to see the frame wracking shiver that moved down his slim body to know that it was a power the boy currently didn't have the wits to utilize. Someone could break down the door right now, and Zechs believed he -might- be the only one to notice it… But even that could be false. He had no desire whatsoever to take his eyes from that picture perfect sight.

Those eager little lips against his tasted of the purest honey and how that was, Trieze couldn't understand. Perhaps it was his own expectations altering his perception. Truthfully, he wasn't sure he cared; it was enough that the kiss that had started shy and was rapidly becoming passionately demanding was, without argue, one of the most perfect things he'd experienced. That the boy hadn't done this before was obvious, from the way his small hands had to wrap into the cloth of his shirt to steady him and by the teasing press of his teeth just behind his lips, but there was enough needing emotion behind every brush that he more than made up for it.

It was the soft humming sound, something that might have been a whimper of enjoyment had his mouth not been otherwise occupied, from 'his Dove' that finally woke him up a little and reminded him of other things. Namely the commendably patient man sitting just a few feet away.

He opened his eyes and through the close fluff of brilliant blonde hair, he meet his lover's gaze. The barely kept lust he saw moving just beneath the surface of his usually stoic expression was enough to make the eldest male's body heat jump another ten degrees.

Without breaking away from the boy's kiss, Trieze removed the hand from their prisoner's chin and used it to curl a finger at Zechs.

As if he need more permission than that.

Zechs straightened himself up on the velvet couch seat in order to scoot right behind that kneeling youth, then he lifted one long hand that he noticed wasn't entirely steady, and slowly settled it on the delicate curve of one of the boy's hips. Despite the fact that the skin he wanted to touch was covered and that the boy was too preoccupied with the kiss he was stealing with Trieze to actually notice such a light weight, that simple contact was enough to make the long haired blonde have to shut his eyes with 'I'm in control' effort. It was that graceful and natural inward arch of his waist, and the feel of the tight body -just- under his fingers and through a layer of cloth, a body that was currently thrumming with action, that made him feel like he was standing on the edge of a cliff and preparing to jump. How anyone could ignore those subtle things that held more appeal and fulfillment than any model or 'sex symbol' in whole could, was beyond him. If it led to this, though, it wasn't something he cared too much to delve into.

He observed this understandingly with an secret smile into his kiss with the boy, then Trieze finally drew away. He ignored the immediate pang of regret that the action caused him.

Quatre hadn't been aware of his lack of breathing until that kiss ended and by then he was nearly panting for oxygen, but his body was shockingly still telling him to lean up and capture the older man's mouth before he could get away. To lose that fleeting bit of pure human reaction was something he couldn't bare. He felt consumed by the urge, and embarrassed, judging by the color that again came to heavily stain his cheeks, but not enough so that he stopped himself from moving to get what he wanted.

Perhaps Trieze was aware of his dilemma too, because as he started to move forward in order to continue that sweet experience once more, the older man raised a finger asking him to stop. Before Quatre could even open his mouth to protest at the unfairness of such a request though, that hand moved forward and fixed itself around his chin, slowly turning his face to the side.

As soon as Zechs came into view, that beautiful long haired man who was currently -- and in Quatre's opinion, unexplainably -- staring at his waist with dazed eyes, he had no trouble knowing what Trieze was asking. Given a little time to think it through it might have seemed odd to him, to feel such a quick connection and to obey without his usually thorough sorting, but at this point nothing sounded more reasonable.

The blonde turned from the older gentleman with a few delicate shifts in his kneeling position, then he sat back on his heels to bring himself and the cool guard to the same level. Zechs finally noticed as his hand was forced to trail along the prisoner's front, over his taunt stomach and came to settle on the opposite indenture of Quatre's waist, and he raised his eyes to him. Darkly framed orbs that were shining with a fiery emotion that Quatre couldn't believe was for him; he met those, then took a slow breath to brace himself for what he wanted and was about to try, only to have Zechs take pity and take the initiative from his innocently clumsy hands.

The soldier used the hand upon his hip that their little guest wasn't aware of even now to lightly tug him forward, and when Quatre's hands lifted on their own accord to settled on Zechs' shoulders to catch himself, he quickly found another set of lips claiming his.

This kiss was as different from that patient and leisurely burning encounter with Trieze as night and day. Not -better-, exactly, and certainly not less, but different in a way that left him feeling tingling from his head to the tips of the toes. A crushing and barely restrained force that bruised the lips, and once there, that felt as though it was tugging at his very soul and demanding it's utmost attention. The small youth gave it, too, as he hung on as though his life depended on it.

Zechs' kiss was like any force of nature he'd read about; it was unexpected and there was next to nothing you could do in the face of it. It was wonderful though, and as the seemingly cold blonde nipped at his lower lip, he gasped in shocked appreciation only to suddenly have the wet brush of the other male's tongue against his. His heart thudded in his chest achingly, but by the time the realization of such an action hit him, he had already discovered he liked it. The sensual motion of that inner muscle against his, and the way it made him feel all the more bonded to what was going on. Quatre gave a muffled moan, and then he shyly returned that contact with a fleeting brush of his own tongue, and sank against the older man as he was rewarded with an impassioned growl.

He watched the boy first tense in surprise at Zechs' renewed and now invited attack and then melt senselessly to him, and Trieze couldn't help but smile. Any last worries he'd had about his own tries to assure and obtain the boy that had started as an intruder and was now a soon-to-be lover vanished with the way those pale fingers curled into the fabric of Zechs' shirt. _Ours. For now. For as long as we are given…_

Pushing the sad thought that had caught him off guard away, the regal male reached a hand up and started calmly picking out the neat tie in his lacy ruffles, eyes never leaving the heavenly sight before him. If they were all more comfortable with one another, he was certain he wouldn't have been able to help but call someone in to capture the pair together like this forever. It was picture he would have paid anything for, to hang in his private study so that sometimes he could look up from the work he inwardly detested, and know there was a reason he still did it. When promised a paradise like the one that currently existed between this two shining beauties, he believed anyone in the world could probably accomplish the most impossible of things. Great actions were only the direct result of great motivation. If this was his, he thought he would try to buy them the stars if they wanted.

He finished with the frustrating knot and withdrew the layers of cloth from around his neck, setting them over the back of the sofa before his fingers drifted to the buttons of his coat.

It was a somewhat long process for him, though unnoticed by the pair on the couch who were clearly lost in their first touches, but at last he had finished and was bare other than a pair of darkest blue silk boxers to the warm environment of his chambers. He felt no shame whatsoever as he observed the other still clothed males (though Zechs' sure fingers had managed to unbutton at least one barrier on the boy's shirt and this thumb was now running over the creamy pale skin of his shoulder where he'd pushed the cloth back), just a slow burning sensation that moved through his limbs and gathered in his lower stomach. _My gods… Don't they know how beautiful they are? This sight… No mortal man should be blessed with such a thing._

But he had been. Somehow, through some miracle, one of these men was already his mate, and the other would follow.

He stepped back to his place behind the arm of the couch and settled his hands lightly on the youth's shoulders, one also landing over Zechs' appendage and giving a soft squeeze. At the contact, his lover finally drew away from his insistent, demanding kisses with a gasp and rolled smoldering orbs of blue up to him… And then down his mostly bare form.

Trieze watched the surprise dawn there, and then understanding soon followed. Their pale skinned beauty of a companion was hardly aware of the pause and the thoughts the older men silently shared; he was too busy relearning how to breath and attempting to stay upright with his urges now fully controlling his body. He swayed within Zechs grasp like a reed beside a wind swept pond.

He met the eldest male's eyes for a long moment, -- _This is ours. This second, minute, hour in time. It's ours._ -- then gave a very soft nod before lifting his hand to Quatre's chin and again turning the boy's features towards Trieze.

Before those alluring blue-green eyes had even fully managed to blink themselves open, Trieze was smiling at the sight of his Dove's flushed complexion and breathless pants -- _He's going to sound like a choir when we finally claim him. It'll be the sweetest music that Zechs and I will hear, no matter how many operas we may go to._ -- then leaning in to quickly distract the youth once more.

Zechs listened to that muffled squeak as Trieze sought to blur the littler male's mind once more, then he chuckled to himself and slowly brought his own graceful hands up to start working down the buttons of his suit.

His own undressing was more rushed than his mate's, but it held no less finesse and the result was definitely just as appealing. He had laid his clothing over the back of the couch with most of Trieze's, then sat back against the other arm of the furniture and stared hungrily at the way one of the boy's hands was winding within the soft locks behind Trieze's head, and the way the other kept dancing over the tanned skin of his chest, then dancing away as it such true contact burned him.

Until Trieze noticed the lack of rustling from Zechs, he'd been lost to the soft tugging in his hair, causing him to let out a deep rumbling purr within his throat that made the blonde tremble against him, and the way the boy's lips were now eagerly suckling at his own. When he'd brushed his tongue along those perfect pink tiers, he'd been thrilled to feel a returned sensation. After a moment of silence (other than the vibrating hums of enjoyment that were now steadily coming from the youth) he remembered why he was technically kissing the boy again, and he forced himself to pull away from the sweet treat of his mouth and look behind him.

If the boy was an angel in their midst, Zechs was a siren… Or perhaps an incubus. He was leisurely stretched out on the other end of the couch, upper body braced by the velvet covered frame. Long gorgeous legs were crossed over one another and hanging properly off and unto the floor, doing little to hide the thin layer of white silk that was all he now wore. That cloth clung to smooth thighs like paint, and hung low along his waist to display the delicious dip of his navel and beyond. It was living sin, and it made Trieze hungry all over again.

It was a few minutes later when Quatre's desire-shorted brain noticed the lack of those burning kisses, and when he finally looked first to Trieze only to notice his attention was elsewhere, then finally over his semi-bare shoulder.

Trieze had been left in silent appreciation by the sight, forced to send thankful prayers to whatever higher force existed out there that this beautiful being was his.

Quatre was left gasping loudly, teasingly breathless, and staring over that newly reveal skin like it was something he'd only seen in his most secret dreams until now… And perhaps it was, in some form.

There were too many nights when he'd woken besides Trowa, and had bitten the back of his hand of even the lumpy pillows they shared, so as not to wake his handsome companion. The last year had been a maelstrom of unspoken of dreams that left him awakening with heat coursing through his veins and clouding his mind.

It was a part of him that was not supported by the soldier title he chose to accept… But it was a part that would be denied no longer.


	9. Learning to share

(It's alive!

Been a while, hasn't it? I know, I'm a bad little writer. I'll offer no excuses this time, but instead jump right into the story. Let me tell you, it was a maddening task to try to stay within the rules of this site. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Thank you, as always, for reading. And if you haven't read my other stories by now, what are you waiting for! Those are updated more frequently, and I'd like to say as good if not in some cases better than this one.

Please?)

XxXxX

Trieze looked away from the gorgeous work of art that was his lover and best friend when he heard that soft gasp. He watched something dark wash over their Dove's features, and thought to remove it himself before it could cease what they had so carefully forged, but by the time he'd even lifted one hand to stroke the chaotic strands of gold from that smooth brow, it was already gone.

And the smaller male was moving away from him.

He watched, startled, as with several careful and amazingly graceful steps on his knees, the boy brought himself first to Zechs' sprawled out form, then laid himself over it. His hands fell to brace themselves on the arm of the couch that lay just beyond Zechs' head, and his covered legs lay pressed against the bareness of the older male's. Then he began to kiss the longer haired being.

With the small boy's eyes closed, though Trieze could see that Zechs' were still wide and blatantly stunned, those rose petal lips pressed delicate gifts along the curve of his companion's jaw, slowly over his chin, and finally to the corner of that slack mouth. They lingered there, until a tiny brush of his tongue made Zechs shiver in acknowledgement, and at last turn to meet him.

Lethargically, as one moving from within the possessive grasp of a dream might, Zechs brought an arm up and settled it around the slender shape of the boy's shoulders. He shifted in place, and then the other emerged to make it's short trip as well, coming to rest against the dip of the other blonde's lower back, his fingers ghosting along his suddenly infuriatingly still pants-covered hip.

His fear of any rejection happening still was washed away when the youth made a barely audible purr at the contact and then sank more securely against his chest, and his waist. He felt the press of that untouched body against the scant cloth that covered him, the graceful valley of a taunt stomach beneath stiff cotton massaging his hidden flesh, and released a shocked hiss that never quite reached the air; Quatre's kisses stole it.

Deep inside, part of Zechs knew the angel would feel that hard bit in his lap where perhaps there should be only smoothness, and would be disgusted, or scared. He felt sure of that in the darkness of his mind even with the boy lapping teasingly at his lips now and with little hands threading up into his hair and curling there as though they belonged. Which was why he tried, without losing the sweetly given kiss, to scoot his hips back on the sofa. To hide his clear approval of the youth that still bore a mark on the back of his neck from where Zechs'd shot him.

His mind came close to snapping when his casually thought out retreat plan came to a swift end. The boy felt the sudden lack of warmth, and he followed it.

Quatre curled his lower body towards Zechs' blindly and instinctively, pressing himself against the smooth length of the older blonde's thigh, and capturing the other male's still covered arousal solidly against his lower stomach. He felt the undeniable presence of the other male's length, froze for one heart stopping second, and then he melted and gave the softest of moans into their kiss.

He didn't know what was more unbelievable. That the child accepted that hardness so readily -- the sound of that innocent reaction had made him have to bite his own tongue to keep quiet -- or that he could now feel a slightly heavy weight pressed firmly, rocking softly even, against his own leg. It was divine delirium.

His hand slipped down, over the swell of the teenager's bottom, and grasped possessively there. A second later he felt another hand slide over his, familiar skin that had to be his lover's, coaxing his hand into kneading the young man's backside.

Zechs broke away with a gasp, eyes wide as they searched out Trieze's face over the pale moon of the child's shoulder. His lover was smiling, coy and confident, as he encouraged that motion and met Zechs' startled blue gaze.

_What?_ Trieze mouthed, one eyebrow raised almost mockingly. _Shy? Now?_

Zechs swore he could hear the 'tsk tsk' that his older mate would have normally followed such a statement with. He's been nudged into enough things the same way, hadn't he? He ought to recognize his general's tactics by now. His shock at the man's -- child's -- reaction and then at Trieze's playful accompaniment had left the leader of this encounter worrying not about the angel being frightened and running off, but now of -him-.

Had the smaller blonde not have been trying to seek out the heat of Zechs' mouth once more, he might have laughed.

Surprised, undoubtedly, but pleasantly so. He needed no prodding, and none of Trieze's games.

His fingers curled over the tempting mound, squeezing until he got a hot gasp against his lips, pulling the slighter form down so that he could testingly rock up against that promising hardness, then soothing him all over again with gentle stroking and drumming of his long fingers.

The weight of the other hand lifted, the reason why obvious when Trieze's hands worked their way between the two blondes' bodies. The boy's mouth never lifted off his for even a second as Trieze nimbly started undoing the buttons along the front side of his shirt, parting the cloth with teasing brushes to the cream-tinted flesh beneath. Zechs even felt the so named Angel shrug as though to hurry it's removal from his shoulders. Soon enough though, mere seconds if his muddled brain could be trusted with any accuracy, the child's chest was bare and pressed to his, the body above arching with a delicious little shiver as the boy felt that kind of contact for the first time.

Only Quatre could have told them it wasn't the first. That there had been nights, in the summer when the storms crackled overhead and the air was like water itself, so hot and muggy, when he'd curled up behind Trowa underneath a thin sheet and felt his sanity thin out into one single cord of teenage want. That he'd felt the press of his best friend's bare back, moist and like covered steel, and had almost succumb to something he knew just couldn't be. Only Quatre could have told them about the agony of lying still when someone rolled over, and snuggled up to you, and you could smell them and almost taste them, hot and heavy on your tongue… And then to know that you couldn't, **wouldn't** do a damned thing about it. To betray the bounds of friendship, for that single delirious moment. He could tell them.

But he never would.

Some secrets are meant to be sealed away, and left unspoken, even to ourselves.

Fantasy are often better than common sense, and that's what makes them so hard to turn away from. Quatre's knowledge of this was what made him stay exactly where he was, tasting a stranger's hungry lips, when he felt sure hands fall and rest on the button of his pants. The urge to call everything off was counteracted flawlessly by the urge to live through an impossible reality.

He opened his eyes and stared at half-lidded sapphire blue when those fingers pulled apart the button, then shifted to catch the zipper and drag it slowly down. The man before him was gorgeous, sleek and feline in a way that seemed to scream of models laying over hard machinery, and the way his lips parted and the warm, teasing brush of a tongue darted against his own was painfully captivating.

Shivers came naturally as his pants were gently tugged down his legs, the clothing he wore underneath removed efficiently as well, pooling at his ankles, then pulled away and placed somewhere. The chill of the air in comparison to the near scalding heat that had been forming around his body was almost shocking, but it was soothed away -- or perhaps simply just forgotten -- by the silken feel of Zechs' leg sliding up and rubbing insistently, encouragingly, against his own. Just a friendly reminder what he'd paused in doing, and enough to make his breath catch in his throat wantonly before bowing his head to continue that kiss again.

Little fingers tugged and pulled at his mane, a weakness that their Angel had found by accident and now exploited mercilessly as Zechs shifted beneath him and made the most strangely adorable mewling sound. Together, so firmly tangled up in their growing desire, neither noticed the form of the general slipping away. Trieze was humming to himself, something unnamed but undoubtedly classical, as he walked over to fireplace and lay Quatre's now neatly folded clothing down. He poured himself a drink, and looked at the pair with a very satisfied smile that would have been right in place on the face of the animal Zechs so often identified him with. He **felt **like king of the jungle now, there was no doubt about that.

And soon enough, he thought he'd make the others feel it too.

Or perhaps he would have right then, if not for the irritating red light flickering from it's normally well disguised spot in the corner of the walls. It dulled, then flared again. It looked like some kind of madden firefly right now, and Trieze thought that was an annoying accurate label for such a thing. He sighed, near silently, to himself and cast his eyes back on the pair entwined before him. It had just started after all, and if nothing else, he was a good judge of tactical situations.

Those delicate fingers curled again and pulled with a muted whimper from the child's kiss swollen lips, only to receive an answering hiss of delight from Zechs, then the harder crush of his mouth moving. Below, he felt like his body was no longer under his own control. It had felt those first gentle nudges of hardness, and now his waist was pushing back in some unscripted pattern, each second of contact making him feel more desperate and less in grip with himself. In this state, he still had the wisdom to think ironically that most of his fellow soldiers had been right in deciding that battle was not the time for such matters.

It was a weakness. A wonderful weakness. Better than any of the other means he'd seen the others display so far to take the edge off their mutual tasks, anyway.

They could have gone on for a while like that, building themselves up into a companionably frenzied state, if Trieze had not seen fit to interrupt again.

His hands were there once more, fitted with smug confidence along the curves of his pale waist, and tugging gently but firmly. It prevented him for pushing back when Zechs arched so nicely up, and as the older man tugged harder, he could feel the arms around his shoulder and back growing taunt as his own that were still wound into those gorgeous blonde strands. He was actually being lifted away, pulled upright and against a bare and very solid form as easily as a child's toy.

Zechs let loose an angry sound of dissatisfaction, blue eyes flashing open at once and picking out the form of his tousled and confused new lover, then moved up and over the boy's shoulder to meet the teasing glow of Trieze's eyes.

_My turn, darling._ Zechs read that easily from Trieze's moving lips, and his own turned down in a sultry pout. The general chuckled, bending his neck to nuzzle at the smallest blonde's disarrayed locks before addressing Zechs silently again, impish good humor in his gaze. _Goodness. When did you forget how to share?_

And then, to the boy who was only now coming to realize why he wasn't sprawled out on that lovely bare form on the couch still and who had turned his head to look up at his captor- "It's all right, Dove. It's not over, so wipe that sulk off your pretty face? I just wanted to touch you too."

"And seeing as there is no more room on that couch for me…" He chuckled, turning towards the glow of the fire, and kneeling to gently lay the boy out a few from it on the soft rug.

The child with eyes that reminded him of standing on a cliff by the sea stared up at him, cheeks dancing with color and lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. The licking flames of the fire played over snowy flesh and turned it into a taunting show, reds and yellows kissing places that most would only dream, then receding to display that startlingly pure color all over. He could have stood there and been happy just looking (at least until his full intents were kicked back in and likely in a violently aroused way), if not for that small hand that Quatre slipped out that ghosted over his bare feet, and the pleading light that dawned in his eyes. It drew him back, instantly, with a smile that wished to reassure his would-be prey.

"Oh, my lovely," It was aimed back at the graceful man on the couch, who he distantly heard sitting up, pushing hair back as he likely stared as well. "… You truly did find a little piece of heaven, didn't you?"

Quatre's brow wrinkled, rosebud lips pursing. "I don't believe in heaven."

"It's okay, Dove," Trieze had a kind smile on his face and the devil in his eyes as he knelt down before that sprawled form, "I do."

XxXxX

Hands reached, and settled on his waist, tugging him closer as his eyes remained glued on the face of the older general. His enemy… Later.

Like a bird dealing with a snake, Quatre could only watch as Trieze lowered his head and began gently pressing his lips to the inner curve of one ankle, and then, after a pause, another higher along the rounded peak of his calf. These were legs he had to walk on every day, legs that hurt when he forgot to let them rest and muscles that had carried him in and out of battle. They were nothing new and special, and yet those tiny gestures made his skin prickle. They sent courses of electricity running up to encircle his heart from just under the skin, like the reaching fingers of the kiss itself. New sensation in something he rarely thought of distinctly any more.

His heart wasn't the only thing those invisible digits stroked either, and by the time Trieze's contact had reached the shivering skin just above one boyishly soft knee, he'd closed his eyes to the onslaught and there was a lump in his throat from trying to contain his rapid breath.

He heard the shift and sigh of the couch as Zechs stood up, then the pad of his feet and soft declaration of him sitting himself somewhere nearby. The scent of him which Quatre found he could already surprisingly distinguish was oddly soothing, like lilacs and lilies made into musk, one stability in the chaos that came as he felt Trieze's reddish gold hair curl and tease along the upper reaches of his thighs. Warm breath caressed his sensitive and rigid skin, a prolog to the press of velvet lips along it's aching tip.

What remained of the sensitive and thoughtful pilot the others knew so well was nudged away in painless efficiency as the enemy general's mouth came sliding down over his most secretive flesh.

It was heaven and hell in one determined, warm and wet package. Freedom issued by a man who might or might not show him mercy at the crucial moment, who might lift that pleasure-giving mouth from him, and with a jury unforgotten but unseen nearby. Distantly, he could hear Zechs pull in a breath in mirror to his own gasp, and then came the comforting touch of a cool hand on his forehead which suddenly baked with an unnatural fever.

As if Trieze was pulling his senses from him, and replacing them with angry clouds of demanding desire, that's what it felt like. And those clouds held promises of pink contentment-lined edges. Of a blissful euphoria unlike anything he'd known before.

Though he wasn't involved, Zechs sat beside the blonde's tossing head and looked on, feeling himself get swept away in the soft suckling sounds of his well known lover, and in the cries that were bubbling in a throaty purr up from the youth's mouth. He knew what their guest was going through all too well, and it was enough to make him direly hard from the memories usually and now was no exception. It was the thoughts of what Trieze was experiencing that made his mouth tremble anxiously, that brought cold lusty fingers sliding up and down his spine. He could hear Trieze making soft almost mewling moans around that previously untouched (he was so sure of it) flesh, and the way his eyes were fastened closed gave Zechs no doubt that he was lost in the most addicting of flavors and sensations. The hand that wasn't cajoling and encouraging their angel fell to his thigh and clenched restraining there, refusing to acknowledge the straining skin just a few inches away and give himself relief.

In his mind's eye, he watched the colors of that mental fog change. Red turned to a dark maroon and then to undeniable black as he heart raced and his body curled upwards into Trieze's insistent pulling. Pale blonde strains clung to his dampened forehead, the heat of the fire roaring blindly on beside them intermingling with the fire that was the man's mouth and making tiny glistening beads break out all over his body.

Passion demanded his surrender. His own teenage fantasies, Zechs' stroking hand running through his platinum locks and tugging faintly, and Trieze's kneading hand curling around his backside took all decision out of his hands. As those fingers ghosted along the firm skin and Zechs himself lost his resolve and leaned down for a breath stealing and bruising kiss, Quatre's struggle flagged.

Trieze moaned as the salty sweet taste slide over his tongue, lapping it from the crown of the boy's shaft as he trembled on the brink of ecstasy, then he pushed himself further to fully take the child in and gave him the mind shattering nudge that sent Quatre spiraling into an oblivion of pink and gold satisfaction, floating unattached and gloriously sated limbs, and his long sought after freedom.

XxXxX

Trieze was given only a second after pulling back to draw in an uneven breath before his lover had closed the distance between them by leaning over the panting child and forcing a kiss on him. Strong lips demanded his react, a steady tongue pressing against the seal of his mouth and ordering he get entry before lapping at his teeth almost hungrily when it was given.

He laughed softly in the face of that excitement, hands coming up and entangling in Zechs' gorgeous locks before allowing him that exploration. When his beloved Count at last got a hold of himself and sat back, it was with an expression of a cat having just gotten it's crème. He licked his lips in a slow was that made Trieze's world spin and reminded him of his own incomplete need.

Before them lay the child that had broken into their base, the innocent and enchanting angel in a world of war… Now with his sweet lips battered from the forces of their kisses, his nails actually ragged on one hand from clutching at the rug before the fire, his hair thrown too and fro and his slim body devilish revealed. It wasn't a job finished, not by a long shot in Trieze's mind, but… It would have to do. He would have waited for the boy's eyes to open again from his climatic state, to awake and then let them show him exactly what it meant to have one's mind blown away if it were an option.

But it wasn't.

_Ah, sweet regret._ He stood, looking down at Zechs still kneeling by the boy, one hand resting carelessly on the youth's shivering chest and the other idly stroking across his own stomach as he savored his stolen taste of innocence, and knew he would never forget the image as long as he was given to live. _So cruel with your teases of delight thrown to us, aren't you?_ Then he reached down and by the shoulder, encouraged Zechs to stand up beside him.

The blonde was still lapping at his lips, making Trieze chuckle quietly as he turned and looked for something to cover the boy with. Nothing. It couldn't be helped. He took his mate by the hand and tugged him over towards one of the walls, shushing Zechs' confused look and pointed glances back to the rumbled prisoner they were leaving before the fire with a simple finger pressed over his lips. "Not now, darling. There's no time, you'll have to see for yourself."

He pushed aside one of the false panels and motioned into the safe room that had been built into his private chambers, sighing when Zechs lingered and again looked back to the devastated beauty they were leaving behind. "Not now, lovely. Please hurry and come on."

It wasn't like him to question his leader, but Zechs couldn't help the words that came tumbling out, sounding shaken and out of sorts. "But why? Trieze, I want to-"

"I know you do, but now's not the time, love."

"Whyever isn't it? Look what you've just done and you tell me that? Hell, Trieze, we're both standing here naked as babes so when would be the proper time in your great opinion, you self-"

"Ah ah." He laughed out loud this time, using his grip on Zechs to pull him close and then tip his head up, nodding to the throbbing red light in one corner before backing a now more willing lover into that small secure room.

"We're about to have company."


	10. The Difference Between Fate and Destiny

"We're about to have company." 

"Company?" Zechs repeated that, dully, as he looked up towards that angry red orb, normally so discreet in it's corner. "Trieze, who? We have to get him and pull him in with-"

"I'm a general, not a telepath. I couldn't tell you whom specifically." He laughed again, then shook his head. "If I had to venture a guess though? Zechs… Do you truly believe that this child operated on his own?"

His soldier frowned and looked back towards the carelessly sprawled form of the boy, glowing in the fire with each rise and fall of his chest. "… No."

"I think it's someone from his team, if he has one. Or perhaps the very person who trained him. It's too soon for another random attack, so that seems most likely. Someone who knows him and knows he's here. Hopefully, it's because he's a valuable asset, and not because they worry about his silence."

It was a chilling thought and the way his lover so easily threw it out made Zechs give him a harsh, almost wounded look. "So you're leaving him out there? For whoever comes through that door, whether it's to collect him and take him from us, or to put a bullet into his head? Trieze-"

"Love, don't mistake me." He released the blonde's hand and started tugging that panel back into it's proper place. "… If he were my soldier, I could not kill him. His beauty, that's one thing, along with that rare streak of purity in a field of blood, but that child is also talented. You caught him, but I don't know if many others would. I am counting on them being aware of his value as well."

The wall was placed with a soft click, the room beyond now visible to them only through the darkened glass of the mirror on the other side. "Besides, darling, he is not ours to keep."

He was not pleased. Trieze could still read that in the sharp curve of his graceful back and the proud way Zechs' chin was lifted. Even in what would have been a compromising situation for others, nude and locked in this tiny chamber while an enemy approached, his favorite follower looked like a deity demanding full obedience. "Why not?"

"He would have given in to us, Zechs, but not in the way we wanted. Not right then. People like him react to passion, but later, the thoughts come creeping back in. You want more than his body, don't you?"

Grudgingly, Zechs nodded.

"Then it would have needed this time, anyway," Trieze said, moving over to cup one of his lover's pale cheeks comfortingly in the cup of a warm hand. "Time we don't have."

"How will we find him after though?"

"We will." The older man smiled at him, confident enough that for now, it soothed his nerves. Though he doubted anything would kill his desire to race out there and scoop up the golden haired youth, before it was too late.

"Besides," Trieze leaned in and placed a delicate kiss along the hallow of Zechs' jaw, drawing a shiver to ripple down the other man's body in spite of himself, silver blonde hair shimmering like diamonds before his half lidded eyes. "They say if you love something, you have to let it go. Open the cage and let it have it's wings. Let it taste the blue of the heavens, the sweetness of the summer of it's life… If it loves you, it'll come back to you. One way or another."

He swallowed and gave a slow nod, as his arms came to rest around Trieze's strong neck and his form slid against the other, seeking warmth and comfort. An end to this conversation.

Inwardly though, Zechs thought that Trieze was wrong. He could love this child… Enough to not want to free him, and shouldn't that be stronger than some old folk saying?

XxXxX

Wufei, much like his blonde teammate, had found entering the building to be surprisingly easy. However, unlike Quatre, that was where the simplicity of the situation stopped. There were no silent halls to greet him. Instead, there were well patrolled corridors, people around every bend, guns in every hand and sharp eyes that must have known something was up.

All of his effort to be sneaky were close calls. A slip into a door at the right time had likely saved his life more times then he cared to count. That didn't bother him. What did was the honest knowledge that part of him wanted to be discovered, so that he would have a reason to lash out and vent the aggression that was bubbling inside of him like a volcano. If he could grab a guard and plant a slippered heel into his stomach, Wufei thought he'd be feeling a little better. It was unnecessarily cruel and he knew it, but could accept it as part of his human nature. Besides, it was better to get rid of that anger before he found Quatre, wasn't it?

He knew the boy was alive. There wasn't a single doubt in his mind about that. If Quatre hadn't been recognized as the public figure he was and wasn't being used for ransom, then they'd discovered the fast mind they had within that small body and were working out ways to manipulate it. It'd been done before. If not that, then they had seen his combat tactics and were holding him to figure out who'd sent him, who'd trained him. And if not that, though he hesitated to think too heavily on the last option since it made his blood boil in his veins, then they weren't blind and had taken a good look at the delicate beauty of the Arabian.

He was alive though. One way or another.

And Wufei wanted him back.

Years ago, he would have been shocked and horrified at the idea of being attracted to a man. He'd been betrothed and it was bred in that he'd wed a woman and have a family with her. It was accepted if not smiled upon by him, certain if not liked. When that fate had become null through the intended bride's death, the lack of desire he'd felt for the situation had not changed. Woman were something expected, nothing more. They could be pretty, nice enough to look at, but that was all.

Sometimes, when the silence in his mind roared like an ocean, he wondered if his current attraction -- He refused to use Duo's word and call it a 'crush' -- could ultimately be stemmed back to the pressure he'd felt from his family so long ago. Women were tasks and a man's **fate**. Wufei detested that word from time to time. Fate was like a statue of iron. You couldn't move it, you couldn't even likely push it to better suit you. It just was, and everyone had to deal with it. They had to tip-toe around it. Destiny, now that had a nicer ring to it. Destiny changed according to every day actions, and often on a whim. Unlike the unmoldable 'fate', destiny was gentle but inevitable. Destiny surprised you, while fate was always there and knowing and just… Boring.

And true strength was, of course, in going against what everyone -knew- had to happen. Fighting the hellish beast of a word.

He was resentful to the future he'd never once spoken against, and then relieved when it crumbled apart before him. The woman herself had been comely enough and kind, as worthy of an opponent as a woman could be, and even now he missed the few conversations they'd been given (always under watchful chaperones), but he wasn't drawn to the marriage.

He **was** drawn to the small Arabian who sometimes played as their leader.

Played. Perhaps not such a good word, because Quatre was good at what he did. He made mistakes, like the human he was, but less so than most would if in his spot. He was precise and clever, and even if he hadn't been attracted to the boy, he would have been forced to respect him. He was attracted, though.

He'd felt it immediately upon meeting him. Upon seeing that unusually pale hair, like corn silk in the sun and so different than his own ebony and that of his people, and then with those large lash-lined eyes that tumbled in color as frequently as the sea had waves. That Quatre's form mirrored a woman's in some ways was a fact that didn't escape him. Rather than throw him off though, it was more fitting. To have been drawn to a man with steely muscles and cruel hands, would have been a typical protest and grotesque. It would have been something he could have forgotten and gotten over within a day. He understood himself enough to know then it could have been little more than teenaged defiance… But to be so completely capture by that tiny fey boy with his core of incomparable inner strength was damning and wonderful all at once. He would have wanted to beat a true man, to lord over him and prove his own worth through battles of strength. He would have wanted to be rough, to be bruised and form bruises, to fight and yell, and let all the aggression out into the world. A woman he would have felt the desire to protect, to keep her weaker form safe and only his. Obsession that came with every bat of her eyes and in the pouty flower of her mouth. He'd want to see her eyes light up with random words and presents, to talk softly and share moments with her, as was expected of a husband and as he'd been trained.

With Quatre, he craved both.

He wanted to break the blonde boy apart, violently shatter that oddly resilient shell, and then to put him back together with gentle hands. He wanted someone who could fight him wit to wit, and even win, and who'd still melt when presented with a card on a holiday just because he'd remembered. Who was soft as silk on the outside and in manners, and as cold and hard as iron underneath.

Quatre made him love him and hate him, and himself, and he did it the first day.

As the weeks and then months passed, it only got worse. Bad would have been coping on his own, in his silent brooding ways, worse was dealing with it when the person in question happened to be as friendly as Quatre. The blonde was there every time he turned around, smiling and offering out acts of pure, untainted kindness.

Wufei could barely catch his breath before the boy would then turn to someone else, and offer the same thing. His brief illusions of being special, one of a kind for the boy with the sunny locks, his plans and plots, were dashed away with the gentlest of unknowing brushes. It stung, and so he lashed out.

He slapped Quatre with his criticism and insults, but managed to keep his hands off that pale skin of the other man… Most of the time. He shoved him aside emotionally in the way he felt pushed back, ignored Quatre's offers if only to see that same pain he felt show up in his pretty gaze.

Soon the smiles aimed at him were more wary, the teal glowing eyes expectant of some form of abuse to be hurled his way, be is verbal or physical. It made Wufei feel ill, and made him glad. It was easier to avoid Quatre like that, and yet harder still to deny his aching emotions that he'd caused it. His affection for the other and the conflicting things he felt made seeds of self hatred blossom inside of him in some morbid garden of the heart. Better to take one side of his obsession and push it than to try to handle them both.

Cruelty didn't change his inner cravings though, to cup those round cheeks and kiss the side of an ivory neck, nor did it completely vanquish Quatre's natural inclinations to be the steady peace-maker. Still the blonde tried, and still his heart broke more and more. It brewed inside of him in a black pool.

The others and their opinions were never what made him pause in his pursuit. It was only his own coming to terms that did, and the best way to approach the situation. It was undeniable to him, that one day he should have the lovely Arabian, as soon as he'd only figured out how to go about it. And once he did, that he should keep his mate by his side. Like the bride that was never meant to be, he would guard Quatre, only this time there would be the desire to do so. Keep him safe and love him. A dragon with it's horde of precious objects… Only Wufei's treasures would be every breath that was drawn in when the boy was his. Every kiss. Each smile. And the feel of his fingers over that flesh.

Again, there were no doubts in if Quatre would or not be accepting to the relationship. Even if he hadn't seen the cheery reaction he'd given to Duo and Heero's when the damned baka had announce his accomplishment (a feat Wufei had never expected seeing accomplished) with their kamikaze friend, it would have been obvious in the way his eyes drifted on the street. Not to the fair females who eyed him and batted their lashes with such unrequited attention, but rather to whatever annoyed male was accompanying them. It showed, that preference, in his choices of everything from fashion to food, and in his very form. All that was left was a plan.

He'd still be trying to work through that angle on the day their last mission had come up, and what a failure that had been. All of the hurt in Quatre's gaze hadn't been enough to make him stop with his hateful words. Wufei would have liked to say he was cool enough to separate relationship from work and had a right to be upset with the blonde for his undeniable errors in thinking that day (he knew he did since it had jeopardized all of their lives), but that would be a lie that couldn't dismiss his aching feelings of guilt. However, his months of planning were nothing compared to the impromptu opportunity thrust his way. A distasteful one, but a chance none the less. He was needed finally.

He wanted the blonde back, and damn it, he would get him. When he did, he would first shake Quatre and demand to know what he was thinking going off on his own like this, then he'd cradle the boy and silently thank the gods that he was in one piece. After that, if Quatre had any doubts, Wufei thought there were ways he could vanquish them. And he wouldn't let go again.

His expression shone of steadfast determination as he snuck down the halls of the base, shadows playing over the white of his outfit like ying and yang and the blade of his sword a deadly star beside his stern face.

XxXxX

Through the mirror, with both of them crowded close together and holding their breath, Trieze and Zechs watched as the door to his private apartments open. They played witness to the silver that proceeded the attacker, slicing through air in a way that was almost something you heard deep within, a sinister sheering of the soul's cords of terror. A fatal cutting of hope and a slide into doom.

Not that Trieze feared for them. The room was sealed from the inside, and even if it weren't, he had items in here in which to protect himself and Zechs.

… But it made him doubt his decision involving the boy who'd briefly shown him heaven.

As he watched that shadow figure enter, he felt a cold hand run up his back and doubts speak up in a mind that had been calm. . A nagging whining voice that he'd thought died before he became a soldier. Would they send someone with that to rescue a child? A gun, he could have understood. Protection for the mission to retrieve the little blonde, but a sword? He knew from all of his practice how that weapon was and what it often stood for. Was he about to watch the fair youth be slaughter before them for information they hadn't, and likely couldn't have, gotten out of him?

Zechs must of shared the same feelings, since he make the tiniest of mournful sounds and tensed within his arms.

It was too late now to take it back though, and Trieze could only watch as the gap in the door parted more, the darkness between the hall and itself growing like a hungry maw…

And revealing something unexpected.

His mouth fell open as another child entered the room, his hands wound around the handle of that large sword. He was sleek and deadly as a panther as he crept forward, obsidian eyes darting around suspiciously and body tense. The face beneath tightly pulled black hair was unlike any Trieze could remember, almost graceful in it's exotic nature, but coldly promising, and… And furious. He moved like a killer on slippered feet and wore the mockery color of pristine purity, an angel-dressed demon of retribution, but it was a child. Far younger than himself or Zechs, for sure, yet he already appeared to be trained nearly as well.

_Who taught them? Who could be so cruel and clever in their selection of soldiers? A pair of baby-faced thieves and murderers, and who had the heart to make them so?_ Trieze had no answers for himself, or for the questions he saw burning in Zechs' blue gaze when the blonde shifted and looked up at him. He could only shake his head and gaze back at the shadow sneaking across his room.


	11. Moonlight Repaid

((A few notes in general, and to those readers I am always grateful for. Number one, no, this is **not** a 3x4 fic. I know, it looked like that in the beginning and that was implied through the writing in that first chapter, but it isn't. As it states in the tiny jot of info, it's a5x4 in the end. I'm sorry to disappoint you. I will be doing another 3x4 fic shortly, but this just isn't it. 

To Vampiric Cynicist -- I hope you had a wonderful birthday! Your reviews have been something I enjoy reading and often look forward too, and that one was very sweet. I'm glad it worked out that way for you.

Also, if you ended up liking this story, again, I feel compelled to beg you to read some of the others. They get no love, and I pitifully plead for feedback. For those 3x4 fans who seem outraged with this one, there is even one of those, though it's a bit dark. If you're a Quatre fan, well, they are all centered around him.

Thank you, as always, to the loyal ones who continue to follow this story through. I know the wait's been long, but the end of this is just around the corner, I promise.))

Wufei had almost thought it was just another empty room, in spite of his instinct that the clean and unmarked doors in this residential hallway had to mean something, until he caught sight of that stretched out banquet table with it's piles of empty dishes and cups, and then noticed the scent in the air.

Over the odor of cooked meat and wine, freshly baked breads and the burning logs that he could see flickering behind a chair out of the corner of one eye, he swore he smelt… Passion. There was no other word for it. It wasn't the bitter musky tang that he often associated with the darker streets of a city, nor that wild aroma that sometimes came from the room next door late at night, when he knew he'd soon be listening to Duo's 'muffled' cries and Heero's lower ones… It wasn't like that. It was dark and sweet, and left a feeling of energy in the air. It was unsatisfied and yet somehow 'begun' and it left someone with that helpless charge to their nerves.

It wasn't awful, but almost pleasant. Like faint and enticing innocence.

So why did he hate it immediately?

His answer came when over the crackling of the fire, he heard soft breathing. Wufei didn't have his weapon raised to attack as he moved around the regal chair; he didn't need to, he knew who's breathing it was. He'd listened to it from time to time when it's owner would doze off watching TV, or reading in the chair, or even the few times he'd cracked open a door in the middle of the night just for such a purpose, and had committed it along with many other things to memory.

Quatre.

The boy, his boy, was laid out before the flames like an offering, and Wufei felt impotent rage, admiration and jealous flip through him fast as shuffled cards when he caught sight of him. The pale limbs he'd only watched move under the hems of shirts and pants were now bare for all. The curve of the neck that he'd seen vanish into that stiff collar no longer need to be imagined, and yet he wished it did. Quatre was more beautiful than he'd hoped, but he'd always known until now that he'd discover that for himself the first time he claimed the blonde and was later perched above this sated form, watching him sleep off the after affects of their coupling and feeling a glow of satisfaction like now other himself.

Not like this.

This wasn't how he was supposed to know that Quatre's navel would be a perfect little well, or how his hair would look adorably tousled after fooling around, just like a guilty school girl's. This wasn't right.

Worse. It wasn't fair.

His angry eyes leapt off that gorgeous form, darting around the room like two accusing laser beams. There was nothing for his anger to target though; no guilty man hiding behind curtains or laying in bed smoking, a wide cat grin on his filthy face. No one to take responsibility for his unconscious love.

Nor was there the time to hunt for them, he realized. It was a crime that would go unpunished this evening, but one that he would not be forgotten. And may whatever gods there were have pity on the poor fool that did this once Wufei discovered who they were.

The brunette knelt down and carefully, so carefully, lifted the blonde. He braced Quatre against his chest with the boy's limbs hanging over his shoulder, and then noticed the clothing that had been set aside.

_How kind of him to be so considerate,_ came the helpless and biting remark in his head as he scooped them up and held them pressed to the small of Quatre's back with one hand. It would have to do. He needed the other free to wield the sword that had always been his closest ally.

Quatre didn't stir other than a low sleep-ridden moan, and Wufei was glad for it. If the blonde were to wake now, they wouldn't get out of here without being caught. There would be too many questions and he wasn't in the mood to patiently explain them, nor to let his own stream of inquiries bubble free.

_Who did this?_

_Did they drug you?_

_Did you like it, or did you fight them, like you fight everything?_

_Did you ever know that I wanted you?_

_That I wanted this?_

_Did I?_

Too many questions.

So he was grateful that the body on his shoulder didn't move as he turned and with one last hateful glance around the room, headed to the door and vanished out into the silent corridors.

XxXxX

"His lover?"

Trieze shook his head softly, still watching the room even though their main show had come, picked up, and then gone again.

"How do you know?"

He sighed and looked to the side where Zechs stood near the glass, his arms so tightly around his form and still shaking, like those arms kept his body from breaking apart.

"Because of the way he looked at him."

"What do you mean?" Zechs frowned, "He just looked angry to me. Like he wanted to kill him, or us."

"Us, would be my guess… But that's not what I mean. I meant the way he looked at him, not the emotion, the very -way-. He looked at his body like he'd seen it so many times before, and yet hadn't. Like someone who'd dreamed of a land, every single night. A land that was perfect and wonderful, and heaven… And then the way they look the first time they step out of a plane or a door, and they truly see it. The comparisons that must be made, and the realization that not even a dream measures up to reality. **That **was how that boy was looking at him. That was how I spent years looking at you before you accepted me. Wistful, then amazed in spite of myself."

"So, no, I don't think they are lovers, or even boyfriends." He gave Zechs a soft smile and slipped over to take the blonde's shoulder, turn him, and place a kiss to the flowing hair that covered his pale forehead. "They might become, though, if that exotic one chooses to move."

He watched his beautiful soldier's brow wrinkle and watched the jealously flare within his eyes, and Trieze related. The young needed their time to play, and everyone needed to learn before belonging solely to one person, but Zechs had a hard time accepting this. He would have kept his 'Angel', and kept him well, but this had to happen. All Trieze could do now was comfort his beautiful lover for the one that had gotten away from his gentle grasp.

XxXxX

Through luck, or through divine intervention, Wufei and his new burden that he'd never address as such, were not accosted on their way out. There were several close calls, including one where he actually lashed out but merely hit the wandering soldier on the back of the head and let his unconscious body drop, but no actual face to face confrontations. Considering how it had been on the way to the room, that amazed him.

He reached his exit point in record time, gently laying Quatre down beside himself and glancing through the empty hole that had held a grill vent, and then studiously examining the moonlit outside world that lay beyond. The grass was blue in the cool light, glittering with dew drops much like the lumbering shadows of the waiting trees. No guards on this end of the compound, not even after they'd done their raid so few night ago. It was almost suspicious in itself… Like he could expect there to be a firing squad on the roof and a general just waiting with a grin to announce they'd known of his location and progress the entire time.

But it looked safe… And he couldn't remain here.

Wufei took one last look down the halls, relieved but hating their emptiness, then blinked when he saw something move after all. Not a person though. Just a camera, perched high in the corner, turning towards them. It didn't continue on it's automated path and that made Wufei's eyes narrow. He was catlike as he glared from the patch of spilled moonlight, cold and promising of death and revenge, perhaps justice as he'd call it. The shadows struck his face and yet his eyes were two distinctive black pools to the figure that sat before the monitor that was the camera's brain. Then the oriental man crawled through the hole with his sword, and a moment later, strong arms reentered to gently enfold the body of the blonde, and tug him so tenderly through.

XxXxX

The boy sat in the office chair, his legs hanging a foot from the ground and swinging lightly, childishly some might have said, as he watched the male and his captured prize running low to the ground over the South end of the compound. That area led right to the trees, the fence unevenly lined up to weave in and out of their trunks.

Before him, on the dozen security screens, was the interesting sight of nearly every one of their pixilated surfaces being empty. Less like live feeds and more like freeze frame photography. Except for one, the Northern corridor near the soldiers' cafeteria. That hall was bustling with activity as more and more of the patrolling soldiers came whipping around the corners and met with the general mob of confusion that lay there, guns drawn and eyes questioning one another.

Their faces as they turned around and looked in all directions, then at one another talking hurriedly, was something else that brought a smile to his face. It was short lived and vanished into mature exasperation as he watched as one of them picked up a walkie talkie, and lifted up his own sitting on the desk beside him just as an annoyed voice crackled through.

"This is Sergeant Johan. Mika? You still there?"

The boy rolled his eyes, his young voice decidedly pert as he answered. "My shift ends in an hour, Robert, where **would** I be? At the mall?"

There was a pause, then a gruff tone barely avoiding anger. "Are you **sure** you saw something near the cafeteria?"

"I have the screens right in front of me, don't I?" The child lifted his gaze to the monitors again, and watched as the brunette laid the blonde on one of the low hanging branches, then boosted himself up. "I saw someone walking by the Northern camera, indoor, hallway six, and haven't seen anyone on any of the other monitors. He must still be there."

"We're not seeing anyone. Are you absolutely-"

"Then you're not looking hard enough," He answered, coldly, a child's voice dripping with ice. "Maybe if you'd stop standing around chatting and would divide and search as you should have been trained, you'd actually find the threat instead of keeping us all at risk, hm? I'm sure the General would appreciate some rapid action on your end, for once."

The boy released the button on his end, then snapped the walkie-talkie off, setting it back on the desk.

Before him, shrunken almost delicate on the screen, he could see said general in his little box of a room. Truthfully, with the way Mister Trieze's lips were currently moving over their top soldier's upper chest and the way Zechs head was tipped back and caught in a soundless exhale, Mika thought he might have been exaggerating his reaction to Robert's actions just a little. Not that I've-got-a-stick-rammed-up-my-anus Johan needed to know that.

That was a typical sight though, those two playing in 'secret', for the blonde child that had set up this security grid, and shortly his eyes moved back to watch as the young Chinese man gently gathered up his companion to his chest. He aimed one last hateful scowl up to the building, then turned and jumped down into the trees, vanishing from the cameras ever watchful gaze.

_An eye for an eye, blondie._ Mika thought out to the unconscious form with it's friendly and parental nature. He could still feel the gentle brush across his forehead and hear the soothing words before he was 'shooed' out of his own office by the blonde while his companions ransacked the room. He'd been out numbered though, and some had looked trigger happy, so playing along was necessity. _We're even. Next time, they'll be on you from the moment you enter my base._

XxXxX

For Wufei, the trek back to his motorcycle took entirely too long. He remembered the journey leaving this base, and yet had still managed to stumble into the very edge of the thorn bushes. He was now bleeding along the curves of his cheeks, and poor Quatre was still letting out sleep pained whimpers where the cuts stung along his dangling bare legs. He stirred once, when one had dragged down the side of a thigh, but other than a murmur of inarticulate words, there was no reaction. Wufei managed to keep most away from his back, and his backside, which had been resting embarrassingly and yet welcomed along his arm. He didn't see that the arms had also become victim to those natural claws until he was setting Quatre's body over the seat of his motorcycle. The pale appendages were criss-crossed in wounds, much like his own. They both looked like they'd gotten in a fight with a big kitty, and had lost… Only Quatre'd also suffered the creature's impish end, and thus his clothes were missing.

The reason he wasn't immediately on the bike was because of those clothes. In a hurry or not, Wufei felt the idea of Quatre propped in front of him naked on the road would be a bad one. It would attracted the wrong kind of attention, and should the boy himself wake up, it would create more panic where he doubted it'd be needed. Not to mention the possibility of the rushing air chafing some of Quatre's more delicate parts.

More and more though, as he sorted out Quatre's pants from the tangled mess, he thought it was possessiveness that made him want to cover the blonde. After today, whatever had happened, he didn't want anyone but himself to see that body.

Though the temptation was there to touch the boy who dozed on as if drugged (which was beginning to worry Wufei), he managed to restrain himself. His heritage screamed against such things, and he wouldn't disgrace the boy any more than possible. That the thoughts came to him at all disgusted him, and yet he understood it was human nature and could not be helped. He would not touch Quatre like this. He did however note, absently, the feel of the baby soft skin as he slide the clothing mechanically on, and referenced it for later comparison.

He'd have the time for such things after he'd interrogated his teammate, scolded and drilled his errors into his mind, and then stated his interests and intents. After he'd bandaged the boy in whatever hotel room they found themselves in, and after he'd comforted Quatre through whatever emotions he was bond to be flooded with.

Another night would not go by where he would sit back and bite his tongue.

Then Quatre was decent, if not still more rumpled than Wufei'd ever seen him, and he was swinging himself over the back of the bike to arrange the complacent Arabian before him. It would be an awkward ride, but he thought that with the weight of Quatre's head resting against his chest, he would have never driven more carefully.


	12. Surrender

((And so ends this story. What started out as my attempt at a PWP (obviously, I'm not capable of'short')has finally come to it's close. I am still stunned at the reaction this story has gotten, and maybe sometime in the future, it will be the reason I write another with this odd combinations of pairings, but for now I willr etreat back into the easier ones. As always, I hope that if you enjoyed this story, you will go and check out my others. Thank you to all who followed it along it's course. I wouldn't have finished it if not for your prodding. Farewell!))

It had been two months since the day he'd woken up to find himself in Wufei's arms on a rented bed in a little hotel along the highway. Almost sixty days exactly, since he'd looked up at that pale and pinched face with it's frame of ebony locks, and knew that some great bomb was going to be dropped on him.

It was the type of bomb it turned out to be that left him amazed.

Wufei, who had always been the silent watcher and guardian in his mind, had spoken words that if tortured, Quatre still would have denied the man had in him. Wufei'd spoken for nearly twenty minutes straight, and his tongue had been glued to the roof of his mouth, unworking, the entire time. The man had told him about watching him, and about dreaming. He'd made mention of the words that he often used that left Quatre feeling mortally wounded… And he'd explained them in a way that was unbelievable.

Devotion, masked with fury. Attraction that burned like fire and left scars; scars that he'd wanted to kiss away for the longest time, according to him.

It was, plain and simple, something Quatre couldn't accept. Even later when he told Trowa, sitting on the bed in the room they had shared as Duo helped move his things out and into Wufei's room, he still couldn't completely believe it. Neither could Trowa. The brunette had hugged him, tight, and told him he was always there if needed, and they'd laughed quietly together about learning to sleep again in the different situations, and that had felt more real. The rough wet sound of Trowa's soft voice was there against his ear as he was hugged, and that strange sadness in his emerald eyes that said that he'd been missed more than he could know. That was all part of life and was true. But he didn't accept what Wufei said.

He knew as he was hearing it he never would. Knew that he was really in a coma somewhere and standing on death's door, imagining the unimaginable before his body died around his helpless mind.

But Wufei's lips, warm and possessive against his, were living truth.

When the sun rose through the dingy white of the curtain, Quatre rose with it, and he looked over the golden body that had remained beside his through out the night. Wufei looked almost gentle as he slept, the hair tumbling over his lax face softened it. His lips parting to release breaths were kissable and kind for once. The way his tanned chest shimmered in the coming light of day was a miracle to behold, and he'd been blessed with it. For whatever reason, he'd gone through some minor level of hell and had emerged with the most unexpected of guardian angels.

As his angel slept, Quatre had gently disentangled himself and moved to the bathroom. He stood there where it was still dark from night, and stared at the pale face in the mirror hard. Twice in the last day, from three different sources, he'd been told the boy there was beautiful. He examined his too-round cheeks and his pale skin, and though he couldn't see it, he was grateful for those who'd sworn they could. Grateful, for the door that had been shown to him.

By an enemy.

The door out of childhood and into adulthood was a hard one for most, but Quatre thought he'd gotten lucky. He hadn't been pushed and broken, but rather kissed and coaxed. He was informed and stronger for it.

Half an hour later as the room began to warm, the pilot of the gundam Sandrock crept back into the hotel's bedroom. He crawled over the rumbled bed, and when he laid down beside his teammate and friend, arms enfolded him welcomingly. He slept… And he dreamt.

XxXxX

"Well? What did you think?"

Wufei looked sideways and down at Quatre's pinched face, and he resisted the urge to smile. "What did I think of what?"

"Of the opera! Of the opera we just saw? What did you think?"

Funny the way the blonde's hair fluffed right up when he was defensive, like a cat's. As they drifted through the crowds of suited men and ball gowned woman, he reached out and took one of his lover's hands, his thumb soothing over the smooth back of it almost absently.

"It was beautiful."

"Oh!" Quatre beamed, and laughed, the sweet sound of joining making some of the other peoples' heads turn and lips arch into helpless smiles. Wufei was among them. "I knew you would! Didn't I tell you it was something you'd been missing out on?"

"That you did."

Quatre didn't take his victory and gloat over it as some might have. "So? We can go again sometimes?"

"Whenever we have the time and you like."

They stepped out into the night air and Wufei lead the way to the car hop who'd bring their vehicle to them so that he might take the blonde back to the house. As they waited, Quatre chatted on and on about the songs and the people who sang them, and Wufei listened on with the sounds of music still echoing in his ears. It enveloped him as he watched Quatre's mouth form his freely given praise, and as he stared at the soft rain shower drops that caught like diamonds in his blonde's hair.

They left hand in hand, and though Wufei let go to walk around the car and slid in himself, he never truly released the Arabian. Not where it mattered most.

XxXxX

"Are you almost done?"

Quatre lifted his head, losing sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he peeked out the crack in the door. Wufei lay stretched out comfortably on his side of the bed, a golden tiger… With his glasses hanging down on the end of his nose, and said body part buried deep within the pages of a book.

_Awww!_ The Arabian snickered to himself. "Almost."

He used one foot to open the hamper by way of a foot peddle and tossed his pants in amongst the rest of the clothing, including Wufei's own opera wear. He could deal with it tomorrow. Then off came his jacket, and unlike his pants, that he had the time to at least fold and lay over the edge of the counter. It was as he was settling it down that his eyes landed on the folded up bit of paper that came falling from his pocket.

He bent and retrieved it, idly opening it as anyone would to remind themselves before likely tossing it on the counter with his change and the rest of his pocket rubbage.

The hand writing wasn't his. Quatre stared down at the letter he held in confusion, his eyes scanning over the hasty but elegant script.

_Angel,_

_I don't think you need me to tell you what a surprise it was for me to look up from my seat when a flash of gold shone in my eyes, then to see you in the box far above. You truly did seem to come from heaven in that moment._

_I watched a man sneaking in the dark come and take you away, I stood restrained and dying a little within, and yet there you were, as beautiful as when I first rolled you over. It was a surprise, and one that provoked me to write this as soon as I could during intermission._

_I see that your dark haired savior is still with you, standing protectively and looking at you the way I did, so Trieze must have been right in allowing him to take you. I heard him call you Quatre, when you two cuddled in your box. Is that the name you stood so strongly silent with? It's beautiful. Fitting how exotic it is for one such as yourself, and I promise, I will not use it to bring harm to you. I simply want it to cradle it in my mind when I think of you, and the way you looked above me. Licked by flames and still trying so hard to deny, your face will be the vision that haunts me._

_I repeat again that I shall not track you down, nor does your lover have anything to fear from me now. Even if Trieze had not demanded as much when I pointed you out during the cresting songs, watching you swoon with the melody, I wouldn't have planned anything to bring you sadness. You were a gift that I received somehow, and I would not dirty that. I could not go without writing this though._

_Trieze told me that if you love something, you must set it free… And that it you care enough, and it does, eventually it may come back to you. You are happy now, Angel, I could see it in your eyes even when I hid within the crowds… But should a time come when you are not, be aware that we've left the door open, and we wait. If you wish, you can always find us._

_Yours completely,_

_Z._

It seemed to Quatre that he'd reread the note twenty times and for hours before he managed finally to lower it, and by then, his heart was pounding in his chest and his breath was coming in softer more rapid intakes.

They had been there. Right beside him. His enemies.

His lovers.

The note was lifted again, but this time it was simply clasped to his chest as his eyes again moved to the person reflected back at him. The boy in the mirror was blushing, and smiling, like he'd just stepped out into the sunlight after a storm, and for once Quatre thought that maybe it was a boy he could like.

He was still smiling as he stood on tiptoe and tucked his note onto the small ledge of the medicine cabinet. It, like the clothing, could be dealt with tomorrow.

As he stepped out of the bathroom and made his way to the boy who lay in the bed, his smile was again noticed, and this time returned. Quatre crawled into the warm circle of Wufei's arms once more, a grip he was getting accustomed to, and returned the press of lips on his own. He surrendered,to the hands that held him close and to the whispered words of devotion. He surrendered to life.


End file.
