by Anne
Author's notes: This scene takes place during 'Sins of the Fathers' but later than what has been written so far and so contains spoilers. It also refers to incidents in that and an earlier story 'Shadowboxing'.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. I promise to return the characters in one piece, more or less, when I'm finished, but hold no liability for any physical injury or psychological trauma sustained by them in my fiction.
The constant glow of the nightlight in their room made it difficult to sleep. Not that Quatre could sleep anyway. He was restless, his mind going over different scenarios, none of which were helping to keep his fears in check.
He wasn't worried for himself. Whatever happened he would accept as due sentence for the crimes he had committed. He should have known, should have thought. There was no excuse for ignorance.
Giving his sleeping friend a sad smile, he swung his legs over the bed they were sharing and walked over to the window. The moon was full, dark clouds dancing in front of it and then parting again to filter its glow through a shadow of grey.
Trowa had promised to meet him here in Switzerland. He had told Quatre that this hotel was safe. They had agreed to wait for the other however long it took but logically Quatre knew he didn't have the luxury of forever. The information he had was crucial to the war effort, but the more he saw, the less he was convinced that it should be given to either side. What gave them the right to play God? People had already lost their lives because of this project, the work he had been so sure would be used to make the world a better place. How the hell could he have been so naïve?
It wasn't only the project he had lied to himself about. No, he had been running himself, from a truth he had known but wouldn't admit to, for a very long time. Quatre had been raised to believe in certain standards but recent events had made him question those standards and so called ethics.
He was in love with Trowa.
One kiss, shared out of desperation when they thought their hiding place would be discovered. Quatre had been scared, shaking, his fear threatening to reveal them. Trowa had pulled him close, silenced him with his lips, wet and inviting. Quatre had arched up against him instinctively, his body reacting to something his mind had been terrified of and fighting since they had met.
Men weren't supposed to love other men. It was the work of the devil. Quatre remembered the lesson well; it had haunted him when he had met David, driven him to run from his friend when it became clear that their friendship was leading to something deeper. He hadn't seen David since that day in the café. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and so it was. In following Trowa and deciding to trust him, Quatre had left his life behind. He could never go back, and he didn't want to.
God, Trowa, where are you?
Quatre had already lost one friend, one potential lover. David was Jewish. It was doubtful he was still alive. Quatre couldn't think that about Trowa. It had been a sensible idea to split up once Quatre had recovered from his injuries enough to travel. The Gesapo were looking for two German men traveling together, one blond and one brunet, certainly not an American with a braid hidden under a cap and an Englishman with very non-descript brown hair. Looking at himself in the mirror, Quatre wasn't sure he recognized himself; his experiences had changed him far more than the hair dye Trowa had concocted from henna and indigo before they'd left the convent.
Glancing over at Duo again, Quatre smiled. They had met while on the run, but while neither had confided details in the other they had recognized their own fears and nervousness in the other. Duo had taken Quatre under his wing, helping him to cross the German/Swiss border. He felt bad that he couldn't even tell Duo his real name, but it was safer for both of them. Trowa had cautioned him about trust; it was advice Quatre had taken very seriously. Too many lives had already been lost, his dreams were already full of the blood of his past and the despair of a dark all too possible future.
It was a future that he would sacrifice anything to prevent.
Almost anything.
Not Trowa. Please, no.
He should have been here by now. Another day and it would be time to move on, to try and contact the Allies and what was left of Trowa's resistance cell.
Another day to hope and wait.
Duo stirred and mumbled something under his breath. He couldn't sleep without a light of some kind; whatever had happened to him had left him terrified of the dark. Leaving the window, Quatre slipped back into bed, wrapping his arms around his friend, holding him close, remembering how Trowa had done the same for him.
His voice wavering, Quatre began to speak softly in French, reciting the poem Trowa had taught him.
"Take care, my friend," Quatre whispered even though Trowa wouldn't be able to hear him. Duo relaxed into sleep, and Quatre let his own eyes close, wondering if he would ever get the chance to tell Trowa the words he spoke from his heart. "My love."
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