Author: Sakusha
Warnings: Deathfic. Creepy. Not a nice ending kind of story. 3+/x4, 4+?
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: kawaiiblue@sbcglobal.net
Special thanks to Ellimaru.
Dawning
Tears pricked the corners of Trowa's eyes as he gasped at the sheer horror of his dream. Slowly his breath calmed, as did the shaking, but not the feeling of wrongness that now filled his entire being. He looked to the right, relieved to see a crop of blond hair on the pillow beside him. Quatre lay sleeping peacefully under the thick comforter, undisturbed. Trowa watched his lover's slumber, silently blessing each breath he took. When he finally convinced himself that all was well, he quietly slipped away from the bed.
The bathroom looked like the inside of a palace; it was opulent, with marble counters and floors, gold-trimmed mirrors, a Whirlpool spa tub that could seat four, and a separate shower fit for a king. Even the fixtures were more than likely gold plated. It was overwhelming, and it made Trowa feel all the more unclean. Of all the dreams that plagued him, that had been the worst by far. None of his battlefield flashbacks even came close.
What he couldn't understand was why. What would have triggered something so completely disturbing? He loved and doted on Quatre endlessly, and as far as Duo went, well, Trowa hadn't seen him in almost a year. True, he enjoyed the man's company. They connected on many different levels. Duo was good-looking as well; but then, you'd have to be dead not to notice that. For all that, he'd never considered him as a romantic interest. He rather thought that Heero might take a chance on Duo, but as far as he knew, they had yet to get together. Trowa had eyes for only one person. He'd never consider leaving Quatre, not for anything.
He studied himself in the oversized mirror. His hair was dull, eyes shaded with gray half circles. He'd been working a little too hard, but then how could he not? Quatre had given him so much, and asked for so little in return.
Trowa washed his face, as if trying to wash away the rest of the nightmare like so much filth. After taking another look in the mirror, he decided it wasn't enough and took a shower. The warm water proved to be just the catharsis he needed.
He returned to bed, hoping that he would be able to manage some sleep, and pulled the sheet around himself, careful not to disturb his lover. Just as he felt himself losing that last thread of consciousness, warm hands caressed his flesh, begging for more than a mere touch. They washed away his sleep. He could not deny his love...never could he deny him.
Quatre was so giving, so very thoughtful to Trowa's needs, it left him breathless. Left him feeling like such a cad for his traitorous dream, though he had no control over such things. He spent over an hour making it up to his lover. Trying to give as much as he'd been given. It would take a lifetime to show Quatre how much he meant to him.
It seemed as though he'd just drifted off again when there was a tap on his shoulder.
"Trowa? Trowa, love, it's time to get up."
Trowa couldn't imagine it being time already; the night had simply gone too quickly, like so many others had lately. He peeked his eyes open, and found bright blue eyes peering back at him.
"C'mon, sleepy head. It's almost five o'clock. You have a meeting at six thirty."
Trowa closed his eyes. "Uh uh. Meeting's at ten. Need sleep."
Quatre snorted. "Sorry, big boy, I had to change it. Relena's security detail came in yesterday and they wanted you to come earlier. I guess, I mean...if you're too tired, I could always tell them to consult someone else. I just thought you'd jump at the chance to do a consultation for them. I wouldn't have offered you to them otherwise."
He couldn't let Quatre down. Not after all the trouble he'd gone through on his account. Quatre had spent a lot of his money to set Trowa up with his own business. Even helped get him contracts.
Trowa opened his eyes again and focused on that handsome face. The one he'd do anything for. "Sorry. Getting up."
Trowa sat up, rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing the oxygen up to his brain. He stretched and shook off the rest of his slumber. "I'm gonna have to start drinking coffee. It's getting harder and harder to get up in the morning."
"That's just 'cause you're getting old," Quatre chuckled. "And coffee's bad for you. Have some juice."
"You getting up?"
"I have a phone conference at eight. After that I have to go down to the office for a couple of things, but I'll be back by around one or two."
Trowa dressed while Quatre watched from under the warm covers.
"You better dress warmer than that, fly boy."
Trowa turned to look at the lump taking up residence on his side of the bed. "Why's that?"
"Your car's been leaking oil for weeks. I had it taken to the shop so they can take a look at it."
Trowa's shoulders slumped a little. "You didn't have to do that. I could have fixed it."
"You've been saying that for days. I just thought, with work and all..."
Trowa smiled. "Thank you. It was very thoughtful."
"You can take mine. I know you're not too fond of it but..."
"No, that's all right. If I took your car, you'd have to take the bike. It's not exactly built for a briefcase and a three piece suit." Trowa grinned down at his lover.
"Well, if you're sure..."
"Of course. See you later." They gave each other a quick kiss before Trowa headed out the door and down the stairs.
Quatre heard the roar of Trowa's motorcycle leaving the estate. He lay in bed a few moments longer before getting out of bed. Donning his robe, he looked out the window and over the balcony to the road below. It wound around the hill and down into the city. Quatre shivered a bit. He'd forgotten to mention the ice. A small smile played over his pale face. He'd also forgotten to let Trowa know that the tread on the motorcycle tires looked awfully thin. Funny how Trowa seemed to neglect the small things these days. Poor boy hasn't been getting enough sleep. Not in the last eight months or so anyway.
He could feel all of his carefully laid plans coming to fruition. The security consulting that he'd more or less forced Trowa into doing. All the late night and early morning appointments. Overnight flights here and there. And once in a while, late night escapades in the bedroom, just to make sure Trowa never slept too deeply. Not to mention all the little things he'd done to ensure the man hardly ever slept more than a few hours at a time. He was sure, just for a while there, Trowa had been catching onto him, but all he had to do was bat his baby blues. Trowa was putty in his hands.
There were other ways, of course, to get rid of his wartime lover, but this one seemed to fit into his plans so much better. Breaking it off might look bad in the public's eye. Especially if it was he who cut the ties of the relationship. Bad publicity might affect his business. No, he couldn't have that. He had an image to maintain, after all. But if, by chance, the lover of one of the most influential people in the Earth Sphere lost control of his motorcycle on an icy, curvy road...well, that's the stuff the newspapers eat up. Sob stories that pull the heartstrings are what people buy into.
He was dressed when they came to the door. Not impeccably, because that wasn't the impression he wanted to make, but enough to look respectable. He let tears fall when they told him that Trowa hadn't even made it to the hospital; his injuries had been too severe. It was bad luck, they said. The ice, the ravine, a bike that needed maintenance; he never had a chance.
Quatre played up the lost little boy look for the authorities, a look he'd perfected over the course of two wars. They said they were sorry, and left him with his bereaved staff to care for him. He expected the cameras to show up soon as well. The death of a Gundam pilot and lover to a billionaire made good news fodder. Quatre decided to skip breakfast; it would make him look all the more worn when he made his tearful statement to the press.
But there was one thing he needed to do before all that. He needed a sympathetic ear. Someone who would come rushing to him in his hour of need. Someone who might even be willing to let Quatre take solace in that beautiful lithe body. The object of his infatuation and the one who inspired this little project in the first place.
Quatre caught himself before he grinned. Wouldn't do for the help to catch onto his game. He stopped at a hallway mirror and mussed his hair a bit more, making sure his eyes were still red rimmed and wet. Then he purposefully walked upstairs to his room, sat in front of his vid phone and dialed Duo Maxwell's number.
OWARI