A Bloodthirsty Angel:
Part Six - Remembrance
By: Kitty E.
Quatre didn't know the city well, but centuries of travel enabled him to maneuver the dark streets with relative ease. He knew he couldn't go back to his own apartment, and Trowa had apparently been so intent on finding death that night he hadn't bothered with a hotel room. It wasn't too long before they came upon a motel, rundown, dilapidated, with a questionable clientele, but that didn't seem to matter now, even a place such as this was safer than the streets.
"What will you do now," Trowa asked as Quatre surveyed the room with a subdued distaste.
Quatre looked back at him briefly before moving away, "It doesn't matter right now..." He flicked on the bathroom light, the flickering fluorescence dimly lighting the room, but keeping some of the minor flaws out of sight. "I'll stay until the sun rises, it'll be a little safer for you to be alone, then. Though, these days even the sun cannot harm all of us." {1}
Trowa's brow furrowed, Quatre was dancing around his question. "Quatre," he said, as firmly as he dared in such a tense moment. "What do you plan to do about this?"
Quatre refused to meet Trowa's eyes, blonde head hung low to stare at the ugly green carpeting beneath his feet. "Whatever it takes."
"You will come back... right?" It suddenly seemed like such a childish thing to say, but Trowa couldn't help but *feel* like a lost child. What the morning promised was such a real threat, to himself and to Quatre and yet he felt like he knew nothing except there was danger. He sensed this might be their last hours, their last words, but he couldn't even tell whether they'd been given a death sentence or a chance to fight. "Tell me, I won't ask anything of you, just tell me."
Quatre now looked up at him, turquoise eyes trying to convey what he did not want to put into words. "I- I don't know... I can't promise it."
The silence that followed that statement was painful. There were no comforting words to be said, though both badly wanted to hear and say them. Quatre thought about going to Trowa, taking him into his arms, stroking his hair, but he didn't, nailed to the floor but his own realistic expectations. Eventually, Trowa nodded his reluctant acceptance, agreeing not to ask anything further of the situation, or of Quatre. Somehow, the grave movement became a well-hidden yawn, upon seeing it Quatre's solemn expression melted into a half smile.
"You haven't slept," Quatre noted, a small hint of admonishment in his voice. He crossed the room quickly, reaching out to take Trowa's hand.
Trowa only nodded when a second yawn gave him no room to deny it, and leaned heavily on the offered embrace. "It's just been the usual, missions, and travel... all that coupled with this search."
"Search?" Quatre asked, pulling away and leading Trowa to the bed.
"For you... or at least one of your kind."
Quatre's expression tightened ever so slightly, "Is that how you came across him?"
"Hai," Trowa whispered. He found himself settled on the bed, Quatre's hands moving over him, removing his shoes and socks, then coming up to pull off his shirt. His lips were caught in a soft kiss, and he tilted his head to receive it in full. Quatre broke the kiss after only a moment, and smiled at the question in Trowa's eyes.
"Sleep," he chided. "There's no reason for you to stay awake anymore. It's all in my hands now, whatever happens," he spoke as he smoothed Trowa's hair. "None of it falls upon your shoulders."
Trowa's eyes fell half lidded, the touch of Quatre's hands, the sound of his voice making him relax almost against his will. Thoughts still battered him from within, all that had happened, all that was to come, the farfetched hope, but maddening feelings of being powerless. He looked up at Quatre again, sighing when he recognized the expression of gentle, but unwavering insistence. He stretched out, laying his head on the pillow and slowly becoming aware of just how badly his body ached. He caught Quatre's hand as the other boy moved to take the chair near the window, he tugged softly until Quatre understood. With a small smile, he climbed on alongside him, spooning Trowa tightly, resting his chin on Trowa's shoulder.
"Keep talking," Trowa murmured. "It's been too long since I heard your voice."
Quatre nodded softly, "All right, but... is there anything you want to know? Something you want to hear before you fall asleep."
Trowa thought over that for a moment, briefly wondering if he could ask Quatre to simply whisper sweet nothings, but deciding there were more important things at hand. "Tell me who you really are... or rather who Aurel is, and how the hell Treize Khushrenada plays into all this."
"It's a very long story," Quatre sighed, hoping to get out of having to tell it. "Long and unpleasant."
"I want to know," Trowa said, not demanding, just stating.
Quatre sighed, shifting on the bed a little to leave Trowa a little room to move. He was quiet for a moment, ordering his thought. "I was born in Istanbul, less than a year before the First World War. Do you know about that one?" Quatre asked, seeing Trowa shake his head in reply. "Ah, it's not really important. My father was a Turk, and my mother, his second wife, was an Austrian. The war brought hard times to us all... and my mother died of disease when I was barely two years old. My father lost his job with the government, and his eldest son never came home from fighting. Ever since then my father considered me bad luck... I haven't been given much reason to doubt his conclusion.
"I went to school for a bit, and was given a proper education. I learned to read and write in several languages, mathematics, religious science, and music. Times got even harder, and it became impossible to support my schooling any longer my father tried to put me too work. There wasn't much for me, I was either too young, too small, didn't have enough education. As we grew poorer, even further doors were shut, so I played my second hand violin on the corner for money. It wasn't much of a living really, just a few bits to prove I wasn't completely worthless to my father and his other children.
"It was the winter of my thirteenth year, mild enough I suppose, but still unpleasant, when I was... stumbled upon by a European noble. I doubt that's true, I'm sure Lucien... Khushrenada, had been eyeing me for some time, marking me. He said I was a genius in the making, all I need was more instruction, more exposure. My father was all but too eager to get rid of me, it felt like I was being sold to tell you the truth. He took some money for the income I might have brought in, and then left me to the kindness of the stranger. All he asked was that if something went wrong, I would be returned safely. Lucien took me away, tutored me, I became quite good, no genius, but good enough for a gimmick. He took to me to parlor parties, dressed me up as a sheik and had me recite bits of the Koran between songs. We traveled by day, Lucien in his own couchette,{2} and wherever we arrived we offered ourselves as entertainment for the night. He made me into an amusement... but I didn't care.
"It was a dream come true, free from poverty, from long days in ugly surroundings. I had never cared for my father anymore than he had ever cared for me. What's more, Lucien was fascinating to me. He was sophisticated, kind when he wanted to be, attractive, and his innate sensuality fooled me into thinking he really cared about me. I didn't suspect a thing about what he was, I never questioned him. I loved him, you see, but it was childish, a... crush, really. He didn't care, not truly... I was being groomed for one night. The culmination of his hard work, the effort he put into making me into something fine enough to display. It's very vivid... the night I was forced to leave so much of myself behind.
Quatre swallowed, his voice was becoming strained, but Trowa leaned back against him, silently urging him to continue. "He watched me play, corrected my form, my ear for the notes, my manners. I was fifteen that year... old enough to understand how erotic his touches could be. I'd never been kissed before... never even really, ah, touched in that way, you could forgive a person for getting lost in a moment like that. When he did, finally, lean down and kiss me I didn't fight it. I wanted it, and it was nice to be wanted, but it was all I could give at that point, just a kiss. Everything else was too far beyond what I was feeling, I was excited, yes, but so very naive. He... persisted... forcefully, and there was nothing I could do.
"I thought it would be okay... that, in spite of everything he'd just done, the pain I'd just endured, it was just a rocky step towards true love. He waited, never let me see what he really was, and when he... was done, I forgave him... then he drank. I don't know why he... made me what I am, but it's the one thing I can't forgive. Condemning me to live forever at the price of others, for so long trapped by the movements of the sun. He was even so cruel as to leave me in the body of a child, and when my father died a few years later, I became his 'son.' Bound to him as effectively as if I'd been his slave.
"I don't even know why he bothered to keep me. I've seen him take hundreds of prot�g�s, perfecting them for a single night, but he killed them all. He believes he deserves to feed upon the best, and each night he goes in search of something exquisite, all the while putting the finishing touches on a special feast. It makes no sense, no matter how I hurt him he would not let me go. He hated me, he must have but kept me by his side. A vicious cycle was born, I would do all that I could to hurt him, wound him, emotionally and physically, and I would be punished however Lucien saw fit.
"It was decades before I escaped, the Second World War began that year. I was in France at the time, utterly fascinated by the battles I saw unfolding. I became a member of the Resistance there, I guess it seemed the proper romance novel thing to do. I was an assassin, working only at night, appearing only when needed. I learned something then... I like war. Being a soldier is a lark for me. I felt no fear since weapons cannot kill me, only a rush of excitement. When that war ended, I found my calling, going from conflict to conflict and offering my services.
"Lucien must have been looking for me all that time, because every time I took a side, he took the other. He became an archrival, throwing everything he could at me, exploiting my limitations as well as I did his. To live I fed on the enemy and my own men, but when there was no war to fight, I created families. I would play the long lost son, be adopted, become a hired hand, or someone's lover, whatever it to stay away from my own kind. It became a game, choosing new identities, new causes, new families, all of it amounting only to entertainment. I became Lucien during those many years, begging for distraction from the unhappiness that ate me away from within. I didn't want to admit that, but I can see it so clearly now.
"You know... Quatre Raberba Winner is my crowning achievement. I used everything in my power to create him. When I found the family they were newlyweds, I became the woman's friend, close advisor. With my advice they created a large family to keep me busy and to tend to the estate. I told her next to try for a natural pregnancy, to have no fear of the possible complications. When the time came, I killed her, and the child she bore, he looked too much like the father. The blonde child he raised was just another manufactured child who was really more trouble than he was worth.
"From his work and mine, I found myself with forty toy soldiers, and a new, powerful plaything called a Gundam. It should have meant nothing to me, but something was different about this time. This time I pretended to care, Quatre cared even when Aurel watched, barely interested. Somehow I made friends, started to believe the sisters I'd fabricated really cared for me, and then, the ultimate stupidity for a creature such as myself." He buried his face in the back of Trowa's neck. "I ruined it all be falling in love with you."
Trowa was silent for a long moment, eyes still closed as he worked through the story he'd just heard. He felt Quatre's lips against his neck, and stretched it a little to make it more accessible before suddenly smirking. "You're looking for a place to bite aren't you?"
Quatre's eyes snapped open, starting to reflexively deny it, but stopping when he knew there was no use. "I thought you were asleep," he said sheepishly. He huffed a little, "I just don't want five months ago to be the last time I tasted you." He moved away a little, resting his cheek on the back of Trowa's shoulder.
"It's all right. You can if you want to," Trowa said softly. "You could... you could make me what you are."
Quatre grimaced, but didn't let Trowa see the anguish such a plea gave him. "I can't- could *never* do that, Trowa. I'm sorry, don't ask that of me."
"But we could-"
"No," Quatre insisted. "You don't understand. You can't know how important something like humanity is until you lose it. I won't let everything that you are be destroyed by bitterness, I wont lose you that way. I love you too much to- to damn you like I have been. Please, don't want for that, and don't hate me for not giving it."
Trowa recoiled, confused and vaguely hurt by Quatre's refusal, but knowing better than to argue. Slowly, he closed his eyes, willing himself to become dead to the world, finally wanting some time away from reality. Quatre listened to the sounds of Trowa's breathing, noting the change but still waiting for Trowa to be caught in a deeper sleep. He slid carefully off the bed, rounding it to kneel before the other side, memorizing Trowa's face as he had one night before. Gently, he lifted Trowa's wrist to his lips, and made a small cut, just enough to steal a few drops of blood.
He sat back, making sure the wound didn't bleed too much before clotting. //I could... I could make him a vampire... what I am. I've never done it, so I don't know that it would kill his spirit like it did mine. Maybe if it were done with love, it would be all right...// Quatre closed his eyes and shook his head, abhorring such foolishness. //I don't even know if I'll survive tonight, I won't leave him alone and a monster.// Trowa's wrist had stopped bleeding and Quatre licked away the few errant trickles.
He turned away, glancing at that clock in the cable box, it was another three hours until sunrise, but he would wait. He leaned close again, whispering a kiss across Trowa's forehead, before moving off to the far side of the room to sit in resignation to his fate. The sky began to pale, and sleep fought to overcome him, but he forced himself awake but keeping his vigil just outside the door. Dawn had never looked so ugly to him, but he pushed his body into movement, locking the door and praying to a god he only resented to keep Trowa safe. //That's all I ask,// he thought as he started down the stairs. //Punish me as harshly as you dare for all I've done, but let no harm come to him.//
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{1} In case you didn't catch it back in Part Three, Quatre (and others) has undergone a type of genetic therapy that leaves him invulnerable to sun. It's expensive so only the richest vampires can afford. (Kitty-chan likes to pretend science and logic don't exist)
{2} A couchette is a sleeping car in a train. ^_^ That's all.
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