All the Things You Never Knew:
Part Nine
By: Kitty E.
Trowa sat stiffly in a small wooden chair drawn up alongside a large wooden bed, and listened to the silence. His father had fallen ill, and Trowa felt obligated to pay him the same respects he had given his mother when she had passed. Duo wandered in whenever it suited him, eyes continually shifting from the pale, clammy face of his fading king, to his brother's mask like visage. Never once did their eyes meet, never once were his comments answered, and Duo felt guilty for knowing that his brother had every right to be consciously denying that he was even there. It didn't take him long to get frustrated at the silence, at being ignored, and he would turn quickly and rush out as if important business called him, leaving Trowa once again to the still quiet.
It was an imperfect silence, there was a slight whistle to his father's breathing, and at times his own breathing was all he could hear. Once and a while a whispering wind would rise and fall against the window. His father might shift and creak the bed, Trowa might shift and creak his chair, the rustle of old clothes, and the rustle of bedclothes, but Trowa never spoke, and his father never made a sound. He tried his best to keep his mind on his vigil, to keep his thoughts devoted, and appropriate, but often they wandered. When half asleep he'd mentally call for Quatre, in dream felt him close, heard his voice, but when he was awake he struggled to reconcile the hate he felt for Quatre only because he loved him. He wished that he had never heard Quatre's name, nor been aware of his existence, but the world, and his own soul were marked with the changes he had brought. A constant reminder he both resented and cherished.
He sat until at last the silence was truly broken, by a whispered word. "Trowa?"
Though his eyes had been open, Trowa blinked before looking to his father, blocking out his thoughts, and leaning forward. "Yes."
The old man looked around with almost blind eyes, "Heero has not come?"
Trowa sighed, then was silent for a moment as he struggled over how to respond. To play along would insult his father's intelligence, his strength, it would be pity for an enfeebled old man, not respect for a dying a king. "Heero's gone, father. Remember, he was killed in Kidas."
The furrowed brow relaxed, "That's right... that's right."
Another silence fell, but Trowa said nothing more, seeing in his father's eyes that more was to be said. "Have I...no, no, I know it's true. I've been a bad father."
Trowa shook his head tightly, "Don't say that."
"It's the truth!" the words were not strongly said, in fact they were barely above a whisper, but were filled with harsh conviction. "You don't understand. When all of you were just children, I could have died from the pride, the future I saw for you. Three sons, three healthy, strong sons, I could not have asked for more." The king's head began to shake from side to side, and his old face was taught from grief. "In my mind's eye, I could see it all, the glory that would come to the country. Heero, a warrior, yes, but a responsible leader, as well. He would fight only for what benefited his people. I didn't have a favorite, I swear, I swear. Duo had his place, alongside him, so good with words, too good, a diplomat, peacemaker." A weak hand was flung itself towards Trowa, and the boy took it, "Even for you, I had plans, saw a vision. You'd be my strategist, a wise man, a steady eye on all the country, keeping everything in harmony. The potential of my sons, only a bad father could have spoiled all three of you."
Trowa was overwhelmed, and shook his head over and over. "It's not your fault," he finally said.
"It is, it is. I even wished my own son's death, feared the other, and forgot the last. God help me, I didn't understand. I'm sorry, sorry, forgive me."
Trowa squeezed his father's hand softly, awkwardly, "There's nothing to forgive, you did your best."
"I could have done better," Treize sighed softly, he did not seem comforted at all. Still, he fell silent, eyes open but unseeing. Trowa waited, but it seemed in vain.
Reluctantly, he took a measured breath, and asked, "What are your wishes, father?"
"My... wishes?" he did not seem to understand, his eyes stayed pinned to some unseen point on the far wall.
Trowa danced around the meaning, resolving never to mention death, but only the loss of power. "Heero is gone, remember? You are still no longer the head of state, they have no legal bearing any longer, but I would try-"
"It is out of my hands, Anne, it was always out of my hands. I consider the fact that nothing has ever gone as I planned the greatest proof that there is a God." At last, the king seemed to remember his surroundings, the point in time in which he found himself, he looked at his son with confused eyes, but without fear. "Leave me now, I don't want anybody here when I..." he closed his eyes and did not say the word that had been floating in the air since even the first hint of failing health.
Trowa began to protest, but his father seemed to have already faded out of consciousness. He stood, and could not fight the impulse to stretch weary muscles. He lingered a moment longer, contemplating what had been said, and leaned in close enough for one final word with his father. "I forgive you."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Early that morning, Duo received word of the king's death through Wufei's lips in his ear. His eyes slowly opened, and his mind tumbled over the words repeatedly in a futile attempt to understand. Fingers sliding over his belly, and a soft chuckle in his ears distracted him until he at last gave up. "What? What is all this about?" He rolled onto his back, and Wufei shifted a little to give him room.
"I said your father is dead, your highness," he emphasized the improper title playful. Not yet throned, Duo was still only a prince.
Duo took these words in much better, but only replied with a hushed, "When?"
Wufei shook his head, "Impossible to say, he allowed no one in the room after Trowa left. But he *is* gone now."
Duo was quiet, and for a moment seemed lost to the world. Slowly, he reached out a hand and began to twirl a lock of Wufei's ebony hair. Wufei smiled down at him, but received none in return. "What is the protocol for all this, now that both the heir apparent, and king are dead."
Wufei rubbed his cheek against the heel of Duo's hand, "Heero's body is still being transported from Kidas, and state funerals take time. They'll be buried together. After that, it's up to the Council who is crowned. You've no real political rivals, the Barton family was too strong for anyone to even entertain the idea. It is all but guaranteed you will be crowned after the mourning period is through."
A pleasant half smile at last appeared on Duo's lips, "All that remains is to make the public love me. I'll have to speak with the advisers about starting everything off right, but only after the funerals."
The soft cheek resting in Duo's hand was pulled away. He sat up, and tried to meet Wufei's eyes but they were turned away from him.
"Damn you!" Duo recoiled from the uncharacteristic oath. "I knew it," Wufei spat. "I knew once you had all you wanted you'd forget me."
"Wufei, what have I done?" Duo asked, still too surprised, too groggy to remember his, and Wufei's, place.
"Would the advisers have given you anything but useless facts, and two-faced opinions? Would the advisers have disgraced their own honor and ethics for you?" At last, he turned to face Duo, a beautifully crafted look of pain in his eyes. "Did the advisers love you when no one else did?"
Duo shook his head, and spoke softly, but firmly. "I didn't mean it like that. I know. I know what you've done for me, but even with all that you know, and all that you have learned, you don't know enough about Kalea to help me rule, yet. That is all it meant, Wufei, nothing more. You will always be the most important to me, I swear."
Wufei sucked in a sharp breath, Duo had never said such things before, never even hinted at more than a basic appreciation for Wufei's frequent declarations of love. An imperceptible crack formed in the self-chosen mask of the manipulator, like glass it could not be fixed, and would forever remain. Fool, he thought harshly, but left the recipient of that insult unnamed. He moved closer, but offered no apology, only a soft kiss that did not choose to end at one. They fell carefully back onto the bed, and into a passion that was part reward, part celebration, and part reconciliation.
Briefly, Wufei's eyes fluttered open, and before his mind was confined only to what he was doing, and what was being done to him, he asked a last, guilty question. Freedom for my people, but not for myself... why does that no longer feel like a sacrifice?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trowa lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts were uncluttered, he was almost too numb to think, but his body seemed unaware that it was night and it should be tired. He hadn't truly slept in three days and he wondered if he would sleep again. Three deaths in one week, his brother, his soul, and his father, was surely too much fro any man to recover from. At times he worried he was being melodramatic, but there were moments where he wondered if he had even scratched the surface.
There was a soft click somewhere in the distance, but he dismissed it. A second click came, like the opening of a door, and this time much closer he sat up, and stared into the darkness. He caught only a glimpse of white skin and glittering hair, but the figure was obscured by a curtain from the bed's canopy before he could make any guess as to who it was. He made no move, either in inquiry or defense, but waited tensely for this ghost to reveal himself.
A moment later, an impossible shape appeared before him. He knew the form and said accusingly, "Quatre."
A soft gasp, and muttered curse came before Quatre relinquished his stealth, and told him, "You were supposed to be asleep."
"You weren't supposed to come back," Trowa replied dully. It hurt, Quatre voice, and presence were daggers to his numbness, forcing him to feel. It was a pain against which he had no defense, and wanted none.
Quatre came closer, but Trowa could only sense this fact in the darkness before almost weightless fingers touched his hair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I did, what I said, what I believed. I'm sorry for staying away, for testing my limits that much more. I couldn't even leave the capital, I was afraid I'd never make it back." A soft weight settled next to Trowa, "I spoke the truth when I thought I was lying, spoke lies when I thought I was telling the truth. Forgive me, Trowa, please, I do love you. Isn't that stupid?" He laughed, but sounded as if he were fighting tears.
Trowa felt an slip arm around his waist, and all but fell into the embrace, a haven of warmth and familiarity in a world that had radically changed since last he took note of it. Pulled tightly against him, at last he felt Quatre's small sobs, surprised they sounded so much like laughter. He sat, utterly still and silent, as the last of the cold, dead feelings within him were being melted with tiny, reverent kisses.
"Trowa, please, say something," an urgent plea that deserved an answer, but the only one Trowa could muster was a question.
"Why?"
Quatre shifted away, and with only starlight he tried to find the meaning of that question in Trowa's eyes. "I left because I thought there was nothing else to do. It's all I dreamt of since I was captured, and I think, even before. And for three days I lived as a free man, I went and did and said what I pleased. Whenever asked to do something I had a choice to comply or refuse. I made my own priorities, and there was no call that I had to answer. But there was no you, either. So I've come back of my own free will, and as a free man. I don't know what I want, I don't know what's within my limits to ask for, but I'd like it if I could be near you again, just for a little bit. Do you- do you still love me?"
Trowa was tempted to answer that reflexively, but took a long moment to consider everything. "I do, but I doubt you Quatre."
"I've come back, isn't that enough?" There was no reproach in Quatre's tone, no exasperation, just a sincerity that Trowa had to admit he'd never heard before.
Trowa felt in the darkness for Quatre cheek, and upon finding it stroked it softly. "It's everything, but you've come because it suits you, not because you trust me."
Quatre shook his head, "But I do."
"No," Trowa said gently. "As a free man you have to bow to me now, no one would ever expect you to be in my presence alone. To recreate all that we had, you'd have to become... my slave again. Destroy the paper I gave you, and trust that when the time came you needed to be free again that I would grant it."
A warm puff of breath was issued across Trowa's neck, and shook his head again. "I can't do that. I can't even imagine *giving* away my life, not again."
"I didn't think so, but until then Quatre, there's no real trust between us, and those words remain a lie." Quatre said nothing in reply, but settled closer. They shared a quiet moment of contemplation, the silence interrupted only when Trowa's head began to loll and he snapped awake suddenly.
"I need to sleep," he said. "I don't think I've even managed to dream since you left."
Quatre smiled, a pressed a quick kiss to Trowa's forehead, "Do you want me to stay?"
Trowa sighed softly, "No, not tonight. But soon."
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Part Ten