Descent from the Cross:
Part One
By: Kitty E.
It was really quite sad sometimes, that mortals would offer their lives so freely. It both pleased and disturbed Quatre that this was so, especially as he made his way through the twilight back to his loft, a jittery teenager following him close behind, lured by the promise of some cheap X. It's like they *want* to die, drugs and dangerous companions, running away... trusting strangers. The kid's false bravado began to slowly fade, and Quatre was suddenly halted by a nervous demand.
"Dude, how much further? You said you had it, if you're just looking for another hook up, I'm leaving," the boy held back, looking suspicious and afraid.
Quatre turned to face him, he didn't smile, but lifted his brow as if shocked by the accusation. "I said I have it, it's just at my apartment. I don't like to deal in the open air. Hey, if you don't want it, I got other people I can ask."
The kid still hesitated, looking back down the street, before shaking his head. "Whatever," he murmured, following Quatre with renewed vigor, as if getting it done quickly would help him to avoid the impending danger he felt in his gut.
Quatre stopped again, this time by a familiar voice calling his name, he whipped around and saw a black shrouded figure trotting towards him, a thick rope of hair trailing after him. "Quatre! Holy *shit* is that you?"
Quatre did not answer him yet, staring at the boy until his stepped away and into a shadow. "Duo."
"What are you, I mean... dammit where the hell have you been? We've *needed* you! Heero is *still* in the fucking hospital because-" Duo stopped himself when he saw the teenager waiting in the alley, looking scared again.
"He shouldn't have gone solo... where *were* you."
Quatre was unprepared for this, and he was tempted to nurse the voice that said he shouldn't care. But he had always liked Duo, and news of Heero's injury hit him hard. "Things have changed," he said softly.
"I'll bet," Duo sneered, he was angry but not hostile. "Have you even kept an *eye* on what's going on? It's a fucking war Quatre, and it's getting worse, you don't dip out when things change."
"We didn't hide them," Quatre insisted. "You could have found replacements." Two months of training and you'd have a warm body in the pilot seat, they weren't *that* unique.
"It's hard to find replacements when you can barely spend two nights in a row in one place. Wait... *we?*" Duo asked. "Trowa, ne? That little bastard is alive, too? Dammit Quatre, what's going on, you and he are on a freaking honeymoon? That's what changed?"
Quatre shook his head, "Duo-"
"No," he said firmly. He took a step back, but did not try to calm himself. "I don't care. You should have said something, you should have fucking stayed. When Heero gets out you'll be lucky if he doesn't try to kill you again. Come back. Come back and fulfill your fucking promise." Duo paused, and was further angered by the silence, he received. "Say it, Quatre."
The blonde shifted, Trowa wasn't ready to fight, and Quatre found the entire thing distasteful now. War was war, he'd seen so many he barely remembered they're names, let alone who was on what side. He didn't have to care, didn't have to put him and his lover in jeopardy for some mortal almost-brother figure and his near psychotic lover. "I can't promise anything. But if he's strong enough, I will."
"Yeah..." Duo sighed as he began to walk away. "Whatever Quatre."
Quatre turned to see if his quarry had fled, but the quasi-party kid remained. "Sounds like you're in some deep shit."
Amused laughed caught in his throat and then burst through, the unabashed sound and smile made Quatre seem almost too young. "Yes. Yes, I am, but it's nothing you should be concerned with. Come on, we're almost there." He jerked his head toward the apartment building down the street, and thought it a small wonder that the kid would actually be reassured by the exchange he'd just witnessed. It wasn't danger he was worried about... it was a fake deal.
They found themselves at the door of the loft soon enough, and Quatre unlocked and held it open for a moment before stepping inside. Trowa was still asleep, and that was for the best. His newly Turned lover shied away from death and killing, and Quatre was still lost on how to approach the subject. He heard the door close behind him, and without looking, he swung his arm back, wrist connecting hard with the boy's throat. He shifted his weight to keep the struggling body trapped between him and the wall. He hated to take a life violently but he no longer had the will to take his time, the nights were to be spent with Trowa, not on the hunt. His windpipe crushed, the boy died with little sound but much fighting. When, at last, he succumbed, Quatre let him fall, slumping down onto the easily cleaned tile foyer.
Quatre took a moment to consider the life he'd taken, already shifting to turn away. He'd deal with the body later, or get some misguided newborn to take care of it. Quietly, he made his way to the bedroom, flicking off the living room light as he went. Blackout curtains on the window allowed him to step into near perfect darkness. He pulled one aside and is greeted by the gray night sky of the city, and when he turned back he found Trowa watching him. "You left early," Trowa noted, sitting up a little on the bed.
The only response he received was a body settling beside him and two arms coming around his waist. "How long before the gene therapy can begin?" he asked persistently.{1} He missed the sun, and resented being trapped while Quatre could move freely through the daylight.
Quatre rubbed his cheek carefully across Trowa's fall of auburn hair. "Very soon, by the end of the week. Though I should think you'll have to build your strength a little more before we go in."
The cheek in his hair was warm and pink, and Quatre smelled of a stranger. He did not let it bother him, and just thought of the small wonder that another night was theirs. All the things that might have been, death and abandonment, ignorance of the love for which he had been willing to endure them, were now only forgotten possibilities. Quatre was here, and he would never leave again. Eternity was theirs to share, and the mere of thought of this was enough to ease the fear left within him by his dreams. Nightmares, he corrected, and moved so that he was closer to Quatre. "Do you dream, Quatre? When you sleep, do you still dream?"
Quatre shook his head, "Not anymore. Dreams are different for creatures like us, they're memories... that with which we are not at peace."
Trowa nodded, it made sense. He licked his lips and fought with himself about how to continue. Though there was no reason he should yet be independent, the *dependency* upon Quatre at every turn frustrated him. "I still dream," he remarked, as if it were an offhanded comment meant to continue their conversation rather than an admission of pain.
Quatre's arms tightened around him, he sighed softly. "Oh Trowa... of what?"
"Of dying," he admitted, knowing no other way to get the words out other than with a truly amazing lack of emotion. "Of being killed."
The soft body behind him moved, shifting to kiss Trowa's forehead, and lashes. "It will fade, Trowa, I promise. Death is no longer your enemy, you'll see that soon. I'll help you forget."
Trowa leaned into the weight of this promise, and let it support him. He relaxed further when Quatre lifted his pale wrist to Trowa's lips. He bit gently, but not shyly, Quatre's blood was as much source of comfort as mother's milk and was offered just as freely. He drank until Quatre tugged his hand away softly then licked the wound clean until it closed. Quatre tilted up his chin, and kissed him. He still tasted Quatre's dark blood, his mouth was filled with it, but there was a second flavor now, new blood, red blood. He pulled away, suddenly reminded of Quatre's kill, afraid of and unable to hide from the bloodlust that was now the only thing on his mind.
"You don't have to fight it, Trowa," Quatre whispered. He had never known this struggle himself, for he had only found anger after being Turned, anger that translated well into the hunt. By the time he had regained enough of his compassion to care about the lives he took he had already come to terms with the fact that killing was a part of him.
"I don't want to anymore," he said, meeting his lover's eyes. He almost shivered at the smile that was there, and methodically he reminded himself that Quatre was not a daemon, just not human. And neither am I.
Quatre squeezed him once and kissed him quickly, "Get dressed, we'll start tonight while the conviction is there."
Trowa nodded and began to do so, halfway through button his shirt he turned to find Quatre watching him. "Will I like it, Quatre?"
His lover had somber eyes, "You will be... satisfied, I'm sure."
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{1} There's a type of gene therapy referred to like twice in ABA, it allows a kind impenetrable sunscreen to be made in a vampire's skin... thus they walk in the day with out burning. I know... but hey, vampires or science they can't both exist.
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