Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ In the Arms of the Angel ❯ Quatre - 6 ( Chapter 12 )

Part XII

"I'll have another."

The bartender reached into the cooler and spun a bottle of Smirnoff Ice out, setting it down on the worn bar with a small thud before ripping the cap off with a bottle opener that hung from his belt. The bartender turned on his heel and walked over to another customer who was calling out his order as he leaned over the bar. Quatre took a sip, placing the bottle back on the bar, curling his hands around the bottle, and cradling it as he stared into the top of the bottle. His eyes couldn't focus very well since the bottle was so close to his face. He looked through the double bottleneck at the white liquid. He mused that the other four bottles that he had already emptied also had an effect on his inability to focus clearly. He shrugged, smirking into his bottle before taking several large gulps. The alcohol warmed his stomach and he started to peel at the label as he let the warmth course through him.

The bar was basically a hole in the wall. Everything was worn, old and unkempt. The bar was in disarray but it had good alcohol. The bartender was big and burly. He looked as if he had been a linebacker in football or perhaps a rugby player. He wasn't old, but he was long past young. He had a half smile that he wore everywhere and he was either humming or whistling along to the music that played from the archaic jukebox in the corner, or to anything that seemed to be in his head. The bar was permanently encased in a shroud of old smoke, and not all of it from tobacco. Quatre wrinkled his nose at the sicky sweet exhalations drifting through the cramped space.

He took another gulp of the malt beverage. He peeled away the main label, slapping it down on the bar and smoothing it out so it displayed proudly that the bar was a Smirnoff Ice. He took another sip and began working on the back label that declared that the drink was harmful to pregnant women and that the drink impaired the consumer's ability to react. Good, Quatre mused; I don't want to react. I don't want to think -- I want to forget.

A nervous man sat at the bar next to him and ordered a drink. Quatre finished peeling the back label away from his drink and his lips pulled back into an ornery grin. He observed the nervous man throwing glances over his shoulder at some nondescript man lounging at one of the tables shoved carelessly against the wall. Quatre grinned anew. Nervous man obviously had a thing for nondescript man. Quatre placed the label on the palm of his hand, sticky side up. He tucked a corner between his fingers so it wouldn't slip off of his hand. He leaned over to the nervous man and gently placed his hand on his shoulder. The man jumped in his seat. Quatre smiled and jerked his chin in the direction of the nondescript man, gently rubbing the label onto the man's shoulder.

"He's been looking at you." Quatre took his hand away and shrugged. "Just thought you might want to know." The man narrowed his eyes.

"Why would I want to know?" Nervous man's voice was shaky and unnaturally high. Quatre had been correct. He shrugged again, taking a slow sip of his drink.

"You just seem interested." Nervous man nodded and turned to face the nondescript man. Quatre grinned at his handy work. The nervous man was now a danger to pregnant women and impaired the ability of people to drive. Quatre suppressed his chuckle in his hand as he fought with himself to take a steady drink of alcohol without splashing it everywhere. It didn't really work, and he ended up trying to brush stray liquid off of his lap. He sighed. He was drunk.

He finished the bottle and motioned to the bartender to close out his tab. He blinked a couple times at the slip of paper he was supposed to sign. The line kept moving and the pen did as well, so he just closed his eyes and hoped that he was signing the paper and signing his signature and not something else. Dropping the pen into the bar, he collected his coat and staggered out of the bar.

It was raining. The warm glow from the streetlights seemed like a halo in the falling rain. The warm lights highlighted diagonal streaks of falling water and puddles slowly began to form. Quatre spread his arms and twirled, dancing in the rain. He splashed through the water, kicking it and jumping into the spreading puddles. A car zoomed past, spraying a wall of muddy water at Quatre. The wave collapsed on his head, drenching him with mud. At first he laughed, but as he continued to walk through the falling rain, he began to sober up. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets and slouched as he remembered his day.

Work had driven him to seek refuge at the bar. One of his sisters had shown up toward the end of the day, and he had already been having a bad day. He had been swamped with paperwork and meetings all day and then Kelly storms into his office screaming at him.

"Quatre Winner, I want to know what you were thinking when you took on this commission. Its improper!" Quatre drew his eyebrows together in confusion.

"What are you talking about, Kelly?" She shook some papers in his face.

"You know very well what I'm talking about, young man. How dare you take the Swiss Account! You know they were supplying weapons during the war! And here you go dumping everything we stand for down the drain because little boys want to play with guns." Quatre slammed his hands down on his desk bolting out of his chair. He was seething with anger at the derogatory way she was speaking to him.

"This is a business, Kelly, so I suggest that you conduct yourself as such." He took in a deep breath, hoping to calm down. "And I suggest that you read up on current events, Kelly, the Swiss Company hasn't manufactured weapons since the end of the first war." Kelly leaned forward.

"Don't you dare speak down to me, Quatre Winner. I am your older sister. I think I deserve some respect."

"And I, Ms. Winner, am your boss. I think that I deserve to be treated as such, and not the ten year old boy that you insist that I still am!" Kelly's eyes narrowed.

"Well, if you grew up and became responsible, I wouldn't need to treat you that way." Quatre's jaw clenched and he could hear his teeth grinding together. Why couldn't she keep this shit out of the office? Why did she have to bring personal matters into the office? Why couldn't she discuss this with him over the phone after working hours? He wanted to pull out his hair and run screaming down the hall. Hell, he'd even admit himself into a mental institution to get as far away from this as possible. He gripped the edge of his desk with numbing fingers. He absently watched his knuckles turn white.

"I think that we should discuss this another day when you aren't as upset. Perhaps we should sit down tomorrow around two o'clock. Does that sound good?"

"Do not patronize me, Quatre. This needs to be discussed now! We are not going to give the impression that we have anything to do with war!"

"Have you forgotten, Kelly, that I fought in that war? Yet I head this company." Kelly shook her head.

"You didn't manufacture weapons that killed." Quatre's eyes narrowed.

"No, I just used them." Kelly threw the paperwork at him and he caught it with one hand against his chest. A few pages fluttered down around his feet.

"You will release the Swiss Account. Winner Enterprises will not have anything to do with them. You will take care of this tonight." Quatre calmly looked at his watch. It was already after six. He slowly raised his eyes to meet his sister's.

"I will not release the Swiss Account. I will decide, not you. You are in Accounts Receivables, not even a manager. I am the CEO. If this were any other company you would have been fired on the spot for barging in here like you did. Don't think that you can tell me what to do and treat me like a child because you are my sister. This is a business, not a committee. It is after six; the workday is finished. I'm going home." Quatre set the papers neatly on his desk and picked up his briefcase. "I will forget about this, but do not let it happen again. I will not hesitate to let you go. You will leave your personal feelings at home and operate in a professional manner at all times within this building. I expect it from you as much as any other employee. Good day, Ms. Winner." Kelly gaped at him as he walked by her. She grabbed his elbow.

"Do not threaten me, Quatre. I can have you removed from your precious position." Quatre looked at her sadly.

"Go right ahead."

Quatre shook himself out of his stupor, gazing curiously around him. Where the fuck was he? He spotted his apartment building to the right. Oh. He silently trudged through the rain toward his home. How did his sisters ever get the idea that they could walk over him like that? And why the hell hadn't he ever stood up for himself? He didn't understand.

The rest of he walk home was a blur of tears, rain and questions. He was soaked and still a little drunk. He felt as though he was a pushover who couldn't stand up for himself. Why was he so pathetic?

He unlocked his front door and slowly stepped inside. He closed the door with his butt as he sagged against the door. He slid down, his arms wrapping around his knees as the tears he had been holding back almost all day finally were let loose. He barely heard Trowa's concerned query. He sobbed into his arms, ignoring the rest of the world. Strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him away from the door. He turned his face into Trowa's chest and bawled.

"Shh, its okay. Everything will be alright. Just let it out." Trowa's whispers helped calm him and as soon as he thought that he could speak, he tired to tell Trowa what was wrong. Instead, more sobs than words fell from his mouth. He tried to get around the hiccups and gasps for air, but Trowa smiled. "Its okay, Quatre. Take a deep breath." Quatre nodded, fighting the need to break into fresh tears. After a few minutes he felt as though he could try again.

"Why am I so weak?" Trowa's eyebrows pinched together and his lips turned into a frown.

"What makes you say that?" Quatre looked away from Trowa's penetrating gaze.

"I can't even stand up to my sisters. I let them walk all over me, and I don't even know its happening until it's too late." Trowa cupped his cheek, but Quatre refused to meet his eyes.

"Is that what happened?" Quatre nodded. "Is that why you reek of alcohol?" Quatre nodded again. "Is that why you're covered in mud?" Quatre laughed.

"No. A car splashed me on the way home."

"Oh." Trowa ran his fingers through Quatre's hair. "Want to tell me what happened?" Quatre finally raised his eyes and began telling his story. He watched the way that Trowa's eyes changed with every emotion. He could tell that Trowa was angered by his sister's actions, and disappointed by Quatre's visit to the bar.

"I don't know why they treat me like that -- " Quatre trailed off. Trowa looked at him in query. "Oh. I think I know." Trowa tilted his head.

"Why?" Quatre suddenly couldn't look at Trowa. If Trowa knew, then he'd leave. Quatre stood, backing away from Trowa, shaking his head.

"Nothing important. They just don't agree with a choice I made." Trowa had stood as well.

"The war?" Quatre looked away.

"No."

"Then what?" Quatre turned his back to Trowa.

"Don't . . ." He felt gentle hands grasp his shoulders.

"What? You can tell me." Quatre shook his head again, raising his hands to hide his face.

"I'm gay. They don't like the fact that I'm gay. Ever since then, they've treated me like a child, I imagine because they feel like I can't make my own decisions." He felt a gentle tug at his wrists and he reluctantly dropped his hands, keeping his eyes shut. A warm hand cupped his cheek.

"So? Being gay doesn't give them that right. There's nothing wrong with being gay, Quatre. Nothing." Quatre slowly opened his eyes and gazed into Trowa's eyes. He never really noticed that they were outlined in blue and the green faded into brown around the pupils.

"Your eyes are so pretty." His eyes widened as he realized what he had said. "Shit, I'm still drunk." He then groaned as he realized that he had said that out loud. Trowa just laughed.

"Thank you." Trowa cupped his face in his hands. "I think your eyes are beautiful. But you are all muddy. I think you need to take a shower." Trowa chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe it will help you sober up." Quatre snorted.

"I've been thinking that I was sobering up all night, but then I get drunk again! I think my drinks were on a time-released formula." Trowa laughed, his eyes squeezing shut, and Quatre giggled with him. Trowa steered him into his bedroom.

"Now get. I'll have supper done in a few." Quatre shed his muddy coat.

"Yes mom." Trowa placed his hand on his hip, thrusting that hip out as he leaned forward. He spoke in an exaggeratedly high pitched voice while shaking a finger with every word.

"Don't forget to scrub behind your ears, young man." Quatre clutched his stomach in laughter as Trowa turned and walked out of the room undulating his hips in an exaggerated feminine strut.

Once under the hot spray, Quatre sat, hugging his knees to his chest. The hot water felt so good, and he closed his eyes leaning against the tiled wall. Trowa didn't hate him. He said that it was okay. For the first time in years, he felt good. He felt accepted, and he didn't feel dirty.

He thought about Trowa and all of the support that he had given him over the last few months. Trowa had been a steady bulwark, keeping Quatre on his feet on more than one occasion. Quatre knew that without Trowa, he wouldn't have survived. He pictured Trowa in his mind. Trowa was smiling, eyes sparkling as Quatre complimented on how wonderful a cook he was. Quatre couldn't cook for shit, and Trowa had good-humoredly agreed on the only night that Quatre had tried to cook for Trowa.

He remembered the fear that was raging through Trowa's eyes the night of their fight, when Trowa had walked in to him playing with a baggie of drugs. He remembered how desperate Trowa had seemed. He smiled at the memory of Trowa carrying him into their apartment.

Their. It was no longer Quatre's apartment; it belonged to both of them. Quatre couldn't imagine what the apartment would be like without Trowa. It would be so incredibly empty. Trowa made the world a better place, just by his very presence. The fact that he was attractive didn't matter one bit.

Trowa was gorgeous, and Quatre had spent the last three months fantasizing about Trowa. He didn't say anything because he was too chicken. Even if he had been straight, he would've waited for the girl to ask. He couldn't. So he had dreamed of what it would be like to be kissed by Trowa, of what Trowa's hands would feel like on his face.

At least he now knew what Trowa's hands felt like.

He stood up and finished his shower at the first telltale sign that the water would be growing cold. The water turned frigid as he turned the tap off. He stepped out and dried himself off before pulling on a fresh pair of boxers and joining Trowa for dinner.

"Mmmm. What are you making tonight?" Trowa grinned at him from inside the kitchen as Quatre sat on one of the barstools.

"Lasagna." Quatre licked his lips in appreciation.

"Sounds wonderful -- smells wonderful." Trowa pulled out the lasagna from the oven and placed it on top of the stove.

"You're still drunk." Trowa was smiling. Quatre shrugged.

"Well, I did have about five beers in about an hour and a half." Trowa shook his head.

"You're getting water." Quatre laughed.

"Fine by me." He watched Trowa move around the kitchen for a moment. He turned serious. "You don't hate me now?" Trowa turned to him in shock.

"Why? Because you're gay?" Trowa chuckled. "If I hated you, then I would have to hate myself." Quatre frowned, not understanding. Trowa rested his forearms on the counter, leaning toward Quatre. "I'm gay as well." Quatre's jaw fell open and Trowa's laughter echoed through the apartment. "The look on your face!"

"You are?" Trowa just nodded. "Oh." Quatre's heart beat just a little bit faster.

"Dinner's ready." Quatre moved to the kitchen table where everything was waiting.

"It looks wonderful." Trowa smirked at him as he sat down.

"Stop talking and eat, Quatre. I know my food is good, you praise me all night for it." Quatre blushed as he handed Trowa his plate. Trowa heaped the lasagna high.

"Well, it is. I can't help it." Trowa handed Quatre's full plate back to him before serving himself.

"Its okay. It makes me feel good." Quatre smiled before taking a bit. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.