Part 10
Quatre was worried. It was not in his nature to worry, because on the streets, worrying amounted to nothing. However, he was still deeply concerned about Trowa. The man they'd seen seemed to hate Trowa, and Trowa didn't appear to know him.
He tried to take Trowa's mind off it with good natured chatter about the opera. Quatre had loved it, feeling the music swell around him and fill his heart. He'd also enjoyed the chance to touch Trowa so publicly. He'd noticed Duo and Heero, and they seemed to exchange the subtle gestures and touches of two people who were deeply in love. Quatre planned on asking Duo how he did it.
Quatre went to his room, stripping out of the itchy clothes quickly. He pulled on a night shirt and quickly went back across the hall. He didn't like sleeping alone. His parents had often left him alone as a child when they went to work in the factories. He'd spent days on the streets and nights alone in their tiny flat. One day, his parents simply hadn't come home at all. He'd been with Aunt Mattie since then. But he couldn't bear to live alone.
He opened the door a crack, watching Trowa strip from his own clothes. Quatre admired the lean, sleek body. Trowa was a mystery to him, a long, complicated piece of music that hid passion in its calm, simple notes. He wanted to know about the boy that had invited him-- a complete stranger-- to live in this house and educate him like a high born. He waited until Trowa was wearing his night shirt before entering.
Trowa smiled at him, though his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. Trowa climbed into bed, and Quatre climbed in next to him.
"Yer thinkin' too hard, I can't sleep," Quatre teased gently. Trowa blinked.
"Sorry," he said, distracted. Quatre let out a gust of breath in frustration.
"Do you be thinkin' o' the man who gave yeh the evil eye a' the opera?" Quatre tried again.
"Treize Kushrenada, yes," Trowa said, distracted. "I think I've heard of him before, but I can't recall where..."
Quatre nodded to himself. He would find out tomorrow. "Ye shouldna think o' it now, ye needsta sleep."
"Quatre, you distract me," Trowa said. Quatre grinned.
"Distractin', is it?" he said and let his fingers creep under Trowa's night shirt, rubbing gentle circles along his stomach and chest. Trowa moaned. Quatre prodded him gently until he turned over, then began to rub his tense back muscles. Trowa moaned on occasion, but mostly felt himself falling into the warm embrace of sleep.
"Good night, Quatre," Trowa mumbled before sleep took him. Quatre nodded in satisfaction, then dropped a kiss on his lips.
"Good night, Tro'a," Quatre said softly, and curled up to Trowa.
The next morning, Quatre woke first and reluctantly left the warm bed and it's occupant. He slipped into his room and grabbed a pair of old clothes, ones that would be more appropriate for where he was going.
He went downstairs, nicking an apple for breakfast and slipped out the kitchen door. Quatre slipped easily into his old habits and went to one of his old haunts, Flower Street. The girls and the occasional boy were happy to see him.
"Nice ta see ya, Kitty-Kat," said one of the girls. Quatre grinned.
"Nice ta be seeing ye as well, Mary," Quatre said, offering her a mock bow. She giggled.
"I heard ya be livin' wit' a rich man now. Why ye be nobbin' wit' da likes o' us," Mary asked. Quatre looked serious.
"It be fer 'im I be askin'," Quatre said soberly. "There be a man givin' 'im the evil eye named Treize Kushrenada. I ken ye girls are de most learned peoples in all o' London." The girls giggled again. "Can ye no' tell me what ye ken o' 'im?"
"Kushrenada, hmm... he be a foreigner fro' the Russias. He wasna rich when 'e came 'ere, bu' 'e was right smart an' made 'is money quickly. Most o' rich London doesna like 'im because o' it. 'e married a rich lady... I dinna ken 'oo."
Quatre nodded. "Do ye ken where 'e lives?"
"Nah. He isna custom, I be hearin' o' 'im from other custom tha' dinna like 'im."
"Thank ye, flowers o' wisdom an' beauty," Quatre said, sketching a bow. He lowered his voice a fraction. "Is one o' the boys workin'?" he asked quietly. Mary's eyebrow raised a fraction.
"Aye, an' 'e be foreign too. Oi, Wufei, come 'ere!" Mary called. Quatre turned to see a young man his height with flashing black eyes and longish black hair, pulled back severly in a short tail. He bowed his head shortly to Quatre.
"How may I help you?" he said in perfect English, the kind Quatre had been forced to learn. Quatre made a note to ask Trowa if they couldn't invite this one to stay with them. He drew Wufei aside and spoke to him in a soft whisper. Both his eyebrows raised and he was hard pressed to keep a laugh of amusement off his face. He nodded and dug in his pocket, offering Quatre something he quickly concealed.
"Thank ye Wufei," Quatre said, also bowing. "Should ye be in need o' 'elp, dinna 'esitate ta find me."
"I will remember. Thank you," Wufei said with a bow. Quatre nodded to him again and vanished. He went to visit his aunt, then spent the rest of the day dodging police officers. It was hours past sun down and his last meal when Quatre finally slipped in.
He made for the stairs and was stopped short by Trowa calling his name.
"Aye?" Quatre said, turning around. He was struck by what he saw. Trowa was furious.
"Where were you?" Trowa demanded. Quatre's eyes flashed.
"Ye dinna own me Tro'a, ta be askin' me in such a fashion," he said tartly.
"You have been missing all day, and I have searched for hours. I demand to know where you were!" Trowa shouted, hands beginning to shake. Quatre's eyes blazed with fury.
"Ye demand nothin' from me, Tro'a Barton! I be where I be, an' when ye are no' in such a snit, ye can ask me proper," Quatre said coldly, walking upstairs to his room. He stripped off his clothes, throwing them into a corner in fury. He walked to the bathroom and drew himself a bath, settling into the hot water.
"Ye couldna ha' said "I missed ye, Quatre"," Quatre muttered bitterly to the water. He scrubbed himself until pink and rubbed water on his face to wash the tears away. When he finished, Quatre dried himself and returned to his own room, to bury himself in his cold sheets. The tears began again.
At approximately the same time, Trowa was walking around the house, muttering to himself angrily. One of the maids whispered that he had finally caught the Barton madness.
"Why did he not tell me where he was going? Didn't he realise I would worry? Didn't he care that I would worry?" Trowa muttered, finally walking upstairs. He could he a faint noise coming from Quatre's room. His worry beat his anger and he cautiously opened the door. He couldn't see the blond boy under the sheets and blankets. He walked in, and the sound got louder, the noise the unmistakable sound of someone crying.
He knelt immediately by the beside, feeling awash with guilt. "Quatre! Quatre, speak to me!" Trowa said urgently. The crying stopped a moment and the blankets stirred. Quatre's tearstained face peered at him a moment.
"Go 'way, I dinna wan' ye t' yell a' me," Quatre mumbled, and his head returned to the pillow. Trowa felt utterly wretched.
"I won't yell. I'm sorry Quatre, a hundred times I'm sorry," Trowa whispered, stroking the form under the bed. "I was so worrried when you disappeared. I was afraid you'd left me, and I couldn't bear that..." Trowa closed his eyes briefly. His eyes seemed brighter.
"I dinna mean fer ya ta fraich," Quatre whispered. "I only wan' ta help ye, an' tha's wha' I did... but ye were so angry..."
"Shh, shh, my little one," Trowa said soothingly. He pulled the sheets away from Quatre, wrapping his arms around the blond boy and pulled him close, rocking him. Quatre sighed happily, knowing their first quarrel was over.
TBC...
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