In Sickness

Title: The Proposition
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.

Quatre awoke hakihaking beside him. Through half cracked eyes he could make out Trowa's lithe outline. Sweat covered his body, he felt almost cold to the touch. A nightmare had crept into his sleep and stolen all his warmth away. Quatre gathered his strength and slid one arm through the space between Trowa's neck and the pillow. Next he raised his other arm and put it around Trowa's neck, only to watch it slide off. Biting his lip he tried again and managed to maneuver his arm into a crook where it would not slide off. His fingers barely laced together, he tried to pull himself closer to Trowa's figure despite his previous lack of success. In the end though he only leaned his head gently against Trowa's, his body failing him once again.

Trowa awoke to hot breath on his face. His eyes blinked open and his body almost tremored with a kind of embedded fear, something that lived inside of him so long, that even now that he had forgotten its source, the lingering memory nearly sucked the common sense right out of him. Quatre's frail arms lay wrapped around Trowa's neck. Gently Trowa felt his head; no fever. Quatre's eyes opened slowly, always a morning person even in sickness, he beamed happily at Trowa.
"Hi." He mouthed, like he were a shy person, like Trowa's touch didn't remind him of being held down while his body seized uncontrollably. Trowa buried his face into Quatre's soft chest until he could suppress the feeling of tears in the back of his eyes and throat. A weak hand thread itself through his hair.
"Do you still want to go?" He asked once his face was again its usual stone.
Quatre's eyes took on an inquisitive nature. Before he grew weak hed hed his body more to signal his words. It glowed with the rest of him as he spoke, lighting up a room. But now, now it didn't do anything.
"To visit your sister." Trowa pulled himself from the bed and pulled on some fresh clothes. Quatre's look changed to that of dismay, he indeed wanted to, but there was no method with which to travel there.
"There may be a way to get there."

Duo stumbled down the stairs, sleep sticking in his eyes, and his mind; a tight grasp, almost unrelenting. Squinting as he sat down at the table he managed to make out three other people. Two brown, one blonde. Smiling his usual chiding banter began.
"So... ya got any alcohol, something with pep?" He bit back the part that every single day for the past six months he'd n upn up and had at least a bottle of cheap beer. He smiled cheezily and reached for some bread. He glanced at the short blonde haired person. "Hey Wufei, not to be cruel man, but did you dye your hair? And uh... shrink?" A snort came from his left, Duo peered closely and let out a yelp of surprise. Wufei, who had seemingly blended into the wall until that part of the conversation, sat glaring at him.
"Idiot."
"Well good morning to you too." Duo widened his eyes and let them fall back, the pain from the stretching of skin snapping them alert. He spied the skinny, pale, small blonde haired man again. Trowa set a glass down of ancient wine in front of him.
"This is the owner of the Winner Estate. Quatre Rabara Winner." Quatre smiled and attempted to nod his head politely. Trowa stood just off to his right. "And he has a proposition for you." Duo took a swig of wine in an attempt to clear his senses, proposition usually meant money. Wufei pretended not to be interested, yet at the same time politely paid attention. Heero never broke eye contact with Trowa. "He would like to make a trip, three days journey from here. Without the help of at least one of you this wouldn’t be possible." Trowa’s body stiffened slightly as he tried to say the rest. "Will you…" He began only to be cut short by hearing a sharp, painful, intake of breath.
"Please help?" Quatre’s eyes sparkled with his effort to appear healthier. Duo set his glass down a little too happily, his head finally cleared, and immediately bounced a little as he spoke his response.
"Of course we’ll help! Won’t we?"
Heero was the first to respond he was still staring his dead stare straight into Trowa’s eyes. Neither of the men had shifted or twitched over the brief span of the conversation. Heero nodded slightly.
"Great!" Duo squealed and spun around in his chair to glare at Wufei.
"Fine, but only because you still owe me money!" Wufei hissed anger rising inside of him. Duo’s smile widened as he moved closer to the bottle of wine.
"How are we going to get there? This place isn’t exactly sprouting horses you know."
"I was going to go into town today to buy some, and a carriage." Trowa responded pulling away Quatre’s untouched plate of breakfast to clean it. Heero stood pushing his chair back in the process.
"I’ll go." Trowa gave him a questioning look. "I need to buy a replacement." Heero slid a short sword slightly out of a sheath attached to his hip, the tip had broken off. Trowa nodded then glanced at Quatre.
"I’ll be read shortly." Trowa wanted to sigh as he lifted Quatre out of the chair effortlessly. It wasn’t that Quatre minded being carried everywhere, Trowa felt that it was degrading. In the back of his mind it nagged at him as further proof of the advancement of Quatre’s disease. All the tension melted from his body as he felt Quatre’s arms encircle his neck. He took comfort in the lithe grasp and the dimming light in Quatre’s eyes. Quatre smiled the best he could and managed to wink at Trowa. Trowa quickened his pace wanting to laugh and cry at the same time, but he was a solider, and a man, and people died. They always died after a time. Quatre leaned his head against Trowa’s chest and sighed, he wouldn’t tell them, any of them, not just yet. It would be plain enough when they arrived.

The two men remained silent as they walked the long path towards the village. Both of a quiet calculating manor and both warriors little needed to be said. Trowa stared mostly at the ground, his body sagging slightly with the weight of his troubled thoughts. Heero walked more at ease and from time to time gazed around, more to watch for danger, than the sheer pleasure of viewing the land. It wasn’t a great land anyway, there it rained for days, and the ground was always saturated and mud clogged. Rainless thunderclouds rolled over the chilly sky, dull and damning, Heero kicked a stone and watched it tumble in front of Trowa’s gloomy frame.
"I’ve seen you fight in battle. You are a good soldier." Trowa closed his eyes remembering the ferocity of battles and the scent of blood and death rushed to his nose. He nodded his thanks to Heero’s compliment and glanced up at the sky again.
"With any luck we won’t have too much rain." He gave the pebble a sluggish kick and it skipped far ahead of them into the middl the the path. "How did you break your sword?"
Heero replayed the memory in his mind. The man stood in front of him, right before the gaggle of rocks that signaled the edge of the cliff. His body swayed as if to jump and spiral down into the sea, but it was only the effects of drunkenness. A skyless shrishrieked before them as it dove and receded against the rocks. Heero drew his sword, and crept up slowly, a gull cried somewhere behind him, and the man turned; his eyes a bloodshot red, angry and accusing. The man lunged forward and grabbed a hold of Heero’s wrists. Mumbling something drunk and sad, he tripped and the two fell against the rocks. Heero’s dagger lodged deepl a s a set of stones. While the man clawed viciously at Heero, he sought another sw una unable to reach or twist to it because of the man, he began to tug at his trapped dagger. He kicked the man rapidly twice on the softer spots of his body. The man rolled over in pain as Heero managed to yank a portion of the dagger free, the rest of it lost forever between the rocks. Getting to his knees Heero drove the dagger into the man’s chest. He stoodt dot down near the body, sought underneath the clothing surrounding its chest and pulled a small gold chain free. After removing his dagger he pushed the body into the sea before he could witness the blood rushing out of the wound.
Though he walked steadily back towards the manor where his new client waited patiently for the news of death, the wind blew against him. A hard shrill wind. Above a seagull circled crying out, he glanced up at it briefly before disappearing through the forbidding doors of the manor.
He placed the gold chain calmly in his client’s outstretched hand.
"Your son is dead."
"Good, here is your payment." The old man’s smile curled upward as he spoke and then drooped slightly as he reached for his purse of money.
"My dagger was broken, I’ll need the money for a new one." Heero held up his broken dagger. The man sneered slightly as he placed a minimal amount of extra money into Heero’s hand. Heero had merely shrugged and walked out. The man would be dead soon. He could see it in thoks oks of his servants and guards.
"It was caught between two rocks, and to dislodge it I had to break it." Heero said in an even tone as his mind flickered back to the present. The two separated as they drew to the opening of the village, each going to their needed guilder.

Meanwhile a stillness had pervaded in the Winner manor, and Quatre lay watching it blow across the ceiling of his room. His concentration was only disrupted when the blurry face of Duo appeared in front of him.
"Hi." Duo bubbled happily. Quatre tried to smile at the blurry figure but it only made his stomach roll with nausea. "When was the last time someone trimmed your hair? And I think we could improve the color in that face of yours." Quatre closed his eyes, unable to keep them open any longer. The deeper things inside of him began to listen for him. He could feel his soul stirring inside his body, before primarily his mind had run things, but now it was only his soul whispering to him. He couldn’t quite discern what it was saying, around the time his body began to constantly hurt, his soul has taken over. He listened, waiting intently. The words were not ready to speak to him then, and his breathing calmed slightly under the warm touches of Duo’s hand, and the joyful sound of his voice.
Duo pressed his hand loving against the makeup compact. The fine gold trimmed jade felt cool in his hands. He could almost taste the scent of Solo’s cigarettes, the feel of his fingers lightly gliding against his cheek. Without Solo’s help he would never have been able to stay in that horrid place so long. He didn’t really enjoy using the makeup, but when Solo smoothed it gently to his skin, it seemed all right, and it certainly got him a higher quality of clients. Since makeup was expensive, and used only on the richest of women in the highest of classes. Solo had connections though, the same man who supplied him with those special cigarettes. Solo died from them, they poisoned his body, slowly, a little at a time, but Solo knew. That’s why he had taught Duo everything and even given him the compact. A pang of guilt surged through Duo but he swallowed it down as he watch the color flow back into Quatre’s face from the magic of his hands and the contents of the compact.
Closing the compact he frowned, something was missing. Quickly he opened a cut on his arm and rubbed his blood onto Quatre’s cheeks.
Quatre’s eyes opened quickly, the fearful scent of blood, he was afraid for a moment, whe when he saw Duo’s face he relaxed, again able to focus his eyes after a rest.
"Hey beautiful." Duo whispered warmly seeing Quatre’s eyes peek open at him. They had a shy trusting quality about them, and were the only things left on him that truly looked beautiful. He glanced around the room quickly and came across a dusty mirror. He blew the dust off then wiped the mirror clean and held it up to Quatre’s face.
"I look like a whore." Quatre’s his laughter seemed to break through his illness. Duo bristled for an instant, but then, seeing the brightness of Quatre’s smile and the life in his eyes for thest tst time, only laughed.
"Glad you like it."
"Thanks. I’m sure Trowa will love it." Duo laughed in response.
"I bet you’re hungry." Since the nausea had ceased Quatre could feel the slight pangs of hunger. He’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to be hungry and had almost mistaken it for just another ailment of his body. He nodded, then closed his eyes as Duo retreated from the room, the laughter had silenced his soul. Hisd lad lay open in the empty blackness of his pain, staring up at him as hallow as the moon.

He had eaten two bowls of soup and a little bread by the time Trowa had returned. Trowa stared at his features in disbelief.
"What did you do to him?" He spun around to face Duo. Duo beamed at him, his smile slightly more genuine than those he has used in the morning.
"I made him pretty." Wufei, leaning against the open door, waiting for a chance to pester Duo about his lost money, snorted giving Duo a sarcastic look. Heero shifted, indifferent, against the wall.
"It’s all right Trowa, I don’t mind." Trowa turned back to Quatre. His eyes seemed to say "it made him feel better," but Trowa continued to glare at Duo out of the corner of one eye.
"Did you eat?" Trowa’s hand threaded through Quatre’s as Quatre nodded. "Do you still want to go?" He said as softly as possible. Quatre nodded, a tiny sadness creeping into his eyes.
"We’re leaving tomorrow morning at dawn." Trowa addressed the others his face once again calm and placid. Heero disappeared as soundlessly as he had come. Wufei glared at Duo before easing away from the edge of the doorframe. Duo cast a last glance at Quatre’s smiling face before dashing down to the kitchen where he could engage in a nightly drink before easing into a painful sleep.
Trowa washed the makeup off of Quatre’s face. Quatre sighed seeing the stress in Trowa’s features, and wondered if the next douldould be as terrible as the previous day had been. He decided to hope that it would be better, that it would be once of his best days, since the onset of his illness.
In the darkness Quatre edged his face close to Trowa’s, he wished that his illness would vanish, just so Trowa wouldn’t suffer so. It seemed that he had already suffered so much in his life. Gently Quatre kissed him on the lips, then the eyes, and the drawn, pained places on his face. Slowly he closed his eyes and fell into a dead sleep.
Trowa’s eyes snapped open. He could have sworn he felt the press of kisses to his face, but Quatre lay with eyes closed and twitched softly in a light sleep. Carefully Trowa eased the bangs back from Quatre’s face. His haircut had given his features a more rounded healthy look, but it was only a trick, an illusion. His hand brushed against his still, pale, cheek. It was still as defined and harsh, from malnourishment and severe illness, as it had always been. Trowa closed his eyes, his hand stopped in the small of Quatre’s back, a soft place, despite his lack of fat. Dreams of his childhood over took him slowly. Pain and abandonment, a lack of belief, a lack of anything rushed fourth to fill this new painful void, and reopen an older, deeper wound.

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to be continued