Disclaimers: I don’t own anything.
Notes: Here’s Part Three. All 3+4 stuff in this one, angst and other good stuff like that. Including an adorably cute and
confused Quatre. Enjoy.
Quatre threw his hands in the air, exasperated. He was just so totally confused. After hours of reading these books that lay
strewn about his room, he still didn’t have a clue about what was going on.
Why exactly was a tree brought into the house for Christmas? And why so many brightly colored lights? There was just so
much conflicting information. It was so frustrating not knowing what was going on.
“Trowa!” He called out, deciding that he definitely needed help with this.
Trowa was by his side almost immediately. “What? What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice full of worry.
“Okay . . . in this book, Christmas is the date of Christ’s birth.” He said, pointing to each book as he talked about them. “In
this book, it’s a celebration of Solstice . . . a Pagan festival. Then there’s this book that tells me of some fat guy called Santa
Claus, but in this book, the guy is called Father Christmas. And then there’s . . .”
Trowa held his hands up, stopping Quatre from continuing. “Okay . . . okay. What do you need me to explain?”
“All of it!” He replied, a tone of desperation in his voice.
“All right . . . what part of ‘all of it’ do you want me to start with? Although, I’ll warn you that I might not be much help. I
only know what Cathy has told me. If he were here, I’d suggest that you ask Duo. He’s the one who was going all out those
two years wanting to celebrate. Only problem was that the war and then the Mariemaia incident stopped his efforts before he
could start a celebration.” Trowa said as he sat beside Quatre.
Quatre let out a breath. “First of all . . . I understand the religious significance, but what does a tree have to do with the birth
of a savior?”
“From what Cathy has told me, the tree is leftover from when the Pagans celebrated the Winter Solstice. It was a symbol of
fertility and often it embodied the hopes people had for a fruitful year. The Yule Log works on the same principle . . . although
the log was for hoping for the health of the family rather than the harvest.”
Quatre nodded. “So, Christmas falls on the same date as the Winter Solstice? What a strange coincidence.”
Trowa laughed once. “No coincidence there. The Catholic church thought it would be easier to convert the Pagans if they
held the celebration of Christ’s birth near the Winter Solstice. That way they didn’t have to give up some of their holidays.
Easter works on the same principle.”
Quatre thumbed through one of the many books. “What about the lights?”
Trowa grinned. “That has a more practical background. Around the time of the Winter Solstice, the sun would only be in the
sky for a few hours. People believed that lighting many candles would coax the sun to regain its strength. Many of the winter
holidays have light as part of them.”
Quatre smiled proudly, remembering something. “Like Chaka Kahn!”
Trowa’s eyes widened and he let out a snicker. “It’s Chanukah. Also known as the festival of lights. Kwanza as well.” Then
he shrugged. “Besides . . . the lights are visually pleasing.”
Quatre leaned back against the pillows, stifling a yawn with one of his hands. “What about the fat man?”
Trowa shook his head as he started clearing the books off the bed. “Saint Nicholas is the patron saint of children. The original
legend states that he was a merchant, who chanced upon a poor cottage. He overheard the three daughters of the house
weeping because their father had to sell them.” He pulled the blankets up to Quatre’s chin and sat next to the blonde while
gently stroking Quatre’s forehead. Quatre liked the close contact from Trowa, and let out a small sigh as Trowa continued to
speak. “Legend goes further to say that he tossed three bags of gold through the window . . . enough to be a dowry for them
so that they could marry well enough. Apparently, one bag fell into each of the girls’ shoes . . . where they sat warming by
the fireplace while the maidens slept.”
Quatre yawned, this time not bothering to try and stifle it. “So that’s where the stockings hung by the fireplace come from!”
Trowa smiled. “Yes . . . that’s where. Any other questions?”
Quatre sighed. “I don’t know if this will work, Trowa. I don’t even know if all the pilots celebrate Christmas. Duo, I know
does, but not everyone else. I don’t know if either Heero or Wufei will even show up.”
“Quatre . . . if you want to avoid confusion, why not just suggest a Holiday get-together?”
“Yes, that is a wonderful idea.” He tried to get out of bed, only to have himself pushed back down by Trowa.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Trowa asked.
“To get invitations, make preparations.” Quatre replied, once again trying to get out of bed.
Trowa’s hands gripped his shoulders firmly, holding him down to the bed. “Quatre, let Rasid and I worry about inviting the
other guys. I know how to get in touch with Wufei, and Rasid can handle inviting Duo and Heero.” He took his hands away,
and sat back on the edge of the bed. “Now I think you’d better get some sleep. You’re still sick, and I don’t want Rasid to
take my head off if you become worse.”
Quatre nodded, smiling. He wanted to help, but he knew how Rasid was very protective of him. He didn’t want to get Trowa
into trouble with the older man for letting his health suffer from over exerting himself. It was nice to have someone care, but
sometimes Rasid’s overprotective nature got on Quatre’s nerves.
Trowa returned the smile. “Pleasant dreams.”
Quatre’s smile brightened as he snuggled down into the warmth of his bed. Trowa was being so nice, maybe he cared about
him. Well, so far it was just wishful thinking, but maybe once Quatre got better, he would find out if it was true or not. He
really hoped it was true. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep, images of emerald eyes in his mind as he wished for the love of a
certain silent young man.
Quatre opened his eyes, to find his room empty. Trowa wasn’t there, neither was Rasid or any of the Maguanacs. Finally,
some time to himself and a chance to get something done without having to worry about being stopped by one of his ‘nurses.’
Both Trowa and Rasid’s worried attitudes were starting to become a nuisance to Quatre. He really did want to help with the
He pushed away the blankets and climbed out of bed, slipping his feet into a pair of slippers that lay on the floor beside his bed.
He legs were shaky as he walked to the door, threatening to give out on him at any moment. But he kept on walking.
He silently crept out of his room, stealing glances down each hallway he passed on the way to his objective. He couldn’t be
caught, or else he’d be ushered right back into bed. And he couldn’t take that chance, he just had to find something out.
Finally, after several minutes, he reached the library and walked in. Looking around the large room, to make sure that no one
else was inside, he quietly closed the door behind himself and hastily moved to one of the bookcases.
He read the various titles quickly, as he looked for the book he wanted. Quatre remembered seeing it there when he was
younger, on one of his many trips to the library to find something to read, but never had he found any interest in it.
“Aha!” He exclaimed as he pulled the book out. It was a Bible, a simple book that had been stored in the library among dozens
of other religious texts.
Quatre carried the book over to a high-backed leather chair and sat, all the time staring at the book he held in his hands. It
looked so simple, just a leather cover surrounding pages that were lined in gold. Looking at it, it was difficult to imagine that it
was so important to so many people. It was simple, yet inspirational, to so many.
Quatre wanted to know more about this book, to know more of the Catholic Faith, and why not start with their religious text to
find out more about the Faith? He opened the Bible to the first page, and read aloud. (1)“Genesis: In the beginning God
created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the
Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. God saw that the light
was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light ‘day,’ and the darkness he called ‘Night.’ And
there was evening, and there was morning - the first day.” Quatre took in a breath. “Interesting.” He said, beginning to read
once again, this time to himself.
After reading for a while, his eyelids began to droop, getting heavier with each passing moment. That walk had taken a lot out
of him, not to mention that he was already sick. In his reading he had reached Exodus 9:12, in the middle of the plagues on a
page in the low seventies. He vaguely remembered about a plague of boils as he slowly drifted off to sleep.
Quatre blinked his eyes at the sound of a door opening, but still hadn’t awakened completely. But hearing voices, Trowa’s
voice, brought him quickly to reality. “Why did you drag me in here?” Trowa asked.
Quatre stayed where he was, not wanting either of them to get mad at him for leaving his bed. If they caught him, they’d both
be mad, so he thought it better to remain hidden, then return to his room once they had left.
“What exactly do you think you are doing with Master Quatre?” Rasid asked, his tone demanding.
“What do you mean?” Trowa replied, a hint of confusion in his melodious voice.
Rasid’s voice replied, anger seeping into his words. “He’s been pouring over those . . . Christmas books.”
Trowa’s reply came back almost immediately. “He said that one of the guys was hurting. His idea was to bring them all here
so that he could help whoever it is.”
Quatre smiled, hearing that Trowa had given him all the credit, when it was mostly due to Trowa. Still, the tone of Rasid’s
voice worried Quatre.
“And what does his body oil have to do with that?” He nearly shouted.
“What are you talking about?”
“When you first got here, I heard what was going on in the bedroom. I will not allow you to molest Master Quatre.”
A part of Quatre was glad that Rasid was so concerned for him. But the words Rasid had used were not to his liking. Trowa
had never molested him, hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Molest?!” Trowa shouted. “I would never harm Quatre! I was giving him a back rub . . . that’s all! He needed one!”
“I will verify your story later.” There was a short pause, then Rasid spoke again, his seething tone and whispering voice,
barely reaching Quatre’s ears. “Understand this, though, No Name . . . you are here only because Master Quatre listens to
you. The instant this . . . party . . . is over, you are to leave with the other pilots. Understand?”
Trowa’s voice was just as quiet. “I’ll leave, if that’s what Quatre wishes, no sooner or later.”
Quatre flinched at the sound of an ominous crack. It was the sharp sound of someone’s hand making contact with someone
else’s face. Then Rasid’s booming voice, caused Quatre to shudder from worry. “You will leave when I tell you to leave!
Master Quatre wouldn’t have anything to do with a nameless nobody like you, even if he wasn’t the sole male heir to the
Winner family line.”
Then there was the sound of the door opening. Loud, echoing footsteps as someone left the room, quickly followed. The
door slammed shut, causing Quatre to jump slightly, startled, as he listened to the fading footsteps of Rasid. He knew the
sound of Rasid’s feet, and knew for a fact that Trowa never made a sound when he walked, unless he wanted to. So he was
pretty sure that Trowa was still in the room.
“How long?” Quatre asked, finally speaking.
“Quatre?” Trowa’s voice replied, sounding slightly startled.
Quatre stood, moving around the chair to face Trowa. The other man’s face was hidden in the shadows, his body almost all
the way in one corner. “How long has this been going on?” Quatre asked, slowly crossing the distance between the two of
them. “How long has Rasid been treating you like that? And don’t think you can tell me that it just started. I’ll be able to tell if
you’re lying to me.”
A sigh was heard before Trowa replied. “Since I got here, and the last time I was here, he didn’t seem too thrilled about my
visit. It’s only just recently gotten worse. He doesn’t like me.” He raised a hand, touching one of his cheeks, as he still stood
hidden by the shadows. “I don’t blame him . . . I don’t like myself very much most of the time.”
Quatre reached out and took hold of one of Trowa’s arms, wincing when he felt the muscles in that well-defined arm tense.
Gently, he pulled Trowa from the shadows, wanting to see his face. He could sense the sadness from Trowa, even though he
was still attempting to block all the negative emotions he still felt from that one unknown friend in need. But it was so difficult
to lock out Trowa’s soul-deep pain, when he stood so close to him.
As Trowa stepped into the light, Quatre gasped. He saw the small scratch in Trowa’s cheek that dripped blood down his
reddened skin. He knew what made that cut, the ring on Rasid’s finger. But the sight of the freshly marked skin hadn’t
caused the gasp that escaped Quatre’s mouth. It was the sight of tears on the usually stoic pilot’s face that had startled
Quatre. Never before had he seen tears marring the beauty of Trowa’s face.
Quickly, he turned his attention to that cut, not wanting to embarrass Trowa. “You’re hurt.” Quatre remarked, reaching up
tentatively to touch the skin around the scratch.
“I’m used to it.” Trowa mumbled, pushing Quatre’s hand away and turning to the door. He left, not uttering another word, or
letting Quatre say anything more.
Quatre just watched, unsure of what to say, or even if he should say something. Then a thought entered his mind. Quatre
knew that he had to talk to Rasid, to tell him to back off. This couldn’t be allowed to carry on. As he continued to think about
the words Rasid had used, the pain he had caused Trowa, his anger continued to rise. Quatre left the library, going in search
After walking around the house, his anger continuing to build with each passing moment, he finally found Rasid. The large
Arabian was right outside Quatre’s own room, obviously wanting to check on him.
Trowa went to his room, pushing back his own tears. He didn’t want to cry, not over the words Rasid had spoken. But it
hurt so much, being called No Name once again, listening to someone call him a nobody. It just brought up too many
memories, too many old wounds that he wished would heal. He thought he had gotten away from all the people who only
called him No Name. The fact that Rasid had reminded him that he had no name of his own, hurt him deeper than any of the
other words the large man had said to him.
It was foolish to be affected by words like that. He knew he shouldn’t have let it hurt him so badly. Tears began to fall from
his eyes, at the thought that Rasid may be right. He was nothing, would never be worthy of Quatre’s love. Maybe he should
just give up.
The sound of footsteps outside his door, drew his attention. He stepped over to the door, opening it slightly so that he could
see who was out there. To his surprise he saw Quatre step over to Rasid.
“Master Quatre, where have you been? When I saw you were not in your room, I became worried. You should not be getting
out of bed in your condition.”
“How could you?” Quatre asked, his tone venomous. It was so strange to hear such rage coming from the blonde Arabian.
Trowa just stayed where he was and listened in on the conversation, watching as Rasid’s eyes took on a confused look.
“What are you talking about, Master Quatre?”
“The library!” Quatre nearly shouted. “I heard what you said to Trowa in the library.”
“Master Quatre . . .” Rasid started to say.
However, his sentence was cut off, by Quatre’s anger-filled reply. “You had no right to do that, Rasid!”
“Master Quatre, I am only concerned with your well-being. I remember how upset you were the last time that Barton left. I
have no wish to repeat that sorrow.” Rasid replied. “Besides, he is a nameless mercenary, he is dangerous.”
“So, you’re trying to tell me who I can, and who I cannot love?” Quatre asked.
“Master Quatre . . .” He said, again only to be cut off by Quatre.
“No more, Rasid! Leave Trowa alone!”
“But . . .”
“But nothing! Don’t you understand, Rasid?” Quatre lowered his voice, speaking almost normally once again. “I love him.”
Trowa gasped, not believing his own ears. Had he heard right? Did Quatre just say that he loved him? He couldn’t let that
hope fill his heart, not yet. Maybe it was the illness talking. He would wait to find out, wait until Quatre was better to see if he
had really meant it.
“Yes, Master Quatre.” Rasid said, bowing slightly.
Trowa watched as Rasid turned and walked down the hall. Once he was sure that Rasid was gone, Trowa exited his room,
and stepped over to Quatre.
“Quatre?” He asked, gently grasping the blonde’s shoulder.
Quatre slowly turned, his eyes locking onto Trowa’s for the briefest of moments. Then, Quatre’s eyes rolled back in his head,
and he slumped forward. Trowa caught him in his arms, keeping him from falling to the floor.
Trowa inwardly laughed as he scooped the blonde up into his arms. Quatre must have worn himself out today, getting out of
bed, all that walking around, not to mention confronting that bear of a man that had just walked away. It had probably been
too much for him in his weakened condition.
He carried Quatre into the bedroom, and laid him back down on his bed. As he pulled the blankets up to the Arabian’s neck, he
smiled, remembering the last words the blonde had said. He hoped that Quatre had meant it, that it wasn’t just the fever
talking. If he did, then maybe Trowa wasn’t as worthless as he thought himself to be.
To Be Continued . . .
Footnotes: (1)All Bible stuff came directly from Tenshi-Chan’s Bible, since I don’t seem to have one anymore. Thanks
Tenshi-Chan, for all the quotes and help throughout the fic.