Disclaimers:  I do not own Gundam Wing or any of its characters.

Notes:  Time skip.  It’s been weeks since Keith arrived at the house and things have gotten worse and worse.  Ominous bruises
have made appearances on Quatre’s body and Heero is quite worried.



Guardian’s Betrayal



Part Two


A woman’s scream filled the sky.  A loud bang echoed into the night.  And a child’s tears silently streamed forward.

Heero awoke in the middle of the night, once again calling out because of a nightmare, because of a horrible memory.  It was a
memory long buried by his training, a memory he never thought he’d have to see again.

He wiped his hands over his face, forcing the memories away.  It had been weeks since he and the other ex-pilots had come to
Quatre’s home.  Maybe it was time for Heero to leave again.  Heero shook his head, knowing that he couldn’t.  There was
something terribly wrong with Quatre, with that uncle of his too . . . Heero couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong, but he
was sure that Keith was up to no good.

In the days that had followed Keith’s arrival, ominous bruises had appeared on Quatre’s body, his face, his arms . . . other
places that Heero had seen completely by accident.  Heero knew that there was more to it than tripping, which had been Quatre’
s excuse time and again.  Heero had no proof that Keith was the one causing these marks, but that didn’t make him any less
suspicious of the man.

With a groan, Heero swung his legs over the edge of the bed.  He stood, stalking into his bathroom and splashing water on his
face.  He didn’t like having nightmares . . . those memories, they just hurt.  When he was done in the bathroom, he got himself
dressed, then decided to go downstairs and get some breakfast.  It was still quite early in the morning, so there was a good
chance that there was some food left in the house.  Duo usually didn’t get up until ten at the earliest . . . and Quatre had just
been shopping last night.  So Heero’s chances for finding a decent meal were relatively good.

While Heero was leaving his bedroom, he caught sight of Keith.  The man was walking down the hallway, toward the stairs.  As
he passed by Heero, he glared at the Japanese youth, purposely bumping into him and pushing him aside.  Heero narrowed his
eyes, truly not liking this man in the least.  Still, he would not lash out with violence, even though he really did want to punch
Keith square in the nose.

Curious as to what Keith had been doing, Heero walked in the direction that Keith had come from.  Keith could have easily been
leaving his own room . . . or Quatre’s room.  Since their rooms were side by side, it could have been either.  Still, Heero thought
it would be best to make sure that Quatre was well . . . he did not trust Keith.

Heero knocked lightly on Quatre’s door.  “Quatre?  May I come in?”  He asked, hoping that the young blonde was okay.

“N-No . . . please go away.”  Quatre replied, his voice muffled by the door.  Still, even through the door, Heero could hear the
strain in the Arabian’s voice.

“Is something wrong?”  Heero asked, his brow furrowing slightly.  He was worried now.  Quatre rarely turned his friends away
if they wanted to see him.  

“I’m fine.”  Quatre answered.

Heero didn’t believe Quatre though, especially after he heard a rather loud thud emanating from within the bedroom.  What had
happened in there?  Had Quatre fallen?  Heero grabbed the doorknob.  “Quatre . . . what was that?”  He asked, opening the door
and stepping inside.

What he found was quite surprising.  Quatre was lying on the floor.  A pair of pants were beside him, only one leg currently
covered by the garment.  He must have fallen while dressing, Heero thought, crossing the room and kneeling at Quatre’s side.  
“Quatre?  What happened?”  He asked, his eyes going over the blonde’s body and taking note of the numerous injuries to his pale
frame.

There were bruises all over his body, a few cuts and scrapes as well.  Fresh blood dripped from his nose, as well as from a cut
in his bottom lip.  His left eye was reddened and would probably turn into a nasty black eye.  New as well as old bruises covered
his chest and stomach, a few ominous markings on his arms that looked an awful lot like someone had grabbed him far too
roughly.

Keith must have done this . . . that bastard.  Still, there was no proof.  Heero hadn’t seen Keith coming out of Quatre’s room.  
Even though Heero was certain that Keith must have done it, he couldn’t do anything without proof.  “What happened?”  Heero
repeated, hoping that the blonde would admit that his uncle was hurting him . . . needing a confession from the young man
before he could do anything.  He carefully helped Quatre to sit up, frowning with every wince and gasp that Quatre made.

“I-It’s nothing.  I slipped in the bathroom, that’s all.”  Quatre said quietly, averting his gaze, staring to somewhere over Heero’s
shoulder.

Heero sighed.  He knew that wasn’t the truth, but he couldn’t force Quatre to admit what had really happened.  No, if he used
force, then Quatre would hate him, he’d recoil away from him, fear him.  Heero didn’t want that.  As much as he denied his
feelings, he did have them, and his emotions were in turmoil now.  He cared for Quatre, deeply, and yet he didn’t want to see
Quatre suffer anymore.  He wanted to go out and beat Keith to a bloody pulp . . . but without Quatre’s admission, there was
nothing that he could do.

Sighing to himself, Heero helped Quatre to stand up, then moved him over to the bed and got him to lie down.  “Those injuries
don’t look like nothing to me, Quatre.”  Heero said, turning worried eyes to look at Quatre’s bruised features.  Quatre opened his
mouth, but Heero hushed him, laying his fingers over the blonde’s lip to silence him.  “No, I don’t want to hear your excuses,
Quatre.  If you say you fell, then I won’t question you.  But if you ever do want to talk to me, I will listen.”

Quatre nodded, but didn’t say anything in reply.

Heero smirked, satisfied with the response.  He set his hand on Quatre’s bare shoulder.  “Now, let’s get you cleaned up . . . you’
re bleeding.”  He said, rising from the bed.  

He turned and headed into Quatre’s bathroom, looking around in the cabinets until he found the first-aid kit.  When he returned
to the bedroom, he found Quatre sitting up, his legs dangling over the side of the bed.  “Really, Heero . . . You don’t have to
bother.”  Quatre said, his voice slurred slightly.  “I’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense.  As I said, you are bleeding.  I’m going to tend to your injuries and then I want you to stay in bed and get some
rest.  You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”  Heero said.

Quatre looked down, sighing.  “I . . . I haven’t been sleeping all that well.”  He quietly admitted, his voice just barely above a
whisper.  “But I don’t want you to trouble yourself over me.  I’m sure that you have other things to do with your time.”

Heero shook his head.  “No . . . I had been on my way to get breakfast . . . that can wait until after I help you.”  He said, taking
a seat beside Quatre once again.  He opened the first-aid kit, taking out some pads and the antiseptic.

“Are you sure that you wouldn’t rather have something to eat?  Duo should be waking up soon and you know he likes to have a
rather large breakfast.”  Quatre said, in all probability trying to get Heero to leave.  This was probably some sort of a test, to see
if Heero would abandon him when he needed help.  Heero had no intentions of leaving though, not now, not ever again if he
could have his way . . . but those feelings could wait until Quatre was better, until the blonde could finally confess the truth to
Heero.

“You and I both know that Duo does not awaken until ten at the earliest.”  Heero replied.  “It isn’t even nine yet, so I am sure
that I still have some time left, enough time to help clean these cuts on your face.”  He dabbed an antiseptic-soaked cloth against
the cut in Quatre’s lip, frowning when the young man hissed and pulled away.

“Hey, that stings!”  Quatre exclaimed, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Of course it does.”  Heero replied.  “Now sit still and let me do this.”  He said, a gentle smirk crossing his face.  He applied the
cloth to Quatre’s lip again, gently dabbing at the small cut.  In a moment he was finished there, and moved on to cleaning a
scratch on Quatre’s cheek, then another just over the blonde’s eye.

Quatre remained still, although he did wince every now and then.  Heero smiled when he finished, hoping to make Quatre feel
better.  “There, done.”  He said, tossing the used gauze pads in a nearby trash can.  He stood, putting the first-aid kit on the
bedside table.  “Now, you stay here in bed, and I’ll go get you something to eat.”

“Heero . . . I am quite capable of . . .”

Heero didn’t let him finish.  He pushed Quatre to lie back.  “No, you are not quite capable of anything.  Quatre, you fell while
trying to get your pants on.  I think you need to rest and give yourself a little time to heal.”

Quatre sighed, looking away as Heero covered him with the blankets.  “You may be right.  But I don’t like sitting around in bed.”

Heero smirked.  “You just don’t like staying in here all by yourself when you know that Duo is ransacking your kitchen.”

Quatre giggled, then took in a sharp intake of breath as he closed his hand over his mouth.  The cut there had probably left his
lips a bit tender.  “You’re partially right.  Really, I just don’t like being bored.”

“Then I’ll make a deal with you.”  Heero said.  “You stay in bed today, and I’ll keep you company.  We can play cards . . . or
do something that isn’t strenuous for you.”

Quatre nodded, a small smile curling his lips.  “It’s a deal.”  He replied, allowing himself to relax in bed.

Heero was satisfied that he would stay there now, so felt no worry with leaving for a few minutes to make breakfast.  With one
last smirk in Quatre’s direction, Heero turned and left the room, thinking over what he could make for his injured friend.  If
anything, today he would protect Quatre from any further assault . . . that alone made staying with the blonde worth the effort .
. . plus the fact that Heero was secretly enamored with him.  He hoped that he could think of something to keep the lovely
Arabian busy all day, something to keep him in bed and away from strenuous activities.



To Be Continued . . .