It was the middle of the day when Quatre started. He was seated on the floor, against the side of a single bed. It was made up neatly, with hospital corners... although no one had been in it for many years. The ice blue gaze fell upon the box in front of him. Quatre Winner was no accustomed to packing, let alone someone else's things. However, it was something he felt that was his responsibility. The servants he had... so loyal, so loving. A lot of them were climbing in years, having been in service since his father was still alive. That was so long ago... during the war. A smile grew on his lips... not because of the memories of his father's death, but then... then was when it all began. When he met Trowa for the first time. The war, a chaotic mass of events that could've been avoided, had drawn the two together. In the days after the war had ended... it was quiet. Trowa and himself had found their paths... and they had crossed one another. Their relationship had taken some transition, mostly from the other pilots, but after a while... it was calm. The peace they had fought for, it occurred.
But then... 'Then she happened,' he whispered softly to himself, thinking aloud. It was destiny. It had to be. The scars and wounds of the past... all of them had blossomed new amazing fruit for himself, and for Trowa as well. His heart still weighed heavy when he thought of the times... the yolk of guilt that lay upon his shoulders was so heavy. Without Trowa there to help him through, to guide him, Quatre would've crumbled. He had been... so caught up with the war. All of them were. When he returned... Quatre's view of humanity was much too ... obtuse. There were enemies, and the innocents who suffered because of them. There was the evil that threatened peace, the evil he and the others had to fight. Somewhere... he'd forgotten the individuals. He clenched his fist, drawing his knees up, and resting his arms upon them. Until her.
His gaze went over the room... the faded paint... the neglected toys... it was painful to see her go. He felt to wretch, but at the same time, tears of joy welled in his eyes. He slowly picked himself off the floor and began to put her things away into the box. The music box that Duo had given her that one birthday... he opened it and smiled thoughtfully as the melody of "Oh Danny Boy" began to play. His lips quirked upward. She didn't even know the song, but she hummed it for hours on end. Quatre had taught her how to waltz soon after, for she wanted to know a dance that would go with the song. And she wanted the band to play it at her sweet sixteen... He stifled a laugh... it was her innocence, naivety... it made her so special. It made her... embody all that they had fought so savagely and brutishly for. He picked up the music box and set it into the box... and then reached onto the bed at the small teddy bear there.
The fur was still intact... but poor Mr. Bear had lost an eye somewhere along the way. She didn't want anyone to fix it... he smiled.
"It gives him charm," she said, her eyes beaming with their silver hue. 'Like Trowa,' he added silently. He cuddled the small bear, remembering... this was a gift from Heero. Ah, yes, he had fallen for her, too. His lips curved into a devilish smirk... it was hard not to fall in love with her. Why hadn't he... seen it sooner? Quatre sat on the bed, slouched over with his elbows resting on his knees, holding the bear in both hands, staring down at the one eye. Before, when he was young, he played a lot with the servants. He could care less that they were of a lower class, but there was little if no where else to go for male camaraderie. His father always being busy... and tiring quickly of all the sitting down and courtly mannerisms of his twenty some odd sisters - he didn't know more than half of them until after the war was over. But somewhere... in his training to pilot, he became detached. Detached from individuals. It was always for a higher cause. Peace.
Then peace came. Then what? His hands tensed around the tiny bear. He loved having parties... inviting people over, and socializing... but it was always a bigger picture. The smaller picture... the individuals, lost in the crowd. Except for Trowa, of course. And the other pilots. It was his one track life that had made him that way... was that any excuse?
He lowered his forehead to that of the bear's. No. He could not afford to revel in guilt anymore. The past was past. But she... she had slipped through the cracks. Until several years later... he felt a sigh leave him. He laid back on the bed, it smelled like her still... and the bed, it felt like...
...like there was something sticking him in the back. Something... rectangular? Quatre retreated back to the floor, and stuffed his hand beneath the mattress, the other still clutching the small bear to him. A book. He tugged it out. A very dusty book. The sneeze took him by surprise, and his entire body convulsed causing him to juggle the book and the bear about for a while until he retrieved his coordination.
Quatre folded his legs indian style, tucking the bear into his lap as if to make sure it was comfortable, and gently brushes his fingers over the book. It's binding was leather? - no, imitation. But nice looking all the same. The binding was about to fall apart, however, the book had managed to stay together pretty well. With delicate fingers he opened the cover, as curiosity closed around him, and read aloud from the inside cover.
"My journal. After Colony 196," it was her handwriting. Or what it used to be. Had she known how to write so long? His pale finger tip traced the outline of the large handwriting... very neat. Skipping lines... writing large to make sure that all the letters were just right. She was a marvel. It was why he loved her.
'So long ago...' his fingers traced the date once more, as his mind stalked back in time. It wouldn't hurt to read it now, right?...
...he turned the page.