"Master Winner, a corporate sponsorship would greatly help our charity--"

"Master Winner, with the economy running out of control, we'd appreciate it if you could lay off a thousand workers--"

"Master Winner, your funds are desperately needed to support--"

"Master Winner--"

"Master Winner--"

"Master Winner--"

Quatre groaned, trying to ignore the steady pounding in his head. All day, nothing but sycophants coming at him with hands outstretched for their own meaningless agendas. And there seemed to be so little he could do for the things that really mattered...

He leaned against the bathroom sink, staring into the mirror. Haunted eyes glared back at him. But they didn't seem to be his own eyes.

Quatre could see bits of his father staring out at him, just as fierce and fanatical as they had been during his life. Condemnation filled them as much as before, and all his disapproval of his son's actions remained the same.

"No, I'm not you," Quatre protested weakly.

Shouldn't be piloting a gundam. Shouldn't be fighting. His fighting was only making things worse. Peace at all costs. Do what you're told. Don't answer back. Born from a test tube, ultimately replaceable, no matter what anyone says otherwise.

"Stop..." he whispered, putting his hands to his ears, trying to block out the silent scorn. "Stop it."

Worthless. Unfit to take over. Useless heir. Pathetic. Easily replicated and improved upon. Not a true pacifist--

Quatre shut his eyes tight, his hands gripping the sink's edges. "And a true pacifist allows himself to be killed in front of his own children? Is cold and distant...and so damn demanding...?"

Trowa heard the enraged scream from the bathroom and dropped his book, vaulting up the staircase instead of wasting time with the steps. Glass breaking followed the scream, accompanied by the sounds of something being royally pounded against the wall, shattering tiles and plaster. When he finally reached the bathroom, he froze for a moment.

Surrounded by broken glass and chunks of the bricks from the wall, Quatre was in the process of hurling a block of masonry through the last bit of wall that had to this point escaped unscathed. It flew with frightening force, cracking the surface even as it flew to pieces. Gasping for breath, Quatre fell to his knees and seized a huge piece of what had once been the mirror, holding the jagged point up towards himself. Blood flowed freely both from where the edges cut into his hand and also from between his knuckles. Another line of blood trickled from a cut just above one of his eyes.

As Quatre slashed at his arm, Trowa lunged forward and knocked the shard out of his hand. Quatre gasped in surprise, startled by his lover, and tried to scramble out of his reach. Fortunately, Trowa's reach was exceedingly long and he easily put his arms around Quatre's, hauling him up and off the floor. Pulling him out of reach of anything else he could use as a weapon.

Quatre screamed again, writhing furiously in Trowa's arms. With no other alternative, the tall boy carried Quatre out of the demolished bathroom and into their bedroom, pulling him into his lap as he sat down on the mattress. The blonde kicked and yelled, struggling as if his life depended on getting free again. After a moment, he found his movement severely limited as Trowa securely wrapped him up in a strong embrace, holding his arms still. He couldn't kick well in his position, so he pushed desperately against Trowa's chest.

It was useless. A few minutes later, Quatre slumped in exhaustion, unable to keep fighting. His body rested limply in Trowa's hold and he lay his head on Trowa's shoulder, quietly sobbing. He closed his eyes as he felt warm hands smooth his hair back out of his face, caressing his cheek in an attempt to calm him down.

One of the servants passed by the door, coming to see what was wrong, and Trowa silently mouthed the word "bandages" to her. She nodded and ducked into the bathroom, returning with a first aid kit and an extra roll of gauze before she left again.

Finally Quatre sat straight and took a few deep breaths. Trowa relaxed his grip, still stroking his skin. Quatre still seemed a bit shaky. With a wistful sigh, he suddenly hopped off of Trowa's lap. Caught momentarily off guard, Trowa lashed out and grabbed Quatre's slim wrist in his hand.

"Trowa, I'm fine, let me--"

"Quatre..." Trowa kept his hold on Quatre, refusing to let him slip away.

"Look, I'm not going to--"

"Quatre, sit down."

The command was soft but firm, followed by a warning glare, and the blonde sat down on the edge of his bed without further argument. Trowa didn't let him go and instead tightened his grip. He gently reached out and brushed his fingers through the pale hair.

"What's wrong?" he whispered.

"Nothing, I just got a little upset, that's all," Quatre insisted.

Trowa shook his head, staring sadly into his blue eyes. He could easily tell that Quatre was struggling to keep his emotions in check. Sometimes the spoiled brat came out in Quatre, making his stubbornness difficult to deal with under the wrong circumstances.

"A little upset?" Trowa repeated. He motioned at the wrecked bathroom even as he picked up the first aid kid, about to open it when he stared back at Quatre. "Can I start on your cuts, or are you going to try to run again?"

Chastised, Quatre lowered his head and held still. Trowa released his wrist cautiously, relieved when Quatre dropped it meekly in his lap. Trowa opened the first aid kit and brought out a large roll of bandages, swathing Quatre's arm first before moving on to his hand.

"You're lucky these are only superficial," he commented.

"Trowa?" the blonde whispered almost inaudibly.

"Yes?"

"Do you think it was right, what we did? Fighting Oz and Zechs, and then Mariemaia?"

Trowa blinked hard, astonished that Quatre could even ask such a question. "Would things have been better if we had not stopped them? Allow Oz to exploit the colonies or Zechs to destroy the world? Or allow the colonies to be dropped onto the earth?"

Quatre's shoulders drooped. "But...it's like nothing's changed. There isn't an army trying to kill us anymore, but...I still feel so empty..." He stared up into Trowa's eyes. "And things are so fragile, they could fall apart at any time...it's like nothing we did matters."

Trowa held silent as he attended to the small wound above Quatre's right eye. Once he'd finished that, he put his hands around Quatre's face and held him gently. "What is the matter, little one?"

"My father..." Quatre whimpered, tears coming again. "Every time I look in a mirror, I can't help but see him looking back..."

Trowa pulled Quatre up onto his lap and held him, pulling one of the blankets from the bed and wrapping it around Quatre, who had started to shiver.

"He hated that I fought in Sandrock. I was never what he wanted me to be. I always failed him one way or another, and...and..."

"Shhh..." Trowa whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Did you want to fulfill his vision of what you should be?"

Quatre hesitated, then shook his head. "He wanted me to be like him. Kind of."

"Are you happy with who you are now?"

Quatre gave him a tiny smile. "It's good enough...I have you, after all."

Trowa returned his smile and stole a quick kiss. "Try to remember that when you look in the mirror again. Otherwise we won't be able to repair the bathrooms fast enough."

Quatre gasped suddenly and looked across the hall at the bathroom and all the damage he had done. "Oh, wow...I really did all of that?"

Trowa chuckled as Quatre's eyes grew big. "Yes, you did. Just another reminder to your lover not to make you...upset." He stood, holding Quatre's body in his arms, then turned and lay him down on the bed. Once he'd closed the door, he turned off the lights so that all he could see by was the moonlight coming in through the window. The blonde listened to Trowa's clothing as it hit the floor piece by piece, then smiled when he felt those warm hands undoing his own clothes. Quatre snuggled close when Trowa slid in beside him, reveling in how warm he was.

"I love you, Trowa..."

"And I love you, my little one." He put his arm over Quatre's side, running his fingers along the soft skin. "Never forget how much I love you."

The End