In front of him, Trowa walked along the narrow railing as if it was a tightrope, then slowly bent at the waist and wrapped his hands around the circular metal. Once his grip was secure, he straightened, bringing his legs above his head as he continued to move along the railing. He smiled when he heard Quatre's startled laugh, then tilted on his hand until he had turned around and began going back the other way.

So much easier without gloves, he thought. And much easier than doing this on a running lion. He glanced over at Quatre, who showed no signs of moving, and decided to really surprise him. He bent again, carefully placing his sneakers on the railing, and then suddenly crouched and launched himself into the air. Executing a quick triple spin, he landed directly on top of the blonde Arabian, hands and legs on either side of him.

Quatre gasped and shut his eyes, keeping them closed tight until he was sure he wasn't going to be used as a landing pad. He looked up at Trowa, who was only inches from his face. "Trowa!" he complained mildly. "You frightened me!"

The other boy didn't answer, lowering his head for a taste of Quatre's mouth. As they kissed, Trowa's body came to rest on top of Quatre's, pinning him down to the soft ground. Quatre reached up to put his arms around Trowa, but his boyfriend only grabbed his wrists and pushed them over the blonde's head, holding him prisoner for the moment.

Eyes half closed, Trowa adjusted their position until both of Quatre's wrists were held securely in one of his large hands. Restraining him temporarily, Trowa smothered him in soft kisses while his other hand worked its way under the thin shirt, rubbing the smooth skin.

"You are a beautiful angel," he whispered.

Quatre smiled and forced himself to relax, not easy to do when one's first instinct was to throw off the attacker. "No," he responded. "I'm 'your' angel."

"All mine," Trowa nodded. He released Quatre's hands and lay his head on the smaller boy's chest, drowsing in the heat of the sun. "This is wonderful."

Supple yet surprisingly strong arms wrapped around him and held him close. "I love you, Trowa."

The tall pilot returned the embrace, about to respond in kind when he heard something metallic snap a meter or so away. He sat up, looking for whatever had made the unknown sound, when the sprinklers abruptly came on. Fine mist sprayed out instead of jets of water, but it was cold water all the same.

Quatre cried out in alarm, laughing at the same time. "Oh, what timing!"

Trowa looked around and saw that every route was cut off with those damn sprinklers. Hmm...the only way out, it seems, is up. Not waiting to ask permission, he scooped Quatre into his arms and carried him to the nearest tree, using one hand to climb the squat oak.

"Trowa, I can walk, you know," Quatre grumbled, kissing him to take the edge off his comment.

"I know, little one," Trowa smirked, eyes gleaming. "But I worry that you will be too small to reach the higher branches."

"Trowa!" Quatre gasped. "Just remember, I can tie you down before you wake up!"

"I know, you proved that quite nicely this morning."

Trowa finally settled down on a large branch that forked upward at an almost perpendicular angle, making a nice chair for them. Sitting down first, he settled Quatre comfortably on his lap, allowing him to lay his head on his shoulder. He gazed down at him, marveling at the way the tiny water droplets sparkled on Quatre's eyelashes.

"Absolutely gorgeous," he whispered.

Quatre blushed and lowered his eyes. "You'll make me vain with all your compliments."

"But they're true," Trowa insisted, pressing him with another kiss.

As Quatre edged even closer to the warm body next to him, soft laughter echoed out from one of the windows looking into the garden. They both looked up to see a couple of the maids cleaning the tall windows and giggling to themselves.

"Why would they be--?" Quatre wondered, but Trowa lay his finger on the soft lips, shushing him.

"They're a bit amazed with us," he chuckled. "Even the sprinklers didn't manage to cool us down."

An involuntary laugh escaped out of Quatre. "I suppose they're right." He stared up sadly at Trowa. "Do you really have to leave today?"

Trowa nodded. "But it's only for a little bit," he swore.

"You leave too often," Quatre pouted.

"The last time was two weeks ago!"

"Too soon."

"I'll be back in time for a duet, I promise."

"I hope we'll have time for a little more than a duet," Quatre narrowed his eyes suggestively. "And when do you have to go? Do we have time for fun before then?"

"How can you be so innocent and so wanton at once?" Trowa smiled.

"A special talent," Quatre laughed. "Would you like to sample another of my talents?"

"Here, in the garden where everyone can see us?" Trowa asked. "Are you sure?"

"Mmm...hold still," Quatre beamed, kissing him deeply as his hands roamed. "We wouldn't want to fall out of the tree."

"Master Quatre?"

The Arabian looked up vaguely from the paperwork in front of him. He'd already finished reading and signing it all, but he couldn't think of anything he wanted to do at the moment. No, not true. He wanted Trowa there, but then his lover wasn't around, was he? He fingered the flower Trowa had placed in his blonde hair, a pretty blue violet.

"Yes, Rashid?" he asked, his voice uncommonly flat.

"Master Quatre, your tea has been set out in the music room as you requested."

"All right, thanks."

"And I wanted to tell you that I will be leaving for the estate dealings for the Maganacs now."

Quatre nodded once, eyes not moving. "All right."

Rashid narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "And then I will put on a dress and sing madrigals in the backyard," he said.

"I don't think they make dresses in your size, Rashid," Quatre smiled sadly. "I really am listening, I just...I just don't feel well, that's all."

The taller man shook his head sadly. "Does it really make you feel empty, to be without him?"

Quatre nodded, quietly resting forward on his desk.

Rashid smiled with a soft chuckle. "Ah, to be love-sick again...really, Quatre, you don't think moping about because your lover is gone is counter-productive? Wouldn't you rather be doing something?"

"Yes," Quatre grumbled, "but they all involve Trowa."

Rashid's laughter grew stronger. "Well, perhaps you should mope in the music room, it's much warmer in there. You'll catch a cold if you stay in here longer, and then Trowa will have to wait for you to get better before...anything."

Quatre sat up and gave him a half-hearted smile. "I suppose so. Thank you, Rashid."

The other man grinned and turned to leave. "I just do not like to see you so moody, that's all."

Watching as Rashid left, Quatre stood and headed to the music room, only slightly dragging his feet. He didn't care that he was scuffing the marble floor, or that the grass stains on his shoes would leave marks on an Oriental rug worth thousands of dollars. But he did take care not to damage the soft petals of the flower still in his hands.

When he reached his destination, he sat down in the soft chair in the corner and pulled the tray with his tea close, setting the flower on the corner. He visibly relaxed in the warmer air, trapped from the afternoon's earlier heat. Now, as the sun was beginning to drift down towards the horizon, the evening air hadn't cooled the air as it had in his office.

He noticed a folded letter alongside the saucer, and he held it up. A smile slowly forced its way over his features as he realized it was one of Duo's hasty letters that came nearly every week. Something he immediately recognized as a picture fluttered onto his lap, and his smile broadened when he picked it up.

Duo and Heero stood in front of a large, brightly colored tent, surrounded by rambunctious children holding cotton candy and hot dogs. Duo had on his usual black clothing and his cap, but a gold ring was obvious on his left hand as he raised his fingers in a "V" sign to the camera. Beside him, Heero had somehow been dragged into a loose fitting, dark blue shirt and blue jeans, but the yellow sneakers were still there. Apparently Duo was pleased with himself for getting serious-minded Yuy to enjoy the chocolate ice cream in his hand. And in the background, if Quatre looked close enough, he could spot one of the lions running loose with several children after it.

"Ai, Duo," Quatre sighed, feeling sorry for the lion. "You and your 'kids'...at least Heero's there to bail you out."

He turned his attention from the picture to the letter and began to read.

Quatre wondered briefly what kind of people those children were going to grow into. He finished his tea and put the letter aside, meaning to put it in his office later with the rest of Duo's letters. Rising to look out the window, he took a step towards the piano. He stumbled a bit looked down.

"Strange," he whispered. "I don't remember the room being tilted...?"

A second later his eyes closed and he was unconscious before he even hit the ground.

"How much you think we can get for him?"

"Billions, no problem. He's a rich little brat."

"Yeah, but will they pay?"

"Oh, they'll pay. If they don't want to get him back in pieces, they'll pay a shitload."

Quatre resisted the urge to moan or open his eyes as he came to. Roused by the voices, he cracked his eye open just a tiny bit, peering through the lashes at the men in front of him. The angle was odd, and only when the cold started to bite at his skin did he realize he was looking up at them from the floor. Rough cord bound his wrists tight behind his back, and he could feel a similar loop around his ankles.

Kidnapped? he wondered in amazement. I've been kidnapped? His vision focused and he finally got a good look at the two men before him. One of them was a stranger, but the other...he recognized him, one of the servants he'd hired on recently to tend the garden.

Rashid was right, security was too lax. Trowa tried to warn me...Trowa...I want Trowa...Anxiety and pain won out in his head and he involuntarily whimpered, catching their attention.

"Hey, I think he's awake."

The stranger grabbed his arms and forcefully sat him up, ignoring Quatre's cry as the rope burned his wrists. Quatre tried to shift to a less painful position, but the other man took it as a move to escape and viciously slapped him several times. Quatre lowered his head, hoping he could play for a little time and a little less pain while he was at it.

"Stay still, runt!"

"Don't bother, he's a total pushover," the gardener smirked.

Praise Allah he doesn't know anything about me, Quatre almost smiled in relief. He gave a cursory moan and hoped his acting skills were good.

"See, told ya. Just smack him around if he gives you a problem."

Quatre looked up, wincing at what felt like bright lights hit his eyes. The gardener sneered at him.

"Do you even know who I am, Mr. High and Mighty?" he growled, crossing his arms. "Do you know my name?"

Quatre made a show of staring hard at him. "No, I'm afraid not," he lied. "Should I?"

Instead of being insulted, the gardener grinned. "Too busy screwing with your boyfriend, huh?"

"I'm gonna make the call," the stranger suddenly said. "They've probably noticed he's gone by now."

"I'm coming with you."

As they left, the gardener turned off the lights and started to close the door.

"No, please don't leave me in the dark," Quatre yelled, using what Trowa called his "puppy-dog eyes". The other two paid no attention to him, though, and slammed the door, plummeting him into darkness.

Quatre sighed irately. Escaping would've been a lot easier if they'd left the lights on. He shifted until onto his back and started to force his hands down, straining to bring them under his legs. The rope tore at his skin, covering the ropes in his own blood, but he finally brought his wrists around his ankles and to his chest. I never thought I'd be happy I'm so small. He bit at one end of the rope, grimacing as he tasted his own blood. Without his sight, undoing the knot with his teeth was a chore that lasted all of five minutes. Trowa would have been displeased.

Knowing he had to hurry, Quatre undid the bindings on his ankles and stood slowly, trying to avoid any lingering dizziness. He still felt light-headed, but not enough to force him back down again. He placed one hand on the wall, searching for a ventilation shaft or a maintenance access panel.

"Yes," he whispered with a happy smile. There was a small metal door in the corner that easily swung open towards him. He put his hands out, feeling around inside, and found a narrow space that extended in two directions. Water audibly rushed around nearby, and his hand brushed a pipe set against the rough brick wall. This was definitely a maintenance access tunnel.

"We're still on the earth," he sighed, quite relieved. He'd been worried they had taken him up to some spaceship. At least now he felt grounded, literally. With no hesitation, he slid into the access tunnel and edged through it, hoping it would lead to another room or even a higher floor, since this area sounded much like basements he'd been in before.

Trowa stepped inside the mansion, surprised that nearly all the lights were dark. He didn't see anyone nearby, but he remembered that Quatre had said something about letting all the servants go so they would be alone. Still...

I don't like this, he thought, dropping his duffel bag on the floor and digging out his handgun. My little angel would've jumped out of the mansion and hugged me, or left a note telling me to come to the bedroom. This isn't like you, Quatre. What's happened?

He calmly walked upstairs, sweeping his gaze back and forth along the hallway and wondering if anyone was going to leap out from the shadows at him. Straining to hear any kind of noise in the silent mansion, he briefly ducked inside the music room and noticed a letter and picture by the chair in the corner. Making sure he was alone, he picked them up and glanced over them.

Quatre wouldn't just leave this on the floor...he left them on the seat and quickly moved to the office, hoping to find a message hidden away in the secret panel on the first drawer, or behind the frame around the little picture Quatre had of him. Nothing. Trowa plopped down in Quatre's chair and concentrated, puzzled by the turn of events.

The phone in front of him suddenly rang.

Trowa shook his head in disbelief. No way, it can't be that easy.

He picked up the phone and answered. "Hello, Winner office."

"Who is this? Is this Rashid?"

"No, who am I speaking to?" Trowa asked.

"Oh, I know who you are, Quatre's little playmate. Yeah, you'll do. Listen up, kid, we got Quatre, and if you ever wanna see him alive again, you'd better send us ten billion dollars by tomorrow night!"

"Ah..." Trowa tapped a few buttons on the phone and waited for the trace to run through. "Have you ever done this before?" Trowa asked, leaning back in the chair.

"What?!"

"Have you ever done this before?"

"Kid, are you crazy?"

"Look, you don't exactly sound like a professional kidnapper. And if you managed to get to Quatre, you're probably on his staff somewhere. Are you sure you want to play this game?"

"You wanna see your pint-sized boyfriend sent to you bit by bit through the mail?!"

Trowa frowned. "How do I know you have him?"

"What do you mean? We've got him right here!"

Definitely never done this before, Trowa sighed. "Let me talk to him. I'll start getting the money together when I know he's all right."

"Fine!" Perking up the moment Trowa had said "money," the gardener nodded at the other man, who headed back to the tiny room they'd left Quatre in. "You sure you can round up all the money?" the gardener continued the conversation.

Trowa smirked. That's it, stay on the line. "It'll take awhile, maybe a couple of days. The first few million are on hand, but the rest will have to come out of liquefied stocks, real estate, satellite sales..."

A tiny red light began to flash on the phone, and he leaped up to read the digital display. His eyes opened wide, not just in surprise but outright astonishment.

They're in the house?! he gasped. Just how stupid are these guys?

Over the phone, he heard someone yell in the background "he's gone! He got out in an access panel!"

Trowa got his answer. Very stupid indeed. He slammed the receiver done, picked up his handgun and headed for the lowest basement level. Keep moving, Quatre. I'm coming after you.