Adult-FanFiction.org : Gundam, Beyblade, DBZ, FMA

Picture Windows	By : Maureen Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 591 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Picture Windows
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 1
- 2
- 3
Picture Windows 2

Trowa
was sure it was a dream, almost; the events of the day had tried the edges of
Trowa�s personal reality; he was unwilling to make any snap judgments. He was
back in the tower, seated on the same damask fainting couch. Violin music again
filled the air, but he was unable to find Quatre through the thick mist
obscuring the outer details of the room. �Alright then, it�s a dream.� The
words triggered a sudden refocusing of Trowa�s vision; the colors of the room
blazed a little too brightly and the mist disappeared. A somber woman, dressed
in heavy black skirts now occupied the other end of the couch, absorbed in the
embroidery on her lap. Trowa recognized her immediately, �Phoebe�� he
breathed quietly, so as not to startle her.

She
gave no signs of hearing him; instead she looked up at Quatre, who now stood
barely ten feet in front of them, �You
should just run away. Simply pack your beloved violin and a few changes of
clothing. It would be no great task to lose yourself in New York City, or
London, or perhaps Paris. Places with broader minds than you�ll ever find in a
provincial town such as this.�

Quatre
stopped playing and studied her expressionless face carefully before finally
replying with resigned laugh. �Phoebe! I could never run away � I would
never leave you or Iria behind!� He tucked the violin under his chin once
more, �Besides, it wouldn�t be as easy as just picking up and leaving.�
Quatre�s earlier tune had been airy and bright, this one sounded discordantly
through the room.

Trowa
ignored Phoebe�s response as he stood and moved closed to Quatre. The blonde
was a study of sensual perfection; translucent eyelids half closed, wild locks
of white-gold hair brushing high cheek bones still lightly dusted with baby fat.
The swell of Quatre�s bottom lip was caught between his teeth in
concentration, and as he swayed his hair obscured the eyes that Trowa so
desperately needed to see. Trowa stepped forward, intent on sweeping the fringe
away. His hand was transparent and passed through Quatre�s cheek without the
slightest tingle. Wide blue eyes flew open with a sudden snap. �You aren�t
here yet! That will have to wait.� Quatre impishly winked at Trowa, and then
looked through him to address Phoebe, the tableau continued unhindered by
Trowa�s presence.

�Leaving
is your only chance for happiness, Quatre!� Phoebe was clearly becoming upset.

Quatre
moved rapidly to her side, and grasped her forearms with earnest intensity.
�No, Phoebe, you don�t understand at all � my only chance is remaining
here!� He turned, and his flashing eyes pinned Trowa down. �Someone waits
for me. And I wait as well.� Trowa felt his flesh started to slowly smolder
under the heat of Quatre�s gaze; but the burning sensation was surprisingly
pleasant. A persistently ringing alarm clock tugged at him from years away, and
as he lost his struggle against wakefulness, he could hear Quatre�s insistent
voice pursuing him, �hurry� hurry��

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Indian
Summer lingered in the late morning air; the balmy temperature was deliciously
at odds with the calendar. Miss Iria puttered among the few persistent roses
that defied the date and shone as desperate blots of color against the already
grayed landscape as Trowa parked in front of the House.

�Good
morning!� Iria�s greeting was brighter than the morning sun. �I was just
puttering out here a bit; when you get to be my age, you don�t waste the
blessing of an unexpectly warm fall day!� Trowa smiled back at her until the
unfamiliar muscles in his face started to ache. �But these old bones grow
chilly soon enough, so let�s go in and warm them with a cup of coffee.�

They
lingered only briefly in the kitchen; Miss Iria drank her coffee quickly and
then steered Trowa towards Quatre�s Tower. �I hope you�ll be wanting to
talk about something different than Anne or her Dr. Peters. I know so many
stories, and they keep asking me to repeat the same few.�

�I�d
like to hear more about Quatre.� Trowa paid special attention to the family
pictures lining the walls as they walked; he was curious to see if he could spot
the progression of Quatre�s talent. �Last night, you talked about Quatre�s
�experiments,� what exactly did you mean?�

�He
took pictures of every imaginable thing under the sun, but in streaks, mind
you.� Trowa�s puzzled look begged for clarification, so Miss Iria complied,
�For instance, he was quite taken with winter trees for a time � there are
at least four albums filled with nothing but pictures of bare branches. Trains,
flowers, landscapes, horses � anything you can think of, Quatre probably took
a picture. Or several hundred. One of my favorites as a child was his series
featuring a ballet troupe; he took so many magnificent photographs of the women
in their costumes and poses.� She laughed her way through the tower door, �I
must have spent hours as a girl, pouring through his albums, trying to see as he
must have seen. I haven�t looked at those books in ages, shall we?�

Trowa
helped Miss Iria up the stairs, and settled her in a chair facing an album-laden
bookshelf. The morning and afternoon passed quickly as the pile of examined and
discarded books grew by Trowa�s side. Sometimes they spoke in hushed whispers,
but mostly passed the time in a tranquil peace, lost in Quatre�s unique
vision. Eventually, Trowa�s stomach announced it was definitely dinnertime,
and he assisted Miss Iria to her feet in preparation to leave Quatre�s room.
�Wait!� she cried, and her eyes rapidly scanned the shelf. �I seem to
recall that there was one of Quatre�s albums that Iria never would let me
see� She kept it on the highest shelf, I believe.� She gestured to the top
of the bookcase, well above even Trowa�s head. �See if you can�t fish it
out, and we�ll cure an old woman�s curiosity.�

Trowa
pulled a stool over to the bookcase and reached around on the shelf that was
still just out of his eyes� range. His fingers stumbled along until they
encountered a book on its side; the smooth cover matched the feel of the other
albums. Trowa carefully inched the tome forward and pulled it down. �Bring it
with us.� Iria said, �And we�ll look at it after dinner.�

For
their meal, Iria fried chicken and Trowa prepared coleslaw under her direction.
Trowa devoured more of the crispy chicken than he would have believed possible;
his sister�s cooking was tolerable at best and terrifying at worst, he usually
had to make do with TV dinners and microwave burritos. Iria was more than
pleased to stuff him until he was �fit to burst,� and she was even happier
when he topped the meal off with a generous portion of her homemade chocolate
cake. The pair rested, contentedly patting their full bellies, when Trowa
remembered the �mystery� album.

As
soon as he cracked open the cover, he knew why Iria the senior had kept the book
from Miss Iria as a child. Every photo featured a young man, in various states
of undress, in bed. The first several pages were filled with shots obviously
taken when the man was asleep; he lay on his stomach, one arm wrapped around a
pillow, as the other rested in the empty hollow at his side. The man�s hair
obscured his face, but the camera had focused instead on the broad plains of his
naked back. Indeed, several of the pictures appeared to have been taken from the
vantage point of the man�s buttocks; turning the tightly muscled expanse into
a wide landscape of rippled hills and ridged valleys through the play of light
and shadows. Trowa turned further in, and found that the man had shifted
position as the morning sun made its way across Quatre�s bed. And it obviously
was Quatre�s bed that the man sprawled on; the drapery and the room beyond
appeared eerily unchanged. The same careful eye had been applied to the bare
chest, each picture taken from a worshipful angle as the man lay on his side, a
study in carnal elegance. In the last few pages, the man was on his back, the
sheet nothing more than an artfully arranged wisp between his legs. And in the
last photo a languorous smile graced the man�s visible features as his hands
were extended in obvious invitation. The photo sent a shivering whisper of d�j�
vu through Trowa; a quiet voice in his subconscious spoke in a language he
refused to understand.

�Well,
that would certainly explain why she didn�t want me to see these!� Iria
chirped over Trowa�s shoulder. �My, and such a handsome young man! I wonder
who he was?� Trowa refused to worry about the man�s identity; he was instead
concerned with his own overpowering, unreasonable jealousy. The sight of this
unknown person so clearly comfortable in and accustomed to Quatre�s bed
wounded him against all reason. Yet there was something about the man; the
internal voice refused to be silenced.

�Do
you suppose that�s who he left with?� The bitterness of his own tone shamed
Trowa.

�Oh,
no! Auntie Iria was always most insistent that Quatre left not with a lover, but
for lack of one. Perhaps this fine fellow merely opened Quatre�s
perspectives��

�You
seem rather accepting of his, um, lifestyle choices.� Life in a tiny town had
not offered Trowa many opportunities to hear people speak of homosexuality in a
positive light.

�Aunt
Phoebe always told me that there is no shame in true love, between true lovers.
But then, I suppose my upbringing was unorthodox.� She took the album from
Trowa�s hands and began to idly page through it. �Auntie Iria probably would
have had the same views as most other women of her times, if not for Phoebe and
Quatre. She loved them both so, nothing either of them did could ever be wrong
in her eyes. Ah, here�s the chap with his clothes on!� A creased photo had
been tucked in the front cover; it crackled thinly between Trowa�s fingers as
he accepted it.

In
it, the man stood against the outside of the House, his arm casually wrapped
around Quatre�s shoulder. Quatre was almost a head shorter than the lean
figure, and the photographer had caught the blonde staring up at his companion
in blissful adoration. The man�s head was angled to return Quatre�s gaze,
and while nose-length bangs obscured most of his face, there was still an
unsettling feeling of recognition. Iria pinned it down for him, �My, he looks
just like you!�

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The
house was silent when Trowa returned home for the evening, Cathy out for her
usual Saturday evening of commiserating with fellow teachers. She had left a
note and money for pizza, Trowa scrawled a hasty �Thanks, but no thanks.�
And slipped into his room. His first impulse was to tear through Quatre�s
diary, but his own reaction to the knowledge that Quatre had found a lover still
pricked in all the wrong places. Jealously over the boy being able to find a
lover, he could have accepted, but his jealously towards the boy�s lover chafed. It was delusional, to love someone
so long dead, whom he had no hopes of ever meeting and only scraps of
information about, but a quiet corner of his brain insisted that Quatre was his,
and his alone. And the man� he looks just like you� Iria�s echoing
words joined the persistent unacknowledged mutterings in the back of his mind.
Even standing in the shower until he was waterlogged and wrinkly did
nothing to ease Trowa�s internal argument.

Trowa
emerged from the bathroom, and stared at the diary while he viciously scrubbed a
towel through his hair. He hesitated over the book, unsure about adding fuel to
the Quatre-fed fire in his mind. When his disgust over his internal vacillation
grew stronger than his anger at his unreasonable emotions, he gave in and flung
himself down on the bed. He opened the diary randomly and began to read.

December
20^th, 1896

The
evening was complete and utter Hell! And I do not feel blasphemous, either.
Clara Rose has told me that Hell is the worst possible thing you can imagine,
forever. And that everyone has a different Hell - Satan does not exist - just
personal worlds of eternal torment. And I received an early view of mine
tonight!

I
had expected there to be other young people present - Iria�s of marriageable
age, after all, and Father still clings to desperate hope for Phoebe� I,
however, did not realize that I was to bear the brunt of tonight�s matchmaking
intentions! Both that simpering Relena Peacecraft girl and her frightening
cousin Dorothy remained plastered to my side all night! The forward things kept
trying to force me under the mistletoe � but I was not about to let my first
kiss go to either of those vacuous gadflies! I want someone with more substance,
more style, more strength. I want to be protected, too; to feel another�s
warmth surround me. I want an equal, not some bit of eternally vacant chattel!
Is love too much to ask for? I fear so, if young ladies of this caliber are to
be considered suitable matches. As for my truest desire, no slight chance even
exists; I fear the best I can hope for is someone I like, and that the poor
trapped thing can tolerate me, as well. Why did I have to be the only boy? There
ought to be enough grandchildren, without having to make me contribute to the
ranks, and�

OH!
Stop it, Quatre! I am being absurd!
All that will come of this is my own misery. The entire evening was not a waste
� I did escape to play several Christmas carols, and sing with most my
sisters. I do so love the way we sound together � my voice has not deepened
all that much, we still blend perfectly. Singing with them has always been the
part of Christmas I cherish most. For single shining moment during the year, the
Winner siblings speak with one strong voice. Poor Phoebe refused to sing, Iria
and I have tried everything we can think of with her. I hate to see her sitting
morosely there, a mere ghost of the beautiful young woman I so loved and
admired. Father can be so blindly, stubbornly cruel.

Trowa
chuckled at the idea of Quatre politely fending off the girls; he had been in
similar positions with women far too often. The blonde�s clear desire for the
love of an equal stirred an answering ache in Trowa�s own heart. As the
boy�s lover was evidently not present yet, Trowa skipped ahead in hopes of
finding mention of the man, but his attention was snagged by an entry made in a
different hand.

February
12, 1897

Quatre
wanted so desperately to write in here, but his strength gave out before I had
retrieved this volume from its hiding place. My dear brother is quite mad to
keep a book of this nature, since Phoebe�s diaries proved her damnation, but I
understand the comfort of writing in this manner. I fear I would be screaming if
I were not pouring my soul out on this piece of paper. My poor, dear, brave, and
foolishly sweet Brother, oh my Quatre! I cannot even now bear to look at him
knowing that I might have lost him today. And when he wakes, I must break his
tender heart and tell him his efforts were in vain. He looks so fragile, lying
there pale and almost transparent � a broken and dying angel cast up on a
lonely shore.

We
were ice-skating, a whole tumble of people on Jenkins� Lake, when little
Nathaniel, Elizabeth�s
youngest, went through the ice. My heart simply stopped the moment I saw the
boy disappear, and I do not think it has beat since� Quatre was with me, and
saw it, too; we were over half the pond away, but my dear Brother raced towards
the boy faster than I have ever seen anyone skate in my life. When he reached
the hole that Nathaniel had left, my knightly Brother went right in, intent on
saving the child. Several of the men rushed to help � Chaos reigned! The air
filled with the sounds of splashing water, splintering ice, and screaming women
� and I am sure I was one of them, my throat burns � a few cooler heads
attempted to push the crowd away from the obviously weakened ice. I find myself
unable and unwilling to describe the feelings I experienced in the eternal
seconds between watching Quatre disappear beneath the ice and� the thought
kept running through my mind �Quatre is gone� Quatre is gone� Quatre is
gone�� I remember thinking that if I repeated it often enough, I would be
able to die too�

Rashid
was the one who finally pulled them out � he reached right in and hauled
Quatre up by the hair! My beloved Brother was blue, and held Nathaniel�s limp
form clenched in his arms. The poor child died, I am afraid. And Quatre � how
can anyone be so noble and still be allowed to walk the Earth. I can only pray
the angels will not come for him tonight� My beautiful boy, I wish I could
keep you safe from every harm and sorrow, but sisters are powerless, after all.

The
tears that had gathered behind his eyes as he read surprised Trowa; when several
of them escaped and made their unsteady way down his face, he was shocked. Trowa
had been tearless for a very long time; he had tried desperately to cry when his
parents died, but both tears and emotions remained blocked within him, walled
him off from everyone else, and left a dull, empty ache at his core. To cry now,
over this long gone boy, felt traitorous to Trowa, but the trickle of pain soon
became a steady flood, and lost to it, he buried his face in his pillow and
sobbed out years of loneliness, anger, and betrayal. It was well over an hour
before the tempest subsided, and a tentative feeling of calm flowed in to take
its place. Trowa ground the remainder of the tears from his eyes with the heels
of his hands, and turned with renewed curiosity to the discarded book. He had
before this point viewed Quatre as a sheltered innocent; simply a beautiful boy
with a fanciful heart. Certainly not the sort to thoughtlessly risk his life;
definitely not the type apt to make daredevil rescue attempts. This new
knowledge challenged his assumptions, and made it impossible for Trowa to
predict Quatre�s reaction to the tragedy.

The
next entry was dated several months later. The paper was blotched and wrinkled,
the ink smeared and swirled.

May
29, 1897

Iria
and I sat Between for hours today, simply watching the steady progression of
time. After what must have been hours, I finally broke down and wept. Iria was
glad to see it, and I concede that she was correct; I do feel better for finally
having released all the tears dammed up within�
She thinks that I have released my guilt as well, but I refuse to
liberate it � I deserve the affliction! If I had been faster or stronger, if I
were a real man, I could have saved him�

Crying
seems to be habit forming. Anyway, Iria held me through that first rage of
tears. I wish she were my mother, she feels like a mother must. She has always
treated me with tender maternal affection and stood stalwart behind me. And she
herself, motherless and only a year older than I� I wish she could remember my
mother; Iria would happily share her memories with me. Intimacy between my other
sisters and myself has proven largely impossible. Except for Phoebe, and I fear
we have no hope of ever really regaining her� If there was even just a single
image of my mother, something � I am the only proof that my mother ever lived.
I think I understand Phoebe and her quilt now, she has to leave some sort of
indication that she was once here � perhaps that explains my obsession with
photography, proof of my passing, of my participation in life. I think I will
send some of the pictures I have of Nathaniel to Elizabeth, a poor substitute, I
know, but perhaps seeing his face will bring her some s
mall comfort�

Self-loathing
dripped through Quatre�s writing, the regrettable incident seemed to have
crushed the young man�s spirit. Certainly, the irrepressible joie de vie of
the earlier entry had disappeared, and left a confused, bitter, and desperately
unhappy man in its wake. Trowa desperately wanted nothing more to hold Quatre
tightly; he understood Iria�s hopeless desire to shield her younger brother
� he seemed to need more protection from himself than the world outside. The
diary was nearing its end, and Trowa read on, hoping that Quatre had been able
to regain some small sense of self.

June
13, 1897

I
have rejoined the ranks of the living today. And in a sublimely ironic twist,
Phoebe served as my guide from the Underworld�

Today
began like any other, Phoebe sat in her customary place, working on her quilt as
is her solitary habit, and I playing for her like the mad man I had become,
filling the air for endless hours with the lamentation of my violin. I played
until my fingers began to crack and bleed. Anger possessed me then; I madly
raced around the room, pulling books from their shelves, curtains from the
windows, and smashing many of my less used instruments. Phoebe caught and
restrained me before I could destroy my precious violin, and we fell together, a
tangled, howling mess. She held me and sang a soft lullaby that I had not heard
in years; I cried all the harder, then � for everything lost � Nathaniel�s
childhood, sweet Phoebe�s love, my own soul�

After
I had wept myself dry, she brought my head down to her lap and stroked my hair
while whispering her full tale � She had never spoken of her affair, I heard
only bits and pieces from the others. Knowing about the peaceful joy she
experienced made the betrayal and separation so much worse. What she and
Annabelle Lee had was true love � theirs would have never been an easy life
together, but their devotion and determination might have seen them through�
reliving Phoebe�s heartbreak reopened my own wounds and drew forth the poison
I had let fester within.

I
love Iria exceedingly, but thankfully she has never felt so utterly lost � I
could never burden her with the bitter self-hatred and powerless sense of rage
that I had cultivated since Nathaniel�s death. When I see myself reflected by
Iria�s eyes I only find the perfection that she wishes to believe of me. Iria
wanted me to remain her tender, innocent boy forever, but Phoebe knew that the
world would never allow that. She painted a vivid and stinging picture of the
confused, morose boy I have become � and the bitter lonely man that I have
been twisting myself into� what a stubborn, selfish, spoiled fool I have been!
My behavior since that dreadful day has helped no one; quite the contrary, I
have hurt people in my blind devotion to my own pain. I learned a harsh lesson
on the ice � I have no control over anything in life but myself.
How trite it all sounds, how ridiculous that I would take comfort from
such as notion! But this new perspective is a true one, and I have it in my
power to stop causing Iria and Phoebe pain, so I have let go of my guilt and
live � I did not die that day, as much as I wish I could have taken
Nathaniel�s place. And Phoebe, she let something go today, too. I think
perhaps we shall see her smiling more�

I,
myself, will never again be the innocent boy that I once was, but perhaps I will
yet become the man that Iria sees when she looks upon me�

Quatre�s
sudden cure was forced, almost anticlimactic. Trowa doubted its efficacy and
endurance. He did not think the boy had actually healed, but had rather
repressed himself further by sacrificing even his pain to his sisters�
happiness. Quatre had lost his joy and then his sorrow, and had only quiet
resignation to take their place. Trowa knew what it was like to be that vacant
on the inside, for Quatre to be likewise afflicted was beyond wrong. People like
Quatre were to be protected and cherished; their fragile inner beauty shielded
from the outside world. Only one entry remained, and he feared what he might
find in it.

October
30, 1897

The
Hallowe�en Dance was a stunning success! Iria has proven quite the hostess!
There was something for everyone to enjoy: dancing for the young folks, card
tables for our more sedentary elders, and games galore to entertain the
children. I can scarcely believe that our mundane barn could host such wonder
and delight � I hope I was able to faithfully capture the magic in even a few
of many pictures I took tonight! Her most brilliant piece of planning was to
insist that everyone attend in costume � I was able to avoid Relena and her
perpetually visiting cousin Dorothy all night! I remained well and truly hidden
beneath my disguise � I attended as an Arabian sheik. A blonde Arab, how absurd! Nevertheless, the turban that
topped the costume covered my hair, and the drapery trailing behind it helped to
hide my features. Even Rashid said I quite looked the part!

However,
the best element of the evening for me was also the spookiest. Iria hired a
fortuneteller from a traveling carnival � it�s become all the rage to dabble
in the supernatural, so she was extremely popular. I did not feel right
depriving any of the guests of the opportunity of meeting with the woman, but
Iria insisted that both Phoebe and I join her to have our fortunes told.
Lucrezia � as our fiercely proud Gypsy was named � spoke of many things �
Iria was told that she would never bear children, but would instead have a true
child of her heart to comfort her throughout her life. Lucrezia pointed out the
sharply broken line of love on Phoebe�s hand, but promised that her remaining
time would be filled with quiet contentment.

And
then she came to me � when her smoky cobalt eyes met mine my spine shivered as
if an icicle had been laid next to it. But I also felt this elusive thrill of
excitement and strangely, relief. She told me that my future would not begin
until my time had passed; when I asked her what she meant, she would only add
that I was in the right place, but the wrong time. She would illuminate no
further, instead she told me to await the fortuitous entry of a handsome
stranger! She said my life would finally be on the right path when he appeared.
I absolutely died in shame when Iria pointed out that I was a man, and asked
Lucrezia about my future wife � Lucrezia said that I would take a spouse but
would never marry a woman. Iria�s eyes were so wide! And Phoebe smiled for the
first time in forever as she squeezed my hand underneath the table.

The
Gypsy finished by bringing out a battered deck of cards she called �Tarot�
(I have never seen their like before, all manner of colorful pictures adorn the
cards, and each has a different meaning. Fascinating!) She drew three cards
three times, one set each for my past, present, and future. The cards
representing my past were the Emperor, the Tower, and the Hermit. The present:
the Fool, the High Priestess, and the Hanged Man. And for my future: the Lovers,
the World, and the Wheel of Fortune. And the only advice she would provide after
looking over the arcane arrangement was to tell me that it was all in my own
hands� Somehow, I am comforted by the strange encounter. I must admit I
understood nothing, but I am reassured all the same. Ah, midnight is almost upon
us, and if the tales be true, spirits will walk among us for the next day. I
believe I shall greet the hour with my violin; perhaps I can draw my Mother�s
spirit from Heaven for a visit.

When
the dream came that night, Trowa was expecting it. Again, he was shrouded in
mist that slowly dissipated to reveal a high, wide enclosure, packed with people
mingling in clumps and streaks. Lively music filled the crisp, clear air, and
the sweep of agile and airy dancers fanned Trowa with a cool breeze as they
whirled past. The people were clothed in a confusing cacophony of costumes;
Indian princesses swung around the room on cowboys� arms, knights and ladies
fair sipped punch, French aristocrats cavorted with friars. He scanned the crowd
intently for Quatre�s robed figure, but was unable to find the boy anywhere.
He could feel Quatre, smell him, almost taste him, but the blonde remained
stubbornly invisible. He growled his frustration and darted through the crowd,
desperate.

�Do
you truly want to find him?� The shadows at the throng�s edge spoke to Trowa
in a warmly toned and thickly accented voice.

He
peered into the gloom, �Yes, do you know where he is?�

With
a colorful swirl of skirts, a dark haired woman detached herself from the
darkness, �I do. As do you. The real question is, what are you willing to do
to reach him?�

�Anything!�

Her laughter was rich and rounded, �Take care with what you say, on a night
like this � the gods may be listening.� Her dark blue eyes appraised Trowa;
tested and weighed his soul. A sharp nod indicated that he had passed and she
beckoned him to follow her into the shadows. �Come, and I will help you find
your way.�

Trowa
followed the tall woman to a strangely silent corner of the barn, to a small
table occupied only by a deck of cards. �Sit, and I�ll read for you. Perhaps
things will become clearer,� She smiled at him, and Trowa found the expression
unnerving rather than calming. �But most likely, they won�t.�

Lucrezia
separated a smaller stack of cards and set the remains of the deck aside.
�First, shuffle these. And think of nothing, I need to see your soul, not your
concerns.� Trowa complied, the cards thick and overly large in his hands.
�Now, three cards as a foundation, the past your now is built upon.� She
turned over the first. A solitary cloaked figure held a lantern high, but turned
his face away from the light it cast. The card was upside down. �Ah! The
Hermit, reversed. This is you, alone and apart from the rest of the world,
averting your eyes from life. But this comes as no surprise to you, I think.�
A card featuring a horned demon was next. �The Devil � beware the enemy
within, for there lies the well-spring of your despair. This is the voice that
whispers your faults and sins to you late in the night; and it is your own.�
The last card of the three showed a high, full moon overlooking a landscape
crowded with indistinct figures, the highlights of the moonlight obscuring their
true forms. �The Moon � her light more often conceals than reveals.� She
passed a ring-riddled hand over the cards, �This was you � isolated, full of
self-doubt, and seeing things in a false light.�

�Now
we see what sort of dwelling you have laid upon this footing.� She started a
second row of cards, directly above the first. A man dressed in priestly robes
stared placidly up at Trowa. �The Hierophant - He presents a mask to the
outside world, but searches for something deeper, for something real.� Trowa
recoiled from the next card, for a skeleton with an empty hourglass stood above
the elegantly scrolled word, �Death.� �Do not fear the card! Death is but
another word for change � do we mourn the passing of a child when he grows
into a man? No.� A slight curve touched her lips, and Trowa felt warmth from
her for the first time. �But perhaps change is even more terrifying than
death.� The last card of the row showed an androgynous youth wrestling with a
lion. �Strength� does it take more strength to defeat a lion, or to love it?
Remember, strength comes in many forms, not just the type needed to win
battles.� As she finished speaking, Trowa reassessed the card, now he could
not tell if the youth was embracing the beast or fighting it.

Silently,
Lucrezia dealt the last row. The first card depicted a couple, hand-in-hand in a
beautiful garden. She huffed, �Ah yes, the card everyone has wanted to see
tonight, the Lovers. Its appearance serves as no guarantee, my friend, love may
still elude you.� Scales hung in perfect balance adorned the center card.
�Justice � this speaks of harmony, and a return to balance.� The last card
was almost identical to the Moon, except that a bright and shining Sun took the
Moon�s place, and exposed every detail of the landscape below. �All things
uncovered, seen in true light. Also, a desired conclusion to a journey, a happy
ending. Stay true to yourself, my friend, make these cards not wavering
guideposts, but sure markers of the path ahead. It all rests in your hands.�

�That�s
what you told Quatre, too.� Trowa knew she was trying to obliquely tell him
something; throughout the reading the certainty had grown from a small suspicion
into an undeniable truth. �What did Quatre�s reading mean?�

Lucrezia�s
eyes flashed, and her smile took on a menacing edge, �Quatre? I have not yet
met any Quatres� and to tell you the meaning of another�s reading, this is
not done!� Her grin diminished to merely ominous proportions as Trowa�s face
fell. �But what are rules, in dreams? Mere wisps of subconscious that pass by
quickly enough. Yes, dreams are made for the breaking of rules.� She gathered
the cards, and laid them afresh. �This first card, the Emperor; this is the
card that symbolizes Quatre�s self in his past. This card speaks of one whose
power is all encompassing, whose will dominates all. The Emperor is the
patriarch. This is not Quatre, this is the presence of his father; who ruled
Quatre�s life, even when absent. As he was, even when present.� The next
card gave Trowa a nasty jolt, on it a Tower was crumbling, and people were
falling from it. �A trauma, a disaster, a death of the self.
�Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.� But, not entirely negative, it
is also struggle against the accepted, stepping into the unknown.� She touched
the next card. It was the Hermit again, upside down. �He wants to stand on his
head today. But the meaning is not the same, for this was you. And, here, it is
the result of this, � She tapped the Emperor, �And this, �and then the
Tower. �It was where you started,
it is what he became.�

�He
wasn�t meant to be like that.�

Lucrezia
snorted, �Neither were you!� She snapped her fingers and pointed back to the
cards, bracelets clattering and clamoring down her arm. �Time grows shorter
with every passing moment. Here is Quatre again, this time the Fool.� A
handsome young man strolled across the card; he blithely strummed his lute, one
foot off a cliff and a wolf on his heels. �If we knew all the dangers in our
journey, we would never take the first step. But he does not walk unguided, for
here beside him sits the High Priestess, a sage and steady guide through the
obstacles that life offers.� A man hung suspended upside down on the last card
of the middle tier, his legs contorted in the shape of an upside-down 4.
�Odin-All-Father hung from the World Tree Yggdrasil for nine days; he
was willing to lose everything to gain the knowledge that he sought.� Her eyes
sliced into him, �What does Quatre seek with such intensity?�

Trowa
did not answer, and after a long moment, she sighed, �We�ll finish, and
you�ll be gone! Morning wears dreams ragged.� A gigantic Ferris wheel
dominated the card she indicated; the people on the upsweep of the wheel looked
happy and healthy, those on the downturn were terrified and diseased. �The
Wheel of Fortune, chance and gamble, risk and reward. A starting point for the
future, a leap of faith. Here again the Lovers,� she picked up the middle card
and set it down, �Here again, no guarantee. Finally, �she patted the last
card, �The World, journey�s end. I won�t tell him, but I�ll tell you,�
she pulled Trowa up, and offered him a small wink as she propelled him away,
�It usually indicates success.�

Lucrezia�s
repeated shoving jostled Trowa into wakefulness, however, when he opened his
eyes he was confronted with Catherine instead. �Duo�s on the phone, and I
can�t get him to shut up enough to make sense! Here!� She shoved the
portable into his hand. Trowa watched his sister go, then slowly put the phone
to his ear; Duo before coffee was an unsavory prospect. �Yeah?�

�Are
you ready, tell me your ready. I mean, you�ve got your costume, right?
�Cause, baby, it�s Halloween! Whoo-hoo!� Duo�s boisterous battle cry
ricocheted through his ear.

�The
party was last night, Duo.� Trowa groggily informed his friend, still more in
the dream than in wakefulness.

�What?!?!
Where? You didn�t tell me? What the hell kind of friend goes to a party and
doesn�t take his bestest buddy, his favoritest pal? Jerk!� The combination
of humor and hurt lent a curious tone to Duo�s voice; it swept the remaining
fog from Trowa�s head.

�No!
It was a dream, you woke me up in the middle of it, and��

�Say
no more, wink wink, nudge nudge, know what I mean? Quite all right, old chap. I
dare say I understand perfectly, no harm done!� Trowa immediately decided that
the only thing worse than Duo�s particular brand of humor first thing in the
morning was the British accent currently delivering it. �So, have you got it?
Say you do! Tonight�s the big night � legitimized candy napping!�

Trowa finally laughed. �You know, we�re not going to be able to get away
with this forever. How many years
in a row can you claim that you have a little brother home with the chicken pox?
Besides, we�re going for the kids, not ourselves.� Although Trowa and his
friends had long since outgrown trick-or-treating, both Hilde and Meiran had
younger siblings that the group squired around town. And then it hit Trowa,
�Crap, you�re talking about my costume, right? I totally forgot about making
it. I�ll have to come up with something else.�

�No!
Say it ain�t so � do you know how hard it was to come up with a costume
theme for that many people� Wu and Mei were bad enough, but you buddy, you
dropped the ball entirely. Well, shit.� Duo and Hilde had decided that
everyone would be dressed as a character from the Wizard of Oz. The kids were
all munchkins, except Meiran�s three year old brother; he was to be Toto.
Hilde claimed the rights to Dorothy, and Duo the Scarecrow. He insisted that
Heero be the Tin Woodsman, and appointed Relena the role of Glinda. Relena had
been disappointed to find out that Glinda never dated the Tin Woodman, but she
was mollified by the thought of the poofy pink dress she would be wearing. Trowa
was to be the Cowardly Lion; Meiran and Wufei insisted that they would find
their own costumes in keeping with the theme. �What are we going to do without
our Lion, man? The kids will cry, hell, I think I�m going to cry.�

�Duo,
it�s no big deal.�

�Yes
it is � it�s our last Halloween together. Next year most of you will be off
to college, and Dad�s already got me in at the car fart-ory as soon as we
graduate. Well, whatever, �The cheery tone returned to Duo�s voice. �I
guess it doesn�t really matter what you wear, hell, go as the designated adult
if you want. Just don�t stand us up, you�ve been doing that a little too
often lately.�

�I�m
sorry Duo. Sometimes I just prefer to be alone.� Trowa also wanted to be off
the phone, it was already ten o�clock, and he wanted to at least visit Iria
for a few hours.

�See,
and I think that�s your problem � you don�t want to be alone, you are
alone. And there�s a big difference between the two.� Many people found Duo
annoying for his mischievous antics; Trowa had never minded that facet of his
friend. The wickedly accurate insights chafed much more.

�Fine!
What time are we meeting, and where? I�ve got to get going.� Trowa instantly
despised the sharpness of his own words; Dou remained irritatingly unfazed.

�Hot
date, stud? Hilde�s, at 4:00. Can you pick up Wu?�

Trowa
confirmed and hung up with a quick good bye. Although neither of them was apt to
rise on Sunday before noon on their own, he found Catherine at the kitchen
table, coffee in one hand, paper in the other. Trowa poured himself a cup and
then slumped down next to her, lazily pondering his costume prospects. �So,�
she looked up, and her curly auburn hair tousled down to skim her shoulder,
bared by an oversized sleep shirt. �Big plans?�

�Escorting
small children on candy begging expeditions. You?�

�Passing
out candy to the Mongol Hordes. Everyone bringing their girlfriends, I
suppose?� She was in �clinical� mode, her head cocked in careful
nonjudgmental neutrality to the side as she waited for his response.

�Yes,
even the five year old has managed to find a date.� He fidgeted with coffee
cup until he noticed her watching his hands. He set the mug down with a heavy
sigh, �Listen, just stop bothering me about it! I don�t want a
girlfriend!�

�A
boy your age should be interested in dating, Trowa. Stop!� She half-heartedly
slapped his shoulder when he parroted her familiar words. A slow, arch curve
slowly claimed her lips, �Besides, I never said it had to be a �girl�
friend.� She drawled.

Trowa
contemplated his sister for a moment, she was far too smug. And poor Quatre had
twenty-nine of them� �I�ll be in college next year.� He coolly shrugged
off her implication.

�So?�
Catherine sensed that somehow she had lost the match.

�Bigger
dating pool.� Trowa set his cup in the sink and gifted her with a spare, wry
grin as he fled the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Trowa
was dressed and in the car before the details of the dream came flooding back in
lucid detail. A brief draft of Lucrezia�s patchouli scent drifted through, and
he could hear the music and laughter of the party. If dreams were messages from
the subconscious, what was his trying to tell him? The gypsy fortuneteller, the
warm feeling of Quatre�s nearby presence, the Lovers card appearing twice, the
Hermit as well. None of it made any sense to him; perhaps Catherine could have
interpreted the meaning, but Trowa had never turned to her for help before, and
he refused to now. No matter how
much he had wanted to, he refused to burden her with any additional pain, and he
knew she would not be able to maintain a professional detachment from his
distress. And he didn�t want her to know how guilty he felt; that she had to
put her own life away to care for him. He would either puzzle it out eventually
on his own, or the dreams would stop. And he hoped for the former.

The
day was even warmer than the one before, highlighting Mother Nature�s fickle
attitude towards Michigan, but Iria was inside when Trowa arrived. As was
becoming her habit, she escorted him first to the kitchen.
�Miss Iria, I won�t be able to stay long today � I forgot that it
was Halloween, and I promised that I would help a few of my friends take their
little brothers and sisters Trick-or-Treating. I don�t even have anything to
wear yet��

�Hmm,
let me think on that a bit � I believe we could fix you up with something!
Plenty of old clothes lying around here in trunks and drawers. Yes indeed, I
think I know just the thing!�

Trowa
doubted that there would be many clothes for him in a House that had known so
few men. �Pardon me for saying so, but I am definitely not wearing a dress!�

�Oh,
dear me know! I would never suggest such a thing!� Miss Iria clapped her hands
gleefully. �No, no, up top of Quatre�s tower, there�s another room. I
never knew whom it belonged, but what with those pictures we found last night, I
think I can hazard a guess. There�s a trunk up there, filled with clothes that
must have been his. They�re sure to fit.�

The
album still lay on the kitchen table; Trowa took out the photo of the Quatre and
his lover to study the man once more. �Do I really look that much like him?�
he murmured. He flipped the photo over; it fluttered in unhampered grace down to
the table, released by Trowa�s nerveless fingers. He could still plainly see
the inscription on the back: T. Bloom and Q. Winner, Christmas 1897.

�Not
surprising, really,� Miss Iria had to pick the picture up to read the back.
She scrutinized the front once more, and handed it back to Trowa. �After all,
your family�s been in this town as long as mine has. Maybe longer. I can see
your resemblance to Joseph, now that I look for it.�

�Who?�

�Joseph
Bloom, Auntie Iria�s husband, of course. Seems Annie might have mentioned
that. Most all the photographs of him are in Iria�s room. Would you care to
see?� Trowa offered her his arm, and she guided him up a central flight of
stairs, commenting on various artifacts and decorations that caught his eye as
they went. The room they entered was cavernous; the ceilings were twice
Trowa�s height, and he could have fit two of his own bedroom in the same
amount of floor space. A light rose color dusted the walls, and a thin, dark
railing split the room horizontally two thirds of the way up; framed pictures of
various sizes jostled with each other for room to hang on long wires from it.
The room itself looked like it had been untouched since its owner died, dust
coated the furnishings and a few cobwebs danced on nonexistent breezes near the
ceiling. Trowa broke away from Iria and moved to study the pictures.

One
entire wall was lined with Quatre, starting at the eastern end, when the boy was
around eight, and following his growth as the wall progressed westward. Quatre
had been a dazzling child; in every picture his face was open and eager. There
was abundant evidence of a graceful evolution into young adulthood; no awkward,
gangly spell for Quatre. Trowa himself had felt like an ungainly puppy from
eleven to fourteen; all oversized feet, hands, and ears, until the rest of him
had finally grown. Quatre remained perfectly proportioned through out, simply
growing more and more breathtaking in each passing frame. As the wall neared its
end, the other young man made several appearances, as did Phoebe and twice, Iria.
They were genuinely at ease with each other, and the pictures captured them in
natural moments, guided by fond eye. And in every shot where the young man
appeared, either he or Quatre had been caught watching the other. He wondered if
the pictures had been taken that way on purpose, or if the pair was truly that
enamored with each other.

He
skimmed over the next two walls, past pictures of sisters and children he�d
already seen. One, however, stopped him in his tracks. He called Miss Iria over.
�Who was this?� The man glowered down at her through the dusty glass.

�Why,
that�s Rashid! He was Ibrahim�s manservant � Ibrahim crossed the world
over several times and met Rashid somewhere in the Middle East. The two always
traveled together after that. He lived on with us here until he died in 1922,
and I suspect that he was over a hundred years old! Ah, Rashid, he was such a
gentle man, and so patient with me!� Miss Iria�s features were smoothed by
memories; a much younger woman peeked out of her face as she spoke.

�He
saved Quatre�s life once.�

�Oh, you can be sure that he saved it more than once; he doted on the boy!
Aunt Phoebe used to say that when Quatre was born, Rashid stopped praying
to Mecca, and pointed his pray rug in Quatre�s direction instead. He never set
off with Ibrahim again after the boy came along. Auntie Iria always treated him
like a father, and I suppose in many ways he was the only father those children
ever knew. Come a little further down, I�ll show you Joseph, and then we�ll
get you fixed up and on your way.�

Trowa
thought Catherine looked more like Joseph than he did, but there was a similar
spacing in their eyes, and leanness of their frames. Iria, next to Joseph,
positively glowed. �When was she widowed?� He hoped that she had at least a
few years of such bright happiness.

�They
were married in the spring of 1898, and he was dead by the summer of 1901.�
They each entertained their own thoughts on the matter for a time. Finally Miss
Iria broke the hush. �You run up and look for a costume, and I�ll see about
getting a little lunch. Don�t even think to argue, sonny, you already promised
to let me feed you, and unless you�ve got complaints about my cooking, I�m
holding you to it!�
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Picture Windows

May29, 1897

June13, 1897

May
29, 1897

June
13, 1897