Chapter Text
01 - the blond boy
The blond boy who stepped out of the Gundam was not at all like Trowa was expecting. Having come out with his hands up in a gesture of surrender, the pilot of Heavyarms anticipated that he would already have a gun trained on him and waited to be shot in the head. After all, those who have laid eyes on a Gundam shall not live to tell of it. Those were his orders. Instead, the boy smiled, goggles askew on his head, and entreated Trowa to put down his hands. “I was the first to come out and surrender, remember?” Taking a beat, and looking at the calm, oddly happy boy and his full squadron of mobile suit backup, Trowa put his hands down.
That was only the first time that the blond boy surprised Trowa.
The second time happened a few seconds after that.
“Want to come back to my base? I have tea… and we can repair your Gundam?” he had asked, a small, uncertain smile on his face. “We shouldn’t be fighting each other.”
Trowa was thrown off, but was immediately certain that this boy was no enemy. He had always known when someone or something meant him harm, and knew how to calm the wildest of beasts. This boy, though powerful, was not like the lions in the circus. He was something entirely different. “You don’t know me. Why be so friendly?”
The boy had laughed then, and it sounded like windchimes on a warm summer day. “You’re absolutely right, we don’t know each other. Yet.” He held out his hand, as if they were to shake over the distance between them on their Gundam’s hands. “So give me a chance, and we’ll see where it goes?”
Humoring him, Trowa also held out his hand, as if to shake as well.
The blond smiled a much wider smile then, a ray of sunshine in the desert, and said, “Would you and your suit like to come back to my base for rest and repairs? It’s not far… and we have tea.”
“Sure.”
“Follow me, then. Don’t get lost!”
They climbed back into the cockpits of their suits and Heavyarms followed the other Gundam and his supporting army back to their base.
It had several buildings, along with the tents along the perimeter. The main building was ornate, painted white brick, with arched windows and vaulted ceilings. It looked like it might have been an old church or palace. Trowa wondered a bit about just who was backing this pilot and what kind of money they had to provide such a large backing army and palatial residence for while the pilot was on Earth. Though he himself was backed ostensibly by the Barton Foundation, and they were wildly wealthy, this was on an entirely different level.
The boy’s suit led the two of them to a clearing where they could easily walk their Gundams into the buried bunker where the repair bays were. After exiting their suits, the boy personally led Trowa through the underground maze of tunnels to the main building. He seemed to be quite cheerful, but did not speak very much yet.
They made their way to a beautiful atrium, with gilt wooden paneling and where the windows were floor to ceiling. There was a set of cushy armchairs, a desk and a work chair behind it. Off to the side was a cabinet with musical instruments. “What I wouldn’t give to have my piano here,” the boy said softly. “Playing music helps me to calm down when I’m stressed or worried.”
“I… fly.”
The boy didn’t react, he simply went to pour tea from the porcelain teapot into matching cups. “I see, and that helps you to calm down? Oh, and do you take sugar or milk in your tea?”
Trowa nodded, and then leaned back against the wall. He felt better now that he had clocked all exits, and while he knew that this boy was not his enemy he knew that the world outside this room wasn’t friendly to him. At least his back was to something solid and not exposed. The blond, though, obviously felt completely comfortable in this space. With him. The boy had already decided that they were not enemies, that much was obvious. He seemed to have also decided that, in Trowa’s case, ‘not enemies’ meant ‘allies.’ Though that much had yet to be decided, at least for Trowa.
“None.”
“You take it black? Here.” The boy walked over and held out a porcelain teacup to him, with a small smile. He had carried his own over as well, and took a sip in front of Trowa so that he could see it was safe. He did it so casually that Trowa could see that he was used to putting people at ease. Trowa understood the gesture and gave him a nod, taking sips of the drink. It was robust and full bodied. Delicious.
The blond went back to the table with the teapot, and sat down in one of the armchairs. He took a bit of milk and one sugarcube to gently stir into his tea. “Do you mean fly as in your mobile suit?”
“Yes and no. I fly with Heavyarms because we understand each other. I fly on my own on ropes and bars.”
The boy nodded, “So you trained as a gymnast? Now that you say it, I can see it in how you move in, it was Heavyarms?, how you move seems to somehow defy gravity. I was going to guess you were a dancer. And there also was a finesse to the movements that I couldn’t quite place. Sandrock and I can’t do that, but we understand one another as well.”
Trowa stood there and continued to sip his tea, letting the boy choose to either sit in companionable silence or to speak again. “I won’t ask you about your mission, because I am sure it’s confidential, but I am glad that I have had the chance to meet you. Do you wonder what the other Gundam pilots are like?”
Walking back to the table to put down his now empty teacup, Trowa returned to his spot leaning against the wall. “I do. I didn’t expect that there would be this many Gundams here on Earth.”
“This is my first time on Earth, I grew up in the L4 Colonies. There are a lot of beautiful places at home, but Earth has beauty everywhere you look. It’s so lovely here.”
“Does he know that we are in the middle of a barren desert?” Trowa thought, but didn’t say out loud. “It is. I wonder how much more of Earth we will get to see.”
The boy clapped his hands together softly, and he said gently in almost a prayer, “I hope that we will get to see all of Earth someday, once everything is at peace.”
Trowa nodded. “That would be nice.”
As Trowa stood there, the boy walked over to his music instrument cabinet and pulled out a violin. "Do you mind if I play a bit? I'm feeling inspired and there is a piece that I've been working on for a little while."
"Not at all. You compose?"
The blonde gave him a small, proud smile, "A bit, but I'm not very good. I'm not completely satisfied with this piece yet, so please forgive me for what you're about to hear." He rosined his bow and took a few strokes across the strings, checking to see if the instrument was still in tune. Trowa could hear that the A string was a bit sharp, and thought about telling the boy, but the blond quickly turned the peg and brought it true. He played a C scale and then some arpeggios.
Pausing, and then taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and began to play a lively tune. "Not very good, he says." Trowa thought, and listened intently to the melody. Contrary to what the boy had said, it was quite good, beautiful even, but it was missing something. He let the melody play out for a bit more, while he thought about what it could be. Suddenly inspired himself, Trowa turned to the music cabinet and pulled out a flute - it was already warm and would hopefully be in tune but he covered the open-hole keys with his fingers and blew into it soundlessly to get the instrument even warmer and used to his playing. It was a C foot, not a B foot, but he didn't think he'd need the lower register for this. Waiting for a pause in the violin melody, Trowa turned the blond's song from a solo into a call and response duet. They both were able to improvise easily with one another, and the joyful melody soared. It was the most natural thing. It was like they were playing tag with each other, gleeful and friendly taunts, daring the other to follow along in the game.
It was comfortable. And fun. Trowa couldn't remember the last time that he'd been able to relax this much. Something about the boy's presence was comforting. They played a bit longer, just enjoying the piece. Every song comes to an end, and for a bit of drama and because he was in a good mood, Trowa took a deep bow towards the boy giving him a small smile. "You should transcribe that - your song was lovely."
The blond shook his head, "It's not my song. It's ours. What do you think we should name it?"
Trowa's smile deepened as he looked from the violin, to his flute, and back to the boy. "I always think of flutes as sparkling in their sound. They bring brightness and light to a piece."
The boy put the violin back into the cabinet and as Trowa moved to replace the flute as well, the boy put his hand on gently on Trowa's chest to stop him. He looked up, making eye contact with Trowa, "No, that flute is yours now. You play it better than I can. It deserves someone who can use it well."
"I couldn't."
"I insist."
"As you wish. Thank you." The boy pulled a drawer in the cabinet open and removed a travelling case for the flute and handed that to Trowa.
"I like how you described your flute playing - what if we called it... 'Sparkling Duet'?" the boy asked, moving back to his his desk and pulling out his blank staff sheets and a pencil. He walked back to his chair and poured some more tea.
"How about 'Sparkling Harmony'?" This time, Trowa sat down at the chair opposite the blond, and refilled his cup.
The smile that broke over the boy's face was bright, "I love it. 'Sparkling Harmony' it is." He wrote the name at the top and began his notation. "Do you want help with that?" Trowa asked, holding out his hand to ask for a pencil. The boy apparently did not immediately intuit Trowa's meaning and grabbed his hand with one of his own and gave him a gentle squeeze before letting go and standing up and walking to his desk to retrieve another pencil. Trowa looked at his hand. Normally Trowa did not like physical contact with others unless he was close to them, and he wasn't really close with anyone, but the brief moment made Trowa feel... calm.
It really was unusual how much this boy set him at ease.
They spent the next few hours working out the transcription together, getting both the flute and violin parts on paper. "If you ever get to come to L4, I'd love to accompany your flute on the piano."
"That sounds nice."
"So you need to think of pieces that you want to play together!"
It was getting late, so the boy took Trowa back to check in on the repairs for their Gundams. The Maganac Corp, as he now learned they were called, told him that they would be complete by the morning, and to rest well. They would take care of everything, just as the Master had requested. "The Master, huh?" Trowa filed that away silently, but nodded and thanked them for their help.
"It's only because your suit is so similar to Sandrock - which is such an odd coincidence. We had all the extra parts we needed on hand."
He and the boy walked back to the main building, stopping in the kitchen to grab some food for a quick dinner before heading upstairs where a room had been set up for Trowa to sleep. There was a set of pajamas as well as a variety of other things he might need to bathe or relax for the night. "I'll be right next door. If you find you need anything, really, don't hesitate to let me know, okay?"
"I'm sure I'll be fine, but if I need something I will let you know."
"Thank you again, friend. I had a lot of fun tonight." The boy said, giving Trowa a little wave and walking to his room which was the next door to the right.
Trowa got ready for bed, and for the first time it seemed in ages, he slept so deeply that he couldn't remember any dreams.
At about 7am, the boy knocked on Trowa's door, "Good morning, I took the liberty of having breakfast brought up for you. I'll leave it by your door."
Already having been awake for an hour and finished his morning stretches and workout, Trowa opened the door before the boy had been able to set the tray down. Trowa smiled, "How about we have breakfast together?"
"Sure. Do you want to come back to my room? I've a larger table in there." The boy was still in his nightshirt, and after Trowa nodded, he carried the tray back to his room. The boy's room had paintings on the walls, a similar looking bed to the one Trowa had used, and a sofa with a coffee table. "Will this work for you?" Trowa nodded and sat down on the sofa next to the boy. They ate together, talking of nothing of import. It was an easy conversation. Yes, Trowa had slept quite well, and everything was fine, he hadn't needed anything after they'd parted the night before. "I was honestly hoping that something had been missing, so we could keep talking," the boy laughed, "but I am glad that you were able to rest."
A knock at the door interrupted their talk, "Come in, Rashid, it's open," the boy said.
The very tall and imposing man who Trowa figured was the 'Master's' squadron leader, walked over to the boy and gave him all the updates for the repairs on their mobile suits. "We also have OZ troop movement," Rashid said, pulling out a map and unrolling it onto the part of the table that was free of breakfast mess. As Rashid began describing the intelligence to the boy, he immediately began formulating a counter-attack and planned it out. "He's quite good at this." Trowa thought, watching the boy carefully. "Everything he is suggesting is good tactics."
"Thank you, Rashid. I'm sure I'll be down in a bit. Could you ask everyone to get Heavyarms ready to go? Also, please thank everyone for me."
"Of course." Rashid turned and left.
"I'm not trying to push you out before you're ready, but I guessed you might be anxious to carry on with your mission," the boy said, before putting another piece of bacon on Trowa's tray. That was the first thing that Trowa had polished off and he gladly took the piece from the boy. "I know," he replied, "and thank you. You and your friends have been very kind."
"You're welcome. And you're welcome here any time." The boy smiled again, popped his last cherry tomato into his mouth, and stood up. "I'm going to get changed. Stay and finish your breakfast. We can keep talking for a little bit longer."
Trowa had no qualms about being in a room where other people were in various states of undress, and it didn't seem that the boy was nervous about having some one else there either, so Trowa carried on with their conversation, and asked him more about his home on L4.
The tone of the blond's voice deflated slightly, but the boy told him about how he met the Maganac Corp, and all the help that they had given him since. He didn't see himself as anything special, he said, but for some reason, they did. After a couple of minutes, Trowa saw the boy come back around the sofa, wearing an outfit much like the one he'd had on the day before. "If I wear similar outfits, it makes it easier to pick out the outfit for the day. Doesn't it?" He grinned, "I see you follow a sister philosophy."
"Less clothes to travel with means less weight... but more time spent washing. Thank you for having my outfit laundered last night."
"Happy to," the blond said.
Seeing how the sun had fully risen, and knowing that Heavyarms was ready to go, Trowa told the boy that he should be packing up to move on for now.
"Don't forget the flute," the boy said, walking Trowa back to his room.
The boy stood in there with him, watching him pack his small bag. As soon as Trowa put the flute's case into the bag, the boy smiled. "I'd best head out. Thank you," Trowa said, briefly putting his hand on the boy's shoulder before nodding and walking out.
He left through the front door, his bag slung over his shoulder. Heavyarms was loaded up on a truck just outside the entrance, and ask he walked over to his suit, he heard the boy's voice from the window. Even though Trowa was some distance away, and the boy certainly wasn't yelling, he heard him loud and clear. "Do you really have to leave? I won't stop you. But at least... tell me what your name is before you go. My name is Quatre Raberba Winner."
Trowa stopped and looked back at the boy over his shoulder. He took a second to think about what to say. He decided to go with honesty. The boy, Quatre, had been nothing but open and genuine with him. "I have no name," he said, "But if you must call me something, it's Trowa. Call me Trowa Barton." He turned back towards Heavyarms.
He just knew that Quatre was waving, and he heard the blonde cheerfully say, "Goodbye friend Trowa! We'll meet again."