Quatre woke up at the crack of dawn, feeling a strange giddiness engulf him the moment he opened his eyes. Today was the day he and Trowa were to go visit Siddell, and the thought of participating in a Christmas fair in the young man's company virtually sent him soaring.
After washing himself thoroughly and donning his best suit, he hurried down the hallway toward the kitchen. He'd declined the earl's offer for a cozier bedroom in the second floor, where the family was situated, much to his employer's amazement. Quatre, therefore, remained in the servants' wing on the first floor and pretty much preferred it that way as it prevented him from the tedium of having to climb an intimidatingly long staircase.
He ran through the door, unmindful of the dangers of possibly slamming into someone. It was only by sheer luck that no one other than Dorcas was present. The housekeeper was preparing breakfast with characteristic efficiency and cheerfulness, flying between stove, table, and cupboards while singing to herself.
The boy beamed as he perched himself on a stool by the table, where a host of freshly baked rolls, cakes, and other sweets lay in glorious, mouth-watering disarray. Keeping an eye on the housekeeper, who was at the moment unaware of his presence, Quatre reached out and plucked a small roll and started picking at it, popping the warm pieces into his mouth. He could barely contain a sigh of contentment at the taste and the texture. He absolutely loved Dorcas's cooking.
She finally turned around to head back to the table with a cup of freshly brewed tea when her eyes fell on the boy, and she gave out a small cry of surprise.
"Good morning, Dorcas."
"Quatre!" she cried, looking a bit flustered. "For God's sake, don't ever frighten me like that again!"
"I'm sorry. You just looked so busy, and I really didn't want to distract you…"
She finally calmed down, shaking her head as she walked toward the table and sat down, taking a sip of her tea while she regarded her tiny companion.
"So how're you doing, my dear?" she presently asked in a calmer tone. "And stop pinching the rolls, or you won't have any breakfast."
Quatre snickered as he popped another piece of roll into his mouth. "I'm doing well, thanks. I'm going to Siddell today for the fair."
"Wonderful! It's about time you did. I heard that today's the last day."
"Really? It's good that Trowa thought about it then."
"Uh--Trowa?"
Dorcas cocked an eyebrow as she took another sip of her tea. "Getting a little familiar with the boss now, aren't we?"
The boy cracked an impish little smile and shrugged. Try as he might, however, he couldn't get himself to meet his companion's stare, and his eyes rested on the roll he held on his lap. He didn't care. Not anymore. Let Dorcas find out about him and his young master. Whether or not the discovery would disgust her would really be her problem, not his.
"Quatre?"
"Hmm?"
He continued to stare at the roll, feeling a delicious wave of pleasant embarrassment sweep over him as he thought of Trowa.
"My dear--are you--well--in love with Lord Bethelford?"
He took in a deep breath and tore his eyes away from his roll, raising them and meeting Dorcas's stare with some defiance.
"I am," he simply replied, his voice calm and quiet but firm.
The housekeeper regarded him in silence for a moment, her expression pretty much undecipherable. Quatre continued to return her look with one of uncharacteristic confidence despite the nervous hammering of his heart.
And after what seemed an eternity, a saucy grin broke out on Dorcas's face. "He is beautiful, isn't he?" she suddenly piped up, lowering her voice to almost a whisper.
The boy blinked. "You don't mind?"
"I've known about him forever, dear," she replied, carelessly waving a hand before taking another sip of her tea. "And--in a way--I had an inkling about you as well. Why would I mind?"
"Well--it's just that I thought…" Quatre fumbled some more and ended up faltering into an embarrassed silence, confusion and relief pretty much keeping him from thinking straight at the moment.
"Listen," the housekeeper began in a low tone as she leaned forward, staring earnestly at the boy. "Does he make you happy?"
Quatre let a pause run its course before he nodded, feeling the blood slowly rise up to his face.
"Do you make him happy?"
He chewed his lower lip for a second. "I think so."
"Stop it."
"What?"
"You do."
"All right, I do."
Dorcas burst out laughing as she sat back up, shifting a little in her chair as she straightened her back. "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear--you youngsters--always so bashful about love. Makes me want to bing you on the head with a platter sometimes. Oh, lord!"
Quatre couldn't help but laugh along, his face now redder than a tomato. "I'm new to this, Dorcas! I mean--I don't even know what to do right now."
"Nope--sorry--can't give you guidelines, my dear. You're dealing with real life here, and all I could do is listen to you and advice you when you need it. You'll have to slosh through the muddle on your own and learn as you go. Besides, there really aren't any real rules or guidelines when it comes to this."
They both had quieted down at this point, with Quatre thoughtfully nibbling on his roll. "I suppose you're right," he said. "I've heard my sisters talk about romance and all that from their novels. Some of them--well--maybe even all of them believe what they read. And I know that's wrong…"
"Oh, lord," Dorcas sighed, shaking her head. "They really believe all that stuff in novels? Oh, dear. How I feel sorry for them."
Quatre looked at her once more, his face brightening. "I'm glad I have you, though. You don't mind if I bother you with this every so often? Are you sure?"
The housekeeper laid her cup down and stood up and marched around the table to enclose the boy in her arms once she reached him. "I'm sure, love. You're so alone--it's downright criminal not to give you a decent chance at anything."
She spoke with such an earnest tone and held him so tightly--almost possessively--that Quatre started to feel himself warm up even more toward her. Without even understanding it, he felt a strange attachment to the woman, one he never really experienced with anyone before. Perhaps because it was more of a maternal bond of sorts, something he never felt with his own mother.
"I'm glad you found someone," she presently said, planting a little kiss on the top of his head before pulling away and holding his face between her hands. She stared into his eyes, her own gray ones dancing mischievously. "And I'm glad he found you. It's about bloody time he did, anyway. He needs someone to loosen him up and to stop him from being so damn stiff."
Quatre smiled gratefully and nodded. "I'll try," he said, and she let him go and waltzed back to the stove.
"You'd better hurry on out there and find him while he's still recovering from sleep, dear. It'll be easier for you to work your magic on him while he's disoriented."
She burst out laughing again, looking over her shoulder and throwing him a saucy wink before resuming her chore.
**********
The family was already stirring when Quatre was in the kitchen with Dorcas. They slowly emerged from their rooms one at a time--disoriented, as the housekeeper said--to find their usual spots about the house where they'd pass the time until breakfast was announced. Quatre wandered up and down the hallways in search of Trowa, in the process of which he ran into the earl.
"Looking for my son, eh?" the man said, his voice echoing along the passageway. He looked characteristically annoyed. "Well--you can find him in the damn library. Do me a favor and take him out of there, Quatre. I can't go back there while he's inside."
"What's wrong?"
"He scolded me, for God's sake!" he cried, his eyebrows bunching up even more, a look of utter perplexity on his face. He seemed positively stunned at what he'd just experienced in the hands of his son. "Scolded! Me! The little brat!"
Quatre desperately fought off the urge to burst into giggles before his irate employer, and it was all he could do to cover his mouth with both his hands while staring at his shoes. He couldn't even speak for fear of breaking down entirely.
"Get him out, boy! I want Trowa somewhere else in ten minutes, understand?"
He didn't even wait for Quatre to respond. With an indignant huff, he turned his heels and stormed off, rounding a corner and finally disappearing. All that was left was the sound of his heavy footfalls and the low grumbling that seemed to trail him as he went.
The boy hurried off and soon found himself at the library. He stepped in and caught sight of Trowa busily replacing books in their respective shelves. More specifically, he was taking books from his father's "to be burnt" pile. Quatre gaped at him for a moment, not quite sure what to do.
Trowa finally noticed the boy's presence and stopped as he was about to pluck another book from the sacrificial pile. Their eyes met, confusion filling them before wonder took over one while defiance took over another.
"Yes, I'm putting these things back," Trowa finally said, his voice firm. "Dad's going overboard with this book-burning farce, and it's got to stop. And you--I hold you responsible for this childish obsession!"
He didn't speak harshly to the boy and in fact was clearly suppressing a smile despite the stern tone he took. Quatre therefore wasn't cowed by his reproof. The boy shrugged and walked in, casually ambling up to the pile. He picked up a volume and inspected it with an infuriatingly blasé air as he skimmed carelessly through the pages.
"Your father always had it in for these books," he replied, finally raising his eyes to meet Trowa's. "I merely gave him a way of expressing himself."
"And a fine job you've made of it, too," the young man huffed as he ascended the ladder to shove a book into one of the uppermost shelves. "There wouldn't be a damn book left in this library in a month."
"You're exaggerating."
"Quatre, you and Dad are disrespecting other people's work. I mean--how would you feel if you wrote one of these things and then found out that someone somewhere decided to chuck several years' worth of work into the fire?"
"I'd be grateful someone actually read my work."
"Oh, come on."
"All right then--I'd be glad that I made someone feel so strongly about my work even if it were negative."
Trowa practically slid down the ladder at this point. And once he reached terra firma, he marched up to Quatre, who was now snickering at him. The young man leaned on the stack, eyeing the boy sternly, his mouth set in a grim line.
"You're being infuriating on purpose," he said.
"And you're being your old stiff self, and that's even worse."
Trowa blinked, clearly taken aback. "What did you just say?"
"Stiff. I said you're being stiff. Again."
The young lord's eyes narrowed. "I'll forget you said that, Quatre. Now help me with these."
"No."
Dead silence followed, with Trowa's jaw falling open. "I beg your pardon?" he said.
"I said, 'no.'" Quatre stepped back a pace and held the book against his chest, crossing his arms over it protectively. "I agree with what you said about the value of these books, but I won't help you put them back."
"And why not?"
"Because not only are you stiff, but you're bossy as well."
Trowa fell silent, stunned. Then Quatre softened, looking at him earnestly. "I love you, you know that. And I wish you'd treat me more like an equal. I know your father hired me to be your companion, but with things the way they are between us, I really don't think this job really matters anymore. Don't you think so?" He paused, fidgeting a little. "I know I said before that being with you was work, but I really never looked at it that way. If I had my way, as a matter of fact, I'd convince your father not to pay me. If anything, it really cheapens my being with you." He paused again, this time to frown in some confusion. "Am I making any sense? I don't even think I'm making any sense to myself."
"Quatre--I never thought that I was bossing you around," Trowa finally said, still looking stunned. He averted his eyes and stared at the floor for a moment to ponder things. "I just behave the way I do because that's what's expected of me, with me being heir and all that. I never thought of purposefully degrading or patronizing you."
He looked back at the boy. "Did I hurt you at all? Was I too heavy-handed in any way? If I was, I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention at all. Quatre?"
"No, you didn't hurt me. I knew what was going on. I've seen my oldest brother behave the same way you do because he's groomed to take over my dad's seat someday. It's expected. You're right. It's just that--I want to feel more like your equal--like I'm more than just hired help, that's all. I don't think that's too much to ask."
"No, of course not." Trowa finally softened as well, a sheepish half-smile lighting up his face. "Quatre, I'm so sorry. I never realized you were being affected this way."
"It's all right. I'm not mad. I can't get mad at you."
Trowa reached out and managed to graze the boy's cheek with the back of his hand. "I'll try to behave," he said. "I'm sorry."
Quatre returned his smile and then looked down on the book he was still cradling in his arms. "I do need to help you put these things back," he said. "Your father's going a little too far with this."
The two immediately scrambled about, replacing the books until half the stack was gone.
"What the bloody hell's going on here?"
The walls of the library virtually shook at the roar, and the two froze in their tracks, turning to stare at a red-faced earl standing at the doorway, steam shooting out of his ears. He gaped at the books on the floor and then raised his eyes, resting them on Quatre, who looked back at him, bug-eyed.
"What are you doing?" the man cried, veins popping out on his forehead. "I told you to take my son out of the library! This is insubordination, for God's sake! What the devil are you thinking?"
**********
Breakfast went along swimmingly, with the earl still stewing, Gabriela still withdrawn, the viscountess still severe and sullen, and Catherine, Trowa, and Quatre pretty much monopolizing the conversation with their lively chatter.
Catherine seemed to be amazed at her brother's sudden loquacity, and Quatre even caught her more than twice staring at Trowa with a decidedly perplexed air as the latter rambled on with some anecdotes regarding school. To her great credit, though, the young lady carried on with the conversation, feeding off her brother's energy and allowing that to fuel Quatre's mood as well.
The boy, for his part, encouraged the discussion by asking a thousand questions for both Catherine and Trowa, listening, wide-eyed, at their responses and often eliciting a smile of amusement from his young master.
Whenever he could, he tried to push Gabriela to participate in the conversation, and the girl would with really brief responses of her own and refusing to follow through with them voluntarily. A melancholy air hung over her still, and it almost took Quatre all he had to draw her out even by just a smidge. He refused to give up, though, and he was practically exhausted by the meal's conclusion.
An idea struck him as he watched everyone finish their meals. He turned to the viscountess, who sat across the table from him.
"Milady," he began, his voice startling her. "Would it be possible if Lady Gabriela were to come with Lord Bethelford and me to Siddell today?"
The woman stared at him in surprise at first before responding. "Why are you going there?" she demanded. "What's in Siddell that's so important? It's a drab little village with nothing much to offer."
"The Christmas fair, madam."
Lady Dummfield snorted. "Christmas fair! Frivolous amusement--much too common for any of you, I'd say."
"Then it shouldn't hurt us, should it?"
A small, choking sound came from Catherine, and the young lady immediately turned away, hiding her face in her napkin. Trowa averted his eyes and started playing with his fork.
"Oh, I think it would," the viscountess countered, drawing herself up defensively as she stared down at Quatre, narrowing her eyes as she did. "What would your peers think once they get wind of this little excursion?"
"I don't know--uh--that we're having a bit of fun?"
Another choking sound--this time it came from Trowa. The young man bent his head a little to hide his face from Lady Dummfield, who happened to be sitting next to him. He continued to play with his fork although now there was a degree of urgency in the way he did so.
Gabriela remained silent, but Quatre could feel her eyes on him.
"I think that's an excellent idea," the earl piped up.
"Theodore!"
He wiped his mouth roughly with his napkin. "It's an excellent idea," he repeated, glancing a little irritably at his son. "Trowa needs it more than anyone else."
"Dad?"
"He needs to spend more time with people his own age and to stop cooping himself up in the damn house. Confinement's always bad for the character."
Trowa gaped at his father.
"Let them take Gabriela as well," the earl continued, his gaze now resting on the girl. "She needs some air--desperately. And Catherine…"
"I'm not going anywhere," Catherine cut in quickly. "Period. And no one can make me go, either."
"All right, fine. The other three will go."
"Theodore! It's a Christmas fair!"
"Quatre happens to love Christmas, Tabitha. For God's sake, give the boy a chance to enjoy life before it breaks him!"
Catherine couldn't hold off any longer. She burst out laughing, slapping the table's edge with her fingers. "Oh, Dad! You're absolutely, positively horrible! I love it!"
Quatre looked at Trowa and beamed. "It's settled then."
"Thanks, Quatre," Gabriela said, her voice almost in a whisper as she leaned toward him. "I've never been to a Christmas fair before."
"Neither have I. But I'm sure it's going to be good."
"With all those people there, wouldn't it be dangerous though?"
The boy laughed lightly. "No, of course not. Don't be silly. We're going to have a great time there. Nothing bad's going to happen."
The girl cracked a tiny, nervous smile.
"Nothing bad's going to happen. I promise," Quatre said.