I Will Corrupt You
By karei
Capitulus Sex
Chapter 6
It was Friday before Quatre saw or heard from Trowa. In the few days’ time, he had completely refurbished Trowa’s apartment twice, each time the emerald-eyed man sending every stick of furniture back. He had stuffed Trowa’s bank account with five thousand dollars, not once, but three times, and each time Trowa donated the money to Goodwill, in Quatre’s name. There was no way Quatre could feasibly aid him, but at least he was getting Trowa’s attention.
As Quatre drove home, he sighed deeply, rounding the too-familiar hills. He had found only one source of satisfaction that week, and that was that Johnson’s plan had not passed. He sighed in contentment as his passionate speech managed to sway four of the six other board members, not including himself, Braddock, and Johnson. He allowed himself a slight smile, recollecting the stunned look on Johnson’s face as he realized that he was alone.
Entering his driveway, he sped past his guest house, noticing that a light was on. Aware of the power crisis, he pulled in front of the spare house, entering it to disengage the light. The sight that met him startled the daylights out of him.
Trowa was sitting on the couch, leaning forward with his hands clasped together. His eyes flickered up as Quatre entered the room, and the sheer rage held within them was astounding to say the least. Quatre flashed him a non-chalant smile. "Hey there."
"What’s the big idea?" he asked, his voice obviously very controlled.
"I bet your pardon?" he asked innocently.
"I said," Trowa reiterated, his patience decreasing as he rose to his feet, "what’s the big idea?"
"I still don’t know what you mean," Quatre replied brusquely, walking past Trowa to enter the guest kitchen.
"You know full well what I mean. The money, the furniture, the rent... What, do you think I’m some sort of infant who can’t take care of himself?"
"That’s not it at all, Trowa, it’s-"
"What?" he said, cutting Quatre off. "Paying off your debt to society? A way for you rich boys to have fun? Pity on the less fortunate? Practicing the Social Gospel? Well, I won’t buy into it, Quatre Raberbra Winner. I refuse to be someone you use just to make yourself feel better."
"Now hold it, Trowa. That’s a bit unfair."
"Is it?" he asked mockingly.
"Yes. You have no idea who I am, and until you do, I highly recommend that you shut the hell up."
"Obviously you don’t know me very well if you think you can just push me around," he growled softly, towering over his frail verbal combatant.
"Are you willing to remedy that?" Quatre asked, a mingling of anger and sincerity in his voice. "Because I am."
"Why should I give a shit whether some rich snot cares about my life?" Trowa said, his voice raising in volume to the point of shouting.
Quatre glared up at the taller man, screeching, "Because from the sounds of it, I’m the only one who ever has!"
Trowa’s face froze over in a cold look. It wasn’t angry, or hurt, or even stunned. His face held once more his trademark look, devoid of all emotion and caring.
Quatre released a slight gasp. "I’m... I’m so sorry, Trowa," he stammered. "I... I didn’t mean-"
"Save it." His voice was curt, leaving a sting in Quatre’s ear. He turned away sharply, heading straight for the door.
"No!" Quatre ran past him, putting himself between Trowa and the door.
"Quatre, let me through." He spoke as if it wasn’t even a command, but a statement.
"N-no. No." Quatre struggled with himself not to move, fearing at this point for his well-being. He knew he had struck a nerve in Trowa’s heart, and could sense the waves of rage rolling from his body. However, he held his ground, using all the energy he had within him to stare Trowa down.
"This is the last time I’m saying it, Quatre," he said softly, but forcefully. "Move. Now."
"I said no." Permanent. Forceful.
Ineffective.
Trowa raised his hand and placed it on Quatre’s shoulder. Quatre would have felt some relief at this move were it not such an awkward angle, with Trowa’s right hand on his right shoulder. With one strong push, Trowa sent Quatre flying into the wall. Quatre hit the wall harder than Trowa had intended, his head striking it at a very odd angle. He slumped to the floor, stars dancing before his eyes before the darkness faded into view.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," Trowa breathed. He walked to where Quatre sat, leaning against the wall in a most uncomfortable position, unconscious. "Shit, shit, shit," he cursed. He lightly slapped Quatre’s face, hoping to revive him quickly before anything truly terrible happened.
Trowa was in luck. A low sound, a soft moan of general discomfort fell from Quatre’s lips as his brows knitted together in pain. Slowly, his azure eyes fluttered open, and Quatre was surprised to find his line of vision filled with an emerald glow. He heard a sound come through, but it was as if someone was speaking through a blanket. He shook his head, feathery blond tendrils dancing around his forehead as he tried to clear his head. "Wha-?"
"I said, are you all right?" It came through clearly this time.
"What do you care?" Quatre asked bitterly. "Worried I’d sue your ass or throw you in jail or something?"
"No. I felt bad and I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt."
His eyes slowly began to cross, and Quatre blinked hard to straighten them out. As he did, his eyes locked with Trowa’s, a slightly devious smile playing on his lips. "So is it so hard to believe that I’d want to help you?"
Trowa stammered, unsure of what to say. A few sounds came from his mouth, but in the end, the only word formed was, "Damn."
"Look," Quatre began as he attempted to stand up, "I can see that I - whoa," he placed his hand against the wall as the room momentarily spun around him. He felt a hand fly to his shoulder to make sure he didn’t fall. When his head cleared once more, he looked up at Trowa with a gentle smile, saying, "Thanks. But honestly, I can see that I’ve pissed you off well enough, so I’ll just call a cab for you so you can get going. I’ll leave you alone."
"No, I-" Trowa found himself at a loss for words. ‘Big shock there,’ he mused silently. "What if you have a concussion? We really should get that head of yours checked."
"I’m fine," Quatre reassured.
"But what if you pass out and don’t wake up or something?"
"You care?"
"No, I just... I..." He threw his glance downward, frustrated with his current inability to deceive.
"That’s all right. You don’t have to explain. Just help me to the main house, okay?"
"Okay." Trowa eased an arm around Quatre’s shoulders as Quatre secured an arm around his hip. Slowly, but surely, he walked Quatre outside of the guest house and up to the main one, making sure Quatre didn’t trip or hurt himself anymore than he already was.
Once safely inside and by a couch, Trowa released him, letting Quatre sit down in comfort. "Don’t go to sleep. I’ll get something to munch." He turned and exited the room.
"I think I have some cauliflower and ranch dressing in the fridge."
‘Yuck,’ Trowa thought as he pulled out Quatre’s suggested snack. ‘Who eats this stuff anyway?... Wait, what the fuck am I doing? I came here to chew this guy out and get him off my case, and here I am feeding the bastard! But he did catch me in a rough spot. Like I was going to just leave him there. And so what if I have some compassion? Isn’t that a part of human nature?’
"You okay in there?" he heard Quatre call.
"Yea," came the quiet response, "fine." ‘Fine,’ he mocked himself, ‘sure, you’re just fine. The one person who even appears to give a shit about you and you ram him into a wall... What am I thinking? I should just take the next thing running out of here.’
His mind suddenly became the battleground of two voices. ‘If you hate him so much, why are you still here?’
‘Shut up,’ argued his other half. ‘He’s a decent guy. You’ve been nothing but a dick to him, and what’s he done for you? He’s put up with your shit and then some. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t file assault charges on your ass.’
‘Look, I’m not in here for a battle of wits with myself. Just make up your mind. Do you hate him or do you care?’
‘Can’t I just be human?’
‘No.’
"Damnit," he muttered aloud.
"Everything okay?" Quatre said once more, hinting at worry.
"Yea, yea, I’m coming," Trowa shouted. ‘But am I staying?’
He re-entered, carrying the requested cauliflower and ranch dressing, each in a bowl, with two glasses of Sprite. "Here. It’ll help keep you awake." He sat down on the couch beside Quatre.
"What’s the other glass for? Do you intend on staying awhile? It’s getting pretty late."
"No one expects me home," Trowa muttered.
"I’m fine on my own, Trowa. Trust me, don’t feel bad. And I won’t press charges, so don’t worry about that either."
"Will you just shut up?" he snapped.
Quatre folded his hands in his lap, bowing his head slightly. "I’m sorry."
He sat down, ignoring Quatre’s apology. "I’m just going to stay until I’m sure you don’t have any head trauma or anything. I must have shoved you into that wall really hard to black you out like that, so I’m just making sure I didn’t leave any permanent damage."
"That’s considerate of you," Quatre murmured as he brought his lips to the rim of his glass.
"So, will you answer me one thing, Quatre?"
He swallowed, setting the glass down. "What’s that?"
"Why do you give a shit about my life?"
Quatre looked down, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "I just do. Is that enough?"
"No."
"Well, then, why are you here?"
"Because I-... Shut up."
Quatre concealed a tiny smile, still fiddling with his shirt. Once he appeared satisfied with it, that is, once he had managed to stop smiling, he raised his head. "So, tell me a bit about yourself."
"What, you mean you haven’t done a full-on investigation?" Trowa mocked.
"Look," Quatre sighed, "I had to find out where you lived. Leave me alone."
"Fine, fine." Trowa took a deep breath, preparing the condensed version of his life. "I lived in southern California with my mom, dad, and sister, Catherine. I hated my dad. He died when I was seventeen. I moved up here to go to college and haven’t left since. Now I’m a starving actor. The end."
Quatre pondered this a moment. "Why do you hate your dad?"
Trowa shrugged. "He used to beat me. I never really thought I deserved it."
"I’m... I’m so sorry," Quatre breathed, in slight shock from the statement.
"Oh, now, it’s no big deal. So it happened. The bastard’s dead, and hopefully in Hell. I’m not worried, and neither should you be." He took a drink of Sprite before continuing. "What about you?"
"Huh?" Quatre nearly dropped his glass upon being asked the question.
"What about you?" Trowa reiterated. "What about your past?"
‘Shit.’ "Um, nothing much to tell. You know, typical life story."
"Rich mommy and daddy raise you, put you through college, only to die and leave you with everything right as you come of age?"
Quatre sighed in relief. "Bingo."
"I’m also assuming you had one of those hard-ass dads who didn’t let you get away with anything, while your mom was generous as all shit and the picture of grace."
"You’re two for two, Trowa," Quatre replied, smiling weakly.
"Hn." ‘He’s lying.’ "What do you do for fun around here?"
"Me? Well, I don’t get to have much fun. Business dinners, occasional banquets, trips to the capital, things like that. Mostly business, mostly boring. You?"
"No business, but it’s all boring. I don’t go out much. Usually working to save enough to eat, you know?" His eyes met Quatre’s, "No, no you don’t."
"You know, I really wish you’d stop judging me. Just give me a chance, okay?"
"What do you call this?" Trowa challenged.
"You being a proud and obstinate jerk."
"Hey, shove it with the name-calling."
"Can’t you ever just be human?"
‘Apparently not,’ Trowa’s mind chastised him. He sighed deeply, rubbing his thumb and forefinger across his eyes, joining them at the bridge of his nose, as if to massage away a headache. "Look," he finally said, "we don’t need to keep arguing like this."
"You’re right, of course," Quatre said softly, hoping that perhaps Trowa was finally warming up to him. "What’s your solution?"
Trowa sighed. ‘What is my solution? Yea, right, as if I have one. He’s being nice enough, so why am I such a jerk? But then, why is he being nice? Maybe I’m just too paranoid, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s got something up his sleeve.’ "Honesty," finally came his reply.
Quatre was taken aback by the response. ‘Honesty? Where did that come from?’ He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. ‘He has a point. Have I been totally honest with him? What would he think if I was? I know he’d hate me with all he’s worth, which, from what I’ve seen, is quite a lot. Damnit.’ "What do you mean by honesty?"
"I mean that we need to be completely honest. We got off on the wrong foot due to a lot of assumptions. Maybe if we just lay our cards on the table, things would run more smoothly."
"Makes sense."
"Good. So what makes you want to put up with my shit in the first place?"
‘Great, he would ask that!’ Quatre thought for a moment, organizing a story for Trowa. "Guilt." He saw that the response stung Trowa’s pride as he had flinched at the word, so Quatre continued. "And I saw something in you. I’m not sure what, but I think you could really go places if you were just given the chance."
‘Makes sense,’ Trowa thought. ‘It could be a lie, but... why would he waste so much energy on lying to some no-name like me?’
‘He bought it. For the love of God, he bought it,’ Quatre mentally sighed.
"Then I’m sorry."
Quatre was puzzled. "For what?"
"For being such a jerk. You’re right, I wasn’t being a decent human, and I’m sorry."
"It’s all right. I forgave you."
"So, what now?"
"I guess we should just talk. I mean, that’s what friends do, right?"
"Do they?"
Quatre raised an eyebrow at him. "You don’t know either?" Trowa shook his head, causing Quatre to burst out laughing. "Well, we’ll make a fine pair, huh?"
"Yea. Just no more head trauma, please. I’m going to develop hypertension."
"It’s a deal," Quatre smiled.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Quatre?"
He found himself floating in a sea of lavender clouds, experiencing apparent weightlessness, his every sense assaulted with feelings of contentment and well-being. His ears were filled with a music that was not of this realm, raising in him a sense of pleasure he had yet to experience, while the air hang with the scent of sandalwood, relaxing his every muscle, which was not difficult considering that his skin was aglow with the sensation of a thousand gentle caresses. It was euphoria at its best.
"Who’s there?" he asked, somewhat drowsily.
"It’s me again," came the familiar voice.
"Lucy. How are you? I’m sorry I was short with you last time."
"It’s all right," she said, finally coming into view, looking much the same as before. Her dark hair was loose, with lavender blossoms adorning it, the long black waves flowing around her body in the weightless space. "I figured that I should pick a nicer scene for the next time we met."
"Is this another dream?"
"It is. And I see that you are making friends with that Trowa fellow."
"Yes, and you were right," Quatre smiled, feeling his body drift off without his mind. "He’s a good soul. Better than I am."
"Oh, Quatre, you’re a good soul too. Never stop believing that what you’re doing is right. But that’s not why I’m here," she said, quickly changing the subject. "I’m here to warn you."
"Warn? About what?"
"Merely expanding on what I said earlier: don’t trust anybody. A man will try to contact you a similar fashion that I have, a man from the other side, and will try to claim your soul for his own."
"The other side? But, how will I recognize him?" Quatre asked, somewhat doubtful.
"He will be dressed in white, with soulless, obsidian eyes and hair as black as the depths of Hell. You must not trust him, and you must not do anything he asks you to."
"All right," Quatre replied. "I trust you, Lucy."
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