~Rough Patches~

Disclaimer: GW does not belong to me.

Author: Mel (MelodiousRhapsody)

Length: 200+

Pairing: Eventual 1x3

Warning(s): There are scenes of molest, rape and violence, but none of them are graphic or explicitly described. I think I will not be able to handle them as well.If there are any more warnings needed, I will include them at the head of each chapter. Comments will be nice.

Summary: AU. Heero is in a gang. Trowa is a French foreign student who moved to America with his father to further his studies in music. What happens when they cross paths?

Prologue: We Walk the Paths of Darkness

Heero

I stride through the front door of the god-forsaken dump of our current hideout and drop the wad of cash onto the crate serving as a makeshift table. The man I'd collected it from had wiped his snotty fingers on it before passing the stack to me. Damn druggie. Well, not like J knows that. The King would have been most displeased, the way he was running his fingers through the sheaf of bills. Who cares?

Job done, I turn to leave. Only to be stopped by J's nasal voice.

"Knight." I tilt my body slightly towards him, listening. "A gang downtown challenged us to a one-on-one duel. You'll set them straight, right?"

I do not dignify him with an answer as I walk out of the room stinking of cigarette smoke.

I nod to the men following me and quash a little feeling of slight despair. They were so young. "Let's go."

OOOOOOooooooOOOOOO

Trowa

I step cautiously through the corridor to the living room. Not that anyone would hear me, but I do it anyway. This place has been home for a little under two weeks and though he hasn't tried anything yet I do not want to take chances. I shiver just thinking about it. He is lying passed out on the couch with beer cans and bottles littering the floor around his large bulk. I tiptoe around him picking up the trash and freezes when he shifts. I do not want to be in the same room as him when he is inebriated. Padding quietly into the kitchen, I grab some energy bars after disposing of the rubbish and go up to my room, closing the door. Dad doesn't like me to lock my door.

Shoveling the bar into my mouth, I start preparing for bed, pulling on some loose elastic pants and draping on a too-big shirt. Brushing my teeth quickly, I strain my ears for any signs of movement from below. Satisfied to not hear anything, I move back into my room and close the door once again.

I reach into the lowest drawer of my dresser, finding by touch the pair of scissors and ball of yarn. I just needed a warning system. Snipping off a length and replacing the rest I tie the beginning of the string to the handle of the drawer and the other to the leg of the bed frame, from there to my desk and finally to the back leg of my bed. That done, I climb under the covers and huddle with the wall against my back.

Before falling into an uneasy sleep, I send up a silent prayer.

Maman, when will this end?