Warning and disclaimer in first chapter.

Chapter 09

Iria Winner was not a push-over. She was headstrong, perhaps even stubborn. There was only one person in the world who could get through that stubbornness without even trying too hard.

Quatre was relieved he was that person. It had saved him many times from very different types of scolding and punishments.

Even now, after explaining what had happened to his sister she simply couldn't stay angry with him longer than an hour.

So all in all it hadn't turned out to be a shouting-match ending with lots of bloodshed. Quatre had to admit he was very relieved the police didn't have to get involved with this argument.

Quatre was very irritated.

Scratch that, if this was going to continue any longer than it already was he would probably be in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

Quatre closed his eyes and sighed. Sometimes he hated girls.

"You're not getting out of telling us what happened."

"Yes, down to the last detail."

Quatre sighed again and with reluctance he opened his eyes. He looked straight into blue eyes that seemed to contain a hint of curiosity and excitement.

The eyes belonged to the girl sho had been getting on his case about the 'incident with Heero Yuy' the entire morning. She had every right to do so actually.

Quatre was her friend and Heero her currently-on-hold-boyfriend.

Hilde simply tagged along because she was curious about what exactly had happened to get Heero to avoid Quatre and no-one dared to talk about it behind his back.

It was Catherine's her living-room they were currently occupying so it was understandable she was present.

She was simply watching though, and judging from the grin on her face, she was very amused by the situation.

Quatre was not amused at all.

"Quatre, come on! Just tell us already, it's going to come out anyway. I mean, we're in high-school!" Relena tried to pry an answer out of Quatre.

Quatre closed his eyes. He almost felt as if he had made a mistake by coming here.

He should've known the moment he had received Cathy's text something was out of order. Especially since the text said:

"Hi Quatre,
I need to talk to you.
It's urgent.
Come by after school?
Love, Cathy"

Quatre, panicked that maybe something might've happened, texted back he would stop by. Now, he regretted it dearly though.

Quatre wouldn't mind talking with Catherine about what had happened. Catherine was a good friend and she deserved to know what had happened. And there was also the fact that Trowa was Catherine's brother. Quatre would much rather tell her what happened than her hearing Trowa's version of the story.

And Quatre wouldn't mind telling Relena and Hilde what had happened, no not at all. The reason he didn't want to do it right now was because he was certain the entire school would know it within the day.

It was high-school he was attending after all.

"Quatre?"

Quatre looked up to see Catherine smiling at him.

"If you don't want to tell us, we'll wait until you are ready to do so." She said quietly.

Quatre smiled.

Because Catherine didn't particularly like gossiping, and most of the time she took pity on Quatre when he became the subject again. Now was such a moment.

She was curious about what had happened, and how it could've happened. But she also knew Quatre needed to get his thoughts straight first before he could answer their questions.

Quatre nodded his head gratefully at Catherine's suggestion. "I'll go make some tea before I start telling my story. How is that?" He asked after a few moments of silence.

All three girls nodded in agreement and he was a bit relieved that he could figure out what to tell them, Quatre stood up and made his way to the kitchen.

Why would someone in their right mind ever want to throw knives at another person?

Why would someone who could even comprehend the words 'value your life' and 'perilous' ever stand against a big round wooden disk to have knives thrown at him by a girl who wasn't in her right mind to do so anyway?

Quatre had to wonder what kind of guy Trowa Barton was to actually do the above. Was he very brave, or just very stupid?

He had never understood Catherine's fascination with throwing knives anyway. It was a dangerous hobby.

Although, as he saw the knives resting in their respectful boxes on the kitchen-table he couldn't help but lift one out of its box.

He had to do something while he waited for the water to boil anyway.

Quatre watched with slight interest as he toyed with the knife. It was actually quite interesting how it…

"What are you doing?"

In surprise, perhaps you could even call it shock, at hearing someone speak to him, Quatre looked up with a start.

But before he could look to the doorway to see who had spoken to him, he felt a sudden pain shoot through his hand.

After that a lot of things happened in just a split-second.

Quatre cried out softly at the pain he felt coursing through his hand. When he looked down at his hand and saw the knife laying on the ground, saw the blood gushing out of a long cut, he felt dizzy. He stumbled, reached out for the counter to steady himself and was met with… a warm body?

Quatre, shocked yet still unsteady, grabbed the arm that was around him. He was gasping for air as he tried to calm himself down and get himself to focus again.

He really couldn't stand blood.

"Are you all right?"

Warm breath ghosted past his ear and Quatre shuddered involuntary. He raised his head and saw none other than Trowa Barton look at him with concern.

"I- I'm…" Quatre started to stutter and then made a big mistake. He looked down at his hand and became quite unwell. "Oh my God…" He whispered.

While he whispered the words he felt the arm around his waist tighten a bit. He wondered why for only a second.

Because Trowa was pulling him towards one of the kitchen chairs.

All Quatre could do was blink as Trowa Barton pushed him down in the chair. What on Earth was happening?

Quatre noticed the boy looking at him worried every other second and he didn't know if he should feel grateful or annoyed. He was still a bit dizzy and now he was also afraid to look at his own hand. He wondered how this situation would end.

Meanwhile, Trowa had grabbed a kitchen-towel and tried to tie it around Quatre's hand.

When he didn't succeed in doing so after a few seconds he gave an impatient sigh. He looked at Quatre, who had a pale exterior. "Hold it with your left hand, all right? I'm going to get the first-aid-kit." He told Quatre, trying to sound reassuring. When he turned around to leave the kitchen, Quatre called out.

"Don't…" Quatre mumbled softly. Gods, he was embarrassed now! His paleness had disappeared and was now replaced with an annoying flush.

Trowa, who stood still in the doorway to observe the blond, frowned. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Could you not get Cathy?" Quatre asked, almost whispered.

To Quatre's surprise Trowa chuckled. Quatre, when he saw Trowa's face, had the fleeting thought that Trowa actually looked quite relaxed and content when he was smiling.

"I won't." Trowa promised. "She can be quite the hassle if she wants to be." Trowa looked at Quatre's hand and nodded. "Mind if I get that kit now? You might bleed to death otherwise."

Quatre, not dense at all but just afraid of blood and still not in his previous mood, paled again. "Bleed to death?" He whispered, quite foolishly he admitted afterwards.

Trowa's laughter rang through the kitchen as he walked away.

While Trowa was off to fetch the first-aid-kit, Quatre desperately tried to get a hold of reality again.

What on earth was going on? Who was that guy helping him and what did he do with Trowa Barton?

Quatre wondered if it would be cruel to hope the real Trowa Barton would be thrown down five stories to be lying face-down in the mud of the flower-bed that lay against the entire side of the building.

Well, that wasn't of much importance now anyway. Whatever Trowa was thinking right now wasn't of much importance either. What Quatre himself thought of the situation was of importance though.

Because it would help him to decide what he was going to do next. Right now, Quatre was utterly confused. It could be the blood-loss helping with that of course.

However, the fact remained Trowa was acting unlike his usual self and Quatre found that he actually rather liked this side of the boy.

'Odd,' he thought, 'yesterday I wanted to smash his head and now…' Quatre sighed. He wasn't really up for a lot of thinking.

It made his head hurt and a head-ache, or worse a migraine, was one of the last things he wanted to have right about now. He took a deep breath at the thought of all the blood, because of his bleeding hand and an almost alien-like Trowa Barton were enough problems to deal with.

Quatre looked up as he heard footsteps near the kitchen. He prayed it wasn't Catherine, and was oddly relieved when Trowa walked into the kitchen. Catherine would freak out for sure if she ever found out.

Trowa set the first-aid-kit, which was a screaming bright red little bag with a white cross on it, on the table and put a chair in front of Quatre.

"Let's have a look at your hand." He said as he lifted Quatre's hand quite gently.

Quatre turned his head away and closed his eyes. It was better not to look than make a fool out of himself by trying to be brave and then faint in the progress of it all.

"Don't worry, I've done this a million of times." Trowa told Quatre quietly. "I've had my share of cuts caused by those knives."

Quatre didn't reply. He just sat there with his eyes closed and waited until Trowa was finished with his hand.

In the end it wasn't all that bad. Trowa disinfected the wound and then he laid a gauze over it. To finish it he then bandaged the covered area, all the while holding Quatre's hand and being very gentle.

Quatre looked at his bandaged hand. "You said it wasn't that bad." He remarked dryly as he studied Trowa's handy-work.

"Just in case." Trowa answered with a shrug. "By the way, your water is cold."

Quatre looked up with a frown. "What?"

Trowa nodded towards the water-boiler. "The water is cold again."

Almost stupefied, Quatre looked at Trowa. After a second or two, he burst out laughing.

Trowa raised an eyebrow. "What do you find so amusing?"

Quatre looked at Trowa. He took a few breaths and chuckled. "Yesterday I wanted to kill you. A few minutes ago I thought of you lying in the mud. Look at us now! Happily chatting as if we are good friends…" Quatre trailed off.

He sighed and looked away. 'Now's your chance!' He could hear Duo's voice.

Now was Quatre's best chance to apologize to Trowa. They were together, alone and above all, he could thank Trowa for bandaging his hand and make the affair of yesterday seem like nothing.

Quatre, feeling somewhat nervous, looked around the kitchen. He couldn't just blurt out 'I'm sorry' and be done with it. He sighed.

For once in his life, perhaps he should do something he actually didn't want to. Perhaps now he should listen to Duo, follow his advice, and simply thank Trowa for what he did for him.

"Hey Trowa." Quatre called out softly.

The brown-haired boy looked up with a frown. "Yes?"

"I-uh… I want to thank you." Quatre admitted softly. He looked Trowa in the eye and tried a small smile to make everything look a bit more… meant.

With the smile still on his lips, he raised his bandaged arm and continued. "For the arm, you know." He paused. "And for yesterday, too." He added softly and it sounded more like an afterthought than a note of appreciation.

But Trowa didn't seem to mind. He leant his head a bit to the right and smiled slightly. "It would've been exceptionally rude not to help out." Was all he said.

Quatre frowned. He was thanking a person who was doing all of this because he didn't want to come across as rude? 'What have I done?' Quatre thought.

"But you know, because I helped you out twice already, you owe me." Trowa said with a smirk as he leaned against the counter.

Quatre was quite shocked to hear this. 'Shit.'

He hadn't anticipated this would happen, but Trowa was right. For the second time he had helped Quatre out and even though Quatre had thanked the other boy, he still owed him.

"Sure, just let me know when I can help you out with something." Quatre said. He wasn't happy with this at all. But what else could he do? He couldn't laugh this away as another lame thing Trowa said. Owing someone was a serious thing. Owing someone meant you had to pay back the debt you had with someone, one way or another.

"Well, you could tell me all about the conflict Heero." Trowa suggested. He sounded quite proud of himself that he had thought of this as a way for Quatre to pay him back.

But Quatre shook his head. "We're acting quite civilized towards each other now, don't you agree?" He asked the other boy, very serious.

"Yes."

"Don't you want to keep it that way?"

"Uh, sure." Trowa was frowning. Was Quatre going anywhere or was he just avoiding the question?

Trowa didn't know that was exactly Quatre's thought but with a different motivation.

"Well, then don't ask me about Heero." Quatre stated, as if it were the most simply and obvious thing in the world. He looked somewhat grim and his entire posture was tense.

"But…" Trowa started to protest.

"I might owe you something, but that doesn't mean I will do anything just because you ask me to do. Just because we had a sort of conversation when you bandaged my hand, doesn't make us friends." Quatre explained the other boy calmly.

Trowa snorted, grabbed the first-aid-kit from the kitchen-table and left the room.

Quatre sighed and looked at his bandaged hand again. Why was he the one that always got in situations like this? Why was Trowa trying to suck up his ass one minute and trying to pry in Quatre's private business the next?

Trowa Barton was such an asshole.

TBC.