Happy Trowa Month!
Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm late. What's new about that?
Anyway, moving on. I've been working, and I've finally got another chapter of Flight of the Bumblebee done. It's not what I was expecting, I'll give everyone that, but I think it came out all right. Jess asked me (as I was pounding this chapter out) if I was going to go day by day. I'm not, for the most part. Just that I am right now because Harry's settling into a new environment. Shortly, I should start doing some major time-skips, so the story won't drag.
Anyway, I've been saved only by copious amounts of Trowa biscuits from Jess while I worked on this chapter, and, since I'm out of Trowa biscuits at the moment, I'd better post the chapter! ///.^
That said. . . here's the rough chapter of Flight of the Bumblebee. I'll have it cleaned up soon and this note will be removed after I have done so. I'm just warning you now that there are probably several typos and mistakes because I haven't checked it yet.
Title: Flight of the Bumblebee Part Eight
Rating: T/PG-13
Fandom: Harry Potter Gundam Wing cross
Disclaimer: I can't pay my bills and you think I own something this cool? Yeah, right.
Warnings: (1x2, 3x4, 5x6), scared Quatre, cooking (le gasp!) Trowa,
Summary: Trowa Barton discovers that he actually has family thanks to mandatory government testing. Since Trowa isn't eighteen yet, he's the lucky sap that gets to go live with them for awhile, to the annoyance of the rest of the pilots and Preventors.
Flight of the Bumblebee
Part Eight
A New Life
They'd barely woken Harry for dinner that night, and the exhausted child fell straight back to sleep afterward, curled up on the couch with his head pillowed on Trowa's lap. He didn't seem to want to leave the elder's side, as though he was afraid everything would disappear if he lost sight of Trowa for a single moment. Trowa gave a slight frown as he tucked the child into bed, giving him a kiss and then slipping silently from the room.
"He's bound to be a little clingy," Quatre reminded him, wrapping his arms around Trowa. "He's so used to be discarded and unwanted that he's learned not to expect anything else. You're turning his reality on its head."
"Should we get him to see a councilor?" Trowa mused, resting his chin on Quatre's soft hair.
"Perhaps. I think we should let him settle in a little bit first. If he still seems unable to adjust, then we should look more into it. For now, give him some time." Quatre leaned back, tilting his face upwards to catch Trowa's lips in a kiss.
"Do you think he can adjust?"
"I think we'll all have to. Duo said it would be hard, at first. He'd be really good, so we'd want him, and then he'd start acting out. Testing his boundaries to see if we would keep him. He said Harry would likely make us want to rip our hair out. If we don't send him back, Duo thought he'd calm down. That's the pattern he claimed he went through when he was at the orphanage and when he met the Sweepers."
"I don't remember doing anything like that," Trowa frowned. But he had also never been under any illusions that he would be kept if he acted out of turn.
"I have no experience," Quatre shrugged. "I was never placed in that position. Nor was Wu Fei. Hiiro never recalled that either, but he also said the only time he did act out he was beaten badly by Dr. J. He can't recall ever acting out when he was with Odin."
"Did Zechs say anything about it?"
"His childhood was considerably better than ours."
Trowa sighed and cuddled Quatre a little closer. "I want him to consider this his home. I want us to be his family."
"We are his family," Quatre murmured fiercely. "No matter how long it takes him to realize that."
Trowa smiled, tilting Quatre's face up and pressing a kiss to his lips. "I'm glad you want that, too."
"I want other things as well, lover," Quatre purred against Trowa's lips, seeking another kiss and deepening it. Trowa purred in agreement, lifting Quatre and heading towards their bedroom. He had been separated from his blond lover far too long.
<>*<>
Harry woke later Saturday, and spent several long moments in a panic when he realized the sun was up and he was late to fix breakfast for the Dursley’s. Then, as he calmed, he remembered that he was no longer at the Dursley’s. Frantically digging through his bedclothes for Padfoot, Harry gave a small sigh of relief. The room wasn't the one he shared with Trowa at the Dursley’s, and he could remember being told it was his. Recognizing the furniture he'd chosen just a week prior, Harry let himself relax. He was really away from the Dursley’s. For the first time ever, he didn't have to live at their beck and call. He was allowed to be a nine-year-old boy.
Padding quietly from the room, he was surprised to find Trowa and Quatre's door open. He panicked again. What if he was supposed to make them breakfast? What if he was late and they were hungry? Would they hit him for being late? Maybe they'd take him back! Harry's eyes blurred with tears as he clutched Padfoot closer. Maybe they'd keep him, just take away his room and his toys. He really didn't want to loose his blanket, or Padfoot, or the picture of his mother!
The child rushed to the stairs, nearly falling down them as he rushed to the kitchen. Maybe he was only a little late and they wouldn't be mad! Maybe . . . maybe if he said he was sorry and was extra careful with breakfast he'd be allowed to stay and keep his room!
"Harry, what's wrong?" Quatre's concerned voice cut through his panic. "Why are you crying, green eyes?"
Hands, strange but with familiar calluses, reached out to grab him, strong, slender arms holding him close. "Talk to me, green eyes," Quatre's voice was still gentle. "Why are you crying?"
"I didn't mean to be late!" Harry wailed. "I'm sorry! I won't do it again! Please don't make me go back!"
"We aren't sending you anywhere, sweetie," Quatre soothed, hugging Harry tightly. "We aren't sending you to the Dursley’s and you didn't oversleep."
"I didn't mean to be late!" Harry wailed again.
"Harry, look at me." Quatre's voice was level and serious, and whenever Harry had heard anyone talk like that before it meant he had to listen or Uncle Vernon would hit him or lock him in the cupboard. Harry forced back his tears to regard Quatre with frightened, watery eyes. "You are not late. We are not sending you back to the Dursley’s. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded, accidentally letting out another sniffle. Reflexively he flinched, only to feel Quatre hug him again. "It's okay to cry, Harry," Quatre murmured, petting his hair. Harry sniffled again, a few more tears escaping before he got himself under control. It felt so nice to have someone hug him when he was crying, and to hold him close and tell him it was all right. Still shuddering a big from his crying jag, Harry tentatively wrapped his arms around Quatre and rested his head on the blonde's shoulder, letting Quatre continue to cuddle him.
"I'm not late?" Harry finally asked, his voice tiny and shaky from tears.
"No, green eyes. Not at all. Come on, Trowa should have breakfast finished. Are you hungry?"
Harry managed a nod and let Quatre carry him back into the kitchen and set him on one of the barstools. He blinked suddenly. "Padfoot!" He wailed, moving to get down. Quatre stopped him, handing him the stuffed dog.
"You dropped it in the hallway. You're sure you're going to be all right, green eyes?" Harry could tell Quatre was worried and he felt a little thrill of happiness rush through him. He'd never had anyone worry about him before!
"Thank you," Harry murmured, staring at the counter.
"It's fine." Quatre kissed the crown of his head and sat down next to him. Harry finally looked up, and smiled upon seeing his older cousin standing at the stove.
"What's for breakfast?" Harry knew he probably wouldn't get any after his tantrum, but Trowa just smiled at him.
"I was in the mood for Crepes," Trowa admitted. "They're very good with jam and fresh fruit. Are you hungry?"
"Yes. I'm sorry I wasn't awake to cook for you." Harry kicked the counter absently. "I didn't mean to sleep so late."
"Yesterday probably wore you out," Trowa came over to ruffle his unruly black hair. "Moving wears out a lot of people. Don't worry so much. Besides, we don't expect you to cook breakfast in the mornings."
Harry's brow furrowed. "But Aunt Petunia always said that if I didn't cook I wasn't allowed to eat."
"Things are very different here, Harry," Trowa dropped his hand to Harry's cheek to caress the child's face before he turned back to the stove to check breakfast. "We're going to sit down and explain the rules after breakfast, okay?"
"I get breakfast?"
"Yes, green eyes, you get breakfast. In fact, it's done. Quatre, will you get some milk for us, please?"
The blond quickly grabbed plates and cups before moving to the fridge. "Watch this," Quatre winked at Harry after he'd poured the milk and set out the fruit and jam. Harry watched as Trowa deftly flipped the crepe in the pan across the kitchen and onto one of the large plates Quatre had set on the counter. Several more in the microwave appeared and followed the first, landing in a neat stack. Harry's eyes grew wide. He'd never seen anyone do that before!
"Isn't that cool?" Quatre grinned, looking pleased about Trowa flinging crepes across the kitchen. The taller boy sat next to Harry, sandwiching the child between the two older boys, and picked one off the stack to eat.
"You better dig in while they're hot," Trowa ordered, putting fresh strawberries on his crepe. "I got the berries from Tom this morning. He said they're going to rot if we don't eating them."
Quatre licked his lips. "Is there enough for a pie?"
"You and your pies," Trowa playfully moaned, rolling his eyes.
"I like pie," Quatre pouted as Harry giggled over his breakfast.
"There are plenty enough for pie," Trowa winked to Harry. "Quatre makes the best pie ever."
"I've never had it," Harry admitted. "I'm not allowed to have pudding. Aunt Petunia says I'll get spoilt."
"I don't think anything could spoil you, green eyes," Quatre offered affectionately. Harry smiled again and returned to his breakfast. Quatre watched him for a moment longer, determined to make a pie for the boy. It was hardly fair that Harry had never been allowed sweets of any kind.
It didn't take long for the three hungry boys to finish breakfast, and then Trowa and Quatre took Harry into the den to go over the rules. Harry curled up next to Trowa, small hands fisting in the teen's shirt, almost as if he was afraid Trowa would disappear. Trowa wrapped an arm around the boy while Quatre fetched a few large posters. Harry tilted his head.
"We're going to go over rules first," Trowa told the blond, who nodded. He then added, for Harry's benefit, "We've written them down so they're easier to remember, okay?"
Harry nodded, staring at the poster. Trowa ignored it and continued, "Your bedtime here is nine o'clock, every night. If you want, we'll even tuck you in and read a story together, okay?"
"If I want?"
"You do have some choices, green eyes," Trowa grinned. "I'm not going to dictate everything you do. But everyone needs some rules."
"That's why we have laws," Harry nodded. "Mrs. Mosden told me."
"Good. You're really smart." Trowa pointed to the poster again. "You need to be up every morning between six and six-thirty, so you can get ready for school and we can eat breakfast together. One of us will take you to school, but it isn't always going to be the same person. Sometimes it'll be me; sometimes it'll be one of the others. On weekends, though, you may stay up late with permission, and you may get up whenever you want."
Harry didn't seem to mind the concept of a bedtime or that Trowa wouldn't take him to school every morning, and even seemed excited that he'd get to show off all of his new "brothers." He bounced forward in his seat, pointing to the next rule. "Can I read it?"
"Of course."
"It says I have to ask per . . . per-mis-son . . . to go somewhere."
"Permission." Quatre absently corrected. "Very good."
"That means I have to ask you before I go places, right? Like to school? Or to the bathroom?"
"No, not to school. We know you have school everyday. And you don't have to ask us to go to the bathroom, either. You have to ask permission to go to a friend's house after school, or if you want to go outside. If we're out in a public place and you need to go to the restroom, then you must tell us. If we are home, you need never ask."
"And then the next one says I have to ask permission to watch TV or play video games or games on my computer."
"That's right. We want you to get your homework done before you watch TV. If there is a show you don't want to miss, we'll be happy to tape it for you to watch later."
"Okay. I never got to watch TV much anyway." Harry shrugged, looking unconcerned.
"Everyone has a show or two they really like." Trowa explained. "We tend to tape them so we can watch them whenever we want."
"Oh. Okay. This also says I have to re-respect other people's things. I have to ask to use things that aren't mine, and I have to knock before entering someone else's room. Do people have to knock before they come into mine?"
"Yup. You always have to ask permission. I'm allowed to go in your room if I think something's wrong, and there might be times we tell you not to knock, but if you want to go into someone else's room, you should knock first."
There were a few other rules that Trowa went over on the poster, and Harry listened intently, not wanting to upset his new family by forgetting. "We also have to go over punishment," Trowa told him after they were done with the rules.
Harry shivered and flinched, but Trowa put an arm around him, rubbing his back soothingly. "We are never going to beat you, Harry." Trowa forced Harry's green eyes to meet his. "No matter what happens, you will never have to fear us hurting you when we punish you. If you just forgot, we'll remind you. Everyone forgets things, sometimes. Sometimes you'll do things accidentally. It's okay. Accidents happen. We might be worried out of our minds, but it was still an accident. We might punish you so you don't do it again, but we understand about accidents, okay?"
Harry nodded, fidgeting. "But . . . but what will you do to punish me?"
"We might put you in time-out. Do you know what that is?"
Harry shook his head.
"We'll move you away from the group. Maybe sit you in a chair or in a corner and make you stand there, facing the wall, quietly for a few minutes. Right now it will be nine minutes because you are nine years old. When you turn ten, it will be ten minutes. Do you understand?"
"So . . . you won't hit me? Just make me stand in a corner?" Relief was the most prominent expression on Harry's face.
"Yes, green eyes. Good memory. We might ground you sometimes, too. You know what that means?"
"I'll be locked in my room and not allowed to eat until you let me you." Harry nodded. "Uncle Vernon did that, sometimes."
"No, Harry. That's not what I mean." Trowa forced back his temper. Those Dursley’s were in for it! "We are never going to make you skip meals and we will never lock you in your room for punishment. Never. Understand? When I say we might ground you, it means we'll take away something like the TV or video games for a set amount of time, like a week, or we won't let you go to a friend's house."
"And you won't ever hit me?" Harry couldn't seem to believe it.
"Not if I have a choice." Trowa hoped it would never come to it, but sometimes he had to use violence to save people. If it meant the difference between Harry being alive and being dead, he knew his choice, but he would never hit the child for punishment. He had no problem with corporal punishment, but Harry had already been abused. He wouldn't understand what the difference between abuse and punishment was. It was better not to hit him, if it could be helped.
"You promise?"
"Cross my heart."
Trowa had never seen anything as rewarding as Harry's smile at that statement.
Quatre's soft voice made them both jerk, and the blond gave a tiny chuckle. "This other poster board is our job assignments," Quatre explained, pulling it out. One the short side was a list of five weeks, and on the long side was a list of various jobs. Each square had a piece of Velcro in it and there was another small pile of squares at Quatre's side. "Every month we'll decide who's doing certain jobs,” Quatre explained. "This will be in the butler's room off the pantry, so we can all find it. You have to complete that chore that week. So one week you might vacuum the fourth floor, and the week after might be your week to clean the bathrooms that aren't attached to people's rooms."
"That's easy," Harry exclaimed. "So I don't have to clean the whole house all the time?"
"Nope."
"What about cooking?"
"That's a different sheet. But Trowa and I don't want you unsupervised in the kitchen for awhile, so you'll just help us a couple of nights a week, okay?"
Harry nodded. "Do I get to pick the nights?"
"Sure, why not? We pick our nights, too." Quatre grinned. "But that's after everyone else gets here, of course." The sheet for meals was also set for a five-week month, and the same system with Velcro was used on those squares as well.
"How will I put my name on there?"
"We have your name on separate cards. That's why there's two pieces of Velcro, see?"
"Oh," Harry nodded. "That's neat. Will that be in the butler's room, too?"
"Yes." Quatre gathered everything. "We won't get that all set up until the other's arrive, though, okay?"
"That's still cool!" Harry looked excited at the prospect of actually meeting everyone, which was a relief to Quatre and Trowa. They'd been worried he'd think more people meant he was less important. At the moment, however, it seemed that Harry just wanted to see all the people his "brother" kept talking about.
"Do you want to see the back yard now?" Trowa asked, and Harry nodded, delighted. He hadn't had a chance to see it the night before. Rushing to the front room to get his shoes and coat, he dressed quickly, then danced impatiently on his toes until Trowa and Quatre appeared, dressed for the cold weather. Stepping outside was a treat for Harry, who stared at the backyard in awe. A large pool was on one side, and there was a hot tub just out of sight of the doors.
"Don't get in there unless you ask," Trowa ordered. "And one of us must be with you."
"Okay." Harry had never really learned to swim, and he wasn't sure he liked the water. But he knew hot tubs were supposed to be nice and warm, like baths, and it made him excited because he'd never seen one before. Dudley would be very jealous to see everything Harry had, now.
Trowa and Quatre watched the boy run around the yard, examining the playground in the back and tugging thoughtfully at an old swing tied to a tree. There were also a few hammocks tied to the large trees in the back, set in the shade where it would be perfect to curl up and read come spring. Harry couldn't wait to look at everything. There were several gardens, and Harry seemed fascinated with them, even though everything was dead from the cold.
"Can I play on the play ground?" Harry pleaded. Trowa passed him his hat and gloves--which he had forgotten in his excitement--and nodded. "Will you play with me?" Pleading green eyes turned to the boys and Quatre felt his heart melt. How could he say no to a look like that?
"Of course we will," Quatre declared, following Harry to the monkey bars and watching the child clamber across them, slipping from his mittens several times. The blond giggled and caught him around the waist to help him as Harry kept going, a huge grin on his young features. Trowa watched for a moment longer, then joined in. It seemed like everything was going to be fine after all.
<>*<>
Sunday morning, Harry woke early and wandered into the hall, shocked to find Trowa and Quatre already awake. He frowned for a moment, considering. He'd woken up before Trowa, which made him wonder what time Trowa did wake up in the morning. Did Quatre get up then, too? Because that was awfully early to be awake every day. Finally the boy shrugged and headed downstairs to find him new family. He smiled a little, liking the word. His family.
It was a very nice thought. Harry liked to think about Trowa and Quatre as his family, because he'd never really thought good things about his family before. Harry gave an excited shiver and headed toward the kitchen. Like Saturday, Trowa and Quatre were already there, though this time it was Quatre cooking breakfast while Trowa sipped at a cup of tea.
"Good morning, Harry," Quatre offered from the stove, giving the boy a bright smile. "Did you sleep well?"
"I like my new bed a lot," Harry chirruped, climbing up on the stool. "It's really comfy. Thank you for buying it for me, Quatre."
"It was nothing, green eyes," Quatre moved to ruffle his hair affectionately and then turned back to the eggs he had cooking. Harry blinked. He had never not had to cook before, so watching someone else make bacon and eggs was a new experience. Trowa passed him a glass of orange juice, which Harry sipped at slowly, enjoying the taste. Drinking anything but water was a novelty. He'd never really been allowed to have it, except for the milk he got at school. But he didn't like that milk; because it tasted like cardboard, and he could only ever get the white kind because if he got chocolate, Dudley would steal it.
"May I have a sip of your tea, Trowa?" Harry asked, wondering what it tasted like.
Trowa blinked at him, his lips quirking in a smile. "Of course. Be careful, it's hot."
Harry nodded; blowing on it to cool it down, and then took a sip, almost burning his lip and tongue in the process. He considered it for a moment. "It's kind of bitter."
"I don't put a lot of sugar in it. You might like how Duo makes it better. He tends to . . . well, it's more like jell-o when he's done." Trowa shrugged.
"I don't see how he drinks it like that, especially since he likes his coffee black," Quatre complained.
"You drink your tea black and add enough sweetener to your coffee to turn it into syrup," Trowa pointed out. "I don't think you have room to talk."
Quatre made a face at him, serving up the bacon and eggs and pour some milk for the three of them. Trowa set his tea to the side for breakfast, grabbing a plate of toast Harry had missed and sliding it to Quatre. Jam followed, but Trowa didn't pass the butter, as he preferred to butter it right from the toaster, when it was hot. Harry finished off his bacon and eggs before digging into the toast, slathering it with strawberry jam when Trowa gave him the go-ahead. "What're we doing today?" Harry asked around a mouthful.
"Swallow first." Quatre told him absently, and then added, "We're going to get you a new backpack, because yours is ready to fall apart, and then we need to make a quick stop at the grocery store for a few things we don't have."
Harry's brows furrowed. "I really don't need a new backpack," He protested. "Mine is fine. You don't have to spend lots on me."
"Harry, your backpack is a mess." Trowa shook his head. "You need a new one, really you do."
Harry considered that, and then had to agree. His backpack was ready to fall apart, and he had lost some things through the holes before. Still, he didn't want to go shopping again if it would be like the last time. That had taken all day! And then, when he was all done, he was really tired! "Will it take all day again?" He tried to whine when he asked, just in case they got mad if he whined.
"No, Harry, it won't. We won't be gone long at all."
Harry gave a sigh of relief, rushing to the closet for his shoes, and then going to be Trowa by the door. Because they weren't supposed to wear their shoes in the house, everyone would keep them in the large "mud room" off the garage. The room confused Harry a little, lined with cubbies for their shoes, and benches, as well as a rack by the door with slippers. Trowa had explained that since the house was so large, it was easier to keep most of their shoes in that room, so they would be easy to get to. What Harry didn't know was that all the Gundam pilots were paranoid, so they kept a pair of boots in their room and another pair in the mudroom so they wouldn't be caught off guard.
"Ready?" Quatre paused at the door long enough to choose a pair of keys. Harry tilted his head.
"You have more than one car?"
Quatre turned, grinning. "You bet. We have three cars, an SUV, a pickup, and each of us had a motorcycle. My bike and Trowa's are already here, but the others will arrive with our friends, since they are currently being used. We'll take the pick-up truck today."
"Why?" Harry followed him into the garage, clambering into a large, red truck.
"Secret," Quatre winked at him, tossing Trowa the keys. It wasn't so much that Quatre couldn't drive the truck, but the truck was way to big. He had trouble getting the seat up to the peddles, and by the time he could reach the wheel, he was too close to the seat to work the peddles properly, but if he moved back he had difficulty steering. It was easier to let Trowa drive, since his legs--and arms--were long enough it wasn't an issue.
Harry pouted at Quatre's answer, but was excited to get out and run around for a while. With his new family.
The thought made him grin. Again.
Quatre glanced back, smirking slightly at the look on Harry's face, and then directed Trowa to a large store. Harry frowned, not recognizing the name, and followed the two inside. His eyes grew wide as he grinned. It was a sports store!
"Trowa forget a few things," Quatre explained. "Plus we'll get your backpacks here."
"More than one?"
"In the summer we like to hike. We'll go ahead and just buy you an appropriate one now, rather than wait. Then we won't have to do it when it's actually nice outside." Quatre shrugged, heading to the back of the store with the others in tow. "And it's silly for you to take a heavy duty pack like that to school."
Harry nodded in understanding. He'd rather get the shopping out of the way while it was gray and cold than when it was warm and sunny, too. Then Quatre headed to another part of the story, grinning mischievously as he covered Harry's eyes. Harry squawked a little in indignation, feeling Quatre turn him. "And how about that?" Quatre asked, pointing to a shiny, red bicycle.
Harry's eyes grew large. "Really?"
"That and a pair of roller blades. And some safety gear." Quatre nodded. "For the summer as well, of course. We like to skate and bike. Though Duo is more fond of a skateboard." So was Hiiro, surprisingly. Zechs preferred a bike, but if he was wearing wheeled shoes he wanted flat out roller skates. If the wheels were in a straight line, someone was in for it.
"Cool!" Harry rushed to the roller blades, longing touching a few pairs. It didn't take them long to find a suitable pair and safety gear to go with it. Quatre also had Harry pick out a few pairs of sunglasses and Trowa, who had disappeared while Quatre and Harry had been choosing a bike and skates, reappeared with a small bag in his hands. Checking out and loading up the pickup--Harry suddenly understood why Quatre insisted they take it--they headed toward the next stop.
The grocery store was getting busy, since it was a weekend, but most people preferred to go in the afternoons after sleeping in. Quatre headed straight to the toiletries, picking out various shampoos and lotions and soaps. "Duo called me with the specifics," Quatre explained, tossing them into the cart. He also found the toothbrushes and tossed those in too. Trowa made a mental note to make an appointment with the doctor and dentist for Harry. A few other, needed items followed, and Quatre headed toward the produce section for a few things before they were ready to leave.
"That wasn't too long, was it?" Quatre checked the clock. Just under three hours. Not bad for everything they'd bought.
"Can we put my bike together today?" Harry pleaded. Quatre shrugged.
"I don't see why not. We can do it in the shop, where it's warm."
"The shop?" Harry frowned.
"That building to the other side of the garage," Quatre explained. Harry considered, and then nodded. The building Quatre was talking about was just a little larger than the garage itself, about two stories with a basement, but Harry hadn't been inside. "We work on our own cars and things, so we keep our tools out there. There's a metal shop and woodshop, but you mustn't go out there without permission. It's very dangerous."
That and they would need time to hide certain things. While they kept their Gundams in a warehouse on Sweeper property about ten minutes from the house by car, smaller things were taken to the shop to be repaired. There were other projects they kept that could be dangerous. They had a large chemistry laboratory in the basement for Duo to work with, and other, job related tools, as well as sensitive projects that Harry shouldn't poke around. The tools weren't the only dangerous things kept in the building.
"I won't," Harry, promised, though he was still very excited about putting together his bike. He probably couldn't ride it until it grew warmer, but just having a bike was exciting. And if promising not to enter the shop without permission got it put together, he certainly would! Quatre gave him a smile and headed toward the shop with the box. Harry gaped in awe. It had taken two men to get it into the truck, but Quatre was carrying it easily. The boy glanced at everything else, but Trowa nudged him toward the shop.
"I'll put these away. Go on and have some fun. I'll join you in a few minutes."
Harry gave a small cheer and rushed away. This was so cool!
<>*<>
Harry half skipped to the shop next to Quatre, amazed the blond could carry the heavy box holding his bicycle the entire way without setting it down. He remembered Uncle Vernon buying Dudley a bike. He huffed and puffed all the way to the garage and had to set the box down a lot of times. Quatre was a lot stronger than Uncle Vernon! "So we're really going to put it together now?" Harry asked, his green eyes alight with happiness. He'd never had a bike, and he'd never had any one just drop everything and do something for him before.
Quatre let him into the shop and dumped the parts out of the box, carefully so as not to lose any, and grabbed the few tools he'd need. Harry leaned close, unsure of himself. He really, really wanted to help, but he had no idea what he was doing. And Quatre probably wouldn't want him to slow down the process, because no one wanted to spend a lot of time around him, but Harry really, really wanted to help. Quatre glanced up at the boy and gave a small smile. "You're going to put it together, Harry,” Quatre told him, grabbing a wrench. "I'm just going to help."
Harry's eyes grew large. "I can?"
"Sure. This is your bike, so you can build it." Quatre lifted the frame and blatantly ignored the directions. Harry glanced at the paper, then to Quatre, who grinned and winked.
When Trowa walked in twenty minutes later, Harry and Quatre were attempting to attach a peddle to the handlebars and laughing like drunks. Trowa sighed. "What are you doing?"
"It's fun!" Harry cried, giggling. Grease smeared his cheek and nose. "Quatre said to just try to figure it out myself, and we'd bother with directions later! He's letting me do anything I want, as long as I don't break it or hurt myself." He put the seat on the place for the handlebars, watching it dangle loosely. Trowa rolled his eyes heavenward. Quatre could build a Gundam, but he couldn't put together a bicycle.
The blond seemed to realize what Trowa was thinking and gave him a wink. He was letting Harry play, because it was likely Harry had never put a bicycle together before, and it would be a chance to get him used to the shop and the tools in it. Already Quatre had taught him about the basic tools--the screwdriver, the wrench, the hammer, and the all-important blow-torch (Trowa didn't ask about that one), and some basics for shop safety. Trowa didn't comment on it since it seemed Harry was enjoying the time he spent with his new guardians, and when the bike finally was complete, he was proud to wheel it to the side of the garage.
"You don't want to ride it?" Quatre asked, sipping on some iced tea that Trowa had brought.
Harry blinked at them, and then shook his head. "I don't know how."
The plaintive answer made both of the boys tense. While Trowa hadn't had the best childhood, even he had been taught to ride a bike. Quatre bit his lip, moving to grab a small bag Trowa hadn't noticed. "I bought you training wheels," The blond admitted softly. Trowa snapped around to face him. Quatre had suspected that Harry couldn't ride a bike. He had already guessed that the child had been deprived of even that. "So you may learn to ride it. When you are a little more comfortable, probably this summer, we'll teach you to ride it without them."
Harry's face lit up and he announced something Trowa was still too stunned to listen to. He had thought he'd known what Harry's life had been like, but . . . did he really? Green eyes darkened. Those damned Dursley’s would pay!
<>*<>
Monday morning found Harry awake early, since he'd been in bed by nine. He'd even had Trowa and Quatre read him a story. It was a lot cooler than when Dudley used to have stories read to him, because the two pilots had done the voices, too. He snuggled into his covers for a moment, yawning stretched before nuzzling his stuffed dog and getting out of bed. Trowa and Quatre were awake already, and Harry was surprised they got up so early all the time. Most people their age liked to sleep in as much as they could.
Trowa greeted him cheerfully in the kitchen, up to his elbows in bread dough. Harry moved to watch him knead it while Quatre sipped at his tea and read the morning paper. "We have to work a little bit today, Harry," Trowa commented, setting the dough aside. "So you'll be on your own for awhile, but we'll be upstairs in our offices if you need us."
Harry blinked. "You don't mind if I interrupt?"
"Not at all," Quatre looked up, smiling. Harry almost did a double take. It was weird to watch him read the paper and sip at his tea like an adult, especially when Harry knew he was only sixteen. "For anything you need. Although I will admit, the less you do, the faster we get done."
Harry grinned and nodded, hopping up onto the barstool and eagerly waiting for breakfast. From the smell in the kitchen, someone had made a breakfast casserole, and Harry was eager to try it. It smelled really, really good and Harry could tell his mouth was watering. "How long do you think you'll take?"
"A few hours, maybe. Why?"
"Well . . . I wanted to play with you after," Harry admitted shyly, toeing the carpet. "If you don't mind."
"Not at all," Trowa pulled the casserole from the oven. "Looks good, Quatre."
"If its not, I blame Duo. It's his recipe," Quatre chuckled. "But it smells all right."
"Can we eat?" Harry squirmed in his chair.
"It's got to cool for just a few minutes, but if you want to set the table--I guess it's the bar, really--it'll go that much faster."
Harry out of his seat almost before Quatre had finished, grabbing plates. He carefully set each of them a place at the bar, and poured himself a small glass of orange juice and a larger one of milk. By the time he was done Trowa deemed the casserole sufficiently cooled and plopped a large piece on his plate. Harry waited impatiently for the others to get some, and then dug in ravenously. Quatre and Trowa exchanged looks. It was almost like Harry was trying to make up for lost time.
That or his metabolism was speeding up again, and he was burning calories incredibly quickly. "We've got to get him to a doctor," Quatre muttered so only Trowa could hear. "Do you think we can take him in this week?"
"I'd have to call, but they'd probably make him a priority if you dropped your name," Trowa eyed Harry for a moment longer, then returned to his breakfast. "Why?"
"He does some things that . . . I'm not certain are healthy." Quatre frowned again. Harry had a tendency to horde food, which Trowa had previously noticed, and he tended to walk in a bit of a slouch. His feet also concerned both of them because he'd worn shoes too small for him for quite some time. They also wanted to make sure he got enough vitamins, but didn't want to start anything until a doctor had checked him.
"We can call this morning," Trowa soothed, finishing his food. "And call the dentist, too."
"Yes, of course. I'll handle that." Quatre would get Harry in much faster. "Remind me to call Howard later, please?"
"All right." Trowa wasn't certain what for, exactly, but he wouldn't forget either.
"I'm done!" Harry announced, and requested to be excused. Quatre shooed him off and the boy eagerly rushed from the room to continue to explore the house. The two pilots chuckled a little, and then headed to their offices. Today would certainly be interesting.
<>*<>
Harry set aside the book he'd been reading and grabbed Padfoot from the floor. It was afternoon already, and Trowa and Quatre were still surrounded by work. He gave a small frown. They had thought they would be done already, but it had just kept piling up! He pouted a bit, moving from the library to the bedrooms. Trowa and Quatre had said he could poke around a bit in their rooms, just to see what was there, but that he needed to knock if he thought people were inside.
He poked his head inside, blinking slightly. The two had added more pictures and a few more things to the walls. A canopy now hung over the bed, and it looked more like the inside of a sultan's palace. Harry grinned to himself and tiptoed inside. It didn't matter if he got caught, but it was fun to pretend. Looking around, it was easy to believe Quatre spent time in the lavish room, but when he thought about Trowa in there he almost didn't fit. But the soft greens and golds and browns were just Trowa's colors.
Moving to the dresser, Harry peered inside. Not much of interest. Shirts, pants, underclothes. Ties and suits and shoes and sweaters in the closet, some candles spread around the room and incense on the dresser. A few pieces of jewelry were tucked here and there, but a silver glint made Harry shift towards the nightstand. It had to belong to Quatre, since Harry recognized a few of Trowa's things on the other side.
He shifted a book out of the way and gaped. Quatre had a gun on his nightstand? He glanced around, poking it cautiously, then carefully picked it up. The door creaked open behind him, and Quatre gave him a small smile, which was quickly replaced and Quatre paled rapidly, his face shifting to an emotion Harry couldn't identify. "Harry!" The shout was loud, and Harry nearly dropped the gun in his hands. The blond rushed forward, taking it away. "Don't touch things like that!"
"Quatre?"
"You should know better, Harry! Those things are dangerous! You can't go around poking into things, you might get hurt!" Harry shrank back. Mr. Quatre was really, really mad. "Come on." Quatre grabbed the child's wrist, yanking him from the room, tucking the gun away somewhere on his person as he moved. Harry's lips trembled. Mr. Quatre would take him to Trowa and they would both hurt him, and probably lock him up somewhere, and then they'd take him back to the Dursley’s!
His green eyes widened further. What if Mr. Quatre was like Uncle Vernon and he shot him with the gun? Uncle Vernon had always said he'd shoot Harry, if he ever got a gun. Tears formed in his eyes. He didn't want to be shot!
"TROWA!" Quatre's yell made him jump, the tears in his eyes streaking down his cheeks. "GET DOWN HERE!"
"I'll be good," Harry whimpered, flinching back as Quatre turned to face him. "Please don't shoot me!"
Quatre halted, staring at Harry for several long moments. "I beg your pardon?"
"I be good, Mr. Quatre! Please don't shoot me!" Harry was crying, hiding his face in his free arm, and trying to pull his wrist from Quatre's. "I didn't mean to pick up the gun! I just saw it on the nightstand and I was curious . . . please, don't shoot me, Mr. Quatre! I'll be a good boy from now on!"
The anger bled from Quatre's face almost as quickly as it appeared, the small blond pulling Harry gently into his arms. "Oh, green eyes," Quatre breathed, holding Harry tightly. "I would never shoot you."
"What's going on?" Trowa didn't want to make the situation worse, and was careful to keep his voice level.
"Did that cow really tell Harry he would shoot him?" Quatre demanded, lifting Harry from the ground and moving to one of the small sitting rooms. Harry was still far too light for his age and size, and fit into Quatre's arms perfectly. Harry, despite rarely being held in any way, buried his face in Quatre's shoulder.
"Unfortunately," Trowa sat next to his lover. "Harry told me about it when he first saw my gun. What happened?"
"I walked in on him holding one of my guns," Quatre explained. "The one I keep in the nightstand. I was so afraid . . . the safety was on, but what if . . . I was scared Harry would hurt himself . . . what if he'd managed to arm it? What if something malfunctioned and he'd been hurt . . . Allah, he could have died, Trowa!"
Trowa had never heard Quatre quite so shaken, and frowned. "Is he okay?"
"He's fine . . . I just . . . I guess I scared him when I yelled." Quatre rested his cheek against the child's hair, hugging him close. "I'm sorry, Harry."
"Didn't mean to make you mad," Harry whimpered in reply, clinging to Quatre.
"I wasn't mad, Harry. I was terrified." Quatre forced the boy to unbury his face from Quatre's shoulder. Watery green met frightened teal, and Harry burst into another round of sobs. Quatre blinked, startled. "Harry?"
"No one ever cared before!" The boy managed, curling back into Quatre's embrace, his thin arms clutching the elder's neck. "I thought you'd take me back!"
"We are never going to take you back there." Quatre hissed, holding him again and shifting so Trowa could rub gentle circles on the boy's back. "Ever."
Harry didn't answer, just kept clinging to the blond like a limpet for quite some time as his tears died down. He finally wiped his face and blew his nose on the offered handkerchief before moving off Quatre's lap and standing in front of them, staring at the floor. "Do . . . Do I have to move to a closet, now?" He didn't want to move to a closet and leave his lovely room, but he'd been so very bad that surely he wouldn't be allowed to stay in the room. Bad boys don't have their own rooms, and Harry was one of the worst. Bad boys slept in closets, like animals. Bad boys didn't get toys. People didn't love bad boys.
"Why do you think we would make you move to a closet?" Trowa caught the younger boy’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet.
"Because I'm bad and people don't love bad boys." Harry muttered, averting his eyes.
"Do you really think we don't love you?" Harry shook his head, refusing to answer. He didn't want to say yes, because he really, really, really wanted Trowa and Quatre and all the others to love him. He really wanted them too, but he was bad! He was always bad! He did things he wasn't supposed to all the time, and he couldn't be loved because only good boys were loved.
"Look at me, Harry." Trowa's voice was firm. "Do you really think we don't love you?"
Harry finally looked at him, staring into green eyes that so resembled his own. "I want you to." Then he waited to be hit. He knew he'd be hit. Uncle Vernon always hit him if he said he wanted to be loved; because he was so bad it was just a silly dream. So Uncle Vernon always told him no one could love him, and then he'd be hit, and then he'd be thrown into his cupboard.
"Listen to me, Harry," When Trowa didn't hit him, Harry felt himself hope, just a little bit. "We do love you. We will always love you. You may do bad things, but that doesn't mean we will stop loving you. Do you understand?"
"Yes." He didn't, not really, and Trowa knew it. But, for now, they would accept Harry's answer.
"Quatre was afraid you'd hurt yourself. Guns are very dangerous. I know I never mentioned it before, but I don't want you touching any of the weapons you come across in the house, all right? They are all very dangerous. Promise?"
"Promise." Harry readily agreed. "Why do you have so many weapons, anyway?"
Trowa's eyes were gentle. "I promise we'll tell you sometime, but I want you to meet everyone else first, all right?"
Harry nodded hesitantly, then glanced at Quatre. "Mr. Quatre? Are you . . . are you still mad at me?"
Quatre held out his arms in a clear invitation for Harry to hug him, and shook his head. "Trowa's quite right, green eyes. I was just very afraid you'd be hurt. Like Trowa said, guns are very dangerous. Don't ever touch them unless we say to, okay?"
"Okay," Harry whispered back, smiling at the blond. "I promise. Are you going to punish me?"
"Not this time, I think. You and Quatre managed to punish each other more than enough," Trowa sighed. "Scaring each other like that. We have to go back to work, now, but we'll be done by supper. We can play afterward. Is that okay?"
Harry nodded, considering. "May I help cook tonight?"
"Of course. I'll be down earlier than Quatre, okay?" Trowa pressed a kiss to the child's forehead, and rose to his feet. "Behave."
"I will," Harry stiffened for a moment, and then hugged Trowa impulsively. Trowa froze, startled, but managed to hug Harry back before the boy felt he'd done something wrong. Quatre smiled, also stopping at the door to give Harry a hug and followed Trowa up the stairs. Harry watched them leave, then let his knees give out, sending him to the floor.
"They want me," Harry's voice was awed, his green eyes wide. No one had ever wanted him before.
<>*<>
<>*<>
I know Harry cries a lot this chapter, but with all the changes going on in his life at the moment, I don't think it's particularly out of character. I've noticed that children tend to yell or cry when they get too stressed, and if Harry was punished for being angry--even if he had a good reason--then he would probably cry before he'd yell. At least, that's my thinking. Let me know if his character seems to be all right to you, because hearing feedback is most useful.
4 June 2008--A quick clarifier for this chapter that I didn't put here originally, but I did put on ff.net. The scene where Quatre grabbed the gun, I pictured Harry hold the gun flat on his hands, because he was examining it. He wasn't holding it properly, and his finger wasn't on the trigger and, most importantly, it wasn't aimed at anyone. When Quatre grabbed it, he was standing behind Harry and just lifted it straight over his head. I don't think I described the scene well, and that was my mistake, but I've been around guns so long it never even occurred to me (until it was pointed out) that Harry might have had his hands on the trigger, because I've been taught not to touch it. That was my mistake and I'm sorry, but I hope the scene makes more sense.
Anyway, moving on. I've been working, and I've finally got another chapter of Flight of the Bumblebee done. It's not what I was expecting, I'll give everyone that, but I think it came out all right. Jess asked me (as I was pounding this chapter out) if I was going to go day by day. I'm not, for the most part. Just that I am right now because Harry's settling into a new environment. Shortly, I should start doing some major time-skips, so the story won't drag.
Anyway, I've been saved only by copious amounts of Trowa biscuits from Jess while I worked on this chapter, and, since I'm out of Trowa biscuits at the moment, I'd better post the chapter! ///.^
That said. . . here's the rough chapter of Flight of the Bumblebee. I'll have it cleaned up soon and this note will be removed after I have done so. I'm just warning you now that there are probably several typos and mistakes because I haven't checked it yet.
Title: Flight of the Bumblebee Part Eight
Rating: T/PG-13
Fandom: Harry Potter Gundam Wing cross
Disclaimer: I can't pay my bills and you think I own something this cool? Yeah, right.
Warnings: (1x2, 3x4, 5x6), scared Quatre, cooking (le gasp!) Trowa,
Summary: Trowa Barton discovers that he actually has family thanks to mandatory government testing. Since Trowa isn't eighteen yet, he's the lucky sap that gets to go live with them for awhile, to the annoyance of the rest of the pilots and Preventors.
Flight of the Bumblebee
Part Eight
A New Life
They'd barely woken Harry for dinner that night, and the exhausted child fell straight back to sleep afterward, curled up on the couch with his head pillowed on Trowa's lap. He didn't seem to want to leave the elder's side, as though he was afraid everything would disappear if he lost sight of Trowa for a single moment. Trowa gave a slight frown as he tucked the child into bed, giving him a kiss and then slipping silently from the room.
"He's bound to be a little clingy," Quatre reminded him, wrapping his arms around Trowa. "He's so used to be discarded and unwanted that he's learned not to expect anything else. You're turning his reality on its head."
"Should we get him to see a councilor?" Trowa mused, resting his chin on Quatre's soft hair.
"Perhaps. I think we should let him settle in a little bit first. If he still seems unable to adjust, then we should look more into it. For now, give him some time." Quatre leaned back, tilting his face upwards to catch Trowa's lips in a kiss.
"Do you think he can adjust?"
"I think we'll all have to. Duo said it would be hard, at first. He'd be really good, so we'd want him, and then he'd start acting out. Testing his boundaries to see if we would keep him. He said Harry would likely make us want to rip our hair out. If we don't send him back, Duo thought he'd calm down. That's the pattern he claimed he went through when he was at the orphanage and when he met the Sweepers."
"I don't remember doing anything like that," Trowa frowned. But he had also never been under any illusions that he would be kept if he acted out of turn.
"I have no experience," Quatre shrugged. "I was never placed in that position. Nor was Wu Fei. Hiiro never recalled that either, but he also said the only time he did act out he was beaten badly by Dr. J. He can't recall ever acting out when he was with Odin."
"Did Zechs say anything about it?"
"His childhood was considerably better than ours."
Trowa sighed and cuddled Quatre a little closer. "I want him to consider this his home. I want us to be his family."
"We are his family," Quatre murmured fiercely. "No matter how long it takes him to realize that."
Trowa smiled, tilting Quatre's face up and pressing a kiss to his lips. "I'm glad you want that, too."
"I want other things as well, lover," Quatre purred against Trowa's lips, seeking another kiss and deepening it. Trowa purred in agreement, lifting Quatre and heading towards their bedroom. He had been separated from his blond lover far too long.
<>*<>
Harry woke later Saturday, and spent several long moments in a panic when he realized the sun was up and he was late to fix breakfast for the Dursley’s. Then, as he calmed, he remembered that he was no longer at the Dursley’s. Frantically digging through his bedclothes for Padfoot, Harry gave a small sigh of relief. The room wasn't the one he shared with Trowa at the Dursley’s, and he could remember being told it was his. Recognizing the furniture he'd chosen just a week prior, Harry let himself relax. He was really away from the Dursley’s. For the first time ever, he didn't have to live at their beck and call. He was allowed to be a nine-year-old boy.
Padding quietly from the room, he was surprised to find Trowa and Quatre's door open. He panicked again. What if he was supposed to make them breakfast? What if he was late and they were hungry? Would they hit him for being late? Maybe they'd take him back! Harry's eyes blurred with tears as he clutched Padfoot closer. Maybe they'd keep him, just take away his room and his toys. He really didn't want to loose his blanket, or Padfoot, or the picture of his mother!
The child rushed to the stairs, nearly falling down them as he rushed to the kitchen. Maybe he was only a little late and they wouldn't be mad! Maybe . . . maybe if he said he was sorry and was extra careful with breakfast he'd be allowed to stay and keep his room!
"Harry, what's wrong?" Quatre's concerned voice cut through his panic. "Why are you crying, green eyes?"
Hands, strange but with familiar calluses, reached out to grab him, strong, slender arms holding him close. "Talk to me, green eyes," Quatre's voice was still gentle. "Why are you crying?"
"I didn't mean to be late!" Harry wailed. "I'm sorry! I won't do it again! Please don't make me go back!"
"We aren't sending you anywhere, sweetie," Quatre soothed, hugging Harry tightly. "We aren't sending you to the Dursley’s and you didn't oversleep."
"I didn't mean to be late!" Harry wailed again.
"Harry, look at me." Quatre's voice was level and serious, and whenever Harry had heard anyone talk like that before it meant he had to listen or Uncle Vernon would hit him or lock him in the cupboard. Harry forced back his tears to regard Quatre with frightened, watery eyes. "You are not late. We are not sending you back to the Dursley’s. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded, accidentally letting out another sniffle. Reflexively he flinched, only to feel Quatre hug him again. "It's okay to cry, Harry," Quatre murmured, petting his hair. Harry sniffled again, a few more tears escaping before he got himself under control. It felt so nice to have someone hug him when he was crying, and to hold him close and tell him it was all right. Still shuddering a big from his crying jag, Harry tentatively wrapped his arms around Quatre and rested his head on the blonde's shoulder, letting Quatre continue to cuddle him.
"I'm not late?" Harry finally asked, his voice tiny and shaky from tears.
"No, green eyes. Not at all. Come on, Trowa should have breakfast finished. Are you hungry?"
Harry managed a nod and let Quatre carry him back into the kitchen and set him on one of the barstools. He blinked suddenly. "Padfoot!" He wailed, moving to get down. Quatre stopped him, handing him the stuffed dog.
"You dropped it in the hallway. You're sure you're going to be all right, green eyes?" Harry could tell Quatre was worried and he felt a little thrill of happiness rush through him. He'd never had anyone worry about him before!
"Thank you," Harry murmured, staring at the counter.
"It's fine." Quatre kissed the crown of his head and sat down next to him. Harry finally looked up, and smiled upon seeing his older cousin standing at the stove.
"What's for breakfast?" Harry knew he probably wouldn't get any after his tantrum, but Trowa just smiled at him.
"I was in the mood for Crepes," Trowa admitted. "They're very good with jam and fresh fruit. Are you hungry?"
"Yes. I'm sorry I wasn't awake to cook for you." Harry kicked the counter absently. "I didn't mean to sleep so late."
"Yesterday probably wore you out," Trowa came over to ruffle his unruly black hair. "Moving wears out a lot of people. Don't worry so much. Besides, we don't expect you to cook breakfast in the mornings."
Harry's brow furrowed. "But Aunt Petunia always said that if I didn't cook I wasn't allowed to eat."
"Things are very different here, Harry," Trowa dropped his hand to Harry's cheek to caress the child's face before he turned back to the stove to check breakfast. "We're going to sit down and explain the rules after breakfast, okay?"
"I get breakfast?"
"Yes, green eyes, you get breakfast. In fact, it's done. Quatre, will you get some milk for us, please?"
The blond quickly grabbed plates and cups before moving to the fridge. "Watch this," Quatre winked at Harry after he'd poured the milk and set out the fruit and jam. Harry watched as Trowa deftly flipped the crepe in the pan across the kitchen and onto one of the large plates Quatre had set on the counter. Several more in the microwave appeared and followed the first, landing in a neat stack. Harry's eyes grew wide. He'd never seen anyone do that before!
"Isn't that cool?" Quatre grinned, looking pleased about Trowa flinging crepes across the kitchen. The taller boy sat next to Harry, sandwiching the child between the two older boys, and picked one off the stack to eat.
"You better dig in while they're hot," Trowa ordered, putting fresh strawberries on his crepe. "I got the berries from Tom this morning. He said they're going to rot if we don't eating them."
Quatre licked his lips. "Is there enough for a pie?"
"You and your pies," Trowa playfully moaned, rolling his eyes.
"I like pie," Quatre pouted as Harry giggled over his breakfast.
"There are plenty enough for pie," Trowa winked to Harry. "Quatre makes the best pie ever."
"I've never had it," Harry admitted. "I'm not allowed to have pudding. Aunt Petunia says I'll get spoilt."
"I don't think anything could spoil you, green eyes," Quatre offered affectionately. Harry smiled again and returned to his breakfast. Quatre watched him for a moment longer, determined to make a pie for the boy. It was hardly fair that Harry had never been allowed sweets of any kind.
It didn't take long for the three hungry boys to finish breakfast, and then Trowa and Quatre took Harry into the den to go over the rules. Harry curled up next to Trowa, small hands fisting in the teen's shirt, almost as if he was afraid Trowa would disappear. Trowa wrapped an arm around the boy while Quatre fetched a few large posters. Harry tilted his head.
"We're going to go over rules first," Trowa told the blond, who nodded. He then added, for Harry's benefit, "We've written them down so they're easier to remember, okay?"
Harry nodded, staring at the poster. Trowa ignored it and continued, "Your bedtime here is nine o'clock, every night. If you want, we'll even tuck you in and read a story together, okay?"
"If I want?"
"You do have some choices, green eyes," Trowa grinned. "I'm not going to dictate everything you do. But everyone needs some rules."
"That's why we have laws," Harry nodded. "Mrs. Mosden told me."
"Good. You're really smart." Trowa pointed to the poster again. "You need to be up every morning between six and six-thirty, so you can get ready for school and we can eat breakfast together. One of us will take you to school, but it isn't always going to be the same person. Sometimes it'll be me; sometimes it'll be one of the others. On weekends, though, you may stay up late with permission, and you may get up whenever you want."
Harry didn't seem to mind the concept of a bedtime or that Trowa wouldn't take him to school every morning, and even seemed excited that he'd get to show off all of his new "brothers." He bounced forward in his seat, pointing to the next rule. "Can I read it?"
"Of course."
"It says I have to ask per . . . per-mis-son . . . to go somewhere."
"Permission." Quatre absently corrected. "Very good."
"That means I have to ask you before I go places, right? Like to school? Or to the bathroom?"
"No, not to school. We know you have school everyday. And you don't have to ask us to go to the bathroom, either. You have to ask permission to go to a friend's house after school, or if you want to go outside. If we're out in a public place and you need to go to the restroom, then you must tell us. If we are home, you need never ask."
"And then the next one says I have to ask permission to watch TV or play video games or games on my computer."
"That's right. We want you to get your homework done before you watch TV. If there is a show you don't want to miss, we'll be happy to tape it for you to watch later."
"Okay. I never got to watch TV much anyway." Harry shrugged, looking unconcerned.
"Everyone has a show or two they really like." Trowa explained. "We tend to tape them so we can watch them whenever we want."
"Oh. Okay. This also says I have to re-respect other people's things. I have to ask to use things that aren't mine, and I have to knock before entering someone else's room. Do people have to knock before they come into mine?"
"Yup. You always have to ask permission. I'm allowed to go in your room if I think something's wrong, and there might be times we tell you not to knock, but if you want to go into someone else's room, you should knock first."
There were a few other rules that Trowa went over on the poster, and Harry listened intently, not wanting to upset his new family by forgetting. "We also have to go over punishment," Trowa told him after they were done with the rules.
Harry shivered and flinched, but Trowa put an arm around him, rubbing his back soothingly. "We are never going to beat you, Harry." Trowa forced Harry's green eyes to meet his. "No matter what happens, you will never have to fear us hurting you when we punish you. If you just forgot, we'll remind you. Everyone forgets things, sometimes. Sometimes you'll do things accidentally. It's okay. Accidents happen. We might be worried out of our minds, but it was still an accident. We might punish you so you don't do it again, but we understand about accidents, okay?"
Harry nodded, fidgeting. "But . . . but what will you do to punish me?"
"We might put you in time-out. Do you know what that is?"
Harry shook his head.
"We'll move you away from the group. Maybe sit you in a chair or in a corner and make you stand there, facing the wall, quietly for a few minutes. Right now it will be nine minutes because you are nine years old. When you turn ten, it will be ten minutes. Do you understand?"
"So . . . you won't hit me? Just make me stand in a corner?" Relief was the most prominent expression on Harry's face.
"Yes, green eyes. Good memory. We might ground you sometimes, too. You know what that means?"
"I'll be locked in my room and not allowed to eat until you let me you." Harry nodded. "Uncle Vernon did that, sometimes."
"No, Harry. That's not what I mean." Trowa forced back his temper. Those Dursley’s were in for it! "We are never going to make you skip meals and we will never lock you in your room for punishment. Never. Understand? When I say we might ground you, it means we'll take away something like the TV or video games for a set amount of time, like a week, or we won't let you go to a friend's house."
"And you won't ever hit me?" Harry couldn't seem to believe it.
"Not if I have a choice." Trowa hoped it would never come to it, but sometimes he had to use violence to save people. If it meant the difference between Harry being alive and being dead, he knew his choice, but he would never hit the child for punishment. He had no problem with corporal punishment, but Harry had already been abused. He wouldn't understand what the difference between abuse and punishment was. It was better not to hit him, if it could be helped.
"You promise?"
"Cross my heart."
Trowa had never seen anything as rewarding as Harry's smile at that statement.
Quatre's soft voice made them both jerk, and the blond gave a tiny chuckle. "This other poster board is our job assignments," Quatre explained, pulling it out. One the short side was a list of five weeks, and on the long side was a list of various jobs. Each square had a piece of Velcro in it and there was another small pile of squares at Quatre's side. "Every month we'll decide who's doing certain jobs,” Quatre explained. "This will be in the butler's room off the pantry, so we can all find it. You have to complete that chore that week. So one week you might vacuum the fourth floor, and the week after might be your week to clean the bathrooms that aren't attached to people's rooms."
"That's easy," Harry exclaimed. "So I don't have to clean the whole house all the time?"
"Nope."
"What about cooking?"
"That's a different sheet. But Trowa and I don't want you unsupervised in the kitchen for awhile, so you'll just help us a couple of nights a week, okay?"
Harry nodded. "Do I get to pick the nights?"
"Sure, why not? We pick our nights, too." Quatre grinned. "But that's after everyone else gets here, of course." The sheet for meals was also set for a five-week month, and the same system with Velcro was used on those squares as well.
"How will I put my name on there?"
"We have your name on separate cards. That's why there's two pieces of Velcro, see?"
"Oh," Harry nodded. "That's neat. Will that be in the butler's room, too?"
"Yes." Quatre gathered everything. "We won't get that all set up until the other's arrive, though, okay?"
"That's still cool!" Harry looked excited at the prospect of actually meeting everyone, which was a relief to Quatre and Trowa. They'd been worried he'd think more people meant he was less important. At the moment, however, it seemed that Harry just wanted to see all the people his "brother" kept talking about.
"Do you want to see the back yard now?" Trowa asked, and Harry nodded, delighted. He hadn't had a chance to see it the night before. Rushing to the front room to get his shoes and coat, he dressed quickly, then danced impatiently on his toes until Trowa and Quatre appeared, dressed for the cold weather. Stepping outside was a treat for Harry, who stared at the backyard in awe. A large pool was on one side, and there was a hot tub just out of sight of the doors.
"Don't get in there unless you ask," Trowa ordered. "And one of us must be with you."
"Okay." Harry had never really learned to swim, and he wasn't sure he liked the water. But he knew hot tubs were supposed to be nice and warm, like baths, and it made him excited because he'd never seen one before. Dudley would be very jealous to see everything Harry had, now.
Trowa and Quatre watched the boy run around the yard, examining the playground in the back and tugging thoughtfully at an old swing tied to a tree. There were also a few hammocks tied to the large trees in the back, set in the shade where it would be perfect to curl up and read come spring. Harry couldn't wait to look at everything. There were several gardens, and Harry seemed fascinated with them, even though everything was dead from the cold.
"Can I play on the play ground?" Harry pleaded. Trowa passed him his hat and gloves--which he had forgotten in his excitement--and nodded. "Will you play with me?" Pleading green eyes turned to the boys and Quatre felt his heart melt. How could he say no to a look like that?
"Of course we will," Quatre declared, following Harry to the monkey bars and watching the child clamber across them, slipping from his mittens several times. The blond giggled and caught him around the waist to help him as Harry kept going, a huge grin on his young features. Trowa watched for a moment longer, then joined in. It seemed like everything was going to be fine after all.
<>*<>
Sunday morning, Harry woke early and wandered into the hall, shocked to find Trowa and Quatre already awake. He frowned for a moment, considering. He'd woken up before Trowa, which made him wonder what time Trowa did wake up in the morning. Did Quatre get up then, too? Because that was awfully early to be awake every day. Finally the boy shrugged and headed downstairs to find him new family. He smiled a little, liking the word. His family.
It was a very nice thought. Harry liked to think about Trowa and Quatre as his family, because he'd never really thought good things about his family before. Harry gave an excited shiver and headed toward the kitchen. Like Saturday, Trowa and Quatre were already there, though this time it was Quatre cooking breakfast while Trowa sipped at a cup of tea.
"Good morning, Harry," Quatre offered from the stove, giving the boy a bright smile. "Did you sleep well?"
"I like my new bed a lot," Harry chirruped, climbing up on the stool. "It's really comfy. Thank you for buying it for me, Quatre."
"It was nothing, green eyes," Quatre moved to ruffle his hair affectionately and then turned back to the eggs he had cooking. Harry blinked. He had never not had to cook before, so watching someone else make bacon and eggs was a new experience. Trowa passed him a glass of orange juice, which Harry sipped at slowly, enjoying the taste. Drinking anything but water was a novelty. He'd never really been allowed to have it, except for the milk he got at school. But he didn't like that milk; because it tasted like cardboard, and he could only ever get the white kind because if he got chocolate, Dudley would steal it.
"May I have a sip of your tea, Trowa?" Harry asked, wondering what it tasted like.
Trowa blinked at him, his lips quirking in a smile. "Of course. Be careful, it's hot."
Harry nodded; blowing on it to cool it down, and then took a sip, almost burning his lip and tongue in the process. He considered it for a moment. "It's kind of bitter."
"I don't put a lot of sugar in it. You might like how Duo makes it better. He tends to . . . well, it's more like jell-o when he's done." Trowa shrugged.
"I don't see how he drinks it like that, especially since he likes his coffee black," Quatre complained.
"You drink your tea black and add enough sweetener to your coffee to turn it into syrup," Trowa pointed out. "I don't think you have room to talk."
Quatre made a face at him, serving up the bacon and eggs and pour some milk for the three of them. Trowa set his tea to the side for breakfast, grabbing a plate of toast Harry had missed and sliding it to Quatre. Jam followed, but Trowa didn't pass the butter, as he preferred to butter it right from the toaster, when it was hot. Harry finished off his bacon and eggs before digging into the toast, slathering it with strawberry jam when Trowa gave him the go-ahead. "What're we doing today?" Harry asked around a mouthful.
"Swallow first." Quatre told him absently, and then added, "We're going to get you a new backpack, because yours is ready to fall apart, and then we need to make a quick stop at the grocery store for a few things we don't have."
Harry's brows furrowed. "I really don't need a new backpack," He protested. "Mine is fine. You don't have to spend lots on me."
"Harry, your backpack is a mess." Trowa shook his head. "You need a new one, really you do."
Harry considered that, and then had to agree. His backpack was ready to fall apart, and he had lost some things through the holes before. Still, he didn't want to go shopping again if it would be like the last time. That had taken all day! And then, when he was all done, he was really tired! "Will it take all day again?" He tried to whine when he asked, just in case they got mad if he whined.
"No, Harry, it won't. We won't be gone long at all."
Harry gave a sigh of relief, rushing to the closet for his shoes, and then going to be Trowa by the door. Because they weren't supposed to wear their shoes in the house, everyone would keep them in the large "mud room" off the garage. The room confused Harry a little, lined with cubbies for their shoes, and benches, as well as a rack by the door with slippers. Trowa had explained that since the house was so large, it was easier to keep most of their shoes in that room, so they would be easy to get to. What Harry didn't know was that all the Gundam pilots were paranoid, so they kept a pair of boots in their room and another pair in the mudroom so they wouldn't be caught off guard.
"Ready?" Quatre paused at the door long enough to choose a pair of keys. Harry tilted his head.
"You have more than one car?"
Quatre turned, grinning. "You bet. We have three cars, an SUV, a pickup, and each of us had a motorcycle. My bike and Trowa's are already here, but the others will arrive with our friends, since they are currently being used. We'll take the pick-up truck today."
"Why?" Harry followed him into the garage, clambering into a large, red truck.
"Secret," Quatre winked at him, tossing Trowa the keys. It wasn't so much that Quatre couldn't drive the truck, but the truck was way to big. He had trouble getting the seat up to the peddles, and by the time he could reach the wheel, he was too close to the seat to work the peddles properly, but if he moved back he had difficulty steering. It was easier to let Trowa drive, since his legs--and arms--were long enough it wasn't an issue.
Harry pouted at Quatre's answer, but was excited to get out and run around for a while. With his new family.
The thought made him grin. Again.
Quatre glanced back, smirking slightly at the look on Harry's face, and then directed Trowa to a large store. Harry frowned, not recognizing the name, and followed the two inside. His eyes grew wide as he grinned. It was a sports store!
"Trowa forget a few things," Quatre explained. "Plus we'll get your backpacks here."
"More than one?"
"In the summer we like to hike. We'll go ahead and just buy you an appropriate one now, rather than wait. Then we won't have to do it when it's actually nice outside." Quatre shrugged, heading to the back of the store with the others in tow. "And it's silly for you to take a heavy duty pack like that to school."
Harry nodded in understanding. He'd rather get the shopping out of the way while it was gray and cold than when it was warm and sunny, too. Then Quatre headed to another part of the story, grinning mischievously as he covered Harry's eyes. Harry squawked a little in indignation, feeling Quatre turn him. "And how about that?" Quatre asked, pointing to a shiny, red bicycle.
Harry's eyes grew large. "Really?"
"That and a pair of roller blades. And some safety gear." Quatre nodded. "For the summer as well, of course. We like to skate and bike. Though Duo is more fond of a skateboard." So was Hiiro, surprisingly. Zechs preferred a bike, but if he was wearing wheeled shoes he wanted flat out roller skates. If the wheels were in a straight line, someone was in for it.
"Cool!" Harry rushed to the roller blades, longing touching a few pairs. It didn't take them long to find a suitable pair and safety gear to go with it. Quatre also had Harry pick out a few pairs of sunglasses and Trowa, who had disappeared while Quatre and Harry had been choosing a bike and skates, reappeared with a small bag in his hands. Checking out and loading up the pickup--Harry suddenly understood why Quatre insisted they take it--they headed toward the next stop.
The grocery store was getting busy, since it was a weekend, but most people preferred to go in the afternoons after sleeping in. Quatre headed straight to the toiletries, picking out various shampoos and lotions and soaps. "Duo called me with the specifics," Quatre explained, tossing them into the cart. He also found the toothbrushes and tossed those in too. Trowa made a mental note to make an appointment with the doctor and dentist for Harry. A few other, needed items followed, and Quatre headed toward the produce section for a few things before they were ready to leave.
"That wasn't too long, was it?" Quatre checked the clock. Just under three hours. Not bad for everything they'd bought.
"Can we put my bike together today?" Harry pleaded. Quatre shrugged.
"I don't see why not. We can do it in the shop, where it's warm."
"The shop?" Harry frowned.
"That building to the other side of the garage," Quatre explained. Harry considered, and then nodded. The building Quatre was talking about was just a little larger than the garage itself, about two stories with a basement, but Harry hadn't been inside. "We work on our own cars and things, so we keep our tools out there. There's a metal shop and woodshop, but you mustn't go out there without permission. It's very dangerous."
That and they would need time to hide certain things. While they kept their Gundams in a warehouse on Sweeper property about ten minutes from the house by car, smaller things were taken to the shop to be repaired. There were other projects they kept that could be dangerous. They had a large chemistry laboratory in the basement for Duo to work with, and other, job related tools, as well as sensitive projects that Harry shouldn't poke around. The tools weren't the only dangerous things kept in the building.
"I won't," Harry, promised, though he was still very excited about putting together his bike. He probably couldn't ride it until it grew warmer, but just having a bike was exciting. And if promising not to enter the shop without permission got it put together, he certainly would! Quatre gave him a smile and headed toward the shop with the box. Harry gaped in awe. It had taken two men to get it into the truck, but Quatre was carrying it easily. The boy glanced at everything else, but Trowa nudged him toward the shop.
"I'll put these away. Go on and have some fun. I'll join you in a few minutes."
Harry gave a small cheer and rushed away. This was so cool!
<>*<>
Harry half skipped to the shop next to Quatre, amazed the blond could carry the heavy box holding his bicycle the entire way without setting it down. He remembered Uncle Vernon buying Dudley a bike. He huffed and puffed all the way to the garage and had to set the box down a lot of times. Quatre was a lot stronger than Uncle Vernon! "So we're really going to put it together now?" Harry asked, his green eyes alight with happiness. He'd never had a bike, and he'd never had any one just drop everything and do something for him before.
Quatre let him into the shop and dumped the parts out of the box, carefully so as not to lose any, and grabbed the few tools he'd need. Harry leaned close, unsure of himself. He really, really wanted to help, but he had no idea what he was doing. And Quatre probably wouldn't want him to slow down the process, because no one wanted to spend a lot of time around him, but Harry really, really wanted to help. Quatre glanced up at the boy and gave a small smile. "You're going to put it together, Harry,” Quatre told him, grabbing a wrench. "I'm just going to help."
Harry's eyes grew large. "I can?"
"Sure. This is your bike, so you can build it." Quatre lifted the frame and blatantly ignored the directions. Harry glanced at the paper, then to Quatre, who grinned and winked.
When Trowa walked in twenty minutes later, Harry and Quatre were attempting to attach a peddle to the handlebars and laughing like drunks. Trowa sighed. "What are you doing?"
"It's fun!" Harry cried, giggling. Grease smeared his cheek and nose. "Quatre said to just try to figure it out myself, and we'd bother with directions later! He's letting me do anything I want, as long as I don't break it or hurt myself." He put the seat on the place for the handlebars, watching it dangle loosely. Trowa rolled his eyes heavenward. Quatre could build a Gundam, but he couldn't put together a bicycle.
The blond seemed to realize what Trowa was thinking and gave him a wink. He was letting Harry play, because it was likely Harry had never put a bicycle together before, and it would be a chance to get him used to the shop and the tools in it. Already Quatre had taught him about the basic tools--the screwdriver, the wrench, the hammer, and the all-important blow-torch (Trowa didn't ask about that one), and some basics for shop safety. Trowa didn't comment on it since it seemed Harry was enjoying the time he spent with his new guardians, and when the bike finally was complete, he was proud to wheel it to the side of the garage.
"You don't want to ride it?" Quatre asked, sipping on some iced tea that Trowa had brought.
Harry blinked at them, and then shook his head. "I don't know how."
The plaintive answer made both of the boys tense. While Trowa hadn't had the best childhood, even he had been taught to ride a bike. Quatre bit his lip, moving to grab a small bag Trowa hadn't noticed. "I bought you training wheels," The blond admitted softly. Trowa snapped around to face him. Quatre had suspected that Harry couldn't ride a bike. He had already guessed that the child had been deprived of even that. "So you may learn to ride it. When you are a little more comfortable, probably this summer, we'll teach you to ride it without them."
Harry's face lit up and he announced something Trowa was still too stunned to listen to. He had thought he'd known what Harry's life had been like, but . . . did he really? Green eyes darkened. Those damned Dursley’s would pay!
<>*<>
Monday morning found Harry awake early, since he'd been in bed by nine. He'd even had Trowa and Quatre read him a story. It was a lot cooler than when Dudley used to have stories read to him, because the two pilots had done the voices, too. He snuggled into his covers for a moment, yawning stretched before nuzzling his stuffed dog and getting out of bed. Trowa and Quatre were awake already, and Harry was surprised they got up so early all the time. Most people their age liked to sleep in as much as they could.
Trowa greeted him cheerfully in the kitchen, up to his elbows in bread dough. Harry moved to watch him knead it while Quatre sipped at his tea and read the morning paper. "We have to work a little bit today, Harry," Trowa commented, setting the dough aside. "So you'll be on your own for awhile, but we'll be upstairs in our offices if you need us."
Harry blinked. "You don't mind if I interrupt?"
"Not at all," Quatre looked up, smiling. Harry almost did a double take. It was weird to watch him read the paper and sip at his tea like an adult, especially when Harry knew he was only sixteen. "For anything you need. Although I will admit, the less you do, the faster we get done."
Harry grinned and nodded, hopping up onto the barstool and eagerly waiting for breakfast. From the smell in the kitchen, someone had made a breakfast casserole, and Harry was eager to try it. It smelled really, really good and Harry could tell his mouth was watering. "How long do you think you'll take?"
"A few hours, maybe. Why?"
"Well . . . I wanted to play with you after," Harry admitted shyly, toeing the carpet. "If you don't mind."
"Not at all," Trowa pulled the casserole from the oven. "Looks good, Quatre."
"If its not, I blame Duo. It's his recipe," Quatre chuckled. "But it smells all right."
"Can we eat?" Harry squirmed in his chair.
"It's got to cool for just a few minutes, but if you want to set the table--I guess it's the bar, really--it'll go that much faster."
Harry out of his seat almost before Quatre had finished, grabbing plates. He carefully set each of them a place at the bar, and poured himself a small glass of orange juice and a larger one of milk. By the time he was done Trowa deemed the casserole sufficiently cooled and plopped a large piece on his plate. Harry waited impatiently for the others to get some, and then dug in ravenously. Quatre and Trowa exchanged looks. It was almost like Harry was trying to make up for lost time.
That or his metabolism was speeding up again, and he was burning calories incredibly quickly. "We've got to get him to a doctor," Quatre muttered so only Trowa could hear. "Do you think we can take him in this week?"
"I'd have to call, but they'd probably make him a priority if you dropped your name," Trowa eyed Harry for a moment longer, then returned to his breakfast. "Why?"
"He does some things that . . . I'm not certain are healthy." Quatre frowned again. Harry had a tendency to horde food, which Trowa had previously noticed, and he tended to walk in a bit of a slouch. His feet also concerned both of them because he'd worn shoes too small for him for quite some time. They also wanted to make sure he got enough vitamins, but didn't want to start anything until a doctor had checked him.
"We can call this morning," Trowa soothed, finishing his food. "And call the dentist, too."
"Yes, of course. I'll handle that." Quatre would get Harry in much faster. "Remind me to call Howard later, please?"
"All right." Trowa wasn't certain what for, exactly, but he wouldn't forget either.
"I'm done!" Harry announced, and requested to be excused. Quatre shooed him off and the boy eagerly rushed from the room to continue to explore the house. The two pilots chuckled a little, and then headed to their offices. Today would certainly be interesting.
<>*<>
Harry set aside the book he'd been reading and grabbed Padfoot from the floor. It was afternoon already, and Trowa and Quatre were still surrounded by work. He gave a small frown. They had thought they would be done already, but it had just kept piling up! He pouted a bit, moving from the library to the bedrooms. Trowa and Quatre had said he could poke around a bit in their rooms, just to see what was there, but that he needed to knock if he thought people were inside.
He poked his head inside, blinking slightly. The two had added more pictures and a few more things to the walls. A canopy now hung over the bed, and it looked more like the inside of a sultan's palace. Harry grinned to himself and tiptoed inside. It didn't matter if he got caught, but it was fun to pretend. Looking around, it was easy to believe Quatre spent time in the lavish room, but when he thought about Trowa in there he almost didn't fit. But the soft greens and golds and browns were just Trowa's colors.
Moving to the dresser, Harry peered inside. Not much of interest. Shirts, pants, underclothes. Ties and suits and shoes and sweaters in the closet, some candles spread around the room and incense on the dresser. A few pieces of jewelry were tucked here and there, but a silver glint made Harry shift towards the nightstand. It had to belong to Quatre, since Harry recognized a few of Trowa's things on the other side.
He shifted a book out of the way and gaped. Quatre had a gun on his nightstand? He glanced around, poking it cautiously, then carefully picked it up. The door creaked open behind him, and Quatre gave him a small smile, which was quickly replaced and Quatre paled rapidly, his face shifting to an emotion Harry couldn't identify. "Harry!" The shout was loud, and Harry nearly dropped the gun in his hands. The blond rushed forward, taking it away. "Don't touch things like that!"
"Quatre?"
"You should know better, Harry! Those things are dangerous! You can't go around poking into things, you might get hurt!" Harry shrank back. Mr. Quatre was really, really mad. "Come on." Quatre grabbed the child's wrist, yanking him from the room, tucking the gun away somewhere on his person as he moved. Harry's lips trembled. Mr. Quatre would take him to Trowa and they would both hurt him, and probably lock him up somewhere, and then they'd take him back to the Dursley’s!
His green eyes widened further. What if Mr. Quatre was like Uncle Vernon and he shot him with the gun? Uncle Vernon had always said he'd shoot Harry, if he ever got a gun. Tears formed in his eyes. He didn't want to be shot!
"TROWA!" Quatre's yell made him jump, the tears in his eyes streaking down his cheeks. "GET DOWN HERE!"
"I'll be good," Harry whimpered, flinching back as Quatre turned to face him. "Please don't shoot me!"
Quatre halted, staring at Harry for several long moments. "I beg your pardon?"
"I be good, Mr. Quatre! Please don't shoot me!" Harry was crying, hiding his face in his free arm, and trying to pull his wrist from Quatre's. "I didn't mean to pick up the gun! I just saw it on the nightstand and I was curious . . . please, don't shoot me, Mr. Quatre! I'll be a good boy from now on!"
The anger bled from Quatre's face almost as quickly as it appeared, the small blond pulling Harry gently into his arms. "Oh, green eyes," Quatre breathed, holding Harry tightly. "I would never shoot you."
"What's going on?" Trowa didn't want to make the situation worse, and was careful to keep his voice level.
"Did that cow really tell Harry he would shoot him?" Quatre demanded, lifting Harry from the ground and moving to one of the small sitting rooms. Harry was still far too light for his age and size, and fit into Quatre's arms perfectly. Harry, despite rarely being held in any way, buried his face in Quatre's shoulder.
"Unfortunately," Trowa sat next to his lover. "Harry told me about it when he first saw my gun. What happened?"
"I walked in on him holding one of my guns," Quatre explained. "The one I keep in the nightstand. I was so afraid . . . the safety was on, but what if . . . I was scared Harry would hurt himself . . . what if he'd managed to arm it? What if something malfunctioned and he'd been hurt . . . Allah, he could have died, Trowa!"
Trowa had never heard Quatre quite so shaken, and frowned. "Is he okay?"
"He's fine . . . I just . . . I guess I scared him when I yelled." Quatre rested his cheek against the child's hair, hugging him close. "I'm sorry, Harry."
"Didn't mean to make you mad," Harry whimpered in reply, clinging to Quatre.
"I wasn't mad, Harry. I was terrified." Quatre forced the boy to unbury his face from Quatre's shoulder. Watery green met frightened teal, and Harry burst into another round of sobs. Quatre blinked, startled. "Harry?"
"No one ever cared before!" The boy managed, curling back into Quatre's embrace, his thin arms clutching the elder's neck. "I thought you'd take me back!"
"We are never going to take you back there." Quatre hissed, holding him again and shifting so Trowa could rub gentle circles on the boy's back. "Ever."
Harry didn't answer, just kept clinging to the blond like a limpet for quite some time as his tears died down. He finally wiped his face and blew his nose on the offered handkerchief before moving off Quatre's lap and standing in front of them, staring at the floor. "Do . . . Do I have to move to a closet, now?" He didn't want to move to a closet and leave his lovely room, but he'd been so very bad that surely he wouldn't be allowed to stay in the room. Bad boys don't have their own rooms, and Harry was one of the worst. Bad boys slept in closets, like animals. Bad boys didn't get toys. People didn't love bad boys.
"Why do you think we would make you move to a closet?" Trowa caught the younger boy’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet.
"Because I'm bad and people don't love bad boys." Harry muttered, averting his eyes.
"Do you really think we don't love you?" Harry shook his head, refusing to answer. He didn't want to say yes, because he really, really, really wanted Trowa and Quatre and all the others to love him. He really wanted them too, but he was bad! He was always bad! He did things he wasn't supposed to all the time, and he couldn't be loved because only good boys were loved.
"Look at me, Harry." Trowa's voice was firm. "Do you really think we don't love you?"
Harry finally looked at him, staring into green eyes that so resembled his own. "I want you to." Then he waited to be hit. He knew he'd be hit. Uncle Vernon always hit him if he said he wanted to be loved; because he was so bad it was just a silly dream. So Uncle Vernon always told him no one could love him, and then he'd be hit, and then he'd be thrown into his cupboard.
"Listen to me, Harry," When Trowa didn't hit him, Harry felt himself hope, just a little bit. "We do love you. We will always love you. You may do bad things, but that doesn't mean we will stop loving you. Do you understand?"
"Yes." He didn't, not really, and Trowa knew it. But, for now, they would accept Harry's answer.
"Quatre was afraid you'd hurt yourself. Guns are very dangerous. I know I never mentioned it before, but I don't want you touching any of the weapons you come across in the house, all right? They are all very dangerous. Promise?"
"Promise." Harry readily agreed. "Why do you have so many weapons, anyway?"
Trowa's eyes were gentle. "I promise we'll tell you sometime, but I want you to meet everyone else first, all right?"
Harry nodded hesitantly, then glanced at Quatre. "Mr. Quatre? Are you . . . are you still mad at me?"
Quatre held out his arms in a clear invitation for Harry to hug him, and shook his head. "Trowa's quite right, green eyes. I was just very afraid you'd be hurt. Like Trowa said, guns are very dangerous. Don't ever touch them unless we say to, okay?"
"Okay," Harry whispered back, smiling at the blond. "I promise. Are you going to punish me?"
"Not this time, I think. You and Quatre managed to punish each other more than enough," Trowa sighed. "Scaring each other like that. We have to go back to work, now, but we'll be done by supper. We can play afterward. Is that okay?"
Harry nodded, considering. "May I help cook tonight?"
"Of course. I'll be down earlier than Quatre, okay?" Trowa pressed a kiss to the child's forehead, and rose to his feet. "Behave."
"I will," Harry stiffened for a moment, and then hugged Trowa impulsively. Trowa froze, startled, but managed to hug Harry back before the boy felt he'd done something wrong. Quatre smiled, also stopping at the door to give Harry a hug and followed Trowa up the stairs. Harry watched them leave, then let his knees give out, sending him to the floor.
"They want me," Harry's voice was awed, his green eyes wide. No one had ever wanted him before.
<>*<>
<>*<>
I know Harry cries a lot this chapter, but with all the changes going on in his life at the moment, I don't think it's particularly out of character. I've noticed that children tend to yell or cry when they get too stressed, and if Harry was punished for being angry--even if he had a good reason--then he would probably cry before he'd yell. At least, that's my thinking. Let me know if his character seems to be all right to you, because hearing feedback is most useful.
4 June 2008--A quick clarifier for this chapter that I didn't put here originally, but I did put on ff.net. The scene where Quatre grabbed the gun, I pictured Harry hold the gun flat on his hands, because he was examining it. He wasn't holding it properly, and his finger wasn't on the trigger and, most importantly, it wasn't aimed at anyone. When Quatre grabbed it, he was standing behind Harry and just lifted it straight over his head. I don't think I described the scene well, and that was my mistake, but I've been around guns so long it never even occurred to me (until it was pointed out) that Harry might have had his hands on the trigger, because I've been taught not to touch it. That was my mistake and I'm sorry, but I hope the scene makes more sense.