Author: pyrzm
see ch. 1 for warnings, notes, disclaimer

Broken Warriors + Chapter 87

December 13, AC 198
Transcript entry by: Dr. Thomas R. Batoosingh
Outpatient Services
Winner Memorial Veterans Hospital
L-2 Colony

Interview conducted at:
Tokyo General Hospital, Tokyo, Japan
Dr. Kisho Kano, Attending Physician
Dr. Maria Estella Santos, Consulting Physician

Subject: H Y, (Subject D M also in attendance)
Notes for Psychiatric Session #25

Subject HY interviewed in his hospital room. He is recovering from six gunshot wounds incurred only two days earlier, yet I find him sitting up in a wheel chair, dressed in pajama pants and an expensive looking brown silk kimono. DM and T B-W are with him when I arrive. B-W excuses himself, but I ask D to remain. HY shows no emotion.

This is the first time in several months I have seen H in person. He has lost weight again, but is clean-shaven and his hair has been trimmed back to a shorter length, though a bit longer than it was during the war. I have gotten used to his dour aspect, and can read his expressions better than I used to. He is clearly depressed, withdrawn, and anxious. D sits next to him in a chair, watching him anxiously, apparently wishing to offer comfort, but H's hands remain clasped together in his lap. Not looking at D.

I take a chair opposite them and begin the session.

How are you feeling today, H?

HY: Dr. Kano says I am healing very quickly. I always do.

I mean emotionally, H. You've been through a lot, these past few weeks. You've confronted your worst demons, one might say.

HY: (shrugs) I did not handle the situation well.

How so? You're alive. D is alive. That little boy upstairs is alive.

HY: (tensing visibly, scowl deepens) D, Q, and T are seriously wounded, and their show is in jeopardy. At least eleven boys are dead.

And you feel this is your fault? Why?

HY: You know why.

No, I don't.

HY: I'm really not in the mood for your mind games, doctor.

I'm not playing games, H. I want to know what makes you responsible for all that?

(keeps gaze on his hands, but I see his knuckles go white as he clenches his hands. Jaw clenches as well. I suspect if he were capable, he would be pacing the room. When he speaks at last, he is shouting. Unusual loss of control for this subject.) The mission! The damn, fucked up mission in Kisarazu!

The inaccurate information you received; that was your fault? Because that's what D told me. Your handler, the one who actually set up that mission, as he always did, made a mistake. You simply followed orders.

HY: (silent, withdrawn.)

DM: H? You know that's the truth. How could that be your fault?

HY: I carried out the mission. I killed those people. I'm responsible.

You're wrong, H.
(This earns me a very dangerous look, the first direct eye contact he's made since we began our conversation.) You are, and I think deep down, you know you are, but it is easier on your conscience to take the guilt upon yourself, since there is no way to rectify the situation after the fact. Punishing yourself is the only way you can imagine fixing an unfixable situation.

DM: That's what I've been trying to tell him!

HY: Neither of you understand.

I wasn't a soldier, H, so perhaps you're correct about me. But what about D? He not only understands your wartime experience, because he lived it, but he knew you then and knows you now. I think you should listen to him.

HY: (unresponsive.)

Well, let's step away from that for a moment and turn to another aspect of your fixation with this situation. Do you believe that if you had not carried out that unfortunate raid that Hato and his associates would not have become murdering sociopaths? Because that is what they were. Do you think you "turned" them into that?"

HY: Yes.

Well, you're wrong again. That sort of pathology takes years to develop and starts in early childhood. I can guarantee you that Heidiki Hato was torturing and killing neighborhood pets years before you were born. That raid of yours may have given him a focus, but I promise you, even without that, he would have found a reason to rape, torture and murder young boys. He might have chosen to do it in a different town, or chosen boys with different looks, but he would have been a serial killer, one way or the other.

HY: Even if you're right, then I am still responsible for those particular boys being killed. Because of me he went after them, because they looked like me.

The Preventers forensics teams are working to identify the dead boys. Two have already been identified, because they were runaways, rather than homeless.
(I show him the photographs provided by Sally Po.) Tell me, do either of them look like your twin, H?

HY: (accepts the photographs from me and studies them in silence.)

DM: Hair's different. No blue eyes. H, neither of them looks that much like you, except that they're the right age, sort of your build, and Japanese. You saw Y. They cut his hair and dressed him up like you, but he doesn't really look like you at all.

HY: I was still the catalyst.

That's true. But that does not make it your fault. Come with me. I want to show you something.

With D's help, I take H to the boy, Y's, room. I examined the boy earlier in the day. He was in a state of deep shock and unresponsive, except for fear responses. It is necessary to sedate him before he can be bathed or his dressings attended to. I arranged with the evening nurse for him to be alert when I brought H to see him.

HY become visibly agitated when he recognizes the pediatrics floor, but says nothing.

Y is awake and propped up in bed, his face clearly visible. As I requested, his hair has been cut into a style that in no way resembles HY's. When we enter he displays fear, but says nothing.

DM: See, H? They're taking really good care of him. He doesn't look like you, does he? It was just the haircut and the clothes, that's all. See, his eyes are brown.

HY: (remains silent.)

You saved his life, H. If you had not gone to Japan when you did, he would be dead. He barely made it as it was. Your quick thinking in tying off the gunshot wound, and the fact that the combined efforts of you and the Preventers team exposed Hato's hideout when you did; all that saved this child's life.

HY: But not all those other dead boys.

No, that's true. But how could you have done anything, not knowing what was going on? That was all buried far too deep in your subconscious, and I would guess that you had no idea that any other children had been treated as you were. Did you see any other bodies when they held you captive that first time?

HY: No, I don't remember any.

But we can safely assume now that you were meant to be one of those corpses, correct? If you had not somehow escaped that first time, if Hato had not realized his error and taunted you into coming back, then not only would this child have died, but dozens, perhaps hundreds more boys would have died in the most degrading and agonizing fashion. You may not have saved the boys who came before this one, but you have saved all those who would surely have followed. Someone like Hato? He doesn't stop until someone else stops him. And unlike most serial killers, he was not acting alone. He had accomplices, and a support group of sick individuals who were feeding his obsession.

(It is unclear whether HY is taking any of this in. He simply sits there, staring at the boy. His expression has softened a bit.)

DM: Listen to the doc, H. He's telling you the truth. You've got to know that, right? Hato won't hurt anyone else, ever. Not ever! Maybe we screwed up, the way we did things, but it turned out good!

(HY remains unresponsive, but as we move to go, the boy in the bed stirs, turns his head and focuses on HY.)

Y: Yuy-sama?

(This is, as far as I know, the first time the boy has spoken since arriving at the hospital. DM visited but got no sign of recognition. He pushes HY's chair to the bed and steps back.)

HY speaks to the boy briefly in Japanese. Y reaches out and HY takes his hand. They remain like that for a moment, and then HY reaches down and retrieves a stuffed animal from beside the bed and gives it to the boy, who shyly accepts it. HY asks to go, and as we return to the elevator I see tears in HY's eyes, but he will not talk about what passed between him and the boy, except that Y thanked him and DM for saving his life. Back in HY's room, he complains of being tired.

Session terminated at 5:38 pm.


When Heero was settled in bed, Batoosingh drew Duo out into the hallway for a private talk. "That went very well."

"Really? I've never seen him so low! It's been getting worse all day," Duo asked, feeling shaky and tired. It had been a long day and his wounds ached like crazy, but he could tell that Batoosingh had more to say. He stole a worried look back through the doorway. Heero was lying on his back, staring at nothing. "I don't like leaving him alone."

"That's wise, but I don't think he's in immediate danger. He's still too weak to leave on his own, and the staff have been alerted and are monitoring him very carefully. I would like to avoid moving him to a psychiatric unit if possible."

Duo nodded quickly. "Yeah, me, too."

"There are some things I need to discuss with you."

Batoosingh guided him to the chairs against the corridor wall and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I believe much of what we're seeing in Heero's behavior is physiological."

Duo swallowed hard. "Oh man, that sounds bad!"

"Actually, it's good news, Duo. It means that Heero has a chemical imbalance that is contributing to his depressive state. Don't mistake me; he has significant emotional scars which must be addressed, and that may take a long time, but I think a lot of his current depression can be alleviated with the proper medication. Our first task is to stabilize him physically as much as possible. That will make it much, much easier for him to do the therapeutic work he needs." He reached into his briefcase, pulled out a thick folder of paperwork, and placed it in Duo's lap.

Duo opened it and found what looked like a bunch of lab reports. The one on top dated back to end of the war. Some of them were in Spanish. The ones on the bottom were partially in Japanese and had been taken yesterday.

"This is a complete history of Heero's bloodwork. I've been consulting with Dr. Santos on Heero's case," Batoosingh explained. "She and I thought we were seeing some significant patterns in Heero's endocrine levels in Madrid, but we had insufficient data to draw any positive conclusions. Since then some of his wartime records have been recovered, though they are incomplete. Now we have more fresh data. I've been watching Heero's blood levels since September, and the latest readings were taken here at this hospital, as you can see. The results seem to bear out what Dr. Santos and I suspected."

"Cut to the chase, doc, in plain English," Duo demanded. "What's wrong with Heero's blood?"

"Nothing, Duo. It's not actually his blood, but the hormone levels that we've been monitoring. As I told you in Madrid, Heero's levels of things like serotonin, adrenaline, endorphins, testosterone and the like have fluctuated far outside normal boundaries over the years. We now believe that the conditioning he received at the hands of Dr. J involved the intentional manipulation of Heero's endocrine system, in order to enhance his capacity as a soldier. Or more accurately, as a programmed weapon of war. As demonstrated in the shifts I see in the recent workups, Heero's body reacts to potentially threatening situations by increasing his levels of aggressive hormones, including adrenaline and testosterone, while at the same time suppressing production of serotonin and other brain chemicals that contribute to self-preservation. In other words, he was programmed to completely focus on achieving given mission objectives, with a complete disregard for his own safety or that of anyone he saw as standing in his way."

Duo slumped back in his seat and scratched under his braid. "Wow. That makes total sense. I mean, we all just thought he was just insanely brave or something, the way he acted during the war. You're saying it was just J monkeying around with his brain?"

"Not entirely. From what I've seen of Heero, he is very brave, and willing to make great sacrifices for others. I think J chose him for that reason. It made him the ideal candidate for that kind of conditioning. The job was already half done." Batoosingh shook his head sadly. "In our first session, he told me he felt like a killing machine that J had forgotten to turn off. There's some truth to that. Without his conditioning being updated, without clear mission objectives being handed to him, as they were during the war, he lost focus and had no clear outlet for the programmed behavior. That would account for his deep depression by the war's end, as well as his decision to join Preventers, which must have offered some sense of purpose that meshed with his conditioning. It's why he decided to protect all of you from himself by disappearing, too. He was incapable of asking for help, since he perceived himself as a threat to those he cared for. I can only speculate that time and physical debility wore down that conditioning enough for him to contact you before he tried to kill himself, and to contact you when his mind cleared later. I hope you appreciate the significance of that? It was you who enabled him to overcome that conditioning."

Duo nodded slowly, thinking of that night in Finland. Heero talked like he'd broken training.

"The fact that he recovered as quickly and to the extent that he did, living with you and the others; it's a testament to his strength," the doctor continued. "Really, Duo, no one should have survived what he has, and certainly not come out as sane as he is."

"Is he, doc?"

Batoosingh gave him another comforting smile. "Oh yes. The conditioning seems to have kicked in again with the threat posed by Hato, but he maintained remarkable self-control until Quatre and Trowa were physically attacked. Anyone would have wanted to retaliate. Heero was uniquely equipped to do so. So were you, for that matter, and I'm sure the others would have gone along if they'd been able to."

"Once a terrorist, always a terrorist?"

"I wouldn't put it in those terms, Duo. You all have skills and training that make direct action seem like the top option in such a situation. And, with the exception of Chang, you all preferred to circumvent legal channels."

"We didn't want the press all over it," Duo said. "Too late for that though, I guess."

"You'll all weather this. And public opinion seems to be very much on your side. There have actually been 'pro-Gundam' rallies here and in New Orleans, as well as in some of the colonies. Relena Peacecraft has been very vocal on the subject."

Duo rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. "Great. So, where's that leave Heero?"

"Unadol seems to work with his unusual system. I'm prescribing a much higher than normal dosage for him, to see if it can kick-start his system as we think it did last time. He'll need to be carefully monitored for side effects, but Dr. Kano and his staff are well qualified to do so. He needs more time to recuperate anyway, so we're killing two birds with one stone, as it were. He'll need your love and support more than ever now."

"He's got that, doc, as much as he needs! But when do you think I can take him home? Back to New Orleans, I mean? That's about the only home we have right now."

"I would hope in a week or so. However--"

"However what?"

"Well, another very important element of Heero's recovery has to be a stress free environment. I've picked up on some tension between the four of you."

"The whole poly-whatever thing."

"Yes. I know you're conflicted about that, and so is Heero. If staying with the Winner-Bartons in any way exacerbates those feelings, then perhaps other arrangement should be made. I'm not questioning the level of friendship that exists between you, but the unresolved sexual issues are more than he needs to or can deal with at the moment. I'm concerned for you, as well. Heero is too sick to be held responsible for anything he thinks or does right now, but it is still potentially a very hurtful situation for you."

Duo stared down at his hands and shrugged. "I wish I knew what to tell you, doc. I love Tro and Kat, and I know Heero does, too. I know they love us. It's good, being with them, just--" He caught his breath and rubbed at his stinging eyes. He was *not* going to break down here in this fucking hallway!

Batoosingh patted his shoulder again. "Duo, please don't take what I'm going to say as a slight of any sort. It's merely my professional observation. All of you were asked to function as adults far too young. Your childhoods were stolen from you, especially for you, Heero, and Trowa. You are all remarkable, resilient, and intelligent. You are amazing people. But the fact remains that you're all terribly young. What I see at times are four--no, five, for I must include Chang in this evaluation--five boys playing at being adults far too early. Quatre and Trowa were still children when they married. You and Heero have only just reached the age when most people would even begin to think in terms of a long-term commitment, yet you have formed one. Chang, too, seems to have entered a very mature relationship with Mr. Peacecraft. I'm not saying any of this is wrong; you're all so far outside the parameters of normal it's hard to place any expectation. But remarkable as you all are, you are all still very young, and all of you are emotionally damaged."

"So what are you saying? That we should break up or something? Go find some families to adopt us? Try to live a normal life? Be kids?" Duo growled.

"No. I don't really think that's an option. I just think you should all perhaps cut yourselves and each other some slack. I know you want to be everything Heero needs, just as Quatre wants that for Trowa, or Trowa for him. The fact that the four of you have moved beyond the norms of friendship in your group relationship, with little experience to know what you really want or need from the others. Just take things slowly, Duo, and try to help the others do the same?"

Duo shrugged. "I'll try, but--Well, it's scary, you know?"

"How so?"

"They're my family, doc! I don't want to screw that up. I don't want to lose any of them!"

"Of course you don't. But going along with something you're not comfortable with or ready for just to please someone else will be far more destructive than being honest. Let me ask you this. If you had to choose between the Winner-Bartons and Heero, who would you pick?"

"Heero," Duo replied without any hesitation at all.

Batoosingh smiled. "That's what I thought you'd say."

Duo rubbed at his eyes again. "Think you're pretty damn smart, huh?"

"Observant. You lived with Trowa and Quatre, slept with them, shared the most intimate feelings with them, but never became lovers, even when you thought Heero was dead. Then, when Heero reappeared, despite having had virtually no contact with him for nearly two years, you gave yourself to him in less than a week's time, without the slightest hesitation or regret, and in a way that you had never allowed with any other partner. Since then I've watched the two of you heal and grow together in a way that most people would envy. I may be a doctor and a man of science, but I can accept true love when I see it, too. So don't worry too much, Duo. You'll get him through this. You'll figure out what you need from life, and from your friends. I'll help you all I can, but you know as well as I do that it's you and Heero who must do the real work. I just help point the way."

He gave Duo's shoulder a last affectionate squeeze. "You should go back in to him now. Just follow your heart, Duo, take your meds and make sure he takes his, and I do believe you'll be fine in time."

They both stood, and on impulse, Duo threw his arms around the doctor and hugged him. He'd never done that before, but it just seemed the right thing to do. Batoosingh hugged him back, too.

There didn't seem to be anything else to say after that, so Duo just waved and headed back in to see how Heero was doing.


Trowa hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He'd been on his way to see how Heero and Duo were when he heard Duo and the shrink coming out of Heero's room. Sheer impulse had made him duck into the empty room next door. Ever since that kiss with Heero, and all the weirdness from Heero and Quatre, he'd felt guilty every time he was around Duo without Heero or someone else there. He wasn't even sure why, but he did. So he'd hidden, assuming that Duo and Dr. Batoosingh were on their way elsewhere. But they'd stayed there in hall, a few feet from where he stood, and said all those things. At first he'd tried hard not to listen, but then he'd heard his own name and hadn't been able to help himself. By the time they'd parted, his heart was pounding and he was having trouble getting his breath. He sank down in a chair by the empty bed and put his head in his hands, fighting to get himself under control.

He was so far gone into an anxiety attack that he didn't notice the startled little nurse who'd come in, seen him there like that, and quietly slipped out again. He didn't hear Duo come in a moment later, either, didn't even know he was there until Duo knelt down in front of him and put his arms around him.

Trowa clung to him, inhaling the familiar sandalwood scent from Duo's freshly washed hair. It grounded him enough for him to loosen the death grip he had around the smaller boy.

"Guess you heard all that, buddy?" Duo said against his shoulder, still holding him. He didn't sound angry, just sad and worried.

Trowa managed a nod. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Duo said with a chuckled. "Being as screwed up as the rest of us?"

"For making you feel bad. For somehow making you all think that I'm some sex crazed animal who'll self destruct if he can't just fuck-"

"Don't!" Duo said, pulling back enough to cup Trowa's flushed face between his hands. "I don't think that."

"Apparently Kat does," Trowa said bitterly. "And Heero, too. He actually suggested-"

"I know. But the doc says we shouldn't hold that against him. Or Kat, either, probably. They got hurt the worst and they're still really messed up. Heero's got this guilt and depression thing going, and Kat's got his fucked up family on his back. And the show? It's a wonder any of us is still sane, huh?" He stroked Trowa's hair back from his eyes and looked into them, concerned. "I think-I think you should talk to the doc yourself, Tro. Don't get me wrong! I know how strong you are. You take good care of us. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve some help, too. And I don't know if any of us can give you what you need in that department. We're too close to you, and we've got too much history. Hell, even Heero thinks he's helpful, and you know how excited he is about talking about his feelings and stuff."

Trowa managed a sad grin as he took Duo's hands in his. "I'll think about it."

"Good. So, if you were listening in, you probably heard what the doc asked me, about who I'd choose?"

"I understand, Duo. You were right to say that."

"Well, what about you? If you had to choose between Kat and one of us, who would you pick?"

Trowa gave him a sad smile. "Quatre, of course."

"Good. Right answer. Give the man a gold star!" Duo was really smiling now, with no sadness in his eyes at all. He leaned up and kissed Trowa on the forehead. "I've always known that, and I've always been good with it. Hell, I think the world would probably stop spinning if the two of you ever broke up. It's like, part of the natural order of things."

"I know," Trowa exclaimed softly. "So why is it that I keep trying to mess it up?"

Duo shrugged. "Who says that's what you're trying to do? Go talk to Batoosingh, please? For yourself, and for all of us." He fixed Trowa with a serious look. "Promise me you will."

Trowa hesitated, but Duo was unrelenting. "All right, all right! I'll talk to him."



Duo cupped Trowa's face in his hands again, gently stroking his cheeks. "Now I want you to look me in the eye and tell me, what do you most want to do right this minute?"

Trowa sighed. "Go home to Quatre. But I don't want to run out on you guys."

"I know that. Right answer again, buddy." Duo hugged him close. "Go home, Tro. Tell Kat to take a chill pill. Things are under control here and he needs you. And you need him. Go take care of your husband, Trowa."

Trowa hugged him close, stroking his braid and shoulders and dangerously close to tears yet again. "I don't want to lose you and Heero, either!"

"You won't. I promise you won't! We'll all work this out somehow, but first everyone has to get better, including you. You should be in PT for that knee."

"I will."

"Good." Duo stood and pulled Trowa to his feet. "So come say good-bye to Heero and then get the hell out of here!"

But Trowa held him a moment longer. "When Heero gets out of the hospital, where will you go?"

"Do you want us to come back to your place?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then that's where we'll go. I promise."

"But the doctor said--"

"Yeah, well, he means well. But he's no Gundam boy, is he? And you heard the man. We're a pretty unique bunch."

Trowa nodded and let Duo lead him by the hand back to the room he shared with Heero. Heero took the news of his departure well, looking as if he thought it was the right thing to do, too.

As Trowa bent to hug him good-bye, he looked up and said softly, "I'm sorry about what I said, about you and Duo."

"It was the drugs," Trowa murmured back. "Get better, OK? That big bed's going to seem awfully empty without you two there." He moved to kiss Heero on the cheek, but the other man turned his head and kissed him on the lips instead, right there in front of Duo. Far from minding, Duo did the same.

All the way back to his hotel room, and all during the long cab ride to the airport, he pondered those kisses. He felt no guilt, but couldn't imagine trying to explain it all to anyone, least of all a psychiatrist.

Gazing at his reflection in the cab window, he murmured, "You are one messed up son if a bitch, but they love you."

He caught a red eye flight and raced the sun, arriving in New Orleans jet lagged and disoriented. It was five thirty in the morning here. He took a cab to the hospital and found Rashid still on duty in the lobby.

"Welcome back, Master Trowa," the huge Arab rumbled. It was the most respectfully he'd ever addressed Trowa. Rashid had known what Trowa was the moment they met that first time, back in the war, and he hadn't approved. The animosity had reached dangerous proportions when, in Rashid's eyes at least, Trowa had seduced and debauched his pure little Master Quatre. But now, for the first time, Trowa felt something like acceptance from the man.

"It's good to be back," he replied. "How is he?"

"I'm told he is progressing well. I do not have permission to see him."

Trowa hesitated, seeing the longing in the man's dark eyes. "Well, I'll talk to him."

Without waiting for the man's reaction, Trowa took the lift up and talked his way past nurses and security guards and into his beloved's room. Cathy was there, dozing on a cot beside Quatre's bed. Quatre lay cradled in a regen unit, covered by a thin sheet and held in place by two restraining straps across his shoulders and waist.

Trowa gently shook his sister awake. She blinked up at him, and then hugged him tight. "He'll be so glad!" she whispered. Giving him a last happy kiss on the cheek, she winked and left him alone with Quatre.

Trowa stood there, watching him sleep for a moment. Getting into bed with him was still out of the question. He went into the bathroom and took a quick shower, then brushed his teeth and used depilatory gel on his stubbly cheeks.

He'd had every intent of lying down on the cot, but instead found himself bending over Quatre and kissing him gently on the forehead, and then on those sweet, lush lips. Quatre tasted slightly minty, like mouthwash. Trowa happily drank in that flavor, and the spicy, musky scent of his lover. A moment later he felt Quatre's arms around his neck, and those lips responding.

When he pulled back he found Quatre gazing up at him with surprise and delight. "You should have let me know you were coming back!" he said softly.

"You'd only have tried to talk me out of it," Trowa chided gently, and kissed him again. God, that felt good! He hadn't been able to really touch him like this for days and days! The kiss started innocent and affectionate, but quickly deepened and soon Quatre was sucking expertly at his tongue and lips.

Trowa hummed happily and buried his fingers in Quatre's hair, remembering just in time to keep to the front of his scalp, avoiding the healing skin on the back of his head. Quatre had no such constraints. His arms were still healing in splints but his hands were steady as he stroked Trowa's hair and face and worked down his chest to rub his nipples and tweak his nipple ring through his tight tee shirt.

Trowa pulled back a little and chuckled. "Easy, meli. You're still sick."

"I'm hurt, corazon, I'm not sick!" Quatre purred, but Trowa saw him wince as he lowered his arms. "I've missed you so badly! Kiss me some more, please?"

Trowa was delighted to oblige. He stroked Quatre's blond and blue hair and his face as he kissed him breathless. It was almost as good as lovemaking, he thought.

Quatre must have thought the same, because his hand found Trowa's and guided it down his smooth, bare, unblemished chest, and on under the sheet to the hot, stiff erection tenting the front of his hospital pajama pants. Trowa found the drawstring and untied it, and slipped his hand inside to stroke Quatre's cock and caress his silky balls. Quatre hadn't had access to depilatory gel since the explosion; Trowa could feel a dusting of downy hair on Quatre's normally hairless sac and at the base of his cock. It felt nice. Perhaps he'd asked Quatre to ease up on the hair removal when he was well enough to talk about such things. For now, Trowa brushed his fingertips over the new growth and was thrilled at the way the silky short hairs stood on end at his touch.

Quatre arched a little under his hand, held in place by the restraining bands. "Oh Trowa! Yes, that feels so good!"

"I should stop," Trowa whispered back, though his body was screaming just the opposite. "You shouldn't move around on the unit--"

"I won't. I'll lie still, I promise," Quatre moaned, pushing at his hand again. "But please, don't stop. I've missed you so much! Touch me, Trowa!"

And Trowa did. He went back to kissing, thrusting his tongue gently into Quatre's hot hungry mouth as he stroked and teased Quatre's cock. His thumb found a generous welling of precum at the slit and he smeared it around, taking advantage of the natural lubrication. Quatre moaned into his mouth again.

Quatre kept his promise and didn't move, but he was trembling in a way that Trowa knew and loved. Trowa knew he had to keep it all gentle, but that was so easy. Loving Quatre, giving his beautiful adorable, meddling, over-protective little husband exactly what *he* needed was pure joy for Trowa.

"Oh, Trowa!" Quatre sighed, his voice deep and rough with arousal.

"Are you in any pain?" Trowa asked, not so far gone as to lose sight of Quatre's condition.

"No, drugged up," Quatre replied against his lips. "Feels so good! More? Please, baby. I need you so bad!"

Trowa gave him a last, lingering kiss, then nipped and licked his way down Quatre's chest and quivering belly, and took that weeping erection into his mouth, worshipping him with tongue and lips.

"Oh! Ooooooooooooh!" Quatre sighed, ecstatic. "Oh, so good!"

"Mmmmmmmm," Trowa agreed around hot, throbbing flesh. He cupped Quatre's balls with one hand, rolling and squeezing just the way he knew Quatre loved, and with his left he fumbled his own jeans open and fisted his aching cock.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Quatre moaned. "Oh yes, baby, pleasure yourself while you suck me! So beautiful! You are so fucking beautiful, Trowa Barton!"

That's all it took. Trowa thrust hard into his own tight fist a few more times and came hard all over the side of the bed, all the while never missing a beat as he sucked and licked Quatre. His own orgasm made him gasp and moan and take Quatre down his throat as deeply as he could. With a low cry, Quatre came hard, filling Trowa's mouth with his thick, salty sweet essence. Trowa swallowed greedily and sucked him clean until Quatre giggled and begged him to stop, too sensitive from coming to stand any more.

Trowa cleaned himself up with a hand towel from the bathroom, then collapsed in the armchair by the bed and took Quatre's hot little hand in his with a contented sigh.

Quatre pulled Trowa's hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. "Welcome home, my love."

Trowa smiled over at him as exhaustion caught up with him and his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. "Good to be home, meli. Good to be home."

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