Trowa and Quatre - backdated July 29th
Jul. 29th, 2018 08:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ax_mainQuatre comes forward to his family about his relationship with Trowa. It is not met with happiness and they have a talk with Quatre's father.
It had been awhile since he had been on the other side of his father’s large mahogany desk, the feeling of being small again and being called in because he was in trouble made Quatre’s palms sweat. The way his father watched the two boys was exactly how he looked at a problem that needed to be fixed and the idea that Trowa was a problem made Quatre raise his chin a little higher.
He would not stand down on this.
Dinner had been so quiet after he had let Trowa say what he wanted, no one dared touch their food as they waited for Zayeed Winner’s reaction. The immediate request to talk in his office wasn’t a surprise, what was a surprise was that he had issued the order to both Quatre and Trowa. He had no idea if he felt better that Trowa was going to be there for his rebuking or not, but they were here now and there was no turning back.
“What are you doing, Quatre?” His father asked quietly, the frown under his thick mustache becoming deeper. “You cannot keep doing these things to the company and your family. First the mutant rights, then insisting we start the charit-“
“It’s for a good cause. Philanthropy looks good to the public as well as shareholders. You agreed.” Quatre swallowed roughly when his father’s heavy gaze turned into a glare. He knew his father hated to be interrupted, but all of that was true.
“A cause which had a huge stir with many who did not see it as one. I put a lot on the line because it was so important to you, but I did it because I care about you. Now, you come to your family to say what? That you are with someone we do not know,” his eyes moved to Trowa for a second before moving back toward Quatre. “Someone who has no background and is male.”
“I’m not trying to do anything. I just wanted to share with my family that I have someone I find special.” Quatre made sure his time was respectful, but he couldn’t help his own frown from forming on his face. “And you’re being disrespectful, he is right here.”
Mr. Winner looked back over at Trowa, watching the boy closely. “Where are you from? Your accent, I cannot place it.”
Trowa regarded him, calm and collected despite the explosive potential of the situation. He'd opted to stand instead of sit, and kept post at Quatre's shoulder, arms folded behind his back in military stance. "I spent my early years in Ingushetia, sir." he said. "I've traveled quite a bit since then."
“Ingushetia.” Mr. Winner repeated. “And your family?”
Quatre dug his nails into the fine leather of the arm chair he had taken a seat in. He wondered if his father was honestly asking or if he knew something else, had researched Trowa after Quatre had brought him home the first time. Any digging would pull up a Trowa Barton, but he wondered if there were more than the one who’s identity Trowa had taken. He glanced back slightly, trying to catch Trowa’s eye to see if his friend needed his help with this.
“You don’t have to answer that.” He whispered softly to the other, getting a displeased throat clearing from Mr. Winner for his interruption.
"Barkal, Quatre." Trowa offered Quatre the smallest of smiles. "But it's all right." He turned his attention back to the elder Winner. "My family are all dead." The merc company, or whoever his birth family was. It amounted to the same thing.
Quatre licked his lips anxiously before turning his head back to face his father, ready to defend Trowa against anything the man had to say about that.
Mr. Winner’s expression seemed to soften just the slightest at that answer and he gave a small nod towards the two of them. “I am sorry to hear that. It is truly a shame when you lose family.” His gaze then hardened again, and the frown was back. “But there are rules and steps one takes when you are in our family’s position. You cannot just announce that you are with someone without talking about it first, even if they were a girl. If you had told me you were ready, we had a list of plenty of suitable-“
“I don’t want any of your lists. I want who I picked.” Quatre made sure to stare right back at his father, refusing to show any sign that he could be pushed into a choice he didn’t want. He was surprised when his father’s stiff posture shifted, his shoulders slumping a little as the older man sighed.
“Are you two in love?”
Quatre felt like he had just been shot, his cheeks heating alarmingly in embarrassment and irritation that he would be asked that in front of Trowa. He couldn’t lie and say yes, he loved Trowa as a friend, but their relationship was too new for him to truthfully answer that he loved him that way. If he said no, that was room for his father to wiggle his way into getting what he wanted. “That’s not fair.”
"And unkind as well," Trowa said, his voice level despite his objection. "If I were in your place, sir, I would have concerns as well. But there's no advantage to you trying to belittle Quatre's choices or undermine my confidence in him. He's a remarkable young man and determined."
“I did not ask to be unfair or unkind.” Mr. Winner stated. “I asked because you know, Quatre, that the Winner family and corporation has always done its best to stay out of papers with any type of sensational news or scandal. We want people to focus on our work and contribution to society.”
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I do not want this announced to the world based on a school boys fling. It will already cause the tabloids to come running when we already have them sniffing us out because of the charity.”
As much as it bothered him that his father called his first relationship a fling, Quatre did understand the reasoning and he frowned a little. “I hadn’t planned on making this complete public knowledge until Trowa said it was alright.”
Trowa glanced over at Quatre, surprised at the admission. He didn't think announcing their relationship in public was a good idea at all. But... they could discuss that later.
Mr. Winner regarded them silently for a moment, shifting forward so he could rest his elbows on the table and fold his hands together. “Quatre...Trowa. We need to be careful with this, I do not want to crush your happiness. I know sometimes you think so, but you and your feelings are important to me, son.”
He lifted a hand a traced his mustache with his fingers. “I’m not going to tell you to stop, but I would like to heavily suggest guidelines. Like with your mother and I, no one even knew we were together until we were engaged because we did not want the press in our business. I suggest you two keep everything purely platonic while in the public eye.”
The elder Winner winced a little. “I’m not sure nor do I want to know what is happening behind closed doors but keep it behind them. Right now, the company can’t handle any more drama besides the charity and us siding with mutant rights.”
Quatre pursed his lips as he thought about that and glanced back at Trowa for his input, this relationship had two people in it after all.
"I think there's a lot to be said for keeping our relationship out of the public eye," Trowa said. "There's not just your family to consider. There's also the school. And I'm not as adept at maneuvering around the press like some of the other out students are."
Quatre let his shoulders relax a little as he turned back to his father, the man keeping Trowa’s gaze for a little longer before he nodded.
“Then we are in agreement?” Mr. Winner asked. Quatre nodded and moved to get up when his father motioned for him to, stopping though when he heard the man clear his throat. “I would like to talk to Mr. Barton alone for a minute though. Quatre, you may wait outside.”
Quatre frowned. “Why?”
Trowa looked to him, all calm tranquility. So calm, he might have looked blank-faced to any who didn't know him well.
"It's all right, Quatre. I'll catch up."
Quatre glanced between the two of them for a moment, not liking leaving Trowa alone with his father. He wondered when he had started to see his father as something as a threat and sighed as he moved over towards Trowa, reaching out with his gloved hand to give the other boy’s a quick squeeze. “I’ll be outside.”
Mr. Winner was quiet until he heard the click of the door shut, then moved to shuffle a few of the papers on his desk. He kept his face expressionless as he did so, only glancing up when he had made three new neat piles of papers. “Trowa Barton is an interesting name, I have to say. There really are not many out there with the name Trowa, let alone with that last name.”
He tapped his thumb against one of the pile of papers, eyes watching Trowa intently. “Why did you pick it?”
Trowa didn't sit or even move into a more at ease posture. He rolled his shoulders in a small, easy shrug. "I saw it in a magazine once when I arrived in North America. It seemed as good a choice as any."
“You decided to pick a name you found in a magazine...” He repeated back, as if to make sure this was the answer Trowa really wanted to use. “Did you happen to read what that name was attached to before you picked it?”
"The son of a business family." Trowa kept his expression neutral. Winner didn't have to believe him; he couldn't prove that Trowa was lying. And he didn't need any more reasons to try and keep him clear of Quatre. "But he didn't seem to be an object of interest; not recognizable enough to be a celebrity."
The room was quiet as the man stared hard at the boy, the only noise in the room was the ticking of the ornate clock on the desk. Mr. Winner frowned after a bit, scooting one stack of papers further from the others. “Does Quatre know?”
"I've told Quatre everything about my past," Trowa said, voice still level. "He's making an informed choice, if that puts your mind at ease any."
Mr. Winner’s face did not change, but he did lean back in his chair and he seemed a little bit more at ease with that information. “My son is not a fool, nor are you from what I can see, but he is soft hearted, and you are both still children.”
He gave a quiet sigh. “If you truly have no idea whose name you have taken, which I cannot believe completely, then you need to be careful. I do not want my son tangled in whatever the Bartons have going on.”
Trowa tilted his head to one side. "I have no plans to cross paths with the Bartons. Why should they care about me? Or Quatre?"
Mr. Winner’s brow furrowed, not appreciating how dumb Trowa was playing things right now and stood up, the chair scraping across the wood loudly. “You took their dead son’s name and are using it. Quatre is attached to you now, but even with his well-known name I can’t be guaranteed that will stop that family. He is not a shield.”
He glared at the slim boy, frowning deeply. “I will not let you endanger my son. So, you either be careful or I will make sure he is safe on my own.”
Trowa regarded Quatre's father impassively, not in the least intimidated. "If I were interested in using Quatre as a shield, I'd be making our relationship public. Believe it or don't, but I'm invested in his safety for his sake, not mine."
The older man looked unimpressed with that, but sighed as he moved behind his chair, so he could push it in. He was silent again as he thought, then scratched at his temple almost in a sign of defeat. “I will have to take your word for that, even though I do not know you well. I can’t tell Quatre to stay away from you because I know it will have the opposite effect.”
He looked up at Trowa again, his face almost pained, the idea of leaving his son to something unknown to him. “Please keep him safe.”
"I don't need orders for that," Trowa assured him. It was a shame that Quatre's father had decided he was a threat and liability even before this talk. But he wouldn't make more of an enemy of the man that he had to. "But I promise, I won't let him come to harm."
“That is all I can ask.” Mr. Winner replied quietly then stood up straight. He tugged at his tucked in button up and brushed something invisible off his sleeve before nodding. “That is all I wanted to talk about, unless you had anything you wished to say?”
"No." Trowa doubted there was anything he had to say that Winner wanted to hear. And any truly interesting information the man might have, in general or on the Barton family, he wasn't going to share.
“Then you are free to leave.” Mr. Winner motioned towards the door for Trowa, going back to looking at the papers on his desk with a frown.
Trowa didn't need a second dismissal. He was eager to get back to Quatre, who'd obviously been unhappy with how the conversation had gone. The moment the door shut behind him, Quatre was there, looking intensely concerned - the kind of concern that bordered on anger - and reaching for his hands.
"It's OK," Trowa assured him. "Your father and I had a frank talk."
Quatre frowned, eyes searching over Trowa’s slim form for any kind of problem even though he knew without a doubt his father would never touch another in violence, but that didn’t get rid of his worry. Feeling Trowa’s skin against his though, the rush of calm did help ease the blond’s nerves a little and he sighed as he leaned his head against the other’s shoulder.
“Frank talk? Should I even ask about what?” He muttered softly.
Trowa gave Quatre's hands a firm squeeze. "Let's go to your room, and I'll fill you in. Then we can go get something to eat." They hadn't gotten to finish dinner, after all.
It had been awhile since he had been on the other side of his father’s large mahogany desk, the feeling of being small again and being called in because he was in trouble made Quatre’s palms sweat. The way his father watched the two boys was exactly how he looked at a problem that needed to be fixed and the idea that Trowa was a problem made Quatre raise his chin a little higher.
He would not stand down on this.
Dinner had been so quiet after he had let Trowa say what he wanted, no one dared touch their food as they waited for Zayeed Winner’s reaction. The immediate request to talk in his office wasn’t a surprise, what was a surprise was that he had issued the order to both Quatre and Trowa. He had no idea if he felt better that Trowa was going to be there for his rebuking or not, but they were here now and there was no turning back.
“What are you doing, Quatre?” His father asked quietly, the frown under his thick mustache becoming deeper. “You cannot keep doing these things to the company and your family. First the mutant rights, then insisting we start the charit-“
“It’s for a good cause. Philanthropy looks good to the public as well as shareholders. You agreed.” Quatre swallowed roughly when his father’s heavy gaze turned into a glare. He knew his father hated to be interrupted, but all of that was true.
“A cause which had a huge stir with many who did not see it as one. I put a lot on the line because it was so important to you, but I did it because I care about you. Now, you come to your family to say what? That you are with someone we do not know,” his eyes moved to Trowa for a second before moving back toward Quatre. “Someone who has no background and is male.”
“I’m not trying to do anything. I just wanted to share with my family that I have someone I find special.” Quatre made sure his time was respectful, but he couldn’t help his own frown from forming on his face. “And you’re being disrespectful, he is right here.”
Mr. Winner looked back over at Trowa, watching the boy closely. “Where are you from? Your accent, I cannot place it.”
Trowa regarded him, calm and collected despite the explosive potential of the situation. He'd opted to stand instead of sit, and kept post at Quatre's shoulder, arms folded behind his back in military stance. "I spent my early years in Ingushetia, sir." he said. "I've traveled quite a bit since then."
“Ingushetia.” Mr. Winner repeated. “And your family?”
Quatre dug his nails into the fine leather of the arm chair he had taken a seat in. He wondered if his father was honestly asking or if he knew something else, had researched Trowa after Quatre had brought him home the first time. Any digging would pull up a Trowa Barton, but he wondered if there were more than the one who’s identity Trowa had taken. He glanced back slightly, trying to catch Trowa’s eye to see if his friend needed his help with this.
“You don’t have to answer that.” He whispered softly to the other, getting a displeased throat clearing from Mr. Winner for his interruption.
"Barkal, Quatre." Trowa offered Quatre the smallest of smiles. "But it's all right." He turned his attention back to the elder Winner. "My family are all dead." The merc company, or whoever his birth family was. It amounted to the same thing.
Quatre licked his lips anxiously before turning his head back to face his father, ready to defend Trowa against anything the man had to say about that.
Mr. Winner’s expression seemed to soften just the slightest at that answer and he gave a small nod towards the two of them. “I am sorry to hear that. It is truly a shame when you lose family.” His gaze then hardened again, and the frown was back. “But there are rules and steps one takes when you are in our family’s position. You cannot just announce that you are with someone without talking about it first, even if they were a girl. If you had told me you were ready, we had a list of plenty of suitable-“
“I don’t want any of your lists. I want who I picked.” Quatre made sure to stare right back at his father, refusing to show any sign that he could be pushed into a choice he didn’t want. He was surprised when his father’s stiff posture shifted, his shoulders slumping a little as the older man sighed.
“Are you two in love?”
Quatre felt like he had just been shot, his cheeks heating alarmingly in embarrassment and irritation that he would be asked that in front of Trowa. He couldn’t lie and say yes, he loved Trowa as a friend, but their relationship was too new for him to truthfully answer that he loved him that way. If he said no, that was room for his father to wiggle his way into getting what he wanted. “That’s not fair.”
"And unkind as well," Trowa said, his voice level despite his objection. "If I were in your place, sir, I would have concerns as well. But there's no advantage to you trying to belittle Quatre's choices or undermine my confidence in him. He's a remarkable young man and determined."
“I did not ask to be unfair or unkind.” Mr. Winner stated. “I asked because you know, Quatre, that the Winner family and corporation has always done its best to stay out of papers with any type of sensational news or scandal. We want people to focus on our work and contribution to society.”
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I do not want this announced to the world based on a school boys fling. It will already cause the tabloids to come running when we already have them sniffing us out because of the charity.”
As much as it bothered him that his father called his first relationship a fling, Quatre did understand the reasoning and he frowned a little. “I hadn’t planned on making this complete public knowledge until Trowa said it was alright.”
Trowa glanced over at Quatre, surprised at the admission. He didn't think announcing their relationship in public was a good idea at all. But... they could discuss that later.
Mr. Winner regarded them silently for a moment, shifting forward so he could rest his elbows on the table and fold his hands together. “Quatre...Trowa. We need to be careful with this, I do not want to crush your happiness. I know sometimes you think so, but you and your feelings are important to me, son.”
He lifted a hand a traced his mustache with his fingers. “I’m not going to tell you to stop, but I would like to heavily suggest guidelines. Like with your mother and I, no one even knew we were together until we were engaged because we did not want the press in our business. I suggest you two keep everything purely platonic while in the public eye.”
The elder Winner winced a little. “I’m not sure nor do I want to know what is happening behind closed doors but keep it behind them. Right now, the company can’t handle any more drama besides the charity and us siding with mutant rights.”
Quatre pursed his lips as he thought about that and glanced back at Trowa for his input, this relationship had two people in it after all.
"I think there's a lot to be said for keeping our relationship out of the public eye," Trowa said. "There's not just your family to consider. There's also the school. And I'm not as adept at maneuvering around the press like some of the other out students are."
Quatre let his shoulders relax a little as he turned back to his father, the man keeping Trowa’s gaze for a little longer before he nodded.
“Then we are in agreement?” Mr. Winner asked. Quatre nodded and moved to get up when his father motioned for him to, stopping though when he heard the man clear his throat. “I would like to talk to Mr. Barton alone for a minute though. Quatre, you may wait outside.”
Quatre frowned. “Why?”
Trowa looked to him, all calm tranquility. So calm, he might have looked blank-faced to any who didn't know him well.
"It's all right, Quatre. I'll catch up."
Quatre glanced between the two of them for a moment, not liking leaving Trowa alone with his father. He wondered when he had started to see his father as something as a threat and sighed as he moved over towards Trowa, reaching out with his gloved hand to give the other boy’s a quick squeeze. “I’ll be outside.”
Mr. Winner was quiet until he heard the click of the door shut, then moved to shuffle a few of the papers on his desk. He kept his face expressionless as he did so, only glancing up when he had made three new neat piles of papers. “Trowa Barton is an interesting name, I have to say. There really are not many out there with the name Trowa, let alone with that last name.”
He tapped his thumb against one of the pile of papers, eyes watching Trowa intently. “Why did you pick it?”
Trowa didn't sit or even move into a more at ease posture. He rolled his shoulders in a small, easy shrug. "I saw it in a magazine once when I arrived in North America. It seemed as good a choice as any."
“You decided to pick a name you found in a magazine...” He repeated back, as if to make sure this was the answer Trowa really wanted to use. “Did you happen to read what that name was attached to before you picked it?”
"The son of a business family." Trowa kept his expression neutral. Winner didn't have to believe him; he couldn't prove that Trowa was lying. And he didn't need any more reasons to try and keep him clear of Quatre. "But he didn't seem to be an object of interest; not recognizable enough to be a celebrity."
The room was quiet as the man stared hard at the boy, the only noise in the room was the ticking of the ornate clock on the desk. Mr. Winner frowned after a bit, scooting one stack of papers further from the others. “Does Quatre know?”
"I've told Quatre everything about my past," Trowa said, voice still level. "He's making an informed choice, if that puts your mind at ease any."
Mr. Winner’s face did not change, but he did lean back in his chair and he seemed a little bit more at ease with that information. “My son is not a fool, nor are you from what I can see, but he is soft hearted, and you are both still children.”
He gave a quiet sigh. “If you truly have no idea whose name you have taken, which I cannot believe completely, then you need to be careful. I do not want my son tangled in whatever the Bartons have going on.”
Trowa tilted his head to one side. "I have no plans to cross paths with the Bartons. Why should they care about me? Or Quatre?"
Mr. Winner’s brow furrowed, not appreciating how dumb Trowa was playing things right now and stood up, the chair scraping across the wood loudly. “You took their dead son’s name and are using it. Quatre is attached to you now, but even with his well-known name I can’t be guaranteed that will stop that family. He is not a shield.”
He glared at the slim boy, frowning deeply. “I will not let you endanger my son. So, you either be careful or I will make sure he is safe on my own.”
Trowa regarded Quatre's father impassively, not in the least intimidated. "If I were interested in using Quatre as a shield, I'd be making our relationship public. Believe it or don't, but I'm invested in his safety for his sake, not mine."
The older man looked unimpressed with that, but sighed as he moved behind his chair, so he could push it in. He was silent again as he thought, then scratched at his temple almost in a sign of defeat. “I will have to take your word for that, even though I do not know you well. I can’t tell Quatre to stay away from you because I know it will have the opposite effect.”
He looked up at Trowa again, his face almost pained, the idea of leaving his son to something unknown to him. “Please keep him safe.”
"I don't need orders for that," Trowa assured him. It was a shame that Quatre's father had decided he was a threat and liability even before this talk. But he wouldn't make more of an enemy of the man that he had to. "But I promise, I won't let him come to harm."
“That is all I can ask.” Mr. Winner replied quietly then stood up straight. He tugged at his tucked in button up and brushed something invisible off his sleeve before nodding. “That is all I wanted to talk about, unless you had anything you wished to say?”
"No." Trowa doubted there was anything he had to say that Winner wanted to hear. And any truly interesting information the man might have, in general or on the Barton family, he wasn't going to share.
“Then you are free to leave.” Mr. Winner motioned towards the door for Trowa, going back to looking at the papers on his desk with a frown.
Trowa didn't need a second dismissal. He was eager to get back to Quatre, who'd obviously been unhappy with how the conversation had gone. The moment the door shut behind him, Quatre was there, looking intensely concerned - the kind of concern that bordered on anger - and reaching for his hands.
"It's OK," Trowa assured him. "Your father and I had a frank talk."
Quatre frowned, eyes searching over Trowa’s slim form for any kind of problem even though he knew without a doubt his father would never touch another in violence, but that didn’t get rid of his worry. Feeling Trowa’s skin against his though, the rush of calm did help ease the blond’s nerves a little and he sighed as he leaned his head against the other’s shoulder.
“Frank talk? Should I even ask about what?” He muttered softly.
Trowa gave Quatre's hands a firm squeeze. "Let's go to your room, and I'll fill you in. Then we can go get something to eat." They hadn't gotten to finish dinner, after all.
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Date: 2018-08-24 03:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-08-25 04:42 pm (UTC)