lukon_idein (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lukon_idein) wrote2007-03-01 01:14 am
lukon_idein) wrote2007-03-01 01:14 am
Bleary-eyed Freako.
Well, I did it again. Stayed up past my bedtime writing another silly story. When will I ever learn not to start these things at 9pm?? I'm totally sleep-deprived this week as it is (much interesting happenings at school, along with stressful issues with motor vehicle registration nazis), and really really really wanted to go to bed three hours ago, but.... I couldn't resist the lure of ficland. So evil.
So without further ado (so I can get to bed asap!)...
Title: It’s a Colorful Life
Author: Lukoni
Characters: Quatre(xTrowa), Duo(+Heero)
Word Count: 1473 (or thereabouts)
Summary: Quatre sees life a little differently than everyone else. Sometimes Duo wishes he didn't!
Rating: G
Warnings: No bad language. No smex. Very pure and unobjectionable. (Well, I wouldn’t go that far....)
Notes: Set post-EW. Started out trying for angsty introspection, but it seems to have veered off toward slapstick with a big dose of sap at the end. Written for GW500 challenge #161: Pain. Written in half-coma, so please notify me about any typos or other blatant errors. Thanks for reading!
It’s a Colorful Life
Ever since he could remember, Quatre could feel the emotions of those around him. Fleeting impressions, vivid sensations. And even before he knew the words for those emotions he could see them. As colors. Everywhere he went he was accompanied by a diverse and brilliant palette. As he grew, he learned what to call his own feelings and eventually, by careful observation and inquiry, what to call the colors dancing in his head.
Today, at the age of 22, he had an entire catalog in his head. A complex web of shades, tones and patterns that he barely he even noticed anymore. Walking in through the main entrance of Preventers headquarters, one of the receptionists greeted him with a smile.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Winner. I’ll tell Mr. Barton you’re here,” she said buzzing him in.
“Thank you, Amy.” Pale orange-grey. She was worried about a loved one.
He passed through the gate into the hall of elevators and waited for a car to arrive. Worry about one’s own problems tended to be a cooler grey-blue. Like the young agent who had just stepped into the elevator with him. Negative emotions tended to be darker, in the black-grey-brown range. Except hate which could blaze lava red when violent, or blind one with a seemingly innocuous pale yellow when it resided in a cool and calculating mind. Pain sometimes veered into the reds. Traumatic injury usually manifested itself in Quatre’s mind as a throbbing crimson. The more life-threatening, the more black encroached around the edges. Headaches were a transparent charcoal, while migraines a brilliant white. Long-term pain, such as from cancer or other terminal illness, a fetid deep brown.
As he stepped out on the eighth floor he let the impression of the humans bustling about wash over him. Someone was nauseous. A swirling yellow-green. Someone had just broken up with their spouse or lover. A deep purple. It would grow paler in time. And somewhere, surprisingly, that fetid brown. But not intense. Intermittent, and interrupted by cornflower blue – relief. Not life threatening. It puzzled Quatre, for although it seemed familiar, he could not place it right away. It had been a long time since he’d been at a loss in such a way.
He walked down the hall, greeting those he recognized. He often came to pick up Trowa at the end of the day. Or rather, his chauffeur would drop him off, and he’d catch a ride home from Trowa. Green. Trowa had always been green, just like his eyes. Grass green most of the time. Calm. Even when he was happy, it just resulted in a deeper green, rather than a sunshine yellow or sweet pink which were common with most people. Quatre poked his head into his husband’s office. Empty. He let his senses search for him. Sea foam with shades of lavender. He was concentrating. On something serious. Probably in a briefing.
Calling back his questing mind, he continued on down the hallway, musing over the different colors trying to claim his attention. A bright royal blue. Someone had just received a compliment. Probably that young woman just leaving Une’s office with the flushed cheeks and broad smile. It was becoming shot through with warm yellow stripes. A promotion, unless he missed his guess.
Sometimes he was wrong. And sometimes people just manifested the emotion differently from the norm. Just as Trowa was nearly always some shade of green, Heero was nearly always an intense indigo, whether happy, sad or angry. It had taken many months of acquaintance for Quatre to learn to distinguish them. Duo was a garish melon sherbet when happy and a rather hideous mauve when sad. Jet black when angry. The oddest association he had with that color was happiness – from Dorothy Catalonia, right after running him through with her sword. Her unique color scheme fascinated him, to the point where he enjoyed spending time with her just to try to figure it all out. Trowa had offered to grant him a divorce one night at an embassy party, so that he could pursue the relationship further.
Quatre smiled at the memory, but then frowned as he felt that rotting pain again. And then it was gone. He followed the general direction he believed it had come from. Turning right down another corridor of offices, he opened his mind looking for it. Nothing. A silver-haired man passed him going the other way with great purpose. Teal flecked with white. He was looking forward to the weekend.
Glancing about, he realized he was near Duo’s office. The door was open, so he strolled in, enjoying the sight of the chaos overflowing from the braided agent’s desk. Stacks of files battled for space with his laptop, an army of toy fire-breathing lizards, several empty cans of soda, and a lamp which somehow involved a woman in a hula skirt, a mule and a basket of toast.
“Hey handsome, what’s up? Your boy leave you in the lurch?” Before Quatre could respond, a manic jingle sent Duo rummaging through his files. Quatre just made it to one teetering pile as Duo triumphantly emerged with his phone.
“Maxwell!” he chirped, spinning around in his chair, leaving he blond friend to resettle the files safely on the desk.
“What have you got for me?” Duo demanded. Quatre busied himself setting the lizards up for a concerted attack to take out the hula lady’s mule when he felt it again. Straight ahead. Malignant brown, ruthlessly repressed once more. Duo was nodding, grunting affirmatives and jotting notes quickly with his laptop. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Maybe a touch of weariness around the eyes. Could Duo be ill and hiding it?
It was so familiar. Right on the tip of his brain. It was pain. Discomfort. But somehow not dangerous. He just couldn’t remember. The smattering of rose and ecru spots gave it away. His brows shot up and his eyes widened. Duo, just ending his call, looked at him curiously.
“Something wrong?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Quatre asked knowingly. The amethyst eyes blinked nervously.
“What do you mean?”
“Duo....”
“What?”
“You’re in pain.”
“Nothing to worry about, Kat,” he protested, then added, grumbling, “Why I ever made friends with an empath is beyond me.”
“What’s up?” came Trowa’s voice as he sidled up to his mate and draped an arm across his shoulders. Quatre allowed himself a moment to enjoy the soothing green pool that enveloped him at his husband’s touch, then turned his attention to the problem at hand.
“Duo has a toothache,” explained.
“I...” said sufferer stammered.
“And he’s scared to go to the dentist.”
“Come on! There are just places that pointy metal objects aren’t supposed to go!”
“Duo, it’s not going to stop hurting on its own. You need to see a dentist.”
“The God of Death needs no dentists!”
“He does when his fangs start falling out.”
“Shall I get Heero to punch him in the face and knock it out?”
“Funny, Tro. Ha ha. You guys are making too much of this. I’ll be fine.”
The throbbing brown flash across Quatre’s eyes told another story. He looked at Duo sternly. Duo smiled back with a glint of determination in his eyes. Quatre shrugged.
“Fine. Get Heero,” he told his husband. A frothy sea bluegreen. Trowa was amused. The lanky agent turned to carry out his orders, ignoring Duo’s look of panic.
“Tro – Tro – Let’s not overreact here...” A rainbow of colors assaulted Quatre’s mind. Too many at once to make sense of.
The arrival of the villain under discussion arrested both Trowa’s steps and Duo’s protests.
“Heero,” smiled Quatre politely, having sensed the familiar stolid presence before he actually entered the room. “We were just talking about you.” An amused smirk tugged at the corner of Trowa’s mouth as he returned to his husband’s side.
“If it’s about his tooth, I’ve got it covered.”
”What?” Duo yelped. He was flashing some sort of neon yellow tinged with spiraling kumquat. Quatre interpreted it as alarm mixed with surprise.
“You knew about it?” he inquired. Heero snorted softly.
“I haven’t been this baka’s partner for six years for nothing.”
“But...” Duo managed, before Heero made it behind the desk and took a firm hold of his bicep.
“I’ve made an appointment for you with Dr. Ozawa.”
“You WHAT?” Fuschia spots were added to the fray.
“You’ll like her. She has a lot of drugs,” said Heero as he pulled his reluctant partner out into the hallway.
“But... Hee-chan...” he spluttered, clinging desperately to the door frame.
“Don’t worry, we’ll lock up for you,” offered Trowa helpfully.
“Traitor!” accused Duo.
Heero simply nodded his thanks, as he reached around and propelled the unwilling patient out of sight.
And Quatre got to learn a new shade of Heero’s indigo. It was love.
~Fin~
So without further ado (so I can get to bed asap!)...
Title: It’s a Colorful Life
Author: Lukoni
Characters: Quatre(xTrowa), Duo(+Heero)
Word Count: 1473 (or thereabouts)
Summary: Quatre sees life a little differently than everyone else. Sometimes Duo wishes he didn't!
Rating: G
Warnings: No bad language. No smex. Very pure and unobjectionable. (Well, I wouldn’t go that far....)
Notes: Set post-EW. Started out trying for angsty introspection, but it seems to have veered off toward slapstick with a big dose of sap at the end. Written for GW500 challenge #161: Pain. Written in half-coma, so please notify me about any typos or other blatant errors. Thanks for reading!
It’s a Colorful Life
Ever since he could remember, Quatre could feel the emotions of those around him. Fleeting impressions, vivid sensations. And even before he knew the words for those emotions he could see them. As colors. Everywhere he went he was accompanied by a diverse and brilliant palette. As he grew, he learned what to call his own feelings and eventually, by careful observation and inquiry, what to call the colors dancing in his head.
Today, at the age of 22, he had an entire catalog in his head. A complex web of shades, tones and patterns that he barely he even noticed anymore. Walking in through the main entrance of Preventers headquarters, one of the receptionists greeted him with a smile.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Winner. I’ll tell Mr. Barton you’re here,” she said buzzing him in.
“Thank you, Amy.” Pale orange-grey. She was worried about a loved one.
He passed through the gate into the hall of elevators and waited for a car to arrive. Worry about one’s own problems tended to be a cooler grey-blue. Like the young agent who had just stepped into the elevator with him. Negative emotions tended to be darker, in the black-grey-brown range. Except hate which could blaze lava red when violent, or blind one with a seemingly innocuous pale yellow when it resided in a cool and calculating mind. Pain sometimes veered into the reds. Traumatic injury usually manifested itself in Quatre’s mind as a throbbing crimson. The more life-threatening, the more black encroached around the edges. Headaches were a transparent charcoal, while migraines a brilliant white. Long-term pain, such as from cancer or other terminal illness, a fetid deep brown.
As he stepped out on the eighth floor he let the impression of the humans bustling about wash over him. Someone was nauseous. A swirling yellow-green. Someone had just broken up with their spouse or lover. A deep purple. It would grow paler in time. And somewhere, surprisingly, that fetid brown. But not intense. Intermittent, and interrupted by cornflower blue – relief. Not life threatening. It puzzled Quatre, for although it seemed familiar, he could not place it right away. It had been a long time since he’d been at a loss in such a way.
He walked down the hall, greeting those he recognized. He often came to pick up Trowa at the end of the day. Or rather, his chauffeur would drop him off, and he’d catch a ride home from Trowa. Green. Trowa had always been green, just like his eyes. Grass green most of the time. Calm. Even when he was happy, it just resulted in a deeper green, rather than a sunshine yellow or sweet pink which were common with most people. Quatre poked his head into his husband’s office. Empty. He let his senses search for him. Sea foam with shades of lavender. He was concentrating. On something serious. Probably in a briefing.
Calling back his questing mind, he continued on down the hallway, musing over the different colors trying to claim his attention. A bright royal blue. Someone had just received a compliment. Probably that young woman just leaving Une’s office with the flushed cheeks and broad smile. It was becoming shot through with warm yellow stripes. A promotion, unless he missed his guess.
Sometimes he was wrong. And sometimes people just manifested the emotion differently from the norm. Just as Trowa was nearly always some shade of green, Heero was nearly always an intense indigo, whether happy, sad or angry. It had taken many months of acquaintance for Quatre to learn to distinguish them. Duo was a garish melon sherbet when happy and a rather hideous mauve when sad. Jet black when angry. The oddest association he had with that color was happiness – from Dorothy Catalonia, right after running him through with her sword. Her unique color scheme fascinated him, to the point where he enjoyed spending time with her just to try to figure it all out. Trowa had offered to grant him a divorce one night at an embassy party, so that he could pursue the relationship further.
Quatre smiled at the memory, but then frowned as he felt that rotting pain again. And then it was gone. He followed the general direction he believed it had come from. Turning right down another corridor of offices, he opened his mind looking for it. Nothing. A silver-haired man passed him going the other way with great purpose. Teal flecked with white. He was looking forward to the weekend.
Glancing about, he realized he was near Duo’s office. The door was open, so he strolled in, enjoying the sight of the chaos overflowing from the braided agent’s desk. Stacks of files battled for space with his laptop, an army of toy fire-breathing lizards, several empty cans of soda, and a lamp which somehow involved a woman in a hula skirt, a mule and a basket of toast.
“Hey handsome, what’s up? Your boy leave you in the lurch?” Before Quatre could respond, a manic jingle sent Duo rummaging through his files. Quatre just made it to one teetering pile as Duo triumphantly emerged with his phone.
“Maxwell!” he chirped, spinning around in his chair, leaving he blond friend to resettle the files safely on the desk.
“What have you got for me?” Duo demanded. Quatre busied himself setting the lizards up for a concerted attack to take out the hula lady’s mule when he felt it again. Straight ahead. Malignant brown, ruthlessly repressed once more. Duo was nodding, grunting affirmatives and jotting notes quickly with his laptop. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Maybe a touch of weariness around the eyes. Could Duo be ill and hiding it?
It was so familiar. Right on the tip of his brain. It was pain. Discomfort. But somehow not dangerous. He just couldn’t remember. The smattering of rose and ecru spots gave it away. His brows shot up and his eyes widened. Duo, just ending his call, looked at him curiously.
“Something wrong?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Quatre asked knowingly. The amethyst eyes blinked nervously.
“What do you mean?”
“Duo....”
“What?”
“You’re in pain.”
“Nothing to worry about, Kat,” he protested, then added, grumbling, “Why I ever made friends with an empath is beyond me.”
“What’s up?” came Trowa’s voice as he sidled up to his mate and draped an arm across his shoulders. Quatre allowed himself a moment to enjoy the soothing green pool that enveloped him at his husband’s touch, then turned his attention to the problem at hand.
“Duo has a toothache,” explained.
“I...” said sufferer stammered.
“And he’s scared to go to the dentist.”
“Come on! There are just places that pointy metal objects aren’t supposed to go!”
“Duo, it’s not going to stop hurting on its own. You need to see a dentist.”
“The God of Death needs no dentists!”
“He does when his fangs start falling out.”
“Shall I get Heero to punch him in the face and knock it out?”
“Funny, Tro. Ha ha. You guys are making too much of this. I’ll be fine.”
The throbbing brown flash across Quatre’s eyes told another story. He looked at Duo sternly. Duo smiled back with a glint of determination in his eyes. Quatre shrugged.
“Fine. Get Heero,” he told his husband. A frothy sea bluegreen. Trowa was amused. The lanky agent turned to carry out his orders, ignoring Duo’s look of panic.
“Tro – Tro – Let’s not overreact here...” A rainbow of colors assaulted Quatre’s mind. Too many at once to make sense of.
The arrival of the villain under discussion arrested both Trowa’s steps and Duo’s protests.
“Heero,” smiled Quatre politely, having sensed the familiar stolid presence before he actually entered the room. “We were just talking about you.” An amused smirk tugged at the corner of Trowa’s mouth as he returned to his husband’s side.
“If it’s about his tooth, I’ve got it covered.”
”What?” Duo yelped. He was flashing some sort of neon yellow tinged with spiraling kumquat. Quatre interpreted it as alarm mixed with surprise.
“You knew about it?” he inquired. Heero snorted softly.
“I haven’t been this baka’s partner for six years for nothing.”
“But...” Duo managed, before Heero made it behind the desk and took a firm hold of his bicep.
“I’ve made an appointment for you with Dr. Ozawa.”
“You WHAT?” Fuschia spots were added to the fray.
“You’ll like her. She has a lot of drugs,” said Heero as he pulled his reluctant partner out into the hallway.
“But... Hee-chan...” he spluttered, clinging desperately to the door frame.
“Don’t worry, we’ll lock up for you,” offered Trowa helpfully.
“Traitor!” accused Duo.
Heero simply nodded his thanks, as he reached around and propelled the unwilling patient out of sight.
And Quatre got to learn a new shade of Heero’s indigo. It was love.
~Fin~