Warnings: none

Quatre felt the shock wave from the explosion hit him, and then he fell into the bay. He struggled to swim to the surface, but a strong current pulled him further away from the shoreline. When the current finally let him go, he surfaced only to find that he didn’t recognize where he was. Treading water, Quatre tried to get his bearings, but the shoreline where he had left Trowa was nowhere to be seen.

"Trowa must be wondering where I am," he thought.

The closest land was to his left, so he swam in that direction, although it was still some distance away. The blonde pilot was already tired from the recent battle, and he soon found that his exhausted muscles refused to obey his commands. Quatre could feel himself sinking when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. What he saw was a large piece of driftwood, and he grimly forced his tired arms and legs to move him close enough to grab hold.

The sun was hot on his head and back, and he was tired, but Quatre doggedly stayed awake, knowing that if he fell asleep he would drown. Too tired to move, the blonde pilot let the current choose his course. Eventually, his eyes started to close, and he stubbornly kept them open.

"I’ve got to stay awake," he told himself. To keep his mind occupied, he went over the statistics and blueprints of Sandrock in his mind. When he finished that, he started working out formulas in his head. Finally, his thoughts drifted to Trowa. He thought about the taller pilot’s gentleness toward him, and his calm, deep green eyes.

Quatre’s cheek rested against the rough surface of the wood and he closed his eyes, remembering how Trowa’s hand had felt against his cheek. The next thing Quatre knew, his head was under the water. The surprised gasp that left his mouth took in liquid instead of air, and he found himself without oxygen in his lungs. Quatre’s mind was distant as he watched the last of his oxygen drift upwards from his mouth in bubbles, thinking how pretty the sun’s rays looked when seen from underwater. Then he felt something grab hold of his vest, and he was pulled onto a hard surface.

Vaguely he realized he was on a small wooden dock before someone’s lips descended onto his, forcing air into him. After several repetitions, Quatre coughed violently, expelling the water from his lungs. He opened his eyes to see who had rescued him, and his blurry vision saw the fuzzy outline of a person with longish brown hair.

"Trowa?" he murmured before he fell into dreamless slumber.


 

Connor Freeman, Con to his friends, walked along the beach enjoying the beautiful weather. He wore his usual beachcombing uniform, consisting of loose white drawstring pants that ended halfway down his calves and a faded yellow button-up shirt left unbuttoned. His feet and head were bare, his shoulder-length brown hair pulled into a short ponytail and his ragged bangs framing either side of his forehead. The seventeen-year-old’s chocolate brown eyes swept across the beach, looking for shells or debris washed ashore by the tide.

Connor stopped at the old dock. It was late in the afternoon and he hadn’t had his lunch yet. Hands in his pockets, he strolled onto the dock and got on his stomach, reaching under to grab the bag he had hung on one of the support beams. It was the perfect hiding place for his insulated lunch bag.

As he was about to stand back up, he saw a flash of pale gold on the water. Peering against the sun, Con saw a blonde boy hanging onto a piece of driftwood that was being pushed by the current toward the dock. The boy’s cheek was resting on the wood, and he looked half-asleep.

Just as the driftwood neared the dock, the boy’s eyes closed and he went under. A small explosion of bubbles was followed by several solitary ones, and Con knew that the boy must have lost any oxygen he’d had in his lungs. Con immediately reached down into the water desperately, relieved when his hand closed over cloth.

Pulling the boy up proved harder than he expected. The boy’s clothing was soaked, and Con had very little leverage, facedown as he was on the dock. When he finally had the limp form out of the water and onto the wooden surface, he felt for a heartbeat and was relieved when he found one. Then he realized the boy wasn’t breathing.

Con tilted the boy’s head back and clamped his thumb and forefinger tightly over his nose. Then he placed his lips over the blonde’s and breathed out. It took several repetitions before the boy finally coughed, his body doubled over and water flooding out of his mouth as it left his lungs. Unfocused bright blue eyes looked in his direction. The boy murmured something, then drifted off.

Con picked the boy up, grabbing his lunch bag in one hand, and walked back toward his home.

"Trowa? I wonder who this Trowa person could be," he wondered, looking down at the innocent face nestled against his shoulder.


 

Quatre woke up in an unfamiliar room of what seemed to be some kind of beach cabin. He was on a low cot and the surrounding walls were made of some kind of pale wood. Two poles in the center of the room held a hammock, and shells of various colors and kinds decorated the walls. A large rectangular window was shaded by a flap of wood held open by two sticks, allowing a breeze to flow through the room.

Quatre slowly sat up and pushed aside the thin gray blanket that covered him. As he placed his feet onto the floor, he realized he was not wearing his own clothes. Instead, he was enveloped in what appeared to be a man’s nightshirt, the sleeves rolled up just above his wrists and the hem brushing the tops of his feet.

A sound from his right made him look up to see a figure standing in a doorway. At his startled and slightly frightened expression, the taller boy chuckled and held his hands out in a soothing gesture.

"It’s all right, I’m not going to hurt you," he said, a wide smile on his face. The expression oddly reminded Quatre of one of Duo’s sunny grins. The thought made Quatre relax a bit. Surely this boy who reminded him of Duo wouldn’t harm him. Besides, now that he was calmed down, he wasn’t feeling any danger from this man, only a sense that he was safe. The older boy stepped into the room, still grinning in a friendly fashion.

"My name’s Con, Con Freeman," he said, introducing himself. Con shook his head. "I don’t know how you got into the mess you were in, but it was a good thing I happened to be on the beach, or you would have never come out of the water again," he said, moving to stand beside Quatre. He looked intently at the smaller blonde boy. "Are you feeling okay?" Quatre nodded and gave a small smile.

"Yes, I feel fine. Thank you for rescuing me," he answered, smile widening as his own friendly nature responded to Con’s warm personality. "My name is Quatre Raberba Winner, and it’s a pleasure to meet you," he finished. Quatre held out his hand toward the other boy, causing the sleeve to unfold slightly and cover his hand entirely. Con laughed.

"Well Quatre, I can see we’ll have to find you something else to wear. I’ve got some stuff on the line outside, if you want to pick something that won’t swallow you up," Con said, chuckling. Quatre laughed a little as he realized what a sight he must be. Con turned toward the door, motioning for Quatre to follow him.

"Don’t worry about someone seeing you in that getup," he told Quatre. "The beach’ll be pretty deserted right now, since it’s eating time. Besides," he added, "this is pretty much a private sector of beach because I own it, so nobody will be coming along." Quatre followed Con to the back of the cabin. On a clothesline were hung several pairs of pants, shorts, and a few shirts. Con grinned again and made an expansive gesture toward the line.

"My entire wardrobe is at your disposal," he joked. Quatre walked over to the line and found a pair of drawstring pants like those Con was wearing, figuring the shorter length would be better and the ties would help the pants fit his more slender waist. He also found a loose pale gray shirt that was missing a few buttons.

Although it was the smallest shirt on the line, Quatre noticed it was still a little big for him. Con was obviously fond of loose clothing, and his frame was much larger than Quatre’s anyway. Quatre shrugged mentally; at least he would be comfortable, and it would be nice to get away from dress pants and shirts for a while. After changing into his new outfit, Quatre chose to follow Con’s example and go barefoot. Quatre felt an obligation toward the likeable older boy.

"If there’s anything I can do to help out," he offered, "just let me know." Con smiled at him.

"That’s all right, I don’t need any help beachcombing. Although, if you would stay here and watch the place for me while I go out, I would really appreciate it," he suggested. Quatre flashed him a sincere smile.

"I’d be glad to," he told Con. They shook on it.

That night found Quatre sleeping on his cot while Con lay awake in the hammock.

"Quatre Raberba Winner…that name seems so familiar to me," he mused. Then, sudden realization hit him. "Winner, that’s the name of that rich Arabian family…oh my gosh! I’d better keep Quatre hidden. If Rimbo and the others recognize him, there’s no telling what’ll happen." With this last troubling thought, Con surrendered himself to sleep.