22 Dec 2000
Category: Songfic
Pairing: 3+4, then 4+3
Rating: PG
Warnings: Sap, shounen-ai, timeline abuse. It's a little
melodramatic, too--blame it on the song! ^_^;
Spoilers: Not a one--we're in never-never land again!
Disclaimer: The boys belong to Sunrise, the Sotsu Agency, Bandai,
and associated parties, and I intend no infringement upon those
rights. "Angel Eyes" belongs to ABBA, and can be found on their
album _Voulez-Vous_ (or on their second greatest hits album, _More
ABBA Gold_). <digs out glitter ball, begins disco dancing>
Notes: This is for Q-sama, who asked for it long, long ago! It's not even her Christmas present, though I suppose it is a penitent offering in advance (since that fic is probably going to be a little late--grr! >_<). I hope you like it, meimei!
/ denotes thoughts, // denotes lyrics (I've divided the chorus and presented it only once, to avoid some repetition)
//Last night I was taking a walk along the river
And I saw him together with a young girl
And the look that he gave her made me shiver
'Cause he always used to look at me that way
And I thought, maybe I should walk right up to her and say
It's a game he likes to play//
Hands deep in the pockets of his overcoat, head bent against the misting rain, Trowa moved along the waterfront walkway with accidental grace. Long training and a natural sense of space allowed him to wind his way through the laughing crowd without conscious thought. He was alone, as usual; he could count on one hand the number of times he had walked side by side with anyone since the end of the war. Duo had visited twice, Cathrine once--both before his most recent move, when Trowa hadn't bothered to leave a forwarding address. And that was it, unless you included the occasional slavering idiot who tried to pick him up on the street. He didn't think that counted.
Trowa had almost reached the point at which sidewalk became quay, where he would catch the water taxi for home, when he saw them. It took a moment for his eyes to register what lay in front of him, especially since all hope had been beaten out of his weary heart a long time ago.
Quatre. Leaning against the railing that fronted the river, deep in animated conversation with the raincoated figure next to him.
Trowa stopped dead, ignoring the mutters and strange looks he received as other pedestrians had to navigate around him. No longer held back by disbelief, his eyes moved with desperate, almost greedy rapidity over that familiar outline, straining to catch a glimpse of that too-familiar face.
/He still moves the same way--of course he does, but I thought he might have grown out of it by now--a sort of gentle awkwardness, like he's not sure what to do with his elbows, his hands. And now he's laughing, and he'll hitch up one shoulder as if he's embarrassed to be so loud, even though he's never loud, and--oh, Quatre. Why couldn't you have grown up to be stolid and respectable?/
Quatre was taller, but still built like a sapling, and still shining as though he carried a light inside him that he didn't even try to hide. The half-averted face was as perfect as ever, under golden hair starred with mist-droplets.
But it wasn't enough; as satisfying as it was just to see him again, Trowa found himself praying for something more. /Look at me just once, Quatre. See me. It's been so long--/
As Quatre turned a little farther toward the walkway, solicitously taking his companion's arm, two things happened almost simultaneously: the hood fell back from the smaller figure's head, revealing a fall of dark blonde curls around a distinctly female face. And Quatre looked up, meeting Trowa's eyes as though drawn by a magnet.
//Look into his angel eyes
One look and you're hypnotized
He'll take your heart and you must pay the price//
Quatre took a step forward, lips moving to form Trowa's name.
Meanwhile, Trowa stood frozen, unable to process the shock of actually looking into those eyes. /So many things I want to ask you--are you well, have you been happy, who is she, Quatre--/
When she tugged questioningly on his arm, Quatre looked down to speak briefly to the girl beside him, putting his hand over hers. Every gesture spoke of tenderness, of long-standing affection; suddenly realizing where he was, what was happening, Trowa threw them one last desperate glance and then bolted, melting into the crowd as if he had never been there at all.
So Trowa didn't see Quatre's face go from surprise to stricken loss, didn't see him start forward in instinctive pursuit before recognizing that he would never be able to track Trowa in that crush. Not if he didn't want to be followed.
Moving at a fast lope, darting between shoppers and sidewalk stalls with more speed than a full sprint would have allowed, Trowa was several blocks away before he stumbled to a halt. Leaning heavily against a doorway, he concentrated on the cracking paint and projecting splinters of the jamb in front of his eyes until he could breathe again. He should have known that staying away wouldn't cure him of this selfish hunger. Nothing could.
Nothing could ever be as beautiful as those eyes, the shifting blue- green of the sea under an indecisive sky. They could be green as kelp when he was angry, shading toward grey when he was ill--a whole vibrant spectrum, held within living prisms. Their power was entirely too familiar; caught and held by that beauty from his first glimpse of Quatre in Sandrock's open hatch, Trowa had found himself only more entangled the longer he gazed. After all, the soul looking out through those windows glowed with colors more radiant, more irresistible than the irises themselves.
//Sometimes when I'm lonely I sit and think about him
And it hurts to remember all the good times
When I thought I could never live without him
And I wonder does it have to be the same
Every time when I see him will it bring back all the pain
How can I forget that name?//
There had been a time--not so very long ago--when those eyes had shone for him. At least, he had thought so.
Given half a chance, Trowa's mind was only too happy to retrieve every glance. Every word, every embrace. They had stood together for years, and he had almost believed that it would go on forever.
And now they had been apart for years; strangely, it was the more recent period that felt like a distant, blurred memory. The past-- his past with Quatre, anyway--was as warm and vivid as the illuminated shop-windows along his weary path home.
It had all been a lie--Trowa knew that, now. A gentle lie, born of genuine concern, but a lie nonetheless. One that Quatre didn't even realize he was telling; he didn't know what he was doing when he turned that same embracing look on everyone from the chauffeur to his CEO.
/You were born with it, I think--that way you have, of making every person feel like he's the only thing that matters. It must be useful to you. It certainly worked on me./
But not forever. Things were better this way, Trowa reminded himself. Much better to be alone and safe than to be apparently beloved, but really only bewitched by mirages.
//Look into his angel eyes
You'll think you're in paradise
Then one day you'll find out he wears a disguise
Don't look too deep into those angel eyes//
The rain was beginning to slacken as he turned the last corner onto his own street. The first light of morning pushed impatiently around the breaking clouds, silvering the rain-slicked pavement.
He was almost to the door, fumbling for the key, when he heard a car door slam.
"Trowa? It is you. Trowa!" Eagerness made Quatre's voice break, stumbling over the words.
Trowa dropped the key onto the step, but didn't bother to pick it up; slowly, he turned back toward the sidewalk. "Quatre. What are you doing here?"
"I saw you on the quay--didn't you see me?--and then when you left, I thought maybe you might live nearby. So I found a phone directory, and then I found your address, and here I am." Quatre could barely hold still, practically glowing with excitement.
Even a child knows better than to look straight into the sun; Trowa kept his eyes on the ground. "I saw you."
Not nearly enough words--but there weren't enough in the world to carry what he wanted to say, not nearly enough to keep him safe.
"You did. Then why--?" Now those eyes were bewildered, and Trowa couldn't bear to prolong the misery of this moment any further.
"Quatre. Who was that girl?" / You held her hand, you smiled at her. The way you were looking at her, it was almost the same as when you used to--/ Trowa closed his eyes against the memory, but it was a feeble defense. / Tell me you love her, because if you don't--oh, if you don't, then you never loved me./
But Quatre was laughing, the warm morning sunshine streaming over his face. "Trowa. You didn't think that-- Oh, Trowa. Didn't you get a clear look at her? That was Jamila."
Trowa could only stare at him, uncomprehending.
"My sister, Trowa. That's why I was here in the city--to visit my sister. Otherwise, who knows when I would have--Trowa." He couldn't seem to stop saying the name. "Why did you run? I didn't want to chase you, not if you wanted to be alone, but I--I would have given anything to see you again. It's almost funny--that's what I was in the middle of telling her, when I looked up and saw you." A soft, self-deprecating laugh. "I thought I was dreaming."
Trowa was still dealing with the smaller revelation. "Your sister. She's your sister. Then you don't--you aren't--"
"No." Very patiently, Quatre began again. "I never stopped thinking about you, not even when you went away without telling any of us where you were going. I knew--I could tell that you needed to sort things out, to understand where you fit into the peace. But when even Cathrine didn't know where to find you--I was so afraid, Trowa. I thought you weren't ever coming back." Unable to stay even a few feet away, Quatre came up the steps to him--moving cautiously, as one would approach an injured animal.
"You didn't have to worry about me. You didn't have to follow me just because we fought a war together." Trowa's already low voice dropped until it was almost inaudible. "Just because I was your first."
"My first." Quatre reached out at last, touching the curve of his face with almost unbearable gentleness. "My only. My everything. Won't you come home, my Trowa?"
"I don't need to be rescued." He kept his voice terse, cool, in a last-ditch effort to keep the lid clamped firmly down on the roiling emotions threatening to break free.
"But maybe I do. Please, Trowa. Let me in?"
At last, Trowa looked up--and was welcomed into endless seas, endless skies. This was no mirage, it was real--had been real all along, and only the haze of his own self-doubt had made it look insubstantial.
The barriers came down with a crash, and he wondered momentarily why he had ever tried to run from this. "You've always been here. I couldn't forget you, not you. Not ever."
His arms were immediately full of warm golden morning, Quatre's arms tight around his shoulders for a breathless moment before he broke away to retrieve the abandoned door key. "Then we're already home."
-end-
(:./lilias/look2deep)
