02-Jun-2004
Title: The Worst Thing
Author: Sol 1056
Archived: sweetlysour & gwaddiction
Disclaimer: if I owned them, they'd be on strike by now. *sigh*
Rating: R for violence, language, adult situations
Pairings: 3+4 (past); 3+2, 1+R, 1+2 (current); 4xOC
Warnings: clueless hurting Quatre, angst, and angry words
Crits & comments are greatly welcomed, and many MANY thanks to those reading and reviewing. I blame this two-chapters in one day unexpected bit on you folks!
So, uh, I kinda got inspired... *shoots self*
It was not what I expected.
I'm not sure what I expected, but it wasn't Trowa leaning against my door with that little smile on his face, like he was infinitely amused. I'm sure I gave him plenty of reason to be amused, with my hair standing on end and a little bit wet, wearing dirty jeans half-unbuttoned, and probably looking like something the cat dragged in.
So to speak.
"Well?" Trowa's smile slipped a little, his gaze darting past me to what little of the apartment he could see.
"Right," I said, and quickly buttoned my jeans up the rest of the way before tucking my gun away at the base of my spine. Pulling the door open, I attempted to paste a smile on my face. "Sorry. You just surprised me."
"I figured as much." He halted when I closed the door behind him, and gave me his version of a shocked look, eyebrows just barely arched. "I didn't realize you had company."
"No, I guess not," I said, trying to keep my voice down. "Not like I had a sign out in the hallway." I locked the door and waved my hand in a general fashion. "Put your stuff down wherever. Want something to drink? Beer, tea, milk... "
"Beer's fine." Trowa dropped his bag by the door, and toed off his boots. He leaned against the wall, which worked out well; I only had three steps until I was at the sink. He seemed to be staring at Lola's sleeping form with some curiosity, before looking at me again, an intent message in his gaze.
I shrugged. I wasn't sure what to say, and could feel a thin thread of anger building in my gut. I was sick of feeling like I had to explain myself, and Trowa was definitely giving me that look. The same one that always preceded me giving in with a sweet smile and proceeding to tell him everything and anything he wanted to hear.
I rooted around in my one drawer of utensils, couldn't find the bottle cap remover, and stared at the bottles in disgust. Placing the top against my forearm, I pressed, twisted, and the top came off, then I did the same with the second. Handing the first bottle to Trowa, I clinked the second bottle against his and tried to smile anyway. He just looked stunned, or as stunned as his poker-faced expression would allow.
"Interesting method," he said, his tone neutral.
"Yeah." I took a long swig and leaned against the cabinet. "I'd offer you a place to sit, but there really isn't one."
"I see that."
His gaze traveled towards the sleeping figure in my bed. Lola's bright red hair was barely visible, a fiery beacon against the pillows, caught by the streetlights coming in through the window. I realized how dark it had grown – sundown came quickly in the city. I took the two steps to my closet bathroom, flicked the switch, and closed the door all but four inches. A shaft of yellowed light streaked across the floor to paint the wall a wide beam of gold.
"So." I took another swig of beer, and figured I might as well start. Didn't seem like Trowa was going to offer an explanation. "Duo sent you, I imagine."
Trowa paused, the bottle to his lips, and shrugged in return. He took a drink, lowered the bottle, and stared at it for a moment. "No," he whispered. "Not really. Actually, that's... kind of what I'm here about."
"What, that Duo's been hounding all of you to come check on me?" I turned away from Trowa, finishing off my beer in a long swallow. Shaking the bottle a little to make sure it was empty, I set it down on the countertop and crossed my arms.
Trowa gave me that raised-eyebrow, amused look again, and I tensed, then shrunk in on myself. Suddenly I wished I'd put a shirt on, something to cover me, a uniform to hide behind. I could feel his eyes moving up and down my body again, pausing at my chest, and I did my best to pretend as though I didn't notice.
Oh, but I noticed. I so fucking noticed I thought I'd jump straight upwards or shatter into pieces if he so much as blinked at me. Yeah, I wanted to say, I can grow up, too! But instead, I felt like I was fifteen again, meeting him for the first time. Damn him. He always was so cool and collected, utterly unflappable... and it's four years later and I'm still playing dress-up in someone else's clothes, someone else's role. Just a fucking kid, reliant on a bunch of grown men to watch my back when he could cruise the world as he pleased, beholden to no one and no thing.
That's why I loved him, but it's also why sometimes I hated him.
I strode past Lola's sleeping form and grabbed the first shirt I found, pulling it over my head with abrupt, annoyed movements. I paused, then continued, slower, straightening the shirt before turning to face Trowa. He hadn't moved, except to point the neck of his bottle at Lola, his eyebrows raised.
"Heavy sleeper, I'd bet," I told him. I knelt on the bed, hovering over her, and watched for several seconds. She was out completely, but that wasn't a surprise. We'd been studying for finals for the previous week with little sleep. I rocked back on my heels and stood up. If she didn't wake, she was welcome to stay. I envied her, though.
"Have you had dinner?" Trowa drank the last of his beer and set the bottle next to mine. "I saw a Mexican place on the way here—"
"Joe's," I said. "Ate there once. Spicy, but good. But I don't think... " I frowned at Lola. I realized Trowa was assuming Lola was here on a regular basis. Perhaps he even assumed she had her own keys.
The phone rang, and I did nearly jump out of my skin, but managed to keep my reaction to a hiss. Shoving my clothes and Lola's aside, I dug out the phone, collapsing on the mattress next to her.
"Cat," I said, and studiously ignored Trowa, still in the dark corner between the kitchen and the door.
"Hey," Canh said. "Got to ask you a favor. Just got a message from Felicia."
"She okay?" I pushed the phone base across the floor with a bare foot, then dragged it back again.
"Actually, no. I've got to get back into class, but she hurt her hip and her sensei says he doesn't want her limping home."
"Fuck. She won't call a cab?"
"No cash on her, and you know the cabbies around here."
"Fuck," I repeated. The cabbies wouldn't wait for her to get the cash, but they'd remember, and so would their friends. Not wise to piss off a cabbie in this part of town by not having the cash on you.
"Cat? What's wrong?" Lola's sleepy voice came from behind me.
"Felicia's been hurt in class," I told her, without looking. I ran a hand through my hair, and shook my head. "Canh, I'd walk the cash down there myself, but I spent everything this afternoon." I twisted to glare over my shoulder at Lola, who smirked. "Oh, hell, I'll escort her home. Call her back and—"
"I've got to get into class now, you call her, please!"
Canh hung up, and I stared at the phone for a second before dialing the dojo. One of the students answered, I left a message for Felicia to stay put, and hung up. Dragging my crate of socks towards me, I dug out two and started putting them on.
"Cat?" Lola sat up, the blanket slipping from around her shoulders. Trowa was silent in the corner, and I could almost forget he was there.
"It's cool, really, but Felicia hurt her leg and the sensei doesn't want her limping home on her own." I came up on my knees, crawling forward enough to give Lola a quick kiss on the lips. I didn't feel like making it more, and she let go of me reluctantly. "Boots... where did I put my boots... "
Lola giggled. "Didn't we get them off over by the holy fuck there's a person in your apartment!"
"Oh." I sighed, barely able to contain the laughter as Lola flailed, trying to get the blanket up over herself as she gaped in shock. "Yeah. Sorry. Trowa, could you hit the switch by the door?"
When the overhead light came on, I blinked a few times, letting my eyes adjust. Lola slowly lowered her arm, giving me a baffled look, and I sighed.
"Trowa, this is Lola. Lola, this is Trowa." I found my boots, buried under Lola's clothing. I tossed the clothing to her, and shoved my feet in my boots. "Sorry to interrupt your sleep."
"I should apologize, not you," she admitted cheerfully, pushing her hair out of her face. The clothes disappeared under the blanket, and she pulled it over her head. The blanket moved in several strange contortions; she ripped the blanket off to reveal she was fully dressed – except for the underwear she was shoving in her back pocket. "Can I claim I was keeping your bed warm?"
"Bullshit," I retorted, letting Trowa's presence fade as I helped Lola to her feet. "You were just trying to get out of doing the differential equations on the span."
"Curses, you figured me out," Lola said, and patted me on the chest. When I gasped, her smile widened, and she grabbed her coat, turning to Trowa. "It was a pleasure meeting you, even if you scared the living daylights out of me." Her voice wavered, and she stuck out her hand.
Trowa stared at it for a long moment, before nodding his head slowly, both a response and a dismissal. His green eyes were impassive, and Lola dropped her hand with a frightened look. Then she turned, looked at me, then at Trowa again, and backed up a step.
"Oh," she said, very quietly. "I... should get on home."
"You're not walking alone, either," I told her.
"It's six blocks to campus, and I'm sure Kerry's waiting—"
"I'll call you a cab. Only take a minute. Got cash?"
She nodded, and I called the cab company while putting on my new coat. Confirming the cab would arrive in a few minutes, we headed downstairs. Trowa followed, which both relieved me – I didn't want him alone in my place anymore than I wanted anyone else there without me, I realized – and surprised me. He didn't ask. He just came along. I wondered what it was related to Duo that made him show up, and for perhaps the first time since seeing him, wondered if maybe his arrival had absolutely nothing to do with me being in college or living in a bad neighborhood.
The cab came and left, taking Lola with it, and I trotted down the steps and hung a left for the dojo, five blocks in the opposite direction. Trowa followed, easily keeping pace, and I realized we were about the same height. I was possibly an inch taller.
The rain had stopped, and the streets were a dingy gray. I shoved my hands in my pockets, and reminded myself that I'd need to do something for Lola, to thank her for her help with the coat.
"She was pretty," Trowa said, unexpectedly. He didn't sound amused. He sounded pleased, and I frowned.
"She's okay."
"Physically or...?" He didn't look at me when he asked.
I shrugged. "What brings you to this city?"
"Do I need a reason?" He stepped around a pile of trash, never breaking pace.
"You as much as implied you had one," I pointed out. I motioned for him to take a right, and he nodded. The dojo was only two blocks more. The wind kept catching the hem of my coat and slapping it against my legs. I wasn't used to the sensation.
"True." Trowa sighed, and hunched his shoulders. He wasn't really dressed for dirtside weather, and I felt bad for not having something warmer to wear, to offer him. "It's... " He shook his head. "This doesn't seem like a good time."
"Don't know if there really is such a thing," I answered, trying to sound lighthearted. Inside, though, I was thinking: no, it's not. But the sooner you spill, the sooner you'll leave, and I can get back to pretending like I'm really someone... who isn't a little boy, who isn't a pansy, who's something more than a suit and a nice tie and a bunch of bodyguards.
"You seem tense," he said, slowing his pace, and I matched it. "Like... perhaps you're not happy I stopped by... " He turned his head, not quite meeting my gaze, and the wind blew his hair out of his face for just a minute.
"No, it's not that," I said, lying outright and not sure what to do. "It's just generally a stressful time. Exams next week, and all."
He nodded, coming to a halt, and I waited, trying to contain my impatience. It was cold, I knew rain would start again soon enough, and Felicia was expecting me. Trowa shook his head abruptly and gave me an apologetic smile.
"We shouldn't keep your friend waiting," he whispered, and began walking again.
At Felicia's apartment, she offered to have us come in and warm up but I declined. I knew she was dying of curiosity about the man at my side, and where he'd come from, and who he was to me, especially after the introductions had been followed by a completely silent walk. She looked disappointed, but I figured I could wait for her third degree until our study session the next afternoon.
"So," I said, when we were alone on the sidewalk.
"So," he echoed. "It... it's about Duo."
I said nothing, noting only that Trowa seemed even more hunched than he did before, following my lead back to the apartment. He sighed and shoved his hands farther into his jeans pocket, not even bothering to zip up his jacket.
"I see him every time the circus is on L3," he said. "And... " I looked over to see Trowa was chewing on his lower lip, an affectation I'd never known him to have before. Trowa caught my look and smiled, shyly. "I... I don't know what to do."
"You visit him and you don't know what to do," I repeated, for clarification. "I don't get it. Don't you do things when you visit?"
"Yeah. Just not... "
We'd arrived at my apartment building, and I pushed the door open, leading the way up the stairs. The bulb down the hall from my door was burning out, and it flickered like bad neon, making our shadows jump on the walls. Unlocking the two deadbolts, I ushered him in, and dropped my coat on the floor.
"You can hang your coat... it's probably still damp if you were out in the rain." I pointed to the nail on the wall by the door. "Bathroom," I told him.
When I came back, my coat was hanging up, and his coat was hooked over an edge of one of the kitchen drawers. I filled the pot, and set it on the stove to boil water for tea. While I waited, I leaned a hip against the counter and watched Trowa prowl around the room. He finally stopped, settling into a cross-legged position by the wall, the scroll over his left shoulder. The bed, my books; the entire room was between us, and still he said nothing, mostly staring at my notebooks, my bag, my clothes scattered about.
I made him a cup of tea, and he looked surprised when I handed it to him and sat down on the edge of the mattress.
"Didn't you want tea?" He frowned at the mug, then at me.
"I only have one mug," I told him, shrugging. "I keep meaning to get a second one, but I don't entertain much." I looked around the room, and couldn't keep a wry smile off my face. "Actually, one phone call and two visitors, all in one night, is pretty much a record."
"Ah." He sipped the tea, then held out the mug, and I took it, sipping while I waited for him to get to the point. Trowa ran a hand through his hair, and sank down a little against the wall. "I've been seeing a lot of Duo... but I want to see... more. I don't know what to do to let him know... "
It's a good thing ceramic is strong, because one of the china cups I had back home would have shattered under my grip.
Trowa, my mind whispered, stunned.
Trowa likes Duo.
As quickly as I heard the words, I loosened my grasp on the mug and offered it back to him. Of course, I told myself, that makes sense, while squeezing down my childhood crush as though I could easily muster the force of a Gundam slamming down on my heart. Duo and Trowa do have a lot in common, when you look past the surface. They're both experts at infiltration and subterfuge, but other than Wufei, they're among the most brutally honest people I know. And strongly compassionate, and highly protective of those few they've let within. And they both like to play, even if Duo's humor is more verbal and Trowa's is drier.
Right. I nodded to myself, and looked at Trowa, who was staring into his mug.
"Have you tried actually telling him how you feel?" I wondered if my voice sounded calm. I hoped so. He came all this way to ask for advice about how to snag the heart of one of my closest friends, and all I could think to do was scream on the inside. An adolescent year of being so madly in love with him, to a degree I'd never felt before or since, maybe. And he walked away, not once, but twice.
Sure, I thought bitterly, accepting the empty mug and getting up to make more tea. Show up and just... no, I shouldn't go there. What's done was done, and just because I got my heart smashed on my first love by someone who didn't know, didn't care, and only saw me as a friend... that's no reason to be spiteful and smash him right back.
"Well?" I prompted, when Trowa didn't say anything. "Have you?"
"Not in so many words," Trowa replied.
"Hell, Tro, Duo needs to hear things. He's good at the nonverbal but he tends to interpret it as he pleases. You have to say more than just that you like hanging out with him." I set the fresh mug of tea down by Trowa's feet, and went to get myself a beer.
"But what if he... "
Rejects you? Ignores you? Doesn't bother to introduce himself until after he's availed himself of your hospitality and already has your friendship? For a second, I thought I might have to peel the fingers of my right hand off the beer bottle, and had to take a deep breath before I could continue. Not me, not me, not me, my mind chanted.
"Trowa, he's not going to reject you," I said, settling on the mattress with a sigh. "You're... well, you're you. There's no chance in hell he'd reject you."
"I'm me? What's that supposed to mean?" His eyes flashed, over the rim of the mug.
"You're irresistible," I said, laughing nonchalantly, and hoping he didn't hear just how true I'd always felt that was. "Tall cool thing. Duo would be crazy to say no, and even if he did, I'm sure he wouldn't end the friendship over it."
"I would," Trowa whispered, setting down the mug. He twisted to look out the window, although at his angle he could probably only see a sliver of darkness. "I don't think I could settle for just being his friend... not anymore."
"You could," I assured him. "Maybe not right away, but you would. We've all been friends for too long to lose it over something that's no one's fault... if that's what happens."
"You think so?" Trowa's tone was distinctly hopeful.
"I know so," I replied, firmly.
Hell, I managed it, didn't I? And I was managing it just fine all these years and it never hurt like this before. Why now? Maybe because I felt like Duo was doing everything better than me, and now he might get the person I never got? Duo was on scholarships and doing high-level internships and... sometimes I secretly thought I might not be a little bit jealous of the fact that Duo could do engineering as well as I could.
No, not the fact that he was as good as I – that didn't surprise me - but that he truly loved it. Me, on the other hand? I approached each class with the enthusiasm of a factory worker looking at an eight-hour day of putting red inspection dots on men's underwear.
"I just... I guess I needed to make sure," Trowa whispered. He swirled the tea in the mug, his tone thoughtful. "I guess this is the information-gathering stage."
"Well," I said, casting about for a way to put things in a good light. "I know he's always excited when you're coming through L3. And he likes hanging out with you." I threw a sideways glance at Trowa. "And he's single, currently."
Trowa nodded. He yawned, unexpectedly, and grinned, a bit rueful. "Sorry. Long day," he explained. "Flight was seventeen hours."
"You can sleep on the bed, if you want. I've got to stay up and study, anyway."
"I don't want to impose," he started to protest, but I waved a hand at him.
"You're not," I told him. "And before you ask, the only motels around here charge by the hour. Make yourself at home, if you don't mind the light from the bathroom. It's what I usually study by, at night. The overhead light is too bright."
"Ah," he said, getting up.
Trowa stretched, almost like a cat, and I could hear his spine popping in a few places. He took his duffle bag into the bathroom, and I listened to the sounds of the toilet running while I washed out the mug and drank the rest of the beer. When he returned, I'd straightened the bed, and he stared at it for a minute before nodding and lying down.
I flipped off the overhead lights, set up my physics books around me, and leaned against the wall by the bathroom door. In its golden light, I could see enough to read by, and soon the only sound was Trowa's even breathing and my pencil scribbling across the pages.
An hour passed, maybe more. I had almost forgotten he was there, too buried in complex equations and extended theories. Then he muttered something in his sleep and rolled over to face me. I stared. I couldn't do anything but stare.
His face was more angular than when we'd been kids: high cheekbones, a long sweep of chin and jawline, thin lips so dryly expressive if you knew what to look for. The wide collar of his nightshirt hung down, exposing the arc of his collarbones, and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, rubbing his face against the pillow before sighing and sinking back into sleep. His arm was stretched across the mattress towards me, the delicate fingers curled, just a little, as though beckoning me.
My fingers tightened on the pencil. In one night, I'd had sex for the first time, and found out my first crush... first love?... had fallen for someone else, and worse yet perhaps, someone I knew. I recalled the sounds Lola had made as I ran my fingers down her body, and imagined the deeper, huskier sounds a man might make. A man like Trowa, my mind whispered. He had a lean, muscled body, and my fingers would find trim hardness, sharp curves of his abdomen, the jut of a hip, rather than the cushioned fullness of a woman's body.
Would he moan? Would he whisper to me what he wanted me to do? Would his skin taste like sweat and sweetness, or coffee and engine oil and new-cut hay? Would he groan and card his hands through my hair if I ran my tongue around his belly and down to his groin? Would he be ticklish on the inside of his thighs? Would he let me...
No.
The pencil had snapped in two, and I stared down at the broken pieces, before picking them up and carefully piecing them together. In the bathroom light, I could see the jagged edges where the two pieces met. It looked perfect, until you studied it closely. Two broken pieces that fit together like they belong.
Yes.
That would be Duo and Trowa. I loved them both, in different ways, and I gripped the pencil tightly, as though my will could solder together the two halves. Trowa had never wanted me, although he'd always loved me, in a distant way. He just didn't look at me and see someone worth wanting for more. He'd said once that he had nothing to offer.
And now that was my turn. Now, he'd come to me for help, advice, but what seemed like mostly the reassurance that he could get what he wanted, if he worked up the nerve to go after it. But then, even that... probably wasn't because it was something I could offer in great amount, so much as the fact that the rest of us weren't in a position to do anything. Wufei and Duo were friends, but kept out of each other's emotional lives, seeming to keep their friendship purely on the surface. Too much was different between them, and I knew from Duo's complaints it was constant effort on both their parts to keep the friendships strong. No, Wufei would tell Trowa he didn't know, and couldn't say.
While Heero... oh, no surprise there that Trowa wouldn't speak with Heero. It had taken Heero a year to reappear after the Barton Incident, and when he did, he would only say he'd realized he loved both Duo and Relena. He couldn't decide, and didn't want to, and chose neither. Duo had left for school shortly afterwards, and Relena had buried herself in her work. The three were friends, now, but there was always that tension underneath, that Heero loved both so desperately and couldn't... wouldn't... choose.
I knew. I'd been the only one he'd talked to about it, before he'd told them.
So that leaves me, doesn't it, Trowa, I asked the sleeping form. Without even being aware of it, I'd flipped my notebook to the first blank page and begun sketching him. The lines formed under my hand, and for every angle and curve shaping under my pencil, the less I saw him as Trowa, the boy-into-a-man I'd known and wanted and missed... and I started to see him as Lola had, a stranger, sleeping in my bed, leaning casually against the wall, silent.
He was lethal.
Trowa carried himself with an easy grace. Tonight he'd been leaning with his hips tilted outwards, stomach sucked in, and the fingers of one hand caught in the pocket of his jeans. The index finger and middle finger outside the pocket, pointing downwards towards his crotch, a simple but subtle message: Yeah, I'm a guy. Don't fuck with me. I'll do the fucking. Head tilted down, hair masking the true direction of his gaze, the tension in his shoulders, the casual move and controlled elegance. He moved and looked like he was carrying several weapons or none, and would know how to kill you with or without them.
He filled the room, and you couldn't take your eyes off him. It made me smile, almost, that I could forget he'd been in the room, when talking to Lola. But she, in contrast, couldn't take her eyes off him once she'd realized he was there. No one could, which was why his ability to be such a chameleon had always intrigued and surprised me, every time. He was both there, and not, but when he was, there was no doubt you should be careful.
So no surprise that she shrank back from him, even if I looked at him and saw the same gentle soul I'd known for four years. He wouldn't attack without provocation – not unless pushed against the wall, but then he would bite. And his words were often bluntly truthful enough to slice worse than any dagger. What I couldn't figure out, still, was why she'd looked at him, then me, and pulled back from both of us. She'd seen me naked, and sweaty, and making probably the most ridiculous faces ever, and yet... what had possibly frightened her?
Must be a girl thing, I decided. I filled out the sketch of Trowa a bit more, including the drape of the sheets across his body, and the one bare foot peeking out under the blankets.
Maybe... I rubbed my eyes, glancing over the sketch I'd finished... maybe having no one know you, as yourself, isn't the worst thing there is. Maybe having friends who might know you as well as could be managed, and still don't love you... maybe that's the worst thing, after all.
I woke up in the morning, to find the blanket draped over me, and the pillow under my head. I was still surrounded by my physics notes, and I curled deeper in the blanket, not bothered in the least. I'd fallen asleep while studying plenty of times. There were a pair of boots not far from me, and I stared at them for a second before my eyes popped open completely and I sat up with a start.
Trowa looked up from the bed, where he was sitting cross-legged. My physics notebook was open on his lap, and he was paging through, studying the pictures. I think I made a sound somewhere between a yelp and a squeak, because he chuckled, and flipped backwards several pages. He held it up, turning it show me a portrait I'd done of Dr. Robinson.
"I like this one," he said.
"That's my notebook," I finally managed to say, albeit in somewhat strangled tones.
"Yes," Trowa agreed. "I'd say physics but it could be for an art class and you just like to doodle complex derivatives in the margins."
"No, it's for physics," I said, my fingers already itching to grab it out of his fingers. Had he already looked through the entire thing? I recalled a picture I'd drawn last night, of him sleeping. My stomach clenched, and I tensed to lunge. "Trowa," I said, by way of a final and only warning.
He took the hint and set the notebook aside. "Are you taking an art class?"
I shook my head, and pulled the blanket off, stumbling to my feet. The little clock on my plastic crates said it was eight, and I groaned, rubbing my eyes as I made my way to the pantry-kitchen. I kept my finger in the pot to feel when the water was high enough, which meant I could lean against the sink with my eyes closed, catching a few more seconds of semi-napping time. When the pot was full enough, I set it on the stove, turned the gas on, hit the timer so I didn't let it boil down to nothing, and turned. Four steps and I'd crashed out on the bed next to Trowa.
A pillow landed on my head, and I grabbed at it, curling up with a sigh.
"Have some tea," I muttered. "I'll be right with you."
Trowa chuckled and laid down next to me, on his back. I stretched out to give him room alongside me, and was surprised to find his fingers threading carefully through mine. We lay like that for a moment, and I was even more astonished to discover it didn't hurt as much as I'd expected. Perhaps the night before I'd just been overwhelmed, between Lola and Trowa.
Bookends set to wreck my delicate balance, maybe. I snorted, and Trowa frowned, turning to give me a curious look.
"Just thinking," I said, and changed the subject. "You scared the daylights out of Lola."
"Me?" Trowa smiled, and shook his head back and forth against the sheets. "It was you that made her take a step back."
"Bullshit," I grumbled. I was tempted to say she had no reason after having my dick in her hands – hell, if she'd been frightened at any time, she certainly had me at her mercy then – but I choked back the words and settled for glaring. "You were doing your impression of a gargoyle."
"A what?" Trowa laughed. He kept his hand in mine, but turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. "I like the hair, by the way."
"Thanks. It's a hassle," I replied, letting my eyes close. "I have to be up in two hours," I added. "I think the alarm's set."
"I'll wake you," he promised.
For a moment, I wished there was a way he'd wake me, but I felt the warmth of his hand in mine, and knew if it were ever to happen, it wouldn't be now. Maybe not ever, and maybe that's just the way it had all worked out.
I realized I knew how Heero felt, and decided I'd have to drop him a line. If nothing else, at least someone should be there for him, if Duo did notice and accept Trowa's overtures. Sleepily, I formulated rough plans for what I'd do to Duo if he hurt Trowa, and sketched a few equally basic outlines for what I'd do to Trowa if he didn't treat Duo properly. Something poked at my forehead, and I opened my eyes to see Trowa only a few inches away, regarding me with fond amusement.
"You're plotting something," he teased. "I know that line." He pressed his finger up against my forehead again, and I sighed.
"Why didn't you love me," I whispered.
Trowa became very still, and I swallowed hard, closing my eyes as he dropped his right hand. He didn't say anything, but after a moment I realized he still had my hand caught in his left hand, under the blanket. He wriggled his fingers until our palms were pressed together.
"How could you possibly have loved me?" He closed his eyes half way, regarding me from under his lashes. It was as guarded as he'd be around me, while still being truthful. His own secret code: watch where you step.
The only way out was to joke, so I laughed and sat up, stretching widely before dropping my hands in my lap with a sleepy grunt. "Oh, don't even give me that line. I was raised with the firm belief that every stranger was a potential gold digger. That all anyone cares about is how many zeros are after the big number in my bank account. People want to be around me not because I'm worth being around but because they want something. And you... you didn't even want to share transportation to San Francisco. How the hell could I not be attracted to someone who didn't treat me like a potential meal ticket?"
"So you're saying anyone who ignores you, insults your skills, and walks out on you is fair game for a relationship?" His eyes were sharp, but his tone was light. He rolled over on his back, lacing his fingers together behind his head.
I popped him on the stomach, and he curled up, laughing.
"Asshole," I muttered, and propped my chin on my fist. "It wasn't like that. It's too early in the morning, and I can't explain it properly. I don't think it can be explained, really."
"Maybe not," he concurred, and the timer rang. He sat up, waving me back down. "I'll fix it. And then I'll make breakfast."
"With what? Broken pencils and my notes from Sanskrit?" I collapsed back on the pillow. "I have nothing but beer, milk, and condiments."
Trowa opened the fridge, and I heard him exclaim something rude. I groaned, and he came to stand over me by the bed.
"Quatre Raberba Winner," he announced, "you are such the college student."
"I bet you say that to all the guys you crash with," I retorted, and tried to hit him in the knees. He jumped out of my reach, and I scowled, curling back up under the blankets.
"Has Duo ever cooked for you?" He prodded my head with his toe, and I swatted blindly in his direction.
"Go ‘way if you're going to get on my case. Keys are on the countertop, go get some Mexican breakfast."
Trowa snorted, and began rifling through my cabinets. I sat up, panicked he'd find the shoebox and insist on digging through it, too. "Wait, what the fuck are you doing?"
He brought out a few boxes of macaroni and cheese, followed by six more, until his arms were full. Trowa arched an eyebrow, and I rolled my eyes and sighed in the most put-upon manner I could muster at eight in the morning. It wasn't hard. I always feel put-upon when I have to get up that early after studying until four.
"Quatre, you're living off processed cardboard," he chastised.
"Keep that up, and I'll know for a fact Duo sent you."
"He did suggest I swing by and say hello, but he recommended something about not challenging you to any duels." Trowa smirked, and put the boxes away. "We're going shopping."
"I have no money," I complained, and rolled over on my side, facing away from him. "Blew my budget on the coat."
"I can—"
"No! Don't you dare," I snapped, suddenly angry, but I didn't turn to face him. "I didn't see any of you calling me for help when you were starting out after the war!"
There was a long moment of silence, and I could feel the mattress dip as Trowa knelt down next to me. "Is that what this is all about?"
"What is all what all about," I replied, burying deeper in the blankets. I knew, and I didn't really want to discuss it.
"This," he said, poking me. "Look at this place, for instance. You've always kept a place as neatly as Duo, if not even neater."
"No, I didn't. If you missed the memo, I always had servants underfoot, fucking everywhere, doing everything for me."
Trowa made a disgusted sound, and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, staring up into his green eyes. "It's not a bad thing to have friends help," he told me.
"I can do it myself," I shouted, and shoved at his chest. He fell backwards, stunned, and I sat up, clutching my chest at the sudden agony slicing through me. "Oh, god," I whispered, and after a second, I dropped my hand, clenching and unclenching my fingers as I tried to get my breathing under control. "I'm fine, Trowa, though I appreciate your attempts. I have to do this myself."
"Do you?" He shook his head. "Do you really think we each learned everything on our own? We all had help, from each other. And you helped, too."
"Sure," I replied, rather bitterly. "I came to visit and smiled at the right times and said the right things and then I went back to my stupid desk job and the dirty construction sites and was a good little bureaucrat."
"You're more than that."
"Like hell." I rolled over on my side, away from him again, but he grabbed my arm. "Hey, ow," I complained. "Let go. I'm sleeping."
"Then sleepwalk," he ordered, yanking me upright. Stumbling a little, he shoved me forwards, towards the bathroom. "I want you to look. Come on, move," and he pushed the door open before me, shoving me into the bathroom. He had to press up against me to fit, his back against the wall, and my back against his chest, and his arms were like iron girders, pinning me in place in front of the mirror I'd hung over the toilet. "What do you see, Quatre?"
"I see someone who should be sleeping, and someone who's going to get his ass kicked if he keeps this up," I grumbled. Trowa shook me, and I muttered several choice phrases under my breath in three languages.
"No. Look." He shook me again for emphasis. "Really look. I know you probably do it when you're drawing. Do it to yourself. Think like you're doing a self-portrait. Don't see you. Just look."
"Why?" I tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but his fingers only tightened on my shoulders. "What's the fucking point? You into psychoanalyzing or some crap like that, now?"
"No," and Trowa shook me again. "I want you to see just a little bit of what I see."
I glared at him in the reflection, and dutifully turned to stare at myself. Trowa obviously felt himself provoked, and unless I wanted to get bitten, I would have to play along. I studied my reflection for a long moment, and gradually his hands relaxed on my arms, as I continued to stare.
My hair was brown, with coppery streaks in uneven chunky lengths. It made my skin look golden, rather than the pale tint I'd always had growing up on the colonies. My eyes were still large, and a blue-green flecked with silver and ringed with a deeper blue around the outside edge of the iris. My nose was straight, and there was a scar under my left eye, barely noticeable, a slash from when Sandrock had detonated. My jaw was slightly square, my lips thin but firm, and I had a slight dimple in one cheek that I'd never noticed before. There was a line between my brows, which appeared and disappeared as my gaze darted around, catching every detail.
My neck wasn't too long or too short, but corded with muscles; my shoulders were broad, tapering down into my chest. The shirt I'd picked last night was a little smaller than I usually wore, and I could see the outlines of my pectorals, the raised circles of the nipple rings, and the peak of my nipples. The mirror ended just below my ribcage, but I could see the shape of my body, moving from broad and powerful to slim and narrow.
"Keep looking," Trowa whispered in my ear, and I glanced at his reflection, a little annoyed. He smirked, and my glare got stronger. "Look, now," he urged.
Sighing, I stared at myself, trying to see the image as someone on the street, a stranger, an unknown relative's picture in a photo album. The image wavered, caught, distancing itself, and I could see power in the flared nostrils, the slight aristocratic tilt of the chin, the arched eyebrow that disdainfully investigated the world and found it lacking. My eyes bored into me, back at me, and I almost flinched at the compressed passion and ruthlessness I felt emanating from the image. My hair wasn't really messy and slept-in; it was simply contemptuous about the notion of spending time on appearance when what mattered was already in the expression.
"I know that look," I said, shoving at Trowa to get out of the tiny bathroom. "It's called spoiled fucking brat. I've been seeing it my whole life."
"Quatre," Trowa called, from behind me. He almost sounded beseeching. "You're not—"
"Interested," I finished for him. "I don't want to be that pansy momma's boy for a second longer! I don't need twenty men following me around to keep me safe!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, ignoring his hurt expression and not giving a damn. It felt good to shout, to scream and not care about appearances. "Stop trying to make me be what I used to be just so all of you know where you stand! "
Trowa blinked, then backed up a step, out of my reach. I was breathing heavily, and he dropped his eyes, nodding curtly.
"Okay," he said. Calmly he grabbed his coat from the drawer knob, shrugging into it with an efficiently graceful move, then picked up his duffle and slung it over his shoulder. He moved to the door, undoing the dead bolts and the chain with precise, quick gestures that telegraphed his true hurt. I couldn't feel it, though I could see it in the line of his shoulders and the downcast angle of his chin.
"Trowa," I said, very quietly.
"I did love you," he said, just as softly, but not turning around. "I loved you more than I could ever express, then or now or ever. But I didn't know who I was, or what I could be, and without a self to give love, I couldn't offer or take. As for why I couldn't love you now... well."
I couldn't move. I felt like my chest was being crushed.
He turned the doorknob, and the click echoed in the apartment, sounding like breaking glass in my ears. "It would be the easy way out to say that now, I can't, because I have given my heart to another. But the truth is, if I loved you once, I'll keep loving that person. But you aren't that person any more, and maybe you do need to figure it out on your own. When you do, we'll see about it, then."
The door swung open, creaking on old hinges. He didn't look behind him as he left.
End Part 4
(:./sol/worst4)
