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"Keep In Time"Written By: Dentelle_noir Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing AC or the
characters. They belong to Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. This
is a work of fiction and written for fun, not profit Rating: R Warnings: AU, sap, angst, fluff Pairings: 3x4. Summary: A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without
a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre
is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy.
Together, they make new rules and find a new path. "Keep In Time" CHAPTER 12 Quatre slid his skates off and pulled his runners on quickly, rushing to keep pace with Trowa (who was like lighting, able to change from ice-bound to ground bound with a single thought). Gym class had become a whole other layer of interesting, as Quatre began to find himself learning Trowa’s movements and following them just for the fun of it. Even during warm ups, Quatre couldn’t help but follow Trowa’s routine, and since they were both there.... It became almost like an impromptu practice every class, Trowa and Quatre moving together, each day getting a little move in sync, each day Quatre gaining confidence and ability, until he knew the moves just as well as Trowa and could do them by his side, instead of a little behind him. Trowa was having a ball, because when he got to be with Quatre AND skate? It was heaven, and at school he didn’t have to deal with July-not yet, anyway- and how each day having to skate with her, Trowa felt a little chip of his confidence fall away, and a little space of depression coming to take its place. How could he ever compete again? But when he was with Quatre, that all went away, and all he wanted to do was skate. The coach even stopped trying to keep them apart, just letting them have at it for the last bit of class and watching as their movements got better, stronger, more confident even as the outdoor rink’s ice melted a little more each day. Coached called it done for the day, and together they moved towards the school for lunch. Almost as if it were second nature, Quatre reached out for Trowa’s hand, meeting it half-way between their walking forms and together they headed to Quatre’s locker to grab his lunch and put the skates away. Unfortunately, almost at the cafeteria, Quatre’s shoelace unraveled from its hasty bow and he stopped in the corridor to bend and fix it, waving his group of friends onward, taking a few minutes to do it right, since the too-big sleeves of Trowa’s sweater kept falling over his fingers and making them clumsy. His friends were well into the cafeteria by the time Quatre got it. They were standing against the lockers in the corridor facing the cafeteria, Quatre having just stood up and leant against Trowa for a quick peck when it happened. A group of four or five of the most posh, preppy kids walked by, eyes flicking to their entwined hands and sneers lighting their faces. “Fags!” one snorted disdainfully under their breath, and like a pack of hyenas the rest all laughed. Trowa’s eyes narrowed in rage, but Quatre grabbed onto his sleeve, holding him back with a plea in his eye: “Don’t make it worse,” he seemed to say. It was ridiculous to get upset over it. Behind the snickering group walked Cathy, with Jeff at her arm. Her eyes were scanning the lockers and landed on their still-held hands. With a subtle lift of her gaze, her eyes moved to her brother’s face, and then moved away just as quickly-- as if oblivious to any recognition. Trowa was floored. Jeff sneered openly, catching Quatre’s eye and with a vicious smile he raised his finger to his throat and slit in threat, breaking out into hysterics when Quatre paled. They turned the corridor into the cafeteria and melted into the previous group without a ripple. A little unsettled now, Quatre tugged on Trowa’s sleeve to get out of the hall, but the skater was frozen looking at the retreating back of his sister--a look of sheer confusion, betrayal, and hurt stuck on his face. “Forget those assholes,” Quatre said, moving Trowa closer to the lunch hall. Quatre knew his friends were already there, and he believed firmly in safety in numbers. “I’ll meet you there,” Trowa said, his confusion turning into the burning embers of rage as it all settled in. “Trowa?” Quatre asked, searching the older boy’s face. Trowa focused on Quatre and gave him a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He tugged Quatre’s arm to lead him into the cafeteria and then let his hand slip away once Quatre had spotted his friends. He trusted they would take care of Quatre. It was too late to stop him before Quatre realized Trowa wasn’t beside him anymore. Trowa towered at the head of a lunch table, glaring down at the core of popularity. One girl looked up from her daintily held diet coke and gave him an appraising elevator stare, then dismissed him as riff-raff. But Trowa wasn’t taking any of that; He walked right up to Jeff and pushed himself right beside him, standing over the seated jock with murder in his eye. “What the hell you want, Fag?” Jeff sneered, coming off awfully confident in his chances against someone he didn’t classify as a threat. Jeff moved to shake Trowa’s presence off with a rough elbow shove. Trowa put his hand to Jeff’s shoulder and shoved right back, sending the jock into the people sitting beside him, “You EVER threaten Quatre again, in any fucking way, I’ll go Tonya Harding on your ass so fast you won’t know what fucking hit you.” Trowa growled, baring his teeth in pure fury. Cathy gasped, “Trowa! That shit will get you kicked out of the skating league!” Trowa returned Cathy’s apathy from earlier and refused to even hear her as he goaded Jeffy-boy on with his eyes. Cathy, though, put her proverbial foot down, “Let it GO, Trowa! God, it was just a joke! You’re such a child.” And that dismissal hurt more than anything. He was ready to pummel the jock, just to say he had... but his sister’s glare stopped him. As much as Trowa was still angry Cathy had slapped him yesterday, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from wanting her approval. Cathy was more than his sister, she was nearly his mother, and he never wanted to make her angry over something so stupid. He backed down, leaving with nothing more than an icy glare in Jeff’s direction and a hissed, “I’m not as nice as I look, Asshole. Don’t FUCK with me,” under his breath. Across the lunch room, where Quatre was sitting with his friends, a commotion started to escalate. Trowa stalked away from Jeff and made it to Quatre’s table in time to hear Quatre hiss “Back OFF, Jason!” in pure anger before the spiky-haired punk was standing and grabbing Quatre’s arm by the thick excess of sweater. Obviously Trowa was wrong in trusting them to watch over Quatre! His temper was already near the boiling point, and now he could feel the steam starting to build up, ready to explode. Jason wrenched Quatre from his seat, “What the fuck’s HE got that I don’t?!” Jason demanded, his voice rising in pitch and volume as his face turned a deeper red in anger. Quatre got his footing and then wrenched his arm back with a growl of frustration, “Grow UP, Jason!” putting a hand to Jason’s chest and shoving him out of his space with force-- And closer to the already-pissed-off Trowa without meaning to. Jason turned his attention to Trowa, snarling “You must be some hot shit,” while he came right at Trowa, trying to intimidate him even though Jason was some half a foot shorter and not nearly as built. That was IT! Trowa tightened his fist and pulled back, and WHAM, he hit the little fucker right between the eyes, not even following through with half his strength. Jason went sprawling to the floor, though, clutching the side of his face with a screaming, sobbing keel of pain. The teachers began to stream to the side of the wailing boy while security began to round on Trowa. “Pansy! I didn’t even hit him hard enough to give him a black eye!” Trowa growled. A restraining hand came down on Trowa’s shoulder and he shook it off viciously, crossing his hands over his chest to stop himself from hitting anyone else. Quatre was trying desperately to get over to Trowa, but was being stopped by security at every step, glaring a little, but looking more upset then mad, then he pushed through security to wrap his arms around Trowa, hugging him tightly, “What’s gotten into you... You didn’t have to hit him, Trowa... He wouldn’t have really started anything...” “He was grabbing at you!” Trowa defended, soaking up the warmth from Quatre, “I protect the people I care about.” The bright, blushing smile that crept over Quatre’s smile was nearly blinding, making Trowa warm all over and feel like maybe, for once, he’d done something right? Even if the school admin didn’t seem to think so, as they started to round on him with glares, and sent his ass home, determined to send a very angry message to his guardian- And Uncle S was in the Netherlands now, if Trowa remembered correctly. Apparently the Admin didn’t like hearing that, and with Cathy’s SCREAMING insistence, they called Dimitri instead. He was going to hear it... But not until practice time. With Cathy in school, the house was deserted and Trowa didn’t have to worry about coming home to sarcasm and disdain. He didn’t realize how much of a weight his sister’s presence had started to become until he felt such glorious relief that she wasn’t there. He was also startlingly happy that Iria really was pretty cool, because after Quatre had called her and explained the situation, and how “emotionally distraught” he was about it (the admin actually put that on the absence note, too) Iria gave him permission to leave. Trowa let both he and Quatre inside, closing the door behind them and locking it for good measure, sighing happily when just the quiet and dark of the house met them. “Tro... What’s up with you? You can’t be this upset over a little banter...?” Quatre asked, coming to lean close to him and kissing him gently, goading him into talking with a little affection and a gentle shoulder massage. It worked like a charm, of course, and Trowa was walking them over to the couch and sitting down, pulling Quatre comfortably into his lap and just holding him for a few minutes. “I was mad that he threatened you...but... Cathy...” And Trowa dropped his head onto Quatre’s shoulder, keeping the blonde straddled across his lap, “Did you see how she looked at me?...Quat....” Quatre rolled his eyes and sighed, “Cathy’s a bitch, Trowa. I know you love her cause she’s your sister, but she’s a controlling bitch. You can bet as soon as she finds out that we’re practicing together that she’s going to spazz and demand that you break up with me. Will you?” Quatre moved away from Trowa, looking at him hard, “Are you going to drop me because she tells you too? Because she’s jealous that you and I can work together? I’m no damn threat to her-- We can’t even compete, even IF Petra and Dim let me on the professional ice with you, which they only do when we’re being silly!” “It’s not like that....” Trowa started, but the hardening of Quatre’s eyes told him he hadn’t wanted to hear that. “She’s my SISTER, Quatre; my only family! I have to stick by her...” “No, You don’t.” Quatre said harshly, glaring now, “Not if she’s leading you down a path you know is wrong. If my sister told me to steal, I still wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t tell on her, as per my brotherly duty, but I wouldn’t DO it. You have a responsibility to yourself, too. You’re your own person! You don’t have to have her holding your hand every damn step of the way.” “She’s not asking me to do something dishonest!” Trowa retaliated. Quatre rolled his eyes, “Trowa...If she said jump...” Quatre stopped before he finished that thought, though. Tact over truth might get his point across better. “Trowa, she’s acting out of misplaced jealousy. She can’t skate...And it makes her crazy to see you still doing it-- and doing it better. Face it; you’re doing damn good without her... You landed a triple! She can’t even do a press-lift!” Trowa didn’t know how to respond--didn’t WANT to respond, so instead he dropped a kiss to Quatre’s shoulder, happy to have him so near, even though Trowa could tell that he was mad, “So... your cousin’s birthday party, right? Is it casual clothes, or did you want me to show in my skating gear?” Trowa asked, trying to steer the conversation to the first thing he could think of that had nothing to do with Cathy. Quatre saw the topic change from a mile away, and decided to just leave it for a while. Trowa had heard his point, beating him over the head with it wouldn’t help. So instead Quatre started to toy with his hair, “I’m wearing jeans... I mean, I don’t have anything rink-appropriate, really. The party’s a couple hours, and even when I’m just out fooling around with you at the rink I’m freezing after fifteen with just the jazz pants on.” Trowa startled, “Why didn’t you tell me?!” “I use your sweater....” “I have some things you could wear. I’ve been skating for years, so I have tons of skate-pants and such. You can wear them for ballet too, if you wanted. They’re too small for me, now... Do you want to see what I have? You can keep anything that fits.” Trowa said, running his hands down Quatre’s side gently, watching as Quatre began to smile. “Well.... Maybe I can...just LOOK I mean... I know that custom stuff isn’t cheap, I wouldn’t just take them...” he said, trying to be humble, even though he was excited about seeing some of Trowa’s old costumes. Trowa moved Quatre off him, then stood, moving towards his basement door, “We keep all the old suits down here.” Flicking the light on and taking the stairs first, Trowa lead the way downstairs. The place wasn’t a fancy finished basement or anything-- it was storage and a sub pump, but Trowa immediately started thinking dirty thoughts when he saw the futon and coffee table ensemble down there which they hadn’t used in a while, and it got Trowa thinking that the basement was nice and private, where no one would even know if Trowa brought Quatre down there. Forcing his mind onto the task at hand, Trowa yanked his eyes away from the newly dubbed ‘make-out central’, and towards the walls of boxes, flicking his eyes over the piles and starting to dig through a few. They never had labeled them or anything, but Trowa knew that he kept his things all on the same wall, at least. He pulled down about ten boxes, tossing them towards the couch area so they could sit and sift through them. Trowa dug in with the intent to find Quatre some skate guards that actually fit. Quatre was having fun just looking at all the things, smiling when he recognized one of the outfits from the pictures he’d seen at the rink. Trowa had won gold wearing it, and sure enough, inside the same box was a framed picture of Trowa, in that suit, holding up a gold trophy high above his head. He had been a singles skater at age 10, and he was good enough for gold then.... But Quatre didn’t say what he was thinking, because Trowa really was not ready to hear that suggestion. Trowa had moved on to another box...but his was far more recent. A Cavalier costume... And a pair of white skates....the blades still sharp, and the leather crisp and new... “Trowa, what’s wrong?” Quatre asked, alarmed that Trowa went completely quiet. His boyfriend’s body was practically vibrating from stress... Quatre wrapped his arms around him to see what was so interesting.... A pair of skates? Trowa put them down on the couch, then slid his hand inside, and as soon as he moved it, Quatre gasped; there was a four-inch slice straight along the connection between the leather of the skate and the hard bottom. It was obvious now. “Cathy’s?” Quatre said, but didn’t really need to. “I don’t know why she didn’t see it... She says that she didn’t feel that there was anything wrong with her gear...but she was so preoccupied before the show... There were cameras and people asking her for interviews. Dimitri told us never to do interviews before we skated, because we needed to be focused, but Cathy... She liked doing interviews…They kept asking her how she hoped to win, I mean, Team Lowe had us outscored from the short program and our long wasn’t designed to score enough points. If we skated clean and got great scores we might have broken even with them…She was really worried about the win, so, I mean… She was preoccupied…” Quatre nodded. Cathy would like interviews-- It was attention. But as Quatre began to look at the skate, he began to frown, “Trowa... how the hell didn’t she notice this, even preoccupied?!” “It didn’t fully rip until we were skating,” Trowa said in her defense, “It was only knifed in a few places... it should have just made the hold loose, making her landings terrible...Or she should have seen it, and skated in her spare boots- and that’s always enough to make a skater a little nervous. It’s not uncommon in skating to see this sort of thing... spray paint on your duffle bag, your costume shredded by an opponent. Competition is really tough, and some people will do anything just to spook you into a bad performance...that’s why we never leave our things un-guarded but... She didn’t see it. And...It ripped, and she lost all control over her foot. She landed wrong and hit the boards... on the one turn that I couldn’t have helped her...” Quatre looked at the skate...frowning. He kept it to himself, but he’d had his shoes tampered with too. He’d been a prima ballerina, for God’s sakes, and it was as highly competitive as skating. He knew how to protect his gear... And he knew that there was no way that he wouldn’t notice knife cuts to his shoes! He inspected his equipment every time he put it on... And he knew that Trowa did too. Why didn’t she? Was she even serious at all about her skating career? That hadn’t seemed to have occurred to Trowa yet, though... “Trowa.... I’m not saying this because I’m your boyfriend, or because I happen to dislike Cathy. From my background as a professional performer, I will tell you: YOU are the only talent in team Barton.” “Quatre please!” Trowa said angrily, “Cathy’s my sister! I need her!” “NO. You DON’T!” Quatre yelled in exasperation, flinging the skate back into the box, “She never COULD skate to your level! I’ve heard all about it! You were always pulling the high-score maneuvers. Your lifts were always creative on the height and maneuverability of the toss-- which is all YOU, Trowa! I know why July has gone psycho to skate with you. You’re GOOD, Trowa. You’re really GOOD. And with you comes fame and talent. You’re a gold medalist for Fuck’s sake! And you did it WITHOUT Cathy.” And Quatre dug into that box, and pulled out the picture of young Trowa, holding the gold trophy back in minors and showed him. Trowa turned away, sifting through the box in front of him, his body language saying that the point was heard but the conversation was done now . Quatre sighed....and snuggled up to Trowa’s side, dropping it for now, since his point had been made. Having come to the realization that Trowa was putty in his hands as long as he was touching him, Quatre used that to his advantage and stopped the argument before it could start with a soft press of his lips to Trowa’s shoulder, then steered the conversation into more neutral ground. “Costumes?” Trowa pulled out a pair of white tights... But when Quatre held them, he saw that they were actually a thick but stretchy pant made to fit the form and move, but to look as if they were nothing but gauze. “These are...cool.” Trowa’s frown lifted for a moment into a smile, “Nothing but the best for us.” And he began to search through a few more boxes, finding a few more of his pieces. They were all long for Quatre, but with a little tailoring, they would fit. Trowa didn’t even tell him how much each set of those had cost, though, because Trowa wanted to see Quatre performing as good as he could. He found another pair in blue--also too small for Trowa now but just about right for Quatre’s narrower frame. “Hey, cool, these match my new sweater. OH! I can wear these for my cousin’s birthday!” Quatre said, holding the blue pair in glee and punching Trowa’s shoulder happily. “I’m so excited... I have hardly had a chance to talk to my cousin since you and I have got together, since he’s been out of the country, but I know he’d like to meet you. You’re still coming, aren’t you? Next Wednesday at 6 o’clock.?” Trowa frowned, thinking over his schedule... “I think I could manage....Wait. Petra wouldn’t have the rink booked then...?” “It’s at the Lowe rink, remember.” Quatre said with a shrug, “Petra’s isn’t the only rink in town.” Trowa rolled his eyes, “The only GOOD rink,” he said back. “Lowe’s has hot tubs right in the dressing-” Trowa glared, “Let’s not TALK about that. Petra’s is better! We work hard without all the bullshit floofy shit. We don’t need it! I don’t NEED a hot tub to win!” he fumed, a little flush coming across Trowa’s face, as if this little hint of jealously wasn’t really a new thing. Apparently Pertra’s less-then-rich facilities were a sore spot for Trowa. Quatre nodded solemnly, trying not to snicker. He was about to offer to take a dip with Trowa IN that hot tub, but that might have been a little too much nose-rubbing for the ruffled skater to deal with. So, instead he decided to lean back on the futon, putting the practice clothes aside, and batting his lashes at Trowa. He had him all to his own and behind closed doors, and Quatre wasn’t stupid enough to waste the opportunity. They barely heard the movement in the house, but when the stairs to the basement creaked loudly, they knew that they were caught. Cathy hobbled into the basement, eyes glowing in ferocity. She got enough steps down to look into the basement, and screamed bloody murder, “GET OFF MY BROTHER!” Quatre hadn’t even had enough time to conceal anything! He had been straddled across Trowa’s lap, their bodies rolling and grinding against one another’s. Quatre didn’t even know where his shirt had gone, although he knew that Trowa’s shirt was dangling off his knee, but at least they hadn’t gotten to taking their pants off yet. Trowa had been kissing his way down Quatre’s chest when she came in, with Quatre’s hands wrapped around the back of Trowa’s neck and begging for more. “Cathy! It’s not...” Trowa started, then tapered off as he realized that not only did he not have an excuse, but that he should not have to give her one, either! “What’s going on down here...” and then two people gaping at them. July had apparently been with Cathy, and she was walking down behind the cast-wearing teen. July got one eyeful and frowned, glaring at Quatre as if he was some home-wrecker! Quatre glared back at her, “Do you have a problem, July? Or would you like to pick my brain some more on how to secure a position as Trowa’s skating partner?” “Don’t talk to her like that, you little whore! Get off my brother and get out of my house. NOW!” Cathy screamed, turning red in the face in sheer anger. Trowa protested by wrapping his arm around Quatre’s waist, “Don’t talk to him like that, Cathy. He’s my boyfriend! I don’t say anything about you and Jeff-y boy. Leave us alone!” “I WON’T, Trowa! First you announce your fag-status to the world by going ga-ga over the blonde, then you skip practices and stay out all night, and today you were fighting! You’re throwing away your career! Everything we’ve worked for! Queers don’t get gold, Trowa!” Cathy screamed before anyone else could say a word, her eyes saying she wanted to hobble all the way down the rickety stairs to pry Quatre off Trowa, but clearly unable to with the cast. It was the first time that Trowa was glad for that little handicap... Quatre rolled his eyes, “Don’t give me that crap. Half the male skaters are gay, even though they aren’t out of the closet.” July stepped up then, “Image is everything in skating! In any sport! You can’t break the mold and still be on top! You need to be incredible, not exceptional, if you want to go professional! You aren’t helping Trowa by being seen everywhere all over him! I’m doing him a favor by trying to work with him!” July yelled back. “FAVOR?! You’re doing NOTHING for him! You don’t even particularly LIKE him, you just want to attach your name to his for the fame!” Quatre spat back. “Please, Stop it! STOP IT!” Trowa growled, keeping Quatre from going up there and kicking some ass with his hands around his waist. Cathy glared at the area, then her eyes trained on the cavalier costume...and her skate. She paled, looking from the skate to Quatre and back, then she started to fume even more vicious then ever before. “You’re nothing but a SPY! You were going through our THINGS!” Cathy screamed back, glaring at Quatre and spitting like a cat. “What the fuck?! A SPY for WHAT?! Why don’t you ask JULY! Ask her how she figured out how to seal getting Trowa as a skating partner and THEN tell me who’s playing the subterfuge game!” Quatre hissed back, then glared, “NOW get out! And close the door behind you! My boyfriend and I are busy!” “You little WHORE! Get out of my house!” Cathy yelled, on the cusp of an all-out tantrum. Trowa moved, sitting up and moving out from underneath Quatre, grabbing their shirts from the floor, “Let’s go, Quatre... I have to get to practice... Let me drive you to your class?” He asked softly “Let him walk his ass to his class, and you take July to practice, as you SHOULD be doing,” Cathy hissed. And that was IT! Trowa lost all sense of cool and just screamed: “Why don’t YOU, Cathy! You seem to like her so much!” “So do you!” Cathy flung back. “No, no I really don’t! All she talks about is celebrity gossip and hair-care secrets. She’s as creative as a ROCK and all she listens to is that god damn classical music over and over and OVER! I can’t STAND IT! I’m giving QUATRE a ride to his class, and July can walk HER ass to the rink! Then, I’ll try to skate with her, even though it’s destined to be a disaster! Why? Because I am a PROFFESIONAL and I won’t let your injury keep me from skating, unlike YOU,” Trowa finally stood up, putting his shirt over and then moving towards the stairs, “Now get out of my way!” Trowa pushed them up the stairs, making Cathy have to lean right out of the way, and picking July right up to move her so they could get through. Quatre waved daintily, a huge grin on his face as he got to the door, “Buh~bye, Cathy-baby!” and he sent her a scathing blow-kiss as he closed the door behind them, climbing into the passenger seat of Trowa’s jeep a minute later, and cranking his music as Trowa backed out. You take what you get and you get what you give--I
say don't run from yourself, man, that's no way to live
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