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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 Two Trowa left a message for Cathy (since he couldn’t find the handi-capable social butterfly anywhere) telling her that he would be out with friends, and then he made his way to the Drama hallway. It wasn’t all that hard to find the place since it was in the same area as the Art hallway; all you had to do was follow the murals. He could find Quatre’s friends easy enough, too. There was far more than the dozen Trowa had thought were supposed to go to the ice cream parlor, though. While all the other halls had virtually emptied moments after the last bell, this hall was still brimming with activity. Just looking at them all began to make Trowa think about taking a few steps backwards and getting out of there before he got in over his head. Suddenly, a little blonde broke from the faceless crowd and latched onto Trowa’s arm. “Glad you made it in one piece!” Quatre sang merrily, “You still wanna come to Hadford’s?” The answer was almost no. But the blonde was smiling so happily… So brightly… He wondered if maybe he could handle that many artsy people… for Quatre’s sake. Trowa took another look at the group, though, and noticed a chunk of them braking from the mass and made their way into a classroom. Then a few more broke off of the main crowd and came over to him and Quatre, bags at the ready, followed by a few more stragglers from other little cliques forming. “Okay, who’s in my car?” One boy with bright purple stripes of hair said. Three more people broke from the crowd, taking up the offer and stood by him. Something about that guy didn’t feel right. Trowa couldn’t place what it was, but he didn’t trust the guy. He had a spiked bracelet, too many earrings for Trowa’s taste and was wearing all black except for a bright rainbow-coloured belt and that shocking purple-striped hair. But his attitude… it was as if he thought that he controlled the world. Trowa didn’t like it. At all. “Cat, are you with me too?” The boy asked with a charming smile, “You can sit in the front with me.” “Not today. Trowa’s going to drive me, Right?” Quatre said, turning everyone’s attention onto Trowa. And then he touched Trowa’s shoulder absently and suddenly the purple-striped boy’s eyes narrowed dangerously on Trowa. Challenging. Trowa hated people who challenged him, but he was acutely aware that he was on this guy’s terrain. Trowa barely knew these people, barely knew Quatre, barely knew the school. He decided to tread lightly and try not to step on the purple-haired guy’s toes. “I’ll give you a ride, yeah,” Trowa said quietly, hyper-aware of all the strangers watching him and eying him up. They were classifying him. He was well aware that he did not fit in with these people. He had no piercings, no colours in his hair, and he was wearing Khaki slacks. He also noticed that Quatre, though, didn’t seem to fit the stereotype either--his look was more conservative, somewhat artsy in his pastel button up shirt and simple jeans--but still fit in with the group. With a tug to Trowa’s still-captured arm, Quatre began to walk away, rather quickly, shooting a wave to the rest of the group and shouted a “See you guys there!” over his shoulder. Trowa followed along easily, and began to lead, taking them towards his jeep parked at the back of the school. Trowa unlocked the passenger door for Quatre and then got himself behind the wheel, mumbling an apology for the mess of diet soda cans, overfull garbage bag, and everything else that littered his backseat. At least the passenger seat was free of debris since Cathy often occupied it since Trowa had been carting her around practically everywhere since she broke her leg and couldn’t drive. Quatre didn’t complain about the mess at all, though. The blonde let out a sigh of relief once they were out of the lot and on the way, “Sorry about Jay glaring at you like that. He does that to anyone I’m talking to. Jason –Jay-...has a thing for me. He kinda creeps me out, to be honest.” Quatre said with an apologetic smile, “But he always offers me a ride and gets offended when I don’t take it. He’s friends with all my friends, though, so I can’t just tell him where to stuff it if I want to stay friends with everyone.” “Did you date him before?” Trowa asked, a little angry hint in his voice as he said it. The blonde sighed, “I went out with him once in grade 10, but I didn’t like it. I only went because it’s no secret that he likes me and everyone was pushing me to give him a chance. I gave him the chance. I didn’t want to go out with him again. He doesn’t get that.” “I...see.” Trowa said neutrally, keeping his eyes on the road while planning ways to break the purple-headed boy’s legs in the most painful ways. He didn’t know why he was so protective all of a sudden, but he was. He knew he didn’t like that purple-headed guy. Now he knew why. There was silence in the car for a few minutes… and a few moments more. Quatre started to squirm in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the lack of conversation, “I’m bi. I mean, I’ve dated girls too. I hope it doesn’t bother you that I dated a boy… does it? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-- I can get someone else to drive me home,” He apologized, trying to give Trowa an easy out. Trowa brought his attention back to his passenger, realizing Quatre thought his silence was because of Quatre’s sexuality instead of contemplating the sounds of Jay’s snapping limbs. He couldn’t help a chuckle at that. Made bold by the safety and control in his own car, Trowa reached across the small distance to poke the blonde’s arm playfully, “Quatre...You have a pink ribbon on your backpack, and you did ballet. Not trying to stick to stereotypes here, but...I’m really not surprised that you like guys. Although why anyone would like that Jason guy is beyond me.” Quatre smirked despite himself, greatly decreasing the ferocity of the glare he was sending Trowa’s way because of the ballet jab. Trowa smirked, feeling a little playful, “I was quiet, because I was wondering if Jason’s flambéed corpse would go better with barbeque sauce or maybe just an apple in the mouth for a little colour.” Quatre’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he let out merry peal of laughter. That just goaded Trowa on! “No, no, no! Maybe roasted on a spit with some clove?” Trowa suggested again with a smirk, watching as Quatre doubled over in laughter. “Although maybe he’d do better on a shish-ka-bob, marinated with some red wine? Yes, Definitely on the Shish-Ka-bob.” Trowa continued, nodding solemnly at that one. Quatre licked his lips, and then joined in, “Well, it would get rid of the hair if you did it on a spit. It looks like he got into a fight with a can of spray paint and lost.” Quatre put his two-cents in. Laughing at the boy who’d been bothering him for over a year was surprisingly freeing. They both laughed for a little while longer, getting used to each other’s company, and liking it. Recovering from his laughter and at ease in the atmosphere of the jeep, Quatre settled comfortably into his seat, “I love this car,” he said, reclining with a purr into the worn leather bucket seat. The movement brought their proximity into stark relief. Quatre’s coat sleeve was brushing against Trowa’s elbow as he drove, the blonde’s every sound and movement was so tantalizingly close that just the thought was heady. The gorgeous blonde was right there. In his car. With him. Alone together. Trowa slowed the car for a red light and focused on his traveling companion. He looked like he was waiting for a response… OH! The car! “It’s my favorite thing, after skating, of course,” Trowa quickly managed a response, “In the summer I take off the top and just cruise.” Quatre smiled, “That sounds wonderful. I loved my car. I miss my car,” Quatre groaned, “but it was owned by my father. It stayed when I moved. He did not approve of my decision.” The blonde looked out the window to avoid Trowa’s eyes, but his voice had said it all. Trowa decided right then and flicked on his turn signal, “Let’s take the scenic route?” Trowa couldn’t do anything about the past, but he could affect the present. And if Quatre missed his car? Well, he would give him anything he could to see that smile again. Quatre whooped in delight, the sound urging Trowa on to take a few more side roads until they found themselves near the outskirts of town and barreling down the country road, steadily picking up speed. Wind erupted into the Jeep as Quatre cranked his window down, whipping his golden hair all around his grinning face, a squeal of joy drowned out by the noise. Trowa hit the stereo on, filling the Jeep as he turned again to keep off the main roads, the hills rising up beside them as they hugged the outskirts indulgently. It was a perfect moment. So find a new lifestyle, A new reason to smile, Look for Nirvana Under the strobe lights, Sequins and sex dreams, You whisper to me. There's no reason to cry!” Quatre crowed along to the driving beat, causing Trowa to join, tapping the beat with his hands and his head. “I skate to this song” Trowa said, “It’s perfect for practicing twizzels.” “I just dance!” Quatre crowed, throwing his elbows up into the air, brushing the roof, and shaking along to the beat. “If God is a DJ then Life is a dance floor. You get what you’re given. It’s all how you use it!” Trowa chimed in, voiced mingling together seamlessly, “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.” Quatre took over, singing “I've got a record in my bag you should give it a spin. Lift your hands in the air so that life can begin!” Reaching high and far in the Jeep, brushing against Trowa’s hair as he swaying in perfect time to the bridge, he belted out the chorus with Trowa. “If god is a Dj, then life is a dance floor, Love is the rhythm. YOU are the music!” They shouted together, barreling down the side road at 80km/h totally free and exhilarated, laughing and singing at the top of their lungs, not caring one whit about anyone hearing them. They began to near the highway, though, which meant that they had to swing back around if they wanted to stay in the city. Trowa signaled and turned them down another near-deserted suburb road which would bring them back towards the ice cream parlor but still let him take Quatre for a scenic ride. The next song began to play, another one of Trowa’s practice songs with a little less punch, and Quatre turned it down to a dull throbbing sound, “So Trowa, tell me something about yourself! You have a taste for rock music, love to cruise, and you Skate. Tell me something else?” Trowa grasped for something. He wanted to have some sort of impressive thing to say… but he came up with nothing, “What do you want to know?” He tried instead, at a loss. “Tell me...” Quatre thought for a moment, “Tell me your deepest, darkest secret.” Quatre said with a falsetto macabre voice and leaning in towards Trowa. Trowa laughed and flicked his eyes to Quatre. Dropping his voice to a seductive drawl, Trowa teased, “Alright, I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” “Okay.” Quatre said, surprisingly confident, and teasing right back. He leaned right into Trowa’s space, one hand coming to rest oh so casually against Trowa’s leg as he whispered into his ear, “My biggest secret is...That I have a Fake ID that I stole from my sister. I love to go clubbing. It’s my guilty pleasure. But I have to pretend I’m a girl.” Trowa felt every inhalation and movement of the blonde’s mouth against his ear which made it damn hard to stay concentrated on the road! And he barely heard what Quatre had said, but it sounded sexy. Quatre abruptly moved back to his seat, a wicked smile on his face, “Your turn.” Trowa chuckled at that, not surprised in the least that the blonde knew exactly what his teasing was doing to him. But fair was fair, “Alright. But mine’s damn embarrassing.” He paused while he maneuvered them into the lot and then found a spot to park the jeep. Once stopped and able to give Quatre his full attention, Trowa leaned in close, whispering deep and huskily into Quatre’s ear, “My biggest secret is that my sister still has to buy my clothes for me. I have no sense of style.” Quatre burst into the shop, still barking with laughter, followed by a chuckling Trowa. His mirth died as his eyes settled on the accusing glare Jason was throwing at them, “What took YOU so long?” The purple haired boy demanded. Quatre felt his body tense, sending a glare right back at the guy and simply took an empty seat, not letting on how much the accusation hurt. It had been as if Jason was calling him a slut or something because they were late! Trowa took a seat next to Quatre and glared straight back at Jason, already sick of his shit. Did the purple-haired guy act like an ass all the time, or perhaps it was just because of Trowa’s presence? But it was ridiculous. “I take it back.” Trowa said to Quatre loud enough for all to hear, “Definitely roasted with garlic butter and a touch of Rosemary.” Quatre burst out laughing, breaking the tense atmosphere in the shop as he doubled over in near-hysterics, watching confused looks mar most of his friends’ faces while a few others snickered along, figuring out what they were talking about. Jason just glared. With the ice nicely broken, the mass of teenagers quickly broke back into their conversations, only a few leveling appraising glances at Trowa. “What kind of ice cream do you want?” Trowa asked, noticing that they were the only people without cones in hand. “Chocolate Frozen Yogurt is what I usually get.” Quatre said, warmed by the fact that Trowa was offering to get it for him. Within moments of Trowa’s departure to the glass-covered display cases, Quatre was surrounded by no less than six of his friends squawking for details about the handsome stranger, but he disappointed them all when he refused to say a word other than Trowa’s name, and that they had just met in gym. Then he glared and told them all to back off! It was moderately successful, because they took their seats, but they kept watching the two of them interact. A little bowl of frozen chocolate yogurt, complete with Hadford’s patent yellow taster spoons, dropped in front of Quatre, followed by Trowa dropping himself into the chair beside his. In his hand, the taller brunette held a cone of chocolate cookie dough deluxe, which he was staring at with mild confusion. After taking a bite of his own treat with relish, Quatre asked, “What did you get?” “I told the lady behind the counter that I haven’t had ice cream in years and to give me whatever was the most popular. I got something with chocolate, nuts of some kind, chocolate chips, and cookie dough, I think...” Trowa replied analytically, looking like he was resisting the urge to poke at the foreign substance. “How can you not eat ice cream?” A new voice piped up from the group at large. Trowa shrugged and continued to look at the slightly melting cone, “I’m an athlete. I have a strict diet.” A drip ran down his fingers and Trowa changed hands to lick it off absently. The sheer sweetness of it overloaded his senses. He had never had much of a sweet tooth, and years of dieting had cut down his taste for sugary confections. He hadn’t realized he was making a disgusted face until Quatre’s merrily ringing laughter started. “Ug. How can people eat something so damn sugary?” Trowa complained, looking at the cone as if it was going to eat him alive. “Here, have a bite of mine. The yogurt’s bitter, you big baby!” He teased with a laugh, heaping his spoon with the chocolate and pressing it into Trowa’s mouth. The muffled protests (which sounded suspiciously like ‘I am NOT a big baby’) turned to a satisfied moan as the tangier treat melted onto the Skater’s taste buds. Quatre smiled in satisfaction and took the cone out of Trowa’s hands, easily finding a willing mouth to finish it off . Quatre took the spoon out and put it in Trowa’s hands and slid his cup between them, grabbing another spoon from a near-by container for himself, “Share mine, you got me a double scoop anyway when I usually have a single,” Quatre offered. It was only logical. He spared no thought for the perfect opportunity to ‘accidentally’ brush his leg against Trowa’s, of course. Really. Trowa took the offered treat willingly, smiling as he had an excuse to slide his chair closer to Quatre’s. The fact that it pissed Jason off immensely was just an added bonus to being so close to the blonde as conversation continued on around them. Quatre kept touching him, though. Brushing their knees together. Touching Trowa’s thigh absently. Leaning back and letting their shoulder’s touch. It was like a slow seduction game, and Trowa was eating it up. He had never had so much fun as far back as he could remember. The bowl was long gone, and Quatre was exuberantly engaged telling a story to the table, the blonde’s leg somehow becoming entangled around Trowa’s, when Trowa was yanked out of the pleasant reprieve by a very angry, very large, and very loud Russian. “BOYSHKA! I’m going to break your neck!” Dimitri’s booming voice stopped all conversation in the room. He was tall and broad shouldered, but completely fit even for his age. He looked to be in his 40s, but he was obviously an athlete. And he was glaring at the skater so hard it was making his square-shaped face turn red. “Uh...hi Coach.” Trowa said, trying not to cower in front of Quatre, even though he could feel a deeply embarrassed flush cover his cheeks, ears, and make its way down his chest. “Wife sends me for her ice cream and I find you slacking! You’re late for practice. Move it. Move it.” The deep baritone grumbled, grabbing at Trowa’s shoulder and hauling him to his feet faster than Trowa could get himself to them. “But its doubles practice today. Cathy’s injured so shouldn’t I have this time free?” Trowa petitioned, standing patiently as Dimitri went to the counter and ordered a tub of Petra’s favorite flavor. It seemed his coach was sent out to appease another of his wife’s wild pregnancy cravings, so he used the precious seconds to plead his case. “Come on coach… just today, Dimitri?” “Practice is practice. You have no partner, so we’ll work on your footing more. You’re slow on the toe-loop!” Dimitri’s gravelly voice replied, paying for the ice cream and glaring at his errant student. “Move,” He prompted. Obviously pleading was getting him nowhere. Trowa sighed in resignation and turned to Quatre, “I’m sorry. I guess I still have to get to practice. You’ll have to find another way home.” Everyone around the table looked affronted at the demand or mocking at Trowa’s apparent lack of control over his own life. Accept Quatre. He smiled warmly, understanding, “How long do you have the ice for?” Quatre asked, standing to hand Trowa his coat from the back of the chair. Trowa thought for a moment, “We have to be off the ice by nine since there’s another class scheduled then.” Quatre took a look at the clock. It was a well past six by then. “I’ll wait for you.” Trowa face broke out into a wide grin, “I’ll be on the ice. Come on into the rink whenever you want.” “Move Boyshka!” Dimitri urged again. The little bell atop the shop’s door rang merrily as he opened it to hurry his young charge, tugging at his skater until he walked outside. “At least you have good taste, Boyska. He’s a looker alright,” Dimitri commented, moving them towards the rink a few blocks away. The ensuing cacophony from inside the store assured Trowa that every last one of them had heard. “I just met him!” Trowa threw back... but by then they were well out of earshot. Instead of cutting straight across the street, though, Trowa noticed Dimitri leading them forward, taking the long way to the rink. The large Russian skater didn’t say anything until they made it to the street light which would take them to the correct side of the street, “I should be telling you to focus only on Skating. Tell Petra that’s what I told you, dah?” Trowa lifted a brow in question, but nodded slowly. After all their years together Trowa had learned to follow along. Dimitri decided then, though, that he didn’t want to cross the street after all and started walking further from the rink, “Trowa… You know I think of you as my own son. We spend more time with each other then with anyone else on the planet, so it’s important to me that you’re doing the right things. The right thing for your career is to stay away from anything that distracts you from skating, especially adorable little blonde boyshkas.” And that meant Quatre. Trowa began to worry Dimitri was going to tell him that he couldn’t see him again… “But...the right thing for you isn’t always the same as what’s right for your career.” Dimitri continued, “Cathy, we always had to reign in. That girl needs her feet nailed to the floor. You, though, you’re not like her.” “Petra doesn’t agree with me, but I don’t care.” Dimitri said gruffly (a statement sure to earn him a shoe to the head if his wife had overheard him), “I know you better than she does. You don’t need more discipline. The ice is in your blood. You need to go out and be a normal teenager for a bit. Experience the world outside the rink. With Cathy hurt, this might be your opportunity. I’ll talk to Petra about getting your Thursday and Sunday night practices cancelled until Cathy’s back.” Dimitri finally crossed, putting the two of them on the right side of the street, although they were still blocks past their original destination. “Just don’t tell Petra I said that. She just whines and complains and whines now. ‘Oh Dimitri my feet hurt’, ‘Oh Dimitri, by back is aching’, ‘Oh Dimitri, you try and cook supper when you’re six months pregnant’. Bleck. I don’t think I’ll make it at this rate.” Dimitri changed subjects easily. Trowa couldn’t help but laugh at his coach’s plight. His coach and Petra had been married going on fifteen years, and although Petra was hitting forty, she was finally pregnant with their first child. It was fate, actually, because Trowa would have been practicing with her instead of Cathy had she not been expressly forbidden from any strenuous activity during her pregnancy including lifts, jumps, and any fast-moving step sequences. Trowa and Dimitri both suspected that she had been forbidden to skate all together, but figured she was just stubbornly refusing to admit it. It left Trowa with hours and hours of individual practice, which was great at first so he could concentrate on his footwork, but quickly became useless when he had no one to time it with or work on more complicated lifts. His independent sessions (previously spent working with Cathy on synchronizing their movements) were spent doing nothing more than busy work and on-the-spot choreography just to give himself a challenge. They made it into the rink in silence after that. Dimitri
left Trowa to get geared up while he put the ice cream in the freezer.
Trowa was soon out on the familiar ice, doing circuits around the
perimeter, stretching and bending his upper body as he went along
to warm himself up. Trowa started thinking about Quatre, and he couldn’t
wipe the smile off his face, throwing his energy into the warm ups
and twisting and turning with giddy delight.
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