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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 Four Trowa was out of the lot and into the street. 9pm on a weekday wasn’t very lively in that town, so they had the road mostly to themselves. They had lapsed into a companionable quiet back at the rink, but as the ride continued on, that quiet was quickly turning into an awkward silence which Trowa was not very good at breaking. He moved for the radio, but Quatre cut him off by pulling out Trowa’s MP3 player and handing it back to him. “I’d hate for you to forget this,” Quatre said, “It’s very personal.” Trowa lifted a brow. Quatre laughed, moving close enough in the confined space of the car to brush against Trowa’s arm; “Trowa!” Quatre teased, “Don’t tell me you’ve never realized how much your MP3 player tells me about you! Your whole life is on that! I can see your soul!” Trowa scoffed, “My soul?” Quatre laughed outright, with that merry tinkling laughter that made Trowa’s insides warm and melted away the slight awkwardness, “I can tell everything about you from the songs you listen to!” Trowa was still skeptical, and Quatre took the challenge with a grin, “I can tell that you, Mr Trowa Barton, are totally hardcore. I mean, Pearl Jam, AC/DC, and Rammstein..... I mean, I hardly noticed the Hilary Duff in there.” Trowa felt his face burn for a moment, completely busted. Quatre smiled, lifting a brow in challenge, “I’m waiting for your excuse. It’s your sister’s? It was on there when you bought it? It’s for a class? C’mon!” Trowa stopped at a red light and turned to Quatre, all seriousness on his face, and began, “There might never be a sign. No flashing neon light, telling you to make your move, or when the time is right. So, why not!!” Trowa sang, grinning, “Take a crazy chance? Why not... Do a crazy dance? If you lose a moment, you might lose a lot, so why not!” “You keep waiting where you are, for what you'll never know, but let’s just get into your car and Go, Baby Go! WHY NOT!” “Why not!” Quatre’s voice chimed in, grinning brightly as he added his voice to the chorus and then took the bridge, “Ohoh! I could be the one for you! Oh, yeah! Maybe yes, maybe no! Ooh!” Trowa began tapping the wheel, totally losing all pretence of cool as he crooned along, “If you lose a moment, you may lose a lot.” Trowa sang, his deep bass hilarious as he failed at singing soprano! But neither of them seemed to care as they screamed their lungs out and danced along to their own tune, the jeep cruising along, Trowa having too much fun to do anything else but enjoy Quatre’s company, all the way to the blonde’s driveway, singing, moving, and bumping against each other merrily as they continued on like fools. Trowa was out the driver’s door, planning to open Quatre’s door for him, but was met half way by the already-out blonde, smiling mischievously. Just that smile was twisting Trowa’s insides around in knots. Suddenly Trowa realized where they were-- Quatre was leaving. He wouldn’t get to see him or talk to him until gym the next day. The sheer dread in that thought scared him. The blonde saw his distress and turned, shooting him an enquiring look, “Do you want to walk me to my door?” Quatre asked, his gentle smile coaxing Trowa to accompany him as far as he could. Quatre fished for his keys and found them far too soon. He stood there for a moment, his eyes darting to catch Trowa’s and then turning back to his keys. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” Quatre said, shifting his weight and playing with his keys gently, wondering if Trowa was going to be bold enough to give him a goodnight kiss. Trowa’s hand flew out and latched onto Quatre’s arm, his mouth attempting to articulate, but nothing was coming out. But that hand said it all: “Don’t go.” Quatre smiled, leaning up to bring himself into Trowa’s space and mirroring their position back at the rink. This time, though, there was no hesitation. Trowa leaned in the few inches and pressed their lips together in a soft, affectionate kiss that warmed Trowa all the way down to his curling toes. Trowa broke the kiss first, but stayed standing in Quatre’s space, with his arm still wrapped around Quatre to keep him close, “I want to know you more, Quat. I can’t seem to get enough of you.” Trowa finally articulated. Blinking slowly, Quatre shot Trowa a mischievous smile, dropped his packsack to the cement, and bent to dig into the front pocket. From inside the house, footsteps sounded, nearing the door, “Quatre? Is that you out there?” a woman’s voice called curiously. Quatre looked to the door and then to the lack of space between him and Trowa. Shooting the tall skater a comically put-out look, Quatre took a full step away from Trowa. Iria opened the door, looking to the unexpected tall and handsome stranger on her porch with a mix of surprise and wariness. Quatre saved the moment, though, when he laughed gently to catch his sister’s attention and took a step over the threshold, half in and half out of his sister’s house. He waited for her to walk away. She grinned saucily and found a good spot to watch instead. Quatre leant back out the door, grabbing Trowa’s hand and dropping something into it. “There’s no better way to get to know me,” Quatre said cryptically and walked fully into the doorway behind him, closing it behind him with a wink. Trowa opened his palm to see a little deep purple MP3 player in his hand. And the song cued was “Why Not”. Cathy fell back into the kiss, while Jeff hardly left her time to breathe as he plundered her mouth, trying to shove her blouse open with the other hand. The sound of the Jeep didn’t register in her lust-fogged mind until her brother burst into the house. He wasn’t even out of his shoes before he ran over to the couch where his sister was, who was now sitting bolt upright and watching her brother in gaping bewilderment. He swung, grabbing the wall and moving from the foyer to couch with a wild turn, “You’ll never get to heaven, or even to LA, if you don’t believe there’s a ~Way!” Trowa sung, his voice hitting high as he moved into the chorus, grabbing Cathy’s hand and dipping to swing dance with her, twirling under her arm with excitement. He dropped her hand in a moment and ran upstairs. Music suddenly blared from upstairs, filling the whole house with Quatre’s songs after Trowa plugged the MP3 player into his stereo. “What the HELL, TROWA!” Cathy bellowed, finally moving out of shock. Trowa had slipped on a sweater and hooked his stereo onto an extension cord, silencing the house for a moment. Taking the banister instead of the stairs, he slid down to the kitchen and plugged the stereo in again. Hooking the stereo up in the kitchen window to flood their backyard with the music, he began to look for his skates. With the music no longer blaring straight into his brain, he noticed for the first time that his sister wasn’t just ‘not alone’ but that she was not alone with Jeff Marson, “a hockey player with a pretty face but the IQ of a gnat” as Cathy herself used to say. Trowa, on the other hand, was too happy to care about her hypocrisies right then. The music replayed. “A turn, and an axel there in to a step sequence. What do you think?” Trowa said, moving absurdly on the carpet (the moves looking ridiculous in one spot, but Trowa and Cathy could visualize what he was talking about easily enough). “I think you need a fucking girlfriend.” Jeff spat out with a sneer. Trowa suddenly changed his whole demeanor, staring straight at Jeff, “Oh? Are you applying? Sorry, Jeffy-boy. You’re a touch too late to fill the position. And you’re way too butch for me, anyway. Sorry to break your heart.” Trowa snipped back, still riding his Quatre-induced high. He grabbed the duffle containing his skates and was gone. He quickly put his skates on, laced them up, and raced to the outdoor rink in their backyard. He was just too excited, too exuberant and too damn addicted to Quatre to slow down. There was only one way for Trowa to get it out and that was rocking out on the ice. Neighbors screamed, snow fell, and Cathy turned off the outdoor lights but it didn’t matter. Trowa kept skating and skating until nothing but the stars were watching him. All he could think about was his gentle smile and sweet kiss. Getting up for 6 am practice was hell, but Trowa was well used to little sleep. He hadn’t even bothered going up to his bed to crash the night before: he simply shucked his skates off, walked straight to the couch, fell face first into the pillows, and passed out. He stuffed a fresh set of clothes for school into his bag, pulled on a sweater and skate-pants, and took to the jeep with his duffle, too sleepy to really notice how huge the car felt without anyone in the passenger seat. However, when he got to the ice rink, using his key to come in through the side door, he was met by a very pissed off Petra holding her cell phone. Dimitri, never an early riser by nature, was slowly shuffling around the upstairs manager’s office with a coffee in hand. He didn’t look like he’d be of any help this time, if he had any idea what was going on, anyway. Trowa knew, though, the moment he saw that phone. Cathy had ratted him out. “Trowa Barton!” Petra started, her voice hard and pissed, “What were you thinking staying up until God knows how long out on that horrible homemade backyard rink of yours last night! What’s going on with you! You can’t possibly hope to train well with so little sleep. You’re going to injure yourself and then where will you be!” Trowa was going to explain that he was just too excited to settle down, but one look at Petra’s eyes told him not to bother. There was no grey area for her. He passed her by and pulled his skates out, suddenly feeling rebellious against her heavy-handed control. He wasn’t some child who had to be put in a time out, for God’s sakes. Skating was his life. He could handle it. “Trowa! How dare you walk away from me when I’m talking to you!” Petra growled, her face flaming in indignation. Trowa leveled a look at her. “Petra, I am a professional. You don’t need to tell me that today will be hard. I just wanted to skate, so I did.” Trowa said, suddenly picturing his sister in her place. They were the same. They were as close to him as a person could be, but they did not get him at all. They tried to help and tried to do what was best, but they did not know him. Trowa tied the knot fiercely, reigning in his bubbling temper, and took to the ice, taking out his MP3 player and finding his “hard” playlist. Dimitri had emerged from the office, two hot cups of coffee in hand. Petra rounded on him, eyes wide, “Can you believe he just talked to me like that! He’s never talked to me like that!” She hissed. Dimitri furrowed his brow and turned his eye to Trowa, watching him stretch and pull. He put his arm around his pregnant wife and began to massage the tense out of her. “Petra,” He said with a soothing hum, “I don’t think you’ve ever talked to Trowa like that before, either. Cathy, yes, but not Trowa. He’s a good boy, and he’s completely serious about his skating. If Trowa broke his leg, you can bet that he’d be here anyway with a rigged blade on the bottom of that cast. He’s grown up.” Petra furrowed her brows, “How grown up is it to stay up all hours of the night skating?” Dimitri chuckled, “I believe we have been known to do that when something interesting was happening,” Dimitri chuckled, giving his wife a suggestive rub with his hips. She rolled her eyes, but didn’t comment. “Well, he’s your skater. You deal with him, then.” Petra grumbled finally, taking the offered cup of coffee and sipping lightly on it (she wasn’t supposed to have coffee at all, but she suckered her husband into letting her have one small cup in the morning). She moodily dropped a kiss on her husband’s large, worn hands, and stepped out of his grasp. She scowled lightly and pointed for him to go and deal with Trowa while she went back up to the office, stepping down finally and letting him deal with it. “Boyshka!” Dimitri hollered, catching his attention over the hard driving beat of the music blaring through his headphones. Trowa took one out of his ear and looked over at his coach, a light scowl on his own face after being scolded so childishly (and completely unaware of how childish it made him look). Dimitri couldn’t help but smile, “So. You kissed him yesterday?” He guessed right away. Trowa slowed his movements and slid the other headphone out of his ear, letting a goofy grin light up his face. Dimitri bursted out into deep bubbling laughter, watching his charge go all doe eyed. Trowa changed the music track and slid in the PA jack, letting the pop melody fill the rink as he moved through his stretches grinning from ear to ear now that he had a captive audience to talk to about Quatre! “Dimitri, he’s just so...God! I want to be with him all the time! Everything he does just... Just makes me want to...” unable to articulate himself, Trowa instead leapt into an axel, turning once, twice, three times before landing solidly and continuing on, racing on that same high from last night. Dimitri picked his jaw up from the floor and watched as Trowa continued on without realizing that he had just landed the triple axel they had been working on for almost two months now! “He’s so sweet and kind, but he’s got a wicked sense of humor in there too! And for some reason, he seems to like being around me too! I can’t believe- Dim? What are you looking at?” Trowa snapped, catching his coach staring unbelieving at him. “If you have a problem with Quatre being a guy--“ “Boyshka,” Dimitri cut in before his charge could work himself up, “You just landed your triple axel!” While Trowa blinked stupidly, a grinning Dimitri came out onto the ice; “Do it again.” Trowa couldn’t wait for gym class to begin. If he had Quatre’s number he would’ve asked him if he needed a ride just to get a little more time with the blonde, but sadly he had Quatre’s music, but no number. He had to wait through two agonizingly long classes until he practically sprinted across campus to get to the outdoor rink. He was, of course, the first one there, so he slipped his skates on and began to do circuits to warm himself up. By the time he had counted fifteen laps, there were a handful of students on the ice and the rest were on their way, while Quatre was climbing over the boards to get onto the ice, smiling at Trowa warmly. Trowa skated over to him, unable to stay away from that smile beckoning him, and steadied Quatre by the elbow. “Well hello there,” Trowa said first, unable to keep himself from saying something. Quatre smiled brilliantly up at him and pushed off on his skates, sending the two of them gently spinning, “You missed me?” Quatre teased, his smile saying his knew fully well that Trowa hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Trowa grinned and began skating backwards to keep Quatre in sight. Trowa shrugged without commenting, trying to play it cool, but the little disappointment dimming in Quatre’s eyes undid him. “I landed my triple axel this morning because of you,” he admitted. Quatre blinked for a second then broke out into bright, vivacious laughter, “I’m glad I’m having a good effect then!” Trowa found himself smiling again, already entangled in Quatre’s charm once more. “What are you doing after school today?” Quatre asked, tangling his hand in Trowa’s and allowing the professional to drag him around the rink while he experimented with the one-footed tricks he had begun to work with the day before. He found that he was nowhere near as wobbly this time! Trowa coached him to balance against his forearm as he increased their speed, letting Quatre stretch out into the aberesque again; It seemed to be Quatre’s favourite next to spinning. Unfortunately, Quatre did not have the feet movement precise enough to spin; he kept getting caught, unused to the drag of the blade versus his own foot for a ballet spin. “I have practice, of course, until 9. But I actually have a half hour leeway to get there from the end of school. If you want, I could give you a ride home or something before I have to run?” Trowa admitted, hoping that Quatre would agree just so that he could spend that little bit of extra time with him. “I’d love a ride. This way I can talk to you a bit, anyway.” Quatre admitted. “I have stretch class today from 6 to 7, so I wouldn’t really be able to go out, anyway. How’s Saturday?” Trowa sighed, “I have practice from 6 am to noon. Then a break from noon until three, since they have public skating then, when I usually do weight training. Then I have practice from 3 to 6, a break for half an hour, and then more practice until 9.” Quatre winced sympathetically, “I remember weekends like that. This whole concept of ‘weekend’ was new to me after I broke my toes. I used to have ballet practices lined up one right after the other the whole time. Tuesdays used to be the best day to go out, because I only had three practices instead of the regular four! It sucks that I won’t get to talk to you... Wait! Do you have a cell phone?” Trowa nodded, catching on to Quatre’s idea quickly,
“I forgot to give you the number yesterday. I’ll get it
for you today, alright?” Trowa slid in before the coach came
down with the iron first.
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