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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 6 The Saturday morning sun blinded him with light and forced him into wakefulness. Thankfully it was 5:25 when he awoke to shy away from the annoying brightness. His alarm had been going for nearly twenty minutes, but he had fallen asleep leaning against the damn door, feet away from the alarm, and still had the earphones stuck in to filter out the annoying beeping. Trowa moved, feeling pulls and cracks as he unknotted himself from his position one limb at a time. He slid the earphones off and hit the alarm to silence it. He could barely move to pull himself to the shower, but somehow he made it under the hot spray and sat himself down in the bathtub, letting the shower spray wash over his seated form like a waterfall as he stretched his legs out carefully. It would be better to show up late then to show up cramped. Slowly he moved through some elementary stretches under the soothing hot water until his legs were cooperating and his back and shoulders began to loosen. He managed to get to practice on time and was out on the ice doing circles before Petra even emerged from her office to send him an annoyed look, the phone cradled in her crossed arms again. But she didn’t say anything this time. Not a peep, and he couldn’t have wished for more. Dimitri brought down three cups of coffee to the rink that day, leaving a deep green mug on the boards for his student before he tossed the crash pads onto the ice and demanded axels again and again, all day long. Sitting astride the leg press machine in the weight room upstairs from the rink, already covered in sweat from the beginning of his workout, Trowa took the initiative to fish in his ever-present duffle to pull out his cell and speed dial Quatre’s number. The blonde picked up after a few rings with an embarrassed “Hey.” “Nice ring tone, Quatre.” Trowa heard a sneering voice (which sounded suspiciously like Jason), snickering from the background. “What?” Trowa asked, trying to get Quatre’s attention away from that weasel. Quatre huffed and yelled “I’m going to kill you guys!” behind him. “Sorry, yeah, hi. One of my so-called ‘friends’ got a hold of my cell and screwed with my ring tones.” In the background someone declared responsibility by bursting out into uncontrollable laughter. “I could call back if it’s a bad time...” Trowa tried to bow out gracefully, but Quatre wouldn’t hear of it. There was movement and sounds of protest muffled (by Quatre’s shoulder, Trowa assumed), and then he heard Quatre shout again with more authority this time, “I’ll meet you at the Hot Topic!” There was the sound of a door opening, and suddenly the loud peripherals quieted and Quatre gave the phone all his attention with a smile in his voice, “Now that I dropped those morons. Hi! On break?” Trowa reclined against the cool back of weight-bench seat, “Sorta. Taking an un-official Quatre-Break.” He charmed. “Oh, I’m a break now? What’s gonna happen if you’re caught?” Quatre played along. Trowa chuckled, “If you start hearing machinery shifting and me starting to grunt, you know a coach walked in and I’m doing my leg presses.” He joked, then turned serious, “I didn’t realize you’d be out. I can call back.” Quatre laughed, and Trowa could almost visualize the blonde waving his hand dismissively, “I said it was no problem. Those guys will be in the Hot Topic for hours. It’s like a candy store of fashion. I really don’t need anymore crap I only wear around them. I don’t even like most of that stuff. How was practice? Land any more triples?” Trowa groaned, “I’ve landed on my ass for hours after hours, but I seem to be getting a bit better. I’m hurting all over, but what else is new? I slept funny last night, too, which doesn’t help.” That gave him an idea as he remembered last night. “Cathy rented a whole stack of movies. I don’t even know what’s all there. I thought you might want to come over and watch some? I have practice until Nine....No, I’ll talk to Dimitri into letting me off early tonight, if you’d be interested in coming over?” Quatre’s voice sounded charmed, “Yeah, I’d love to. I don’t have any other plans, so, just give me a call when you can get out and I’ll be ready. Want me to bring snacks or something?” “Of course not,” Trowa said with a grin, incredibly happy that Quatre seemed excited to take up his offer, “I’ll give you a call when I can get out and then I’ll pick you up?” “Who’s he talking to up there?” Petra’s voice filtered up to the weight room, followed by the heavy sounds of Dimitri ascending the stairs. “Dim’s coming. I’ll call you!” Trowa said in a hushed whisper. “Go! Bye!” Quatre called back and hung right up, giving Trowa time to close the phone and raise the calf press before Dim peeked his head through the door with a furrowed brow. Trowa smiled, palming the phone sneakily (even though he suspected Dimitri knew exactly what he was doing from the smirk on the older man’s face). “Can I get off practice early tonight if I do well? I’ve got bruises on my bruises.” Trowa said with his best imploring look. Dimitri smirked wryly and began to bargain, “If you can land two triples clean, I’ll let you go at eight.” Trowa smiled brightly, energy and adrenaline pumping already. Quatre’s phone rang at 8:02. Disbelieving, Quatre stared at the offending cell phone (and reminded himself to CHANGE that RING TONE), and then picked it up. “Did you kill anyone?” He answered. Trowa was in too bright of spirits to do anything but bark with laughter, “Nope. I landed my triples. I landed almost two dozen. I landed FIVE completely clean!” he raved, unable to keep his excitement down, “Man! My rival’d be shaking in his SKATES!” Quatre pulled himself off the couch and ran up to his room, cell phone still in hand, as he quickly made sure he had everything and looked great. “Trowa, that’s WONDERFUL!” He gushed (while quickly putting a drop of concealer on a stubbornly developing pimple). Quatre could hear the sounds of Trowa’s Jeep in the background, so he knew he was on his way. Quatre ran back downstairs and threw his shoes on, hopping one footed as he congratulated. With the last lace tied, Quatre looked up and out the front window to see Trowa’s Jeep pulling in. He didn’t even need to tell him, and Quatre was out the door. Trowa reached to his hands-free to disconnect when he saw Quatre wave and snap his own phone closed. Quatre was in the passenger seat and they were barreling down the streets to Trowa’s house in the blink of an eye. Once Trowa unlocked the door to the modest two story, he frowned when he was greeted by darkness. “Cathy?” He called into the house, but nothing answered but the hesitant steps of Quatre following him closely. Trowa flicked on the lights, illuminating the living room. There was no note, but the dozen or so movies were still sitting in the coffee table. Quatre found his way to the couch and sat daintily on the edge, followed by Trowa who gave up search for his sister. Trowa brought the handfuls of rentals over, “We have…Lots.” Trowa began to scan titles…he didn’t recognize any of them, but Quatre was chuckling openly. Holding up one, Trowa squinted, “Is this called ‘Scary Movie’ or did they misprint the description?” Quatre giggled and pitched his voice to a squealing falsetto, “I see dead people.” Trowa lifted a brow in confusion. “That’s from the '6th sense'…” Quatre ventured, “They spoofed it in 'Scary Movie'.” “I think this is why Cathy was so mad. She said that she kept missing jokes. We never really watched movies, and we were always so busy…” Quatre smiled, “YouTube was very helpful for me. My friends used to laugh because I didn’t know the taco bell dog. ‘Yo Quero Taco Bell?”. But, I have seen the Geico commercials now, since I’ve moved.” Quatre began to explain it, smiling and laughing at the re-telling until he coaxed a smile out of the taller boy. Trowa began to feel glad that he’d never seen it, because he didn’t think hearing it himself would be any better then having Quatre tell him. Trowa let Quatre pick something that wasn’t tacky or stupid (which excluded about ¾ of the stack) and they ended up with a good old fashioned explosion-full, gun fighting, car chase movie. Before the opening credits even ended. Trowa was curling his legs up onto the couch and trying to discreetly give them a stretch. He’d been pushing himself hard all day, and after the horrible sleep the night before they were protesting with cramps and pain. Quatre caught on quickly though, and turned to Trowa, “Legs bugging you?” Trowa blushed sheepishly, “I slept funny on then and they’ve been cramping all day,” he admitted. Quatre smiled almost a little too brightly, “C’mere.” He said, tapping Trowa’s foot invitingly and turned so that Quatre’s lap faced him. Unwinding his legs, Trowa let Quatre guide them to lay across his lower thighs straight out. It was damn comfortable, actually, and then Quatre brought his hand down to rest over his ankles. Trowa couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through his chest at the absent attention Quatre was lavishing on him. The blonde’s attention was focused on the movie, but he was gently petting Trowa’s socked feet and ankles. Something exploded and a car lost a race, but Trowa was concentrating on Quatre instead of the movie. He could feel the blonde leaning into him, even across the distance of the middle cushion. But he wasn’t sure if he should say anything and scare the blonde off. Hell, they had only met two days ago, but every minute he had free, Trowa was desperate to spend with Quatre. He wanted to be more, but Trowa knew that if the time came, he would still be desperate to keep Quatre as a friend. They fit too well together not to. Quatre seemed to be the only one (aside from Dimitri) that understood his drive and passion. Even Cathy hadn’t understood—It was always about the win for her. Trowa just wanted to skate. And Quatre understood it. He had the drive and passion, and Trowa just could not get enough of him! Quatre shifted, moving just a little bit closer while still remaining reclined against the opposite couch arm. That was it; Trowa reached for Cathy’s pile of blankets stashed under the coffee table and pulled out a pillow and the afghan. Pushing off his spot to press himself flush against the arm, Trowa flattened his legs against the back of the couch and propped the pillow up at his stomach.—making the perfect spot for another reclining person. Quatre obviously approved because he smiled brightly and turned to take up the offered space eagerly, reclining his back against the pillow and his head against Trowa’s shoulder as he stretched out. Trowa draped the afghan over the two of them and let his hand come to rest half against his own hip and half against Quatre. Far from objecting, a pleased blush dusted Quatre’s cheeks and a hesitant, thin-fingered hand came to touch Trowa’s fingers. They wound their fingers together hesitently, resting their combined hands on Quatre’s hip with a smile. Together they turned their attention back to the movie and settled in for a comfortable evening. A shrill buzzing woke Quatre with a start, jostling Trowa enough to make him conscious. Quatre grabbed for his pocket with a look of shock and slapped the cell to his ear, “Iria? I’m so sorry! I fell asleep!” Shaking away the sleepiness from his eyes, Quatre sat up and turned to look at Trowa’s VCR clock. The movie was stuck looping through the menu sequence and the clock above blinked a few minutes after three am! Trowa was desperately fighting to keep his eyes open, sensing the imperative in Quatre’s body language, but days of exhaustion were wrenching him back into dream-land. “Alight, I’m on my way right now, Iria!” Quatre agreed finally. Trowa could hear the frantic note in the woman’s voice as she demanded Quatre never go out again. Trowa pushed his legs to the floor, gritting his teeth as they refused to co-operate without sufficient force, “I’ll get you home,” he said, his voice sounding harsh and gritty to his own ears. “You have practice in three hours, Trowa!” Quatre countered, holding the cell to his shoulder. Trowa, bleary and exhausted, answered slowly, “No I don’t. Dimitri’s catholic.” Quatre lifted a brow in confusion, “So is half the city?” “Very catholic.” Trowa countered, “They go to 9am mass and then out for breakfast. I don’t have practice until noon. Sunday’s sleep in and homework day.” Trowa pulled himself gingerly off the couch, joints snapping and protesting every move. He did not want to be awake. Trowa was already sliding his coat on and grabbing his duffle, digging inside it for his keys while he walked to the door, motioning for Quatre to get his pretty little butt into his car. Quatre opened the door to his sister’s house to find her sitting right on the recliner, pointed straight to the door. He walked in confidently and walked right over to her, giving her a hug, “I am so sorry that you were worried, Iria. I fell asleep.” He apologized. Trowa was closing the door and going back home, but Quatre pinned him in place with a laser-stare, “You’re staying here.” Quatre demanded. At Trowa’s surprised and slightly affronted look, Quatre explained himself, “Would you let Iria drive you home?” “I need my Jeep for practice tomorrow,” Trowa responded automatically. “Would you let her drive you and your jeep to your place then taxi home?” Quatre proposed (smiling as Trowa reacted exactly as planned with a deadpan “No Way” in Hell! Tacked on wordlessly at the end). “Then you’re staying here. You’re exhausted, Trowa. I’m surprised you stayed awake enough to get me home, and I was talking and talking to keep you awake the whole time. I’m not letting you drive home like that.” He said sternly. Iria piped up, “Can I talk to you, Baby Brother?” She ground out, “In The Other Room.” Quatre pointed Trowa to the couch to wait while he followed her into the kitchen, where she was leaning on one side of the island, surveying her brother from a power position while he took a seat demurely. “I was worried when you weren’t here, Quatre. We need to have Rules--” Quatre sighed, “I know Iria, and I’m very thankful that you took me in. The last thing I want to do is create problems. It was a complete accident and will not happen again.” He massaged his temples gently, the tell-tale sign of stress, “Will you let Trowa stay?” “We can make a guest room,” Iria said stern and short. Quatre smiled with relief, “Thank God. It would be... awkward, if he had to stay with me. We’re good friends, I mean, he’s the best friend I’ve ever had, but we are...more. And it would be weird.” The knot of worry Iria had disintegrated with a look at the anxiety, but slight longing, on her bother’s face. She hated herself immediately for even worrying about what her little brother could have been doing ‘sleeping’ over at the Skater’s place. “He can stay. No Problem.” Iria said, smiling brightly and abandoning her ‘guardian’ mode to come over to Quatre’s side of the table and give her bro a playful tug off the chair so he could formally introduce her to the boy in her living room. Trowa, though, was out cold. He had managed to fall asleep sitting up on the small, hard, and too-flat couch. Iria was gifted it from their father when she moved in because of its fancyness. She had made the mistake of napping on it once, and had paid for it for a good week. Quatre went over and sat down... Nothing. “Trowa? Hey, C’mon lets get you upstairs,” he said and gave the skater a good tug. Trowa rocked gently with the movement, but didn’t so much as stir. He was out. “Wake up, Kid. You’re gonna regret sleeping there.” Iria tried, going so far as to flick his nose. Not a twitch. “We gotta get him upstairs...” Quatre huffed, “You think you can lift him? I sure
as hell can’t, and he’s NOT waking up. I knew he was too
exhausted to drive.” He tried to wake him for a few more minutes,
but gave up the goat when Iria descended the stairs with bedding in
her hands. The most Quatre could do was prop a squishy pillow under
Trowa’s neck and slide his shoes off his feet. He tucked him
in, dropping a kiss to his forehead and thanking him for getting him
home, and then ascended the stairs to his own room. He still had class
at nine, even if Trowa didn’t.
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