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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 9 Trowa and Quatre left the rink at the same time after drills that class. The coach didn’t dare ‘freestyle’ again after Trowa and Quatre’s lift demonstration and subsequent almost-kiss in front of the whole class. They couldn’t help but smirk. On the way to the main school building, though, Trowa spotted his sister waiting at the door-- her cast making her silhouette easily recognizable before he was close enough to make out her face. Instead of waiting for her brother to come to her, she wobbled out of the doorway, sticking to the paved parking lot as she went. The closer she got, the clearer it became that she was scowling openly at him. “Hurry UP, Trowa,” she complained as soon as they were within hearing distance. “We’re going to be late.” “For lunch?” Trowa asked, confused. Cathy’s scowl could have melted iron. She flipped her hair out of her face in a dismissive sweep and kept on hobbling, but it was apparent that she was aiming for Trowa’s parked jeep, bypassing the flatter route to get to her brother. “Petra called. You have training in...” She delicately flicked her arm to make a show of checking her posh, glittering watch, “Twenty minutes.” “But he’s got classes.” Quatre jumped in then, his hackles raised from the girl’s apparent assumption of absolute control over her brother. “Ice time is hard to get,” Trowa said gently and brought his arm to rest against Quatre’s elbow comfortingly. He gave him a reassuring smile while Cathy just grinned. Trowa broke away from Quatre with a quick apology and scampered to open the passenger side door for his sister. Quatre shuffled back to the school building, alone and scowling. But no matter how Quatre felt, it didn’t matter, because it wouldn’t change the fact that Trowa would run whenever Cathy called. Trowa hadn’t even questioned why his coach never called HIM about the open time. Trowa would drop everything and anyone else because of one word from the red-head. It took all of two seconds for Cathy to disconnect Quatre’s MP3 from Trowa’s car stereo and slide in her Bach CD-- Trowa remembered skating to at least the first 3 songs in one exhibition or another. She also adjusted the passenger seat with an un-lady-like curse so her cast-bound leg would fit. Then she managed to toss everything even remotely Quatre-related into the backseat (although why Trowa’s pair of slip-on shoes were so offensive because Quatre had drawn on a little stick-figure skater, he wasn’t sure). Trowa reached over to rescue his shoes, his hand resting on his sisters for a moment, “Cathy, you know you’re more important to-“ “Don’t touch me.” Cathy said, pulling her had out of her brother’s grip as if burned and flicking her eyes around to make sure no one saw, “That’s creepy. I’m starting to believe some of the stuff they say about you, Trowa. Just drive.” Trowa’s heart dropped into his stomach. Without another word, he put the jeep into drive and pulled out of the lot. After a few minutes of Bach-themed purges of his car which Trowa didn’t DARE interrupt, they thankfully arrived at the rink and Trowa hightailed into the change rooms as soon as he was sure Cathy was fine to get to the stands. Booted-up and donning his dance pants and a sleek, black, long-sleeved bodysuit, Trowa emerged into the rink to find not only Cathy and Petra in the stands, but a dozen or so vaguely recognizable parents and coaches. Warning bells began to go off in his head, which quickly turned to alarms when he saw that the ice was FAR from “free”. There was a collection of about a dozen girls decked out in perfect figure skating attire and warming up. And Dimitri, HIS coach, was out there with the girls getting them used to the feel of a lift. A lift? It was fucking tryouts. After two and a half hours, Trowa finally got a few minutes break. He had skated with every one of the girls, letting them choose the music and show off what they could in their style before he tried to work with them. He thought he had been finally done and then was informed that the next group would be there at three. Trowa had bolted to the lounge office upstairs and kicked the couch with an angry growl. He uknew/u he needed a training partner if he wanted to stay competitive but having it sprung on him like this was nothing short of backstabbing betrayal. Dimitri said Cathy was supposed to have told him days ago, yet she didn’t. And she didn’t feel the least remorse for ‘forgetting’. Why should HE need to know what was planned out for him, really? He was so angry he figured he should slide in one of Quatre’s soft songs, but Cathy had made sure the blonde’s MP3 was buried in Trowa’s backseat. Slowly but surely resentment was starting to show itself in regards to his only family member. With no music, and his ice being swarmed by wannabe pair skaters who had to be taught a lift before they could try doing it with him, Trowa turned to his last option and dug out his cell phone with the intent to call up Quatre just for a minute. The message light blinked, and Trowa found a smile already tugging at his face. He relaxed into the couch so he could read the message Quatre had already sent him: “School just got out. We’re headed out for Pizza, so if you’re done practice come join us. If not, Good Luck! Work Hard! ~Q” It was a nice respite from the skating politics going on downstairs. There was nothing but catty hair-pulling and backstabbing down there. To skate with Trowa meant more ice time, and an almost automatic pass to recognition for the group of unknowns down there. It was crazy, and he was caught up right smack in the middle of it all. Trowa just wanted to see Quatre, but knowing he couldn’t leave practice, he texted back: “I wish. Have a slice for me. ~T” He considered telling Quat what he really felt-- which was missing the blonde and just wanting to hang with him, having fun on the ice, instead of skating to these other girls’ music. He considered sending him another message with “I miss you” but the choice was taken from him when Dimitri knocked at the door and signaled it was time to get back down there. The next group had arrived. This time, the girls were recognizable students of Petra’s. Each of these girls came with at least one Gold in their skating careers and he, at least, wouldn’t get fallen on again. “Fancy seeing you here,” A smiling, familiar voice said from the bleachers. She was decked out in her practice body suit, white skates shining and hair pulled back into a perfect bun, and a little pink practice skirt covering her white tights. It was July, smiling brightly and leaning against the boards, waiting for her audition skate. She was one friendly face in a sea of all the politics at least. Trowa took her around the rink first, leading the movements easily, chatting lightly and joking. She was so tiny that he could easily lift her without even straining. Her jumps were mediocre, and her step sequences needed work, but he couldn’t help but have a little bit of fun. After all, she did choose some Pink Panther Jazz at least to skate to. After the morning of formalist, classical monotony, something more upbeat had his attention hands down. Cathy was going to have Trowa drop her off at Jeff’s, then he could go home and finally get some SLEEP, but when Trowa emerged from the back in his slip-on runners instead of the skates, he found Cathy chatting amicably with July. He moved over to them and took a seat next to his sister. She didn’t move away from the touch of his shoulder to hers-- she must have been pleased with him. She seemed to like July; they were deep in conversation: “So the school’s just closing? Mid semester?” July, who was sitting facing Cathy with her legs crossed towards Trowa, smiling at him too, answered, “Well, it’s a private school, most of the student’s board. It’s just relocating to another city and bringing most of the students with it. It’s only us athletes that need to stay close to our coaches and divisions who are getting shafted. The fine art athletes, us skaters and the dancers especially, are all staying-- they know Kiana’s the best dance studio this side of California, and the skating in this city, between Petra’s and Lowe’s rinks, cranks out champions. We’re gonna be invading the local high schools like locusts soon,” She joked, smiling gently. Trowa and Cathy, though, weren’t smiling. “The Lowe Skaters are coming to our school?” Trowa deadpanned. July nodded, looking between the two of them in confusion. The Lowe rink boasted a singles program that rivaled Petra’s (they, of course, wouldn’t admit that it had turned out 2 more pro singles skaters then the 9 Petra’s had produced), and their one pairs skating team was the only people who could rival Cathy and Trowa. The two were always right on their back ready with the knife. Whenever a silver was on Trowa and Cathy’s neck, a gold was around Team Lowe’s. Trowa was constantly sweating bullets to try and get one step ahead of that guy-- who always seemed ready to pull some new stunt off . When Trowa and Cathy got gold, Team Lowe was right there-- silver toting and vowing to bring it harder next time and forcing Trowa and Cathy to push harder, faster, sharper. The only team who really benefited from Cathy’s accident was Team Lowe-- they were the next in line, and unstoppable to any other competitor even trying to make division. But like a god damned cosmic joke, even when Trowa and Cathy were at their lowest, Team Lowe would be there to yuk it up and take the gold unrivaled. The bastard would be taking classes with him, eating in the same cafeteria as him, smirking that superior ‘I landed the double FIRST’ look he usually wore. Heero Fucking Yuy and Relena The-queen-bitchess Peacecraft were going to be attending their school. Cathy offered Trowa’s services as chauffer to July while he was stewing, and he was forced to drive her to stretch class while Cathy begged out cheerfully when Jeff showed his stupid ass up. Trowa was just plain sullen after learning Heero friggan Yuy was going to be showing him up in CLASS too that he was being dreadful company. He told July to turn on the radio. Cathy’s classical CD began to play, and July hummed along, smiling gently. Trowa felt his respect for her drop just a touch, but before judging he decided to say “You CAN change the CD if you want. There’s an MP3 hook-up...” July smiled happily and out from her bag she pulled a little player shaped cutely like a frog. Trowa rigged it up for her when they were at a stop light, and by the time he was back to doing 60, she had cued up.... Bach. Trowa wanted nothing more than to crash them into a pole. What happened to the Pink panther jazz? July smiled so happily, though, that Trowa didn’t dare say anything. He got her to the studio on time and had every intention of leaving... and then he remembered Quatre was going to be up there. He wanted to see him, even if it was only for a moment. And July was saying “come on up and see everyone! I’m sure the instructor will let you stay again if you want! You’re part of the Sunday class, right?” Trowa found himself chancing the rickety stairs of doom and emerging in the sardine-packed hallway. July, being a good foot shorter than anyone there, and almost two feet shorter then Trowa himself was getting damn near crushed, so Trowa found himself holding her waist and shouldering his way through the throng to make sure she made it in one piece. He walked into the classroom with July still firmly protected by his body mass, and every eye was on him. Them. Suddenly Trowa realized this was NOT a good situation to be in. He immediately put an arms length between them. “I drove you here as promised. See you.” And he began to get the hell out of there before the fur began to fly. He needed to text Quatre NOW before he got to class and the gossip mill started. But July put her hand to Trowa’s arm, tugging him back, “Can’t you help me with the Twist lift while we’re on solid ground? I’ve got another ten minutes before class, and you’re here anyway.” Her logic was flawless. And to be honest, he got the impression that Cathy had July earmarked as his new practice partner-- he didn’t want to be tossing her and trying to catch her for the first time while racing on the ice. “One single twist.” He agreed reluctantly. Trowa pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and faced July, “Okay. We’ll do a plain overhead lift form; Just straight up. No turns this time. But I’m going to throw you and then catch you. No turns. No movement. Up and down. Got it?” July agreed, her face gone totally serious now. He could deal with serious. He clapped his hands for her to go, and July took one good step towards him for momentum. Trowa plucked her waist and hoisted her vertically. At the height of his shoulders he gave her body a little push and let her go. She was in free fall for a split second until gravity dropped her back into Trowa’s grip, where he put her back on terra firma. Simple and clean. But she didn’t know to give herself a boost by grabbing his shoulders for push and stability. “Again. And a little higher this time,” She said, determination in her eyes. Trowa clapped and she took another kicking step, being picked up and thrown a little harder. Trowa caught her just as easily and set her back down with a little more fluidity. They were getting better each time. They took up spots and Trowa clapped again- This time Trowa threw her straight over his head. But she moved. She tilted in mid air, forcing Trowa to change his angle to catch her. He wrapped his hands tight around her waist and dropped her to the floor safely, but with a frown. “That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?” Trowa had to chuckle, “You’re used to being in motion while skating. Straight up is hard, I know.” “You’ll get better with practice, I’m sure.” Quatre’s voice said with an edge. Trowa spun to look at him, the blonde moving into the room with predatory grace and sliding his sweater -- Trowa’s sweater-- off to reveal his black body suit and clinging dance pants. He was still fucking gorgeous, and he was obviously pissed. Trowa moved over to him, reaching out and touching his shoulder. Quatre stiffened but, mercifully, didn’t pull away. “Practice was hell today” he said, “Cathy set up try-outs under my nose for a new practice partner.” He saw Quatre’s anger dim just a bit, for a moment anyway. “Those were pathetic twists.” Quatre said, shooting sideways glares at July all the while. Trowa felt his pride on the line, “I didn’t want to drop her. What else can I do with a straight up and down toss? It wasn’t even a twist lift, because I didn’t want her turning. We’re not on the ice.” “Then she should be doing some dance lifts.” Quatre said, flicking his hip gently (cockily). Trowa’s brow rose, challenging back, “You think you can do better?” Quatre moved away from the practice beam and made July move from her spot. He gave his legs a little stretch while Trowa rolled his sleeves up again. “Same as July. no twists, no jumps, and straight up and down,” he said with a smirk. Could Quatre really show her up with the same rules? Quatre waited for the clap, and then took a step, rooting his hands to Trowa’s shoulders at the same time that Trowa closed his hands around his waist. Quatre pushed off Trowa in sync with the little toss and the slim blonde went straight up. Trowa caught him a moment later-- the blonde’s hands moving to Trowa’s shoulders to guide the decent. Once Trowa’s grasp was firm against Quatre’s lower waist, the blonde leant back, leaving one hand in contact with Trowa’s shoulder as he arched fluidly and brought one foot up to brush his dangling hair. Trowa could imagine simply dragging Quatre like that: one handed sliding across the ice while the crowed’s oohs and ahhs the sheer grace. Trowa moved his hand up Quatre’s spine, guiding him to roll back upright. Quatre responded so perfectly, so elegantly that Trowa decided to do a standard overhead lift, moving him off the ground by his hips to stay free in the air-- held down by nothing but Trowa’s two hands. The blonde closed his eyes and let his head fall back, arching his spine and letting his arms fall behind him until he was laid back, his arms and spine parallel to the floor. If Trowa was able to spin, it would have been a point-worthy layback lift. Trowa brought him back down to the floor reluctantly, eyes locking with Quatre’s and showing how awed he was of the petite blonde. Quatre smiled and moved in to drop a peck to Trowa’s
mouth. He let the taller skater go, and moved towards the bar to continue
practice. The instructor was there, waiting to start class. July hurried
to take up her spot at the bar, and in that moment where she turned
a jealous scowl in Quatre’s direction, he smirked and blew her
a kiss. No one fucked with a Winner. Or the man a Winner’s eye
was on.
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