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"Music "Written By: Dentelle_noir Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing AC or the
characters. GW belongs to Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. This
is a work of fiction and written for fun, not profit Rating: PG 13 Warnings: AU, Pairings: 3x4 Summary: Trowa uses Quatre’s one weak point
to try to get back into his good graces. "Music " The strategist, the master manipulator of the group, how was it that he hadn’t noticed his own weakest spot? Trowa had been with Quatre since the beginning of the war, and he had first just chalked it up to coincidence. After the war when they were able to spend time together, Trowa began to notice it, and had found it adorably enduring. Quatre thought he had built up his mental defenses enough to ward off empathic intrusions, but it had one fatal flaw. The moment music played, Quatre was as malleable and moldable as putty. A silly, upbeat song would put the little blonde into a hyperactive spree of chaos; a sad song brought him to tears; a techno beat made Quatre stand up and dance, even if it was three in the morning and he had to pull himself out of bed to do it. Trowa began to play with this newfound knowledge. When Quatre trudged home after an all-nighter at the office, Trowa sat him down for a shoulder rub and began to hum: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” and watched as Quatre’s pinched expression relaxed to a blissful smile. When they had to go out to some function, and Trowa saw him lagging, he mentioned a few lyrics from some upbeat song, and watched with glee as Quatre began to rev back up to his usual energetic self. Even though they had been together since the war, things were not always perfect. Sometimes it was so far from it that the tabloids didn’t even publish their lives because no one would believe it. But he had fucked up bad this time. Quatre told him to get out with a face collected and sure despite the fact that he was breaking inside. Quatre had real strength; the strength to do what needed to be done to get what he needed. Trowa couldn’t give it to him then, but by God he was going to try his damndest to do it this time. He had evaluated himself, as he lay alone and miserable on his sister’s couch for a few weeks, and he realized just how pathetic and petty he had been. He deserved to be kicked out. Hell, Quatre was stronger than he was by being able to do it. But Trowa pulled himself off that couch, and he grew up. And that was how he found himself there, so desperate for one more chance that he had stooped so low as to secretly let himself into the apartment they shared and drop a tracking dot into Quatre’s favorite jacket. He followed him to this little club where he knew Quatre was trying not to be miserable and have fun with Duo while Heero glowered. And right now Trowa had a microphone in front of him and a spotlight on him so bright that all he could see was patches of white. He wet his lips and started with the first thing he could think of to tell Quatre what he just couldn’t spit out then, what his lips didn’t let pass after so long of demonstrating, “I don’t mind spending everyday, out on the corner in the pouring rain. Look for the boy with the broken smile, ask him if wants to stay a while? And he will be loved, and he will be loved....” Trowa let his lips move, eyes closed against the light and against the fear, and hoped to hell Quatre would get the message. He fucked up; he fucked up again and again by just letting the issue fade, letting the day-to-day lull him into a sense of security. Quatre was well and truly gone, and he had let him drift away. He did love him. Even if he couldn’t seem to say those three little words, he had always loved him; he would do anything for him... Trowa felt himself silence, out of words to spill from memory, and he opened his eyes. The lights moved off him, and between spots, Trowa saw the booth in the back: Duo, Heero... Quatre had left. He had meant forever when he told Trowa that he couldn’t do it anymore. His last ditch effort had failed. Not even music could tame the savage beast Trowa had created in Quatre. With a quick breath to keep his emotions in, Trowa turned mechanically to exit the stage. Trowa took one step down and found a distraught blonde blocking the next singer from letting out her inner diva, tears cascading down his pink cheeks as he sat in a whimpering pinwheel on the floor, clutching his space heart against the torrent of emotions pouring over him. He saw his last chance and took it. “Quatre...I love you. I always have. I’m so sorry,” Trowa blurted, all the defensive walls he had built around himself crumbling at the sight of his lover weeping for him. Trowa dropped to his knees, bringing himself to Quatre’s position and wrapping his arms around the little blonde. “I love you, Cat. I can’t live without you.” Trowa sobbed, pressing his lips to Quatre’s forehead desperate to show him how he felt. “I know, Trowa. I felt you.” Quatre whispered into his shoulder. The next in line began to sing, having gone around the other side of the stage to do her number, but neither of them cared. They helped each to get up and move forward, as they always had, and stepped back out onto the dance floor together, swaying to the tune that only they seemed to hear. Only music can tame the savage beast.
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