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"Do You Dream of Me?"Written By: Honor Disclaimers: If I owned Gundam Wing, do you honestly think I would be writing non-profit fanfiction? Rating: NC-17 Pairings: 3x4, past 1+4 Warnings: TWT, romance, slice o’ angst, lime, some language Spoilers: nada Archived: Gundam Wing Diaries Beta: Velvet (kudos and pocky for her, since she did it within two hours) Author’s notes: Warning! This is another idea that hit me on that road trip to Utah. I swear driving for twelve hours in a row is dangerous. Don’t do it unless you’re desperate. And if it is necessary, lock your muse in one room and Quatre in another. Padlock the doors. /thought/ *emphasized* //vidphone or com//
"Do You Dream of Me?" Chapter One: Choices How we treasure (and admire) the people who acknowledge
us! Slight concussion; a multitude of welts, bruises and cuts; broken leg; sprained wrist; slight dehydration, and the beginnings of a sore throat. In short, Quatre felt like Sandrock had done a jig on his prone body then took a nap on him to boot. All he really wanted to do was to curl up in some nice dark room and sleep this all through, after drinking a hot cup of tea to ease his sore throat. Unfortunately, that couldn’t happen. He was injured badly enough to where he had to have someone stay with him and watch over him, at least until he was on his own two feet again. Duo was on a mission, and would be out of contact for at least three weeks. Wufei was leaving within the next hour on a mission that would take a week or two, at best. After what had happened the last time he had stayed with the Maguanacs, he couldn’t go back. It would mean endangering them. That left either Heero or Trowa. Wufei settled next to him on the bed, eyes sympathetic. “I wish I could stay with you. Or that Duo was here, but…” “I know,” Quatre whispered. “I wish that too. This wouldn’t be so complicated if…” “If Trowa weren’t in love with you and hiding it, and if you hadn’t just been jackknifed by Heero.” “What a choice.” Quatre relaxed against his pillows, scowling at the ceiling. He had nourished a budding crush for the pilot of Wing, and for a time Heero had actually encouraged him. Then a little over a month ago he had coldly informed him that he wasn’t interested in *that* and turned away without looking back. It had hurt…badly. What had surprised everyone was how Trowa had reacted. He had become extremely agitated whenever Heero coldly brushed past Quatre. The tension had built until the L3 pilot had actually punched Heero, snarling for him to stay away from Quatre if he couldn’t treat him with the respect that the Arabian deserved. As soon as Heero (somewhat dazedly) had left the room, Trowa had apologized softly to Quatre for being so presumptuous and left the room as well. He hadn’t spoken of the incident again. But he hadn’t needed to. Quatre had Felt Trowa’s heart in that moment, and he knew without being told. Trowa Barton was in love with him. Quatre hadn’t had the first idea of how to respond. He had taken Wufei and Duo into his confidence, hoping for advice on how to deal with the situation. All he had gained were two sympathetic listeners. /So which one do I choose? The man I could have loved, or the one that loves me?/ “You have to choose now,” Wufei told him, glancing at his wrist watch. “I have to leave soon.” “I know.” *knock knock* Quatre frowned slightly. “Come in.” Trowa’s head appeared around the door. “I came to tell you that Heero has the car ready for you.” Immediately Quatre dug his heels in. If there was anything in the universe that he hated, it was someone making his decisions for him. “So Heero thinks that I’m going with him?” Trowa’s eyes fell to the floor, jaw clenched. “He’s wrong.” The green eyes flew back up, wide in surprise. “Are you sure?” Quatre knew in that instant that he had made the right choice. Trowa had never, from the moment that they had met, taken Quatre for granted or assumed anything about him. Heero ordered: Trowa asked. “I’m sure.” Quatre bit his lip, a little uncertain as a thought occurred. “Do *you* mind?” A soft smile flitted over Trowa’s mouth. “No. I’ll tell Heero. Do you need help to the car?” “I can make it,” Quatre assured him. “No, he can’t,” Wufei corrected with a long-suffering sigh. “You have a sprained wrist, Quatre. You can’t use crutches, remember?” Trowa frowned as he realized the validity of the point. “I’ll come back for you in a minute.” Quatre glared at the Chinese teen accusingly. “You see what you’ve done? Now’s he’s going to insist on carrying me everywhere.” “Simple truth.” Wufei smirked at him. “I’ll be in contact in three days or so. Take care.” Quatre flashed him a thumb’s up. “Good luck, my friend.” + The ride to the safehouse was fairly quiet. Quatre, under the influence of several heavy painkillers, anti-inflammatories and god knows what else, slept most of the way. Trowa kept sneaking peeks at him, wondering why he had chosen to go with him when he had the choice to go with Heero. True enough, they had seemed to fall out of grace a month ago. But ever since he had punched Yuy, the other had seemed to regret not being closer to Quatre. Surely the Arabian had sensed that, especially with his ability. He could have used the opportunity this represented to become closer to him. /So why didn’t he?/ That question burned in the back of his mind as he drove the long hours it took to get to safety. It was dark by the time they reached their destination. Trowa considered waking up Quatre…then decided against it. He needed the sleep, and at least this way he wasn’t aware of the pain and discomfort. He opened up the front door first to the small cabin they would hide in, making sure to turn down one of the beds before going back out and fetching Quatre. The blond stirred slightly in his arms as he was picked up, but he curled trustingly in Trowa’s hold as he was carried into the house. He woke up a little as Trowa laid him down on the bed, the cool blanket and sheets snatching him from the vestiges of sleep. “Trowa?” Trowa swallowed at the sound of his voice, rough with sleep. “Sorry. I was trying not to wake you. You can go back to sleep, if you wish.” Quatre shook his head fuzzily. “Painkillers are wearing off.” “Ah.” Trowa checked his watch, realizing that it had been at least eight hours since Quatre had taken his dosage of medication. “Hold on a moment.” Quatre blearily kept his eyes open and took a limited look around. He was on a bed in the only bedroom of the cabin. From what he could see through the door, there was a rather impressive fireplace dominating one wall, what looked like a kitchenette area, and a thick forest around the place judging from the view through his night shrouded window. The term ‘rustic’ didn’t do the place justice. Trowa came back in, pills and a glass of water in hand. Quatre took them and swallowed both readily before relaxing. He submitted to Trowa checking the bandages and covering him up, staying quiet as he watched Trowa’s face. Something was obviously bothering the other pilot, and Quatre had a pretty good guess as to what it was. “Trowa. Just ask.” Trowa stopped, hands hovering for a moment over the removable caste on Quatre’s arm before he moved them away. “Why…did you come with me?” “Because you want me,” Quatre answered with soft simplicity “and he doesn’t.” A half-snort of bitter amusement came from the brunette, and his eyes fixed on the coverlet beneath his fingers. “I guess it is kind of obvious.” “It wasn’t,” Quatre assured him wryly “until the moment you punched Heero. I Felt you then.” “Oh.” There was a tense moment between them, then Trowa blurted out “I won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable—” Quatre laid two fingers over Trowa’s mouth. “Shh. I know that. I wouldn’t have gone with you if I didn’t.” Trowa caught the fingers and lowered them again. When he drew his hand away, it almost felt like he caressed the skin, but it was done so swiftly that Quatre couldn’t be sure. “Good. I just… Good. Go back to sleep. I’ll take care of everything else.” The words had barely left Trowa’s mouth before his patient was fast asleep. + “I should know better,” Trowa muttered wryly “than to play chess against our master tactician.” Quatre grinned at him. He had woken up late that morning, and Trowa was all for feeding him more medication and having him sleep again, but Quatre was awake. And he wanted to stay awake. So they had compromised on a quiet game of chess. That Trowa lost. Badly. “We could play checkers,” he suggested innocently. “Ha. No. That would be like playing strip poker with Duo. No thanks.” Quatre propped his chin on one hand, fascinated. “When have you ever played strip poker with Duo?” “You don’t want to know.” “No, actually, I do.” Trowa sighed, resigned. “Mission before last. We were both a little drunk at the time. I’m not sure when it turned into a strip show, it actually started out as a truth or dare.” Quatre swallowed a smile. “That happens with Duo. So who won?” Trowa gave him a long-suffering look. The blond wasn’t able to hold onto his amusement any longer and started laughing. “Cheer up. At least he didn’t get pictures.” Trowa winced. “…he did get pictures.” Trowa nodded glumly. “How many?” “Whatever was left on the roll of film.” He considered it a moment before offering tentatively “Fifteen?” Quatre considered all of the factors. Duo. Blackmail pictures. “You’re screwed.” “I know.” Trowa started putting all the pieces back into the box. “So what should we do next?” “Actually, now that I think of it, I want to send Duo an email. I know he is in communication blackout for the next three weeks, but as soon as he is off the mission he’ll check his messages. I don’t want him to worry about where I am.” Trowa nodded amiably and went to fetch his laptop. As he brought it over to Quatre he visibly hesitated. “Do you want to type left-handed or dictate to me?” “I can do it one handed.” Quatre wasn’t sure yet if he would put anything in the email that he didn’t want Trowa to read. “Alright.” Quatre moved his hands to the sides as Trowa slid the laptop in front of him. Moving cautiously—he was normally right handed, so he wasn’t as dexterous as normal—he opened up to a blank message and started typing. ________ From: nanashi@silentwatcher.com To: shinigami@thegrimreaper.net Subject: Hey, gorgeous! This is Q. I just wanted to drop a line and tell you not to worry if you don’t see me at your welcome home party. I was a little banged up—nothing serious, don’t fret—and am taking a break from the social life for a while. I asked bang-boy if he would mind playing nurse maid for me, so he’s keeping me company. What’s this I hear about pictures and strip poker? Ask Cute and Deadly if you want to pay a visit. He knows where we are. Love ya, Blondie ________ Quatre re-read the message, determining that OZ, if they ever intercepted the message, wouldn’t be able to make much of it. He had purposefully used Duo’s nicknames for all of them and only the five pilots would be able to make heads or tails of it. Turning the laptop sideways a little, he looked over toward the fireplace. Trowa was adding on logs to keep the cabin at a comfortable temperature. “Anything you want to add to this?” Trowa drifted over to his side, quickly scanning the message. “No.” “Okay.” Quatre hit the send button and closed the laptop, which Trowa removed from his lap and set on the kitchen table again. He tried to stifle a yawn behind Trowa’s back, but the brunette caught the tail end of it. “Bed?” Quatre shrugged ruefully. “It’s this idiotic concussion. Makes me woozy.” “I know.” Trowa gently lifted him into his arms and carried him the short distance to the bed. As Quatre relaxed into the mattress, his eyes already drifting shut, he murmured “Trowa.” “Yes.” “Thank you.” Trowa smiled, although Quatre couldn’t see it. “Anytime.” + He woke up shivering. It was late at night, he knew that much. He could see Trowa sound asleep on the couch in the main room, wrapped up in a sleeping bag. Cursing softly against the cold, he reached down for the comforter at the foot of the bed and struggled to pull it up over him one-handed. Then he waited for the extra layer to stop his chills. And waited. And waited some more. After ten minutes he closed his eyes in frustration. /I won’t be able to sleep like this./ He hated to wake up Trowa, but it was either that or spend the hours until dawn in silent discomfort. And he didn’t like silent discomfort. At all. “Trowa?” When he didn’t get a reaction, he concluded that his voice had been too soft and upped the volume a bit. “Trowa?” Trowa’s eyes snapped open and he lifted up to one elbow, peering through the darkness into the bedroom. “Quatre?” “Sorry, can you get me another blanket?” Trowa levered himself gracefully out of the sleeping bag—and that was saying something, considering his position on the couch—and came to him. “There are no more blankets. Cold?” “A little.” Quatre felt like a whiny child admitting it, but dammit he *was* cold. Trowa frowned slightly, laying his palm on the blond’s forehead. “Ah. A slight fever.” Quatre grimaced. He should have known. Broken bones seemed to go hand in hand with fevers. He saw Trowa hesitate as the same thought that was running through Quatre’s head went through his. The Arabian decided to give voice to it. “Another person’s warmth would feel good…” “You…don’t mind?” “This is for my benefit,” Quatre reminded him gently. “Right.” But Trowa was still going to get a guilty pleasure out of being so close to him. With somewhat tentative movements he slid in next to Quatre, close enough to do some good but far enough away that his presence wasn’t anything more than a heat source. Quatre tried to settle back into a comfortable position, but his body ached from being in bed so much. He squirmed a little, shifting a bit here and a bit there but couldn’t find a place that his body was happy with. Trowa noticed the fidgeting and reached out, running smooth pressure over Quatre’s neck and back. His eyes softened as the blond settled with a murmur of pleasure. Within minutes he was fast asleep. Trowa scooted a little closer and gently wrapped him up in his arms. “I love you.” The words were so soft they barely stirred the fine hairs on Quatre’s head. Content for the moment, Trowa let his eyes slide shut and joined his bedmate in sleep. ~*~*~*~ Trowa: Didn't she just post something?
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