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"Standing Outside the Fire"Written By: Honor Disclaimers: Mine! Mine! Mine! Pairings: 2x5, 3x4 Warnings: AU, language, twisted humor, lime, lemon,
some angst, significant OC, brief moments of sap, romance, a bit of
violence Archived: On Gundam Wing Diaries Betas: Velvet *huggles* Author’s Notes: You know those dreams that
you keep dreaming over and over again for weeks? The ones that don’t
go away until you write them down? Yeah, that’s exactly what
happened. I passed the idea by one of my betas, to see if it was worth
putting on paper. Her response was “Write it. NOW.” So I
wrote it. The rest is…ah, what follows after my insane notes.
Feedback is my diet…and I’m getting
pretty lean so send me something to munch on, okay? Flames will result in me tormenting you for your
inability to read warnings. And I’m good at tormenting. Just
ask the boys. *emphasized* /thought/ //phone// "Standing Outside the Fire"
“I think they’re happy to see each other,” Heero noted, pausing on his way to the kitchen. Trowa nodded, mouth twitching. “I think you’re right.” Once everything of importance had been said—what, the other three didn’t know since it was in a dialect of babble-ese they didn’t speak—Jamie gestured towards the ceiling. “Go ahead and throw your stuff into one of the empty bedrooms upstairs.” “Sure.” Quatre leaned over to grab the bag, but Trowa beat him to it. “You don’t know which ones are empty anymore,” Trowa reminded him, leading the way up the curving staircase. Quatre shrugged ruefully. “Heh. I’d forgotten about that.” Jamie turned toward the kitchen, trying to think of something quick and painless to do with two pounds of hamburger when the phone rang. Crossing to the hall table, she picked it up. “Yes?” //Am I speaking to Jamie Dragonmanovich?// Jamie frowned, puzzled. “Yes, you are.” //This is Henry Winner. I understand that my son is staying the weekend at your house.// Her gut started to twist a little. Something about this whole conversation felt off, and she wanted nothing more than to hang up and disconnect her phone until Monday. Unfortunately that option wasn’t open to her. “That’s right.” //I want you to understand, Ms. Dragonmanovich, that my son is gay. If this bothers you at all, or if he begins to behave in an inappropriate manner, I don’t want you to hesitate in calling me. I’ll deal with the matter.// Jamie was boiling. /That masochistic, pig-head, narrow-minded little prick!/ Her voice was distinctly cool when she answered. “You don’t need to worry about that, sir. I will take the appropriate course of action if anything should arise.” //Good. I’ll let you go then. Good-bye.// Jamie clicked the phone off sharply, ready to start cussing like a sailor. “Jamie?” She snapped her head up and around, looking at Quatre. He stood just near the edge of the staircase, expression closed. /Oh damn. Did he hear enough to--/ “That was my father, wasn’t it?” /Yup, he did./ “Yes, it was.” His eyes fell to the floor. “I figured everything out since I stayed here last summer. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can lea—” The rest of the sentence cut off as Jamie yanked him into hug. “Don’t leave,” she whispered. “This is your safe haven. You don’t need to leave.” Tears started to burn the back of his eyes, and he returned the hug fiercely. There had been so many people that had avoided any physical contact with him whatsoever once they discovered he was gay. It felt so good to just be held, and accepted without a word being said. Another person’s arms came around his waist from the back, wrapped around him in a comforting hold. Blinking back the tears, he shifted so that he could see who it was. Trowa… “You don’t need to worry about her,” Trowa murmured to him, eyes soft as he looked at Jamie. “She knows how to take people as they are, and love them anyway.” Quatre’s eyes widened as the full implications of both Trowa’s presence and his words hit. “Trowa, are you also—” Trowa nodded when Quatre stammered to a halt, blushing madly. “Yes. Does it make a difference?” “Yeah.” Quatre swallowed his embarrassment enough to grin at him. “Now I can point out hot guys to you, and make off-color jokes and everything.” Trowa pretended to consider this point. “That is an upside.” Jamie rolled her eyes. “Just don’t make them in my hearing. Now, go upstairs and play nice. I’ll whip up something for dinner.” They nodded and obeyed orders, but Jamie noticed that there was a certain level of comfort that hadn’t been there a moment before. She smiled to herself as she went back into the kitchen. /Good./ + The four partied all night to the music and lights, war cries echoing down the halls as they slaughtered each other using such arcane weapons as Playstation and Nintendo. Somewhere around two or three in the morning they were overcome by the wicked Sandman, collapsing where they sat. When Jamie had designed the playroom, she had imagined having boys around. There was a forty inch screen TV in one corner with Dolby sound, a half dozen lovesacks strewn around the room, and a wall that held only DVDs and anime. But on the right side of the room she had built a special 10x10 foot floor made of foam and padding. It had been intended for the wrestling matches that all boys seemed to love indulging in, but she discovered the next morning that it was a multi-purpose mat. All four boys, two collies, and a grey kitten (aptly named Tricksy, for her innate ability to get into things faster than even Duo could manage) had found their way into snuggling positions on that mat, Afghans covering prone bodies. As Jamie stole quietly in—they were really too cute, all cuddled up like that with the dogs on either side and the cat sleeping around Trowa’s head—she realized that Trowa was awake. Quatre had curled up against him during the night, pillowing his head against Trowa’s shoulder and tangling his hand into the green shirt. Trowa had tilted so that he could see his face, one hand softly stroking the pale blond hair back. There was so much tenderness in the gesture, and the softest curve to Trowa’s mouth, Jamie hated to disturb the moment. Before she could back out of the room, Trowa looked up at her. “Good morning,” he whispered. “Morning. I came up to see if anyone was moving.” Her eyes went to Quatre’s peaceful face. “Trowa…how serious is this?” “I love him,” Trowa replied simply. Jamie’s jaw dropped. “…that was quick.” Something that could have been uncertainty flashed through his eyes, and his eyes too went to the blond head tucked under his chin. “It took about five seconds.” She winced when she realized just how her words could be taken. “Trowa…I don’t want you to doubt what you’re feeling for him. Sometimes love comes like fireworks, all light and spontaneity and excitement. And sometimes love comes softly.” She saw the light stroking of Trowa’s fingers become more possessive and sighed to herself. This, she had the feeling, was going to be a long road. “Trowa?” “He won’t love me back,” Trowa whispered. “I didn’t realize you were psychic,” she bit off. /Dammit! If he thinks like that, Quatre will never be able to convince him otherwise. That is, of course, assuming that anything all those lines *could* develop… It’s too early to be doing this. My brain isn’t awake enough to handle it./ Quatre stirred restlessly, sensing something even in his sleep. The hand that was resting against Trowa’s chest moved to his waist, tightening to hold onto Trowa more securely. He buried his face into Trowa’s neck, sighing sleepily before settling again. Trowa looked down in surprise, mouth opening and closing in bafflement. The move, even if it was in Quatre’s subconscious, eased Jamie’s mind completely. /He’s too in tune with Trowa for this to be just a ‘like’ kind of thing. I don’t think I’ll have to worry about this./ “Can you wait for breakfast, or should I start waking people up?” “I’ll…wait.” Jamie swallowed a smirk. /With His Cuteness all cuddled up to you…yeah, I just bet you’re willing to wait./ “Alright. I’ll be downstairs working.” She took care to leave as quietly as she came, only stealing one more glance over her shoulder as she left. Trowa had shifted so that he was completely wrapped around the blond. /Quatre, I hope to god you realize what Trowa feels for you./ + Chang Wufei was well known through the school for his exacting sense of right and wrong. He and his fiancé had been there for a year, and everyone knew not to mess with either one. They had no compunction about leaving you with a broken arm if you crossed the line. Wufei watched in silence as the new kid in his class silently stood next to the door after lunch, waiting to be let into the classroom along with everyone else. He had kept an eye on him, noting that the boy acted older than his age. He also moved too well to be a normal teenager. Curiosity had kept him on Wufei’s radar. This was someone to be cautious around. Unfortunately, most of the people in his age group did not possess the same observation skills that Wufei did. Derek Langly didn’t see a potential hazard to his health. He saw a kid that never said a word more than necessary, and didn’t easily rise to the bait. Something about him just bugged Derek; even he couldn’t fully explain why. He sauntered closer, stepping close into the personal bubble until the kid turned his head, looking up at him. “It’s Mr. Hotshot.” Derek smirked nastily, eyes narrowed in dislike. “You gonna score another perfect grade on the quiz? How about letting me copy this time, huh?” “No.” “Why not? Doesn’t cost you nothing.” Heero turned away, forcing himself to relax. “No.” “Don’t give me that shit, man. You’ll let me copy or—” “Langly.” Wufei’s voice was quiet as he moved to stand next to Heero’s shoulder. “Don’t press it.” “This doesn’t have anything to do with you, Chang,” Derek spat. “You know my standards, Langly.” Wufei’s voice was coated steel. “And I’m sayin’ this is none of your business *Chang*.” Mr. Harrison came, abruptly cutting off the argument from boiling over into an all-out brawl. Derek subsided with one last glare at Heero, which was returned times two. They shuffled into the classroom, Wufei taking his customary seat near the back. Heero sat next to Wufei, murmuring, “Xie xie.” Wufei started to hear his native tongue used so fluently, turning to look at Heero in renewed interest. In Mandarin he replied, “You’re welcome.” “May I have your name?” /He speaks it as if it is second nature to him. Who is this boy?/ “Chang Wufei, of the Dragon Clan. May I have yours?” “Yuy Heero.” “Mr. Yuy, Mr. Chang, would you mind paying attention?” Mr. Harrison was looking at them in exasperation. “And please speak English.” “As the content of our conversation was meant only for our ears,” Wufei looked at the teacher in acute disdain, “we will keep it in a more civilized tongue.” “I don’t care for your tone, Chang,” Mr. Harrison snapped back. “You have our attention,” Heero assured him quietly. Appeased, the teacher went back to calling roll, although his eyes still darted toward the pair in disgruntlement. The class stayed quiet throughout the period, mostly because the majority of the students were so bored that they were half-asleep. When the bell finally rang, teenagers escaped the room in the same fashion that prisoners would take advantage of a break in prison walls. Heero and Wufei wisely waited a moment for the rush to pass them, then stood and walked to the doorway. Derek had deliberately stalled when he realized that they weren’t moving as fast as everyone else. He shoved past Heero on the way to the door, angling his body so that he could ram an elbow into the Japanese teen’s ribs. Heero caught the elbow and twisted it so that Derek was forced flat onto the desk near the door. He held him there for a moment, making a point. Derek twitched, but after a moment he relaxed, glaring up at Heero. With a snort of disgust Heero walked out of the door. Wufei watched this in quiet approval. /As I thought. He is more than he lets on. This is a person that bears closer investigation./ ~*~*~*~ Honor: See Wufei? Here you are.
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