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"Equations"Written By: Dragonmistress_7 Side fic to Waiting For Shinigami Disclaimer: I put them on my Christmas list. Rating: Um...PG? It's pretty mild... Warnings: grumpy Trowa, crying Quatre, slight
sap, smootching (barely any )implied yaoi Pairings: 3+4 Summary: Side fic to Waiting for Shinigami where Trowa takes Quatre away for that vacation in Paris Notes: For Moonraven, because she's wonderful,
and because she asked. Anybody wonder what Quatre and Trowa are doing
in Paris? Here's your chance to find out. I don't know where the idea
of equations came from, I was just putting them in before I realized
what I was doing. By the way, just because the equations are there,
it doesn't mean Trowa (or Quatre) is actually thinking the equation.
It's just there. The title is Equations, go with it.
Equations
Heero was so dead. Dead, dead DEAD. That busybody might as well paint a target on his forehead. Trowa was going to cheerfully kill him, happily burn the body, and joyously dance on the ashes. Dead. So were Une, Wufei, Sally, and…anybody who looked at him the wrong way. Except Quatre. It wasn't Quatre's fault. He was a pawn in their sick little game. He had heard them, at work. They had started a betting pool! They were betting on when he would take advantage of Quatre's excitement about the trip. "Trowa, is something wrong?" Quatre asked sweetly, tilting his head to one side and regarding him with big, innocent eyes. Trowa forced a smile and shook his head. He had to get over this before he worried Quatre. He took a deep breath and forced his mind blank. Whenever he was in danger of getting overly emotional, he would think of the most boring thing imaginable. When he was little, it had been cleaning cages at the circus. Then, he had found something better. Math had always put him to sleep in school. He had started making up equations. Heero = the amount of life in a DOORNAIL Not exactly what he'd had in mind, but he did feel better, and it was certainly more interesting to make equations this way. He looked around the hotel room as Quatre tipped the bellboy. They had the penthouse. He tried to decide if that was good or not. Lots of space, great view, Jacuzzi in the bathroom… Trowa + Quatre + much space = separate bedrooms = acceptable situation Trowa + Quatre + great view + Jacuzzi = not even going there Trowa waited patiently for Quatre to inspect each room and choose one before putting his bag in the room next to it. He sat on the bed, knowing he should be unpacking, as Quatre was in the room next door. Why? Why had they done it? Why couldn't they leave well enough alone? Didn't they understand that Quatre was the kind of person who needed a wife and a couple of kids and a dog running around? Couldn't they see that he was deliberately trying to sabotage any chance he had with Quatre before it could even form? He'd even gone so far as encourage Quatre to date. It didn't help that the blonde never seemed interested in any of the people he went out with. Trowa scrubbed his hands over his eyes and sighed so quietly it sounded like he was just breathing a little more heavily than usual. He could get through this. It was three days. Some sightseeing, some French food, and the symphony, and then back to the safety of their familiar apartment and their familiar life. Lives. Plural. His life and Quatre's life. One couple had one life. Two friends had two lives. Trowa + Quatre = TWO LIVES Quatre emptied his suitcase with a frown. Something was wrong with Trowa. He hadn't smiled once since they had reached Paris, except for that weak, strained smile when Quatre had asked him if anything was wrong. Quatre had been around his friend long enough to know when something was bothering him, and this one was off the Richter scale. Quatre shrugged to himself and put his empty suitcase in the bottom of the closet. He'd coax it out of his friend eventually. He always did. Good mood dampened but not destroyed, Quatre went to see if Trowa was ready for some sightseeing. Trowa felt a bit better after one day in Paris. It was too beautiful for anyone to be in true despair. Besides, things had been pretty normal. Quatre had talked his ear off about everything, and somehow known what he meant but didn't say. They'd had a wonderful lunch at a little café not far from the hotel, and dinner in the restaurant on the hotel's first floor. All in all, it had been pretty uneventful, except for Quatre's repeated, if subtle, prods at him to find out what was wrong. Those were easy to avoid, however, simply by pretending nothing was wrong. Today = better than expected
"Goodnight, Trowa," he said as he disappeared into his room. "I can't wait to go to the symphony tomorrow night. Wasn't it nice of Heero to get the tickets for us? And it's not even my birthday," Trowa frowned at the mention of Heero's "favor" before he could stop himself, and he saw the smile on Quatre's face falter. "Goodnight, Quatre," he said, trying to smile reassuringly, but the little blonde was already in his room. The next morning was clear and bright and beautiful. Trowa couldn't help but feel a little less disgruntled. As the day passed, his mood lifted somewhat farther, and by the time they found their seats that night, he was almost ready to forgive Heero and the others. Almost. The Paris Symphony Orchestra was as fabulous as he'd known it would be, and watching Quatre enjoy it had been almost as much fun as enjoying it himself. All in all, things were going very, VERY well. Second day in Paris = very good day Quatre didn't know when he'd ever felt worse. He'd been direct this time when he tried to get Trowa to tell him what was wrong, but Trowa had, though politely, nevertheless told him to butt out. He didn't know how to take it. Trowa always came to him when something was wrong. He always trusted Quatre with his problems and concerns. Why wouldn't he now? Unless… unless Quatre had done something? He wracked his brain, but could come up with nothing. He hadn't done anything out of the ordinary recently that might have accidentally upset his friend, and certainly would never hurt his dearest friend on purpose. Trowa meant more to him than anything else in the world! "Quatre? Are you all right? You look strange," Trowa asked, concern in his voice. "My stomach hurts," Quatre said truthfully. He'd done something, he just knew it, and the thought of it made him physically ill. "Perhaps you'd better lie down," Trowa suggested. Quatre allowed himself to be led to his bedroom. Trowa took his shoes off from him and waited while he lay back on the bed. Then he turned to go. "Wait! Stay with me? Please?" Quatre asked. Trowa could have slapped himself in the head. Quatre hated to be alone when he didn't feel good. He knew that, had known it for ages. He went and sat on the edge of the bed. Even he wasn't such a bastard as to try something when Quatre was sick. Quatre leaned forward and pulled Trowa further onto the bed, turning him so that he leaned against the headboard. Then he rested his blonde head on Trowa's shoulder and closed his eyes. *Whatever I did, Trowa, I'm so sorry. Please tell me what's wrong. I don't know what I'd do without you.* The tears that slid down his face were as silent as the words he hoped Trowa somehow heard anyway. "Quatre? Quatre! Are you crying? Why?" Trowa exclaimed, catching him by the shoulders and forcing him far enough away to see that tears where indeed running down his face. Trowa gently wiped them away with his fingers. "Why are you crying, Quatre?" he asked gently. Seeing the hurt on his little love's face broke his own heart. Quatre + tears = Trowa + heartache "Why won't you tell me what's wrong? Did I do something? Don't you trust me anymore?" Quatre asked the bedspread, because he didn't think he could stand to look at Trowa. Trowa sat, frozen in shock. Suddenly Heero's words came back to haunt him. "You're hurting yourself," he'd said. "And, Trowa, you're hurting him." And here sat proof of that, sobbing softly and not daring to look at him. Trowa + Quatre - love confession = Heero's right "Oh, Quatre, I'm so sorry." Words came, unchecked for the first time in his life, from his mouth. "I had no idea you thought that. You've never been anything but wonderful to me. I do trust you. It's just that…" Quatre finally looked at him, waiting for him to finish the sentence, wanting to know what it just was. What he saw when he met Trowa's gaze surprised and excited him. He only had time for two thoughts. One was that Trowa was going to kiss him, the other was that he wanted him to. Trowa gave up. He hoped everyone else was happy, because he certainly intended to be. Until Quatre pushed him away and asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, anyway. Except he wasn't. In fact, his arms were coming up around Trowa's neck, and that sweet little mouth was opening in obvious invitation. Trowa didn't have to be invited twice. His tongue slipped into the warmth of Quatre's mouth. He tasted like…Trowa didn't know what he tasted like, but whatever it was, it was heavenly. Trowa didn't seem to know much of anything at that moment, except that everything about Quatre was heavenly. At last, Quatre pulled away. "I think I understand now," he said, holding Trowa close to him. "Trowa, do you love me?" Trowa didn't know what he was going to say, but he didn't get the chance. Quatre's finger covered his lips. "No, let me rephrase that so there can be no mistake. Are you in love with me?" Trowa looked at him, letting his eyes say it, as was his custom. Quatre shook his head. "No, you have to say it. You only say things if they are important. Say you're in love with me, Trowa, and I'm yours," He couldn't say it. He wouldn't if he could. Quatre wasn't-Quatre didn't- Hell, he didn't know the reasons anymore. But there was no way he could say it. "I'm in love with you, Quatre," Quatre laughed. "You looked so surprised when you said it. You shouldn't be. It's too important to remain unsaid. Oh, and Trowa? I love you, too." "Now what?" Trowa asked, looking at clock beside Quatre's bed. Just in case, he wanted to note the time. Quatre laughed again. "Now, we do what people who are in love do in Paris," he said, pulling Trowa down onto the bed. Trowa x Quatre + 11:38 p.m. Paris time = Heero wins the betting pool ~ oOo ~
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