wholly to be
a fool/while spring is in the world
disclaimer: Trowa and Quatre are not mine, no matter how I might wish otherwise. The title comes from a poem by e.e. cummings, and the song lyrics belong to Bette Midler.
what is
here: yaoi, lime, much sap
dedication: for Lorena--here's your sappy songfic, it's
not the one I originally intended to write you but I hope it meets your
expectations.
****
~It must
have been cold there in my shadow
to never
have sunlight on your face
You were
content to let me shine, that's your way
You always
walked a step behind~
At last, at
last, I have him all to myself--even if only for a night. Even if I know that in the morning my side
of the bed will be cold before he wakes up, and the course of our conversation
through the day will be limited to hasty how-are-yous and occasional hurried
conversation on matters of business.
We've lived under the same roof--in the same bed--for two years, and yet
I miss him terribly.
The day itself
is not a special one. We've never
really celebrated an anniversary and Trowa doesn't know when his birthday is;
the only significance of today is that it's the one day I can't wait any
longer, when my own heart forces me to show him how much he means to me.
I wonder sometimes
if he really knows. I know he loves me,
that much I can feel--even if it weren't obvious by the way he's stayed by my
side for these past two years, helping me, supporting me through a period of
time harder, in its way, even than the war.
But I don't know if he understands how important his presence has been
to me, how if it weren't for him I'd have gone crazy by now for certain, how
the slightest pressure of his hand on mine gives me the strength to keep
putting one metaphorical foot in front of the other every day.
Directly after
the war ended I spent a few days in the hospital, being sewn up and fussed over
and drugged til I barely knew who I was anymore. It was Trowa who took me home, who signed the release papers and
carried me barely-conscious out of the hospital. I stayed with him and Catherine until I was healed. They took good care of me; I would apologise
for being a bother, and Cathy would promise I was a far easier patient than
Heero. I was afraid at first that she
would hate me for trying to take Trowa away, but I needn't have worried.
"You make
Trowa smile," was all she had said, with that curious quirky little grin
of her own, and then she'd kissed me on the cheek and told me to start packing,
so we messy boys would be out of her hair and she could have her trailer to
herself again.
Those days
remain some of my fondest memories.
When I was well enough to leave, I had not only to take over the running
of my father's company like the good little heir I had never been, but to defend
myself in a dispute over whether in fact I really /was/ heir. That little matter about being disinherited
to go pilot a Gundam, remember?
Finally--with a little outside prompting, I think, from Relena--the
other L4 leaders accepted Iria's testimony that our father had accepted me back
into the family a few days before his death.
Trowa kept me
going back then, even more than he does now.
During the WEI hearings, every awful thing I or my father had ever done
was thrown back in my face, every doubt I'd ever had about myself or my
abilities was exaggerated, and I'm convinced I would have fallen to pieces if I
hadn't had Trowa to go home to, to kiss me and tell me that he believed in
me--and if he, who had no faith in anything, could find it in me, who was I to
think otherwise?
~So I was
the one with all the glory
while you
were the one with all the strain
beautiful
face without a name, for so long
beautiful
smile to hide the pain~
My only regret
was that I couldn't make our relationship public. I was under such scrutiny already, a host of rivals and enemies
biding their time until they had /something/ they could use against me. I wanted to show him off to the world, write
his name in the sky, share my ecstacy with everyone that he was mine--that there
a person in the world who could love me without demanding anything of me, who
believed in me, and who I would have found a way to change the course of the
stars for had he but asked me.
But I couldn't,
and he kept to the shadows where he'd spent most of his life. He tried not to let it bother him, and most
the time I think he succeeded. We made
him a Consultant then, so he could help in an official capacity, and we were both
working ourselves to exhaustion.
Come to think
of it, not much has changed...and that's why I need this night.
I hear his key
turn in the lock and at once I'm on my feet--the door opens, he ducks his head
in as if making sure I'm here.
"Quatre? I got your message to come home early--is
everything all right?"
I throw my arms
around him,burying my face in his collar, rejoicing in the firm muscles of his
chest beneath his jacket and the tenderness of the arms that enfold me
tentatively. "Quatre--"
"Everything's
fine," I promise, and he relaxes--still curious, I can tell, wondering why
I've called him home but so perfectly, wonderfully patient that I'll spill
everything soon enough. "I just
wanted us to have some time alone for a change. I miss you."
His laugh is
warm and tickles my ear.
"Iblīs," he whispers--it means 'demon,' and I blame Rashid for
teaching him the word. "There I am
in a meeting with the heads of all three Outer Rim Development departments,
when Maia bursts in--" He pulls
away, just enough so I can see the laughter sparkling in his eyes as he
imitates her breathy voice--" 'Mr Barton,' she says, 'sorry to bother you,
but Mr Winner needs you right away'...and out I run, Quatre, scared as hell
that something awful's happened to you...."
I pull his face
back down to mine--not so far down as it once was, for I'm only an inch and a
half shorter than he is now. "Then
aren't you glad," I purr, "to find that nothing so awful
has...?"
"You,"
he says, punctuating his accusation with a brush of his lips across my
forehead, "are wicked." I
smile innocently and he shrugs his surrender.
"I don't know what's infected you, little demon, but I think I'm
going to like it."
And I only
laugh and lock the door.
~Did you
ever know that you're my hero
and
everything I would like to be
I can fly
higher than an eagle
you are the
wind beneath my wings~
He eyes me
suspiciously when I enter the kitchen.
"Don't tell me you're going to cook, Quatre--here, I'll do
it--"
I stick my
tongue out at him. "But I want
to! I'm trying to do something special
for you, Trowa, just let me."
Undeterred--and
chuckling--he puts his hands on my shoulders and moves me gently out of his
way. "Quatre, I love you more than
life itself, but I don't trust you to make a peanut-butter sandwich." I'd probably be insulted if it weren't the
truth, but unfortunately he's right, and doesn't seem taken in by my pout. "How about this," he suggests, his
fingertips turning up the corners of my lips, "we'll make it
together."
Mm...now that
sounds delightful. "All
right!" I can start things off, I
think, by opening the bottle of wine I chilled earlier. Neither of us drink it often, but it seemed
to match the atmosphere I wanted tonight--still, I must have stood in front of
the wine shelf at the supermarket for twenty minutes hoping something would
announce itself as acceptable, because I had no idea what I was looking
for. I did eventually find a winery
that labelled their vintages with a Dummy's Guide --there was a little chart on
the back of the bottle that said 'light, buttery, goes well with pasta,' and
other such descriptions. Made my job so
much easier.
While I'm
getting into the fight of my life with the corkscrew, Trowa is mixing things,
getting out herbs and dishes and details.
I never know how he manages it, but unlike me, he /can/ cook, very well
in fact, when he has the time and inclination.
So I spend most of the rest of the evening following directions to chop
this or stir that, and sneaking chances to put my hands on him every chance I
get.
I could learn
to get really, really good at this. I
could.
~It might
have appeared to go unnoticed
but I've got
it all here in my heart
I want you
to know I know the truth, of course I know it
I would be
nothing without you~
Somehow,
despite my presence and...distraction, Trowa finally announces dinner is
ready. Of course it's wonderful, and
really probably better that I had only a small hand in its creation. We're having pasta, those little curlicue
noodles that I can't remember the name of, and some kind of white herb sauce
that I'm not even sure /has/ a name; I think Trowa may have just made it up as
he went along. There's salad and rolls
and the rest of the wine, and we take it outside--we live in a townhouse with a
veranda that overlooks the rose-garden kept so meticulously by the lady downstairs. It's late spring, when the artificial sun
takes ages to set and the quiet part of the evening stretches out practically
forever, and we can sit in our white wooden chairs for hours, talking and
smelling the roses and the scent of spring.
I don't know how they simulate that smell, but they're geniuses. Until I went to Earth I didn't know what it
was. It's life, it's things growing and
birthing and /living/, it's the most invigorourating thing I've ever felt. And here in the lengthening evening I soak
it up, let the warmth of it bathe my skin, let myself become intoxicated with
it.
And Trowa and I
/talk/, something we haven't had time for in far too long. Not about the meeting I pulled him out of or
the proposal I have to finish for Exports by the weekend, we leave behind for a
while the prison of operating procedures and profit margins. We talk about ourselves for once, about how
I'm still so afraid I'm going to mess something up horribly, how he still doesn't
feel like he quite fits into his job, how we both wake up in the middle of the
night sometimes and watch the other sleep, wishing there were even just a few
more minutes in the day. But it's not
all depressing--we're young, and we have no intention of being stuck like this
forever. We make plans together, what
we'll do when we have the time again.
Some of them are realistic--going to see Cathy and whisk her off to some
tropical island on Earth, or designing and building our own house outside the city
so we have a place to escape to. Others
are just silly, like ordering a gazillion pizzas from the place down the street
and having them delivered to Duo's house on L2 (imagine how disgusting it would
be when it got there!), or commandeering a pirate ship and pillaging our way
through the galaxy.
Hmm...the Dread
Pirate Quatre. It does have a certain
ring to it.
~Did I ever
tell you you're my hero?
You're
everything I wish I could be
Oh, I, I
could fly higher than an eagle
Cause you
are the wind beneath my wings~
I slide out of
my chair and into Trowa's lap. It's a
position that worked better for us back when I was smaller, but he doesn't seem
to mind, just shifts a little beneath me and wraps his arms around my
shoulders.
"Trowa?"
I whisper, and nuzzle into the hollow of his neck.
"Yes,
love?" His fingers draw
meaningless patterns over my skin through the thin cotton of my shirt, and his
light touches still make my heart do flips inside my chest.
"I love
you." Finally I put into words
what this entire evening has been purposed to tell him. "I could never have made it this far
without you--I'd have fallen apart a long time ago. I worry sometimes that you'll feel like I take you for granted,
and...well, I just want you to know that I don't."
His fingers
brush my chin, tilt my face up so I can meet his eyes. "I know that," he whispers, and
touches his lips to mine--no matter how many times he kisses me it always takes
my breath away, it's like lying out on a starry night and looking up at the
sky, the way I feel so special and so insignificant all at once, like I'm one
small part of something unfathomably grand.
My fingers are
trembling as I lace them into his, and pull him with me inside. We abandon the dishes and not-quite-empty
plates--we don't even make it into our room, but collapse with each other onto
the Persian rug that stretches out across the floor.
~Oh, the
wind beneath my wings
Fly, fly,
fly away, you let me fly so high
oh, you,
you, you, you are the wind beneath my wings~
Every time we
make love, I think my entire life must have been leading up to that
moment. Time stops, and my senses bleed
into one another til my eyes can taste as well as see, and my skin breathes in
the essence of Trowa with every pore.
We stopped worrying a long time ago about which of us was on top; it
seems now that there is a point when our bodies can no longer endure even such
a minute separation, and merge of their own volition, and all either of us can
do is hold on, let ourselves be borne on a tidal wave of passion and euphoria
until we reach the outer edges of the universe and finally, brightly,
ecstatically explode--
~Fly, fly,
fly high against the sky
so high I
almost touch the sky
thank you,
thank you,
Thank God
for you--the wind beneath my wings~
~Owari~