Take on Me


Disclaimer: I don't own the G-boys.

Too bad, too.  I'd take good care of them.

Lyrics by A-ha




"You can't--you can't mean you're going to go fight again!"  Catherine was standing in front of him, barring his way, tears streaking her face.  "You went through so much pain last time!" 


"He's calling me," Trowa answered softly.  It was the only way he could explain the intense longing that drew him after the blonde boy.  In his mind he could still see the rapture on the young pilot's face when he recognised Trowa and called his name.  They must have been close, he thought, nothing else could justify that expression.  He desperately wanted to see that look again.  He wanted to throw himself at the boy's feet and cry and ask all the questions he didn't know the answers to.  But first he would have to say good-bye.


"I don't hear anyone," Catherine protested.  He'd never seen her so angry as when she kept the boy from approaching him. He sighed.  He understood why she didn't want him to go.  What she didn't understand, and what he couldn't properly explain even to himself, was the strange connection that made him so certain of his next words.


"He's crying." 


Catherine threw her arms around him, and he felt her tears wetting his shirt.  "It's all right," he murmured, pulling her closer.  "I'll come back, Cathy, and it'll be all right.  But I--I have to do this."


Her face, when she pulled away and looked up at him, was resigned.  "Take care of yourself."  It was a command that required a promise, whether he spoke it or not. 


He kissed her cheek.  "I will.  Thank you."  He broke away from her embrace and ran for the shuttle that would take him into space.


"I'm coming," he whispered, and somehow he knew in his heart that the boy would hear him.  "I'm coming."


~We're talking away
I don't know what
I'm to say I'll say it anyway
Today's another day to find you
Shying away
I'll be coming for your love, OK?~


The Gundam was magnificent.  The sight of it, hovering in space, shotels cooling and fading to a dull crimson glow, struck a familiar chord inside him as well. 


"Trowa!" His heart leapt all over again at the joy in the blonde boy's voice.  "Follow me, I'll take you back to the shuttle."


So he followed.  The boy was waiting for him when he boarded the shuttle. He was tense, though he was trying not to show it, and his eyes were bright with the telltale shine of tears.  Trowa was tense too, and guilty, knowing he was the reason for those tears. They faced each other, neither quite knowing what to say, not quite brave enough to touch.


"Well," the blonde boy said after a few long, uncomfortable moments, "I guess we should just start by saying hello.  So hello, Trowa. I'm Quatre.  You don't remember me, I know, and it's all right." 


"You're a Gundam pilot," Trowa said. 


Quatre nodded.  "So are you."


"And we're...friends?"


Hurriedly, Quatre looked away, but not before Trowa caught sight of the wet trail sliding down his cheek, and the forlorn sorrow in his eyes.  "Yes, Trowa," he answered, his voice tight.  "We are."


~Take on me, take me on
I'll be gone
In a day or two~

Trowa lay in his bunk, staring up at the cold metallic ceiling.  Noin was piloting the shuttle, Quatre had gone to bed.  So had Trowa, but he couldn't sleep.  The sad longing in a certain pair of light blue eyes was implanted in his brain, and he had not the will, nor the desire to shake the image away.  He curled onto his side and closed his eyes.


He remembered.  It was no more than a glimpse, a shred of memory, but it was there.  A dark room, the warm weight of a blanket across his body.  His arms, wrapped around another form, whose silky blonde hair was splayed across his chest.  "Trowa."  His name, whispered in a soft breath that tickled his chest.  "I love you...." Three simple words that sent him spinning...and then the image was lost to him again.  It was dark, yes, but he was alone.


"Quatre...." he whispered into the thick recycled air.  He was cold, his whole body was shivering.  I'm sorry, he thought, understanding at last the loss in the blonde pilot's eyes.  I'm sorry.  I knew, didn't I? Somehow, inside...I knew.

~So needless to say
I'm odds and ends
But that's me stumbling away
Slowly learning that life is OK.
Say after me
It's no better to be safe than sorry~

Moving silently, standing hidden in the shadows...it all felt natural, Trowa realised, slipping unseen and unheard through the shuttle corridors and into Quatre's sleeping quarters.  Tears sprung unbidden to his eyes as he paused to look over the slender form stretched out on the narrow berth.  Quatre lay on his stomach, the blankets tangled about his waist, exposing the smooth skin of his back to the air and Trowa's wondering eyes.  His cheek rested against one arm, his pillow having fallen off the bed.  His other arm dangled off the edge of the bunk, his fingers dangling, almost brushing the floor.


Trowa could hardly convince himself to breathe.


The blanket shifted as Quatre stirred, rolled slowly to his side, and pushed himself up onto one elbow.  "Trowa?"


He wanted to slink back into the shadows and fade away in shame.  Either that or to throw himself at Quatre's feet and--and what?  But the soft voice from across the room interrupted his thoughts.


"Trowa...I know you're there.  Please come where I can see you."


"I'm sorry," Trowa choked out as he stepped out of the shadows.  "I just wanted--"


Quatre silenced him with a shake of his head and a soft, sad smile.  "It's all right, Trowa, I don't mind you being here.  I...I missed you."


"Quatre?" Trowa's voice rebelled as he tried to ask the next question, to confirm the snippet of memory his battered subconscious had allowed him.  Tentatively he crossed to the bed, perching hesitantly at the foot of it.  "Were we--I almost remember--"


"You do?" There was no disguising or mishearing the rising hope in Quatre's voice.


"Only a little," Trowa stammered, twisting his fingers in his lap until Quatre reached across the bed and claimed his hand.  "Only a moment.  But you were with me, and you said--" Yet again he faltered, unable to give voice to this last hope.  Instead he brought Quatre's small hand to his lips, watching with nervous fascination as the Arabian bit back a gasp.  Had he done something wrong? "I'm sorry," he whispered hurriedly.


Quatre shook his head, fighting for words through rising emotions, his fingers tightening around Trowa's hand.  "No, please, don't be.  I didn't expect that you would--Trowa, oh Allah--don't be sorry!"


"We were lovers, weren't we?" Trowa's tone was almost pleading as he finally forced the question from his lips, more certain this time of the answer.  The blonde boy just nodded.  "Quatre...." He tasted the name, savoured it, because it felt so right to say. "...Please touch me?"


Quatre's pale eyes were shining with tears, but his grip on Trowa's hand spoke more of possessive, protective hope than of sorrow.  "Are you sure?" he asked breathlessly. 


Trowa nodded.  Quatre let out a whimper and pulled him close, kissing him hungrily. 

~Take on me, take me on
I'll be gone
In a day or two~

Trowa felt dizzy.  Quatre knew his body better than he himself did; hands and lips caressed him with an intimate familiarity that drove all conscious thought from his mind.  He surrendered completely to the blonde boy's touch, whispering his lover's name in a desperate plea for salvation, his back arching toward the ceiling as euphoria claimed him.  He gifted his body to Quatre as the only thing he had left to give to atone for the tears he'd witnessed, for the nameless sorrow he wanted to erase from the other boy's eyes.  Quatre's lips were warm against his skin, all silk and fire, deep tenderness and needing, hungry longing.  Their bodies must have been made for each other, to fit so perfectly together til the boundaries of skin and soul that separated them were no longer clear.


Trowa clung to Quatre even after they both collapsed spent into the blankets, lying against each other, damp with sweat and exhausted from their fervent lovemaking.  "It's all right, you know," Quatre murmured, pulling him close.  "I'm not going anywhere.  Not ever."


"Sorry," Trowa murmured, loosening his hold.  A little.


Quatre chuckled and kissed him tenderly.  "I'm not complaining."  His fingers stroked gently through Trowa's hair.  "I missed you so much."


Trowa turned his face into Quatre's chest, kissing a thin line along his skin before resting his cheek against his lover's beating heart.  "I don't remember missing you," he admitted, wishing with everything in him that it weren't so.  "I don't remember anything...but now I wonder how I ever lived without you."


Quatre whimpered into his hair and clutched him so tight his fingernails left tiny crescent-shaped indents in his skin.  Even that slight pain just made Trowa feel more alive.

~Oh the things that you say
Is it live or
Just to play my worries away
You're all the things I've got to remember
You're shying away
I'll be coming for you anyway~

"Wake up, beloved, it's morning...." Quatre's reluctant, sleep-fogged voice penetrated Trowa's weary brain and he blinked unwillingly awake.  Morning was a truly arbitrary measurement when floating in space, and the only thing to attest that it was truly time to get up was the blinking summons from Noin that she needed Quatre to relieve her in the cockpit. 


"Don't want to," Trowa mumbled in protest, effectively keeping Quatre from climbing out of bed by crawling above him and kissing a path down his chest.  The smaller boy's straining body had no apparent objections, but after a long teasing, electrifying moment, duty forced the words breathlessly from his lips.


"Trowa--love--I have to--oh I love you--Noin--"


"I know," Trowa admitted reluctantly, teasingly swirling his tongue along the soft skin of Quatre's abdomen and eliciting a soft moan before rolling to one side.  "I'll go with you."


"I hope you intend to finish that later," Quatre managed as he caught his breath, his voice tight.  He slid out of bed and reached for the clothes folded nearby. 


Trowa fumbled for his own; unlike Quatre's his were scattered throughout the room and among various pieces of furniture.  He spared a long, appreciative glance at his lover as they dressed, some detached part of his mind searching desperately through his clouded memory for some reason his previous self had ever gotten so lucky as to have this incredible boy in love with him.  "I will! And...I have things I want to ask you, now that we're awake."


Quatre dragged a comb hastily through his hair and rubbed at his eyes.  "What sort of things?"


Trowa pulled his shirt on over his head and started hunting for his shoes.  "Everything I can't remember.  How we met.  What happened...why we're out here."


It could have been his imagination, but--no, it wasn't.  If he knew nothing else about his life, he knew he could still read those pale blue eyes, and he was certain he saw a flicker of apprehension and sorrow before Quatre nodded.  "All right.  I'll tell you whatever I know," he promised.  Trowa didn't understand why he sounded so unhappy about it.  He found his shoes, and followed Quatre to the front of the shuttle.

~Take on me, take me on
I'll be gone
In a day or two~


Noin hadn't gotten more than three steps out of the cockpit before Quatre called her back.  "Oz ships!  And they're deploying mobile dolls!"


"Why are they attacking us?" Noin demanded, not expecting an answer from either of them.  "They haven't even confirmed our identity!"


"They don't seem to care," Trowa observed. "I'll go out in the Taurus suit."


Quatre turned and fixed him with a glare.  "You're nuts."


"No," said Trowa, "I'm not.  I just want--" What? To protect Quatre? He was a Gundam pilot.  To keep him safe, then, and to hell with logic.  To erase some of the worry and sadness in his lover's eyes.  To feel like he might somehow be worthy of the other boy's devotion.  He couldn't name it, let alone explain it, so he just pulled Quatre against him and kissed him fiercely.  Noin's eyebrows shot up, but an amused smile crossed her face.  "I think I remember what to do," he promised. 


"My, Trowa," Noin said dryly, "your memory must be returning."


"Only the really, really important things," Trowa answered with a smile--partly in return to Noin's, and partly at Quatre's rather dazed expression.  Two important things.  Loving Quatre and piloting mobile suits.


For all he knew, there wasn't any more to life than that anyway.