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.