Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Counterpoint ❯ One-Shot

Counterpoint

By Anne Olsen

Feedback to anneo@paradise.net.nz

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. I promise to return when I'm finished, honest.

Thanks to: Amethyst Maiden, the resident evil beta for her usual support and fun comments. *waves the meagre flag. Also to Sephy who kept telling me I could do this. It's totally their fault that I discovered Gundam Wing in the first place. *Hugs guys.

Warnings: None really apart from a bit of sap and to quote the evil beta; cute mental images.

****

December, AC 195

Quatre looked down, watching his fingers travel lightly over the ivory keys of the old piano. The piano had been in this room for as long as he could remember, and it's mellow tone always managed to soothe him. Whenever he was upset or feeling unsure of himself, he'd come, sit down on the oak stool, and run his hands up and down the yellowed keys. Sometimes it seemed as though it wasn't really him playing, he'd played this instrument so many times he could do it on autopilot. He smiled at that thought. Ironic choice of words for a Gundam pilot. He moved around on the stool, trying to ignore the slight ache where Dorothy's sword had pierced him. Sally had said it would be tender for a while, but usually he didn't notice unless he was really tired. Tired or emotional.

He paused, his eyes running over the music in front of him. Not that he was really taking much notice of it, but if he pretended he was looking at the notes printed on the stave, maybe he could surround his senses with music. Maybe he could even ignore the memories threatening to drown him as they washed over him in intense waves. He sighed. Very clever, Winner. Trying to ignore his emotions, especially anything to do with that particular person, with music was not the way to go.

The blonde stopped playing, and laying the old music book on his lap, flipped the pages over. He felt his eyes grow misty, something which happened too often these days, as a memory of himself as a small child came unbidden into his mind. One of his many sisters had been playing this same piano, and he'd stood there in the doorway listening to the music, just letting the emotion behind it seep into his psyche. He'd been drawn to the plaintive tune she'd been playing like a moth to a flame. Something about the music had reached out to him on a level he couldn't describe even to this day.

Alimah had stopped playing, turning to face him as if she knew she was being watched. A small smile lit her face. "Quatre," she'd said. "Would you like to try?"

The small boy had nodded. "Could I?" he'd asked very hesitantly. "I mean, would you mind?" She patted the stool next to her, and he sat, his small fingers pushing one key, then the next, marvelling at the different sounds they made.

Quatre shook his head sadly at the memory, remembering how long ago it was. Sometimes he wished he could put the events of the last months behind him and crawl back to that time. Back to the time when life was simpler, when he didn't have so much responsibility on his shoulders. Or so much guilt wracking his spirit.

"You weren't yourself."

He tried to convince himself that Trowa's words were the truth but part of him didn't believe. The Zero 'incident' might be in the past, but Quatre still had nightmares from it, still woke shaking with voices screaming in his mind. Voices of the people he'd killed while under the influence of the system he'd built. People seemed to think for some reason that he'd been an innocent before the war, before Zero, but Quatre knew better. Looking at himself in the mirror, he knew he could come across as innocence personified without too much effort, especially when he chose to project that image, something he did often. It was a mask he'd grown used to hiding behind, it put people at ease, and when needed lulled them into a false sense of security. Hardly the image people expected when they visualised Sandrock's pilot and tactician for the Gundam pilots and that was the way Quatre liked it.

On the other hand it didn't work quite as in his favour when he made decisions concerning the Winner family holdings. He'd heard the whispers about his suitability for the position. Surely he was too young, too inexperienced? Most of those comments had come from those who didn't realise exactly what he had been doing over the past year. His family hadn't exactly broadcast his 'activities'; in fact they'd deliberately lied about his whereabouts. It would never do for the public to learn that Quatre Raberba Winner, heir of the pacifist Winner family had spent the war piloting a Gundam. His father's reaction was something he would carry with him forever. The older Winner hadn't even tried to see Quatre's point of view. All he'd seen was the fact that his son was being disobedient and going against his wishes.

Father, why couldn't you see reason? Quatre wiped a hand across his face as a single tear fell onto the keyboard. He shivered as he remembered the explosion and his father's death. He'd felt his father die from the shuttle, felt the anguish as his life was extinguished. If only… He shook his head. Even if his father had supported his decisions, it wouldn't have prevented his death, but maybe…

He stopped playing, his thoughts and memories filling the sudden silence of the room. His father's death had pushed him over the edge, but how close to that edge had he been before that point? He wondered if the other pilots knew how hard it was for him to fight, to kill. Even sitting in Sandrock's cockpit, not seeing the faces of the opponents, they were still real, he could still 'feel' them die, each and every one. Some battles had been easier than others, depending on whether his ability had decided to give him some respite. Going through day after day feeling other people's emotions was a double edged sword. He wasn't always fully aware of what others were feeling, the ability seemed to wax and wane as it suited itself. Even now he wasn't sure how or why it was there or worked, it was just a curse he'd lived with ever since he could remember. Awareness of the emotions of others made it hard to control his own, hence the reason he tended to be very emotional himself at times.

Since Heero's attempt to self destruct, that awareness of the others had been getting harder and harder to ignore, as the link between himself and the other pilots solidified, growing stronger with each passing day. He still couldn't sense what the others were feeling all the time, but he was certain if something really bad happened to any of them, he'd know all too well and probably even feel an echo of it. Hopefully with the war over he wouldn't have to test that theory. It was a theory he hadn't shared with anyone, not even Trowa, though he suspected that the pilot of Heavyarms had felt some of that link himself, that maybe between the two of them it might flow both ways.

How else had Trowa known he was in danger, when he had been fighting Dorothy? His friend hadn't said much, but then Trowa tended to say what was needed and not much more, though Quatre noticed he seemed to quite often say more when they were talking alone together. The private Trowa, the one Quatre had been privileged to see on rare occasions had a gentleness in his nature that wasn't seen very often by others. He was sure with a bit of coaxing the other boy could be encouraged to show that side of himself more, even if it was only between the two of them. He'd also admitted to Quatre that the reason he'd left the circus to come after him, when he didn't even remember their friendship was that he'd somehow felt Quatre 'crying'. He'd known he was needed and had come.

I need you now, Trowa. Quatre wondered if Trowa could sense that as well as he'd sensed his need before. Not that this was the same thing, this was an emotional need, not a physical one. He smiled, in spite of himself, knowing full well how he had felt in the past when Trowa had been in close vicinity. It was physical, he admitted that, in the sense that he longed to put his arms around the taller boy, place gentle and not so gentle kisses on his lips and tell him exactly how he felt about him. His mind wandered onto not so chaste thoughts of what he'd like to do after that and he glanced downwards noticing how uncomfortable and tight his trousers suddenly seemed. He groaned. Yes, he really had his emotions under control.

Time to play some more music. Wishing for the impossible wasn't going to do anything to help his mood. Trying to ignore those feelings was the whole reason he'd come to this room in the first place. Quatre took a few deep breaths, pushing all thoughts of Trowa out of his mind and tried to concentrate on the task at hand.

Focus, Quatre, focus.

After all that's why he was a good tactician, he could ignore his own feelings and wishes and see only the battle, thinking logically to defeat his opponents. Unfortunately out of the battle scenario it wasn't the same story. He needed to address his own needs and emotions but with Trowa not here and not likely to magically appear by his side, there wasn't much chance of that happening.

He turned the pages of the book on his lap once more, before settling on a particular piece, enjoying the feel of the old paper beneath his fingertips. Placing the manuscript back on the piano, his fingers began moving down the keyboard slowly, gradually increasing in speed as he began to play the chromatic scale which began the piece. He'd chosen something in a minor key, to reflect his current mood, possibly not the smartest of decisions but better to work through his feelings through the music than through actions or words. Perhaps it was part of the reason he enjoyed music so much. While he was playing it was easier to tune out his surroundings and just immerse himself into the music, and in this case project his own emotions into it. Allah, how he needed to do that after the events of the past few weeks.

Trowa.

Quatre stopped playing, his fingers pausing in the middle of a C minor run, as the image of those familiar green eyes, one half hidden by a long bang of brown hair came unbidden again into his mind. Ever since he'd played that duet with the other boy, whenever he sat and played on his own there seemed to be something missing. It was as though his melody line wasn't complete, like a counterpoint without the other strand intertwining, following it alongside, unique but somehow still connected. It was still music, it still reached out to him, but there was something missing, both in the feeling in the piece and within himself.

He'd almost told Trowa on several occasions how he felt but always something seemed to happen just as he got the nerve up to speak. He'd suspected that the taller boy felt something for him too, but after he'd almost killed him while under Zero's influence he wasn't so sure. As Trowa's memories had disappeared so too had the sureness of the blonde's knowledge that he felt the same as Quatre felt about him. Quatre suspected that unsureness he felt was guilt related. His conscious mind knew that Trowa had forgiven him, hadn't really blamed in the first place, but his subconscious wasn't as sure. A major part of the nightmares he had each night involved Trowa begging for him to stop, just before Quatre fired at him, sending him to his death. He knew now that Trowa hadn't died, but in his dreams he still had. He woke frequently shaking, sweat running off him, with the memory of cradling his friend's broken body in his arms, screaming for forgiveness.

Why was Trowa so worried about you while you were in the hospital if he didn't care? Why did he risk himself to come and help? Because they were both Gundam pilots; he'd done what he would have done for any of the others. His mind supplied the answer automatically. Trowa would have done the same for Heero, Duo or Wufei. Wouldn't he?

But would he have been so emotional? Emotional. Quatre smiled as he remembered. Not emotional by his standards but definitely emotional by Trowa's standards. He remembered feeling the concern coming from the other pilot as he'd finally given into the pain and lost consciousness after landing Sandrock. Trowa had been scared that he was going to lose him, especially when he'd seen all the blood coming from the small wound. Quatre winced and shifted into a more comfortable position on the stool. Okay, maybe not as small as he'd tried to make out. Sally had reprimanded him, both of them, for allowing him to fight in that battle with his wound.

"I was needed, I had to," he'd tried to explain.

She'd snorted something about Gundam pilots and commonsense and then had ripped into Trowa. Quatre remembered the response Trowa had given her, or rather lack of response. He'd nodded politely and then had turned and given Quatre a wink. Quatre had nearly fallen off the bed in surprise, wondering what Duo would have made of it if he'd been there. Next Trowa would be grinning ear to ear. Not that he wasn't capable, Quatre had seen Trowa smile on a couple of occasions, something he knew he didn't do in front of many people. He sighed. It had lit up his face, for the brief moment it was there.

They'd been sitting together watching the sun come up before going their separate ways on a mission, and Quatre in a moment of…he didn't know what exactly had dragged the other boy to the window to watch the sunrise. He never got tired of watching the sun come up, it didn't matter how many times he saw it. It reminded him of the hope still in the world, the hope that one day the war would stop and they could go back to their own lives, not having to spend each day killing; doing the things that had to be done but neither of them really wanted to. Killing affected Trowa too, Quatre knew that from what little Trowa had shared and what he himself had seen. It was killing what was left of his spirit slowly but surely. Quatre wanted to put his arms around the other boy, let him know he was there for him, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. What if he scared him away?

I love you, Trowa. He'd almost come out and told him that, sitting there together watching the red of the sunrise, the innocence of the new day. He'd reached out one hand, linking Trowa's with his own and to his surprise felt the other boy take it, squeezing it tight. That had been when the other pilot had given him that smile. It was a small smile, but it had animated Trowa's face, and for a moment Quatre had seen something reflecting the love he himself felt reflected in his eyes. Maybe, he'd thought, hoping against hope, maybe….

"Rise and shine, guys," Duo had burst into the room, totally shattering the moment between them. Trowa moved away in one fluid movement, his face totally unreadable, the smile gone as though it had never existed. Duo stood there talking incessantly about the upcoming mission, his chestnut braid flying as he pointed one hand towards the window to emphasis what he'd just said. Didn't the American need to breathe between words? As Duo chatted on, Trowa glanced towards the Arabian pilot with what Quatre could only describe as a look of apology, then slipped quietly out of the room.

Duo stopped talking and Quatre felt his face grow warm as Deathscythe's pilot studied him intently for a moment as realisation hit home. "I interupted something. I knew it. Sorry, Quat." He grinned. "You'll just have to bolt the door next time you try and corner him. Or maybe Shinigami needs to learn to knock." He winked, a slight smirk turning up the corners of his mouth.

Quatre tried his best to glare at him, but failed miserably. Duo was such a good friend, even though he could never resist an opportunity to tease him about Trowa. Quatre frowned. "I'm not that obvious am I, Duo?" he asked. What if the others knew how he felt about Trowa? What if Trowa had worked it out for himself? Why hadn't he said something? He swallowed hard as an unpleasant thought struck home. What if Trowa was into…girls? Maybe he was watching Quatre's poor attempts to tell him how he felt and was just too kind to tell him the truth?

Duo rolled his eyes. "You worry too much, Quat. I know because I notice stuff like that. Heero's too interested in that damn laptop of his and the mission. Wufei…well I don't think he knows you as well as I do. And as for Trowa." He grinned. "You're just going to have to take a deep breath and tell him yourself. Come on Quat, think of it as a tactical manoeuvre. Trowa's your target."

"A tactical manoeuvre?" Quatre stared at Duo, not sure he was hearing him correctly. "You're kidding, right?"

Duo grinned again and laughed. "Whatever works and whatever you can handle, Quatre." He let out another small laugh, his violet eyes twinkling. "After all, isn't that the whole point of this? Getting close to Trowa so you can…"

Quatre cut him off, fast. He knew how Duo's mind worked, he'd heard too many of his jokes in the past. The way he was feeling at present, his gaze lingering on the door Trowa had just exited through, the last thing he needed was sexual innuendos, courtesy of Duo Maxwell. His own mind was supplying enough on that subject without help to compound the reaction his body had had to the fact that Trowa had held his hand. Correction, had held his hand and squeezed. He felt himself blush, a wave of embarrassment washing over him. He was getting all worked up just because Trowa had held his hand. Grow up Winner. "Didn't you say something about a mission, Duo?" he asked, trying to keep all emotion out of his voice.

Duo grinned again. "Yeah that's right, a mission." As they made their way towards the other pilots, the braided pilot dropped his voice and whispered in Quatre's ear. "Tactical manoeuvres, Quat." He sped up, a look of mischief on his face as they spied Heero in the distance, hunched over his laptop as per usual. "Miss me?" he asked the Japanese pilot.

"Hn." Heero looked up, frowning at the interruption, and Quatre smiled to himself as he remembered Duo's advice. I wonder how your own tactical manoeuvres are going, Duo? He thought. For all his talk he knew Duo was as nervous about telling Heero about his feelings towards him as Quatre was for Trowa. Duo wasn't the only one who 'noticed stuff.'

****

There was a loud crash as the heavy book fell off the piano, bringing Quatre back to the present. He bent down to retrieve it then stopped. He didn't need the book for the next piece he wanted to play. It was from his heart, and ingrained into his memory as though the last time he'd played it had been only yesterday.

He sighed. Maybe it was time to leave the memories behind, leave them in the past where they belonged and move on with his life. His hands started to move across the keys again, caressing the ivory as he began to play softly. Play the tune you really came in here to play, he told himself sternly. As Quatre played he felt something inside him break. He couldn't just play his part in this tune, it had to be played as a duet to put it to rest once and for all. After all that was the reason he was playing the piano this time and not the violin.

He glanced over at his violin sitting in the cabinet to his right. He couldn't play this tune on that instrument, not if he was going to deal with his feelings. The timbre of the violin, the sound of the bow against the strings, the vibrato as his fingers made those strings sing, they all brought back the memories of the time he'd played this piece with Trowa. At least with the piano, he could play the part Trowa had played on the flute, the melody high and clear, pure as he'd hoped the other pilot's love might one day be for him. At least he could play it, alongside his own part, the way it was meant to be but it wouldn't be the same.

He stopped playing again, and looked down at his hands. They were shaking. He could do this, he was a Gundam pilot for Allah's sake. He'd faced death numerous times and an enemy wanting to kill him, wanting to kill all of them and he couldn't even face his own miserable emotions? He muttered a curse under his breath, suddenly ashamed of how he felt and buried his face in his hands.

Trowa.

A single melody line filled the air, high and as sweet as the first time Quatre had heard it. His head came up with a start. He'd thought he'd been alone in the room. He'd been so wrapped up in himself and his problems that he hadn't even noticed he had company. He smiled, feeling the empty part of his soul start to fill, at least for now.

The sound of the flute rose higher, finishing the phrase that Quatre had started minutes before. Quatre rested his hands back on the piano, then started to play, intertwining his own notes with those of the flautist. The two instruments complimented each other, just as the violin and flute had done the last time the two had played together. Different interpretations of the same tune, soul mates, each incomplete without the other.

The tune changed as Quatre continued playing, slowly modulating into a major key as the flute hit a D sharp, holding it while the blonde played an arpeggio run subtly changing the tone of the piece. He felt his soul reach out to the music, that same yearning he'd felt when he'd first touched the keyboard when he'd interupted Alimah all those years ago. This time it was different. It wasn't just the music, there was something else present. Someone else. Someone he loved, adding their own feelings, their own yearnings to his own, mixing together to create a whole.

Quatre played the final chord on the piano, feeling a new sense of hope growing within. Trowa. Trowa had come back to him. He turned around on the stool as Trowa put his flute down next to his green duffle bag, then lowered his eyes to the floor seemingly intent on examining the patterns on the rug in front of the big cabinet.

"Trowa?" he asked, suddenly unsure. Had Trowa come back just to say goodbye, to let him know that any thoughts of the future were all his imagination? No, surely not. The emotion he'd felt as they'd played, not all of it had come from just himself. He'd felt Trowa's pain and regret, a reflection of what he himself was feeling.

"I'm sorry, Quatre. I thought I could do this." Trowa gathered up his things and started towards the door, only to stop as Quatre met him half way, blocking his exit.

"You thought you could what, Trowa?" he asked gently, watching the other boy carefully. Trowa was hurting as much as he was, his ability told him that much. Quatre didn't need his space heart to tell him, didn't need the pain running through him to know, he could see it reflected in his friend's eyes.

"I shouldn't have come." Trowa spoke, his voice very calm, in stark contrast to the emotions Quatre could feel coming from him. At this close vicinity it was difficult not to pick up the other pilot's feelings, even though he thought he was successfully hiding them.

"Why not?" What had given Trowa that idea? Had he done something he shouldn't? Was the other boy mad at him?

Trowa answered him with silence, pausing to lean down as he pulled his flute apart, placing it carefully into its case. He's getting ready to leave again. Quatre moved closer to the door, placing his hand against Trowa's arm, reaching over to gently take the case away from him. "Trowa," he asked. "What is it?"

"I have to go, Quatre." Succinct and to the point. Much as he wished Trowa would just come out and stay what he felt, Quatre knew it wasn't going to happen. Maybe, just maybe, he thought wistfully, one day…Meantime he'd just have to get his act together and say enough for both of them. He shook his head. If only he'd told Trowa how he felt before, maybe things wouldn't have come to this.

They were each as at fault as the other, wanting but doing nothing, saying nothing. It was crazy. Trowa picked up his duffle, following Quatre with his one visible eye as he put the flute case on the table. He stood for a moment watching, but not moving. He was silent, but behind that silence there was a sense of yearning, or rather the pain of wanting something out of reach. Quatre put his hand to his heart, he could feel it as clearly as though he was experiencing it himself, understandable as Trowa's feelings reflected his own.

Quatre slid his arms around the other boy's waist, sliding the duffle out of his hand and putting it on the floor by their feet. "You don't need to ignore those feelings, Trowa. I've spent too long trying to convince myself that my feelings for you weren't returned when I should have just come out and told you how I felt." He gently ran one hand over the taller boy's face. "I love you too, Trowa." He leant up and brushed his lips against Trowa's to reinforce his words.

Trowa replied by pulling him closer as he returned the kiss gently at first, then with growing passion, following the first with another then another, each deeper than the last. Quatre leaned into the embrace, enjoying the closeness. He lost himself in the moment tasting the essence that was Trowa, the musky smell of the aftershave he used, the feel of skin against skin as he slid his hand under the turtleneck the taller boy always wore. He shifted slightly, feeling Trowa's body react in sync with his own. He'd waited so long for this, spending lonely nights wondering if he'd ever find in reality what he'd yearned for in his dreams.

Trowa sighed and pulled away. "This was a mistake." His voice was still calm, though Quatre knew he was feeling anything but. How could anything that felt this right be a mistake? "Catherine," murmured Trowa, as though in answer to the unspoken question.

How could he have not noticed? Not realised? Trowa felt a responsibility towards Catherine, much the same way Quatre had responsibilities towards his family and Winner Corp. He couldn't ask Trowa to give up what he'd only just found. Trowa had a home for the first time in his life, to say nothing of a name and a purpose other than being a soldier.

Trowa's voice was calm and even, as though he'd distanced himself from what had to be said. "We live in different worlds, Quatre. Worlds where people need us." The facade broke for a short instant as Trowa ran his hand through Quatre's hair with the gentleness he was sure was reserved for him alone. Quatre felt his tears rise up amongst a momentary flash of anger. Few people ever saw the caring, gentle person Trowa was capable of being. If Trowa left him now, that side of him might be lost forever, leaving the indifferent young man, the face of Trowa Barton that he showed to the rest of the world. Quatre knew that Trowa was capable of so much more and he wasn't prepared to let that side of him fade away and die.

I need you, Trowa, as much as you need me. Damn their respective responsibilities. Trowa was right but why couldn't they put their own needs first for once? Surely they'd done enough over the past year, sacrificed enough so that they could? He sat down on the piano stool, trying to keep his emotions in check, realising that Trowa was doing the same but with more success.

"This is stupid," he finally exclaimed, hitting the hard wood of the stool with one fist in frustration. "We're both sitting here pretending we aren't hurting when we know damn well we are. I know this is selfish but I don't want to go back to my life without you, Trowa. I've had to do what's expected of me for as long as I can remember, and this time I'm going to dig my heels in. Living without you isn't living, it's existing."

Trowa opened his mouth to speak but Quatre reached out, putting one finger gently over his lips. "I'm not asking you to give up what you've only just found, I wouldn't do that, couldn't do that. I'm talking about giving up mine. My sisters could run the family business, they've managed without me over the past year. I could come back with you to the circus."

Trowa shook his head. "It wouldn't work, Quatre. You're needed here. He ran one hand gently over Quatre's cheek and Quatre brought his own hand up to rest over Trowa's. "I should never have come," he continued. "I'm sorry."

Quatre looked up at the emerald green eyes, brushing Trowa's bang off his face. They stood their together for a few minutes, each looking intently at the other. Damn his responsibilities, he thought again. Trowa was right, at least about that. He knew it, and Trowa knew it. "Don't be sorry," he said. "Never be sorry. If' I'd told you how I felt instead of keeping it to myself…"

The edges of Trowa's mouth turned up into a small smile, "I knew how you felt, Quatre. I could see it in your eyes, in your voice when you spoke." He became quiet again, his gaze shifting down to where the Arabian had been wounded. Trowa hadn't told him that he returned those feelings and then had thought he'd left it too late. Had that been the reason he'd come today, so that Quatre would know how he felt before they parted ways?

Quatre winced as he felt strong emotional pain coming from his friend. How could he stay so calm when inside he was in such turmoil? Part of him envied Trowa for his calmness, his ability not to wear his emotions on his sleeve as Quatre did. The other part of him didn't. He felt tears well up from within his soul. How much emotion could you ignore before something gave? Before it started killing you inside because you didn't give it some kind of outlet?

"It's not too late, Trowa, we can work something out, I'm sure we can. We can't just turn off our feelings for each other because we can't always be together." He let out a small laugh. "Look at how messed up we both are after trying to do that for only a few months." And no way was he giving Trowa the excuse to retreat back into himself, to turn off his emotions still further. Because he knew him well enough to know that would be what would happen. Nanashi was gone, and he wasn't going to be given the chance to return. Come on, Quatre, think. Duo's words came back to him. 'Tactical Manoeuvres. Think of this as a mission, with Trowa as the target.' He let out a small giggle before he realised what he was doing. Duo always did have a way with words.

Trowa gave him a strange look, obviously wondering about the grip his would be lover had on his sanity. Would be lover. "Lover." Quatre said it out loud, testing the sound of it as it rolled off his tongue. It was a word he wanted to hear, and often. "Okay, so we can't be together all the time, what if we make the most of the time we can be together? I'm sure Cathy can spare you for a week occasionally and Winner Corp will have to do the same. It's not the complete solution but it's better than nothing."

Trowa frowned. "A long distance relationship? I'm not sure that would work, Quatre." The eyebrow not hidden by his hair rose, as Quatre could see his mind working, weighing up the feasibility of the idea.

The Arabian leaned up and kissed him. "It's that or nothing. I can't go on with the thought of never. If we just go on pretending this doesn't exist I know what will happen." He smiled. "I've never been any good at hiding my feelings and now I've finally put them into words, I'm not going to even try. All I'm suggesting is that we try this, see if we can make it work. It's all we have, Trowa. If it's a choice of having you sometimes or waiting forever for the chance of maybe, if ever, I know what I'd prefer." Snatched moments whenever they could, it would have to do for now, until they found a way for both their worlds to coexist, if ever.

Trowa nodded. "We could try." He spoke hesitantly but Quatre could see a slight glimmer of hope in those emerald eyes.

"That's all I want to do, Trowa, is try. We can't give up on something we haven't even tried to make work." Quatre ran his eyes down Trowa appreciatively, letting out a sigh. He bent down and picked up the duffle bag, clenching it tightly as though wrapping his hand around the fabric would help control the urges he was feeling. Thinking about him before had been hard enough, since he'd touched him, kissed him, the wanting had increased tenfold. He giggled again, thinking about his choice of words.

He cleared his throat. "How long can you stay?" he asked. The duffle felt heavy, even without the flute, indicating Trowa's original intentions.

"A week," replied Trowa, a small smile playing on his lips, a rare glimpse of the inner Trowa.

Quatre grinned. "So I have a week to show you that brief moments are worth waiting for." They'd waited so long, even a week snatched wherever they could, would be worth it. Well worth it. They'd use this time to find out exactly how they felt about each other. Meantime they would have to exist in their separate worlds and in each others for the brief moments they could steal.

He was going to say more but a firm arm around his waist, followed by a warm mouth against his own set his thoughts onto other things. Trowa had decided that in this situation, actions definitely spoke louder than words. Quatre agreed.

****

~Owari~