Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Entertaining Angels ❯ Chapter 2

Standard Disclaimer: GW is not mine. Blahdy blah...

Warnings: AU, POV (Trowa), angst-o-rama, shonen ai (Trowa's got it bad), and mild language, some sappiness

Pairings: (so far) 1+4+1, 3+2

A/N: Both cars in this fic actually exist. The Toad belonged to an old friend and Duo's car was my first car. Slightly cheesy? I know.

Entertaining Angels
By Solanum Dulcamara

Part 2:

After watching my hands for a little while, he says, "You're an art major."

It's more of a statement than a question, but I answer anyway, "Yes."

"A painter."

I can't help but be a little surprised and impressed, "How'd you know?"

He smiles at me again and I struggle to keep paying attention to the road, as he answers, "Your shirt was my first hint. Artists are some of the few people who understand that the bureaucracy and hypocrisy of politics are bullshit." We share conspiring grins before he continues, "In your backseat I found one of those regulation university art-boxes, complete with serial number." I nod my head and keep listening, "Everything you do with your hands is precise; strong yet delicate. Plus, you've got a small amount of blue #30 paint on your left index knuckle."

I glance at my hand and sure enough a smudge of paint from earlier work remains on the creased skin. I laugh in awe, he just grins and me and I can't remember ever being happier. "You're an art major, too, aren't you?" The car goes silent as my question lingers in the air. A sidelong glance allows me to barely see his slightly wrinkled brow. I begin to mentally kick myself for assuming things. Then, he laughs nervously, saying, "I used to be."

Not wanting to push him away, I leave it at that and return to driving in silence. He looks all around as I drive; watching the road, the trees, even me. As I feel the weight of his gaze travel over me, I attempt to remain calm. I've never felt so nervous about anyone looking at me. I catch a glimpse of him in my peripheral and he's grinning. "What's so funny?" I ask.

"Nothing," he sounds slightly hurt. I didn't mean to upset him, I just get edgy under close scrutiny. Then he smiles again, more shyly this time, and I know I'm lost. His voice is slightly more subdued as he says, "You've just got beautiful eyes."

I practically faint at that moment. He thinks something about me is beautiful?! Summoning every bit of courage in my body, I look back into his beaming face and softly admit, "That smile is going to be my undoing." And the cutest thing happens. He blushes. I didn't think that people as bold as him blushed, but he did. I watch out of the corner of my eye as a soft pink flush creeps over his nose and across his cheeks. He tries to hide behind his bangs, and opens his mouth to say something before his eyes suddenly widen and the blush deepens. His hand reaches out and touches my arm lightly as he raises his eyes to meet my gaze, "I can't believe I'm so rude,?" he groans, "I haven't even introduced myself."

That's right, I don't know his name and he doesn't know mine. Weird, but while he's touching me and looking at me like that it doesn't seem to matter. I feel an irrational sense of loss when his hand leaves my arms as he adjusts in his seat. He's now sitting "Indian style," facing me as he tells me, "The name's Duo Maxwell."

"Trowa Barton," I offer simply.

"Trowa?" he murmurs thoughtfully, "I like that."

I know I must have a ridiculous grin plastered on my face, but I can't help it. A gorgeous boy is riding in my car and complimenting me. I don't know when my luck turned good, but I'm not going to question it.

A new song begins and he nearly jumps in his seat. Grasping my arm lightly he breathes, "Oh! I love this song." Then, he sings along. If I thought his voice was melodic before, I now know I'll never get enough of it. He sways slightly as he sings and I decide that he must be an excellent dancer. Although, I admit that I'd think anything he did was great.

As the song ends he sighs contentedly. I give his relaxed posture a glance and decide to try and satisfy a little of my nagging curiosity, "How'd you brake down on the middle of the highway? I mean, where were you headed?"

"Well... my car's a '93 Saturn piece of shit; that's how I broke down. As for where I was going... anywhere... nowhere... just, away," his voice is as hushed as I've ever heard it, not that I've heard it a lot or anything. I just... I don't know. I feel connected to Duo, even though we barely know each other.

"Me too," the softness of my own voice surprises me, but nothing could've prepared me for his next action. He leans against me, resting his head on my shoulder. I'm a tingling bundle of nerves and sensations, but all of that is overridden by my desire to comfort him. Perhaps if I open up a little, he will too. "This will probably sound ridiculous out loud," I sigh in spite of myself, "But I'm sick of being on everyone's backburner, and yet being the center of their concern. They never have time for me, but they constantly pity me. It's sick. And I know it's time for me to get out of my sister's apartment."

"Me too," the meek answer almost goes unheard, even by my observant ears. Something about the sadness in his voice makes me want to wrap myself all around him, shielding him from the world. I shift slightly, allowing him a more comfortable position. His head now rests at the dip of the juncture between my arm and shoulder, slightly on my chest, and I marvel out how comforted I am, just by holding him.

"I left Hilde's place this morning. I drove all day before Sweet Thing broke down," his voice was slightly muffled by the fabric of my shirt.

"Sweet Thing?" I raise an eyebrow.

"My car," he answers nonchalantly, and I'm struck by the humor of it until I remember that I'm currently driving The Toad. Trying to encourage him to vent, I ask, "Hildes your sister?"

"Pretty much. We grew up in the same foster home. Neither of us was officially adopted. I kinda took her under my wing."

I nod in understanding as he continues, "After high school, we both applied to college and were accepted. She got a full engineering scholarship, but photography scholarships are a little harder to come by. I attended class and interned at a studio during the day, but at night I waited tables at a sleazy bar to pay tuition and rent. I wasn't making enough for both, so I quit my internship and upped my hours at work."

His voice becomes huskier, and I knew he's trying not to cry.

"It sucked. I worked every afternoon, night, and weekend, just to make ends meet. Then, the university upped tuition. I couldn't afford school and rent and I needed somewhere to live, so I had to drop out of school. That's why I'm not an art major anymore."

He can't even attempt to mask the sorrow in his voice anymore and all I can do is wrap my arm around him in a meager display of comfort.

"I figured I'd get by. I'd be miserable, but I'd get by. But "Jack's", that's the bar, got shut down for illegal operations. With no job and meager savings, I knew I was more trouble than I was worth, so I left Hilde and our apartment. I didn't want to drag her down," his words die as he buries his face in my shirt. I'm slightly shocked by this action and horribly upset by his story. Don't ask how I know, but I do know that he doesn't deserve all of the shit he's going through. Once more, I pull onto the soft shoulder of the old road; I look down at the boy quietly crying against my chest and know that the justice scales of this world are completely unbalanced.

A new feeling awakens within me; a purpose. On impulse, I wrap my arms around his shivering body, pulling him tight against me. He feels warm and soft but hard at the same time, and he seems to fit perfectly, like a puzzle piece I've never known was missing. His previously limp arms clasp around my waist and he clings to me as he silently cries out the pent up frustrations.

No words can describe the thoughts and emotions at war in me. I want to help, but I don't know how. I feel horrible about all the crap that he has to deal with, yet I'm elated that he's in my arms. The one thing that I know for certain is that Id do anything at all for him, whether or not I've only known him for about half an hour.

His shaking breaths slow, and he stills against my chest. After breathing deeply several times, he sits up quickly and turns to the window before frantically rubbing his eyes. "I'm sorry," he weakly offers, his voice hoarse from crying.

"Don't be," my voice is amazingly calm because I am not calm, and I lay what I hope is a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Do I look upset to you? Concerned, perhaps, but not upset... at least not upset with you. You have no reason to be sorry."

He turns to me, eyes red and swollen, cheeks tear streaked, and looking as beautiful as ever, whispering an almost silent, "Thank you," before offering a small smile of gratitude.

Something about that smile, tragically beautiful and full of broken hope, tears me apart inside, and without a thought, I pull Duo into another embrace. He tenses a moment, I hope in surprise, before going limp against me and ducking his head into the crook of my neck. It's amazing, almost as if we were made to fit together.

I can feel his heart beating against my chest and his soft exhales on my neck and if I've never known anything before, I know that this boy belongs in my arms.