Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ I Got Game! ❯ Shut Up! ( Chapter 11 )

Alternate Universe, Sci-Fi? Sporty, Some Events Based On Authoress's own experiences....(wee! Basketball!)

Standard Disclaimers Apply: Don't own Gundam Wing, but I own every original character that emerges...Don't own the songs listed with the chapters, either...

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<= means scene change

Pairings: 3+4, 1+2, 5xM & various others...

A/N: "Spurt"....Ha! Ha! Ha! Isn't that just the funniest word you'd ever heard?! "Spurt"...Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha!! :chokes: This chapter sucks. :cries: No matter what I did to tweak it (rewriting certain sections, deleting and rewriting the entire thing), it didn't woooorrrrrkkk! Ah, well. MOVE on! Some chaps are like that!

Chapter Eleven~

"Shut Up!"=Black Eyed Peas

Hiiro was growing frustrated. It was evident by his scowling expression as he began walking down the court. On the bench, Quatre glared at the court, then glared in Ramos' direction. Glancing up at the scoreboard, he re-read the score-32-75. Duncan Jones was killing them, and even though Darken was very good, Duncan Jones was even better. And the worst thing was, Ramos hadn't even let him start nor even signal for him to go in yet! And it was the third quarter! What was he waiting for, Christmas?

With an uncommon jitteryness, Quatre jiggled his knee, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Hiiro try to maneuver into the zone, Hautta, Duo, Triton, Zechs and Hilde trying to stay ahead of the military students. Jamie was just too good for Hiiro, as he managed to trap the Asian at the right out of bounds line, with three other players immediately close by. Hiiro forced a pass through the tight fit, but in the end, Jamie was making another three and putting Duncan Jones ahead by forty-six points. Quatre ran his hands through his hair in frustration and looked in Ramos' direction once more. He showed the coach what he was capable of! Why wasn't he putting him in?!

Ramos was busily instructing Manny their next play and didn't even bother looking in Quatre's direction. Resting his elbows on his knees, Quatre dug his fingers through his hair and gripped handfuls, waiting for Ramos to look his way. This sitting around, unable to do anything, was driving him up the walls! Why wasn't he being put in?!

Watching when a foul was called on #72, Quatre watched the tall, sturdy player take his place at the free-throw line and make three shots, all because of the volume of their fouls that registered fifteen on the scoreboard. Frowning, Quatre watched as Manny was subbed for Triton, who'd racked up at least five of those fouls and was now out of the game. Triton, breathing hard, plopped into the seat next to him.

"They's so fuckin' tough," he managed to gasp, taking the towel that was offered to him and wiping his face.

"I want to go in!"

"Hell, no, man! Ramos is fuckin' right, keeping you out!" Triton exclaimed, turning his red face to look down at him incredulously.

Quatre felt his face redden with anger. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

"It means Ramos is making a good choice keeping you out! Now, fucking shut up and let me watch the game!" Triton ordered, straightening to watch their teammates as Hautta passed in to Hiiro.

"Fuck!" Quatre muttered, angrily clenching his fists as he watched the game.

Darken lost, 50-98. More frustrated, angry and rather insulted, Quatre joined the rest of his team in congratulating the other team. When Jamie passed him, taking the last of the line as Quatre sullenly trailed behind his team, he held Quatre's hand tightly and swatted his ass to hold his attention.

"Don't be mad!" he warned, knowing full well what Quatre was thinking.

Quatre resisted kicking him-that might foul his chances of playing next game. He jerked his hand out of Jamie's and moved away. Jamie turned around backwards, pointing at him. "Keep a cool head! Don't fuck up because you're mad!"

"Whatever," he muttered as he followed his team to the bench, gathering his things. He was so angry that he didn't get to play-he knew he would have been able to do something.

In the locker room, Ramos let them know that they may as well wear their warm-ups-they were to play in an hour against Balkin Public 102, which was rumored to be a strong team. As Ramos began a speech about overcoming obstacles, learning from losses, all of which were echoed or stressed by the assistant coaches, Quatre hoped that he was going to be playing in the next game, because if he wasn't allowed to-! Then, as he stared at every player in turn, Ramos added to his speech, "Sometimes we don't always get what we want."

That should have told Quatre what to expect, but he was, at times, optimistic.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

The score read 102-99: and Quatre was pissed. Darken had emerged as the victor, but Quatre didn't even get a minute of playing time! He was happy that his team won, but pissed that he hadn't been able to play. What was he, some inexperienced junior varsity slug?! What was with Ramos?!

"Coach!" Quatre snapped after the team had changed from their uniforms, and had gone their separate ways to either relax or find something to eat between games. Ramos, who was in the middle of marking down plays in his familiar holographic pad, looked up. When he saw that it was Quatre making a beeline in his direction, he just barely managed to keep his face open. Inwardly, he was groaning.

Ramos had chosen to hide in the cafeteria of the school, going over plays that he wanted to use for the next game. Wanting some peace and quiet from the constant noise of the gym, he was getting a massive headache. When he saw Quatre approaching him, his head felt like it was going to collapse from mortal system failure. But he schooled his expression and formed a steeple with his capable hands, drawing up every ounce of patience and understanding that he could.

"Why haven't I been put into the game yet?" Quatre demanded none too softly.

"Sit down," Ramos said, gesturing at the seat opposite him. Quatre dropped his gym bag and flopped into the chair, trying to think calmly, but his anger over not being able to play overrode his common sense. While some voice was telling him he was acting like a child, another was yelling indignantly that he'd been denied to play because he was too good.

"Now...do you know the reason why I pulled you the other day?"

"I was doing good! I was making all the plays, I made a few shots...! I thought I was performing rather well! Why haven't I been given the chance to play against Duncan Jones, or this last team! Coach, I knew how #50 played! I could have been a better guard on him than Hiiro was!"

"I know-!"

"And why not this last game?! It wasn't fair that everyone else got playing time, but I didn't! You know I'm good! Why?!"

"Quatre...just listen, please. I know you're upset. You were denied a chance to play what you love most. But you have to understand-your attitude. It just isn't working for the rest of the team..."

Quatre barely kept his cool. As it were, his hands shook with barely repressed fury. He jammed them underneath his thighs. "'My attitude'?! What about those girls?! They started a lot of it! They had more attitude than I ever did out there!"

"Quatre...you're a very outstanding player. You put everything out there when you're on the court. But you have to understand...basketball's a team sport. While on one level you are cooperating with your team, on another, you're just...butting heads with the lot of them because of personal, petty differences."

"We did well both days!!"

"Listen, Quatre-"

"I didn't start anything! I made sure that-!"

"Listen, Quatre-!"

"I followed everything that-!"

"Winner!"

Quatre finally fell silent, snapping his teeth together when he closed his mouth. He stared almost accusingly at Ramos. Ramos took a deep breath, rubbing his hands together in that universal signal of nervousness.

"Look. As I said before...you're a very, very outstanding player. You know how to work all angles. You know how to get to the ball. From what I learned, everyone is impressed by your style of play. On the court, you command better than Manny can. But you must understand, Winner, that despite your excellence on the court, you just don't have the right attitude in which to participate with the team. Your attitude, your moral, really drags everyone down."

Quatre took a deep breath in indignant fury, unable to believe that Ramos was saying such things to him. But Ramos spoke quickly. "Listen to me, before you speak. The reason why I'm keeping you benched today-"

"I'm not going to be able to play?! At all?!" Quatre exclaimed with anger.

"Yes. You need to learn to keep that attitude in check, and hopefully this will help out if I deny you the chance to play..."

"You can't do that!" he cried. "You can't keep me from playing!!"

"I'm your coach, Winner. I have say in whether or not someone plays. And I say that you won't play until your attitude changes. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

"That's not fucking fair!"

"Watch the language, son. Despite the fact that I am not your father, I am still an adult, and that sort of language does not sit well with me..."

"You hate me!"

"I don't hate you, Winner. I just hate that attitude of yours..."

"I don't have a fucking attitude! Man, you suck!" Quatre shouted, rising from the chair, grabbing his bag and stomping off.

"Winner! WINNER!"

Quatre ignored him, pushing out the exit doors of the cafeteria. In a fury, he stomped off toward the parking lot, threw his bag against someone's vehicle and paced furiously in the cold air. Ramos was planning to bench him for his attitude?! What the fuck was with that shit?! What 'attitude'?! He knew he was good, he knew what he could do, and he'd shown everyone the last two days what he was capable of, and Ramos was benching for ATTITUDE?! Why not those girls?! Or Duo, who constantly butted heads with him anyway?! It wasn't fair! He knew what he was capable of! This was bullshit.

Quatre was so furious that he ran his hands through his hair, gripping handfuls once more. Ramos' own attitude pissed him off. There had to be something else that man wasn't saying, to just pull him from the games just because of some 'attitude'... Was it wrong to have some cockiness over knowing that he was good? That he was capable? What the fuck was wrong with that man?!

Quatre kicked his bag, kicking up slush and fresh snow. Then he stopped pacing, trying to control his breathing. Okay. Okay. He was taking this status just a little too far. He was acting far too dramatic just because he'd been pulled from the games today. Thinking about it now, he realized just how childish it was.

But how else was he supposed to act when he was denied what he loved doing? Sure, it may be for a couple of games, but what if those couple of games spread into the next game? The next? The next after that? Would Ramos ever put him back into the game because the others couldn't get along with him?

Quatre sighed heavily, resting his hands on his hips. Perhaps he'd acted much too hastily by saying those things, by acting the way he had. Thinking about it now, he reddened in embarrassment.

Well, he just wanted to play! What was wrong with that?

And what 'attitude' did he have that kept them from playing? From scoring points? What kind of special lesson was he trying to teach that kept Quatre on the bench? It was stupid. Incredibly stupid.

Quatre sat on the curb, resting his arms on his knees. Whose ever vehicle it was that he'd just kicked slush and snow on better just like it.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

"Wow. So he pulled you for how long?"

"I don't know. But we lost to Balkin Public..."

"Bwa-hahahahahaha!"

Quatre glared at Felicia, who had spit whatever she'd been drinking into the face of someone unfortunate enough to be near her as they walked to their classes. That student shouted in sickened surprise, hands flying to his face. Felicia caught her balance, then looked at Quatre as they continued walking. Quatre had long since learned to ignore whatever Felicia did, as long as it didn't involve him in any way. The student screamed obscenities at their backs, but they weren't anything he'd heard before.

"You guys lost to Balkin Public?" she repeated.

"Isn't that just what I said?! Are you fucking deaf?"

"Don't pull a tampon string, man, I was just confirmin' it. Well, don't be insulted. That tourney didn't matter, anyway. Ya'll got out there and showed yer stuff to each other, so this upcoming season may be neat enough." Felicia took a long drink of her Pepsi. "By the way, Barton misses you."

At the mention of Trowa's name, Quatre perked. Without thinking, he grabbed her arm. She scowled at him, wiggling her arm to dislodge it. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"What did he say? Where has he been? Why's he avoiding me?" Quatre grabbed onto her again, this time around her shoulders, and she pried his arms off with a huff, the message clear-I am the only one that touches you, No one touches me! But Quatre ignored it without really thinking about it, moving close to hear what she had to say. He was so close that she took a few steps away just to keep him out of her 'bubble'.

"Nothin'. Around. Something about your ex." She shrugged, indifference clear on her face.

"He's not my ex!" Quatre frowned, scratching his ear. Why won't Trowa stick around long enough for him to explain everything?! And what was it with the goth? Why was he so insecure? Thinking about it for a few minutes as Felicia bargained some candy from someone for her half and half (Quatre didn't want to know what else was in that coke bottle), Quatre could guess that the insecurity stemmed from Ralph's betrayal with another person. He shrugged. He could understand that. But it was so unfair when he couldn't explain to make things right again.

When the tardy bell rang, the hallways clearing, he sighed. "I want to talk to him. I...feel weird when he's not around."

"I'll tell him, but fat lotta good that's gonna do, because he ain't gonna want to. Ya know how that bastard is. He's stubborn. But I'll work my magic for ya. Okay?" She patted him affectionately on the top of the head, rising on her tiptoes to do so.

"Fine. Just...I just want to talk to him."

"'K. I'll work on it. Ya'll got practice tonight?"

"Yeah. Same time."

"Oka-lee do-ka-lee." Felicia saluted him then sauntered to her next class while Quatre turned and raced for his, not wanting to be written up for being late.

After school, Quatre walked to the dorm, searching the crowds for Trowa. How the goth continued to avoid him was beyond him. It was very frustrating and annoying. Annoying because it seemed that once he began really counting on the goth, the goth always pulled away. He wasn't sure what the goth felt on his end. He wasn't even sure what was going on between them anymore. Word was, the goth was on the tear and hanging out with the bad crowd, skipping classes and missing curfew.

All to avoid me, I suppose, Quatre thought sullenly as he saw that Trowa was no where to be seen. He hitched his backpack up further on his shoulders and wondered what it was that kept Trowa away from him. He assumed that it was Jamie-Felicia kept mentioning it. Quatre wanted to tell him the entire thing, but Trowa just didn't want to be found. Quatre had an inkling that Felicia knew where the guy was, and was acting as a go-between. Which was rather cowardly of the goth, and rather conniving of the tomboy.

But he figured that Trowa was angry because Jamie was back in town, and he knew that something had been up between them (God, was that a pun?), and was feeling insecure. That could only be the true reason, because he didn't know the full story. What was up with all this drama?! There was more drama going on in the sophomore class of Sophia Darken than there could ever be in Laramie within a month! His high school had never been this dramatic!

Sighing, he made his way up to his room, changed, and flopped onto his bed.

Thinking about practice later on, he sighed again and closed his eyes. He still felt angry that Ramos hadn't let him play-it just wasn't fair. He couldn't help it if he were good, and the others couldn't get along with him because of it. What was the big deal? His 'attitude', whatever it was that was so wrong, wasn't doing anything to the team. Those girls were contributing to most of it because of their own petty differences. He couldn't think of any wrongdoing that he'd done to make the team crash and burn. Usually the boys were very vocal about things and wouldn't hesitate to let him know, but the girls were downright nasty.

He wanted to apologize to Ramos for his behavior in the cafeteria, but he felt that if he did so, it would be destroying the point that he wanted to make. Ramos had acknowledged that he was good, so what was the point of punishing the team by keeping the best player benched?

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

"Our next game's in December, the third," Ramos said as he looked up from their schedule. Quatre had already memorized the thing, fiddling with the rubber of the ball as he sat away from his teammates, all of whom were clustered around the coach, the seniors leaning on him companionably. He wiped sweat that dripped from his face, his muscles assuring him that it was a good practice, that it was still in tip-top shape. He loved the feel of what exercise did to one's body afterward. It was just a delicious feeling of accomplishment! "Against Cal-North. Did we see them play at all? Anyone?"

"Yeah, they're good," Manny said, playing with his short cropped hair. "They have a hella good offense."

"They're not that great," Duo scoffed. "What they lack in skill they make up in height. Or something like that."

"Yeah, but-!"

"Yeah, but they ain't good!"

"Well, we'll see, I suppose. It's our first home game..."

"When's homecoming?!" Hilde demanded. "Isn't that when we have the dance?"

"Dude, that's not until the last home game," Triton sighed. "And who fucking cares about some stupid dance?"

"Shut up, Triton, you don't know."

"Cal-North was ranked seventh last year, folks. They may give us some problems," Ramos added as a word of warning, looking over his players. "Their only senior graduated already. They might not be good at all."

"Dude, they're good. Trust me. I'm the team captain...The team captain knows all..."

"Fuck, like that reassures anyone of anything!" Duo snorted, pushing the senior.

"Seriously, it does! I know everything...that's why I was elected as team captain. Right? Right?!"

"Whatever!" Sally laughed. "We just flipped a fuckin' coin...that's how you were elected."

"Fuck...well, my pride's shot. Think I'll go hang myself in the shower stalls, then..."

"Don't talk that way," Ramos admonished on a sigh, lowering the schedule to his side.

Quatre watched as everyone interacted with each other with good natured joking and pushing, and knew that if he'd joined, they would be screaming at each other in anger and Ramos would be trying to separate them. So that's why he hung back, fiddling with his ball.

"Well? How do we feel? Are we confident yet again?" Ramos asked, looking at everyone. "We did a lot today..."

"I think I'll be puking from the suicides for, like, a month," Winnie complained.

"That's cuz you're fat, man," Tony laughed. "You're all fuckin' fat. It's supposed to be the other way around. Girls are supposed to be fat-"

"Hey!" Hilde growled, socking him with an indignant frown, but then laughing.

"And guys are supposed to be all skinny and fit. You a girl, Winnie? And we didn't know?"

"Christ. You guys know it!"

Ramos sighed as Winnie received a lot of ribbing about his gender. He noticed that only one hung back, sitting on the third bleacher, watching. He frowned, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, wondering how the hell he was going to get the sophomore to act more with the team than against them. He figured on differences, from someone that came from a smaller town halfway across the States, but a few of these kids had come from further outer space than anyone could imagine! What was so different about this one kid that made so much trouble with the team?!

"C'mon, guys. Let's get packed up. Dinner should be out," he said, clapping his hands to restore order among the ranks. "Winner, let me talk to you for a few..."

"Tell him you're kicking him off the team," Ramos heard Sally mutter as they all made their way to the locker rooms.

Quatre scowled at her and refused to reciprocate when Sally threw him the bird as she walked off. Then he rose from the bench, watching Ramos with a wary expression as he made his way down to the court.

Ramos stared down at him, hands on his hips. "You cool, now?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't say those things just to make you mad, you know. I'm just stating what you need to work on."

"Well, if that's true, why aren't you lecturing them?" Quatre asked, gesturing after the others. "They start most of it."

"What good's a point guard if he can't keep his cool? He's going to let these small things continue to bother him, or is he going to work with it? The point is what keeps this team together, Quatre. I can't stress that enough..."

"I know, but-!"

"I know you're not getting along with the rest of them...it can be hard. You're new. But basketball's all about team work, and we're just not getting by with fancy circus-shots and all-out play. We need that link to the team, that combined effort to keep us all together!"

"Well... yeah, but...I don't know. I'm working on it, it's just...they're...I don't know," Quatre shrugged, holding his ball tightly in front of him, staring at the court. "I just want to play. I want to make things work, but there's too much animosity between all of us. I mean, those girls just don't like me-! I just told them point blank that I haven't played with girls in high school ball, and just...maybe I said things wrong, but..."

"There you go."

"What?"

"Not admitting that you were wrong. You were blaming them."

"But, it's true! I mean-!"

"They don't need to know that! They know what they lack! They don't need someone like you to come into their world, telling them that they suck, that they can't do this or that just because they're female! You need to adjust to their style and incorporate them into playing! They are part of the team, too, Quatre!"

"I know they are, and they're really good, but...they're the ones that need to work with me, too!"

"You're right. They do. But while they work on it, you're goading them into something less than what they can do. That's what upsets them..."

"So it's all my fault that I can't get along with everyone!?" Quatre exclaimed. "What the fuck is with that bullshit?!"

Ramos crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at Quatre. "And it's that sort of attitude that keeps you from completely connecting with your team, Winner. You act too cocky, too stand-offish-"

"Coach-!" Quatre exclaimed, gesturing at him. "What the hell?! I know I'm good, but it's not like I'm blasting everyone else because of it! I know what I can do! I know I can do better! I just want the team to do good, to play at my level, too!"

"Quatre...You need to think about some things before the next game..."

"What? You're benching me for that, too, I suppose?" Quatre spit, ready to stomp out. This was bullshit! Here, Ramos was praising him to high heaven before the season even started, and now he was talking about benching him just because the others didn't like him.

Ramos stopped him in place with a hand on his shoulder. "No, I don't want to keep you benched. But if you keep displaying this sort of explosive behavior, what can I do? I can't trust you to keep your head, I can't trust you to do your part without you blowing up at one of your teammates! That attitude of yours needs to improve! And fast! Why don't you just hang out with the team off the court?"

"Whatever. No one likes me..."

"I can see why."

"That 'attitude' thing again, huh? Well, fuck them, then."

Ramos stared at him as he began dribbling the ball with a forceful dribble, anger screwing up his features. "Quatre...are you homesick?"

Quatre almost lost the ball at the sudden question. He straightened, holding the ball in front of him.

"What?"

"Are you homesick?"

"Well...I do...miss my home...kind of. But I don't see what that has to do with this," Quatre muttered.

"You're isolating yourself. Not bothering to go out. I see you around campus a lot, by yourself."

"Well, the guy I was hanging out with is, like, gone all the time, so..."

"Just one guy?"

"Well...yeah...I mean, I have friends, I just...they don't have the same interests than I do..."

"Have you ever been away from your home a lot?"

"No...not this far...not this long...it can't be that bullshit that's keeping me benched, Coach. It's something entirely stupid. C'mon! You saw what I could do!" Quatre exclaimed, changing the subject. Thinking about home, especially when he was having trouble here, was painful. It was just a reminder that he was losing another thing that was a comfort to him.

"Yes, I did, and you're very good." Ramos sighed, seeing that he wasn't getting anywhere. Quatre wondered what rock the school admin had dug this loser out from. "Go. Eat something. Just...try and work on your people skills a little more, all right?"

Whatever, Quatre thought as he rolled his eyes and walked out from the gym. Piece of shit coach didn't know his own business...

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

By the time Friday night rolled around, Quatre wondered if Trowa had simply disappeared off the face of the Earth. It was simply...odd not to have the goth around. It was eerie, quiet...and it made Quatre sick to the stomach. He never realized how lonely he felt until he found himself sitting in his room, listening to the silence within. With Trowa there, it was something of a comfort to be around the goth. Now that he was gone, Quatre was able to think. He didn't want to. The gym was closed, and it was snowing once more, so he couldn't play on one of the outside hoops. There were too many thoughts in his mind, and he could feel himself growing depressed.

Depressed because he was so far away from home, he was fighting falling grades, he was having problems with the team, and depressed because there was no one to talk to. At home, he had his uncle Rashid and his wife Lana to talk to-Lana's boys from her first marriage, his childhood friends, Jamie, and whenever they decided to pop up, his sisters. Here, out hundreds of miles away in a city that had no morals nor any sort of friendliness, he was alone.

He sighed, pulling his knees up to his chest. He figured he would venture out, soon, but curfew was coming up. The moment he left, everyone would be heading back to their rooms. Castok was constantly away for wrestling purposes, Go hung out with both Felicia and Drake (all of whom were never at school unless for classes), he didn't get along with his teammates, Wufei and Meiran were caught up in drama/theater purposes...and since he'd arrived, he'd hung out only with Trowa because Trowa was always there...now that he was hiding, Quatre had no one.

He sighed again, rising from his bed. Oh well. Might as well as go downstairs and see what he could find in terms of entertainment. Maybe he'll run into someone familiar-this campus wasn't that big and people couldn't avoid each other forever!

He had dressed in a short sleeve tee over an Under Armour long sleeve and a pair of denim shorts because he didn't think he'd be going outside anytime soon. Wandering into the entertainment area, he saw no one he recognized, save a few from classes, and nothing caught his interest. He walked up to the vending machine and bought a bag of Skittles and a bottle of water, and resigned himself to another boring night indoors when he saw Drake running into the building, obviously in a hurry.

"Drake! Drake!" he called, running after the short Seminole, who was huffing and puffing his way up the staircase.

"Whhhhhhaaaatttt?!"

"Where's Trowa?"

"Fuckin', I don't know! Ask Felicia!"

"Aren't you with her?!"

"No! Check her room!"

Quatre sighed, and slowly made his way up the stairs. He thought he would give it a try-what the hell? If not, then he'd go to bed. He knocked on her door once, and she was out, looking suspiciously innocent.

"'Ey, blondie! What's uppers?" she drawled, pulling on a hooded jacket. She was dressed in bell bottoms and a tight, pre-sunk black undershirt, her arms decorated with the usual black bangles and cuff watch. Hell, if he looked closely enough, Quatre guessed that they were the same things Trowa wore, and felt a little bit jealous about their trading of accessories. If they were trading accessories...

"Where are you going?" he asked, taking in her outfit with a dubious stare.

"Me an' Drake are hitting the party scene out in Brigstown...that's NPU college party area...it's really cool! Wanna come with? Maybe ya'll will find someone else to make-out with."

"No. I don't want to get into trouble..." Quatre wrinkled his nose. Drake and Felicia were notorious for partying, and he certainly wasn't interested in that area. What was the point of going out all the time, drinking and carousing? He'd rather stay here, thank you very much. Where it was safe....and boring...and utterly depressing. He began to rethink it as she shrugged, turning to walk down the hall.

"And it's with that sort of attitude that keeps ya in the dark, loser. Buh-Bye!"

"Wait! Where's Trowa?" Quatre asked, turning to look after her as she began running for the stairway. She blinked, paused, then whirled to face him.

"Grab your jacket! Let's head out!"

"I'm not leaving campus!"

"Then you're not seeing him! He certainly ain't here!"

Quatre hesitated as she waited, staring at him. Then he frowned, nervously biting his lip. "I don't want to get into trouble..."

"You wanna go with us?"

"I don't want to be kicked off the team..."

She hurried over to him, grabbing his arm within a rather forceful grip that bordered on painful. Then she pulled him to his room, accessed his private number, and shoved him in despite his surprised cry at her knowing the password. "Get something warm on! Just throw on a jacket, even! We're going out! I'll work out the difference for you. Hey, you sneaked off before, anyway!"

"Yeah, but-!"

"'But' whatever. Me an' Drake, we're fuckin' pros, man. We'll go find Trowa. Ya'll will talk, fight, make-up and make-out and have children from all sorts of different cultures and I will be the auntie who jiggles them on her hip and reminisce about my own days in diapers...You ready yet?"

"Are you sure...?"

"Goddamn it! Stop pussying out and let's go!"

"Okay, okay..."

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Quatre didn't want to get into trouble-he was more afraid of Felicia's crowd than he was with Triton's, more because he didn't know what to expect from the two. Drake was hyperactive and constantly on the go, knowing this person and that person who could get them some of that and some of this. Quatre had heard that the Seminole was involved with more drug scandals than anybody in the tabloids, and Felicia...well, there was something about her he just didn't trust. Sure, he could talk to her and it didn't really matter, but she was just too...shifty. Like she played the part because there was something in it for her. She was involved with much of the things Drake was, but her role was that of a slut and a con, and while he liked her on a friendly level, he doubted he could ever hang around her permanently. They all had separate interests and all of them conflicted.

Drake was talking a mile a minute about some girl named 'Nancy', smoking a cigarette and practically racing ahead of them. They were heading out to the parking lot, passing by a couple of security guards that looked at them suspiciously. Quatre glanced at them over his shoulder, wondering if they were going to come after them and stop them, but they moved on with a shrug.

"They get harder and harder to pay off every fuckin' day," he heard Felicia muttering, and he caught the sight of her rolling money into a wad and stuffing it into her sports bra. He blinked. He hadn't even seen them pass by each other!

They came to a senior that he didn't even know, who was waiting by his privately owned vehicle and looking so dorky that Quatre himself looked at him pathetically. The guy was obviously in need of some friends and was eager to impress the first that came to him. Felicia slapped his hands in friendly greeting and jumped into the back seat, Drake signaling that Quatre had to sit back there as well. As he settled in, the senior and Drake settled into their seats, and before he knew it, they were on their way to one of the main freeways, the Skyler McLain. Seeing that they had a while to drive, as the university was on the north side of New Park City, Quatre sighed, blowing his cheeks outward as he tried to stay warm. He wished he'd changed into pants, but Felicia had hurried him along.

Looking at her now, she was gabbing on a nifty cell phone-one that was a hand-held, not the ear piece that he'd heard so much about-and asking where Trowa was. She was chewing on one of the bangles, demanding and laughing so much that Quatre never did hear the answer. He stared out the window of the back seat and watched the scrawl of New Park flash by in a bright whirlwind of lights and activity. The holographic billboards, the moving holoscreens, the steady news and economy screens, the hustle and bustle of air traffic, the flowing maniacal road traffic, and he wondered how he was ever to adjust.

The geek and Drake were engaged in conversation, and when he listened for awhile, found that they were discussing politics. Politics involving civil rights, drug rights, smuggling rights, any and every kind of rights that Drake was able to pull out of his ass. For someone that screwed around all the time with no real regard to his grades, he was actually very intelligent. He spoke with that wincing drawl of bad grammar and language, but his point was clear.

Well, you learn something new everyday, Quatre thought sarcastically to himself as he once again focused out the window. He wondered where Trowa was, and wondered if the goth would stay put this time. He had so much to say...this period of him missing made Quatre so lonely. He found that he was so dependent on the other that it was pathetic...to him, at least. He wanted Trowa to understand that nothing more was between Jamie and him, but...Trowa was so insecure...

Frowning, he accepted the candy that Felicia dropped into his hand and chewed on it absently. Trowa shouldn't run away from him this time...if he had to, Quatre would lock him in the closet and yell at him through the door. He wondered what crowd Trowa hung out with when he wasn't at school...he hoped that he would be able to see him. It would be scary to stick around with Felicia and Drake and learn what they did.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Trowa was bored. The party was still in its beginning stages, and as more and more guests showed up, and more alcohol and drugs were introduced, the party was just plain...dull. He had to wait for everyone to get their buzz on before things got interesting. From what he knew, Jake Winston's mansion was filled with partiers that journeyed from anywhere in New Park and the university ten miles away, and because his parents were away, he was celebrating in the universal way every kid knew how-by inviting their friends, and their friends, and their friends, and allowing everyone to just...have fun. Fun meant swimming pools, sex on the tennis courts and in every nook and corner available, and there was plenty of it to go around. He seen many snags he considered on for a one-time fling, but none had really captured his attention for more than ten seconds. The crowd was a mixture of jocks, preps, rebels, punks, goths, 'nice' people, sluts, whores and plain doofuses that were there because someone else was.

Sitting on the hall table that allowed him a good look at everyone that came in through the main entrance doors, he lifted the bottle of mixed vodka and fruit punch to his lips and took a drink. He wasn't even buzzed yet, and the drugs, the particular kind that he liked, hadn't yet made their appearance. He greeted those he knew and had short conversations with those that he wanted to, and when a bunch of college sophomores burst in through the doors with loads of electronic equipment, Trowa gave a slight smirk. Music was good. Especially live music. He'd heard that there was going to be a battle of bands going on as an impromptu act for the night, and he watched them set up in the largest room they could use, the living room. Setting up speakers, keyboards, guitars, bass, various drum sets including a master that took up nearly the entire room, computer modify sets and microphones, he watched as various band wannabes vied for their turn with some of the 'coordinators'.

Spotting a familiar face that made his lips turn slightly with pleasure, already knowing the victor, Trowa slipped from the table, forgetting his drink. He walked into the room, standing at the doorway and waited for Go to come back out. Seeing the seriously flustered giant made Trowa want to laugh and point-Go was obviously here on command. He wasn't the type to show up at parties without a reason. He was uncomfortable with parties and various crowd scenes and would much rather be hidden away somewhere, daydreaming. He would have never been here in the first place, but his 'friends' had made him. Trowa often felt sorry for the guy who couldn't think for himself. He was just fodder for those that realized this.

"When are they coming?" he asked him, Go wiping his face of his anxiety drawn sweat.

"Last I talked to them, they were in Ferndale..."

"Good."

Trowa walked off to look for some recreational fun, leaving the blue-haired giant on his own. As much as he disliked Drake, he had to give the little guy credit for possessing a voice that would bring the house down whenever he sang. And with Felicia on drums, Go on guitar, Adrian on bass and Cody taking up what was left, the small group of kids were already a reckoning force in the underground band scenes. They covered everything metal and a few alternative. But they were unreliable and appearances were rare, but apparently tonight was a special night. He heard that the prize was a spot at a club that just opened in the west side of New Park, but he doubted the 'kids' would even agree on a time to meet there to play. They were random, spontaneous, and grossly talented. It was sickening.

As he made his way through the various rooms of the mansion, even going so far as to explore what was going on upstairs, he thought about the past week. He felt a little bad for avoiding Quatre like the clap-he knew he'd left without explanation and made it a point to skip 'their' classes and have his various paid lookouts to keep from running into him unexpectedly, but he felt he was in the right. Quatre and his damned ex had too much together, and he wasn't about to be made a fool of once more. He decided to cut before Quatre could do it to him. He felt that it was better this way-that way, his feelings wouldn't be hurt. Trowa was just looking out for himself, for he had no doubt that Quatre, one of the most selfish people he knew, had the same plan. It was only a matter of time before Quatre went back to his 'ex', and so, Trowa was just covering his ass and making up some time to keep things from blowing up in his face.

He felt incredibly bad about it, actually. He really, really, really liked Quatre. Quatre was the type that he'd always dreamed of having-bossy, sadistic, yet conscious of feelings and emotions, and incredibly good-looking. Oh, yeah, Quatre was definitely that. He'd heard the rumors about the basketball-freak-with-the-ass-he himself knew how round and firm those deliciously toned buttocks were himself. But it wasn't just that-it was just that Trowa could see himself with Quatre longer than just a few flings. Quatre was the type that stormed into a relationship demanding his way, but would soon settle for another when his way grew tiring. Trowa had seen it in his style of play on the court-intense, focused, determined, and yet when it came down to it, he was passive and willing to change. He didn't know it, but Quatre's personality was obvious when he walked onto the court. And that passion...oh, that passion...

Trowa closed his eyes briefly, just imagining that passion being carried out in the bedroom. Boy, those people would really be talking then! He then opened his eyes and began walking again, ignoring the puzzled looks of those that had seen him.

But, and this was the thing-Quatre's EX was back in town. That meant Trowa was to be replaced instantly. He'd seen the light in Quatre's eyes upon mentioning to Trowa that Jamie Anderson (god, he even sounded like a hick!) was playing for Duncan Jones. That kind of light Trowa had seen in Ralph's eyes when he'd mentioned Chris...Trowa wasn't about to wait around and let that dreadful scene occur... He felt too much for the athlete to pretend that he could deal with this little thing, and he knew just what would happen if it ever occurred. No fucking way. He'd cut out first. It was the only way to keep from getting burned!

Besides, if anything, he could still follow the blond around and spy on him like he'd done before.

He was just about to make his way to the swimming pool to pick up on a cute little goth boy that was wandering about in a collared, velvet crushed dress with a train, but he heard Drake's screamed greeting from the front doors. He wanted to talk to Drake about where to find some Gin-Gin, so he ventured in that direction, hearing the little goth boy whine about the close encounter. He spotted the blue haired Seminole making his way into the living room to observe the action there when he was glomped hard by a surprisingly strong frame.

Trowa didn't know how the tomboy did it-no matter where he was, or how careful he was trying to prevent from being touched by the overly affectionate girl, she must be using her Native American 'sneak-up attack' ability that they'd used back in the day of red versus white and cities were nothing but inconceivable things...

"Barrrrrrttttttoooooonnnnnn!" Felicia shrieked, kissing his cheek. "Look who I brought!"

With an annoyed air, he shoved Felicia from him and looked in surprise at Quatre, who was staring at him with a stunned expression. Surprised that he was actually seeing Quatre at something he'd turned his nose up, Trowa forgot all that he was going to say whenever he saw him.

"Okay, okay, stop being so mushy," Felicia muttered, walking off after making retching sounds.

Quatre worked his mouth a couple of times, flushed, then looked cutely nervous as he shoved his hands into his shorts pockets, looking about anxiously. He was dressed in his usual athletic wear, right down to the Nike socks and barely worn basketball shoes that were meant to be used off-court. Trowa closed his mouth and remembered to look annoyed.

"Wow...Trowa...you look...weird."

"Oh, thanks," Trowa muttered, looking down at his outfit, annoyed at the greeting.

He was wearing a pair of fitting black Dickies, his motorcycle boots, body hugging muscle-tee underneath a black waist cinch, and his usual cuffs and bracelets (his bangles were currently being 'borrowed'). He knew he'd gone all out, dying his hair to a temporary shade of black, amped up the eyecolor several factors and had stayed indoors just to make his skin a sickly shade that brought out the harshness of color in his clothing. Usually, before he went back to school to re-join the land of the normal, he removed the hair dye, dimmed the eyecolor and wore 'semi-normal' clothing just to be accepted in a casual sense. This look he reserved for parties and weekends away.

He looked at Quatre now, watching the blond stare at his attire with something close to horrified disgust, and he frowned. Then, when Quatre looked up at his face, he smiled weakly, caught displaying what he truly felt about Trowa's outfit and accessorized style. Trowa felt that he didn't need to deal with this-he turned and walked out, searching for that other goth boy in the dress. Someone who identified with him.

"Wait! Wait, I'm sorry!" he heard Quatre call behind him.

"Christ, leave me alone," Trowa snarled over his shoulder. "Go away!"

"I wanted to talk to you!"

"About what?"

"Well...I can't really talk to you when you're running away..."

Trowa stopped just outside the pool entrance doors, where he'd last seen the boy. He tried not to think about how Quatre looked so perfect in his casual clothing, with his too-short hair and athletic frame. He tried not to think about how it made his heart race when he knew the other had searched him out. He tried not to feel how disgusted he was with himself for being a coward. He turned to face Quatre with a frown.

Quatre stared around him at the various people in the area and grew hesitant. They were a mixture of punks, goths and drug users, all of them smoking marijuana and other drugs and having a good time he could never see himself doing. He looked back at Trowa, taking a deep breath.

"Why are you avoiding me?" he asked, looking incredibly concerned.

Trowa wondered if he could capture that expression on canvas. It was so detailed! The downward turn of his lips, the crinkle between his eyebrows, the way his eyes seemed to grow larger with his inquiry...of course, he'd have to use different shading to capture the hollow of his cheeks, the curve of his bottom lip, that tricky part around his nostrils-wait a minute. What was the question again?

"Trowa?"

He quickly shifted his artistic perspective to the shitty-Trowa-doesn't-give-a-damn-about-anyone's pain version and shrugged a shoulder. "I figured you needed some time to think about things," he said, frowning.

"But...avoiding me doesn't solve anything-!"

"Quatre, what are you doing here?"

"Talking to you..."

"Why?"

"I...I...just...I was-"

"'Lonely'? Is that what you were going to say? You were lonely? Make some friends, Goddamn. Stop relying on me!"

"I-! That's not fair!" Quatre glared up at him, crossing his arms over his chest and looking suddenly out of place among the crowd of college and high school coeds. As if he belonged somewhere else. Because he certainly didn't fit in here. "I just wanted to see what was wrong with you, and explain a few things! Why do you make this out to be something that I did?!"

"Quatre. Shut up. Just go away. I'm not interested in you, anymore. You're too much baggage," Trowa muttered, turning away and spotting that boy from earlier standing nearby. With another angry look in Quatre's direction, he walked around the pool to meet with people that were interested in the same things he was. It would never work between him and Quatre, anyway. They were two entirely different people, involved with two entirely different lives. It wouldn't work.

Quatre stared after him in shock, then, after a glance around that told him the swimming pool wasn't an area he would be comfortable in, he wandered back inside, wondering what he did wrong. He wondered if he would ever get things right enough to make it here in the big city...things were just so different!