Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ I Got Game! ❯ In The Meantime ( Chapter 14 )

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: Gads...I've looked back at this story, and guess what? I don't know what the length means to the lot of you, but I still have lots to write. Hope ya'll don't mind this and my OC's, as they tend to be involved with a lot of this plot. -_-. And the fact that I'm not using the other Pilots as much...*searches for Wufei* I'm very much glad you enjoyed them, Taylor Mercury! With your cheery reviews, I feel very empowered to do more and hope that I please all those that are reading this! *moshes*

Chapter Fourteen~

"In The Meantime"= Soulfly

Trowa lifted an eyebrow, looking away from his canvas as Felicia recited what she'd found. The pair were standing alone in the art studio within the main school building, where Trowa was hastily finishing a project that was due the next day. Wearing paint splattered jeans and t-shirt that was inscribed with, "I love Hot Mommas!", Trowa was comfortable and casual, and almost unrecognizable from his goth persona. The clothes he wore were older, from when he was with Ralph. He used them only when involved in a project such as this.

"Serial number A120214322, made out to Randy Ramos in the amount of five hundred million and no cents, upon this date of November 5th, 2093. Memo reads, 'Gratuitous Gift'. Cancelled upon this date of November 10th, 2093...."

Putting his paintbrush down, he turned away from the nearly completed landscape of New Park City from an ocean side view and frowned down at the Native American girl, who was reading the information from the screen of her phone. "So he did try to pay the guy off?" he repeated with a surprised tilt. Geez, that guy has some fucking balls, he thought of Quatre's father.

"Yeah, man. I guess..let's see. Try-outs started on the fifth last month...I think, and, yeah, here's a check for over five hundred. But Ramos was like, Fuck that shit! An' he didn't cash it. So he's in the clear. I think Quat's just bein' all fuckin', y'know, dramatic. I swear to fuckin' God he's a movie all in himself, y'know?" Felicia snorted, lowering her phone. "I get more entertained bein' in a five mile radius with him involved than I would with myself. Y'know?"

"So...Ramid did try to pay him off...Huh," Trowa repeated thoughtfully, mixing some colors together in a color palette. This guy was sounding more and more like a controlling monster that fit the typical rich-man syndrome, and he wondered just how Quatre really handled it. He knew son hated father, but what were the real feelings in-between? Ooh...the effect of being nosy was simply intoxicating. Trowa found himself dizzy as he worked the small bottles of oils, relating the blond's life into a memorable tabloid that had Trowa hooked like an addict on crank. He was very interested in his blond's life, simply because it was Quatre's life and it was certainly more interesting than his.

"But, researching a little more into things, Ramos has a veeeeerrrrrryyyyy questionable background," Felicia added, suddenly grinning.

"Why?"

"Well, there's this little child pornography thing he had stacked against him while he was in high school...eons ago..."

Trowa straightened, wrinkling his nose. The thought was simply sickening...but then again, this was New Park City. It had taken over on Las Vegas' moniker with the viciousness of a pitball tearing apart a smaller animal. Anything one wanted, one could get with a very nominal fee up front. Trowa loved and cursed the city for being that way. "So? That's completely legal here in New Park, once you have the license..."

"Yeah, but not for a background check for school-related jobs...if admin dug around a little more into Ramos' background, he can be fuckin' fired..." Felicia paused, looking around them. The studio was empty except for them, so she looked back up at Trowa with a smirk, letting the suggestion hang. "It's an awful shame that Winner can't play very much because of an attitude problem...and he's so talented, too...what a waste..."

Trowa looked away from his canvas, staring down at her with a thoughtful expression. When Felicia grinned up his way, her intent clear on her face, Trowa shook his head. He began painting again, chuckling.

"Can you make sure no one traces it back to us?" he asked, voicing a question that didn't need to be asked out loud.

"You know it. Who's your mommy?"

"Certainly not you, you sick freak. How much this time?"

"I really, really need new clothes from Hot Topic, and a #7 from Jimboy's...and some more Pez... and maybe the new Britney Spears CD...she's so hot."

"Gross. Deal."

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

"So...I'm kind of curious, Quat..." Trowa looked up from his Snickers bar, grimacing as he picked at the peanuty chunks that he felt were stuck within the clear pins of his braces. After much sucking, tonguing and picking, he found the chunk he was looking for and resumed speaking. "What did you have to drink that night?"

It stilled bothered him-Trowa found himself waking up several times over the week, recalling Quatre's deathly expression. It was something entirely new to him, and while Quatre had not died, it was almost like he had. That experience certainly made Trowa want to go alcohol-free for awhile...Whenever he thought about how close he could have lost the blond, he found himself in immediate need of reassurance that Quatre was actually all right. The blond still didn't know what had happened after he'd left the mansion, and Trowa had paid the others well to keep their mouths shut. Trowa wanted to keep it that way-not for Quatre's protection, but more for his. It was just too damned traumatizing to go reliving the damn episode.

"I don't know." Quatre made a three, then jogged to retrieve his ball. Since the gym was closed due to some wrestling event happening within, Quatre had vied for the outside basketball courts despite the freezing weather. Trowa had come along anyway, dressed in two jackets, thick denim pants, heavy boots and his beanie. His Snickers bar had frozen to almost unbreakable status, but that didn't mean he couldn't nibble on it. He was watching Quatre shoot from the freezing metal bleachers that lined the courts, and he wondered how the basketball fanatic could even move within the cold. Dressed only in a pair of basketball shorts, a hooded sweater and thin gloves, Quatre played like it wasn't anything.

"I remember drinking a big cup full of fruit punch, through. Oh, and some whiskey. I think that made me sick, though. It was really strong." Quatre made a face at that remembrance.

"What did this fruit punch look like?" Trowa asked, feeling somewhat sick as he already knew what Quatre had drank. It explained the lack of a hangover in the morning, but Trowa wanted to know just how much was ingested, if Quatre knew what he was drinking.

"Well-fuck!-like fruit punch. You know, all red and fruity? Actually, I had the same thing that one night when I went out..." Quatre hesitated at retrieving his ball, looking back at Trowa to judge the other's reaction to his night out with Triton. Trowa continued speaking as if the thing didn't matter.

"Was it in a container?"

"Yeah. I poured some in one of those big plastic cups."

"And you drank it while not knowing what it was?" Trowa asked with annoyance.

"Trowa! What? Huh? What?! It was fucking fruit punch, what do you want me to say?!"

"Quatre, what do you know of Cruiser?"

"Uh...is that some kind of Mexican car?"

Trowa sighed heavily, hanging his head. He brought his knees up onto the bench below him, resting his elbows on his knees. "You've never had Cruiser, before?"

"NO! Okay?! NO! NO, Trowa, I've never had CRUISER before, all RIGHT?"

"It's an alien import. You're not supposed to drink it all at once. You sip it continuously until you feel yourself get tipsy. After that, you get rid of it. That effect lasts all night."

Quatre retrieved his ball from the opposite end of the courts, frowning in Trowa's direction. Dribbling casually through his legs and around himself, he approached Trowa until he was dribbling in front of him. Moving the ball from hand to hand in controlled v's, he stared hard at Trowa.

"AND? What is so special about it?" he asked, gesturing at Trowa to try and get the ball.

With a half-hearted attempt, Trowa swatted in the general area of the ball. "It's a combination of liquor and this import drug called Salin. It's designed to give you a marijuana high-I'm sure you've had that in Laramie, right? Marijuana? MJ? Mary Jane? Bud?"

"Trowa, stop talking to me like I'm some stupid hick!" Quatre exclaimed, turning sharply and shooting from where he stood. As the ball fell through the net, he hustled after it.

"Anyway, it's designed to do that, and while it gives you the wonderful floating feeling of being drunk out of your mind and being as high as a kite, it doesn't have any side effects. If you drank that entire cup full, I'm surprised you didn't die," Trowa added as a grumble. "That's why you didn't have a hangover the next day. Cruiser was designed especially for that in mind-it's completely illegal because while it still serves as a serve-in for drug/alcohol effects, it's still the number one killer in substance induced deaths. Kind of like DUI's and shit like that. Probably, too, because you fucking puked up your stomach and both intestines..."

"What was that?" Quatre asked as he walked back over, dribbling with a wild abandon, the ball shooting off his shoe and bouncing into the bleachers. "Whatever, Trowa. You're just saying that bullshit just because."

"I'm not. Truthfully."

"Hey. I want to ask you something. And you have to be truthful. No bullshit."

Trowa shrugged, indicating for him to go on. Quatre paused in looking for his ball, and sat beside Trowa, so close that Trowa felt instantly warmed by the other's closeness. Peering straight into Trowa's face, just inches away, he asked in the now familiar lisp, "Do you think I'm fat?"

Trowa sighed, then shoved Quatre off the bench while the other roared with laughter. "You think you're so fucking funny, don't you?" he muttered. "You're never going to let that one go."

"Hell, no. I'm going to keep on making fun of you for as long as I am able to be mean. And even then, when I'm walking around in diapers and a cane, I'll be doing the same thing, but without my dentures. It'll be cool...I'll be the old man that everyone hates. I'll walk around calling everyone 'sonny' and starting things like, 'When I was a young buck, I walked twenty miles to my high school without shoes and during Hurricane Bob'...it'll be fucking awesome," Quatre said, rising from the cold pavement and finding his ball. He shot from the bleachers, and roared with displeasure with the airball.

Trowa shook his head in contemplation of Quatre's odd humor, but let out a hearty bark of laughter. In his own way, the blond had just reassured Trowa of how long he intended to be with the goth. It didn't matter that it was unrealistic and painfully sarcastic-but it meant that Quatre was going to be with him for more than a simple fling, a simple high school romance. Trowa was satisfied with that.

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

Come Thursday, and Quatre was seriously reconsidering going to the game on Friday night. He saw no point in participating when he wasn't even going to play. It made no sense!

"Don't do that," Trowa sighed when Quatre told him this that afternoon. The pair were sitting together at lunch, opposite each other. While Quatre doctored his fries, Trowa picked at a salad with a side of nachos, both of them sharing a bottle of Pepsi. Trowa had found that while Quatre was still immensely uncomfortable with any bits of public affection, he could pull off little things like sharing a drink without the other having a problem with it. Any little bit he could get, he was going to take and try not to complain too much. "That's a really stupid decision to make. Go. Be with the team...don't pull that protest bullshit. It won't stand well with the team..."

"I thought you were on my side!"

"I am, no matter what. But think about it, Quat-those are your teammates that you're already on shaky ground with. What would it look like if you don't show up? It would look...stupid. Just go. But don't sulk in front of everybody. Then they'd just think you were a baby..."

"I'm not, I just don't see the point in going when I'm not even going to play. It's like, having a car with no money to buy gas."

Trowa kicked his shin underneath the table, making Quatre suck in his Pepsi with a start, spit, then cough violently as everyone looked over in their direction. "Just go. If you don't, I'll tell everyone that you didn't show up because we were too busy fucking in the boy's bathroom all night long, and then I'll have you permanently ostracized by the entire school because I'll then say that you gave me AIDS."

"Wow, thanks, Trowa. Such uplifting, emotional support. Isn't that terrorism?"

"Am I influencing the public? Am I invoking fear on the general masses? I believe what I am doing is personal persuasion."

"God....You fucking suck."

"Wouldn't you want to know?"

Because Quatre suddenly couldn't think of anything to say to that last bit, he reluctantly admitted that he'd go despite his own absence on the court. Besides, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Trowa was right. It would just look bad, and make him seem even more of a prima donna. He didn't want that. It was bad enough that he wasn't getting along with them.

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

That night, at practice, Quatre worked hard on schooling his temper. When he made an over the back pass to Sally, the senior fumbled and dropped the ball, allowing Duo to steal it. He reigned in his temper, and ignored her scathing remarks about his circus-play. When he made a chest pass to Hilde, who immediately dropped the ball and shrieked that she'd jammed her fingers, allowing Hautta to steal the ball and make a three that put them at 10-25, Quatre bit his tongue and thought of that magazine picture of Trowa in denim board shorts. When Triton rammed his thumb up his ass during a defensive drill, Quatre only kicked him moderately in the balls instead of making the junior spit up semen for the rest of the year. He thought he was improving his attitude pretty well, and even restrained himself from throwing a moody fit when Ramos pulled him from a current drill to allow Hiiro a run of it.

As he watched Hiiro take point, directing his teammates into an approved zone maneuver, Ramos walked over to him, hands behind his back. Remembering their last real encounter, Quatre had the nerve not to blush or grow flustered over what words had been exchanged. Adamant that his father was behind the whole thing, Quatre had decided that Ramos wasn't at fault anymore-Ramid was. Ramid hated him playing ball-his war was against his father, not the pawn.

"So...how's it going?" Ramos asked companionably, sitting beside him.

Quatre shrugged, straightening the hems of his shorts. "Fine."

"How are things going with your temper management?"

"I don't know. Okay, I guess. I haven't blown up yet. Like I seriously did it all the time, though. You make me out to be some kind of stupid asshole, though."

"I wasn't trying to. I just wanted you to see what you were doing," Ramos said quietly, resting an elbow on his knee and looking down at him. "Have you seen an improvement in your game because of it?"

"I guess. Well, truthfully? No. It's still the same. I just have to work harder in not getting mad at everybody," Quatre muttered, playing with the hem of his shorts.

"And what do you think about that?"

"I don't know. What are you, a counselor, now?"

Ramos sighed, not taking offense but feeling a headache build. He rubbed his temples, just feeling the grays that were gathering there. "Winner...let's be frank with each other. I know you're pissed at me for not letting you play. But you have to understand...what I am doing...is, hopefully, building up your tolerance for strenuous court play. Your school back in Wyoming was pretty small compared to ours, and you played similarly sized teams within your state. High school ball here in the state of California's entirely different. The rules are different. The refs are different, the players, the game...there are a lot of moments when things will be entirely out of your control, no matter what you try to do. I want to prepare you for that. And I feel that you are emotionally immature and fully incapable of doing so when you are so set in your ways, of which aren't bad, but aren't good enough for this court. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah. You're telling me I suck because I played on a smaller level."

"No, Winner, I'm not saying you 'suck', and in no way am I trying to insult you. I'm saying that perhaps you need a little kick in the rear to get you to realize that high school ball here, is much different than there. Your talents are exceptional. They are absolutely phenomenal. I've never run into a kid with so much potential as you. But...it's just your attitude. Your emotional balance. You have none. I'm trying to instill a sense of balance with that. And so far...? I don't think we've made any progress."

Quatre, listening to this with half an ear, shrugged a shoulder as he bent to untie and retie his sneakers. "Whatever. I noticed a difference with my attitude today. But I still say they suck. Especially the girls..."

"I HEARD THAT!" Hilde shouted from the other end of the court.

Quatre sighed. "Whatever."

Ramos sighed, shaking his head. He held his throbbing noggin within both hands, then rose from the bench, wondering what greater being had chosen him to lead this particular team, and what forces were so adamant against him. "Winner...look. Just keep that chauvinistic attitude to yourself, and I think you'll do fine. I think...with my next strategy, I'm going to let the team decide what to do with you. I'll continue to coach the lot of you, but when it comes down to another showdown between you and them, they'll decide what to do with you. You'd better suit up Friday-you're starting."

Quatre blinked, straightened and stared up at the older man with confusion. "What?"

"You're playing. Just...please? And I'm going to be blunt. Don't be a prick." With that, Ramos turned and walked off, shaking his head from side to side. Quatre stared after him, the words sinking in with startling clarity. Then, he grinned happily. He was going to play! The thought instantly cheered him, and he forgot what Ramos had decided on...in his own excitement, he didn't know he'd just sealed his own fate.

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

The next day, Felicia sniffled loudly, drawing her covered arm over her nose as she typed rapid text messages on her cell phone. It was currently snowing and very windy, so her hair kept blowing into her face as she worked. Making her way to the dormitory without looking up from her phone, she received the information she needed and barged into the front doors. It was sometimes very fun being the errand girl for her favorite goth. He had so many fun things to do to keep her from being bored, or from being depressed over losing her boyfriend of three years to a girl she absolutely hated with all her being. If she just concentrated on those two, she would be fine.

"Hi, everybody!" she shouted cheerily, waving at all that passed her by. Ignoring all the grumbles and obscenities sent in her direction, she marched up to the sophomore level, humming to herself. Then she kicked at Trowa's door as a way of knocking.

When Duo answered, she calmed, giving him a nonchalant expression while he glared at her. "Can Trowa come out and play?" she asked monotonously.

"Fuck off!" Duo growled, shutting the door with a loud bang.

"Ah." She blinked, turned and made her way up to the private rooms on the fifth floor. When she reached Quatre's door, she kicked it repeatedly.

"You guys better not be doing anything that I can't watch!" she shouted loudly enough for others in the hall to look in her direction.

The door opened, Quatre glaring at her with a very menacing expression. Noticing that his hair was wet and he looked like he was in his pajamas, she hid her inward expression of disappointment that she hadn't barged into anything telltale. She calmed her expression and tried to peek around him to see if Trowa was within. He shoved his door open to prove that the goth wasn't there, and she sighed heavily, hanging her shoulders. Sometimes, life was so unfair...

"Do you know where he is?" she asked wearily.

"No. GOD!" He spoke with a heavy, over-dramatic exasperation, complete with disgusted expression that was easily recognizable of a nerdy outcast from a certain indie flick.

She laughed. "Fuckin' Quat. You watched that movie, too?"

"It's hilarious. I have a weird sense of humor..." Quatre peered at her suspiciously. "Why are you looking for him?"

"Duh," she said, rolling her eyes. "I only want to have his children."

"Shut up...seriously."

"Nothin'. He said he'd do something for me when I go out of town."

"Where are you going?"

"Crazy. Anyway, see ya."

"If you find him, tell him that Ramos changed his mind, all right? I'm playing Friday!"

She paused in walking. "What? Really?"

"Yes! Ramos changed his mind and let me know that I'm starting," Quatre said happily, clapping his hands together.

"Hey, man...that's cool. Anyway, if you see him-never mind. I don't need to talk to him anymore," she said. Then, after grinning very broadly at him, she walked off. Quatre stared after her, wondering whether or not he should be suspicious.

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

Trowa was very miserable. It was Friday afternoon, and he was surrounded by people that were simply too energetic to be excited over some stupid athletic event. Everyone was clustered within the gym, seated in their assigned class sections, and were being subjected by the cheery display of both cheerleaders and dance team. The cheers of the student body were deafening, the school band too damn loud, and the cheerleaders too damn chirpy. He groaned as everyone launched into the school song, and he hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself inconspicious to everyone as they rose from their seats, clapped, and sang.

"Oh, Trowa, stop," Quatre snorted, but Trowa noticed that Quatre hadn't participated in the pep rally either. The other was sitting beside him, but looked like he was trying to hide as well. Their classmates jumped and cheered with much enthusiasm, that Trowa felt like he was going to vomit. He'd always hated pep rallies, but security had always made sure that everyone was within their designated spot to celebrate with the others. It was unjust.

"This is so stupid," Trowa muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and trying not to touch the happy person beside him. It only gave him excuse to press against Quatre's side, of whom didn't seem to mind the contact that much. Which cheered Trowa a bit. "Anyone who expresses so much damn enthusiasm for their school spirit needs to be shot and buried somewhere far from here..."

"Shut up! Inside you're dying to run out there and take over the mascot's costume..!" Quatre laughed, pointing at the mascot, which was a overly large Native American with comical features. Somewhere within the crowd, he knew Felicia and Drake were grumbling loudly over the slander of their race.

"Yup. That's me. Always wanting to be the center of attention..."

Quatre laughed, and pushed Trowa away from him because the other was suffocating him. Trowa wasn't ready to be shoved and found himself splayed over the person's body next to him, creating a mini-domino effect on those standing, and clearing the bench. Quatre laughed hysterically at the sight. Trowa picked himself up, muttered apologies, then glared at Quatre while the others joined the goth with angry grumbles of their own.

"Sorry. Didn't know my own strength," Quatre snickered behind his hand as everyone sat down, school song ending and the principal coming out to address the student body. As they began to quiet down and resettle into their seats, Trowa looked at everyone as they sat down, then reached over, wrapping his arms around Quatre's shoulders and drawing the other into a very noisy, very wet kiss that had everyone around them either cheering or shouting their disgust.

Face entirely reddened and thoroughly embarrassed, Quatre shoved Trowa away from him, vowing revenge as he put three feet of space between them, despite the others' protests over the action. As the principal began to speak about high school ethics concerning home games and visiting teams, Quatre sneaked a glare in Trowa's direction. Trowa caught the glare and smirked, looking very satisfied with the entire thing as he resettled in his seat.

"You think that's funny, do you?" Quatre hissed in his direction. The others he'd pushed against to give himself space from Trowa growled at him, pushing him back to where he'd sat previously. Quatre avoided touching Trowa by keeping his arms and legs to himself, shifting so that he was practically balancing on one ass cheek to keep the space between them.

"Fucking hilarious..." Trowa chuckled, wiping his lips.

"I can be very mean, you know..."

"If it involves a lot of spanking and physical abuse, I say bring it on," Trowa drawled.

"Ew," someone muttered nearby.

Quatre looked sharply in that direction, and Trowa snorted. "Anyway, Quat, really. You're being a child. Why do you always find the need to release your sexual frustrations in the form of domestic violence?"

"SHHH!" someone hissed. Quatre looked in that direction, all the while reddening from Trowa's words.

"That's fucking bullshit," he muttered. "I am not sexually frustrated..."

"I hope you aren't, you little insatiable sex machine. We do it all the time..."

"Will you both shut UP!?"

"Trowa! You aren't spreading more rumors, are you?!" Quatre demanded, causing everyone to look in his direction. Hunching his shoulders and ducking his head to avoid looking at everyone, he felt his face reddening several shades while Trowa smirked. A couple of teachers, having heard the outburst, rose from their seats at the very bottom bench and looked up into the crowd with menacing expressions.

"No. Why would I spread truths?" Trowa whispered from the corner of his mouth.

"Motherfucker! You'd better not be saying shit about me, again!" Quatre growled.

"Or, what?"

"I'll-! I'll-! Do something...really...mean."

"Ooh, you sure scared me..."

"Seriously, stop. It's embarrassing..."

"Why?"

"Because! How would you like to have shit spread about you?"

"At least I'll be popular. Unlike you, you little snot. Everyone hates you."

Quatre sniffed and tried not to be offended. He glanced around at everyone around him, finding that they were all focused on the principal and on his speech rather than paying attention to them. While the thought of everyone disliking him made him feel a little down, it really didn't matter. He didn't talk or bother with them-they were just various faces he passed in the hall or talked with in class over some assignment. But then again, he wasn't shut out like this back in Laramie...it was getting to be a little difficult to adjust to. A bigger school meant bigger problems. "I don't care. I'm glad. I hate them, too."

"Ooh, so defiant. Ever the class rebel..."

"So? You're stupid."

"So? You're gay."

"So are you!"

"Yes, but the difference between me and you is that I also like girls."

Trowa stuck his tongue out at him, Quatre's mouth opening and closing several times, searching for the right reply to that. Then, when he didn't find any, he gave Trowa a dead leg using his curled middle and index fingers to the middle point of his upper thigh.

Trowa shook his head as he winced and gripped his leg, wondering why he was so fatally attracted to the blond. He was a brat, a whiner and an scrapper-he definitely threw off many first impressions after one got to know him. But Trowa figured that's what made Quatre so interesting-someone so full of himself, yet so obviously human. A human that expressed emotions others wished they could, and a human that was so deviously adamant about his passions. Trowa was very lucky that, in the end, he was the one sharing all these experiences with the blond. Because, really-what other excitement could there have been this year?

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

Quatre found himself the recipient of an elbow to his chest when #76 began throwing wild elbows to both sides as he fought to keep the ball in his possession. While Quatre took a few steps back to recover, Duo and Hautta were immediately upon #76, crowding him into the left side line. #76 was desperate to get the ball to his teammates, and threw the ball onto the top of Duo's shoe, sending it out of bounds.

Quatre rubbed his chest with a wince as the ref called for Cal-North's possession, and immediately set up for the inbound pass. He hurried over to cover #44, a tall, red-headed girl that had the frame of a bull and the smell of onions. Wincing, he kept her from receiving the pass, then turned to watch the ball as it was thrown to Cal-North's point. As Darken swept down the court to position themselves in defensive strategy, Quatre stuck to #21 like glue, finding the black haired boy an annoying challenge than any other player he'd gone against before, simply because #21 was very forceful and used the advantage of close contact to pinch or hold onto Quatre's jersey to keep him in place.

#21 eyed him warily as he dribbled at his far left, keeping his body between Quatre and the ball. Quatre stuck close to him, one arm out, the other holding onto #21's jersey, just out of sight of the refs. #21's eyes darted about, looking for the right person to pass to as the crowd within the gym either cheered with encouragement or shouted negative feedback about the players' handle on the game. Quatre ignored everything but the player and the ball in front of him, watching #21's eyes as he waited for the pass. He could hear the others giving each other directions behind him, so when #21 paused too long at Quatre's right, Quatre knew he was going left. Quickly, he shuffled along with #21 as the boy began to dribble faster, looking for a pass. Hearing the sudden squeak! of someone's sneakers sliding across the floor, Quatre knew that he was looking to pass beyond Duo, to the three point hotshot of Cal-North. Since the score was already 45-49, he didn't want that shot heading in that direction. Quickly, he lunged forward, just barely catching the ball by the tips of his fingers. He was thankful the refs didn't call for reaching, because the move had been very obvious. The ball was now loose, and both players instantly pounced on it, Quatre fighting to wrap his arms around it in possession. #21 jammed his arms around the ball, and both wrestled for possession as the crowd roared.

With a grunt, Quatre quickly pivoted to the side, ripping the ball out of #21's hands and moving into a running dribble toward his basket. #21 was there, moving with him and holding onto his shorts, trying to jerk him to a stop without the ref noticing what was going on. Quatre found this too frustrating to continue, and looked for a pass. Everyone had already left their defensive positions and were set up for a quick score, so when he saw that Sally was open, he winced and pulled back, not wanting to pass to her because there was a guy on her butt, looking to intercept. He didn't trust her handling skills, and the score wasn't in their favor, so he wasn't going to risk it. He heard her indignant shout, but ignored it as he saw that Zechs was wide open. He passed to the long haired blond, then quickly cut down the middle of Cal-North's defense, ending up just below the basket. Zechs handled the ball into faking a pass toward Duo, but passing it quickly at Quatre, who made the next two points.

As they began running back to their end of the court, Sally passed by Quatre, hissing, "I was wide open, motherfucker! Fucking pass to me!"

"That guy had your ass covered!" Quatre said. "Just get into position and we'll deal with it later."

"God! I fucking hate you!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he muttered, running up to meet with #21 at half court, and working his same aggressive maneuvers on the black-haired player. When #21 grew too pressured by Quatre's defense, he passed out toward #76, then began to cut through the middle of Darken players, all of whom were set to play man to man while on defense. Quatre followed quickly behind, careful to note that all Darken players were working their magic against Cal-North's, and when #21 caught the ball and pivoted to make a jumpshot, Quatre was there to rebound, passing quickly to Duo, who made an easy three due to a fast break on the opposite end.

Seeing that they were pulling ahead, Quatre wiped his forehead with the collar of his jersey, glancing at Ramos to see how the coach was dealing with their methods. Ramos was busily pacing up and down their section, dark eyes noting their positions and Cal-North's offense strategy. Seeing that he wasn't going to be pulled out anytime soon, Quatre resumed his position at half court, waiting for #21 to come back down their end. Bent slightly, pulling at his shorts to hold the hems in place above his knees, he watched #21 as the player began to grow nervous, shooting looks at his players as they moved into place behind Quatre and set up for their offensive strategy. Quatre began to move toward #21, one arm raised as he focused on the ball. #21 bent, still dribbling on the opposite end, the ref counting the seconds before it became a turnover. Quatre lunged forward to try and grab the ball, but #21 dribbled around him, throwing a pass toward #30, who attempted a three. Quatre covered #21 as the Darken players moved in for a rebound, the taller centers leaping and grabbing for the ball. #21 pressed himself against Quatre in an attempt to keep the other off balance as the ball found its way back into Cal-North's possession, #30 putting the ball up once more for another attempt at a three. When Triton recovered the ball, he threw it without aim at the other end of the court. Quatre pivoted around #21 and raced after it, hearing two other players moving quickly behind him. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, he saw Duo already up to the free throw line, so he took a chance as the ball neared the out of bounds line underneath the basket. He dove forward, catching the ball within one hand, and turned, throwing it quickly before he hit the line. The ball flew up into the air with a blind aim as Quatre crashed against the hard cement floor, bringing #21 with him as the other player had tried to dive for the ball as well. The pair's moving motion sent them crashing against the mats on the wall behind the basket, Duo catching the ball and scoring them another two points as the crowd roared their approval.

Quatre rose, brushing off his shorts and turning to help the other player up. #21 accepted his hand and followed the other onto the court. Wincing at the feel of impact from the hard surface, Quatre quickly worked his limbs into working motion and moved his way toward his end of the court. Seeing that the score was comfortably higher than the other's, he turned and waited for his opponent to bring the ball down to his end.

The game continued in such fashion until half time. At the buzzer, the score read 60-51. Satisfied at that, Quatre looked back at the crowd that filled the bleachers on both sides of the gym, and searched for any familiar faces. Seeing none, he frowned and followed with his teammates into the locker room. Sally dropped back to elbow him, Ramos too busy lecturing up front to notice them.

"Why aren't you passing to me?" she growled. "Every time, I know you see me open."

"Yeah, you're open then, but you always got this guy right on your ass! And you don't handle the ball very well-!"

"Don't you even fucking start, you little prick!" she spit. "I can handle the ball just fine! I've been playing ball longer than you have, and I know how to handle the guys!"

"I'm sorry, Sally, but I don't trust you. And if I have the ball, I look for those that can handle it better."

"Oh, you little motherfucking son of a bitch-!"

"Po! Winner! Cut it out and get over here!" Ramos growled from the locker doors, upon seeing them argue. He glared at the both of them, so they separated and sat on opposite ends of the room as Ramos moved in to speak to them. Quatre sighed, leaning back against the wall, mentally racking himself across the back of the head. He'd tried to keep his temper-well, actually, he did, it was just the tact of keeping his mouth shut that he had to master. He spoke the truth-he didn't trust Sally's ball handling skills when it came down to a player right on her ass, but it just didn't do to say that out loud, where she would take immediate offense.

Ramos began to congratulate them on a good game, and moved onto a speech about beefing up their defense. While he went over the plays of the last two quarters, pointing out their mistakes and their victories, Quatre wiped his face with his collar, only half paying attention to what was being said. He wondered where Trowa was, wondering if the goth was watching him or was hanging out somewhere within the school. He hoped that Trowa was watching him-nothing felt better than playing a game knowing you were being watched over by someone that mattered. During his games at home, Rashid and his family were always there, as well as his various friends and members from his hometown. It felt so good to be noticed that way, but here...here was kind of difficult because there really wasn't that many people that he knew that were in the crowds watching him.

He pulled at his jersey, hiding his frown behind his collar. Thinking about home made him feel saddened, and he tried focusing on Ramos' words, but the feeling of never reclaiming that feeling of succession in front of those he knew made his stomach curdle. He felt his throat grow tight, and he swallowed repeatedly to make it go away. Why was he getting so upset over this? This was his third game, and he was getting upset because there was no one he knew in the crowds watching him.

The support of those he cared about were stronger than the support of those that were strangers. Because it was as if he were playing for them, not for the entertainment of the crowds. He missed hearing Rashid's encouraging words, Lana's shouts, the others' roar of approval or disapproval. It would help if Trowa were out there, because at least the goth cared about him.

He felt his cheeks suddenly blush at the thought of his...well, his boyfriend watching him. He could call Trowa that, right? Was Trowa his boyfriend, now? Was he more than a companion? Sure, they were together, but could they call each other that?

"What? Do I stink?" Manny suddenly asked him, noting the collar over Quatre's nose. Manny lifted his arm to sniff at his armpit, looking at Quatre curiously.

"No. Sorry," the blond muttered, dropping his collar from his face.

He wondered about this, if Trowa were now his boyfriend. Feeling his face flush at the thought, he felt that now familiar niggling at the back of his mind, the one that asked him what the fuck he was doing. Ramid's words of his son being a flaming homo came to mind, and he pulled his collar back up on his nose, finding himself remembering that instant, when Ramid had come home after hearing what Quatre and Jamie had been discovered doing.

// "This is absolutely disgusting!" Ramid screamed, his voice breaking at the end. Quatre had cringed at that point, his face a tomato-red, unable to look his father in the eye. "Disgusting! Did I raise you to be this way?! What kind of thing are you, to turn to another-another male for sexual gratification?! Were you always this way? Huh?! Where did I go wrong?! What the fuck is going on here, in this town, that makes you turn to males?! What's wrong with you?! What the fuck is wrong with you, Quatre?!"

Quatre couldn't answer because he wasn't sure how to. He merely swallowed the lump in his throat and wished that tonight hadn't happened. Ramid was pacing in front of him, running shaking hands through auburn hair. He wanted to look up at Ramid, to see what the other's expression told him, but Quatre was unable to lift his head. He couldn't bear to look his father in the eye after what Mr. Anderson had told him, and the thought that he'd engaged in homosexual activity made him sick. That he'd engaged in activity and actually enjoyed it, enjoyed it enough to orgasm. The memory of it now ripened the color of his face, and he nervously licked his lips, hearing Ramid pace.

"I can't believe this, I can't fucking believe this. All these people will know what you are, what you do...are you a fucking homo, Quatre? Do you like boys?! You're my only son, and you like boys?! All your sisters like boys-you do too?! I can't believe this....I just cannot fucking believe this!! My son, my only son, is a flaming homo!!! A fucking sissy-boy!!"

Quatre wished that he'd move on to another expression. Ramid kept repeating that one, pacing, throwing his arms out-his voice shook the air with its horrified disgust. It shamed Quatre to the core, and continued to bother him as Ramid moved onto other things, drawing out the plan of shifting Quatre from one state to the other to escape public scrutiny here in Laramie. Which, Quatre thought, was so entirely pointless because Ramid himself was in Laramie only three times a year-and that was to catch up on things with his brother or just to rest from a layover somewhere within the States during his travels. Ramid wasn't going to be the one that had to be constantly subject to the harsh reality that every homosexual encountered while living in a small community-Quatre was.\\

Remembering his father's words, Quatre wondered about his relationship with Trowa. Did it really constitute a relationship? Did Trowa himself consider Quatre his boyfriend? Was that term appropriate? He knew that Trowa was aware of his extreme discomfort when it came down to it, and the goth had restrained himself from following through with public displays of affection...which Quatre thought was extremely icky. But...were they actually a couple, now? And if so...could Quatre himself really handle it? The fact that he was gay and with another boy while his father forbade it? Well, his father's opinion really didn't matter, but it was the fact that it was looked upon as something abhorring within his family and community, and certainly among his peers...

Another thought came to mind just then-could he do this? Could he really be gay?

"So? We clear on that?!"

Quatre looked up from his thoughts, dropping the collar from his face. He really hadn't heard a word Ramos had said, but from the looks on everyone's faces, it didn't matter anyway. He found his position within the group to lay his hand on the other's and mouthed their chant. When they broke away to head out to the gym, Triton came along and swatted his ass. While that was familiar and yet very annoying, Quatre found himself yelping when the junior pinched him hard while he was at it.

"Knock it off!" he growled, turning and trying to land a punch into the grinning junior's face.

"You know you like it. Stop being a tease," Triton chuckled, shoving him away as the team made their way out from the locker rooms to the court.

Quatre scowled in his direction, rubbing his right ass cheek as it stung painfully from the pinch. It was embarrassing to be handled that way-degrading and humiliating. Triton hadn't done it in front of others, but the fact that he'd touched Quatre that way made the blond a little nervous. He still grew pissed at the memory of Triton groping him at the movie theater.

"What the fuck does that mean?" he then demanded.

"It means you're being a tease. Cut it out."

"How am I doing that?! You want me to kick your ass?"

"Whatever, shorty. Get that fucking ball and shoot some shots-you haven't made any points yet."

"Yes, I have. I have about four."

"And that means what? You suck, man. Pick up that ball and shoot."

"I don't need to make all the points just to look good, Triton," Quatre grumbled, but began shooting anyway, wondering if he should step-up his game. And, just to be safe, Quatre made sure that Triton was always a distance away from him. There was just something entirely sneaky about the junior that made Quatre wary. He felt that being alone with the junior, no matter how capable he was of defending himself, would be a very bad choice to make.

Then he shook his head with a disgusted expression. I really must be a sissy, he thought, making a three and pushing Triton out of his head to concentrate on his game.