Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ I Got Game! ❯ Come Around Again ( Chapter 27 )

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...

Pairings: 4x3/3x4, 1+2, 5xM & various others...

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

A/N: Wow, you live in Singapore, precog74? And none of this kind of stuff happens over there? Wow.

It's always real interesting to hear about other countries and such...and Myca, I'm not sure where I got this from, but you live in England? Anyway, I am glad you liked the sap. (Shudders) I don't really like sap-but it just came out that way. I'm not a real touchy-feely kinda person, and it just skeeves me OUT! People (who aren't my son) trying to hug me for any reason get an arm full of air and my figure in the horizon...I'm a weird one. And silentnight, you're right-they need to be happy! So I am making them happy!! And Thank you, plah, for your review! I agree-it is time to move on, and so, this should do it. And you're quite welcome! Thank you all for your reviews!

A/N, pt. 2: And, I am so sorry, people. I took a wrong turn somewhere in the middle, ended up with no more roads and way outs of this story, and despite my loads of lists and outlines and daydreams while maneuvering through shitty traffic in the Spaghetti Bowl-and tons of shakenbake porkchops, plain rice, Diet Coke and Pepsi and Finding Nemo-I cannot continue this STORY! Ragh, it drives me insane! BUT, because there are a ton of shit holes I need to work through (nice image there), it's not going to completely...die. I, of course, have found a solution to this ugly thing-a sequel!! BWA-HA-HA-HA-HA! Or something like that. :ahem: Anyway, questions? Comments? Concerns? Suggestions? Hate mail? Anthrax? Left over gay porn? Send them to me. This will be the last chappy of I Got Game!...but not the end of the story...heheheheheheh. And thank you all who have stuck with this story since its very horrible beginning...

Chapter Twenty-Seven~

"Come Around Again" = Jet

"Mmm...carbonated water with caramel color, potassium benzoate, citric acid, aspartame, phosphoric acid, some natural flavor, and most of all, caffeine," Felicia said a week later, licking her lips quite heartily as she removed her soda bottle from her lips, making a satisfied 'ah' sound.

"Er...did you just describe my Chemistry class assignment?" Quatre asked, a confused expression flitting through his face as he shuffled through his notebook options, looking for his study guide as he tried remembering what she had just described.

Felicia sighed heavily, shaking her head as she finished her soda and made a shot into the garbage can near the classroom door. "Whatever, you hair-brained imbecile...anyway, how's the leg comin' along?"

"Just fucking peachy, all right?! I am out for the next three weeks! And even then, I have to go through therapy just to get the fucker working again!! And so, that fucking means, I can't play! Or do anything fun! I have to sit on my ass like a fucking loser and whine and cry about it! And when I'm standing, I have to use these motherfuckers to get around on!! It fucking sucks! You want to ask me about my knee again?! ASK, Goddamn it!!"

She ducked underneath the computer station. "Sheesh...Excuse me for being concerned," she muttered, pulling her chair in to complete her fall-out shelter.

"QUATRE WINNER! I must ask that you PLEASE STOP using foul language in class!" the teacher shouted from her front desk, interested faces turning their way. "AND please stop those outbursts! I will not tolerate having my class disrupted by your eruptions!"

Quatre sighed, running his hands through his hair, and stared menacingly at his knee, which was wrapped in a new wrap, resulting in a ballooned mess underneath his pants leg. It was currently being propped up on a chair in the aisle, forcing his classmates to walk around it to get by. Really, it was quite irritating-he'd had Trowa take him into town Saturday morning, where he went into the hospital (waiting five fucking hours just to have his vitals taken, and another two just to see a real doctor!!), where he was then recommended to the Reconstructive Surgery Center on Winston and Fifty-Third. Thanks to Darken's insurance policy, that if a student injured him or herself participating in athletic competition, the bills were automatically directed to their finance offices, so Quatre and his family didn't have to worry a thing about paying the outrageous prices.

That procedure within the Center took just a half hour, where he watched as his knee was split wide open, torn muscle and cartilage repaired by the use of synthetic material and donated muscle fibers (thank you, modern technology), and everything rearranged so that all it really had to do was heal. Trowa had watched too, but had grown ill at the sight of opened flesh, and thus had to be excused from the operating room.

Quatre didn't get stitches, for his skin was glued together with synthetic skin cells that replicated the ones missing during the opening, and manufactured human skin that melded the cut to his knee's former smooth state. It was neat-someone's donated skin and fake skin cells had been positioned over his in order to keep from getting stitches. He had to keep it wrapped so that the muscle, both real and fake, would properly absorb and heal, and he had to use crutches to get around. Unfortunately, it still hurt like a motherbitch, and he was given a prescription for painkillers, of which he really liked, and for some reason, Trowa kept offering to buy it off him for his own use.

As soon as the doctor cleared him away to allow him normal use of his knee, he was to take therapy to get it back into working order. He kept saying that Quatre was very lucky-in the old times, most players were permanently taken out of the game because such injuries were always reoccurring due to the muscle never healing properly. But, on this note, it meant he had to miss nearly four games, and from then on, it was two more standard games before Zone, which was the play-offs for State Championships. So, by then, he should be playing. BUT, and this was one of the things that pissed him off, he was only allowed to play if the therapist recommended it.

Another thing that came up was the fact that any physical activity that jolted or knocked on his knee would throw off the healing process and possibly re-tear it. And thus, that meant, in Trowa's terms, no sex until then just to be careful. Hand jobs here, and maybe a blowjob there, but no sex. Which enraged Quatre even more, because, DAMN IT! It was sex with Trowa he was missing out on...how in the world was he going to last three weeks without sex with Trowa?! It was just cruel and unusual punishment to do this to him! What God had he pissed off to get this sort of karma bamboozled onto him?!

"Damn you!" he cursed his stupid knee, drawing Felicia out of her hidey-hole. "I would kill you if I had the chance, but then again, I need you too much!"

"Kick its ass, Quat," Felicia chuckled as she sat back in her seat and pretended to do her work.

Quatre sighed, adjusting the chair his leg rested on, and looked in her direction. Then he grinned. "So? What about you and soldier-boy?"

"Goddamn it!" she screamed, jumping from her chair, things being thrown about in the resulting chaos. Several kids around them had heart attacks, jumping slightly in their chairs. But in the bedlam, Quatre noticed how pink her cheeks had gotten, the way her eyes had taken on that starry-eyed glaze that everyone seemed to get when the mention of their loved one came up. He knew he sure had it whenever forced to talk about Trowa...

"Bring that up again, fag-boy, and I'll fuck that knee up even morrrrreee!!"

"Wah, ha! Ha! Ha!"

"FELICIA PASSAGE! QUATRE WINNER!!! This is the last time you disrupt the class!" the teacher screamed from her desk in front, leaning over it in her fury. "BOTH of you report to the office!!!"

"God...I hate my life..."

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

Trowa looked up from his Snickers bar, noting the time on the clicking clock nearby. This day was just passing by much too slowly...sighing heavily before taking a bite, he leaned his chin onto his palm and focused on the teacher's lecture. Apparently, he was going over the events of September 11th, and while Trowa was taking notes and taking interest in the lecture, he found himself barely able to concentrate over a constant buzzing noise. It reminded him of a fly...no, a bee. A very large honey bee. The kind that swarmed around the open end of your soda, bright stripes and possessed intensely busy concentration. It affected his right ear mostly, and he waved a hand in that direction to make the buzzing stop. Really, all it did was interrupt the constant drone, but then it began again so Trowa resolved himself to listening to this buzz while at the same time feigning interest in their teacher.

He sighed again, shifting in his seat, rolling his eyes ceiling ward. His Snickers bar was somewhat plain today-perhaps he'd switch to a new favorite, which was the Milky Way bar. Yum...caramel...He loved the way the chocolate was so smooth within his mouth, the way the caramel melted and coated his teeth...which reminded him, his braces were coming out next week.

Yay-zers! He thought with a small smirk, running his tongue over his covered teeth. Finally...an end to the embarrassment...well, not that anyone could see them, anyway. Half the time, no one knew they were there. Even Quatre forgot what he was looking for when he tried exploring with his tongue...mmm...French-kissing....Trowa quickly shook his head to dispel the erotic image, because with the blond's knee currently out of action, they could not participate in much yummy activity, and it just would not do to think about it right now.

So, he thought about obtaining a Milky Way bar, and found himself wondering anyway what his love puppy was up to in the next class. He hoped he was being good...being cooped up and unable to move made his blond psychopath a little, well, unstable. He was rendered helpless and vulnerable, so he tended to lash out with overbearing rage-unfortunately, it was like being threatened by a hapless victim in a wheelchair, and while the effect was rather strong, it was-oh, he was going to be struck down for this one-funny at the same time because he knew that person couldn't rightly do anything to him while confined...which only enraged the blond and created much uncontrolled hysteria in those that were being threatened by him.

A slow smile overtook Trowa's frowning lips, and he couldn't help but reflect on how Quatre's hair was growing out, moving to cover his eyes once more. Those beautiful, blue/green eyes that were fringed with gold lashes...a smattering of light freckles over a pert nose...curved, firm lips that paid particular attention to his balls...ahhh....Just wait until that knee healed. Trowa couldn't wait to throw that beautiful athlete onto the bed, rip his clothes off in controlled fashion, and----

"Trowa!! Are you even listening to ME?" Middie fairly exclaimed in exasperation, throwing up her arms, his image leaving him with that familiar record scratch. "I was just telling you something important, and you're not even listening! You're hurting me, Trowa, you really are!"

'You're hurting me'...Which swiftly reminded him of his first time penetrating Quatre, who was whimpering 'it hurts' when he was inside that tight, heated channel, locked into place by gripping, strong muscles...which led to very wonderful, mind-blowing sex...Subtly reminding him that he had a chip in his nail polish because the last time they'd had sex, they really had Quatre's bed rocking, and he'd reached up to grip the headboard while Quatre was nailing him at one point, which only reminded him of...Mmm...the way those strong, capable hands were able to stroke his cock with firm, swift and yet maddeningly teasing strokes, fingers brushing through pubic hair, fondling his sac, inching backward to penetrate him briefly with slow, infuriatingly slow thrusts that only promised what would come....

"You're really hurting my feelings, Trowa! I hate it when you ignore me! I feel useless and stupid whenever you do this to me! Really, it would be nice of you to acknowledge me! But then again, this constant ignoring of me makes me really want you more! I love it when you're never paying attention to me! Because once I have your attention, then you'll never look anywhere else again, and-God, you're so beautiful when you sigh! Trowa...I can do so much better than your dumb boyfriend...Trowa? Trowa! TROWA!"

"Middie Une! Stop harassing Mr. Barton, and please report to the principal's office! I told you time and time again to cease speaking while I am talking! Get!"

Trowa smirked in satisfaction as Middie, with a very red face, left her seat to do as the teacher said. Ah...no more buzzing...he was in heaven...

"Mr. Barton? Er...you have a phone call that's been regarded as 'urgent'," the teacher then said, looking up from a holographic image display of the school secretary, who turned to look away from him and looked at Trowa as he rose from his chair. She was displayed at the corner of the teacher's desk, were the projector was hidden.

"You can take the phone call on line 3," she said, her voice a strong Southern accent. He nodded and left the class to do just that, wondering what in hell Catherine wanted now.

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

"Christ..this is like, my fifth detention this week," Felicia moaned from her cushiony chair in the principal's hall, Quatre frowning as he shifted his knee over a chair that the secretary had wheeled in for him.

"Oh? Sounds like you're down from last time..."

"Dude, it's not like I get in trouble every day...it's just...I'm having some troubles, and I can't really...I don't know. Like..." Felicia screwed up her face, hands waving, trying to find the appropriate answers for what she was trying to say. Then she waved at him with familiar giving up gesture. "I don't know. Never mind."

Quatre sighed heavily, slouching in his chair, hands over his stomach. He then positioned his lips outward to blow his bangs out of his face. While he was happy that his hair had grown back-never will he allow Trowa's stylist to get near him with those damned shears-it was annoying him by continuously falling into his eyes. "I don't get in trouble too often...I think this is my...like, fourth detention since I got here last year..."

"Ooh, somebody has the right to brag..."

"Don't I?" Quatre asked on a smarty tone, raising an eyebrow in her direction.

"Well, it's not like-oh, fuck me," Felicia trailed off, muttering. She put her fingers together in the sign of the cross, and hissed.

Quatre looked at her in puzzlement, then looked up to see that Middie Une was walking into the secretary's office, taking in the both of them with a frown. She took the seat furthest from them and sat down hard, glaring at them both.

"Mr. Wilson sent me in," she muttered as the secretary nodded, and retrieved the information she needed from her computer. Mr. Wilson's reason for sending Middie to the principal was noted with a slight 'mm', and the woman printed out the note to give to the top dog once Middie was called into his office. Quatre looked away from the blond girl, not willing to give her his attention while Felicia gnashed at her nails, trying to quell her inner-instigator.

The secretary took in the sight with a frown, already sensing trouble. But she rose from her desk and walked off, hoping to sneak in a Snickers bar before she settled down to re-write parent notifications of failing students. One of them happened to be sitting before her...

Middie took in everything about the office, humming slightly to herself. As she did so, the other two figured she was of no threat, and resumed their conversation.

"Anyway, like I was saying...er...shit. I forget. Sometimes, the stench of dead fishies has me brain a-whirlin'," Felicia chuckled.

"Whatever," Quatre muttered. "You're the one that got us sent down here, you dumb broad."

"Ah. Finally. I have you admitting that, yes, despite my obvious tendencies to try and be male, that I am indeed, a girl."

"Shit..."

Felicia stared at her nails with a bored sigh, then sat back in her chair, kicking her feet in the air before her. "Fuck. What's takin' him so long? I don't got all day...I've got classes to pass! People to annoy! Boys to flirt with and girls to ignore...geez, I'm a busy gal!"

A snort caught their attention, and two heads swiftly moved away from the principal's door to Middie, who was staring at her perfect manicured nails. She shifted her eyes from her nails and looked at them. Seeing twin expressions of hostility, she lowered her hand to her lap, and adjusted herself so that her ankles were crossed, hands were serenely set at her middle, and her heavily lined eyes staring at them from behind her uplifted nose.

"So...what are you two doing here for?" she asked.

"Not that it's any of your business, but we were caught in a threesome with this guy named Trowa Barton behind the school," Felicia answered automatically. "The principal wants us to give a repeat performance, but Trowa's busy fuckin' around with some broad named Dorothy Catalonia, so we're waitin' on him."

"God...not one word out of your dick-sucking mouth has ever been true," Middie snapped.

"Ulp! Guilty! Yes, it was me sucking dick on your daddy..."

"Fucking whore."

"And you want what I have, gal. Admit it, get over it, and shoo. What are you here, for? Failing to uphold the cheerleader tradition in gang-banging all that is male within the senior level? I swear, I thought you were almost done...whatever made you stop? Oh, yes, the fact that you were stretched too wide to even hold a tanker truck...damn. I suck at one-liners today, don't I?" Felicia asked on a sigh.

Quatre shook his head. "Absolutely pathetic. I am ashamed to even know you."

"God...I lost all the respect I needed from a basketball freak...I shall hang myself shortly. Save all my messages..."

"Good! One less colored to look at!" Middie snapped.

Felicia sighed. "You need to think of a different insult, white-girl. That's really not affecting me in the least. I've heard it all-and frankly, the word 'colored'? Is used on African-Americans. I am Native American."

"And the difference is what?"

"Ooh...you're just asking for-"

"As much as I like you two fighting over me, I'm afraid that I really don't want either of you," Quatre interrupted, holding his hands out to the both of them. "I'm taken, ladies, really. You flatter me, though."

"I am not talking to you!" Middie snapped while Felicia snorted in his direction. "I don't want anything to do with you! Seriously, all you are to me, Quatre Winner? Is shit under my shoe."

"Ooh! You wound me..." Quatre muttered.

"Seriously," Felicia added, shaking her head and turning away.

Middie fiddled with her uniform, pulling at the hem of her skirt as she steamed. She eyed one, then the other, then drew her lips into a smirk. Her eyes dropped to the wounded knee on the chair, then back to Quatre's face, noting the absence of attention in her direction. She rose from her chair, slowly sashaying her way to the secretary's desk, and fiddling with a Post-It and a pen. Quatre glanced at her briefly, but began a whispered conversation with Felicia, who ducked her head to pick at something on her pants. Attention diverted from her, Middie turned and took a step closer to them. Really, she was focused on the glass wall that allowed her to look out from the secretary's office to the outside hall, and she saw from the corner of her eye as Quatre glanced at her once more, then resumed conversation while Felicia listened.

Middie then turned, positioned just beside the chair that his knee rested on, gaining both their attentions with the movement. She gave an evil smirk, one that made Quatre shiver, goose bumps rising along his arms. Felicia even drew back with a surprised expression as the blond carelessly flipped her curled hair over her shoulder, then drew up her leg, and smashed her Ralph Lauren heel into Quatre's knee.

The hallways rang with his pain-filled scream.

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

Triton stared at the bottle of pills that he usually took in the morning, right after his shower. It was to be taken with food and milk, then repeated twelve hours later. It was to regulate his bipolar moods, of which affected him greatly whenever he wasn't taking the dosage. Since he had been taking the pills, he'd noticed quite a change from his old self to his new one, and of that, he was grateful for. Because while no one liked the up and down shifts of moods, he didn't like his because whenever he was down, he was very down. And when he was very down, he thought in conscienceless decision, which was practically his downfall into the position he was in today.

It didn't mean that every bipolar acted the same way as he did-every individual was different, and he couldn't group himself with a few other bipolars because he had some of their symptoms. Everyone was different.

He then shifted his attention to the new prescription pills that had arrived via FED-Ex this morning. Seeing that his dosage had been upped a small bit due to some concern his mother had after talking to him last week, he sighed heavily. All he'd mentioned was how great his classes were going, what was going on in basketball, and somehow, someway, she'd detected something distant in his voice over the cell phone reception. At the time, he was jacking off to a newspaper clipping of Quatre Winner during their game against Duncan Jones, and the blond had been named Player of the Week in their district and so had an entire column devoted to him, along with a picture of him in action. Triton had this clipping and was finishing business when his mother asked him what was really going on with him. Triton finally had to admit that he had a problem with one of his classmates, not wanting to divulge in the entire story for obvious reasons, and he admitted that he was feeling pretty bummed about it. And thus, the extra dosage just in case.

He sat down on his bed, carefully removing the medical labels of his pills and repasting them with various vitamin pill labels that made them appear obscure, normal. He then dropped them into his bag of bathroom toiletries and kicked that underneath his bed. His roommate was busily having sex with his current flavor of the month, and so the two of them weren't paying any attention to him. He rose from the bed and walked out from the room, remembering to slide a sock over the handle to let others know that they weren't to come a-knockin'.

With a cheery expression in place, Triton shoved his hands into his pockets and marched off to look for some company. He was bored, his homework was done, and he needed something to do. While he normally headed off toward the gym to shoot a few, his only reason for doing so was laid up with a healing ACL and some healing touches from his stupid boyfriend. So, Triton had to find other things to amuse himself with, and he was a little annoyed at that.

Sighing heavily as he walked outside, the snow whipping around him, he hunched his shoulders and hurried over to the cafeteria. Not that he was going to eat, but there was bound to be someone about. He walked through the glass doors, immediately spying a few of his friends at a nearby table. Veering in that direction, he lifted his hand to wave when it was suddenly held down within a pair of smooth, warm hands gripped his wrist. He looked down into the smiling face of Middie Une, complete with black eyes, busted lower lip, and an odd hair cut-it was very short, the ends curling around her face and neck with a pixiesh style that went befittingly with her...well, as befitting as could be with all that bruising. She also had a temporary splint aligning her nose, which was completely swollen, distorted, and very black and blue. Ooh...it made him want to hide behind his hands and scream for his mother. But that would make him very un-manly...

He blinked, feeling a little lost and alone as a predatory smirk broke across her lips.

"Triton Bloom!" she cooed, rather awkwardly with that face of hers. Frankly, he wanted to break contact and run, because he knew she was bad business. But he was insanely curious as to why the facial change. "Just the person I wanted to see!"

"What the fuck happened to you?" he asked, trying not to sound as scared as he looked.

Her eyebrows snapped together with a frown, but she waved that question away. "Forget about it. So? Did you think about what I said the other day?"

"About what?" he asked slowly.

She stamped her foot in mock impatience. "You know! About...not being able to have the things that you want?!"

"Oh," he breathed, that proposal coming back to mind. While it was somewhat bothering him because he wanted to know what it was that Middie could help him with-which might be this insane quest of hers to possess Trowa Barton for herself, but if it meant he could have Quatre in any way, he was considering it-it also had his spidey-sense tingling. Middie may be straight cut and looked immaculately clean, but he knew the deception underneath. And frankly, it disturbed him. But he was so curious-!

"Yeah...I don't know. Is it...I don't know, Middie. I mean..."

"C'mon, Triton. I've seen the way you look at him...I know what you do when you think you're alone..." She winked at him suggestively, and he felt his face redden slightly, wondering if she knew what he did when he thought he was alone. She then reached out, hitting him playfully across the chest. "C'mon! Triton Bloom! Did you really think that I know what you're up to?! I'm not psychic...come on! Come talk to me for awhile, 'k? I'll buy you dinner..."

"Well..." Triton really didn't want to. Something told him that she wasn't genuine. But then again...

"Fine. Just let me know what happened to your face, all right?"

Sigh. "...deal."

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

Felicia knew her face looked blah as she entered her first class of the morning-she couldn't help it. The sort of makeup that she wore couldn't cover her under eye circles, her paleness...she had to admit it. She had come down with something. Something entirely evil, something gruesome, something gross... She wiped her hand across her mouth and smacked her lips, tasting the evil cottony taste of blasphemy. Well, something as close to the term, she supposed. She had spent all night, of which was better spent talking with some of her closer friends and entertainment, thinking. Her head ached, her eyes were dry, and her stomach felt ripped from her body because the absence of hunger had caused her to skip nearly three meals since yesterday morning. She felt entirely depressed, melancholy, and listless. And certainly hypocritical. For all the shit that she spout, she sure fucked up good.

Her entire frame was slouched as she walked to her desk at one of the back computer stations, her shoulders hunched forward, her hands listless at her sides, her feet taking a shuffling pace across the linoleum floor. Drake took one look at her from his station near the middle and screamed in horror, resulting in interested stares from those around them.

"Don't tell me-!" he begged, hands in front of him as she slumped into her chair at the back of the room.

When she shifted to look at him, her face drawn long with deeply hooded eyes, lackluster hair and depressed mood, Drake shifted his hands in front of his face and tried to curl into a ball in his chair. The sight was truly scary, and the reason behind it was much scarier. He had enough experience with the girl to know what this emotion was to trigger such a reaction. And frankly-it scared him.

"Noooo!" he wailed in dramatic overtone, the teacher looking up from the front holographic board in front of class.

"Yes, Drake...I'm afraid I have terrible news..." Felicia said on a deep sigh, slouching even lower in her chair, hair covering her face.

"Please! No! Felicia...I'll pay you! I'll fuckin' ship ya off planet! I'll-! I'll-! Give you my new Christina album! But, nooooo! Not that! Not this time!"

"Yes, Drake...I'm sorry. But...I can't help what I feel..."

"NO! Please!!"

"Mr. Bellows! Miss Passage!! What is the meaning of this outburst?! Is it even remotely interesting for the rest of the class to hear?!" the teacher demanded, hands on his round hips as everyone turned in their direction, having already drawn themselves closer to the action to find out the real reason of this depressed and rather deathly Felicia Passage.

Felicia sighed, hands on her cheeks, faint color returning once more to the once lively features. "Fine...I'll admit it...everyone? I-I...I'm in love."

"Argh!"

"Head for the hills!"

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

"'Summer school'?!" Quatre nearly shrieked, throwing his arms up into the air. The notice that he'd received upon entering the dormitory fluttered upward, and drifted toward the floor amidst a rattling sound. "I have to go to 'summer school'?! NOOooo!! I want to go home!! I don't want to be here all fuckin' summer! I want to go back home! This is unfair!! This is so fucking unfair!!"

"Quat...chill...you're going to pop your...er, well, they aren't stitches, now, are they? Quat, you're going to ruin your...shit..." Trowa trailed off, trying to find the proper term to address the skin graft that had been reapplied to Quatre's knee three days ago. After Middie Une's rather malicious attack, which had re-torn Quatre's ACL and was now keeping him benched indefinitely from this season, Quatre had to return to the Reconstructive Surgery Center and have the entire application redone. Of course, more time was needed in order for it to heal, as Middie's attack had completely re-severed said muscle and knocked his kneecap out of place. The vicious attack had left him howling with pain and bringing in hordes of security personnel to the rescue and Felicia decking the poor girl-well, deserving girl-without hesitation, using her superhuman strength in rearranging the girl's face. In the resulting chaos, Middie had somehow became victim to a pair of scissors that had resulted in losing half of the blond curls she'd become infamous for...

Admin was having a field day in trying to decide what to do with Middie-her parents were respectable politicians for alien government, and thus couldn't outright expel her. While such arguments were being worked over in the principal's office, Felicia was on in-house suspension and banned from off campus activities and temporary grounding procedures-no tv, no athletic events, no nothing-because of her 'fighting' with Middie. Which was rather unfair-Middie had deserved it, and Trowa was rethinking his grounds with his former friend. Which was still 'former' because he was still pissed at the way she and Quatre hung out together. But rethinking because she was willing to defend the currently vulnerable blond without wavering thought.

"Anyway, you're going to fuck it up again," Trowa finished rather lamely, gesturing at the offending knee.

Quatre was sitting on his bed, running his hands through his hair with a frustrated growl, anger blooming on the pale features. He couldn't believe this!! He was looking forward to going back home to Lana and Rashid, to spending the entire summer there-despite obvious tension with his former schoolmates-and now this?! Rashid and Lana, having temporary custody over him while such issues were in limbo with his father, had already been notified of this, and had agreed that if he wanted to pass to junior level, he had to attend Darken's summer school program.

Well, he really didn't want to be held back-he didn't want to be that loser, so, he was willing to do it. It was just...well...it wasn't fair. He wanted to go home. Even for a brief week. He missed home, and despite the way he had to leave, it was home.

"Well...I just...fuck. Trowa...I wanted to go home. And isn't it awfully early for me to receive this type of bullshit?!" Quatre asked, scowling at the offending paper.

"Quat...obviously you've fucked up enough to earn this sort of privilege, so I wouldn't complain about it," Trowa said, picking up the paper and reading it. Yup-Quatre would be held back if the proper credits weren't made up, and this summer schooling option was going to have to do. He lowered the paper to his lap, and sat on the bed next to his blond beloved.

"I don't wanna..."

Trowa sighed, shaking his head. It only got better...he thought sarcastically. Trying for a cheerful expression, and then losing horribly, he turned to face Quatre as the blond muttered under his breath about what valuable lessons he could be learning elsewhere instead of summer schooling here at this mad house of horrors.

"I got a phone call from my sister this morning," he said, shrugging a shoulder.

"Really? Wow...I've never met your sister, Trowa."

"I'm not letting you two meet."

"Why?! I've never seen a porn star up close, before!"

"Do you like your dick, Quatre? Because a few more comments like that, and I will break you."

Quatre laughed, but apologized, reaching out to kiss Trowa's neck. "Fine, fine. What is it?"

Trowa took a deep breath, frowning as he searched for understanding and eternal love in those blue/green depths... "Catherine found out from our old case worker...this woman named Jamille DuLongley, that we may have distance relatives that are interested in coming into contact with us...As such...well, she and I are leaving the States a week after school lets out and heading overseas to check it out. We'll be gone for a couple of months..."

Quatre stared at him for several long, silent filled seconds as this information processed within a muddy, somewhat uncomprehending brain. For some reason, he just thought that Trowa was telling him that he was leaving him here alone-to run around next door in Europe with his older sister...nah, that couldn't be true! Trowa was just fucking around with him, that's all.

He grinned. "Liar."

"No, I'm serious."

Quatre stared at him for several more seconds, blinking every so often. The words sank in, as well as the sad expression on Trowa's face. And with a start, he had to admit that when Trowa told the truth in some instances, he took on this little frown that made his bottom lip fuller, the corners of his mouth more deeper, and his thin eyebrows to scrunch slightly toward each other...Trowa was telling the truth. Trowa was leaving him.

"No way..." he finally uttered, not wanting it to be true.

"Yeah...I'm sorry, Quat....

"No! No! I don't want you to go! You're going to be gone a long time!"

"No, I just...well, see, it's not going to last long. Just a trip to Paris, to Barcelona...a little place between here and there...it'll probably take a couple of months...I'll definitely be back before...the end of the summer."

Quatre stared at him in amazement, blinking every so often. While the information was computing, it just wasn't registering. And while it did, he still couldn't believe it. "And when do you leave?!"

"After school's out. Catherine just let me know this morning...really, Quat, it's nothing. We're just going over the great big pond to check out some leads about our family...I'm sorry. I hate that I have to go, but...you know..."

"No, I don't. Trowa...I don't want you to go...can I come with you?"

"Um...I don't think so. It's just...me and my sister...our family...business. Quatre...it's nothing! Really! We're just going over there for just a few months-"

"Just a minute ago, you said a 'couple' of months! Not a 'few'!"

"Quat...Look, I don't want to be separated from you, either. Really. It's just, my sister and I have history over there. Undiscovered history. And the case worker mentioned that she found some information about some distant relatives of ours...we want to be able to get into touch with them. Kind of...reattach ourselves to those we lost because of our parents' deaths..."

"Trowa..."

"Besides, you're going to be attending summer school!" Trowa smiled affectionately at him, reaching over to rub his fingers through his hair. Quatre jerked his head away with a grumble, really not liking the idea of Trowa leaving him for the summer. "If you want to stay in the same grade as I, you have to go, Quat. Get those credits back. And stop being such a dick about it-you knew this would happen. At least you aren't failing completely, you know."

"Well, I know...but...Trowa...three whole months without you?! What the fuck am I going to do without you?"

"Well, Felicia's always-ow! OW! PUT THAT DOWN, GODDAMN IT!!"

Quatre lowered his crutch, then tossed it aside to reach out and hug Trowa close, whimpering and whining about the fact that he wasn't going to see Trowa for a couple or a few months over the summer...

Trowa smiled, rubbing at the sore spot on his head where the metal had connected, then hugged him back. Kissing the white-blond locks that were growing back into the style he'd first seen Quatre possess, he couldn't help but feel a surge of love for the guy. He was definitely going to miss him-miss hearing from him, miss seeing him, miss witnessing him freaking out...everything. He was going to miss his smell, his sight, his feel...and it wasn't as if they were going to be gone forever...just for a little while.

Still, the effect was the same. And he knew that it was going to hurt to be separated from him for such a period of time! Still, if Quatre was going to summer school, then he should be well occupied. Summer school was usually just a cheerful reminder that one was in danger of being a loser and failing while his classmates surged ahead, and he hoped that it would give Quatre a kick in the ass for missing all those homework assignments...really, the blond should know better.

"Trowa...I love you...."

Trowa snickered, pressing kisses against the pale skin of Quatre's forehead. "Dude. You're acting like I'm leaving tomorrow. It's only February...I leave in June? Hello?"

"I KNOW, but...Trowa...without you....I feel weird," Quatre admitted, clutching the former goth's shoulders. "You were practically here from day one...and then to have you gone...I don't know what I'd do. Seriously! Who's going to keep me in line? Who's going to bug me constantly with stupid pet-names? Who's going to-"

"Quat, I'm not going to be gone forever! Just over the summer...and I'm going to miss you, too, my lovebug of delicious sex," Trowa sighed against his hair. He stiffed at the feel of fingernails curling into his skin. "Ow. Ow. Ow. All right, all right, I won't call you anything more...just...it'll be all right. When the time comes, you'll be cool with it. I promise..."

"Trowa..."

"Quatre..."

The blond sighed and hung his head against Trowa's shoulder. "Fine. I trust you, Trowa Barton. If you say so, then I'll believe it."

"I say so, Quat. I say so..."

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

And, that's the end of I Got Game!! Yayyyy!! Like I said before in the notes above, any questions, comments, suggestions and whatnot, let me know. I seriously fucked up somewhere within the story, and I seriously had no other way out except to continue with a sequel of sorts. It makes sense now-probably, when I pay more attention to it, I'll realize that I was being dumb and-oh well. If any of ya see any important mistakes that I missed, please let me know so I won't be a busta and completely space on writing it into the next story...I'd severely appreciate it. Thanks for reading and liking the story! Exit stage left and buh-bye!