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"Keep In Time"Written By: Dentelle_noir Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing AC or the
characters. They belong to Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. This
is a work of fiction and written for fun, not profit Rating: R Warnings: AU, sap, angst, fluff Pairings: 3x4. Summary: A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without
a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre
is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy.
Together, they make new rules and find a new path. "Keep In Time" Chapter 13 The tension at the rink was palatable. Trowa had shown up just a few minutes late, with his clothes a little disheveled and the tell-tale smell of Quatre’s cologne still sticking to him, but he got changed and was on the rink shortly after. He wasn’t surprised to see Cathy in the office, screaming her head off to Petra and Dimitri-- Not after the fight on the basement stairs. Trowa just did his warm-ups, moving through the motions and letting it settle him. Today was a pairs day, too, meaning July was already on the rink working through her warm-ups. He’d meant it when he said that he would still skate with her, because he was a professional and he could keep personal feelings out of it. He limbered up just a few moments later and turned to her. “Let’s work through the same routine as yesterday,” he said, and July nodded tightly. They didn’t crash, didn’t hit each other, and didn’t swear at each other. It was the most technically perfected routine they had ever done.... Upstairs, Petra blinked, “They’re...” “Terrible.” Dimitri put in, watching the two of them skate. They didn’t flow. They could walk the walk, but there was no poetry. Even Trowa, who always seemed to put a little love into his movements, was ram-rod straight and mechanical; he was just going through the motions. Petra looked down at them, her main focus on July, who had been her skater for years, “I-- I don’t know what to do with them. July’s getting worse because of Trowa, and Trowa’s getting more out of shape the longer this goes on. I don’t know if our skate club can keep him at this rate.” Dimitri tensed all over, “You aren’t suggesting we let him go to another club! Who?! The Lowe rink? There’s no way Trowa would even get half the individual training he needs with Heero Yuy as their star male pair skater. He’d have to move cities... There’s a girl in Chicago looking…” Petra sighed, “Do you really think that Trowa would agree to change coaches? You know that you can’t move to Chicago. And you’ve trained Trowa since he was little. His guardian is always off globetrotting somewhere; you’re as close to a parent as he’s got, Dimitri! You can’t leave him. I don’t think he could handle that much change. Not right now. He’s just getting over the accident…” Downstairs, Trowa and July moved through their cool-downs, oblivious of the conversation above. The music changed as Trowa got the remote, moving it to something more upbeat, happier. He worked through his cool-downs while the music blared around him. July completely shut out the music and moved into a set of perfectly scripted cool-down stretches, and then took to the gate, sparing the free-styling skater one backwards glance, a roll of the eyes, and a huff of “What was I thinking!” crossing her lips. “This is going nowhere,” Petra finally admitted. Cathy looked down at the rink from the large windows in the office and scowled, “They’re FINE! Doing better than ever before! I’m telling you, it’s that BLONDE! That little blonde whore is RUINING Trowa’s career! He was looking through our COSTUMES and GEAR! He could have been sabotaging Trowa! And my brother wouldn’t even bat an eyelash! Trowa’s as gullible as they come! I want you to put your foot down, Dimitri! For the good of Trowa’s career! He’ll listen to you! He won’t listen to me anymore!” She was yelling. But Dimitri wouldn’t have one more word of it, “CATHY BARTON! You will shut the HELL UP! At least he’s down there!” “I’m INJURED!” Cathy yelled back, a flush coming to her face. “That wouldn’t stop Trowa! And it DOESN’T stop Quatre! You know how badly hurt that ‘little blonde whore’ is, and he STILL goes to dance classes four times a week, even though he can’t even JUMP off his feet! Quatre has drive! And you? You can’t get off your brother’s case for FIVE MINUTES to look at yourself! What have you done to stay in the game, Cathy? Nothing. I won’t have you bad mouthing Trowa anymore!” Petra started to move over to her husband to settle him, but it didn’t matter: Dimitri was done. He pushed passed both Petra and Cathy, walking down to the rink with purpose, “July! Thank you for your time, but we do not need your services anymore. Trowa, I want you free-styling.” He said, “I won’t lose one more minute of practice!” “DIMITRI! You can’t!” Petra yelled, agog. “Trowa’s MY skater, Petra! And it’s high time I put my foot down! This has gone on long enough! Trowa, axels! MOVE!” July sucked back a breath and blinked quickly, not believing that she had just been fired like that. She looked at Trowa, but he was already moving to follow coach’s orders. He said nothing. Not a goodbye, not a thanks, not even a ‘it was nice to meet you’. She knew they didn’t skate well together, but they were still fellow skaters. Obviously Trowa didn’t respect her enough to give her a goodbye. So she pushed off the ice with her chin up, grabbed her things, and trudged out the rink as fast as she could. She had places to be, people to see, class to attend. She spared one last look at Trowa, but he was listening to Dimitri give him pointers on his axel. Once that was done, Trowa reached in his pocket for the little purple MP3 player, and let the sound system blast while he jumped again and again, landing more elegantly each time. He wasn’t even aware of July leaving. It was just him and the ice. Nearly perfect.
Chalk. Yes, definitely smelled like chalk and a bitter rubberness that was almost more taste than smell. Quatre would know, really; his face had been mashed into the floor of the dance studio for the count of thirty every few days. “And lift!” the instructor called, and Quatre rolled out of the butterfly stretch, sitting up even though his legs stayed in the diamond and his feet together. “And arms!” the instructor called, and Quatre reached up high, stretching along with the rest of the class. It was during the splits when the door to the studio opened, and July walked in. Her eyes were all red and she was still wearing her skating clothes, but she walked in and took a spot right next to Quatre—Bold. After the angry words they had just a few hours ago on Trowa’s basement steps, he really hadn’t thought that July would even look at him. She didn’t, not really anyway, but she only made it through two kinds of splits before she was on her feet, walking out and wiping furiously at her eyes. Even though Quatre was mad at her for taking Cathy’s side, he couldn’t leave her like that! After all was said and done, they were still friends, and Quatre understood why July did what she had. And if he were to be honest with himself, if put in the same situation Quatre knew that he would act the same way. He got up, slipped out of class without making a fuss, and followed her into the dressing room. She was sobbing quietly, holding a tissue to her mouth to muffle the sounds. Quatre sat down beside her, and with a sigh he wrapped his arms around her, “Shh, shh, what’s the matter?” “Trowa’s such an- an asshole!” July spat out, then put the tissue back to her mouth to muffle another broken sob. Shocked, Quatre looked at her hard, “Did he hit you or something?! What happened!” “He was such an asshole to me today, Quatre! I got cut from the team….And he just…went on as if it hardly mattered to him one way or the other! Not a goodbye, not anything! I know we weren’t clicking but I thought we were friends! But- wait, why would you think he hit me?” “Trowa got sent home from school for fighting today; He sent one of my friends on his ass in the cafeteria. And after that huge fight in the basement? I don’t know what he would do.” July shook his head, “He wouldn’t hit me. He’s an asshole, but he’s not violent. Just an prick.” “He’s been under a lot of stress. He probably didn’t mean to be so cold…I’m sure he still likes you…” he tried. July turned to Quatre, clearly surprised, “What do you care, anyway…I thought you hated me after I didn’t stick up for you. Cathy was just yelling shit and I backed her up. I don’t feel that way about you and Trowa. I like both of you. I just really want to skate in the big leagues.” She dabbed her eyes and put the tissue down, seeming to calm a little more now. “It’s so fucking hard to get a break in the woman’s section. I thought that skating with Trowa would give me the edge I needed to get noticed. He gets so much extra ice time and coaching and he actually had sponsors last year! I’d do anything to skate with the pros. So I just… went along with Cathy. I really thought you’d hate me…” Quatre shrugged, “I don’t hate you… although to be honest, I am a little happy you got cut. I don’t like you trying to steal my boyfriend…” “GOD, I don’t want the boyfriend bits! Ew!” She said with a grimace. “HEY! I happen to like his boyfriend bits. He has very nice boyfriend bits! What’s wrong with his bits?!” “Sure he’s good looking, but he listens to POP music!” She said as if that were the worst curse in the world. “I like pop music!” Quatre defended. July turned, smirking, “That’s okay. No one’s perfect. And really, Trowa sure is wrapped up in you, or well, UNDER you. You sure seemed to enjoy riding him from what I saw.” Quatre flicked her playfully, “You got more of an eyeful than I would have wanted! And we both had our pants on!” “And WHAT an eyeful, whoo, that was pretty hot,” July said, grinning gently. Quatre blushed a little, but more from jealously than embarrassment. July smiled, “Don’t worry, Quat! The only ride I want from Trowa is one to this weekend’s school-merge party!” Quatre rolled his eyes, “No way! He’s driving ME to that party!” He said, “And he’s going to be my date, even if he doesn’t know it yet!” July laughed, “Me~ow” she bantered back, “You got his social calendar all set up, apparently” “He probably wouldn’t go if I didn’t beg him too. But it’s going to be great. All the kids from the private school will be there, and so will the kids from our school. It’s celebrating the amalgamation of the two schools! He can’t miss it!” July smiled, relaxing a bit. Things with Quatre were back to normal, back to make-up tips and talking about the dance. “You’re good for him, Quat. Really good for him. Tell him that I said he was an asshole, kay? But I could probably forgive him… If he gives me a ride to the party.” “I’ll tell him, but it ain’t gonna happen,” Quatre said, tugging at her hair playfully, unraveling a little from the bun, “Now. Before Madam comes in here and gives us a hundred plièrs, let’s go?” July wiped at her eyes once more, and composed herself enough to re-join the stretch class.
Trowa was waiting in the jeep at the end of Quatre’s practice, and he was rather surprised. Out of the dance studio came Quatre, alright, but in his arms was a red-eyed July, whom he seemed to be comforting… Didn’t they fight earlier? What was all this? Quatre handed her off to another dancer, making sure she got into the car, and then he walked over to Trowa, glaring, and climbed in the passenger side with a glower, “You didn’t have to be that way to her, you know.” He hissed. Trowa felt like he was in the twilight zone, “What did I do?!” “She was crying, Trowa! She’s still my friend! What did you say to her? She wanted me to tell you that you’re an asshole!” Quatre grilled, crossing his arms angrily. Trowa huffed, “I didn’t say ANYTHING to her! She got cut! Simple enough! I was nice about it! She’s a nice person and all, but I can’t skate with her! So, she got cut. I didn’t say a word!” Quatre looked out the front window and sighed, his anger leaving, “I thought that’s what it was. You didn’t even say goodbye, did you?” he said breathily, then looked at Trowa, “Can you take me home, Trowa, maybe have dinner with me? We’ll do some homework?” He asked, leaning back in the seat, looking a little upset over the whole thing. “I can’t win, can I?” Trowa growled, “You’re upset I was skating with her, and now you’re upset that she got cut!” “I’m upset because my friend is upset, okay! It’s complicated!” Quatre huffed, “She was CRYING her EYES OUT in the dressing room! How am I supposed to feel? Overjoyed?!” Trowa put the car into drive and pulled out without a reply. Apparently he was an asshole anyway! He couldn’t win! At least he was still being invited in, though, which meant that maybe Quatre didn’t really want to do homework at all. He could hope, at least. And when he caught Quatre looking at his legs as he drove, he thought that maybe he had a bit more than a hope.
Quatre laid on his bed, blissed out, and snuggled against the pillow that Trowa had just vacated. It wasn’t warm anymore, but it still kinda smelled like him. Trowa had left to go home about twenty minutes before. Quatre actually expected a call tonight about the homework—They hadn’t gotten one whit of studying done, their hands too busy making the other moan while swallowing each other’s tongues. Quatre felt a little pleasurable thrill thinking about it. But Quatre wasn’t having as many problems in school as Trowa was. The guy had no clue about half of their math workload, because he missed nearly three classes a week. Trowa had told him that he used to have a tutor, but his guardian wouldn’t pay for the tutor anymore since Trowa was in school a lot more now—Trowa used to be gone for weeks on end doing exhibitions in other cities, much like Quatre’s cousin was, but now that he was there more often, his guardian didn’t think he needed the tutor. His cell phone rang, and Quatre picked it up, “Did you use the right formula, Trowa?” He said before even saying hello, smirking. “I’m not Trowa, but I know what YOU’VE been up to now, and it’s pretty obvious that his cock is more important than your friends!” Jason’s voice was angry, hard, “I waited for you!” Quatre was completely floored…then went pale, “…The movie…” “Yes. The movie. Tonight. We even went to a later show so that you could come after that stupid class of yours, and you were a no show.” “How…was it?” Quatre asked, squirming in his spot a little. Ah hell, he screwed up. “Everyone else said it was good. I waited for you.” Jason repeated. Quatre felt like a heel. Jason had obviously waited outside the theater for him to come- and he never came, because he had been with Trowa and totally forgot. “I-I’m sorry, Jason…” Quatre said, feeling like he’d been socked in the gut, “…I… I forgot all about it. July was so upset today…” “Don’t lie! You were with Trowa!” Jason hissed, “What happened to loyalty to your friends!” Quatre felt his back go up, “C’mon Jason! I fucked up! No need to lay it on so thick!” he protested, sliding up his bed and sitting against the wall, “And I never asked you to wait for me and miss the movie!” “Yeah, well, someone had to wait for you! And I thought you’d be so mad if you missed it—apparently I was wrong.” Jason said, then toned down his hostile attitude, “I’m sorry, look, I just…was worried. That skater guy’s fucking strong! I should know! He gave me a black eye!” Quatre still felt terrible about that, even though it was more like a little cut then a black eye, really. Jason was being a baby about the whole thing. But he didn’t want to ruffle feathers, “How about I make it up to you? I’ll take you to see that movie?” Quatre offered, playing right into Jason’s hand. “Not if you’re going to bring Trowa too. I hate that guy,” Jason wheedled. “Alright,” Quatre agreed, “Just me, then. I’ll take you and make it up.” “Wednesday?” Jason hedged. “I have my cousin’s party on Wednesday…how about…Thursday? I’ll make it up to you on Thursday. I’ll even buy POPCORN!” he offered just to appease the boy. He was sure Trowa would NOT be thrilled at all, but he would understand once Quatre explained the situation. And he would have tons of time to explain it all on Wednesday during the party. Jason happily complied, “See? That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Quatre rolled his eyes, “I said I was sorry, Jason…” about the movie, at least. “But you DID deserve that punch. You hurt me when you grabbed at me like that! And I thought for a minute that you were going to punch me. Trowa was just protecting me. And he didn’t even level you!” Jason growled, “Don’t stick up for him! He’s a fucking--” Jason cut himself off before he wound himself up more, “You know what? I’ll see you Thursday. And I DON’T wanna see HIM okay. Bye.” The line went dead after that, and Quatre groaned, dropping his head to his pillows with an exaggerated sigh. And he thought ballerinas were moody!? Slowly but surely, the longer he stayed with Trowa the less friends he seemed to have. Last time he had a group project, the teacher had to assign him a group! It was pathetic. He had never really fit in with the drama crowd perfectly, but at least he had fit. Trowa, though, was just too jock for most of that group to accept, which Quatre didn’t understand! It wasn’t like Trowa played FOOTBALL or some such well-known meat-head sport. But he was an athlete, and a serious one. Trowa was as serious about skating as Quatre used to be about dancing. Quatre understood him so easily, he wanted to be with him all the time…he just wished that it didn’t have to be a ‘him or us’ mentality when it came to his friends. Were they really friends if they couldn’t accept him for who he was? The cell phone rang again, and Quatre flipped it open. It had to be to Trowa this time, “Are you sure you used the right formula?” he said before a hello. “…Well, HEY, and I thought you’d never get more original than ‘city morgue!’ for greetings!” A cheery voice bounced, the sounds of a car in the background. But nothing could muffle the voice of his best friend- The one and only Duo Maxwell. Quatre nearly squealed, “You’re BACK!” “Back in black!” Duo said back, grinning on his end of the phone, “We’re getting the hell away from the airport now. Team Lowe brought home GOLD!” Quatre cheered happily, “That’s wonderful!” “We’ll be heading back up to the school now, gonna crash from the jet-lag, and then we’ll be ready to rock for Heero’s party!” The voice of Heero could be heard in the car as the phone was yanked away from Duo. Quatre smiled when he heard them fighting over it—and squeals from Relena as she was probably crushed. Those two were terrible! There seemed to be a tickle war being waged in the car, while the coach yelled that he was about to turn the van around if they didn’t stop. A few moments later, his cousin’s voice came over the line, deep and controlled as always, “Hey, Quatre. How are things there? Who’s this boyfriend you e-mailed me about? You said I’d like him?” Quatre smiled, toying with the pillow, “Yeah, he’s really great… You’ll get to meet him on Wednesday. I invited him to the party, is that alright?” “Perfect. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Quat.” “And mine!” Relena piped up. “And MINE!” Duo joined in. A moment later the conversation went incoherent as the tickle war seemed to rage on. Quatre couldn’t help laughing on his end, and kept on laughing even as he was disconnected. A casualty of the war, apparently. He wondered who had won? It didn’t really matter, though, since he was just incredibly happy to hear that his friends were coming back to the city. He missed them terribly. His phone rang for the third time- Trowa probably didn’t check the formula- and Quatre looked. It was a text this time, though. From July: “Plz can U ask about that ride for Sat? 3 July!” and he had to laugh. That was what his ballet friends were like… Moody, sure. Princesses? So was he. But they always seemed to get over petty differences and still come out as friends, maybe because they were all so competitive. Quatre hadn’t been mad that July picked his brain about Trowa. Actually, he thought it was pretty skillful that she went to him. And he was kinda flattered to be the one she asked for information on Trowa. He couldn’t stay mad. But that didn’t mean that he was going to ask Trowa to give her a ride! He responded back with an emote sticking its tongue out and then replied, “Maybe tomorrow.” Just to put an end to the texting for tonight. He just wanted to crawl into bed, maybe read for a bit. But apparently that was too much to ask. The phone went off again. What the hell?! “Hello?!” Quatre asked aghast. It really was Trowa this time, sounding sheepish, “…Quat? Is this a bad time?” Quatre laughed, pulling the covers up around himself and crawled into bed despite the disruptions, “No, Tro. What can I do for you?” “What was your answer to 15b? Cause I got 35. And the back of the book says 17…” And Quatre laughed, “I got 17.” Trowa sounded frustrated for a moment, probably looking the question over again and again, thinking back to studying with Quatre (studying his tonsils, really) and then tried to remember. Then a sound of recognition, and Trowa’s voice was smiling, “I used the wrong formula. Sorry. Goodnight, Quat.” “Goodnight, Trowa,” Quatre said, shaking his head. Snuggling with the pillow that still held a little of Trowa’s scent, he closed his eyes, and turned in for the night.
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