Archiving: Just ask.
Blame: Me.
Disclaimer: Don’t own GW, never have, never will. Can’t hurt to wish, but don’t sue me. Comments: This is one of my earliest fics, and it came out of a slightly hentai corner of my mind. Therefore, please don’t flame me too badly for this: I was just learning eleven months ago when I wrote this, and have been deciding whether or not to post it ever since. Enjoy “Matchmaker!” Umm……yes, I suppose this could be called a lime…
Notes: //thoughts//
Why did he always stay so aloof, so detached from everything, like he didn’t really care? The guy kept an iron handle upon the emotions Quatre was sure and yet slightly doubtful he even had at all times. Quatre could not remember Trowa Barton ever laughing, wasn’t even certain the taller boy would consider him a friend. Hell, did Trowa know the meaning of what a friend was? Absolutely nothing cracked the Russian’s stoic calm, not even a full-blown battle, and that worried Quatre.
The young Arabian sighed and put his teacup down. //Where is that violin?// Automatically his mind flashed back to the day that Trowa had played a duet with him, on flute as the violin sang. Who would have thought that even one Gundam pilot would be a musician, and yet here were two who knew their instruments inside and out! //Aah, screw the violin.// He got up and walked down the hallway to the library and the grand piano that sat there and sat down again behind it. Again, memory went back to another day, when Miss Noin had heard that he was something of a pianist and had asked to hear him play. Of their own accord, his fingers found the right keys and he once again poured his feelings into the song. A beautiful piece, Miss Noin had said, but very melancholy. A perfect description of his Trowa. He never had been quite the same since…
No, that was one memory he could not, would not, face. Not his memories, not his conscience, not Trowa’s quiet resigned voice that was seared into his mind speaking soft words of forgiveness and regret as the Vayeate crackled away in the final moments before its inevitable explosion. Not the awful shock back to sanity as the blue OZ mobile suit became an orange fireball that threw the limp form of its pilot far out of blast range into the blackness of space. He leaned forward, head in his hands, trying to deny that terrible day and forget what was indelibly printed as fresh and painful now as that day. His elbows slipped on the highly polished instrument and struck a discordant note, thankfully shattering the memory.
Even now, months after mammoth Libra was reduced to the mere occasional meteor streaking across the night sky in a final blaze of glory, pockets of White Fang supporters resisted still. The newly-formed Preventers, headed by Lady Une, requested the help of the Gundam pilots to put those pockets down. Of course, they fought like demons and those damned Virgo mobile dolls were as tough as ever to destroy, as always. Then again, one just couldn’t compete with one Gundam in the hands of the fully-trained and very capable pilot trained for the suit custom-built for him, and certainly not with two or three of them, all recently upgraded. Trowa was off on one of those missions now, with Wufei. He sighed. That brought him right back to the source of his problem: with Heero and Duo out playing basketball -//and who knows what else?// he thought with a small smirk- the Maganacs who had not gone with Trowa and Wufei out training somewhere and all twenty-eight of the surviving Winner sisters working their colony jobs, things were just a little lonely for one who had grown up in a bustling household.
A commotion from the back of the house roused him from his reverie and he raised his head from the piano. Duo Maxwell, pilot of black Deathscythe Hell, would be the only one on the estate that could make that kind of racket and from the sound of it, he was enjoying the all-but-deserted grounds much more than the owner was. Quatre managed to keep from laughing his derriere off as he listened and got back into his study and into the chair with his feet on top of the desk just moments before the door swung open. After all, they really shouldn’t know about the plans on his desk at the moment… Duo trooped in, followed a split second later by Heero who was not quite his usual stone-faced self. Duo, of course, was wearing a grin so suspiciously large it seemed to scream “I just got the ride of my life!” Come to think of it, he very likely had: those two were absolute minks. //Good thing I didn’t go down to see how the game was coming!//
But Quatre Raberba Winner was a little more tactful than to speak his mind at all times: he was no Duo. //At least, not quite to that extent.// “How’d it go?” he asked. A little more tactful: not by much, and Heero’s brows raised above a slight blush, which meant he got the implied question.
“Hot like hell,” Duo said, still grinning. If possible, that grin seemed to have gotten a little wider as the braided pilot looked at Heero. “I think I’ll teach him all the moves yet! Quick learner.” Quatre, the practiced businessman, looked for any nuances in Duo’s tone to see which side of that double entendre was meant but found none. Not that it mattered: he was fairly certain which one was meant. “Maybe you should come down and watch sometime. Hell, you could join in if you want…” Duo added over his shoulder as they departed.
As soon as the door closed the blond Arabian just about rolled on the floor laughing.
Duo was chortling inside the entire time and having the Devil’s own time holding it in. When he got to the room he shared with Heero it all came busting out of him: the searching, thoughtful look entered Quatre’s eyes and Duo could practically see the gears turning, picking up every possible turn of phrase. And that little blond insisted that he didn’t have a dirty mind! It was just too funny. Heero, opening the door for him, gave him what passed for a strange look.
“What has gotten into you, Duo?”
“What, you mean besides you? Quatre had this look on his face… it was so classic.”
“Hn. Did you mean it when you invited him to join in?”
“If you wouldn’t mind, yeah. Every word of it, but he probably won’t. He’s got his heart set on Trowa, good luck to the pair of them.” Duo fell quiet, lying on his back on the bed with his head on the pillow as Heero tapped the “Power” button to activate the laptop. “You know, we’re all lucky.”
“What?”
“Libra’s gone. He did hit Earth once, and wiped out a small archipelago. Had he been able to loose a bigger or longer blast, the sheer amount of dust and crap it kicked up could have collapsed Earth’s ecosystem. They say we have been feeling some effects of it already.”
“Hn. The Earth is a treasure. Zechs was not sane when he decided to cause a nuclear winter.”
“No shit!”
“But there’s one thing more beautiful than the Earth itself, you know.”
Duo had a feeling he did, but decided to jump the gun on Heero. He rolled onto his side to watch the Japanese pilot, stretching sensuously like a cat. His hair “accidentally” slipped out of its braid: Duo knew quite well that Heero had a thing for it. “And that would be you, koi, did you know that?” Probably not… and his devious mind was at work thinking of a way he could perhaps show Heero beyond a doubt.
“Actually,” Heero said, sitting down next to him to rub the taut muscles of Duo’s back with hands strong enough to bend steel, “I was thinking more along the lines of a certain person who calls himself the God of Death and is entirely too beautiful for that title.”
Duo was purring, he noted. That was not supposed to be physically possible for a human being, but the sound was unmistakable. Besides, there were plenty of things that were not supposed to be physically possible: Tibetan two-tone singing, for one. Jumping out of a fifty-story building and suffering only bruises and a broken bone at the bottom, for another. Duo spoke, a smug note entering his voice.
“Not only are you beautiful enough to merit those angel wings on Wing Zero, you are also a shameless flatterer,” he laughed, the sound reverberating through the delicately slender bone frame that was even smaller than Quatre’s.
“I have never denied it,” Heero whispered back. He smiled, gently and kindly, as Duo slowly fell asleep under his hands.
“Trowa! You’re back!” A platinum-topped blur raced across the courtyard to the approaching boy and threw his arms around him. “Where’s Wufei?”
“I didn’t expect such an enthusiastic reception, but thank you,” Trowa returned, not a shred of his inner relief showing through. “As for Wufei, he said something about needing to train. Where are the other two? I didn’t see them around coming in.” //Or hear them…//
“You mean the Minks? They’ve been spending an awful lot of time alone together. Usually down on the court playing ball.” They were walking to Trowa’s room and, as the taller opened the door, Quatre sighed. “Dinner will be ready in about three hours, if you’re up then. G’night.”
“Thank you, Quatre.” The door closed, and Trowa went to bed. Jet lag definitely took its toll, and it was worse when you had to come east in the summertime. Methodically stripping down and then slipping into a t-shirt took only moments, and then the Russian boy laid back against cool sheets.
He wouldn’t admit it to anyone but himself, yet Trowa was very glad of the reception he’d gotten from Quatre. The little Arab had charmed his way in through the tiniest of chinks of his armor and sown creepers in his stone walls. Those walls were very close to falling, now. He could sense it. After he regained his memories, Trowa had learned not to try to repair the crumbling barriers: they were doomed from the day he first laid eyes on Quatre Winner, and if he hoped to have a relationship with the smaller boy he would have to let them fall.
He did want to love Quatre and let himself be loved by Quatre. Part of his mind knew how Quatre felt. Yet another part of him, his guiding voice for as long as he could remember, said he was grasping at a comfort only the failing walls could provide and as a result was seeing and reading things which were not there. That part of him told him that Quatre would be disgusted by his preferences and would never want to talk to him again, and both halves agreed that that would be a pain beyond bearing.
Yet Quatre himself seemed uncertain of himself. Trowa could not bring himself to start a relationship as intimate as he craved and in so doing bare his chest for any number of knives he would hand the other: it screamed against his nature. Quatre would have to make the first move: in his heart he knew this and in his heart he silently cursed himself for a craven coward, called himself nine kinds of fool for passing up each opportunity to catch Quatre. He could only hope that Quatre would see though his hesitation and see the conflicting motivations inside of him: by the same token, he hoped to remain hidden and safe, buried deeply in the layers that were so many uncaring years of cold and callous masks.
“I’m not so sure Wufei went to train,” Trowa remarked quietly one morning. A week had gone by, and not only had nothing happened, Wufei wasn’t back.
“He can’t lie for beans, you know. Against his honor and all, so he’s never had much chance to practice,” Duo replied, unconsciously chewing on the end of his braid. They had been quieter than mice for the past week, those two. That nervous habit of Duo’s was starting to wear on Quatre’s nerves, and he carefully marked his place in the book he was reading, then stood.
“It’s not going to be too hot a day outside: anyone care to go hiking?” he asked. Braided Shinigami was the first to respond.
“Sounds good to me…besides, I’ve been exploring and found all these neat little hideaway spots! Great place here, Q-man. It gets better every day!”
Trowa’s heart was in his throat. Now was a chance, a pristine, golden opportunity. Knowing himself, he would most likely screw it up and say no thanks…
“I would not mind a hike myself,” he heard himself saying, and he wept in joy inside when Quatre’s bright blue eyes turned to him, star sapphires glowing in warmth. “I’ll get ready.”
Heero finished his page, then also stood. “Duo?”
“In a moment.” Heero left, leaving Duo and Quatre in the room.
“I meant it, Quatre, just to let you know. And the invitation extends to Trowa, as well…”
“What?”
Duo smiled. “You’re about as opaque as a glass of pure water. So’s Trowa, for that matter. Ridiculously easy to read, the pair of you. Tell you what, there’s a waterfall near here, left fork at the first turnoff on the east trail. Pretty impressive, and very beautiful. I’ve been considering bringing Heero up there, but the water is a bit too cold for our tastes. Shady there, too, very thick layer of moss over solid granite. I think you’ll both like it.” He flashed a dazzling grin. “Here I go again, trying to play matchmaker for a pair that already have me beat… good luck, Quatre.”
“Th-thanks…”
Where had Duo managed to spirit himself off to this time, Heero wondered. He saw the feather-light impressions of Duo’s shoes on the crushed and broken leaves on the ground, a rock nudged just slightly out of position, and tracked the braided boy up to a high granite ledge overlooking most of the countryside. Quatre’s estate was spread out below them and, farther to the east, a glitter spoke of a waterfall. A nice spot, he thought, before he was tumbled to the semi-polished granite beneath him. A hand clapped itself over his eyes, and a voice he knew so well whispered into his ear as he started to move to free himself.
“No, don’t do anything. Let me show you what you mean to me…” Duo’s chin rested where his neck and shoulder joined, nose just touching his ear. The lobe got a small but sharp little nip and then a comforting nuzzle that sent shivers racing up and down Heero’s spine. Heero practically melted right there, relaxing back into the hyperactive Duo who just eased him back and down onto one of the softest pillows he had ever had in his life. And Duo proceeded to prove to Heero just exactly what a treasure Wing’s willowy pilot was.
Trowa and Quatre walked in a companionable silence. Soon the roar of a waterfall gave away their destination and, as they rounded the bend, it came into view.
West-facing waters poured over them only feet to the side in an unstoppable torrent as their pathway led to a little grotto under the cascade, promising to throw jewels of light against the quartz of the granite behind them with the sunset’s light. An ever-present mist damped the sweat on their faces and a moss that loved the damp environment covered the rocky ground like a thick carpet that they sank into over their ankles. Trowa listened to the falls, a small smile playing on his face.
“Do you hear it, Quatre? The falls, they’re singing.”
And they were, every little water droplet making its own sound on the rocks and adding to the cacophany that surrounded them, unlike anything either one had ever heard, unique to all of history. Trowa’s bangs had been plastered to his features by the damp, but he did not seem to mind. This was a truly beautiful place.
Quatre sat down amidst the mosses, leaning against a speckled wall. His eyes were closed, head tilted back and he smiled, listening to the song of the waters as it calmed his nerves. A moment Trowa came to sit beside him, lithe grace bending him without a strain. Finally Quatre moved, gently placing his head onto Trowa’s shoulder as though trying not to scare him off. The taller boy hesitantly gathered the smaller into his arms, barely breathing: it was like holding a wraith or a dream that would vanish if he made a move to startle. //If this is a dream,// he thought, //it’s not one I want to wake up from.//
Quatre lifted his fog-soaked bangs away from his face whispered into his ear, so close that the damp chill did not touch his warm breath on Trowa’s ear, nor did the roar of the water drown the words. “I love you, Trowa.”
//The cat is out of the bag now,// Quatre thought, seeing the meaning of the words sink into the boy holding him. Now if this played out like any of his dreams, Trowa would look at him, just look, as his body faded away. But no, the arms that held him secure were firm and sure, not dissipating into the cool mist that floated around them.
“Do you mean it?” Trowa murmured, locking eyes with Quatre. He knew, but he had to be certain. An emotional betrayal now, unlike his own body’s physical betrayal, would kill him: he was basically handing Quatre the noose he had made to hang himself with.
“With all my heart, Trowa. I’ve always loved you.” Lightly, a touch unsure even now, lips were lowered and met with no resistance, sending a jolt through both of them. No, he decided. His body was not a traitor to his mind: it knew quite well what it needed. The little blonde seemed to be thinking the same thing, if one was to go by the little smile on his face.
“I love you too, little one,” he said in hushed tones, just before his mouth closed on Quatre’s and all coherent thought was lost between the two.
Duo and Heero lay entwined in the shade, panting. The long-haired boy smiled, watching as the Perfect Soldier regained his breath and his wits after a mild-blowing climax, and snuggled up close. “Now do you understand, koibito, or do I have to show you again?”
Heero chuckled a little.
“Hmmm… I think I understand… and I’m not sure either one of us could survive that again.”
It was Duo’s turn to laugh. “No problem…”
Heero propped himself up on one elbow suddenly, smiling. “My turn.”
Rasid knew quite well what had happened when he overheard Trowa accepting to move his belongings into Quatre’s room: Duo and Heero were emerging from their room as well. The braided pilot shared a grin with the Maganac, not missed by Heero. “Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match, find me a find, catch me a catch…” he sang softly in explanation. Heero got it and smiled.
“For those two? It’s about time!”
Owari