SN: Here we go again
Duo: Am I in this?
SN: No
Quatre: Am I in it?
SN: Of course this is a 3x4 fic, how could you not be in it?
Trowa: With the way your mind works I don't want to know.
SN: Ehehehe......
Duo: Yaoi, 3x4, she doesn't own us or Sting's song 'Desert Rose'
SN: Onward!!
Heero: Maybe she'll get writers block again?
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in pain
I dream of love as time runs through my hands
Trowa woke up shuddering. Another dream about Quatre, the war had ended two years ago. He hadn't seen the Winner heir since that day. A tear slipped past Trowa's defenses, he quickly wiped it away. Why pine after something you couldn't have? Why pine after a desert rose?
I dream of fire
Those dreams are tied to a horse that will never tire
And in the flames
Her shadows play in the shape of a man's desire
Trowa stared straight ahead as Catherine flung the knives at him. All she had to do was miss by a few inches and it would all be over. All his pain and all his suffering would finally come to a halt. His eyes traveled up to the exit, someone was up there, hidden in the shadows. The silent shadow disappeared as quickly and quietly as it had come.
This desert rose
Each of her veils, a secret promise
This desert flower
No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this
Trowa closed his eyes, the performances were over for the night, and no one needed him for the rest of the night. He watched the sun slowly die away behind the horizon. He remembered when he watched Quatre play his violin.
"Quatre........." Trowa let out a slow sigh and walked into his trailer.
And as she turns
This way she moves in the logic of all my dreams
This fire burns
I realize that nothing's as it seems
Trowa turned on the TV and watched the local news. The reporter seemed to be babbling on about something that Trowa could care less about. Then something caught his attention. The report had just said something about Quatre. Trowa listened intently to the reporter and then smiled. Quatre was coming to the colony Trowa was on, he was going to see Quatre.
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in pain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
Trowa woke up with a start at the ruckus that was going on outside. He quickly got dressed as the wonderful dream he had been having slipped away. The manager addressed the crowd of performers. Quatre Winner was going to be attending the circus performance tonight. Trowa smiled at the thought of seeing his friend again, then his face fell, what if Quatre didn't remember him?
I dream of rain
I lift my gaze to empty skies above
I close my eyes, this rare perfume
Is the sweet intoxication of her love
Trowa looked up at the sky, night was coming, and there was an hour before his and Catherine's last performance, one hour before he saw Quatre. Even if he didn't get to talk to Quatre it would be enough to see Quatre once more. Too see the Arabian again would be would be wonderful. Too see the desert rose that had captured his heart one more time. Once more before he ended it all.
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in pain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
Quatre giggled at all the commotion of the circus, it was wonderful to get away from the office and the paper work. He would be able to see Trowa again. Quatre smiled to himself, after two years he had a good excuse to come to the circus and see Trowa. He would be able to see the man who had captured his heart. Quatre shuddered slightly and glanced around, who was so happy yet in so much pain at the same time?
Sweet desert rose
Each of her veils, a secret promise
This desert flower
No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this
Quatre quietly watched the performance. Well mostly he watched Trowa. It was then it hit Quatre. It was Trowa that was so unhappy. Why would Trowa be unhappy? Quatre finished watching the performance and clapped politely. He quickly sprinted out to catch up with Trowa.
Sweet desert rose
This memory of Eden haunts us all
This desert flower, this rare perfume
Is the sweet intoxication of the fall
Trowa stopped walking as he heard footsteps approaching him. Someone always had to get in the way, someone always had to delay him from ending it all. Trowa spun around to come face to face with Quatre. Quatre looked upset, who would upset the Arabian Angel?
"Trowa," Quatre reached out his hand to grab Trowa's hand, as soon as he touched Trowa, Trowa flinched away, "Why Trowa? Why do you want to end it?"
"It's simple Quatre," Trowa flinched at the harshness in his voice, "It's because the only one I ever loved would never love me back. I lost my Desert Rose, Quatre."
"Who is that person, Trowa?"
"You," Trowa muttered before closing his eyes, he didn't want to see the revolution on the Arabian's face. He felt a soft sensation on his lips, he opened his eyes and saw that Quatre was kissing him.
"I love you, Trowa," Quatre smiled, "Just do me a favor."
"Anything."
"Never throw your life away."