LSC / 02-13-12
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Seventy: Parting Ways)
rated: R - language, content, violence
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 70

Parting Ways

Of all the possible nightmare scenarios Trowa's mind had created for him over the past few hours, being caught by his sister while engaged in a passionate embrace with Quatre had not even registered on his radar. That strange, scattered phone call from Quatre sent him into reckless panic, because why else would he ever be so stupid as to steal Catherine's car keys and sneak out in the middle of the night? And then he'd reacted no better, slipping upstairs to the crash space the three runaways occupied and finding Duo on the couch, alone. In that eternity of time it took to cross the room, drawn by the soft sound of heartbreaking sobs, Trowa's clever mind came up with several explanations, and every single one proved false and far less horrifying than the one that did greet his eyes: Quatre crying in the arms of that tall, handsome stranger from the hospital, Zechs. In his arms, in the bed together, half undressed and – Trowa's heart clenched painfully at the memory.

Worse yet – and could it really have gotten worse? – was his own terrible fury, the way he hauled Quatre heedless of the keen panic that flew into those aquamarine eyes and forced out more tears. Tears that were somehow his fault, even if Quatre refused to tell him why, and everyone knew Trowa was the reason. Zechs and Duo, allied against him, keeping him from Quatre, knowing something he did not.

Yes, of all the horrors of this night, Catherine's sudden discovery ranked somewhere below everything else, but as she drew him into her bedroom for a blistering lecture, Trowa reflected numbly on how exceedingly complicated his life had become. It had been much easier when he merely drifted through it, unconnected and uncaring, waiting for the next crushing wave of depression to drown him.

Catherine pressed the door firmly closed and turned to him. The look on her face was not one he expected but, then again, Trowa felt entirely unsure what sort of conversation they were about to have. A one-sided one, that was for sure; he'd nearly blurted out everything just a few minutes ago, but the old reluctance and fear was back, clutching him down into miserable silence.

"Trowa," she said carefully. "You can't… You can't sneak out like that. Ever. Do you understand? I nearly called the police. I thought you—" She swallowed, misery and fear plain across her face. "I'm not trying to unreasonable. I let you borrow the car when you like, I've let you spend time with Quatre, I try to set a reasonable curfew. I know we don't have much practice at this, living together like this. We've both always been away at school. But you're all the family I have, Trowa."

Oh, don't cry. Please don't cry. I'm so sorry. He took a step toward her, but Catherine tossed her head and wiped her eyes and gave a shaky laugh.

"I know it's a silly thing to be upset over. To be honest I'm a little glad; you're finally acting like a teenager. That should make me happy. I've wanted nothing more than to see you be a regular kid all this time. Oh, but, Trowa – how could you not let me know about, er, Quatre? Did you think I wouldn't understand? Did you think I'd be upset? I mean, if that's how you feel." She flushed bright pink. "Well, we can talk about that tomorrow or, I don't know, maybe never. Just – I'm not mad about that, okay? I'm," she hesitated, turning a deeper shade of red. "I'm okay with that. I'm just upset that you've been lying to me and that you snuck out."

Trowa nodded and hoped he looked contrite enough that she'd released him from the impossibly awkward conversation. He heard a bang out in the hall followed shortly by the sound of the sink running.

"It's late, I know. I'll let you go here in a minute, but before I do. Trowa," she said sternly, calling his attention. She'd floundered out of embarrassed and regained her stability. "Trowa, I need you to be honest with me now. There's something more going on here, isn't there? With Quatre."

Trowa tried and failed not to look guilty.

"I wasn't going to say anything, not yet, but… I get you might sneak out to meet with him, but, why bring him back here? Why take that risk?" Her eyes bore into him, suspicion front and center. "If he lives alone, and you're d-dating—" more enflaming embarrassment, but she barreled on without stopping "—why even come here at all? You've clearly been trying to keep this from me. I think I know what's going on here. He's run away, hasn't he?"

Trowa's eyes darted from her to the door and back again. All he had to do was keep her from calling the police just long enough for Quatre to get away.

"I'm not stupid, Trowa."

He couldn't tell if she sounded angry. He could barely hear her over the mad drumming of his own pulse.

"You two have been acting suspicious this entire time. Sure, maybe because you were dating and didn't want me to find out, but, it's more than that. He wears a lot of the same clothes. Sure, you're teenage boys, you do that, but... You might think I wouldn't notice, because you never say anything, but it's not that simple. I know you."

He stared at her, stricken, knowing certainly that his face had to be giving everything away. He should look confused and bewildered, clueless and innocent, like her accusations marked her as the crazy one, not him, and not Quatre. Trowa glanced to the door again. If he shouted right now for Quatre to leave, would the boy hear? Would he listen?

Catherine sighed. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Trowa gave her the barest of nods.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "He had that sprained wrist, the first time. And that black eye a few weeks ago. How did that happen?"

What? Trowa very nearly blurted out the word.

"I appreciate that you're trying to help, but if Quatre's run away from home…"

From home. Trowa's head spun with a relief so sharp and sudden he felt dizzy with it. He must have given her some hopeless, bewildered look (why couldn't he have looked that way earlier, when it mattered?) because her features inexplicably softened out into a smile.

"I understand," she said kindly. "You should have let me know, right from the start. You don't have keep so many secrets, just because you don't talk."

The kindness in her voice threatened to undo him. He was going to lie to her again. And let her think what? That Quatre had run away from an abusive home life? Trowa recalled the first time he'd ever met Quatre, the very day he arrived at the hospital, and the overwhelming terror that gripped the boy at the mere sight of his father. Impossible tenderness arose in him, now just as it had then, mixed with an equal amount of suspicious anger. Something about that refined, cold-faced man scared Quatre, so maybe Catherine's assumptions held a kernel of truth after all.

"Your birthday is in less than two weeks. You'll be eighteen. I won't have any control over what you do or how you… Well. That's a talk for another day. But I want you to know, Trowa, you can always trust me. I'd never do anything to hurt you. Okay? He can stay here tonight. We'll figure out the rest in the morning."

Trowa nodded, and she released him out into the hall. Trowa stood there for a moment, his heart racing, before heading into his room.

Quatre had left the football lamp on but fallen asleep, curled on his side with Sandy tucked tight under his chin. Trowa felt a wash of emotion so strong his knees nearly gave out. He crossed slowly to the low trundle bed and knelt down to brush his hand through Quatre's bangs. The boy stirred, shifting into Trowa's touch with a sleepy, incoherent mumble. He bowed his head over Quatre and pressed a soft kiss his cheek. He'd figure out something. He'd keep Quatre safe, whatever Catherine's suspicions, whatever the truth; a truth he didn't know. He couldn't be honest with Catherine, even if he could form the words. They simply weren't there to explain. He knew nothing of Quatre, other than he was kind and gentle and understanding, and everything that Trowa's heart desired.

Fingers combed through his hair, making the fine strands tickle across his forehead. Quatre didn't mind it so much, since it was such a soothing motion, and he felt utterly miserable. A twisted lump of agony had replaced his stomach, his mouth felt like the dessert, and a fearsome pounding across his temples made him moan just as soon as he registered out of unsteady sleep and into bleary awareness. The touch against his hair smoothed down the side of his face and a low, soft voice caressed out his name like velvet. "Quatre?"

"Ugn," managed Quatre. He winced one eye open. Trowa.

Wait. Trowa?

Duo, Zechs.

The drinking game.

A lot of crying.

Angry words in a dark parking lot.

Catherine.

Trowa brushed a hand through his bangs again. "Hi." He sounded oddly shy. They had to be alone, then, if Trowa was talking.

Quatre swallowed uneasily, trying to rasp free enough moisture to speak. Trowa shifted, reached sideways for something, and then presented him with a glass of water. He helped Quatre slowly sit up enough to drink. They were in the living room of Trowa and Catherine's apartment, and he'd been sleeping with his head in Trowa's lap. "What…?"

"I dropped Catherine off at work already. I'm supposed to be driving you to school right now."

"Oh." Quatre felt a sudden rush of heat into his face. Last night! Oh, so many things to be embarrassed about.

"How do you feel?"

Trowa didn't sound mad, at least. Quatre ran his finger around the rim of his glass. "My head hurts."

Trowa wrapped him in a hug. Startled, Quatre stiffened for a brief moment before tipping into the embrace. "We need to talk," Trowa said quietly.

The pain in Quatre's stomach tightened. He jerked his head up and down slightly.

Trowa's hand moved over his shoulder in a calming gesture. "It's about Catherine."

"Oh," he said, in a very tiny voice. He bolted down a gulp of water and felt it unpleasantly settle into the hollow knot of his gut. He only felt worse as Trowa quickly outlined the lecturing he'd received, after Quatre had crawled into bed. Quatre knew a vivid blush had to be crawling over his face when Trowa shared Catherine's assumption with him.

Trowa pressed kisses to the side of his face, the corner of one eye, and the delicate line of Quatre's neck. "What do you want to do?"

"What?" Quatre used every ounce of willpower he possessed not to cringe away from Trowa's earnest affection. He felt exposed, bruised, a flutter of panic driving its way up out of the tangle.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking." Trowa sounded excited now as he paused to shower Quatre with another soft flurry of kisses. "Something Catherine said last night, it reminded me. I'm going to be eighteen soon. My birthday's next Thursday. Why don't we get our own place?"

"What?"

Trowa cupped his face with both hands. "You still have a lot of your birthday money leftover, right? That'll get us a deposit and the first few months, easy. I'll start working at the diner fulltime to cover the rest. Catherine can go back to school this way."

"What?" He felt like a broken record, the needle skipping fitfully over the arrested grooves.

"I never should have let her make all those assumptions last night, but I was just so… Catherine means well, but if she thinks you're in some kind of danger it's going to cause problems. That's just the way she is."

Quatre heard the fondness in Trowa's voice and felt a stab of guilt. "You can't," he whispered. He curled his hands together and took a quick look around the room, seeking out Sandy. "You can't do that to her."

Trowa dropped his hands into his lap. "She's important to me, Quatre, but so are you."

"She's your sister."

Trowa stroked a hand through Quatre's hair. "We're not related."

Quatre felt himself blush. "I know. But she loves you, Trowa. I can't take you away from her."

Trowa gathered him close. "Just… think about it. Okay? You know I'll do anything for you."

"Okay."

"Catherine's going to wonder what's taking me. We should get going."

"Okay." Quatre moved to stand up, thinking he should shower and get dressed for the day.

Trowa caught his hand and just held it, green eyes tipped up to him in supplication. "About last night. Quatre, I'm so sorry for getting mad at you like that. I never should have yelled at you."

"Okay," he mumbled down at the carpet.

Trowa tried to pull him close, to hold him, but Quatre gave the gentlest of tugs and was rewarded with shaky freedom. He couldn't look at Trowa as he fled. It was too much. He found the safety of the bathroom and threw his weight against the door to close it. Quatre shivered, recalling the heated feel of Zechs's hands on his skin, the dizziness awareness of all that tender concern and kindness. And that scar! Just as raw and open as their bewildering attempt at conversation, and Quatre's utter inability to do the right thing when it came to Trowa.

He wrenched the shower on and shed his clothes into a neat pile in front of the sink. Trowa wanted to leave Catherine for him! He couldn't let that happen. And Catherine realizing he was a runaway, but making all the wrong conclusions? Quatre stepped into the steaming blast of water and tried to imagine it washing away all his awkward embarrassment. They just didn't understand. None of them did. Not Zechs, not Duo, not Trowa – what did they really know of him, other than the miserable panicked mess he showed them over and over again.

Quatre closed his eyes and tipped his face into the spray. He wouldn't think about that. He'd promised himself over and over again during the weeks he spent preparing to flee the hospital that he just wouldn't think about it. He was fully committed to action, determined and resolute to make this work. Such thoughts calmed his racing heart and set everything to right. He'd get through it. Quatre balanced everything he knew against all his hopes and came up with a plan.

He found Trowa sitting right where he'd left him, and those striking green eyes were filled with strange, distant sorrow when Quatre returned, changed and carrying his backpack. Quatre went to him and wrapped a fierce hold around him. "Let's go, before Catherine gets any more suspicious."

They rode in uneasy silence. The day held the dreary grey promise of rain, and Quatre shivered with the chill until Trowa flipped on the heat. Trowa parked the car in the alley and made as if to walk him upstairs, but Quatre set a careful hand over his and urged him to be still. "Trowa," he said carefully. "I don't think we should see each other, for a little while. I don't want Catherine… she's too curious. She can't think that about me. That I've run away. It's too close to the truth."

Trowa shook his head. "Quatre, I'm sorry. I'll figure something out. You can tell her—"

"No, Trowa. I'm not a good liar. She'll know."

"But you've done fine so far! About meeting me at school, about your parents? This is my fault. She surprised me, that's all. I never should have agreed with her. I just didn't know what…"

"You couldn't tell her anything, Trowa. I know that. I'm not mad. What I said last night, what we both said last night, it was cruel, but it was the truth. I know you can talk, but I know you're not going to. It isn't fair to me, it isn't fair to either of us. I can't always make your excuses. What I've told Catherine? It's mostly true anyway. My father really is overseas right now, but he has to know I've left the hospital by now. He's going to be looking for me. If we keep this up with Catherine, I'm going to get caught."

Trowa stared at him, stunned. Quatre felt his heart shatter under the gentle agony of his own words, but he had to be strong. He had to stand his ground. This was his plan, and he was going to go through with it. He balled his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. One final step, the most difficult one, if only he could grab control of the flyaway, panicked doubts chasing themselves madly through his thoughts.

"You have to promise me something, Trowa."

A sudden wariness popped into Trowa's face, bypassing the wounded shock.

"I know," Quatre said quietly. "I know what you're thinking. Do you remember when I called you from the hospital? The day after we met at the mall."

Trowa nodded. He'd gone silent, retreated back into his strongest defenses.

"You told me then you couldn't make that type of promise, so I won't ask it again." He was going to cry. No, he was not going to cry. He could do this. Quatre knew he could do this. He forced one calm breath and then another. "Just a few weeks. October 5th. That's the Saturday right after your birthday. Just promise me you'll be there when I call."

Trowa shook his head, and the broken shards of Quatre's heart stabbed up into his throat. Husky voiced, Trowa asked, "Why are you doing this? Are you still mad at me for last night?"

"No. No, Trowa, of course not! It isn't about that at all."

"Then, whatever it was… with Zechs. When you were crying. Are you mad about that?"

"No. I'm not mad, Trowa. Do I sound mad? Do I look mad?"

Trowa's gaze flicked to him for a moment before dropping down to the console. He shook his head slowly, side to side, as if each inch range of motion caused physical pain.

"I told you… it's just to let Catherine back off for a bit. You don't want me to get caught, do you?"

Again, Trowa shook his head.

Quatre swallowed bitterness and all those little shattered pieces of his heart. "Please trust me, Trowa. I'll fix this. October 5th, okay? I'll call you." He leaned forward, seeking to kiss Trowa goodbye, but the older boy turned his face away sharply. Quatre shrank back in his seat bit down against the sudden tremble of his lips. "Trowa? Promise me."

Trowa shrugged. "Fine."

"Okay," said Quatre cautiously. He blinked back the urge to cry. He was stronger than that and had sworn to himself up one side and down the other that he would not break down, not where Trowa could see him. It'd just make this all the harder. But he had to be firm. He had to stick to the plan. His plans usually worked. It'd gotten him out of the hospital, hadn't it?

He wanted to say something more. He wanted to kiss Trowa and maybe crawl into the backseat with him and do all the other things that made him blush to think about in broad daylight. Grey daylight, he amended, looking out at the threatening rain squall. But Trowa had his face turned away, staring dejectedly out at the same dull sky, and the distance between them hurt Quatre all the more because he'd created it.

What else could he do? Quatre climbed out of the car and stood there for a moment, thinking that Trowa might turn to look at him once last time, or roll the window down to call him back. Either action would undo him just as easily as if Trowa did neither of those things and just left without – the sky opened up, and Quatre bolted for the door before his face could get wet, either from tears or rain.

(Author's Notes)

Sorry for the slow update! I told you this would be a busy month, but I'm still working hard whenever I can spare the time. I've gotten quite a few new readers recently – that's so awesome! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, everyone. It's extremely inspiring.

As for questions about Quatre's back story; yes, he's got one, no, you don't know what it is yet. You'll have to keep reading! He's got a plan, dontcha know. Okay, until next time!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise
LSC - Violet Nyte