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Perigee	By : Raletha Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1381 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Perigee

by Raletha

Chapter 3

Unsurprisingly, by that evening the tension from earlier had only increased—at least for Quatre—and a better evaluation of Trowa's mood persisted in eluding him. Thus, he proposed a drink before dinner, and they decided to check out the resort's jazz bar. In Quatre's experience, there was something about live jazz and overpriced mixed drinks that could make even the most fretful day better.

Like all the architecture of the resort, the bar had been built to avail itself of the island's native beauty and gentle climate. Numerous pairs of French doors opened out onto a patio lit by flickering torches. The patio, flanked by trellised flowering vines, was positioned to take advantage of the view—equally spectacular at night with the scattering of boat lights on the bay being insufficient to dull the splendour of the stars above. It seemed like such a cheat, that once one lived in outer space, one could no longer see the stars.

Quatre chose a table outside, beneath an overhanging vine strewn lattice, far enough from the small stage that he and Trowa could converse without needing to yell at one another. Once they'd settled comfortably and had been served their drinks, Quatre scoured his mind for a conversation opening that might lead to more information regarding Trowa's present feelings toward him—toward them.

He noticed Trowa watching a young woman, who had just entered the bar and stood fidgeting with the fringe of her light shawl. She was attractive enough—in whatever way most men measured these things with women: dark of hair and eye, medium height, and slim with the drape of her sundress hinting at generous curves in the right places. Surely Trowa wasn't interested in her? That wondering led Quatre to his opening. He kept his inflection friendly, yet bland.

"So, Trowa, are you seeing anyone? Has Catherine found you a girlfriend?"

A young man arrived, escorted the woman inside, and Trowa lifted his drink, turning his attention to Quatre's question. "Girlfriend?" An amused smile curved Trowa's lips against the rim of his glass. He took a sip before continuing. "No, I don't now and never have had a girlfriend, Quatre. You know me better than that. Besides, Cathy knows I'm gay." And there it was. The answer to the question of sexual orientation that had never been answered directly between them. It didn't surprise Quatre that Trowa would be the one to handle it in the more relaxed fashion.

"Of course you don't," Quatre said, accompanying his words with a smile and a casual wink in the hope that if he implied his question had been merely a jest, he could save himself any further faux pas. "Boyfriend then?"

A ghost of a frown creased Trowa's forehead before vanishing as if it had never been there. "Not at present," Trowa said, "but I was seeing someone for a while."

"Anyone I know?" Quatre teased, not expecting the answer he received.

"Yes."

The mellow rhythm of the jazz band turned tinny and harsh. The trombone blared uncomfortably loud. "Who?" Quatre asked although he couldn't think of a single answer that would be easily acceptable.

"Duo," said Trowa, pulling the garnish from his glass and depositing it on his napkin. He slid the tiny blue umbrella free from the cherry and the orange slice.

"Duo?" Quatre repeated, his voice sounded hollow to his own ears. He turned his gaze to the hand curled around his glass. He couldn't feel his fingers. He hadn't even realised Duo's preferences lay in that direction.

"Yeah, Duo."

Quatre looked at Trowa's fingers instead of his own. They plucked the stem from the cherry and worked along its length with fingernails to break it in millimeter long intervals.

"You seem surprised."

"He never told me... you two?" The two men he considered his closest friends, and they'd kept this from him? Quatre couldn't fathom how he felt about it—about their being together, about them not telling him. Whatever it was he was feeling, it felt about as good as taking a direct blast from a beam cannon. Sudden, sharp, and shocking.

Trowa shrugged, abandoning the ruined cherry stem in favour of the orange slice. "We have a lot in common. A lot more than you'd think."

"Are you and he still...?" Quatre went through a listing of all the verbs he could use to finish that sentence, and didn't like a single one of them.

"No. I said I wasn't seeing anyone currently." Did Trowa sound defensive? "We weren't serious. It was just a comfortable, mutual... thing."

Quatre gulped down the tail end of his cocktail, barely registering the sweet tang of the tequila laden pineapple juice. His next question came without thought. "Did you love him?"

Trowa's gaze jerked up from where it had been observing his careful separation of orange flesh from orange rind. "No more than friendship."

That was at least a relief, though Quatre felt selfish and petty for being so relieved. However, he knew how much Trowa prized the people close to him. Whatever had been between Trowa and Duo, Quatre hoped it remained an affectionate relationship. "Are you still friends?"

"Yes. Of course. You know I don't like to lose friends."

Yes, of course they'd still be close. Friends were gold to Trowa, and now Quatre found a shard of guilt driving through his heart. He and Trowa had been as close as two people could be without being sexually involved as well, and he'd nearly abandoned that friendship out of what—fear?

There was only one thing to say. It didn't seem like enough. "I'm sorry, Trowa."

His friend opened his mouth to speak, his expression plainly one of confusion. But instead of the 'why' Quatre expected, Trowa exhaled heavily and simply said, "Don't be. Please don't be sorry, Quatre. About anything."

Somehow they made it to dinner. Quatre already had the feeling this was going to be a night better left forgotten. How could he have allowed so much distance to drive Trowa—and now Duo, it seemed—so far from his life? When the waiter took their drink orders, Quatre asked for a bottle of their finest champagne—to celebrate a friendship renewed, he told Trowa. The truth was, he hoped that after a few glasses, he'd feel a little more at ease with the situation.

The first glass did nothing to mitigate the sudden horror of Trowa's next words.

"I was surprised to hear you're engaged." Trowa's tone was conversational enough, but Quatre couldn't help but wonder: Why those words? Why now? And what right did Quatre have to be disgruntled at Trowa's failure to tell him about Duo when his own transgressions had been far more grave?

"Oh," was the most eloquence Quatre could muster, but he looked for more in a second glass quickly poured. He didn't want to have to explain the engagement or Megan to Trowa. It was all so mercenary and pathetic. "I didn't realise you'd heard about that."

"Cathy subscribes to some of those celebrity gossip magazines. Whenever you're in one, she tells me. She knows we were close so, you can blame her." Trowa's smile looked forced.

"I don't really pay attention to those things," Quatre said as if that somehow excused his lapse—and his cowardice.

"I didn't think you would." Trowa tried to smile again.

"No."

Conversation paused while they were served, and then resumed. "What's she like, this... Megan Gates?"

"She's great," Quatre began. He couldn't dismiss Megan, she'd been the one to convince him to take this holiday and see Trowa. As much as marriage would have been professionally and socially beneficial to them both—and as cynical as she was toward anything smelling faintly of romance—once she knew about Trowa, she'd insisted Quatre determine whether any potential remained between the two former pilots.

She'd also insisted upon ending the engagement. "If you're gay, Quatre?" she'd said. "There's no way I'd expect you to live this kind of lie. Digging up the past is probably a fool's venture, but you'll never forgive yourself if you don't at least try."

Across the table, Quatre saw Trowa waiting patiently for him to continue. He did. "This vacation was her idea. We'd gotten engaged for PR type reasons, and... I don't know why else. It seemed like a good idea. I'd been thinking about... thinking about..." Quatre glared at his dinner as his stomach lurched in protestation of it. He reached for his glass and took a long swallow.

"Thinking about what?"

"It'd be good for business if I... settled down. Weddings are good publicity, you know. They help investor confidence, and I liked her well enough. She's smart and interesting."

"And pretty from the pictures I've seen."

"Yes, she's pretty too."

"How did you meet her?"

"Through business, her father introduced us while we were negotiating the Techsoft merger."

"Of course."

He had to tell Trowa. Megan had insisted, and he owed it to her at least, for putting her through his crises and indecision. But he couldn't tell Trowa the dominant reasons for the failure with Megan. Not yet at least. Other reasons made just as much sense. "I didn't..." Quatre broke off with a frown. I didn't think I could ever love her. Was that a horrible thing to say about someone?

"Didn't what?"

"I didn't think I could love her. We're not engaged any longer. It's just not public yet." Quatre delivered the words quickly, fervently hoping Trowa wouldn't press him on any further details. Fortunately, Trowa seemed content at that and allowed Quatre to guide the conversation to less turbulent waters.

Finally dinner was over and Quatre was pleased they were taking the shorter route back to their cabin. The only problem with the shorter route was the winding tree-flanked path, which required more attention than usual after the influence of three-quarters of a bottle of champagne and the Tequila Sunrise which had preceded it. Fortunately, Quatre was unable to muster much indignation at the uncooperative trail: that Trowa had called him a 'cute drunk' some ten or so minutes ago had bled off the full potency of his intoxicated ire.

He might be tiddly, but he certainly wasn't drunk.

In an effort to demonstrate his mental clarity, Quatre determined the best course of action was to continue with his aim of restoring a close friendship with Trowa.

"Wow, I can't believe you were with Duo," he blurted, after discarding the less worthy query after Catherine's health, and the dreadfully dull questions regarding Trowa's educational goals.

"Well, I was," said Trowa. Quatre hoped his friend would elaborate. He remembered that Trowa could be talkative. One need only ask him the right questions or prompt him with insightful commentary.

"You know, I can see how the two of you could get along. I mean, you're both orphans and alone in that way. I guess he's, his life is more accessible to you than someone like me." Quatre nodded to emphasize his words. "I can see that."

"Quatre..." A note of warning resided in Trowa's tone, but Quatre chose to ignore it, preferring to show his newfound and determined support for his friend.

"So how'd you two get together anyway?" Good friends were interested in each other's lives. This was all important to Trowa, and so, it was important to Quatre as well.

Trowa made a small sound of exasperation or disappointment—or perhaps even indigestion. It was hard to tell. "Each time the circus was on L2, Duo and I would hang out. And he, well, he'd look me up whenever he could."

Quatre tried to dismiss the queasiness in his stomach. He knew he was well within his limits for drink, and the food had all been good. He wasn't sure what the source of his gastronomic distress was. "And? So, who kissed whom first?" Quatre hoped the smile on his face didn't appear, from the outside, as plastic as it felt from the inside. "How did it happen?"

"Why are you asking me this, Cat?" Trowa looked at him sideways. "Do you really want to know?"

"Sure! You're my friend, friends talk about this kind of thing, right?"

"I suppose," Trowa relented but Quatre was certain his friend still sounded skeptical. "We just... " Trowa shrugged before he continued, speaking more softly. "One night when we'd been out late together, neither of us wanted to go home alone. That's all. That's how it happened."

Quatre felt his stomach twist at the implications. He swayed on his feet, jarring his shoulder against the trunk of an inconsiderate tree, and decided maybe he didn't really need the details, even if Trowa were willing to divulge them. "So, um, why'd you break up? You both deserve to be happy. You really do."

"Duo and I, we're friends and for a while we had a physical relationship. We're still good friends. We didn't really break up, we just decided to stop having s... that physical part of our relationship. It wasn't a grand romance or anything, Quatre."

"Oh."

"Happy?"

"Don't know. Um..." Were those tears blurring his vision suddenly? Was it wrong of him to wonder why, if Trowa had wanted someone to be close to, he hadn't come to him first?

"What is it?" asked Trowa, his voice suddenly more gentle.

"I... why not...? Why not..." Quatre couldn't finish his question; he didn't want to know the answer: Why not me? Not only that, but he was having enough trouble following the curving path they took through the tropical foliage.

He stared at his feet to ensure he placed them correctly and nearly fell when a hand closed over his shoulder, he looked up and immediately regretted it; his vision spun as Trowa turned him around. In the gloom he tried to meet Trowa's eyes, and tried to read his expression. Dark eyes searched his, but Quatre didn't know what they sought.

To fend off his intoxicated dizziness Quatre closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, but then there was warmth—warm breath preceded warm flesh pressed against his mouth. His eyes flew open and his hands grasped at his friend's loose clothing, as he registered Trowa kissing him: Trowa's hand at his cheek, Trowa's fingers in his hair. Trowa's fingers traced his ear, his jaw, now his chin coaxing him to open his mouth, and then Trowa's tongue slipped between his lips, wet and hot and tasting like chocolate from his dessert.

And then gone.

"Does that answer your question?" Trowa asked softly, stepping back.

Quatre saw bitterness twist his friend's lips, sadness in his eyes. "No, I don't understand, what-?" What had Trowa thought his question was going to be?

"Quatre, please, no more questions tonight. I'm tired, and you've had too much to drink."

"Trowa-" he protested.

"Please, Cat? Let's just walk together?"

to Chapter 4

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Perigee

Perigee

Chapter 3