Title: I'm With You
Anime: Gundam Wing
Author: Gina Lin Genre: Song fic, Romance, Minor Angst Pairing: 3+4 Warnings: None Rating: PG:13
AN: My first try at a song fic. I fell in love with this song and this is what images came to me. Basically, it's about Trowa struggling to regain his memory.
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or any of it's characters. "I'm With You" words and music by Avril Lavigne.
"I'm With You"
I'm standing on a bridge, I'm waitin' in the dark, I thought that you'd be here by now. There's nothing but the rain, No footsteps on the ground, I'm listening but there's no sound.
Isn't anyone tryin' to find me? Won't somebody come take me home? It's a damn cold night, Trying to figure out this life. Wont you take me by the hand? Take me somewhere new, I don't know who you are, But I... I'm with you.
I'm looking for a place, Searching for a face. Is anybody here I know? Cause nothings going right And everything's a mess, And no one likes to be alone.
Isn't anyone tryin' to find me? Won't somebody come take me home? It's a damn cold night, Trying to figure out this life. Won't you take me by the hand? Take me somewhere new. I don't know who you are, But I... I'm with you.
Oh why is everything so confusing? Maybe I'm just out of my mind? Yea, Yea,Yea.
It's a damn cold night, Trying to figure out this life. Wont you take me by the hand? Take me somewhere new. I don't know who you are, But I... I'm with you.
Take me by the hand, Take me somewhere new, I don't know who you are. But I... I'm with you, I'm with you.
Take me by the hand, Take me somewhere new. I don't know who you are, But I... I'm with you. I'm with you. I'm with you...
He found himself on a footbridge in a nearby park, staring into the water. Like the mirror in his room, or over the sink in his bathroom, his reflection told him very little.
Damp brown hair with hints of red, bangs hanging over one jade green eye, over half of his face, really. He brushed the heavy wetness aside impatiently. An almost stranger stared back. His reflection was tall, slender, almost to the point of thinness, distorted by the drizzling rain in the water like a fun-house mirror. The growing darkness made it harder to see. He continued to stare.
It seemed to help to put the pieces together, gazing at himself. There were times during this reverie when flashes of memory so strong occurred, he would almost cry out. But, something deeply trained into, beyond memory, instinctual, told him silence was important. Vital. So, he rarely cried out.
Many of the strongest memories were of one person. Gold blond like white sand, slim, a young man like himself. The eyes were azure, crystalline. Mostly, he remembered the eyes. Looking at him with concern, with compassion. With love?
He remembered love. Being loved, not just in words. In caresses, kisses whispered endearments, offered hesitantly at first, but then with sureness, boldness, even. Being held in the darkness when his fears overwhelmed him.
Bodies meshing, merging, of pleasure given, and taken. Pleasure sometimes hastily taken in unfamiliar surroundings, but never less than loving. Sometimes a kind of desperation in it, the desperation wrought of impending, unwanted separation.
He pulled his heavy woolen peacoat closer against the cold. The turtleneck sweater underneath was welcome than earlier when the sun had been shining.
He rubbed his hands together to warm them. They were long fingers, those of a musician, an artist. Was that what he was? He had flashes of hearing music, but it was violin music. He looked at his fingertips. The calluses of a violinist were missing. But the music was there, in his head. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, to remember.
Azure eyes closed in concentration; in bliss, as the hands skillfully played. The calluses of those fingers of the left hand grazing his skin, his face, feather light touches on his back, his most intimate places. Loving touches. He flushed slightly at those erotic memories.
"It's getting colder," said a voice behind him. "I was looking for you."
He knew that voice. This was the voice in his head, in his heart, in his broken memories.
He turned in the darkness; his green eyes shining like a cat's.
In the dim streetlights of the park, blond hair shone light quicksilver, azure eyes, darkened by the dimness almost to cobalt shone. His shoulders were slightly hunched against the damp cold inside a camel colored trenchcoat.
"I know you."
"Yes, you do." A hopeful smile now graced soft lips he knew by rote, by feel. He longed to touch them, to convince himself of the reality of his memories. He stilled his hand, willing it back, unsure.
He dropped his head, swallowing hard. "I wish I had remembered your name," he whispered. "I wanted to, very much. I'm so sorry."
"You will."
"Tell me again, please," he said, almost begging.
"Quatre."
"Quatre," he rolled the final syllable over on his tongue. His verbal memory knew the name, had made the sounds before. Had even cried it out in ecstasy.
"You should come with me," said Quatre, holding out his hand. "Cathy will be worried."
He took the extended left hand. The calluses he remembered grazed the back then the palm of his own hand. This felt intimate, familiar also. He tightened his grip on the hand, and looked intently into the face beyond.
"Am I losing my mind?" The question was ripped from him almost against his will.
Quatre shook his head sadly, then looked at him with liquid eyes. "No, you're finding it."
"Will you stay with me?" He surprised himself. He hadn't meant to say that aloud.
" Yes, always. I'll help you figure out all of this. The same way you've always helped me."
"We were together." It was a definite statement, the first one he'd made.
"Yes," said the blond man, his voice choked with emotion now.
"Take me home," gasped Trowa, as the other man fell into his embrace, and he buried his nose in the silky pale strands.
"Yes, we'll go home. Together." The sounds were muffled against his coat.
"I'm with you."
The End
Anime: Gundam Wing
Author: Gina Lin Genre: Song fic, Romance, Minor Angst Pairing: 3+4 Warnings: None Rating: PG:13
AN: My first try at a song fic. I fell in love with this song and this is what images came to me. Basically, it's about Trowa struggling to regain his memory.
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or any of it's characters. "I'm With You" words and music by Avril Lavigne.
"I'm With You"
I'm standing on a bridge, I'm waitin' in the dark, I thought that you'd be here by now. There's nothing but the rain, No footsteps on the ground, I'm listening but there's no sound.
Isn't anyone tryin' to find me? Won't somebody come take me home? It's a damn cold night, Trying to figure out this life. Wont you take me by the hand? Take me somewhere new, I don't know who you are, But I... I'm with you.
I'm looking for a place, Searching for a face. Is anybody here I know? Cause nothings going right And everything's a mess, And no one likes to be alone.
Isn't anyone tryin' to find me? Won't somebody come take me home? It's a damn cold night, Trying to figure out this life. Won't you take me by the hand? Take me somewhere new. I don't know who you are, But I... I'm with you.
Oh why is everything so confusing? Maybe I'm just out of my mind? Yea, Yea,Yea.
It's a damn cold night, Trying to figure out this life. Wont you take me by the hand? Take me somewhere new. I don't know who you are, But I... I'm with you.
Take me by the hand, Take me somewhere new, I don't know who you are. But I... I'm with you, I'm with you.
Take me by the hand, Take me somewhere new. I don't know who you are, But I... I'm with you. I'm with you. I'm with you...
He found himself on a footbridge in a nearby park, staring into the water. Like the mirror in his room, or over the sink in his bathroom, his reflection told him very little.
Damp brown hair with hints of red, bangs hanging over one jade green eye, over half of his face, really. He brushed the heavy wetness aside impatiently. An almost stranger stared back. His reflection was tall, slender, almost to the point of thinness, distorted by the drizzling rain in the water like a fun-house mirror. The growing darkness made it harder to see. He continued to stare.
It seemed to help to put the pieces together, gazing at himself. There were times during this reverie when flashes of memory so strong occurred, he would almost cry out. But, something deeply trained into, beyond memory, instinctual, told him silence was important. Vital. So, he rarely cried out.
Many of the strongest memories were of one person. Gold blond like white sand, slim, a young man like himself. The eyes were azure, crystalline. Mostly, he remembered the eyes. Looking at him with concern, with compassion. With love?
He remembered love. Being loved, not just in words. In caresses, kisses whispered endearments, offered hesitantly at first, but then with sureness, boldness, even. Being held in the darkness when his fears overwhelmed him.
Bodies meshing, merging, of pleasure given, and taken. Pleasure sometimes hastily taken in unfamiliar surroundings, but never less than loving. Sometimes a kind of desperation in it, the desperation wrought of impending, unwanted separation.
He pulled his heavy woolen peacoat closer against the cold. The turtleneck sweater underneath was welcome than earlier when the sun had been shining.
He rubbed his hands together to warm them. They were long fingers, those of a musician, an artist. Was that what he was? He had flashes of hearing music, but it was violin music. He looked at his fingertips. The calluses of a violinist were missing. But the music was there, in his head. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, to remember.
Azure eyes closed in concentration; in bliss, as the hands skillfully played. The calluses of those fingers of the left hand grazing his skin, his face, feather light touches on his back, his most intimate places. Loving touches. He flushed slightly at those erotic memories.
"It's getting colder," said a voice behind him. "I was looking for you."
He knew that voice. This was the voice in his head, in his heart, in his broken memories.
He turned in the darkness; his green eyes shining like a cat's.
In the dim streetlights of the park, blond hair shone light quicksilver, azure eyes, darkened by the dimness almost to cobalt shone. His shoulders were slightly hunched against the damp cold inside a camel colored trenchcoat.
"I know you."
"Yes, you do." A hopeful smile now graced soft lips he knew by rote, by feel. He longed to touch them, to convince himself of the reality of his memories. He stilled his hand, willing it back, unsure.
He dropped his head, swallowing hard. "I wish I had remembered your name," he whispered. "I wanted to, very much. I'm so sorry."
"You will."
"Tell me again, please," he said, almost begging.
"Quatre."
"Quatre," he rolled the final syllable over on his tongue. His verbal memory knew the name, had made the sounds before. Had even cried it out in ecstasy.
"You should come with me," said Quatre, holding out his hand. "Cathy will be worried."
He took the extended left hand. The calluses he remembered grazed the back then the palm of his own hand. This felt intimate, familiar also. He tightened his grip on the hand, and looked intently into the face beyond.
"Am I losing my mind?" The question was ripped from him almost against his will.
Quatre shook his head sadly, then looked at him with liquid eyes. "No, you're finding it."
"Will you stay with me?" He surprised himself. He hadn't meant to say that aloud.
" Yes, always. I'll help you figure out all of this. The same way you've always helped me."
"We were together." It was a definite statement, the first one he'd made.
"Yes," said the blond man, his voice choked with emotion now.
"Take me home," gasped Trowa, as the other man fell into his embrace, and he buried his nose in the silky pale strands.
"Yes, we'll go home. Together." The sounds were muffled against his coat.
"I'm with you."
The End