Author: Tori Sakana
Summary: Some time after the first duet, Quatre and Trowa pick up their instruments once again. They learn a little about music and a lot about each other…and their own feelings.
Warnings: light shonen-ai, 3+4+3, fluff, sap.
Time frame: doesn't fit anywhere in particular in the storyline. Before the Zero System.
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or any of its characters or plot or anything.
Now, on to the fic!
*************
A Music Lesson
*************
The last lilting notes of the violin blended with the sound of the breeze from the open window ruffling the young musician's hair. There was a pause, as if the notes waited for a response, but none came.
Quatre sighed.
He laid the now-silent instrument down on the sofa and dropped into a nearby chair. There was something missing. He could still play, and play well, pouring out emotion through thin metal strings. But it just hadn't been the same since the duet.
The cabinet in the corner caught Quatre's eye. He walked over to stand in front of it, one hand resting on the sun-warmed glass. A row of bright, polished flutes gleamed back at him. Quatre closed his eyes and brought back the music…
An impromptu duet. His silent companion had walked in on a practice session, watched for a while, then taken a flute from the cabinet and begun to play along. In perfect harmony, every note falling into place, but completely unpracticed, a song from two hearts with nothing in-between. A song he had never heard before, but that he could never forget…
For some reason, solo music just wasn't as beautiful anymore. He missed the crystal flute notes trilling an elegant counterpoint to his own delicate melody. It had stirred something within him that his own music could not touch, and he desperately wanted to know what…and why.
So every time he shared a safehouse with the stranger who called himself Trowa, Quatre would play, an open invitation to join him.
But he never did. After that first time Trowa had not once picked up the flute to add his harmony. It was as if the first duet had never happened. So Quatre struggled on his own to recapture the feeling.
What was it about that music that affected him so? Quatre opened the cabinet and gently took out a flute. How could such a thin, plain piece of metal hold such beauty? Was it the musician or the instrument itself?
Curiously, Quatre eyed the flute. He'd never played one before, but he had watched Trowa and it did not seem that difficult. Arms up, like so. Fingers pressing keys gently, like so. Lips pursed over the cold metal mouthpiece, like so. Now blow.
To Quatre's chagrin, not a single sound emerged.
He blew harder. Still nothing.
He blew even harder, his face red and cheeks comically puffed out. This time, a piercing high-pitched whistle shrieked and Quatre nearly dropped the flute.
He did drop it a second later when a low chuckle sounded from the doorway.
"Trowa!" he squawked. "H-how long have you been standing there?"
"You're doing it all wrong." The taller boy pushed off from his position leaning against the wall. He crossed to the cabinet and pulled out a second flute, lifting it to his lips and playing a fast scale.
Quatre wasn't sure whether to be surprised, happy, or embarrassed at his friend's presence. He decided on embarrassed and promptly blushed to the roots of his hair. "You saw me?"
Trowa met his eyes. His expression was blank but Quatre was certain there was a hint of amusement in those impassive depths.
"You're doing it wrong." Trowa repeated calmly. "Turn it further up."
"What? Oh, I see." Quatre picked up the flute again and tried to rotate it to get a sound.
"Here." Suddenly Trowa's voice was right behind Quatre's ear. "I'll hold it."
Gentle hands reached around and turned the flute at a different angle. Warm calloused fingers pressed Quatre's down against the metal keys in a complicated pattern.
"Now try."
A clear note sounded in the warm afternoon air.
"I did it!" Quatre let go of the flute and beamed at Trowa. Then blushed again when he realized Trowa was still behind him with his arms around the smaller boy, holding the flute in place.
Trowa seemed to realize it too and stepped back, moving around to face Quatre and standing a few feet away. "Now try again."
Quatre did, and was proud to produce another clear note. Encouraged by his success, he tried changing his finger position and released a horrible *blaat*. He winced at the flat note.
Pressing down the keys almost at random, he hunted for an ordinary scale. After a few minutes, he grew frustrated. Who on Earth designed such an illogical instrument? There was no rhyme or reason to it, no connection between keys pressed and sound emitted.
He frowned at the offending piece of metal in his hands, as if it were somehow the flute's fault that it was created by a sadistic madman.
Trowa, on his part, found the spectacle quite entertaining. By now his eyes were unmistakably sparkling with amusement, and a small smile touched his lips.
Quatre gave him about three-quarters of his best glare – admittedly not particularly intimidating – and growled in fake anger, "What are you laughing at?"
Shaking his head silently, Trowa gently picked up Quatre's fingers and rearranged them on the keys, covering them with his own.
A cool, crisp F floated through the room.
Gentle pressure lifting some fingers and pressing others down. G.
More complicated fingerings. The rest of the scale. As Quatre had surmised earlier, the note-fingering connections were far from intuitive. Closer to ludicrous, actually.
He tried to focus on remembering the scale, but his mind kept wandering and mixing up the notes. And there was the added distraction of his fingers being pressed between cold metal and warm hands. He didn't know why but his mind seemed to have no room for anything else.
Then the hands pulled away as Trowa moved to sit on the couch. Quatre felt vaguely disappointed, but hid it by attempting to play through the scale again.
And failed miserably.
After a particularly painful series of whistles and tweets, Trowa couldn't take it any more. He started laughing softly, in that careful guarded way of his.
Quatre lowered the flute in a huff. "Well, Mr. Oh-so-talented, I'd like to see you play my violin! You'd be just as bad as I am at the flute!"
Trowa smirked. "Mission accepted."
Quatre gulped.
The taller boy picked up the violin lying forgotten on the sofa and placed it carefully under his chin. Lightly resting the bow against the strings, he adjusted his position briefly.
Wincing, Quatre waited for him to start. It seemed as if his pride was about to take another blow; Trowa looked like he knew how to play…
The screech and growl that the wooden instrument emitted sent those thoughts out the window.
Trowa at least had the decency to blush at the hideous noise he had produced as Quatre started laughing.
"For crying out loud, Trowa, you're terrible!"
Trowa cast a meaningful eye at the flute.
"Eh heh, yeah, I guess you're right, I'm not much better... Still, you surely can do better than that! Here, let me help."
Laying the flute down on the table, Quatre set about rearranging Trowa. Pushing his elbow up, bending his wrists, pulling his other elbow out and raising his arm, he tugged at his fellow Gundam pilot like a store mannequin until he resembled a proper violinist.
"There we go."
Trowa sent him a pleading look that quite clearly stated that this was one of the most uncomfortable positions he had ever been forced to take.
"Don't be silly, it's not that bad. You just have to get used to it…and keep your back straight. Now try again."
Trowa had more success than Quatre at evoking a scale, since violin fingerings are relatively straightforward, but the bow seemed to have him at a loss. He couldn't get it to move in sync with the notes and occasionally he would hit two strings at once causing a wrenching discord.
It took only a few minutes before Quatre's ears won over his sense of humor and he went to help Trowa. Standing behind him much as the taller boy had done earlier, he took hold of the bow and began moving it in a steady rhythm. Quickly catching on to the rhythm, Trowa moved his fingers in time to the bow. Quatre was slightly disturbed to find he quite enjoyed standing like this, helping his friend learn to play. After a few times playing through the scale, Quatre reluctantly stepped away.
Trowa had got the hang of it now, and was playing a slightly flat C major scale with only a few squawks and twangs. Quatre was proud; the superiority of his instrument was proven.
Still, he couldn't resist teasing the other boy a little, since he seemed to be responsive for once.
"See, I told you, you'd be as bad at the violin as I am at the flute."
To his surprise, Trowa actually answered. "I beg to differ. At least I don't sound like this."
He exchanged the violin for the flute Quatre had abandoned, and started to play…if play was the word for it. It was a horrible squealing, squeaking twitter, full of stumbling fingerings and breathy unclear notes.
Quatre flushed a bit when he realized Trowa was imitating him.
"I'm that bad, huh? Well, two can play at that game." He grabbed his violin, thrust it under his chin, and launched into a painful parody of Trowa's stilted music. High wailing flats, twanging sharps, random chords and his bow moving totally out of time. It was unquestionably the most horrible music he had ever played.
The dreadful duet continued, each trying to outdo the other in pure ear-shattering discord, creating the exact opposite of their first encounter. Instead of harmony, this time it was perfect disharmony, each note jangling at just the right pitch to be as irritating as possible, as far out of tune as you can get without coming back in again.
It lasted until they were both breathless from suppressed laughter. Trowa could barely hold the flute to his lips, and the violin was slipping out from under Quatre's chin. They held a final terrible note, then collapsed onto the sofa laughing.
The soft sounds of humor died away, leaving only light breathing and the rustling breeze. Trowa leaned his head against the back of the cough, his face looking at the ceiling but his eyes closed, that small smile on his lips again. Quatre guessed that was as much emotion as he usually ever allowed himself to show. It was probably an honor to even see him laugh.
Quatre fingered the strings of his violin as he stared at the table, lost in thought. He had finally gotten Trowa to play a duet again, and to open up at least slightly, but he still hadn't found that music. The song that had haunted him ever since the first time. Their contest of horrors had been fun, but it wasn't what he was looking for…
Then delicate flute notes filled the air. The song, the same song he had been longing for, gently pulled together from the unknown melody. Quatre closed his eyes and just listened for a moment, strange feelings washing over him but most of all a sense of completeness. At last…at last the song had returned…
Shaking himself from his reverie, he opened his eyes. Trowa had stood and was playing his flute, facing the window that framed the dying afternoon sun. He seemed to have forgotten Quatre's very presence, so lost was he in the melody and emotions of the song.
Briefly Quatre wondered if he should leave the other boy alone with the music. Then decided no, it had been his song first on their last duet, now let him play harmony to Trowa's melody. By choosing that same song, Trowa had issued an invitation.
Quatre replaced his violin under his chin and began to play.
He followed Trowa's lead, lending a faint and low undertone to the dancing melody. It added a somberness to the tune, like a thundercloud on the horizon. Soon the melody changed as Trowa matched his mood, changing to a minor key and diving down an octave. Something about the music caused Quatre to flash back to their last mission.
War. Regret, sadness, a restrained roiling anger and a deeper grief. Of its own volition, a keening wail tore itself from the violin and Quatre shut his eyes tightly to block out the emotions. He felt rather than heard the flute's answering cry. A past full of suffering and a present nothing but a struggle for survival. The adrenalin rush of battle and the emptying loss as the instinct faded. A humanity that could not be expressed in words or actions could be released through the notes of an unheard requiem. The casual listener would hear only a sad song played with admirable talent.
But Quatre could hear the truth behind it.
As suddenly as it had started, the tune changed. Trowa brought forth the long, slow legato notes of resignation and acceptance, which turned into a comforting, if transitory, peace. The calm between the storms.
Quatre accepted the change and calmed his heart. Putting the relaxation and safety he felt in the safehouse into his music, the melody began to bring to mind a lazy afternoon like this one, with nothing more to do than just be. This time the mood lasted for some time, brushing away all traces of the earlier battle hymn.
Then another subtle change took over. Quatre wasn't entirely sure who started it, and he didn't really care. It began as a hesitant questioning phrase, barely more than a whisper. Do you…? Can I…? The answer was just as tentative, wavering from vibrato or nerves. Maybe…Are you asking…? Do you mean…?
A little surer now. Emotion behind the notes starting to show through. A sense of loneliness, a need for companionship…and more than companionship. The answer leapt forth with similar longings. Carefully, slowly, the two songs blended into one as the question was answered.
Do you…?
Yes.
Another abrupt change, as the nervousness was chased away by an overwhelming joy. Feelings freely given, freely returned, no longer lonely, no longer uncertain, a feedback loop of emotion built up into a spiral of climbing melodies and a towering crescendo until there was nothing but the music and the feelings of—
Love. That was it. Love.
The music faded away in the afterglow of realization.
Quatre lowered the violin slowly, breathing hard from exertion. He raised a shaking hand to his forehead and felt hot beads of sweat running down his face.
"Whoa…" his voice trembled with the power of the emotions still running through him. "That was…"
His legs gave way and he sat down hard on the couch. Trowa was already there, leaning his head against the back of the couch. Quatre could hear him drawing shaky breaths. They both just sat for some time, trying to come to terms with their more-than-conversation and the feelings it had stirred in them both.
Quatre was first to break the silence. "Wow…No wonder you don't talk."
"I do talk." Trowa grinned at him, his expression unguarded for the first time. "I just only talk to people I can trust to understand me."
"And you trust me?" Quatre was shocked by the other boy's sudden change in attitude.
"You understood me. Not many people could do that, especially without words."
That last statement made Quatre curious. "How many?"
"Two."
Two. The unspoken loneliness tugged at Quatre's heart. To be so alone in a world, where everyone talked but no one understood…
"Who?"
"You…and Heero Yuy."
Quatre was unsurprised. The Wing pilot was just as silent as Trowa, with a similar intensity to the way he saw the world. The two were kindred spirits.
"Sounds pretty lonely. Only talking to two people." But he was secretly proud that he was one of the chosen few. It made him feel a deep connection to his taciturn companion.
"It's better than talking all the time and no one understanding you."
Quatre had a fleeting thought of Duo, who seemed to find refuge in his stream of meaningless conversation. "But how do you know they don't understand until you try?"
Trowa pointed at their instruments lying forgotten on the table. "You understood. And I didn't even say a word."
It was true…it hadn't been a duet, it had been an entire conversation conducted in emotion without the interference of words…
The last theme of the piece replayed in Quatre's mind. The desire, longing, and deep caring of the final notes had been more than simple music, he knew.
"Trowa…did you mean it? What you, uh—" said? Played? Felt? " That last part…I wasn't imagining things, was I? Did you really mean that you…uh…"
Quatre felt the blush growing on his face, equal parts nervousness, attraction, and embarrassment. Dammit! Why couldn't he get the words out! Trowa was right, words only got in the way, but he needed them, needed to believe that what he had felt was more than just wishful thinking and imagination but was real and returned. His fingers itched to just pick up his violin and ask him that way, but it lacked the certainty he needed. Feelings only recently awoken die easily, and the heart needs more reassurance to believe. He needed to hear the words, even if only this once.
"Mean what?" Trowa looked at him hard, some intense expression hidden deep within his eyes.
Quatre thought about this. What exactly did he mean? Less than thirty minutes ago, he had been obsessed with his fellow pilot because of the duet and nothing more…or so he thought. Then the light touches of the flute lesson had brought to mind exactly why he had been so obsessed…And then the music had made him realize something it would have taken him years to come to terms with in words. That what he felt for Trowa was more than just friendship or camaraderie or a bond of shared music…He felt…he felt…words were getting in the way again, in the way of a clear feeling he didn't entirely comprehend.
"Mean that---that you---that I---that we---"
Trowa waited patiently for the answer.
Quatre gave up on words and kissed him.
It was only a quick peck, really, hardly more than a brush of their lips. It lasted barely an instant. But it may as well have been a fiery passionate caress, judging from Trowa's reaction.
He blinked. He blinked again. He blinked a third time. Then he opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again.
"…"
"Whatever happened to 'I do talk', huh Trowa?" Quatre was more amused than worried. He didn't think Trowa would reject him, in fact he was sure he wouldn't, and the concept of Trowa being stunned speechless was undeniably funny. "Trying to say something?"
His answer was a low whistle of amazement.
Quatre started laughing and relaxed. After a moment, a cautious arm snaked around his shoulders and he leaned back into the embrace. They sat side-by-side on the couch, not talking, just thinking…
Quatre was thinking about what on Earth was going on. Here he was, in the arms of a fellow soldier with whom he had shared barely a hundred words, sitting in a safehouse waiting for his next mission. But despite the sheer absurdity of the situation, it felt strangely right. And despite the silence between them, he knew Trowa better than he knew his own family – better than he knew himself.
On Trowa's part, the surprise was greater, as was the certainty. He had known there was something special about the blond pilot from the moment they had met on that battlefield, and everything that had happened since had simply been leading up to this moment. When he met Quatre, he had felt the need to understand him, and when they played the duet Trowa realized that he could also be understood in turn. He had been biding his time, waiting for the blond's music to reveal that he was ready. And the wait had not been in vain.
It was Quatre who broke the silence. "So what happens now?"
Trowa raised an eyebrow in question.
"I mean, now what? We're in the middle of a war. I have a mission tomorrow. Yours is the day after. We have no idea when or where we're going to meet next, or even if we'll meet again. We're soldiers, Trowa. Our lives are not our own."
Trowa could feel the smaller boy's shoulders tensing under his arm. He put a second arm around him and gave a small squeeze for reassurance. The muscles relaxed a miniscule amount, but he could still feel Quatre's anxiety.
"And we can't let this interfere with our missions or it will compromise our efficiency! And what will the others think? If the doctors find out, we're toast! Not to mention my father…"
"Quatre?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
Trowa grinned and Quatre elbowed him in the side.
"I'm serious!"
"You worry too much."
"But—"
"Look. We'll go on our missions, fight OZ, and follow orders just as we've always done. Nothing will change. What is important is the freedom and peace of the colonies, not our own lives."
"So what's the point? Why should the two of us even try to be happy?" Quatre stared at the floor. "It's futile."
Trowa shook his head. "I didn't say that."
"But then—"
"On missions, nothing will change. But in the safehouses, we're free. We can hide it from the others, if you want, but no one can stop us from loving each other while we're off duty."
"We can play duets?" The childish hope in Quatre's voice made Trowa chuckle.
"Sure. And cuddle on the couch like we are now. Anything you want."
Quatre blushed at that and nuzzled closer into Trowa's embrace. "I'd like that."
"We just have to make sure this doesn't interfere with our missions."
"All right." Quatre nodded with a determined look. "On the battlefield, we'll be nothing more than fellow soldiers---"
"And what we are in private is irrelevant." Trowa nodded also. "Mission accepted."
Quatre laughed a little at that, then grew quiet again. "Trowa?"
"Hn?"
"What happens if one of us gets hurt? Or…"
"Or killed?"
"Y-yeah."
"We continue fighting and fulfill the mission. Then we can be free to worry…or mourn."
"That's going to be hard."
"It's nothing you can't handle."
That brought a genuine smile to Quatre's face. "You know, I think you might be right."
Trowa rested his cheek against the top of Quatre's head and the blond closed his eyes in contentment.
A moment of quiet peace in a troubled world.
Then the door flew open without a knock and Duo bounced in.
"Hi you guys! Just looking for my, um, my hat! Yeah, have you guys seen it around? Ya know, black baseball cap?"
The two surprised boys on the couch just stared at him, frozen in their somewhat compromising position.
"Guess not! Oh well, lemme know if you find it! Oh, and by the way, I think it's about time you guys got together. Me and Heero were about to give you both a push in the right direction; we were getting sick of watching you guys stare at the back of each other's heads. Just don't fool around till Quatre's old enough, okay Trowa? And tell me if you find my hat!"
The braided whirlwind bounced out, the door shutting behind him with the speed of his passage. "See ya later!"
Trowa and a blushing Quatre stared in disbelief the closed door for a full minute.
"Well, there goes the idea of keeping it a secret."
…
"Is it me, or was Duo wearing his black hat when he came in?"
"Uh huh."
"Oh, that's what I—Wait, so what did he come in here for?….DUO!!!"
Duo abandoned his post at the keyhole to flee the wrath of the irate pair.
~owari ~
Author's Notes: Sap! Fluff! No way, I actually wrote a sweet fic? *Gasp of horror* Whew, glad that's over with, I can go back to my angst and dark humor now…
The reason for this fic was because every Quatre-and-Trowa-get- together fic I've found is an AU, while in all the fics set in the GW-verse they're already together…so I decided to fill the void!
Strangely enough, the plot for this came from a duet I played with my roommate, Rey (a.k.a. ReySolo, go read her fics!). I play the violin and she plays the flute. (Violins rule! Whoo hoo!) She made the ill-advised decision to try to teach me to play flute. :) Flute fingerings are really screwy. But fortunately I am not quite as bad as Quatre is, and Rey wasn't quite as bad as Trowa. Still, it gave me the idea for my second fic ever on FF.net! Yay! And thanks to Rey for beta-ing!
So R/R, pretty please!
Oh, and for no apparent reason my insane roommate Rey has declared today, April 21, the Official 3x4 Day. Don't ask me why, I don't know either.
Summary: Some time after the first duet, Quatre and Trowa pick up their instruments once again. They learn a little about music and a lot about each other…and their own feelings.
Warnings: light shonen-ai, 3+4+3, fluff, sap.
Time frame: doesn't fit anywhere in particular in the storyline. Before the Zero System.
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or any of its characters or plot or anything.
Now, on to the fic!
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A Music Lesson
*************
The last lilting notes of the violin blended with the sound of the breeze from the open window ruffling the young musician's hair. There was a pause, as if the notes waited for a response, but none came.
Quatre sighed.
He laid the now-silent instrument down on the sofa and dropped into a nearby chair. There was something missing. He could still play, and play well, pouring out emotion through thin metal strings. But it just hadn't been the same since the duet.
The cabinet in the corner caught Quatre's eye. He walked over to stand in front of it, one hand resting on the sun-warmed glass. A row of bright, polished flutes gleamed back at him. Quatre closed his eyes and brought back the music…
An impromptu duet. His silent companion had walked in on a practice session, watched for a while, then taken a flute from the cabinet and begun to play along. In perfect harmony, every note falling into place, but completely unpracticed, a song from two hearts with nothing in-between. A song he had never heard before, but that he could never forget…
For some reason, solo music just wasn't as beautiful anymore. He missed the crystal flute notes trilling an elegant counterpoint to his own delicate melody. It had stirred something within him that his own music could not touch, and he desperately wanted to know what…and why.
So every time he shared a safehouse with the stranger who called himself Trowa, Quatre would play, an open invitation to join him.
But he never did. After that first time Trowa had not once picked up the flute to add his harmony. It was as if the first duet had never happened. So Quatre struggled on his own to recapture the feeling.
What was it about that music that affected him so? Quatre opened the cabinet and gently took out a flute. How could such a thin, plain piece of metal hold such beauty? Was it the musician or the instrument itself?
Curiously, Quatre eyed the flute. He'd never played one before, but he had watched Trowa and it did not seem that difficult. Arms up, like so. Fingers pressing keys gently, like so. Lips pursed over the cold metal mouthpiece, like so. Now blow.
To Quatre's chagrin, not a single sound emerged.
He blew harder. Still nothing.
He blew even harder, his face red and cheeks comically puffed out. This time, a piercing high-pitched whistle shrieked and Quatre nearly dropped the flute.
He did drop it a second later when a low chuckle sounded from the doorway.
"Trowa!" he squawked. "H-how long have you been standing there?"
"You're doing it all wrong." The taller boy pushed off from his position leaning against the wall. He crossed to the cabinet and pulled out a second flute, lifting it to his lips and playing a fast scale.
Quatre wasn't sure whether to be surprised, happy, or embarrassed at his friend's presence. He decided on embarrassed and promptly blushed to the roots of his hair. "You saw me?"
Trowa met his eyes. His expression was blank but Quatre was certain there was a hint of amusement in those impassive depths.
"You're doing it wrong." Trowa repeated calmly. "Turn it further up."
"What? Oh, I see." Quatre picked up the flute again and tried to rotate it to get a sound.
"Here." Suddenly Trowa's voice was right behind Quatre's ear. "I'll hold it."
Gentle hands reached around and turned the flute at a different angle. Warm calloused fingers pressed Quatre's down against the metal keys in a complicated pattern.
"Now try."
A clear note sounded in the warm afternoon air.
"I did it!" Quatre let go of the flute and beamed at Trowa. Then blushed again when he realized Trowa was still behind him with his arms around the smaller boy, holding the flute in place.
Trowa seemed to realize it too and stepped back, moving around to face Quatre and standing a few feet away. "Now try again."
Quatre did, and was proud to produce another clear note. Encouraged by his success, he tried changing his finger position and released a horrible *blaat*. He winced at the flat note.
Pressing down the keys almost at random, he hunted for an ordinary scale. After a few minutes, he grew frustrated. Who on Earth designed such an illogical instrument? There was no rhyme or reason to it, no connection between keys pressed and sound emitted.
He frowned at the offending piece of metal in his hands, as if it were somehow the flute's fault that it was created by a sadistic madman.
Trowa, on his part, found the spectacle quite entertaining. By now his eyes were unmistakably sparkling with amusement, and a small smile touched his lips.
Quatre gave him about three-quarters of his best glare – admittedly not particularly intimidating – and growled in fake anger, "What are you laughing at?"
Shaking his head silently, Trowa gently picked up Quatre's fingers and rearranged them on the keys, covering them with his own.
A cool, crisp F floated through the room.
Gentle pressure lifting some fingers and pressing others down. G.
More complicated fingerings. The rest of the scale. As Quatre had surmised earlier, the note-fingering connections were far from intuitive. Closer to ludicrous, actually.
He tried to focus on remembering the scale, but his mind kept wandering and mixing up the notes. And there was the added distraction of his fingers being pressed between cold metal and warm hands. He didn't know why but his mind seemed to have no room for anything else.
Then the hands pulled away as Trowa moved to sit on the couch. Quatre felt vaguely disappointed, but hid it by attempting to play through the scale again.
And failed miserably.
After a particularly painful series of whistles and tweets, Trowa couldn't take it any more. He started laughing softly, in that careful guarded way of his.
Quatre lowered the flute in a huff. "Well, Mr. Oh-so-talented, I'd like to see you play my violin! You'd be just as bad as I am at the flute!"
Trowa smirked. "Mission accepted."
Quatre gulped.
The taller boy picked up the violin lying forgotten on the sofa and placed it carefully under his chin. Lightly resting the bow against the strings, he adjusted his position briefly.
Wincing, Quatre waited for him to start. It seemed as if his pride was about to take another blow; Trowa looked like he knew how to play…
The screech and growl that the wooden instrument emitted sent those thoughts out the window.
Trowa at least had the decency to blush at the hideous noise he had produced as Quatre started laughing.
"For crying out loud, Trowa, you're terrible!"
Trowa cast a meaningful eye at the flute.
"Eh heh, yeah, I guess you're right, I'm not much better... Still, you surely can do better than that! Here, let me help."
Laying the flute down on the table, Quatre set about rearranging Trowa. Pushing his elbow up, bending his wrists, pulling his other elbow out and raising his arm, he tugged at his fellow Gundam pilot like a store mannequin until he resembled a proper violinist.
"There we go."
Trowa sent him a pleading look that quite clearly stated that this was one of the most uncomfortable positions he had ever been forced to take.
"Don't be silly, it's not that bad. You just have to get used to it…and keep your back straight. Now try again."
Trowa had more success than Quatre at evoking a scale, since violin fingerings are relatively straightforward, but the bow seemed to have him at a loss. He couldn't get it to move in sync with the notes and occasionally he would hit two strings at once causing a wrenching discord.
It took only a few minutes before Quatre's ears won over his sense of humor and he went to help Trowa. Standing behind him much as the taller boy had done earlier, he took hold of the bow and began moving it in a steady rhythm. Quickly catching on to the rhythm, Trowa moved his fingers in time to the bow. Quatre was slightly disturbed to find he quite enjoyed standing like this, helping his friend learn to play. After a few times playing through the scale, Quatre reluctantly stepped away.
Trowa had got the hang of it now, and was playing a slightly flat C major scale with only a few squawks and twangs. Quatre was proud; the superiority of his instrument was proven.
Still, he couldn't resist teasing the other boy a little, since he seemed to be responsive for once.
"See, I told you, you'd be as bad at the violin as I am at the flute."
To his surprise, Trowa actually answered. "I beg to differ. At least I don't sound like this."
He exchanged the violin for the flute Quatre had abandoned, and started to play…if play was the word for it. It was a horrible squealing, squeaking twitter, full of stumbling fingerings and breathy unclear notes.
Quatre flushed a bit when he realized Trowa was imitating him.
"I'm that bad, huh? Well, two can play at that game." He grabbed his violin, thrust it under his chin, and launched into a painful parody of Trowa's stilted music. High wailing flats, twanging sharps, random chords and his bow moving totally out of time. It was unquestionably the most horrible music he had ever played.
The dreadful duet continued, each trying to outdo the other in pure ear-shattering discord, creating the exact opposite of their first encounter. Instead of harmony, this time it was perfect disharmony, each note jangling at just the right pitch to be as irritating as possible, as far out of tune as you can get without coming back in again.
It lasted until they were both breathless from suppressed laughter. Trowa could barely hold the flute to his lips, and the violin was slipping out from under Quatre's chin. They held a final terrible note, then collapsed onto the sofa laughing.
The soft sounds of humor died away, leaving only light breathing and the rustling breeze. Trowa leaned his head against the back of the cough, his face looking at the ceiling but his eyes closed, that small smile on his lips again. Quatre guessed that was as much emotion as he usually ever allowed himself to show. It was probably an honor to even see him laugh.
Quatre fingered the strings of his violin as he stared at the table, lost in thought. He had finally gotten Trowa to play a duet again, and to open up at least slightly, but he still hadn't found that music. The song that had haunted him ever since the first time. Their contest of horrors had been fun, but it wasn't what he was looking for…
Then delicate flute notes filled the air. The song, the same song he had been longing for, gently pulled together from the unknown melody. Quatre closed his eyes and just listened for a moment, strange feelings washing over him but most of all a sense of completeness. At last…at last the song had returned…
Shaking himself from his reverie, he opened his eyes. Trowa had stood and was playing his flute, facing the window that framed the dying afternoon sun. He seemed to have forgotten Quatre's very presence, so lost was he in the melody and emotions of the song.
Briefly Quatre wondered if he should leave the other boy alone with the music. Then decided no, it had been his song first on their last duet, now let him play harmony to Trowa's melody. By choosing that same song, Trowa had issued an invitation.
Quatre replaced his violin under his chin and began to play.
He followed Trowa's lead, lending a faint and low undertone to the dancing melody. It added a somberness to the tune, like a thundercloud on the horizon. Soon the melody changed as Trowa matched his mood, changing to a minor key and diving down an octave. Something about the music caused Quatre to flash back to their last mission.
War. Regret, sadness, a restrained roiling anger and a deeper grief. Of its own volition, a keening wail tore itself from the violin and Quatre shut his eyes tightly to block out the emotions. He felt rather than heard the flute's answering cry. A past full of suffering and a present nothing but a struggle for survival. The adrenalin rush of battle and the emptying loss as the instinct faded. A humanity that could not be expressed in words or actions could be released through the notes of an unheard requiem. The casual listener would hear only a sad song played with admirable talent.
But Quatre could hear the truth behind it.
As suddenly as it had started, the tune changed. Trowa brought forth the long, slow legato notes of resignation and acceptance, which turned into a comforting, if transitory, peace. The calm between the storms.
Quatre accepted the change and calmed his heart. Putting the relaxation and safety he felt in the safehouse into his music, the melody began to bring to mind a lazy afternoon like this one, with nothing more to do than just be. This time the mood lasted for some time, brushing away all traces of the earlier battle hymn.
Then another subtle change took over. Quatre wasn't entirely sure who started it, and he didn't really care. It began as a hesitant questioning phrase, barely more than a whisper. Do you…? Can I…? The answer was just as tentative, wavering from vibrato or nerves. Maybe…Are you asking…? Do you mean…?
A little surer now. Emotion behind the notes starting to show through. A sense of loneliness, a need for companionship…and more than companionship. The answer leapt forth with similar longings. Carefully, slowly, the two songs blended into one as the question was answered.
Do you…?
Yes.
Another abrupt change, as the nervousness was chased away by an overwhelming joy. Feelings freely given, freely returned, no longer lonely, no longer uncertain, a feedback loop of emotion built up into a spiral of climbing melodies and a towering crescendo until there was nothing but the music and the feelings of—
Love. That was it. Love.
The music faded away in the afterglow of realization.
Quatre lowered the violin slowly, breathing hard from exertion. He raised a shaking hand to his forehead and felt hot beads of sweat running down his face.
"Whoa…" his voice trembled with the power of the emotions still running through him. "That was…"
His legs gave way and he sat down hard on the couch. Trowa was already there, leaning his head against the back of the couch. Quatre could hear him drawing shaky breaths. They both just sat for some time, trying to come to terms with their more-than-conversation and the feelings it had stirred in them both.
Quatre was first to break the silence. "Wow…No wonder you don't talk."
"I do talk." Trowa grinned at him, his expression unguarded for the first time. "I just only talk to people I can trust to understand me."
"And you trust me?" Quatre was shocked by the other boy's sudden change in attitude.
"You understood me. Not many people could do that, especially without words."
That last statement made Quatre curious. "How many?"
"Two."
Two. The unspoken loneliness tugged at Quatre's heart. To be so alone in a world, where everyone talked but no one understood…
"Who?"
"You…and Heero Yuy."
Quatre was unsurprised. The Wing pilot was just as silent as Trowa, with a similar intensity to the way he saw the world. The two were kindred spirits.
"Sounds pretty lonely. Only talking to two people." But he was secretly proud that he was one of the chosen few. It made him feel a deep connection to his taciturn companion.
"It's better than talking all the time and no one understanding you."
Quatre had a fleeting thought of Duo, who seemed to find refuge in his stream of meaningless conversation. "But how do you know they don't understand until you try?"
Trowa pointed at their instruments lying forgotten on the table. "You understood. And I didn't even say a word."
It was true…it hadn't been a duet, it had been an entire conversation conducted in emotion without the interference of words…
The last theme of the piece replayed in Quatre's mind. The desire, longing, and deep caring of the final notes had been more than simple music, he knew.
"Trowa…did you mean it? What you, uh—" said? Played? Felt? " That last part…I wasn't imagining things, was I? Did you really mean that you…uh…"
Quatre felt the blush growing on his face, equal parts nervousness, attraction, and embarrassment. Dammit! Why couldn't he get the words out! Trowa was right, words only got in the way, but he needed them, needed to believe that what he had felt was more than just wishful thinking and imagination but was real and returned. His fingers itched to just pick up his violin and ask him that way, but it lacked the certainty he needed. Feelings only recently awoken die easily, and the heart needs more reassurance to believe. He needed to hear the words, even if only this once.
"Mean what?" Trowa looked at him hard, some intense expression hidden deep within his eyes.
Quatre thought about this. What exactly did he mean? Less than thirty minutes ago, he had been obsessed with his fellow pilot because of the duet and nothing more…or so he thought. Then the light touches of the flute lesson had brought to mind exactly why he had been so obsessed…And then the music had made him realize something it would have taken him years to come to terms with in words. That what he felt for Trowa was more than just friendship or camaraderie or a bond of shared music…He felt…he felt…words were getting in the way again, in the way of a clear feeling he didn't entirely comprehend.
"Mean that---that you---that I---that we---"
Trowa waited patiently for the answer.
Quatre gave up on words and kissed him.
It was only a quick peck, really, hardly more than a brush of their lips. It lasted barely an instant. But it may as well have been a fiery passionate caress, judging from Trowa's reaction.
He blinked. He blinked again. He blinked a third time. Then he opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again.
"…"
"Whatever happened to 'I do talk', huh Trowa?" Quatre was more amused than worried. He didn't think Trowa would reject him, in fact he was sure he wouldn't, and the concept of Trowa being stunned speechless was undeniably funny. "Trying to say something?"
His answer was a low whistle of amazement.
Quatre started laughing and relaxed. After a moment, a cautious arm snaked around his shoulders and he leaned back into the embrace. They sat side-by-side on the couch, not talking, just thinking…
Quatre was thinking about what on Earth was going on. Here he was, in the arms of a fellow soldier with whom he had shared barely a hundred words, sitting in a safehouse waiting for his next mission. But despite the sheer absurdity of the situation, it felt strangely right. And despite the silence between them, he knew Trowa better than he knew his own family – better than he knew himself.
On Trowa's part, the surprise was greater, as was the certainty. He had known there was something special about the blond pilot from the moment they had met on that battlefield, and everything that had happened since had simply been leading up to this moment. When he met Quatre, he had felt the need to understand him, and when they played the duet Trowa realized that he could also be understood in turn. He had been biding his time, waiting for the blond's music to reveal that he was ready. And the wait had not been in vain.
It was Quatre who broke the silence. "So what happens now?"
Trowa raised an eyebrow in question.
"I mean, now what? We're in the middle of a war. I have a mission tomorrow. Yours is the day after. We have no idea when or where we're going to meet next, or even if we'll meet again. We're soldiers, Trowa. Our lives are not our own."
Trowa could feel the smaller boy's shoulders tensing under his arm. He put a second arm around him and gave a small squeeze for reassurance. The muscles relaxed a miniscule amount, but he could still feel Quatre's anxiety.
"And we can't let this interfere with our missions or it will compromise our efficiency! And what will the others think? If the doctors find out, we're toast! Not to mention my father…"
"Quatre?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
Trowa grinned and Quatre elbowed him in the side.
"I'm serious!"
"You worry too much."
"But—"
"Look. We'll go on our missions, fight OZ, and follow orders just as we've always done. Nothing will change. What is important is the freedom and peace of the colonies, not our own lives."
"So what's the point? Why should the two of us even try to be happy?" Quatre stared at the floor. "It's futile."
Trowa shook his head. "I didn't say that."
"But then—"
"On missions, nothing will change. But in the safehouses, we're free. We can hide it from the others, if you want, but no one can stop us from loving each other while we're off duty."
"We can play duets?" The childish hope in Quatre's voice made Trowa chuckle.
"Sure. And cuddle on the couch like we are now. Anything you want."
Quatre blushed at that and nuzzled closer into Trowa's embrace. "I'd like that."
"We just have to make sure this doesn't interfere with our missions."
"All right." Quatre nodded with a determined look. "On the battlefield, we'll be nothing more than fellow soldiers---"
"And what we are in private is irrelevant." Trowa nodded also. "Mission accepted."
Quatre laughed a little at that, then grew quiet again. "Trowa?"
"Hn?"
"What happens if one of us gets hurt? Or…"
"Or killed?"
"Y-yeah."
"We continue fighting and fulfill the mission. Then we can be free to worry…or mourn."
"That's going to be hard."
"It's nothing you can't handle."
That brought a genuine smile to Quatre's face. "You know, I think you might be right."
Trowa rested his cheek against the top of Quatre's head and the blond closed his eyes in contentment.
A moment of quiet peace in a troubled world.
Then the door flew open without a knock and Duo bounced in.
"Hi you guys! Just looking for my, um, my hat! Yeah, have you guys seen it around? Ya know, black baseball cap?"
The two surprised boys on the couch just stared at him, frozen in their somewhat compromising position.
"Guess not! Oh well, lemme know if you find it! Oh, and by the way, I think it's about time you guys got together. Me and Heero were about to give you both a push in the right direction; we were getting sick of watching you guys stare at the back of each other's heads. Just don't fool around till Quatre's old enough, okay Trowa? And tell me if you find my hat!"
The braided whirlwind bounced out, the door shutting behind him with the speed of his passage. "See ya later!"
Trowa and a blushing Quatre stared in disbelief the closed door for a full minute.
"Well, there goes the idea of keeping it a secret."
…
"Is it me, or was Duo wearing his black hat when he came in?"
"Uh huh."
"Oh, that's what I—Wait, so what did he come in here for?….DUO!!!"
Duo abandoned his post at the keyhole to flee the wrath of the irate pair.
~owari ~
Author's Notes: Sap! Fluff! No way, I actually wrote a sweet fic? *Gasp of horror* Whew, glad that's over with, I can go back to my angst and dark humor now…
The reason for this fic was because every Quatre-and-Trowa-get- together fic I've found is an AU, while in all the fics set in the GW-verse they're already together…so I decided to fill the void!
Strangely enough, the plot for this came from a duet I played with my roommate, Rey (a.k.a. ReySolo, go read her fics!). I play the violin and she plays the flute. (Violins rule! Whoo hoo!) She made the ill-advised decision to try to teach me to play flute. :) Flute fingerings are really screwy. But fortunately I am not quite as bad as Quatre is, and Rey wasn't quite as bad as Trowa. Still, it gave me the idea for my second fic ever on FF.net! Yay! And thanks to Rey for beta-ing!
So R/R, pretty please!
Oh, and for no apparent reason my insane roommate Rey has declared today, April 21, the Official 3x4 Day. Don't ask me why, I don't know either.