Disclaimer: Not mine. Do I need to say it?

Note: Thanks to KS, editor-in-chief, and to everyone who has sent such lovely reviews. Much appreciated!

One (not so) Enchanted Evening:

'You know,' Trowa murmured into his hair, 'I wasn't lying when I said I could hold you like this all night. If you'd prefer not to go back to your hotel, I don't live that far away.'

Ah. There it was. Not so different from L4 after all, although Trowa had taken his time about it. Or maybe it was just how they did things in this country; you could take time to enjoy a drink, and some dancing and a little conversation mixed in with all the flirting. Time to look at the stars.

He hadn't expected it to be quite so blatant, for some reason. They'd spent the past hour huddled together in a corner of the rooftop bar, watching the stars, and talking. He and Jordan had had evenings like that once, where they could just enjoy each other's company, knowing they would end up in bed at some stage.

'I can't.'

'This is it, then?' Trowa's hands tightened around his waist. 'The two ships that pass in the night thing?' He snorted softly; a bitter little sound of self-mockery. 'Fuck, could I get any more clichéd than that?'

'I'm sorry.' It just wasn't possible. It had been, perhaps, a possibility in his mind at the start of the night. If he'd found someone, he could have found an hour to be with them. And then he'd met Trowa and an hour wouldn't be nearly enough. He tilted his face slightly in invitation, and the other man's lips caressed his. So sweet. 'Trowa, I should be going.'

Abruptly, Quatre found himself decanted on to the ground, the movement so sudden that he stumbled a little. This time, Trowa didn't try to help him.

'Right. Is there someone waiting for you at home?'

'It isn't like that.'

Trowa's long fingers, fingers that had been touching him a minute earlier, swept the dark hair back from his face. 'Tell me what it's like then. And don't tell me you're not into me because I won't believe you. Is it that you're not into one night stands? Because you know damn well it's more than that.'

Quatre gave him a jerky little nod. 'Of course I know that.'

He couldn't, to save his life, have explained how. Except that talking to Trowa could be like a soaring flight from a cliff-top, into the exhilarating unknown, or like talking to his own soul.

Trowa stood up, not touching, but standing so close his presence was a tangible thing, and winced at a burst of raucous laughter from a group at the bar. 'Listen. Can we go somewhere quieter and get a coffee or something and talk? You can't just walk away from me like this.'

'There's no point. I'm only in Sanque for a few days.' He let one hand, poised to reach out and take Trowa's, drop by his side. There wasn't any point. Instead, he reached up on tiptoe, and touched the other man's lips with his own.

He was halfway down the stairs, alone, when Trowa caught up with him. 'Cat. Wait.' Something was pressed into his hand; a small square of cardboard. 'This is where I work. If you change your mind, give me a call. Even if you just want to talk. OK?'

'OK.' The card slipped into his wallet, without his eyes leaving Trowa's. 'Are you going to stay here?'

'Sure. I'll have another drink; see if I can find any more blond dudes in distress.' He shrugged. 'I'd really rather not wave while I'm watching you walk out of my life.'

'Don't.' Quatre's arms wound themselves around the taller man's neck, and he tried to pour everything into the kiss. Desire, regret, passion, apology, affection, gratitude. Sorrow and impossible love.

It was ridiculous. He'd spent a couple of hours, no more, with the man. Impossible that he could be so strongly affected. They'd only just met.

Head down, blinking away tears, he walked straight into a warm solid body at the foot of the staircase.

'Hey, sorry.' Bright hazel eyes grinned at him as the other young man righted himself, one hand briefly resting on Quatre's hip for support. 'Wasn't looking where I was going. You OK?'

'Fine. It was actually my fault.'

There was a taxi rank outside and a short queue. Stupidly, he'd almost expected one of the Winner limousines to be waiting for him. Of course not; nobody knew where he was.

It might have been an exhilarating thought at another time. Now, he could only think of Trowa, whom he'd never see again. Still, he had the card with the man's contact details. He fished into his pocket; he could just look.

He couldn't. His wallet was missing. He'd had it inside; he'd insisted on buying a round of drinks. He'd had it when Trowa gave him the card, and there was no possible way it could have fallen out of his pocket since then.

Oh.

Idiot, that he was, he'd fallen prey to the most obvious scam in the book. Idiot.

Most of the contents didn't matter. He'd only brought cash; there were no credit cards, nothing with his name on it. No incriminating evidence. But he'd lost Trowa's card, and that hurt.

Of course, he'd never have called him, but it would have been nice to have physical proof that the man existed. Now, he didn't even know his surname.

'Hey.' He'd somehow ended up at the front of the taxi queue, with a somewhat irate driver glaring at him. 'You want to go somewhere or stand there all night?'

'Oh, yes please. I'd like to go to the Sheraton.' Quatre paused with one hand on the door handle. 'I'm sorry, but I've just had my wallet stolen. Will it be all right if I pay you when we get there? I'll be more than happy to pay extra for any inconvenience.'

'Yeah, sure you will,' the man snarled. The door was abruptly yanked out of his hand and slammed shut, narrowly missing a couple of fingers. 'I've had that con played on me before. Now sod off.'

The two men behind Quatre edged into the car, grinning at him. The taller one gave him a sympathetic look. 'Where d'you want to go, Blondie? We can give you a ride if you want.'

It was almost tempting. They looked nice enough and surely they wouldn't try anything in a taxi. But he'd attended enough anti-kidnapping seminars to know that you didn't, ever, get into a car with strangers. Heero would kill him for forgetting that. Of course, his best friend was going to kill him anyway, for being alone in a strange place with no money.

Think, Quatre.

He could go inside and use the 'phone to call Rashid. Which would probably mean the entire Maguanac Corps descending on the nightclub, ready to protect poor little, lost Master Quatre. Ugh. He could go inside and borrow a taxi fare from Trowa. That was a temptation; he'd get to see him again.

No.

It wasn't far; he could walk. A walk would be pleasant. The club was a couple of blocks from the waterfront; he'd easily find his hotel from there. The walk stopped becoming pleasant once he'd turned a couple of corners. There were still streetlights, but all the buildings were locked up and it was just a little spooky to someone who'd never been out at night alone.

Silly; a deserted street couldn't be any danger. And then the street wasn't deserted any more. There were six of them; all around Quatre's age, all in battered leather and denim.

'We saw you earlier, leaving that fag club.'

A second youth stepped up, smirking. 'This used to be a nice place, 'til all those queers moved in. thinking they own the place. How about you just hand over your wallet and we'll let you get back to your boyfriend?'

'It's already been stolen,' Quatre said quietly. 'I'm sorry; I don't have anything.'

He could fight, if he had to. Rashid, and later Heero, had at least taught him to defend himself. They wouldn't expect a pretty little queer to put up a fight, so he'd have the advantage of surprise, despite the odds.

There were six of them, and no one had ever imagined that Quatre Winner would have to defend himself against a street gang. Potential assassins and abductors, yes, but not this. Even Heero had never envisaged this particular scenario. He was going to be furious.

Quatre would have given anything, anything, to have his friend by his side at this moment. Still, he'd had years of sparring with Heero. That would have to do.

He managed to get in a few blows, and that just made them angrier. They'd probably thought he'd just curl up and cry, but he'd hurt a couple of them, and been hurt in return. The leader had smashed a fist against his face, and then one of them had given him a good punch to the ribs.

'What do you know?' The shaven-headed one asked. 'The little fag thinks he can fight. What else d'you know how to do, Blondie? You good at sucking dick?'

'Jesus, Karl, that's sick,' one guy muttered, moving away into the shadows, but the others drifted closer. They'd all been drinking; Quatre could smell the alcohol. Drunk and bored and looking for amusement.

'He's a pretty little thing,' Karl crooned softly. 'Bet that nice mouth would feel just as good as a girl's, right?'

Oh, God.

This was … happening. It couldn't be happening. Not to him. Except it was, and nobody knew where he was, and it was all his own fault.

'Let him go.' It was, miraculously, Trowa. Really Trowa; not some sort of mirage. You probably didn't get mirages in Sanque.

'Oh, yeah?' Carl abruptly let go of him, and Quatre half fell to the ground. 'Who're you, his boyfriend?'

'That's right,' Trowa said equably, moving into the pool of light. 'His very protective boyfriend.' Lamplight glinted on the blade in his hand. 'Which of you fuckers am I going to have to cut first?'

He knew how to use the knife. Even Rashid would have been impressed, Quatre thought stupidly. It was all happening too fast. And then it was just the two of them, and blood on the ground.

'Are you all right?' He was kneeling over Quatre, concern etched into that handsome face. 'Shit. D'you need to go to the hospital?'

'I don't think so.' His face hurt, but he didn't think his nose was broken or anything. Apart from that, his chest ached, and his right leg stung, where he'd landed on the tarmac. 'Trowa, thank you. Thank you so much.'

'What the fuck did you think you were doing?' Trowa was yelling suddenly. 'You don't know this city; you don't know the dangerous areas. You can't just wander off alone like that.'

'I know it was stupid.' Absurdly, despite the pain and the shock, he was smiling. Trowa wasn't really angry; he was only shouting because he'd been worried. 'I didn't mean to get lost. How did you find me?'

'Frank the barman saw you take off by yourself when he was taking a cigarette break. He told me and I went after you. Why didn't you wait and get a cab?'

'Someone picked my pocket.' Quatre dropped his eyes, feeling like such a fool. 'Thank you for looking for me.'

'You were giving a pretty good account of yourself, if you're the one who'd already had a go at a couple of those bastards.' Trowa shook his head, tilting Quatre's face and wincing. 'Sure you don't need a doctor?'

'I don't think so. It's just scrapes and bruises mostly. Trowa, do you think you could lend me the money for a taxi? I promise, I'll pay you back.'

Trowa's mouth set in a firm line. 'Don't be so stupid. I'm not letting you go back to some hotel by yourself after all this. You can come home with me for tonight.'

'I can't.'

'You'll do as you're told,' Trowa ordered. 'You can trust me. If you don't want to be alone with me, I can call my sister and get her to come over.'

'It isn't that. Really. It's just….' He couldn't think of a good enough excuse. Well, he probably could have if he'd tried, but it was so tempting, just to go with the other man. And if he went back to the hotel, looking like this, someone would ask questions and he'd have to make all sorts of explanations and he could always get up early in the morning… 'I don't want to be a bother,' he said finally, lamely.

'You're not. Come on.'

Trowa had parked by the entrance to the alleyway. 'Get in, and pray we don't meet any police on the way home. I shouldn't be driving, but I didn't exactly have time to wait in line for a cab.' He flicked Quatre a quick grin. 'I shouldn't be carrying that knife around either.'

'I'm very glad you were. Trowa, did you….really hurt any of them?'

'Not as much as I should have. Should have killed the fuckers, but then there'd be the bodies to dispose of.'

Quatre laughed; he couldn't help it. It was the sort of thing that Heero would say.

Trowa lived up a flight of narrow stairs; climbing them hurt. He left Quatre alone in his bedroom for a few minutes, while he collected ice and a first aid kit. By then, Quatre had stripped down to his underwear and was gingerly touching his side.

'Hey, I'll do that. Hold this to your face.' Trowa handed him an ice-pack, and ran one tentative finger down Quatre's side. 'You're sure nothing's broken?'

'I'm sure. Like I said, it's really just scrapes and some bruising.'

'Shit.' Trowa swore, turning Quatre's face into the light. 'Bastards. I wish I had bloody killed them. How bad does it hurt?'

'It's OK.' Quatre flinched as Trowa dabbed some lotion on his face. 'Ouch.'

'Wuss.'

'Thanks for the sympathy.'

'I don't give sympathy to people who put themselves in danger out of sheer stupidity. Why the hell didn't you come and ask me for some money?'

Quatre sighed. 'It was hard enough leaving you once.'

'Yeah. Tell me about it.' Trowa took his hand, kissing the palm gently. 'This wasn't quite how I'd been fantasising about getting you undressed. You're still a bit shaky; why don't you get into bed and warm up a bit? I'll get you a couple of painkillers. Can I get you something to drink? Food?'

'I'd love something to eat.' He'd forgotten all about dinner. 'If it's no trouble.' He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. There had been a buffet lunch but he hadn't been hungry.

'What would you like; a sandwich or something a bit more filling?'

'A sandwich would be perfect. Please. Um, do you think I could borrow a t-shirt or something?'

'Don't feel you have to cover up for my sake, Cat.' Nevertheless, he stood and rummaged in the chest of drawers beside the bed, flicking a quick sidelong glance at the young man perched on his bed. 'I like the underwear. Very classy. Here you go. I'll just be a sec.'

The soft, worn cotton t-shirt was black, advertising a band he'd never heard of; playing in concert two years previously. An odd little piece of Trowa's history. He'd kept it, despite the fraying hem and a small rip in one sleeve. He liked music; he attended concerts and bought souvenirs.

Quatre slipped in and slid under the bedcovers at the sound of Trowa's footsteps outside the door. That was better. At least he couldn't see the damage those men had done to him. If you can't see it, it doesn't exist. That was like something Iria would say. Heero would say that unseen threats were the worst.

'Here you go.' He handed Quatre a plate and a mug. 'Hope you like cocoa?'

'Yes, thank you.' Quatre took a mouthful and almost spat it out. 'What did you put in this? It's revolting.'

'A slug of brandy and three spoonfuls of sugar. Good for shock.'

'I'm not in shock.'

'Then you damn well should be.' Trowa took the mug from his suddenly shaking fingers and wrapped him in the warmest, most loving embrace imaginable. 'It's OK. I've got you. I'm not going to let anything hurt you. I promise.'

'Sorry,' Quatre muttered finally. 'I don't normally fall apart like that.'

'Sometimes, it's a good thing just to let go,' the man holding him commented. 'Cat, can I ask you something? Why did you run off on me earlier?'

'Because I wanted to stay, too much.'

Their eyes met.

'Shit.' Trowa's arms clasped him even tighter, then muttered a quick apology when Quatre winced. 'Listen, we'll talk about all this in the morning. If it helps at all, this is scaring the hell out of me too. You'll feel better after a night's sleep.'

'OK.' Quatre murmured obediently. There were times when it was rather nice to be told what to do. 'Trowa, you told those men you were my boyfriend.'

'Yeah. There wasn't exactly time to be pedantic, was there? Sorry.'

'I wasn't complaining.' Quatre took a bite of his sandwich and peeked shyly up at Trowa. 'May I ask you something now? When you say that all this is scaring you, what exactly did you mean?' He took a deep breath, waiting for the other man's answer. Maybe he hadn't meant what Quatre wanted it to mean. Maybe he'd been referring to the street fight, although he'd acted like it was nothing out of the ordinary for him to pulverise a gang single-handed. Maybe it wasn't. It wasn't like Quatre really knew anything about him.

Cat might be a free-spirited person who was happy to live on a cliff edge of wonder. Quatre Raberba Winner liked things to be clear.

'You know what I meant.' Trowa reached out and brushed the pad of one thumb across Quatre's lower lip. A tiny, insignificant touch that made every nerve in his body shiver with delight. 'This. I just met you a couple of hours ago and now I can't imagine my life without you in it. Yes?'

'Yes.'

Trowa pulled his hand back and Quatre instinctively leaned his face closer, wanting that touch again. Oh, this was madness. Insanity. There was no way he could ever have Trowa in his life. Except that he wanted to, so very badly.