LSC / 01-11-12
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Fifty-Six: Making Do)
rated: R - language, content, violence
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 56

Making Do


Quatre alternated where he spent his time over the next few days out of a vain hope of soothing out some of Duo's dark mood but without much luck. Trowa didn't like it, for starters, even though he acknowledged the prudence in not making Catherine suspicious. Or, Quatre hoped that was the case; it was hard to tell, sometimes, exactly what Trowa was thinking, and they weren't often so alone that Trowa felt comfortable talking to him. At night it was different, when Trowa's silence took on an entirely different meaning, and each touch and kiss reaffirmed everything in Quatre's heart. Duo feigned indifference and slowly awkwardness formed between them despite Quatre's best intentions. Duo acted like it was fine, that he didn't care, but Quatre felt guilty nevertheless.

It worked out for the best that he spent some nights hunkered across the sofa in the doctor's backroom, because his symptoms had a nasty habit of flaring up without warning. A panic attack took him by complete surprise one night, just after dinner with Catherine, and he was forced to hide in Trowa's room under the excuse of a sudden migraine. It was a near miss.

Zechs proved an uneasy roommate, frequently gone without saying where, mood increasingly mercurial, and more often than not exchanging heated words with Duo, who couldn't resist prodding the situation from bad to worse. Quatre tried to get between them during one explosive argument over, all of things, the television remote, and caught an elbow to the face for the trouble. They both apologized to him with apparent sincerity and even set up an unspoken truce, which seemed to revolve mostly around not talking to each other. Quatre couldn't think of a good excuse to give Catherine for the resulting black eye, and sat around all day Saturday with a bag of ice on his face waiting for the swelling to recede.

He honestly didn't know whose elbow had created the offending bruise, which turned out to be a good thing when Trowa saw it on Sunday. Zechs was gone, he'd left early that morning looking downright respectable (Duo's words) in a crisp dress shirt. That left Duo and Quatre to spend several frantic and terse minutes trying to convince Trowa it'd been an accident, but Duo looked so guilty that Trowa showed an uncharacteristic amount of fury. Quatre noticed several times that Trowa grit his teeth, as if he was going to yell at Duo but had to bite back the words.

Finally Trowa either believed them or let the matter go, and the three of them ate lunch and then caught a matinee together. By the long sideways looks Trowa kept giving him, Quatre knew he'd have preferred they do something else, maybe take the car out for a lazy afternoon drive, but Quatre wanted to keep Duo entertained. Maybe if he fought away Duo's restless boredom, maybe he could forestall what felt like an inevitable disaster. Maybe Quatre could find Heero first, and feel out the situation; Heero could have changed his mind about it. He wouldn't turn Duo back in to the hospital this time. But he didn't know where Heero lived or how to get a hold of him, even if the idea was any good.

After the movie they dropped Duo off downtown. Zechs stood outside in the alley steadily working his way through a cigarette, and he gave the car a half-wave of acknowledgement. Quatre waved back, heartened by the apparently civil exchange that Duo had with the tall blonde before disappearing inside. Once Trowa had the car back out on the street, he asked, "Which one of them hit you?" in a low, gravelly voice.

"I told you, it was an accident."

"That wasn't what I asked."

"Just let it go," Quatre said.

"Was it Zechs?"

"No."

Trowa's mouth pressed into a thin line. He gripped the steering wheel hard enough that the plastic popped. "So it was Duo."

"I told you, I don't know. It was an accident."

"You're staying with me tonight."

Quatre sunk low into his seat. They already planned on that, but the finite way that Trowa said it made him feel contrary and stubborn. His hands kneaded into his thighs, the fingers itching for and demanding soft fur. He'd decided to leave Sandy at Trowa's, no matter where he went, and half the time he regretted that decision. His fear of drawing too much attention or, worse yet, losing Sandy somewhere in the strange and crowded city, that fear overwhelmed whatever anxious worry consumed him at the separation. He was going to feel anxious either way, unless he was with Trowa, except in situations like this where Trowa was the reason he worried.

Trowa glanced sideways. "What are you going to tell Catherine?"

"I don't know."

"You have to tell her something."

"It's barely noticeable now." Quatre flipped down the visor and looked at himself in the small vanity mirror. "It's fine."

Trowa muttered under his breath, a strange and sulky gesture since whatever words he ever spoke were only meant for Quatre to hear anyway. They rode the rest of the way in uneasy silence, but Trowa apologized later with a simple touch against his arm. No words, since they weren't alone, but Quatre understood the gesture and the look well enough. He considered pretending otherwise, to lure a real apology out of Trowa later, but with Catherine around that later could end up being tomorrow, and he hated the idea of fighting with Trowa for that long.

If Catherine noticed his eye, she said nothing. After dinner she did, however, ask if he was ready for tomorrow. For the first day of school, which Quatre had completely forgotten all about, and had to recover from a blank-faced response. By the tension rolling off Trowa, he'd forgotten as well. Quatre's numerous lies to Catherine, all of them stacked precariously on top of each other in between slivers of truth, threatened to topple with her innocent inquiry. Rather than let that happen, Quatre pretended to just be noticing the time, and claimed he had to go home. To rest up. For school.

"Well, if you promise to go to bed early, you can still stay over. I wasn't trying to get rid of you." She tempered the words with a warm smile. "Trowa and I can drop you off in the morning on our way to work. I'm off by three anyway, so we could come get you, too."

"No, that's okay. Thanks, though. Maybe another night," Quatre said quickly.

Trowa's face darkened for just a moment before clearing into a carefully neutral expression. He retrieved the car keys under admonishment from Catherine to return right away.

"It's okay" Quatre tried to reassure him, once they were alone in the car. "Zechs knows the area. I'll figure something out. She just caught me off guard." Zechs had, in fact, given him the name of a school once before, but Quatre had forgotten it entirely. Maybe he should start taking notes.

"Catherine won't let me take off during the day if she knows I'm not going to be with you."

"That's okay. We can see each other in the evenings and on weekends still. And Catherine said she doesn't mind if I stay over on weeknights."

"So that's it?" Trowa asked quietly. "You'll just… pretend to go? Let her drop you off and pick you up?

"Sure. If that's what it takes." Quatre's mind was already working out a plan, with the same brittle and determined efficiency he'd worked out his escape in the first place. He'd go shopping with Duo again tomorrow and get a backpack. He'd get a notebook, too, and start recording his lies. He'd commit each one to memory so thoroughly that they would become the truth. He liked Catherine's impression of him better than the truth anyway.

Trowa tapped his fingers across the steering wheel. "That seems risky."

"I'm only sixteen, Trowa. I can't get out of it."

The sullen expression on Trowa's face disappeared into shadow as they went under a highway overpass. "It's too risky."

"So then I won't stay over on weeknights."

They were stopped at a red light, and Trowa looked over at him briefly. Green eyes locked solidly on his bruised face. "No," said Trowa. He returned his attention to the road. "Don't do that. I want you with me."

Warmth fluttered its way up out of Quatre's heart at the softly-spoken words. He felt his cheeks flush and had to look away, biting his lip against a smile. "Okay," he agreed.


Duo swung his arms for balance as he walked along the narrow ledge of curb between the sidewalk and the street. He'd met Quatre at their corner, tucked up against the low brick wall that divided the school grounds from the street, as was his recent habit. "Did I tell you I'm like ninety-nine percent sure Zechs is sneaking off to church on Sundays?"

Quatre hitched the straps of his backpack into a more comfortable position. The best part of pretending to be a student was the covert opportunity it provided to carry Sandy everywhere. "Really?" He squinted as the morning sun struck off a passing car and glinted sharply into his eyes. "How's that?"

"Like, ninety-five percent sure. So, last Saturday night he went out to a club – and wouldn't even try to sneak me in with him, that smarmy bastard – and came back ridiculously late and incredibly drunk, but wouldn't you know it if he didn't get up early, shower, and disappear looking all meek and God-fearing in respectable clothing. Every Sunday! Well, all, what, two of them, I guess. Still. Pretty sure. Must be some weird masochist guilt complex, or he's crazier than us all. I mean, why else would you get up that early with a hangover?"

It was nice enough weather for a walk, so they bypassed the bus stop and kept going, meandering through the streets like any two kids walking home from school. Except that Catherine had just dropped him off an hour ago, so technically they were like any teens playing hooky. Quatre didn't want to quibble away the comfortable feeling of normalcy, especially since he left Trowa in a good mood and found Duo the same. Usually switching his time between them made one or the other unhappy. No matter which way he let the scale slide, someone ended up miserable, and more often than not it was Quatre.

"Maybe he likes going," Quatre suggested. "Didn't you ever go to church?"

"I'm practically a saint. Do you have plans with Trowa for tonight?"

"Mm, not really," Quatre said. "Just dinner I guess."

"No big Friday night date? I need to give Trowa some romance tips. Hey, do you think I can kick this bottle all the way across the street?"

"I don't know. It looks pretty far."

"Yeah? That sounds like a challenge."

They stopped walking so Duo could line up his shot. He waited impatiently for a city bus to roll past before sending the empty plastic bottle flying a rather impressive distance. It bounced the final few feet and rolled up against the curb. "Yes!" cried Duo, pumping his fist into the air. "Nailed it!"

Quatre started to congratulate him, but something in the unexpected way Duo froze stopped him. All the glee and excitement bled from Duo's face, leaving him wide-eyed and chalky white. Quatre glanced across the street to where the bottle had landed. He saw nothing amiss, nothing that would explain Duo's abrupt shock, except a handful of men in business suits.

Duo grabbed his elbow. "Come on, stop staring, this way," he said quickly. He dragged Quatre into motion. "I don't think he saw us."

"Who?" Quatre twisted his head around. None of the men in suits looked familiar.

"Don't look! Keep walking. Stay calm." Duo needed to heed his own advice. His hand was a circulation-choking vise over Quatre's elbow.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Quatre's stomach clenched with sudden fear. He stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, more preoccupied with looking over his shoulder than watching his feet.

The business men moved away like a receding tide. Previously hidden from view and now exposed was a young man in faded jeans and a dark shirt. Quatre saw nothing intimidating or unusual about him that would cause Duo such concern. That is, not until the young man turned and their eyes met. Quatre sucked in a gasp. Heero's gaze snapped immediately to Duo.

"Oh, shit. Did he see us? He's seen us. Fucking run," Duo hissed. He dropped Quatre's arm and took off, fast and frantic like spooked rabbit.

"Wait!" Quatre hesitated only long enough to see Heero likewise bolt into action, and then he was running after Duo. The backpack jostled and slapped against him as he fled, trying desperately to keep the other boy in sight. Duo wove between two parked cars and darted down a narrow alley. Quatre banged a hip against one car's hood as he tried unsuccessfully to mimic Duo's nimble maneuvers. "Wait!" he cried again.

Once through the alley, Duo paused long enough to let Quatre catch up. He snagged the blonde's hand and jerked him forward. "Come on!"

"Why are we running?"

Duo pulled them into the street, almost colliding with a truck on his way across. Quatre felt wild surge of terror at the near miss and was too paralyzed to do more than tumble helplessly along in Duo's iron grip. "This was your dumb plan!" Duo panted, breathing just as ragged as Quatre's after their wild sprint. His eyes darted over Quatre's shoulder to the alley. "I'm not going back there." Duo threw himself through a row of tall, thick hedges that separated from the sidewalk from a small park and pulled Quatre after him.

"Maybe he'll understand." Quatre flinched his eyes shut against the sudden scratchy assault as the bushes fought back against their passage.

Duo squirmed and yanked and forced a way through. "Not everyone gets to be sickeningly fucking perfect like you and Trowa. I know that look on Heero's face. Fuck that noise. He can't trick me twice."

Quatre popped one eye open just in time to see the dark thundercloud that was Heero Yuy crossing the street. "Oh!" He wrestled his ankle free from a snarl of root and "But, Duo—" he started to say, but Duo dashed off just as soon as he spotted Heero.

They raced across the park and back out into a confusing maze of concrete. They were heading steadily toward downtown, in a convoluted fashion. Quatre could barely keep pace, his eyes locked on the fluttering beacon of Duo's braid. His lungs and thighs burned.

The door to a building opened up ahead of them. Duo dodged sideways to avoid the collision, but Quatre found himself caught between the door and the woman using it. He crashed around the woman and spun sideways into the hard cement. He caught himself with both hands, recalling much too late his only recently healed wrist, and let out a sharp cry.

Quatre rolled upright. "Duo!" he shouted. He clutched one hand to his chest and fought back a sudden knot of tears. He sucked in one rough breath after another. Dimly, Quatre registered the sound of the woman babbling with concern, but his eyes were locked on the dark, lithe shadow up ahead.

Duo skidded to a halt and turned. He looked at Quatre for a brief second before his eyes flicked just over the younger boy's shoulder. And then he was gone, disappearing around a corner.

The muscles in his leg trembled in protest as Quatre tried to gather himself to stand. Strong, warm fingers closed over his elbow and jerked him the rest of the way upright.

"He's fine," a terse, clipped voice said. A commanding hand shoved Quatre forward and away from the confused woman. "Stay here."

"No!" Quatre lunged and caught Heero's arm. Both hands protested with a loud stinging burst of pain, but he clung with stubborn persistence. "Leave him alone!"

Heero glared him. He shifted his steel glower toward where Duo had vanished and then back. "Release me."

"No."

"Fine." Heero fixed him with an intense look. "You're coming with me."

"What?" Quatre's chest heaved as he tried without much luck to catch his breath.

Heero snatched him by the wrists and tore Quatre's hands off his arm. He kept a tight grip. "I can't outrun Duo anyway. You'll do just as well. Come on."

"No, wait," Quatre protested.

Heero ignored him and started walking, dragging Quatre along with ruthless determination. He held the boy's left wrist, ignorant of the newly tender joint where the sprain was not fully healed.

"Please," Quatre said. "Please, wait."

"Be quiet."

The skin across both palms was raw, pink and torn from his fall. Quatre ignored that lesser pain as he frantically tried to free his wrist from Heero's grasp. "Please! Stop it. You're hurting me."

Heero jerked him forward, wrenching Quatre's wrist so harshly that he let out a strangled gasp, tears instantly springing to his eyes. Heero snapped his hand away as if burned. "Did you hurt it?" he demanded. "Did you hurt yourself when you fell?"

Quatre snatched the wrist to his chest and took a deep, shuddering breath. He nodded slowly.

"Is it broken?" Heero's concern, if that's what it was, peppered out at him in short, demanding bursts. He held out a hand and beckoned. "Give it here."

Quatre hesitated before cautiously settling his hand into Heero's open palm. With surprising tenderness, Heero felt at the delicate bones and gently rotated joint. He made a low, hushed sound of comfort when Quatre whimpered with pain. "It's not broken," he said, tone much kinder than before, but still nothing that could be called soft or reassuring. "You'll be fine."

"Okay." Quatre shifted, suddenly wondering if he could outrun Heero.

Heero tensed, as if he sensed Quatre's thoughts. He fractionally closed a hand over Quatre's wrist in warning. "You're coming with me. Don't try anything stupid." He prodded him forward, toward a nearby bus stop.

"Where are you taking me?" Quatre asked, with a clear note of alarm. Mad, irrational visions danced in front of him in which Heero collected some sort of bounty for each runaway patient he collected and returned to the hospital. Quatre thought he might faint, so sudden and severe was his anxiety. Heero touched wary hand to his elbow when Quatre faltered, like he still thought the boy might make a run for it. He said nothing, and that scared Quatre all the more.

They boarded the bus and rode a short distance before Heero made him get off and walk several blocks. Two more bus transfers later they were in a ramshackle little neighborhood far from the downtown buildings or any of the familiar landmarks from closer to Trowa and Catherine's apartment. Heero stopped them in front of a crumbling brick apartment building and pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, one eye on Quatre as he did so. Quatre gazed up at the brickwork and then out at the desolate and bewildering street. He was utterly lost. Even if Quatre managed to slip free of Heero and run, where would he go? He'd lost his navigator.


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