Standard Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue. The most you'll get is a green penny and perhaps some lint.
Warnings: hints of shonen ai
[blah] = thoughts
Renaissance
By skyprincess
Chapter 10:
[Q-man must be a code-cracking fiend, 'cause all I get outta this lecture is B-O-R-I-N-G] The deathscythe pilot yawned as he listened to Mr. Khrushchev drone about the Industrial Revolution, and the rhythmic clacking of chalk nearly lulled him to sleep. He carefully studied his teacher through feigned half-lidded eyes.
A loud chiming abruptly interrupted the speech on the late 1800's. Twenty-six students leapt from their desks, stampeding to the door. [Thank God. I hate pretending to be stupid.]
In a cartoon world, crickets would have chirped in the background of the abandoned classroom. Two solitary figures remained on opposite ends of the room, completely preoccupied in their own tasks . . . or were they?
A tall man with light brown hair and a clean-cut goatee swiped an eraser across the black board. After the marks were smeared across the board and his hands, he began to gather up teaching supplies from his desk.
In the back of the room, a figure sat, half-shrouded in shadows. His long, thick braid draped over his shoulder and across his lap, to avoid it sweeping the floor. He lazily shuffled some papers while peering through his bangs. A sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. [What now, my little commie? What can you tell me about those Neo-Oz bastards?] The violet eyes pilot rose to his feet effortlessly and stalked towards the door. The shadows seemed to follow the lithe boy and although his head faced the exit, his eyes never left the figure at the chalkboard. He entered the hall with silent footsteps, as if his feet never touched the tiles of the floor. He disappeared around a corner leaving no trace of his presence behind.
Mr. Khrushchev looked up from his work on the desk. "Was someone just here?" he asked the now empty room. With a shrug, he picked up his briefcase and left the lecture hall.
A tall man emerged from a classroom, and after locking the door, headed fro the rear exit of the building, completely unaware of silent laughter from amongst the darkness. A shadow slunk down the hall, out a side exit, and up the wall to the roof. It hung over the edge, watching the back of the building.
Before long, Khrushchev appeared and walked towards an awning. As if by remote control, a girl came around the corner and approached the teacher. Duo studied her for a moment. [That's Quatre's friend, Sissa. What's she doing back here?" He listened to as much of their conversation as possible. It was something about, "World War II . . . blitz-craig . . . little Aryan . . . gas . . ."
[What the hell are they talking about?] He watched them exchange hasty farewells and go their separate ways. After waiting a moment for the coast to clear, the braided boy retreated to the shadows to report back to Quatre.
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After listening to Duo's findings, Quatre thought for a moment. "We've studied World War II in class and a test is coming up. She probably needed some tutoring."
"I don't think so, Quatre. They seemed so urgent . . ."
"Maybe he was in a hurry."
"But . . ."
Quatre burst out laughing. "Don't worry so much, Duo. There are plenty of other people for you to track."
Outwardly Duo laughed with Quatre, "Yeah, I guess you're right." But he tried to retain his worry behind his carefree mask. [Something about this just doesn't feel right.] He promised himself he'd look into it more.
Quatre watched his comrade closely. The braided pilot's usually cheerful features were clouded with concern. He instantly felt guilty about laughing. [He's been so good to me, and how do I repay him? By laughing at something that's apparently important to him.] Quatre searched for something to say, "Duo . . . I . . . um . . . are you . . ."
Duo nearly jumped as Quatre's stammering broke the silence. "Oh. I'm fine," he said through a forced smile.
Quatre took one look at that smile and knew it was as fake as Dorothy Catalonia's bottle blonde hair. He didn't know what was wrong, or why, but he had a strong urge to try and soothe his friend's suffering.
Duo's thoughts raced. [I wish I were as good at decoding as golden-boy. I'm just so worried and I don't know why. It's just . . .] His thoughts trailed off as he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He whipped around and looked deep into azure eyes that studied him. His stomach felt so uneasy and he was dizzy. [Is it because I'm worried . . . or because he's touching me?] A shiver ran down his spine as the possibility entered his thoughts.
The little blonde pilot saw the brunette tremble slightly and immediately worried about Duo's well being. Reaching out, he cupped the right side of Duo's head in his hand. The silky brown locks of hair twisted around his finders. Pulling Duo closer to his face, he noticed his friend's breathing was quick and shallow. With his other hand, he gently brushed back Duo's bangs, and then laid a soft rosy cheek against the exposed forehead to check for a fever.
Duo was going crazy. [Quatre . . . so close . . . so soft . . .] As the little Arab's cheek brushed his forehead, he melted into the gentle hands. [I've been alone for so long. I just need . . . just need to be held.]
Quatre felt Duo's stiff body relax as he checked for a fever. [He's a little warm, but nothing to worry about. I wonder what's wrong?] He pulled Duo into his arms and let the braided head rest on his shoulder. Slowly stroking Duo's back with feather-light fingertips, he murmured comforting sounds.
Duo's limp body molded to Quatre's, absorbing every bit of the petite frame. [Never had love . . . never known love . . . so lonely . . . for so long . . . just hold me . . . just hold me . . .]
The blonde head leaned forward and nuzzled the satiny strands of chestnut hair, letting the smell of chamomile and jasmine overrun his senses. He had come to find so much comfort in the simple scent.
Duo rested his weary body in Quatre's arms. It felt so warm . . . so right.