Title: When the Spotlight Fades
Genre: Minor Angst (It's me, it never gets too thick) Romantic Sap
Pairings: 3x4
Rated: PG-13
Archive: http://fablespinner.steelsong.com
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Note: I know, POTU! Can I help it if random Ideas keep getting in the way? No, Gomen for those waiting for Chapter 31 I promise this I'll write it this weekend.
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Disclaimer: "hn" If they we're going sue me, they'd have done it by now.
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Quatre rubbed his aching temples and sat back in his chair. His back stiff from sitting slumped over his desk all day. He swiveled in his chair to gaze out of the tall windows of his office. They looked out upon a park, and Quatre often took enjoyment in sitting here watching the local residents go about their happy little lives. It's what he had fought for after all, to give them this time so that they could enjoy the simple pleasures in life.
Simple pleasures, two words Quatre had never paid much
attention to in the past. His life over the past two years
When he'd been a boy his simple pleasures had been playing with a box of kittens Iria's cat had given birth to, going barefoot and splashing in mud puddles outside in the garden after a thunderstorm. Eating Ice cream on a hot summer day and have it trickle down bare arms to drip of his elbows, then letting Armineh's afghan hound lick the sticky confection off his fingers.
When was the last time he'd eaten Ice cream? He couldn't remember. There was that headache again. Quatre closed his eyes with a grimace as his vidphone went off on his desk. "Mr. Winner, the lawyers for the Civic Renovation project have brought the contracts for you to sign. You have a Three o'clock meeting with the Colony Board of Directors to discuss the reconstruction of the liberal arts building at the University. You have a Dinner engagement scheduled for six with the chairman of the board of the university to discuss the funding of the new building. And you have a call on line three, someone by the name of Barone I think." His secretary said and Quatre sighed. Barone? He didn't know anyone by the name of Barone. But he picked up the receiver.
"Thank you Claudette. Tell the Lawyers to wait in the conference room, I'll be there in a minute right after I take this call." Quatre said in a monotone. Most eighteen year olds we're in that damn University. Their only worries were passing class and not passing out drunk on the weekends. How Quatre envied them. He hadn't had a weekend free in eighteen months. Hell he hadn't had an evening free in that long let alone an entire day. Last he checked weekends consisted of two whole consecutive days to do whatever one wanted to do, whenever they wanted to do it.
His fate was not so fortunate. He had responsibilities, and schedules. Meetings and dinner engagements to negotiate business affairs, and charity's; luncheons with businessmen to cement those deals, brunch with a socialite to gain donations to the Winner trust fund and War reconstruction Foundation. The war was over, but for Quatre, it had only just begun.
He often wished he were back in the war. When his only concern was the battle at hand and piloting his beloved Sandrock. When each day was spent facing problems head on and conquering them as they happened. None of this bravado and pageantry the rich liked to attach to everything. Philanthropic aristocrats who's pocketbooks bulged and who Quatre had to condescend to daily to get them to fork over their cash in aide of those who still struggled to crawl out of the poverty and destruction the war had left for them. The war for Quatre was far from over, just the battlefield had changed and this one was draining the life out him steadily. He was so tired, and he was incredibly lonely.
He hadn't seen any of his friends in almost two years. He got the occasional letter or phone call, but it wasn't the same. Fifteen minutes to speak on the phone or read in a letter about one of them and what they were doing with their lives, fifteen minutes of joy out of a miserable twenty-four hour day.
Quatre punched the button for line three on the vidphone and nearly fell out of his chair when a face he had not expected to see stared back at him. "Trowa!" Quatre cried out, a huge smile lighting up his face in joy and surprise. His heart suddenly fluttering wildly with glee, but then he'd always had that reaction to Trowa. Quatre had known for quite sometime now he was not of the heterosexual persuasion.
No one else knew of course, it was no one's business but his own. And it wasn't like Quatre could have done anything about his love life whether he was gay or not currently. A date? That was a foreign concept to this young man; his social life and his business life went hand in hand. There was no separation between personal and business for him. His life WAS the Winner Corporation. Quatre had died the moment he sat behind his father's desk.
He was now Mr. Winner, head of the Winner corporation he was the figurehead, the leader, an old man well before his time. But a remembrance of the boy he had been could at least be felt for this moment in time, a part of the Quatre he had been before was there staring at him with beautiful green eyes.
"Quatre." Trowa began then paused, just looking at the young man on the vidphone. "You look awful." Had replaced whatever it was Trowa had started to say.
"Gee, thank you." Quatre said sarcastically. "What a wonderful compliment to my appearance. Is that what you called to tell me?" Quatre asked and Trowa smiled.
"No, well yes actually." Trowa said and Quatre just stared at the screen. He almost felt affronted, and he would have if it were anyone but Trowa. Well Trowa and Heero, both men were not the greatest with words and used a rather direct approach. So Quatre waited to get upset until Trowa was finished speaking his mind. "Quatre, I'm worried about you. I've been watching the news, and reading the paper. And Every time I see you, you look worse. You are working too hard. Not even Relena works as hard as you do. I'm worried about your health." Trowa said and Quatre smiled. He was worried? That was sweet of him.
"I'm fine Trowa, just tired." Quatre said rubbing his temple.
"You never could lie very well Quatre. How long have you been having those headaches?" Trowa asked astute as ever.
"Three or Four months. It's just the stress of the Renovation project. When it's over I can get some rest." Quatre said and Trowa didn't look happy.
"And when will that be, in three more months, in another year, in two more years? Quatre you're burning out, I can SEE it happening. You need a break. You've not set foot out of that office in two years. And don't deny it, because I know it's the truth." Trowa said and Quatre frowned.
"Trowa are you going to lecture me all night? I get yelled at enough on a daily basis. I really don't want it from my friends too." Quatre said still rubbing that temple.
"I'm sorry Quatre. But I mean it. You look haggard and about ready to collapse. Don't make me come there and kidnap you to make you take a damn vacation." Trowa said and Quatre chuckled softly. Suddenly images of being kidnapped by Trowa invaded his mind and he quickly squashed those musings. Trowa didn't know he was gay either, and Trowa wasn't going to know. He rather liked being able to fantasize about his tall, lean, and handsome best friend. But the best friend bit was more important to him and he was not about to lose it over something so trivial as his crush on him.
"Well, if you're going to kidnap me, you'd better make an appointment. I think I'm booked solid till New Year's though." Quatre said trying to make a joke. Trowa wasn't laughing.
"I'm serious Quatre."
"Sure you are." Quatre said smiling at his friend. "Listen I have a meeting I have to get to. Can I call you tonight so we can finish talking? I miss you, I want to know what you've been doing with yourself." Quatre said and Trowa's face was a mask, unreadable.
"No, you can't call. I won't be here." Trowa said ending the call abruptly.
Quatre was stunned. More than stunned, he was shaken. He had this horrible feeling he had just lost his best friend. Quatre clutched at his shirtfront and tried in desperation to dial Trowa back.
There was no answer. Dialing again, Quatre got a busy signal. The phone had been taken off the hook. That was like slapping Quatre in the face, and the realization he was now totally and utterly alone in the world slowly sank in, he had no one left in the world to turn to now. Quatre lay his head down on his desk and silently wept. His life had never looked bleaker.
Trowa had always been there to listen to him when he was upset, had always been there to turn to when he had been afraid. Now there was this void, the black nothingness in the pit of Quatre's stomach, and a pain in his chest that Quatre did not want to put a name to. He knew what it was, but admitting it would make the pain even worse. "Trowa." Quatre whispered the name as he tried to compose himself.
He dialed his secretary's desk. "Mr. Win… Are you crying Mr. Winner?" Claudette asked seeing a distraught face half buried in folded arms.
"Please cancel my appointments for the rest of the day Claudette please. I don't feel well." Came the shaken voice half muffled in the desk.
"I will Mr. Winner, you do look awful. You should go home and get some sleep." Claudette said pulling out the Appointment book to begin making calls. "I'll tell the lawyers to leave the contracts." She added and Quatre gave a feeble thank you before switching off his screen. "Poor Mr. Winner. I think the world seems to forget you're only human. Even I do." Claudette said with a look of pity on her face. She had a son his age, and the difference was staggering. "We also tend to forget how old you are. I'm so sorry." She added getting up to run the lawyers off, a sudden wave of maternal instinct washing over her.
She ushered everyone who didn't work in the office, out. Muttering apologies and saying that Mr. Winner was suddenly indisposed. Wondering all the while what that handsome young man, the Barone fellow on line three had said to make her boss so distraught. The gossip and office pool had bets going that their Boss was gay. Noting the most ridiculous reasons why they thought he was. "He has impeccable fashion sense… He's very feminine looking… His mannerisms are very delicate…He likes Opera and Show Tunes… He's never got anyone with him when he goes out on dinner meetings… he's never made a pass at one of the girls in the office…" Claudette snorted. Perfect valid reasons for all those things, they didn't MAKE him gay. And it was no one's business but his own at any rate, the vultures. She just hoped that for her young employer's sake, if he was gay, that that Mr. Barone-whatever didn't just break his heart.
She was a mother, she knew that look, and she'd seen it on her own son a dozen or more times. A broken heart was exactly what Mr. Winner was suffering from, and Claudette had no idea just how to cheer her boss up. So she did what she could do, kept people away from him while he sorted himself out.
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It took him several minutes before Quatre decided he could hold it in long enough to make it to his car. He threw his unfinished paperwork into his briefcase, grabbed his coat, then turned and headed out of his office. Pausing only long enough to take the contracts he needed to go over a sign from Claudette before making a beeline to the parking garage.
His hands were shaking as he tried to get his keys into the door lock. Most people of his status had chauffeurs, not Quatre however he found it a waste when he was perfectly capable to drive himself. He sorely wished he had one at the moment. His vision was already blurring, and he shook all over. He felt caught in a whirlpool, as if he were drowning.
His head was spinning and his headache was near blinding him. Not to mention his heart felt as if it had been ripped from his body. The last person he would have ever suspected of abandoning him was Trowa. He now felt like the rug had been pulled out from under his feet and he was falling. With no one to pick him up again when he hit the bottom Quatre was terrified.
How he managed to get home was a blur of tears and traffic. The mansion never seemed more foreboding. All those empty rooms, with only himself as the tenant and the ghosts of the past to remind him how alone he really was. His sisters had long since moved away, making lives of their own, his father lost, the Servants sent to work for his sisters since it was only himself living here he felt it an extravagance to employ and entire household to look after one person. A cleaning lady once every two weeks was more than enough. He was rarely home at any rate. He could make his own bed. Most of his meals were over business matters so he ate out, and meals at home for one fit easily into a microwave.
How Quatre hated this tomb. It was like living in a mausoleum, no sounds but the echoing of his hollow footsteps down dark corridors. He paused at the door of his music room, his favorite room. He'd not played anything in months. No time, never time for himself. Simple pleasures taken for granted once were all gone for him now and unlikely to return. How ironic that what he'd fought so hard for to give to others, were now no longer a part of his own life. He had made this sacrifice without realizing just how much it would cost him in the end.
Everything, all his hopes, his dreams, his joy, and now his best friend, and he finally admitted, the love of his young life, all of it gone, vanishing one by one, going unnoticed until it was too late for Quatre to change it's course or confess his deepest feelings.
And he was the ripe old age of eighteen. No, nineteen. He looked at the calendar on the wall and his eyes widened as date recognition set in. He hadn't even realized it was his birthday. No one, not even himself had remembered today was his birthday. "How did my life get like this?" Quatre asked the empty room, his voice dull and lifeless in the gloom that permeated the room. He had no answer, but then again, he hadn't expected one.
Quatre stroked the case of his violin. As a boy he'd wanted to be a concert musician, life had gotten in the way of those dreams. Shoved aside for duty's sake. He used to tip the lampshade in his room and stand in it's light. Pretending he was on the stage in a huge theatre packed with people. And his lamp turned into the grand spotlight and he would perform. He'd play until his fingers bled and he would dreamily imagine the people giving him a standing ovation as he bowed to them. When Iria came in to flip off his light he'd bow to her and she'd always say "And so the Spotlight fades on maestro Winner. The people leave still under his music's spell. Go to bed Quatre." He could hear her voice as if it were yesterday.
"The spotlight has faded." Quatre said turning away from his violin, tears burning his eyes anew. "For good." He added as he sobbed. The music dead within him, and the spell broken into a thousand jagged pieces, each one stabbing him in the heart. He felt utterly empty yet the tears still flowed in rivulets down his cheeks as he fell to the floor seeking comfort in the Persian rug on the floor.
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Trowa was livid. Not at Quatre but at the vultures that had taken the once bright, energetic bundle of life and turned him into an automaton in the space of two years. They had sucked all the life out of him, leeched him dry and left in their wake a shell that only vaguely resembled the boy called Quatre.
Not even mobile suits and war could squash Quatre, he had been strong and caring, and the most beautiful person inside and out Trowa had ever known. He was still that wonderful person, but his joy in life was gone. His gorgeous eyes that once rivaled the stars for brilliance were now vacant orbs that were hollowed and held tired dark bags beneath them.
His skin, once a rosy ivory that was alive and glowing, was sallow and pale. He was gaunt, and so thin. His hair, that wild mane of thick gold, was now limp and the color of straw. Trowa shoved his clothes into a duffel bag in a huff. He was not going to sit idly by and watch the only person he gave a damn about wither and die right in front of his eyes.
Enough was enough; he was tired of waiting, tired of stolen seconds of Mr. Winner's precious time. Yes it was precious, and it was Quatre's. He was going to give Quatre his time back, come hell or high water things were going to change and they were going to change right now. He loved Quatre more than life itself, and he was sick to death with worry. The time had come where it was time to stop denying what was in his heart, and go a tell his best friend just how much he meant to him. It was time to show Quatre that there was one person out there that was not going to let the world eat him alive.
Because he loved him, and whatever pain Quatre suffered, Trowa suffered.
Trowa had been serious when he said if he had to kidnap Quatre he would. And that was precisely what he planned on doing. He picked up the keys to his jeep and threw his duffle bag in the back. He made sure the map to his destination was in his pocket, it was. Only one thing left to do, and that was to kidnap Quatre and whisk him away to that mountain cabin for a good old-fashioned commune with nature. Trowa was fervently hoping they saw very little outdoor nature and a good deal of indoor nature.
He was damn plain pissed off with only pictures of Quatre and his hand for a date. He wanted the real thing, and he was going to get it. He already knew Quatre was gay, and it was painfully obvious Quatre had an attraction to him. Trowa had just been waiting for Quatre's admission as to what he was. Because every time Quatre began to get close, he'd suddenly stop and change the subject. It took Trowa a few years, but he'd finally figured out what was stopping Quatre.
Their friendship, Quatre was afraid of losing what they had, it was a common enough scenario and Trowa felt like an idiot for not connecting the dots sooner. Trowa looked down to the seat beside him, the wrapped box beside him reminding him why he had called Quatre in the first place today, before the awful way Quatre looked caught him off guard and sent him for a loop. It was Quatre's birthday.
The needle on the accelerator flew upwards, and the engine revved as Trowa laid his foot heavily on the pedal. It was getting late and he wanted to be at Quatre's home before said birthday was over.
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The house was dark, not a good sign. But something as trivial as a locked house was not going to impede Trowa's resolve. The door however was unlocked. The alarms started going off in Trowa's head as he raced inside. Quatre's coat lay on the chair by the door and his shoes beside it, he was home, the alarm's grew louder.
Straining his hearing Trowa crept through the house, the
sounds of tears coming from the music room ripped Trowa's heart from his chest.
He crept in to see Quatre curled up on the floor, asleep. And even in his
sleep, he was weeping.
In two strides Trowa was at Quatre's side, kneeling beside him to brush damp hair away from eyes and cheeks where it clung to his tears. So delicate, so beautiful, so perfect in every way, how could they hurt this creature? Trowa leaned over, and gently kissed moist lips. Quatre shivered once, but didn't awaken.
So Trowa kissed him again. Quatre began to stir. Opening his eyes to see a pair of Emeralds staring back at him. So close, and there was a pressure against his lips. Trowa was KISSING him. He was still asleep he had to be. The kiss broke and Trowa pulled back just far enough to gaze deeply into Quatre's eyes.
"Get packed." Was Trowa's odd command. Quatre was sure he was still asleep.
"What? Trowa? How? When? Why? Did you just kiss me?" Quatre's befuddlement was absolutely adorable. This was HIS Quatre.
"I said get packed. Yes, my name is still Trowa. How? I drove here. When? I got here five minutes ago. Why? Because I am kidnapping you, and yes, I kissed you." Trowa answered standing and pulling Quatre up off the floor and literally tossing him over his shoulder to carry him up to his room to get packed.
"Trowa! Put me down! You can't just come here and kidnap me!"
"Watch me."
"Why are you doing this?" Quatre asked in an utter state of shock.
"Because I have to. Because I want to, now go get your toothbrush, and warm clothes. Hop to it." Trowa said setting Quatre on the floor.
"I can't just up and leave."
"Yes, you can. Yes, you will. Move it, or I'LL pack for you." Trowa said folding his arms over his chest.
Quatre still didn't move-- he just stood there trying to digest the moment, and failing.
"Fine, I'll pack." Trowa said opening Quatre's closet. "Ugh. You may dress dapper, but I am sick to death of seeing you in one gray suit after another. We will have to fix this." Trowa said rummaging in the back. "Quatre! Don't you have anything that is not a fucking suit? Where are your jeans? Sweaters? Anything other than a suit." Trowa's voice echoed in the closet.
"I don't have anything else. And Wait a damn minute here. I am not going anywhere!" Quatre said snapping back to life. Trowa's plan was already beginning to work. The fire had been lit again.
"Yes, you are. We'll stop at a shop on the way then." Trowa said grabbing Quatre's hand and pulling him struggling out the door.
"Trowa! What the hell do you think you're doing? Have you gone insane?" Quatre asked as he was once again thrown over a broad shoulder. God but Trowa was commanding. And from Quatre's vantage point he also had one hell of a nice looking ass in those tight jeans.
"No, I've just run out of patience. You, my dear Quatre are my prisoner. And I will keep you as such until I feel you've had enough rest." Trowa said dropping Quatre into the passenger seat of his jeep.
"You have lost it! I just can't up and leave!" Quatre said trying to get up as Trowa snapped the seat belt shut.
"Yes, you can and you will." Trowa said and Quatre groaned in frustration.
"Why are you doing this?" Quatre asked and Trowa leaned in close.
"Because I love you." He said kissing Quatre once more. Quatre gasped and Trowa took the opportunity to plunder that delicious mouth. Delving in with his tongue as those lips parted in astonishment.
Once the shock died, Trowa watched Quatre shut his eyes and melt into the kiss. Slender arms reaching up to entwine around Trowa's neck, soft pink lips returning the kiss with barely suppressed joy. This was his Quatre.
Their lips parted and Quatre looked in a heavenly haze. "You love me?" He asked touching his lips in a daze.
"I always have. I'm tired of waiting for you." Trowa said running fingers through silken hair.
"I thought you weren't, I was afraid, oh God Trowa I love you too!" Quatre sobbed throwing arms around Trowa's neck.
"I knew you did, I was just waiting for you to come to terms with yourself. I thought you knew I was gay. Hell everybody knows I'm gay Quatre." Trowa said and Quatre shook his head.
"Well I didn't. It's not like you advertise the fact." Quatre retorted and Trowa laughed.
"A pair of idiots we are then." Trowa said laying his forehead against Quatre's. "Have me?" He asked and Quatre almost squealed.
"Oh you have got to be kidding! I have wanted you for years." Quatre said smiling. Trowa smiled back.
"Me too. Since that first day I met you actually, and you brought me back here. I'll never forget how you made me feel that day when we played. I felt alive truly alive Quatre. It's my turn to return the favor and make you live again like you used to. Now quit arguing with me and let me kidnap you." Trowa said and Quatre grinned.
"Oh alright. Let me go inside a minute and get something first?" Quatre asked and Trowa nodded, releasing his captive for a moment. Quatre raced inside then came back out with two cases in his hands. His violin and a flute case, "We might need something to do." He said and Trowa laughed.
"I doubt it, I have plenty of things we can do together in mind." He said and Quatre blushed, but smiled back with a look of purest desire shining in his eyes.
"I see. Then why is this Jeep still in park?" Quatre asked, blushing even brighter over his boldness.
Trowa only laughed and started the jeep.
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"I'm sorry, I don't know where Mr. Winner is, he hasn't called and he's not answering his pages or e-mails." Claudette told the fifth irate client that morning as she hung up the phone. It rang again instantly. "Winner Corp… MR. WINNER!" Claudette gasped seeing the young man's face in the vidphone. She could see from his chest up and he looked rumpled like he had just fallen out of bed, and hadn't even bothered dressing yet.
"Claudette, please cancel all my meetings for the next few days…. No I can't that's too long… oh God don't do that! I'm on the phone… No. No! Oh Alright! Claudette make that two weeks. I'm taking a long over due vacation… dear God." Quatre said, as his attention seemed to be diverted away from the vid phone to whatever was going on behind it.
"Yes, sir." Claudette said as that Barone-whatever fellow appeared and draped himself over Quatre's shoulder. He was also shirtless and Claudette swallowed, he was incredibly well built and lean.
"And you won't be able to reach him, I am cutting this phone line the minute he hangs up. Quatre needs this." The tall fellow said hitting the off button. Claudette smiled. Quatre was absolutely glowing, that tall fellow was right he did need a vacation. And he needed it with the person who put the smile back on his face.
She wiped a tear from her eye; young love always did her in. Not to mention the fact she'd just won fifty bucks in the office pool.
The End.