One Night in Arabia, a gundam wing/ac fanfic

One Night in Arabia
by ChibiQuatre (4/16/01)

Disclaimer: as if we haven't all read this before...gundam wing and its characters belongs to Sotsu, Sunrise, etc. etc. and not me (though god knows i wish they were mine!) heero, duo, trowa, quatre, wufei, and all those other great characters aren't mine. ::cries:: ,-_-, ::boohoo!:: i'm just here to write and get reviews hopefully (although it seems like more of the first than the latter! ^^*) just here to entertain you! (la la laaa!)

A/N: hey guess what? (someone in the audience wants to kill me right now, i just know it!) yuppers, time for another gw yaoi! ::gets rotten tomatoes thrown at her:: hey! quit it!! it's a 3x4, and btw 'salaam' means peace in arabic. that's about all i know, so if i get anything wrong, please tell me! my brother stumbled on this song "One Night in Arabia" by Initial D, so all copyright materials belong to them. (very uppy, very energetic music; download or something) meanwho, read on and pleeeease r&r? ja!

* * *

Night sees nothing but the customary black of space and the dim stars in the backdrop of space. It sees everything under the blanket of darkness: the continents covered in speckles called cities, the lakes and seas that no longer reflect the brightness of day, and even the air, which has grown cold and unfeeling.

Gone are the rays of sunshine that illuminate the world during the day.

Yet the sole thing that the night does not see is the two travellers, perhaps the most important, warm, source of comfort the country of Saudi Arabia knows. For in the frigid air and barren desert of this grainy continent, the two are very likely the only creatures awake.

In this night, they are very likely the only creatures alive.

What a dream, one night in Arabia
You touch the sky and feel a woman
What a man, tonight in Arabia
He makes me feel like dying really

One night in Arabia
Under the desert stars
I just can stay
I just can stay
"Salaam" in Arabia

On closer inspection, however, night is able to focus on the two lively creatures that it has tried so hard to ignore. There, the blonde one rides in the passenger seat of the camel-colored rental vehicle. His companion quietly steers the abomination, called such only because it is so out of place in the land of nature, the land of desert and heat.

Anyone throwing a quick glance upon the scene would rarely know the beauty or unique nature of either boy. The blonde one is sleeping now, his lovely eyes closed lightly in the peace of slumber. Even in the dark, he is truly beautiful, made even more gentle in the soft light of the full moon. If not for the short hair and masculine identity, he would have been mistaken for a woman: the alluring curve of the hip, the sleek but pronounced jut of chin and cheekbones certainly strengthen the boyish look. And his eyes, the most stunning of his already angelic features, are closed, painfully kept from sight. For now, they remain shuttered.

The driver of the automobile is sullen and poker-faced. Already, he seems to contrast sharply to his sleeping passenger. Whereas the blonde's features are soft and childlike, the driver's are sharp and angular, adding to his rather dreary appearance. And anyone who knows him would say he is who he appears to be: cold and drab. But he is not so; for in the company of the blonde, he is someone different, someone completely unknown and untouched by the harsh realities of life.

He is himself.

Under the desert stars, I'm riding all alone
A thousand miles or more, and I've got to go
I'm going round and round, my town is far away
I cannot even believe

What I see, facing me,
Is coming out from nowhere

"Trowa?" The blonde one has awakened now, and his eyes are finally visible through his rubbing and yawning. They are a stunning blue, almost like sapphires but not quite: how can they be? Sapphires...nonsense. They are eyes, nothing more.

"Quatre," Trowa smiles. The 'real' Trowa is revealed as the heartless mask slips from his face the second his partner awakens, beckons; he is no longer alone in this journey. He casts a glance to the side, his marvelously green eyes sparkling as he subtly watches the blonde stretch and mewl in sleepy contentment.

And Quatre knows he is being watched. Somehow he always knows when Trowa watches him, but he does not care. Trowa blushes as he is caught in the act of peeping. Still, Quatre smiles his forgiveness; he likes it when he is the focus of attention...that is, when he is the focus of Trowa's attention. "Are we there yet?"

"Did you sleep well, little one?"

Quatre smiles at the endearing pet name. "Yes, thank you. But I should have let you sleep too. It will be a long way till we reach the mansion, and you'll be tired. Let me take over, Trowa."

Trowa reaches up and pushes his bangs to one side, effectively obscuring one eye and not the other. He is obviously tired, very much so, but he does not want to give up the silent vigil he has vowed to take. He wants to drive Quatre to the mansion the entire way because if he can do such a meager task, then surely he is capable of showing Quatre how devoted he really is. After all, driving is nothing when compared to matters of the heart.

"No, Quatre. Let me take you, all the way."

Baby, it's a real blue man
Smiling to me, oh boy,
What can I do?
I just can say, "Salaam"

The two are now quiet, reflective in the Arabic night. Even the animated blonde has succumbed to estranged silence. Trowa looks worried; maybe his companion is ill at ease or not feeling up to the trip, in which case he ought to stop for the night. After all, their task at hand is no small matter.

"Little one, what are you thinking?"

Hardly tired or ill, Quatre closes his eyes and smiles sadly. He has always known Trowa to worry over his frail health, but this has nothing to do with health. "Trowa, are you thinking about tomorrow?"

The brunette frowns, but not because he is angry or disappointed. He is merely concerned. He has long known, since the beginning of their romance, that someday this affair would come out into the open. There was no problem telling their friends, the other ex-Gundam pilots, but there would be the day once the war was over when Quatre would be made to tell his family, to expell the secret relationship that has pleasured him for so many months but may also bring him pain now if his family does not accept.

That day is tomorrow.

Quatre's mind is plagued by scenario conversations he may have with his sisters. Iria will be there, as will his closer sisters, Yaaleh, Tehra, Fiotera, Shaneea, and so forth. The day after? That is the day of judgement, of reckoning. That is the day he will confront his family, his only remaining family, and pray that they will accept. If they do not...

"Quatre," Trowa's prodding voice is soft as it echoes in the car. His voice has always had a calming, sedating effect on the blonde. It has always been a source of comfort for Quatre, much like Trowa's flute-playing on a stressful night. Perhaps it was because the brunette usually spoke so little. His voice is a rare thing to hear, and Quatre considers himself lucky to be graced with such music.

"Oh, Trowa," Quatre sighs desperately. "What if they don't like you? I've never done anything without at least a little support from my family. What would I do if they rejected you?"

Trowa sighs as well. He cannot ever ask the blonde to do anything against his will. It is against his nature to do so. The brunette has always been patient and watchful, standing in the shadows at the sidelines just waiting. He keeps his peace always, and never seems to panic during a crisis, though internally his mind and soul may war against each other, struggling in a most futile manner to be heard.

The blonde continues his monologue. "Even during the war, some of my sisters supported my decision to fight. Father didn't, Allah rest his soul, but then again Father never really was a modern man. He held tight in his traditions. He wouldn't approve of anything I did, ever, and now..." His last words trail off.

Trowa flinches; he knows what Quatre is thinking. His words may have ended, but his mind has picked up where his voice left off. Quatre is thinking his father would not approve of anything, including this relationship...especially this relationship. It hurts Trowa to think he is turning Quatre against his family. "I can't make you do this."

He feels the eyes of his little one boring through the side of his head, daring him to explain himself. But he cannot bring himself to turn around, only stares straight ahead at the road, pretending to be engrossed in driving.

"Salaam" ...
"Salaam" ...

It's getting very dark, predators all around
The silver moon above and my camel goes
I'm going round and round and ghibli blows away
I cannot even believe
What I ......

I just can stay
"Salaam" in Arabia

"No!"

The yell is harsh in the cabin of the car. Trowa finally turns towards his partner, breaking his resolve to bore a hole in the road ahead with his simple gaze. "No what?" he asks in that calm, soothing manner.

"I'm going, Trowa. Who cares if they don't accept us? It won't make any difference to me! No, I'm going in there tomorrow and telling my sisters the truth, flat out. Just like Duo: no tricks, no lies, no more living in a life of secrecy. We'll make it Trowa, I know we will!"

Trowa turns back to the front windshield, back to the pretense of scrutinizing the road. He says nothing, as he always does, even in times like these. Quatre already knows that his tall lover will always be near him, spiritually if not physically. Likewise, Trowa knows that Quatre will never try to change him, will always love him for who he is, not who he wants him to be.

"Of course we'll make it, Quatre," Trowa finally says in that appeasing baritone. He is pleased he does not need to persuade his small love into such a difficult and demanding task. Quatre has already persuaded himself.

He smiles.

What a dream, one night in Arabia
You touch the sky and feel a woman
What a man, tonight in Arabia
He makes me feel like dying really

One night in Arabia
Under the desert stars
I just can stay
I just can stay
"Salaam" in Arabia

"Trowa, let's stop for the night."

The brown-banged youth eyes his passenger with care. "No, I'm fine. If we want to make it there on time, it's best we keep going."

"Trowa, that wasn't a comment."

Another glance reveals a twinkle in the blonde youth's eyes. "Quatre, are you ordering me around?" Trowa asks with a hint of amusement, nothing short of mischief.

"Maaaaybe..." he whispers, leaning across the gap between the two chairs. His companion tries to focus on the road, although that task is now impossible as Quatre's head rests on Trowa's shoulders. Slowly, Trowa's mind drifts back to the days before he became known as Trowa Barton, to days when he was completely and utterly alone.

He smiles. He can no longer imagine those days long gone; Quatre has come to him and destroyed those horrible, twisted memories. He still finds it hard to believe that Quatre, his personal little angel, has come to protect him. He has come to stay with him.

A sigh drifts up from beside Trowa. He glances down to see Quatre, eyes closed and smiling slightly, resting comfortably on his arm. Quatre's position makes it hard for him to drive, but having piloted Heavyarms once, he is now accustomed to doing things with his left hand. Seeing as he can use his left just as well as his right, Trowa takes the latter hand off the wheel and slips it almost instinctively around the blonde.

A second content sigh escapes from the blonde.

I just can stay
"Salaam" in Arabia

Driving becomes all too difficult now with Quatre in his arms. He considers taking Quatre's advice and pulling over to rest for a while, but shakes his head. He must concentrate on driving and ignore the sweet, honey-scented shampoo in Quatre's hair and the fragrant, almost feminine cologne on his skin. He must ignore all that. Tomorrow...after tomorrow, they will have plenty of time to indulge in each other.

The car predictably slows then stops, and the blonde's smile grows wider as he knows his attempts at getting Trowa to sleep have succeeded. "That's better, Trowa," he says softly.

Trowa eyes his partner wearily, the day's tiresome events showing in his eyes. After inspecting the front seat, he shakes his head. "It's very uncomfortable up here. I'm moving to the back." The door opens and Trowa disappears into the dense night, reappearing a second later in the backseat. He blinks in surprise as he looks around the cabin; his passenger has also vanished.

A wave of fear washes over the brunette, and for one moment he truly believes he is alone. The tides of horror drag him down, deeper into the darkness, the solitude. And just as soon, the wave passes: he will never ever be alone again.

The cool, night breeze brushes past Trowa's face as his fair-haired boy materializes in the back seat, the arrival marked by nothing but the sole breath of fresh air. Even with the slight rush of wind, Quatre's hair is rustled; here and there, golden bangs have fallen over his eyes, tossed, but just hardly so as not to totally obscure his vision.

Trowa eyes his companion, eyes his disheveled yet adorable appearance. "I missed you."

Quatre smiles sweetly; but of course, every one of his smiles is sweet and genuine. "I was only gone a second, Trowa," he murmurs. Nevertheless, he nuzzles closer to his lover in the backseat, readjusting himself so that he has once more assumed position on Trowa's shoulder. His face is nearly embedded in the taller boy's neck, and Trowa can imagine the whisper of breath upon his neck.

"Never," he replies, bending down to place a warm kiss on the smaller boy's upturned cheek. "Never is one second not short."

As he moves to place another peck on Quatre's cheek, the blonde turns suddenly, catching Trowa's lips with his own in one swift, smooth motion.

What a dream, Arabia
Under the desert stars
What a man, tonight in Arabia
What a dream, one night in Arabia
You touch the sky and feel a woman
What a man, tonight in Arabia
He makes me feel like dying really

"I love you, Trowa."

Silence. Then an answering voice, still calm and placid: "I love you too, Quatre."

Under the desert stars, I'm riding all alone
A thousand miles or more, and I've got to go
I'm going round and round, my town is far away
I cannot even believe

Night slowly gives way to day. The sunrise pushes out the dark, making way for the slow pink to travel across the sky, carrying with it a barrage of orange, green, and blue.

A single star, the sun, small in comparison to other stars in the galaxy but bright enough to illuminate the lives of all on earth, gradually rises from the east. Reddish sunlight flows to the west, driving out the black just as water drives out thirst.

And like its predecessor night, day smiles upon the sleeping couple in the camel-colored car. Trowa is leaning with his back half against the door, his feet planted losely on the floorboards. His head is propped against the warming window. Both of his tanned arms are wrapped loosely around Quatre.

Quatre, in turn, is reclined on Trowa's lap, a small shawl from the trunk draped across his small frame; sometime during the night, Trowa has apparently awoken and visited the trunk for the one backup blanket. Now they can both sleep easy, or at least until the sun rises and bakes the arid land once more.

What I see, facing me,
Is coming out from nowhere

Baby, it's a real blue man
Smiling to me, oh boy,
What can I do?
I just can say, "Salaam"

"And that is what I have come here to say. Accept us if you will, but if you refuse, I do nothing to stop you."

Quatre sighs and awaits an answer. His tired blue eyes survey the room anxiously, nervously awaiting the expected persecution. After a few rounds around the room, they reluctantly focus on the girls in the center of the room. Some are standing, some are sitting, some are lounged on the floor, but all sixteen pairs of eyes stare back at him as if waiting for his next move.

From beside him, Trowa slides his hand around Quatre's. The taller boy knows exactly what to do to provoke a response. Suddenly, the room is alight with discussion, and sixteen voices are aimed at Quatre. He takes a step back, bewildered, but Trowa's hand stops him. Finally, the noise dies down, and one voice, the voice of beloved Iria, rises above the rest.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner, Quatre?"

He hangs his head in shame. "I did not want to distress you, dear sisters."

"But Quatre," Iria steps forward, now officially the spokesperson. "You could cause us no distress then that you wouldn't cause us now."

A small sigh. "But back then, our survival depended on the inheritance and maintenance of father's wealth. Had I lost that, who knows what would become of you?"

"It was nice of you to think of us, brother. You always think of us, you know." She chuckles sadly. "After father's death, I always wondered what would become of you. You loved him so, though he disapproved of your actions. He loved you too. He could have easily bestowed the inheritance on any one of your sisters, for the law of male-inheritance was alterable. But he chose you." She speaks without bitterness, and her words ring with crystal clarity, encouraging others to stand up for Quatre when even he will not stand up for himself.

Fiotera, easily barbed by Iria, steps up as well. "Iria is right, sweet Quatre. Father could not have placed as his benefactor someone more gentile and cultivated as yourself. Were you really so frightened of our reaction that you would not tell us this secret for so long? I for one," her voice rises, "do not care what Father thinks."

"Father," Quatre interrupts, his breath hitching with some unknown emotion. "Father is dead."

What a dream, Arabia
Under the desert stars

Iria seems to understand her little brother's thoughts. "Quatre, Father only wanted what was best for you. You are right; he would have objected to your actions in the beginning. But once he understood how important this is to you, do you think he would be so foolish as to reject you?"

Deep inside, Quatre has always known the answer. "No, of course not."

"You were never the heir he wished you to be," Iria says. The first words are stinging, but she continues: "You are much more."

"Hear, hear!" The other sisters are proclaiming now, having kept their silence too long already. "You are in the right, Quatre." "Yes, listen to her." "Yes, yes of course!" "How wonderfully perfect." "Perfect, and we hope you'll always be." "Yes, live happily with Trowa."

Tears well up in the blonde's eyes. The chants are all he needs to hear. They approve. How marvelous! They approve! "Thank you, Iria, Fiotera, Yaaleh, all of you. You've been so wonderful to me -- to us. I hope to return your kindness someday!"

All at once, the room rings with cheers and loud whooping. Trowa moves behind Quatre, his brave little one, and places a nonchalant arm around the frail, shaking shoulders. Surprised, he glances down to see his beloved crying.

"You're irresistible," Trowa purrs, bending down to steal a quick kiss from the teary boy.

"Oh, thank you, Trowa." And suddenly Quatre's arms are around the brunette's waist, the golden head buried in the chest of his green turtleneck.

The taller boy knows exactly what Quatre means, that he is being thanked for his presence and not for his embrace. He has always known. "I'll forever be by your side, little one. Forever."

"I know."

What a man, tonight in Arabia
What a dream, one night in Arabia
You touch the sky and feel a woman
What a man, tonight in Arabia
He makes me feel like dying really

The occupants of the room speak with one voice, applauding the united lovers and screeching happily as they steal another kiss. The drama is over, the expected tragedy never occurred. After a night and a day of worrying, the lovers can rest peacefully, knowing their secret is out. No harm has come from the revelation, only benefits.

Come tonight, they will celebrate.

One night in Arabia
Under the desert stars
I just can stay
I just can stay
"Salaam" in Arabia

* * *

~OWARI

how did everyone like it? i hope it was satisfactory! it took me forever to write (it's now the 7th of june, and i've been busy -- today was my last day of final exams -- but still...) and i don't like it as much as i think i should. oh well. it's up to you people! would anyone like to see an epilogue or something? hmm...how could i fit an epilogue in? dunno...just review people!

E-mail:
ChibiQuatre @ pandahgirl@aol.com

Website:
http://www.geocities.com/chibi_kirei