Passing Through, Letting Go
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: Indulging, Indulges, Integument—take your pick. The gang at the
Road Rage is my little pet fanfic at the present. Mingling characters from a few
different anime shows I enjoy and piling them all on top of each other in a little
alternate reality world I made for them. The other significant consistency I
should acknowledge is the ever-influential Catatonia—this time supplying the
lyrics of their song 'Lost Cat.')
"C'mon, did you really expect to find me in? This is Sanosuke Sagara,. Leave
your excuse for calling and if I ever bother to check this machine, I'll try to fit
you into my day planner."
*beep*
"Fit me into your day planner? As if, baby brother. You'd better be at rehearsal
tomorrow morning at ten. Just be grateful it's an information sharing meeting
and you won't have to think too much. Where are you anyway?"
"C'mon, did you really expect to find me in? This is Sanosuke Sagara,. Leave
your excuse for calling and if I ever bother to check this machine, I'll try to fit
you into my day planner."
*beep*
"Sano, it's Juri. I was wondering if you still wanted to carpool to the theater?
You know where I live."
"C'mon, did you really expect to find me in? This is Sanosuke Sagara,. Leave
your excuse for calling and if I ever bother to check this machine, I'll try to fit
you into my day planner."
*beep*
" . . . hi . . ."
Rolling over immediately, Sanosuke picked up telephone, but just as soon as
he'd pulled the receiver to his ear, he realized he had nothing in mind to say.
"Cathy?"
The line was open.
*Lost cat, in off the street, black and white . . .*
Juri surveyed the damage done to her apartment and tried to decide that she
liked it. After a maddening obsession with framing her own work, she'd
followed through with hanging each piece on any available wall space. Starting
in her living room and inching into the hall. The creating was therapeutic in its
own way. The display symbolic that she'd dealt with each and put them up as
proof of her own survival. She would not forget. Determined not to simply
move on, she would work her way in.
The sketch of the city street, dark with shadows and the only welcoming pull the
light glow from the door that promised warmth inside its embrace. The
imitation of a piece at the museum, one that with only brown colors felt a cozy
friend. Only two of a series of efforts to understand what was heaviest in her
own mind.
And seeing them externally, she felt her spirit lighten.
Determined to enjoy the afternoon, she tried Sano's telephone number again.
Even though the boy had ignored her call earlier, she'd seen his car in the lot and
it was late enough by any late sleeper's standards. At the busy signal, she sighed
and shook her head. Perhaps she didn't really want Sano's carefree and reckless
entertainment. With the next speed dial, she reached Trowa's answering
machine impressively dull compared to the younger Sagara. She didn't leave a
message, deciding that she'd relied on Trowa for a bit too much of her outside
activities.
The idea that crossed her mind was strangely appealing. She was ready to move
in other directions, but a conversation full of doubts worried her.
Resolved, she pulled the old invitation from the clutter of notes near the
telephone.
"Call anytime. Shiori."
"Maybe it's time." Juri said aloud, studying the phone in her hand and
imagining her fingers dialing the number over and over.
*If you go, I'll come without a fight.*
Ten o'clock. Saitou took a glance around the room, finding the actors clustered
in various corners, none of them committing to their assignments as of yet,
enjoying the few seconds of their freedom that remained before they chained
themselves to their scripts and duties.
"Everyone's here, boss," Faye said, she had a pencil tucked behind her ear and
the tip was already well worn. She had retrieved the mountain of scripts and
was trying to balance them bent almost half-way over like a heavy laden willow.
"Fine." Saitou nodded curtly, "Where's Kenshin?"
"Finishing his meeting with Utena. Boss, I've been meaning to ask you.
Generous as it is, why am *I* stage manager?"
"I couldn't have my choreographer burdened with such tasks as well." Saitou
said, waving his gloved hand toward the stage where Faye immediately
deposited the scripts and wiped a pale arm across her brow. His expressionless
face now seemed to glow with a pleasant thought. "Her fencing hobby is
coming in quite handy."
Faye made a face, refusing to ask the obvious questions. "I'll just take this in the
back and read for a while." She grabbed the topmost script and snuck away
while Saitou began calling in his actors.
In the back, she spotted her brother dressed in white and most visible in the
darker shadows. His arms were crossed and his head thrown back in the classic
'bored Sagara' pose. Nearby was Spike, sitting in one of the back seats and
leaning as far away as possible. As she approached, she got a better look at their
companion, a solidly built man with a permanent lift to his chin. Even the
waves of his hair vibrated of desired aristocracy.
"Don't even try it on this one, buddy," Sano warned, earnest even with the
laughter in his tone.
"What's up?" Faye asked innocently.
"My dear, what a charming voice you have." The newcomer offered his hand,
twisting Faye's amiable enough handshake into a suave gesture destined for his
lips. "What part are you playing, princess?"
"Uh, you're *manager*." Faye pulled her hand back immediately, and giggled
sarcastically. "And who are you?"
"Call me Saionji, and you will find that I'm the new found talent in this
production." The fellow seemed to Faye as if he had a chronic back disorder as
he switched from one gallant pose to the next. After a moment he seemed
perplexed that no one had commented. "New found to you, perhaps. But my
name is well known across the city, I assure you."
"I'm sure." Faye said, dismissing the new idiot and scolding her brother.
"Where were you yesterday? I called several times and kept getting your
damned machine."
"Do not scorn this fair lady, brother." Saionji interjected, somehow missing the
spontaneous laughter from the seats behind him.
"That's right," Faye said without turning, "He is a rather lousy brother."
Sano lifted his hands in defense, "Sleeping, went out for a little while, busy."
"Perhaps your time would be better spent with me." Saionji let his eyelids droop
as he appraised Faye's figure—which for once was rather well covered with her
sweatshirt and shorts.
"My time is taken." Faye wrinkled her nose, "And so is yours, I do believe."
She held up a hand to her ear, "Why yes, I do hear the director calling."
"Did you hear that Utena is coaching us in fencing?" Trowa slipped in the back
doors, glancing around and glad that he wasn't obviously walking in late.
"Trowa, dear, meet Saionji." Faye pulled the green-eyed actor forward, at the
same time stepping around him and escaping into the foyer.
"Hi." Trowa half-waved and offered a hand, still glancing over his shoulder to
where Faye had made her sudden exit.
"Trowa . . . Barton, would it be?" Saionji slowly took both of his arms and
crossed them over his chest.
"Right." Trowa withdrew his extended hand, and glanced between Sano and
Spike, who shrugged. "Do I know you?" Trowa tilted his head to one side,
trying to remember if he'd seen the proud man before.
"I don't see why you wouldn't." Saionji frowned, "But it seems that most of the
actors at the Road Rage have internalized their artistic lives and are unfamiliar
with the talent in the rest of the city." Saionji glanced around the dark theater,
Saitou was handing out scripts to those actors who'd made their way to the front.
"Anyway, I wouldn't have heard of *you* at all, except that I happened to be at
a social gathering and engaged in a conversation that seemed rather fixed on the
news that it's being said that you're batting for the other team," Saionji added
with a knowing lilt, "If you get my drift."
"Excuse me?" Sano interrupted glaring at Saionji violently. He stepped forward
to stand just behind Trowa who had simply stiffened with the comment. "Are
you looking for a fight, mister?" Sano growled, noticing that Spike had stood as
well.
"Don't tell me you're his boyfriend. . ." Saionji raised his eyebrows elegantly,
"And here I thought it was only a rumor."
Before Sano could make good of his promise, Trowa held out his hand.
"Thanks, Sano." Trowa said in a dry, emotionless tone. "But I don't bring
things like this to work anymore, Mr. Saionji. I'd suggest you do the same."
I'm sick of hearing damning words of you
come cursing through my head
And I'm too proud to sit here chasing time
wasting things we shared
or thought we had.
"You should have seen the look on Saionji's face when he found out the lead
tenor role was a drag queen." Juri slid into the seat next to Trowa and while her
voice remained cheerful, she gave him a concerned look. "He's barely changed
his tune, and is now boasting about how diversified his acting ability can be."
"I'm fine, Juri." Trowa rested his chin against his joined thumbs. "He didn't
mean anything by what he said, and I'm not concerned about it." Leaning back,
Trowa gave her a tired smile. "Some people aren't the most tactful."
"You're kinder than I would be." Juri admitted, "I was a bit concerned, since
you hadn't been very obvious since you've been here and . . ."
"Obvious?" Trowa raised his eyebrows, "It's not going to be my most obvious
characteristic, Juri."
"I know, I know." Juri joked lightly, but was a bit taken back by the new
confrontational tinting to his words. "Anyway, changing the subject and feeling
like a silly girl, congratulations on scoring the narrator role. Spike's more than a
little jealous."
"But he doesn't have to sing," Trowa chuckled, still a bit off and Juri watched
him anxiously push his palms along his legs to his knees. "That's a big relief for
our Mr. Spiegel. Not to mention that he gets to kiss his fiancé on stage. They've
been practicing diligently is what I hear." He took one hand and rubbed the
back of his neck.
Even while his words were typical, Juri's eyes caught every unhappy gesture.
"Trowa, I don't suppose that you want to . . . go some place else for a while?"
"Damn." Trowa said, still holding the back of his neck, "I feel like I'm going to
be sick."
Glancing around, Juri made sure everyone near by was occupied somewhere
else, "We could go, it's an easy day-Saitou doesn't need us anymore and anyone
who is still here is only around for sentimentality's sake, or because they don't
want to clean their apartments or something equally tedious." She kept talking
as Trowa stared at the back of the seat in front of him.
"You're kind, Juri." He looked at her, appreciative but distant still. "Please
don't think that this is bothering me-at least not the way you think it is. I
promise, I will be fine."
Juri opened her mouth to protest, but the voice that came across was not her
own.
"Trowa, I think you've already agreed to be my knight for the evening, didn't
you?" Dorothy smiled with her best appearance of innocence, "I'm sorry, Juri.
But I can't let you have my Trowa every opportunity."
While Juri's first reaction to the characteristic smirk of the other woman was to
quarrel, she also trusted that Dorothy considered Trowa an equal, not a
plaything. However, if she were to ever hear that had changed the truce would
be over . . .
Juri stood, glancing down at Trowa's bemused expression and then back at
Dorothy, "Alright, call me if you need anything." She gave Trowa a pointed
gaze, again impressed by how much older he looked with the unspoken feelings.
"What's up?" Sano asked at the doorway, looking beyond Juri toward the
shimmering blonde actor leaning over Trowa's darker form. Sano anxiously
asked the question again.
"He's fine." Juri said, knowing it was terribly inadequate. Amused by Sano's
sudden and protective concern.
"Fine, my ass." Sano was insulted, "I'm going to ask Saitou to kick that bastard
off the show so fast . . ."
"Calmly," Juri suggested sympathetically, "It's not what our pretty new cast
member said that's been bothering Trowa. It's something else, perhaps
something to do with his sister."
Sano's concern betrayed himself, as the boy suddenly looked very helpless and
uncertain.
You said, I'm digging you a home . . .
Truth is, you left a long time ago
As Sano seemed instantly preoccupied, Juri decided to take the opportunity that
presented itself. Sitting cross-legged on the foyer desk, Shiori had her nose
buried into the script that sat open in her lap. After a brief moment, she turned
the page and continued reading. The simple flannel shirt and jeans did very
little to make Shiori striking, except for the very fact that Juri felt privileged to
admire such simple prettiness. The way the girl's shoelaces were loose and
swinging in quiet metronome to her own breathing.
"It's good to see you again," Juri started, nearly chuckling when she realized
during that one phrase she must have looked as nervous as Sano had moments
before. Her confidence resumed, Juri continued, "I'm impressed that you
managed to get such a co-starring role." Shiori had yet to look up, "Saitou must
have a deal of confidence in you, but you've proven yourself several times."
"We don't have any scenes together," Shiori said unexpectedly.
"Well, not really . . ." Juri agreed, trying to put herself into the new
conversation.
"So what do you want with me?"
Juri, confused but determined, plunged forward, "I was wondering what you
were doing this evening?"
"Am I good enough for you now?" Shiori said bluntly, "How do you know I
didn't get tired of waiting?"
Juri wasn't shocked by the honesty, "Are you tired of waiting? If so . . . I could .
. . "
"What did you have in mind?" Shiori's voice was smaller.
"I was thinking I might convince you over dinner, something easy." Juri said,
feeling oddly comfortable all at once, "Something basic, to start over."
Shiori smiled, pulling mostly to one side and letting her teeth show. A mixture
of delight and something intriguingly devious. "Sure, why not?"
"Sure." Juri echoed.
And you can turn it on and play the innocent
though you've been caught.
And I'm too proud to sit here
saying everything is how it was,
While The International Velvet was favorite of the Road Rage regulars, Dorothy
decided that she and Trowa would go to The Selfish Gene instead. While a
smoky hangout for literary and revolutionary sorts, The Selfish Gene had a
marvelous selection of meals and regular entertainers.
"Damn, might as well eat in a chimney." Trowa coughed as soon as he entered
the establishment.
Dorothy held his arm, and pointed to one corner. "Oh, it looks less hazy over
there." She guided him through the tables which were about half full, glancing
about and claiming a table for two against the brick wall. Above them hovered a
rather large rendition of Lord Byron and Shelley drinking over a game of chess.
"Definitely, less hazy." Trowa sat down, telling the server to go away and come
back with water. The general chatter of nearby conversations and the lyrics of
the woman at the microphone were enough to fill the space between them, still
Dorothy kept an alert eye on him. "I'm waiting for you to pin me, already."
"Feeling like a bug?" Dorothy asked, brushing at her eyebrows, a habit Dorothy
unknowingly fell into whenever she was plotting something and wasn't as
confident of the outcome.
"I'll come out and say it then," Trowa sighed, gratefully taking the glass of water
he was offered to kill time. "I still think that my non-existent love life is my
business, and mine only. I do dislike when it becomes the focus of everyone's
attention, and I'd rather Saionji hadn't said anything. But that's said and done.
And done."
"And done." Dorothy repeated, shaking her head. "That might be true, and far
be it from me to call you a liar, darling. Still, let me remind you-while you can
con your new girl friend into thinking you're as cool as a cucumber, I'm not
fooled." She laughed, "Pardon the clichés, wouldn't want the management to
kick us out for being predictable."
Trowa laughed silently, managing to finish his entire glass of water in the
second drink. "Predictable . . ."
"Right," Dorothy leaned forward, "Predictable is something you're more in
danger of than me." She twirled a strand of almost white hair around her finger,
"I did ask myself why you came to the Road Rage, besides the invitation from
Saitou of course. That was obvious. And I knew it wasn't simply so you could
have either Nichol's company or my own. That's when it all became very clear."
She fixed Trowa's nervously expectant eyes with her own victorious assessment,
"You're a coward."
"What?" Trowa sat back suddenly, almost caught up in the hypnotic intensity of
Dorothy's words, "I'm a what?"
"Coward." Dorothy repeated, "Albeit a well-meaning coward with an adorable
martyr's complex, but honestly, love." She smiled serenely, "You go to all that
work of becoming his best friend and partner, only to flee?"
"Who?" Trowa said dumbly, trying to take another drink, but only ice hit his
teeth.
"Hmm, let's see," Dorothy tapped her chin in mock thought, "Heero Yuy,
perhaps?"
"Heero?" Trowa said, managing to repeat his early action but this time chewing
the ice with determination. "You've got to be kidding, that would be disastrous."
He tried chuckling.
Dorothy nodded, "Don't get *me* wrong, I disapprove completely. You could
do much better, but there it is." When Trowa had no comment, she sighed,
"Think about it for a bit. For example, if I had to listen to you tell me one more
time how perfect he was I might have gagged you. Then there was that trip
overseas so he could speak with the other investors about making changes in the
theater and . . . what happened then, Trowa?"
The silence was more than Trowa could bear, his eyes darkening, "Dorothy, I do
not like your meddling."
"You need to do something, or move on, Trowa." Dorothy warned, "It's not
healthy, and it's still haunting you. Either tell me the truth or promise me you're
going to find somebody else to occupy your time."
The pathetic look on Trowa's face almost made her resolve crumble; she really
didn't like pushing him. Especially if she already knew the answer. How
someone with Trowa's resolve could be interested in such a boarish leather
prince was beyond her.
"I know Heero. Don't forget, I worked at that theater as well." Dorothy let
down her guard, "He didn't deserve you."
As the applause for the soloist began, Trowa's jaw clenched. Just as
immediately, Dorothy realized that she had said too much. Now he suspected,
or perhaps he had known all along.
They ordered their dinner properly enough when the server returned, listened to
the music and ate in what might appear as amiable silence. Paid the server, and
left arm in arm as they had entered.
Once outside, Trowa asked his question, "What did you tell him?"
"Exactly what I told you. That he didn't deserve you."
Never been this sure
Take it from where you want to grow,
there's always tomorrow.
"It was nice, thank you." Shiori said. They'd taken sandwiches to the forest
preserve and the flowers sacrificed for the occasion were still tucked into her
hair.
"How is it we're here already?" Juri glanced out the passenger side window and
the light from the lamp above her apartment door spread itself along the
walkway. "It's still early." She glanced back at Shiori, her hair thin and stringy
framing her face. Something alluring about the tangles.
"Right," Shiori said briskly, "And I need to at least finish reading the script for
tomorrow. Saitou's expecting a lot from me."
"We're all anticipating your best," Juri admitted, stepping out of the car. Shiori
waited until the older woman was inside, then taking the wheel with a resolved
grip turned back out toward the street. Releasing a little of her frustration, she
reached down to turn up the radio and sang along, enjoying how her voice was
solid enough to fill the entire car. It was mindless and Shiori didn't really feel
like thinking anymore. Thinking only made things more difficult.
She sat at the next intersection for a full four minutes, watching the light change
from red to green to red again. Then she switched her turn signal and took a left
turn instead. Driving through the better suburbs of the town, crossing the train
tracks. She pulled into the driveway of one of the houses and getting out of the
car, walked up to the front way to knock on the door.
"You wanted to rehearse?" Shiori asked, breathing quickly.
"Come in," Nichol took a glance down the street, holding the door open for her.
I'd rather have you smile
than have you fall, no matter where you go.
"Hello." Trowa said as the door opened, the evening was growing chilly and
he'd tucked his fingers into the front jean pockets. He trembled a little, but
doubted it was from the cold, "It's late, and a bit of a surprise but . . ."
"Dorothy called me."
"I see. Not a surprise then." He wasn't certain if that was a good thing or not,
simply by looking at Heero's calm face. It'd been so long since he'd seen those
dull blue eyes invigorated, before things began to get complicated. Months.
Suddenly too afraid to stay any longer, Trowa pulled away and down the stairs,
only looking at the ground.
"Where the hell are you going?" Heero had stepped outside, his wild hair dark
against the light from inside. Trowa swallowed carefully, knowing that if he
made one misstep then his heart would stop beating completely. Being so close
to Heero was that dangerous. Then more softly, "Where the hell have you
been?"
"I thought . . ." Trowa started, suddenly feeling the return of all the rehearsed
reunions he hadn't the luxury to hope for, and none of them fit that moment.
"That might be your problem," the Asian man suggested dryly, "Trowa, might I
suggest that you ask questions before assuming things. You have a splendid
ability to act as if everything is fine in most circumstances, but once you get
logical *and* emotional . . ." Heero closed the distance moving down a step
more, now so that he was at eye level, not once touching. Then gently again,
asked, "Why did you leave?"
A bit mesmerized by their closeness, Trowa answered, "I'm not sure I can
remember, it must have been a pretty lousy reason."
"Hn." Heero nodded in agreement, "Listen to me this time, Trowa. I've known
you longer than just about anyone. When I went through some dark and suicidal
times, it was you-you and Catherine-that waited them out. And when I blew my
inheritance buying The Glass House, I found my support in you." Heero
reached out to pull his fingers through Trowa's hair affectionately, "So when I
tell you that I love you, trust me. I mean it."
"But what about the trip . . . ?" Trowa hesitated, frowning. Disbelieving.
"Don't tell me that Dorothy told you to do this . . . I'll . . ."
"Dorothy," Heero's eyes narrowed, "You've managed to bewitch that woman
somehow, Trowa. For her betterment, but still . . . you . . . "
Heero stepped down again, and, on level ground, looked up to meet Trowa's
eyes with enough warning of his very obvious intentions, reached up with both
hands, and kissed his wayward friend very soundly.
"Damn, Trowa." Heero instinctively rubbed his own chin, eyes flashing. "We're
both cowards. It's been so long, and I've been lecturing *you* on courage. I am
a fool." But before he could say more, Trowa had ducked to taste his mouth
again.
"We've got some catching up to do." Breathed Trowa, pushing Heero back into
the house.
And you can turn it on
and play at anything you ever wanted to.
Cos you're not dull
and I'm not strong enough
to carry on wondering how.
We're gonna see this through.
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: Indulging, Indulges, Integument—take your pick. The gang at the
Road Rage is my little pet fanfic at the present. Mingling characters from a few
different anime shows I enjoy and piling them all on top of each other in a little
alternate reality world I made for them. The other significant consistency I
should acknowledge is the ever-influential Catatonia—this time supplying the
lyrics of their song 'Lost Cat.')
"C'mon, did you really expect to find me in? This is Sanosuke Sagara,. Leave
your excuse for calling and if I ever bother to check this machine, I'll try to fit
you into my day planner."
*beep*
"Fit me into your day planner? As if, baby brother. You'd better be at rehearsal
tomorrow morning at ten. Just be grateful it's an information sharing meeting
and you won't have to think too much. Where are you anyway?"
"C'mon, did you really expect to find me in? This is Sanosuke Sagara,. Leave
your excuse for calling and if I ever bother to check this machine, I'll try to fit
you into my day planner."
*beep*
"Sano, it's Juri. I was wondering if you still wanted to carpool to the theater?
You know where I live."
"C'mon, did you really expect to find me in? This is Sanosuke Sagara,. Leave
your excuse for calling and if I ever bother to check this machine, I'll try to fit
you into my day planner."
*beep*
" . . . hi . . ."
Rolling over immediately, Sanosuke picked up telephone, but just as soon as
he'd pulled the receiver to his ear, he realized he had nothing in mind to say.
"Cathy?"
The line was open.
*Lost cat, in off the street, black and white . . .*
Juri surveyed the damage done to her apartment and tried to decide that she
liked it. After a maddening obsession with framing her own work, she'd
followed through with hanging each piece on any available wall space. Starting
in her living room and inching into the hall. The creating was therapeutic in its
own way. The display symbolic that she'd dealt with each and put them up as
proof of her own survival. She would not forget. Determined not to simply
move on, she would work her way in.
The sketch of the city street, dark with shadows and the only welcoming pull the
light glow from the door that promised warmth inside its embrace. The
imitation of a piece at the museum, one that with only brown colors felt a cozy
friend. Only two of a series of efforts to understand what was heaviest in her
own mind.
And seeing them externally, she felt her spirit lighten.
Determined to enjoy the afternoon, she tried Sano's telephone number again.
Even though the boy had ignored her call earlier, she'd seen his car in the lot and
it was late enough by any late sleeper's standards. At the busy signal, she sighed
and shook her head. Perhaps she didn't really want Sano's carefree and reckless
entertainment. With the next speed dial, she reached Trowa's answering
machine impressively dull compared to the younger Sagara. She didn't leave a
message, deciding that she'd relied on Trowa for a bit too much of her outside
activities.
The idea that crossed her mind was strangely appealing. She was ready to move
in other directions, but a conversation full of doubts worried her.
Resolved, she pulled the old invitation from the clutter of notes near the
telephone.
"Call anytime. Shiori."
"Maybe it's time." Juri said aloud, studying the phone in her hand and
imagining her fingers dialing the number over and over.
*If you go, I'll come without a fight.*
Ten o'clock. Saitou took a glance around the room, finding the actors clustered
in various corners, none of them committing to their assignments as of yet,
enjoying the few seconds of their freedom that remained before they chained
themselves to their scripts and duties.
"Everyone's here, boss," Faye said, she had a pencil tucked behind her ear and
the tip was already well worn. She had retrieved the mountain of scripts and
was trying to balance them bent almost half-way over like a heavy laden willow.
"Fine." Saitou nodded curtly, "Where's Kenshin?"
"Finishing his meeting with Utena. Boss, I've been meaning to ask you.
Generous as it is, why am *I* stage manager?"
"I couldn't have my choreographer burdened with such tasks as well." Saitou
said, waving his gloved hand toward the stage where Faye immediately
deposited the scripts and wiped a pale arm across her brow. His expressionless
face now seemed to glow with a pleasant thought. "Her fencing hobby is
coming in quite handy."
Faye made a face, refusing to ask the obvious questions. "I'll just take this in the
back and read for a while." She grabbed the topmost script and snuck away
while Saitou began calling in his actors.
In the back, she spotted her brother dressed in white and most visible in the
darker shadows. His arms were crossed and his head thrown back in the classic
'bored Sagara' pose. Nearby was Spike, sitting in one of the back seats and
leaning as far away as possible. As she approached, she got a better look at their
companion, a solidly built man with a permanent lift to his chin. Even the
waves of his hair vibrated of desired aristocracy.
"Don't even try it on this one, buddy," Sano warned, earnest even with the
laughter in his tone.
"What's up?" Faye asked innocently.
"My dear, what a charming voice you have." The newcomer offered his hand,
twisting Faye's amiable enough handshake into a suave gesture destined for his
lips. "What part are you playing, princess?"
"Uh, you're *manager*." Faye pulled her hand back immediately, and giggled
sarcastically. "And who are you?"
"Call me Saionji, and you will find that I'm the new found talent in this
production." The fellow seemed to Faye as if he had a chronic back disorder as
he switched from one gallant pose to the next. After a moment he seemed
perplexed that no one had commented. "New found to you, perhaps. But my
name is well known across the city, I assure you."
"I'm sure." Faye said, dismissing the new idiot and scolding her brother.
"Where were you yesterday? I called several times and kept getting your
damned machine."
"Do not scorn this fair lady, brother." Saionji interjected, somehow missing the
spontaneous laughter from the seats behind him.
"That's right," Faye said without turning, "He is a rather lousy brother."
Sano lifted his hands in defense, "Sleeping, went out for a little while, busy."
"Perhaps your time would be better spent with me." Saionji let his eyelids droop
as he appraised Faye's figure—which for once was rather well covered with her
sweatshirt and shorts.
"My time is taken." Faye wrinkled her nose, "And so is yours, I do believe."
She held up a hand to her ear, "Why yes, I do hear the director calling."
"Did you hear that Utena is coaching us in fencing?" Trowa slipped in the back
doors, glancing around and glad that he wasn't obviously walking in late.
"Trowa, dear, meet Saionji." Faye pulled the green-eyed actor forward, at the
same time stepping around him and escaping into the foyer.
"Hi." Trowa half-waved and offered a hand, still glancing over his shoulder to
where Faye had made her sudden exit.
"Trowa . . . Barton, would it be?" Saionji slowly took both of his arms and
crossed them over his chest.
"Right." Trowa withdrew his extended hand, and glanced between Sano and
Spike, who shrugged. "Do I know you?" Trowa tilted his head to one side,
trying to remember if he'd seen the proud man before.
"I don't see why you wouldn't." Saionji frowned, "But it seems that most of the
actors at the Road Rage have internalized their artistic lives and are unfamiliar
with the talent in the rest of the city." Saionji glanced around the dark theater,
Saitou was handing out scripts to those actors who'd made their way to the front.
"Anyway, I wouldn't have heard of *you* at all, except that I happened to be at
a social gathering and engaged in a conversation that seemed rather fixed on the
news that it's being said that you're batting for the other team," Saionji added
with a knowing lilt, "If you get my drift."
"Excuse me?" Sano interrupted glaring at Saionji violently. He stepped forward
to stand just behind Trowa who had simply stiffened with the comment. "Are
you looking for a fight, mister?" Sano growled, noticing that Spike had stood as
well.
"Don't tell me you're his boyfriend. . ." Saionji raised his eyebrows elegantly,
"And here I thought it was only a rumor."
Before Sano could make good of his promise, Trowa held out his hand.
"Thanks, Sano." Trowa said in a dry, emotionless tone. "But I don't bring
things like this to work anymore, Mr. Saionji. I'd suggest you do the same."
I'm sick of hearing damning words of you
come cursing through my head
And I'm too proud to sit here chasing time
wasting things we shared
or thought we had.
"You should have seen the look on Saionji's face when he found out the lead
tenor role was a drag queen." Juri slid into the seat next to Trowa and while her
voice remained cheerful, she gave him a concerned look. "He's barely changed
his tune, and is now boasting about how diversified his acting ability can be."
"I'm fine, Juri." Trowa rested his chin against his joined thumbs. "He didn't
mean anything by what he said, and I'm not concerned about it." Leaning back,
Trowa gave her a tired smile. "Some people aren't the most tactful."
"You're kinder than I would be." Juri admitted, "I was a bit concerned, since
you hadn't been very obvious since you've been here and . . ."
"Obvious?" Trowa raised his eyebrows, "It's not going to be my most obvious
characteristic, Juri."
"I know, I know." Juri joked lightly, but was a bit taken back by the new
confrontational tinting to his words. "Anyway, changing the subject and feeling
like a silly girl, congratulations on scoring the narrator role. Spike's more than a
little jealous."
"But he doesn't have to sing," Trowa chuckled, still a bit off and Juri watched
him anxiously push his palms along his legs to his knees. "That's a big relief for
our Mr. Spiegel. Not to mention that he gets to kiss his fiancé on stage. They've
been practicing diligently is what I hear." He took one hand and rubbed the
back of his neck.
Even while his words were typical, Juri's eyes caught every unhappy gesture.
"Trowa, I don't suppose that you want to . . . go some place else for a while?"
"Damn." Trowa said, still holding the back of his neck, "I feel like I'm going to
be sick."
Glancing around, Juri made sure everyone near by was occupied somewhere
else, "We could go, it's an easy day-Saitou doesn't need us anymore and anyone
who is still here is only around for sentimentality's sake, or because they don't
want to clean their apartments or something equally tedious." She kept talking
as Trowa stared at the back of the seat in front of him.
"You're kind, Juri." He looked at her, appreciative but distant still. "Please
don't think that this is bothering me-at least not the way you think it is. I
promise, I will be fine."
Juri opened her mouth to protest, but the voice that came across was not her
own.
"Trowa, I think you've already agreed to be my knight for the evening, didn't
you?" Dorothy smiled with her best appearance of innocence, "I'm sorry, Juri.
But I can't let you have my Trowa every opportunity."
While Juri's first reaction to the characteristic smirk of the other woman was to
quarrel, she also trusted that Dorothy considered Trowa an equal, not a
plaything. However, if she were to ever hear that had changed the truce would
be over . . .
Juri stood, glancing down at Trowa's bemused expression and then back at
Dorothy, "Alright, call me if you need anything." She gave Trowa a pointed
gaze, again impressed by how much older he looked with the unspoken feelings.
"What's up?" Sano asked at the doorway, looking beyond Juri toward the
shimmering blonde actor leaning over Trowa's darker form. Sano anxiously
asked the question again.
"He's fine." Juri said, knowing it was terribly inadequate. Amused by Sano's
sudden and protective concern.
"Fine, my ass." Sano was insulted, "I'm going to ask Saitou to kick that bastard
off the show so fast . . ."
"Calmly," Juri suggested sympathetically, "It's not what our pretty new cast
member said that's been bothering Trowa. It's something else, perhaps
something to do with his sister."
Sano's concern betrayed himself, as the boy suddenly looked very helpless and
uncertain.
You said, I'm digging you a home . . .
Truth is, you left a long time ago
As Sano seemed instantly preoccupied, Juri decided to take the opportunity that
presented itself. Sitting cross-legged on the foyer desk, Shiori had her nose
buried into the script that sat open in her lap. After a brief moment, she turned
the page and continued reading. The simple flannel shirt and jeans did very
little to make Shiori striking, except for the very fact that Juri felt privileged to
admire such simple prettiness. The way the girl's shoelaces were loose and
swinging in quiet metronome to her own breathing.
"It's good to see you again," Juri started, nearly chuckling when she realized
during that one phrase she must have looked as nervous as Sano had moments
before. Her confidence resumed, Juri continued, "I'm impressed that you
managed to get such a co-starring role." Shiori had yet to look up, "Saitou must
have a deal of confidence in you, but you've proven yourself several times."
"We don't have any scenes together," Shiori said unexpectedly.
"Well, not really . . ." Juri agreed, trying to put herself into the new
conversation.
"So what do you want with me?"
Juri, confused but determined, plunged forward, "I was wondering what you
were doing this evening?"
"Am I good enough for you now?" Shiori said bluntly, "How do you know I
didn't get tired of waiting?"
Juri wasn't shocked by the honesty, "Are you tired of waiting? If so . . . I could .
. . "
"What did you have in mind?" Shiori's voice was smaller.
"I was thinking I might convince you over dinner, something easy." Juri said,
feeling oddly comfortable all at once, "Something basic, to start over."
Shiori smiled, pulling mostly to one side and letting her teeth show. A mixture
of delight and something intriguingly devious. "Sure, why not?"
"Sure." Juri echoed.
And you can turn it on and play the innocent
though you've been caught.
And I'm too proud to sit here
saying everything is how it was,
While The International Velvet was favorite of the Road Rage regulars, Dorothy
decided that she and Trowa would go to The Selfish Gene instead. While a
smoky hangout for literary and revolutionary sorts, The Selfish Gene had a
marvelous selection of meals and regular entertainers.
"Damn, might as well eat in a chimney." Trowa coughed as soon as he entered
the establishment.
Dorothy held his arm, and pointed to one corner. "Oh, it looks less hazy over
there." She guided him through the tables which were about half full, glancing
about and claiming a table for two against the brick wall. Above them hovered a
rather large rendition of Lord Byron and Shelley drinking over a game of chess.
"Definitely, less hazy." Trowa sat down, telling the server to go away and come
back with water. The general chatter of nearby conversations and the lyrics of
the woman at the microphone were enough to fill the space between them, still
Dorothy kept an alert eye on him. "I'm waiting for you to pin me, already."
"Feeling like a bug?" Dorothy asked, brushing at her eyebrows, a habit Dorothy
unknowingly fell into whenever she was plotting something and wasn't as
confident of the outcome.
"I'll come out and say it then," Trowa sighed, gratefully taking the glass of water
he was offered to kill time. "I still think that my non-existent love life is my
business, and mine only. I do dislike when it becomes the focus of everyone's
attention, and I'd rather Saionji hadn't said anything. But that's said and done.
And done."
"And done." Dorothy repeated, shaking her head. "That might be true, and far
be it from me to call you a liar, darling. Still, let me remind you-while you can
con your new girl friend into thinking you're as cool as a cucumber, I'm not
fooled." She laughed, "Pardon the clichés, wouldn't want the management to
kick us out for being predictable."
Trowa laughed silently, managing to finish his entire glass of water in the
second drink. "Predictable . . ."
"Right," Dorothy leaned forward, "Predictable is something you're more in
danger of than me." She twirled a strand of almost white hair around her finger,
"I did ask myself why you came to the Road Rage, besides the invitation from
Saitou of course. That was obvious. And I knew it wasn't simply so you could
have either Nichol's company or my own. That's when it all became very clear."
She fixed Trowa's nervously expectant eyes with her own victorious assessment,
"You're a coward."
"What?" Trowa sat back suddenly, almost caught up in the hypnotic intensity of
Dorothy's words, "I'm a what?"
"Coward." Dorothy repeated, "Albeit a well-meaning coward with an adorable
martyr's complex, but honestly, love." She smiled serenely, "You go to all that
work of becoming his best friend and partner, only to flee?"
"Who?" Trowa said dumbly, trying to take another drink, but only ice hit his
teeth.
"Hmm, let's see," Dorothy tapped her chin in mock thought, "Heero Yuy,
perhaps?"
"Heero?" Trowa said, managing to repeat his early action but this time chewing
the ice with determination. "You've got to be kidding, that would be disastrous."
He tried chuckling.
Dorothy nodded, "Don't get *me* wrong, I disapprove completely. You could
do much better, but there it is." When Trowa had no comment, she sighed,
"Think about it for a bit. For example, if I had to listen to you tell me one more
time how perfect he was I might have gagged you. Then there was that trip
overseas so he could speak with the other investors about making changes in the
theater and . . . what happened then, Trowa?"
The silence was more than Trowa could bear, his eyes darkening, "Dorothy, I do
not like your meddling."
"You need to do something, or move on, Trowa." Dorothy warned, "It's not
healthy, and it's still haunting you. Either tell me the truth or promise me you're
going to find somebody else to occupy your time."
The pathetic look on Trowa's face almost made her resolve crumble; she really
didn't like pushing him. Especially if she already knew the answer. How
someone with Trowa's resolve could be interested in such a boarish leather
prince was beyond her.
"I know Heero. Don't forget, I worked at that theater as well." Dorothy let
down her guard, "He didn't deserve you."
As the applause for the soloist began, Trowa's jaw clenched. Just as
immediately, Dorothy realized that she had said too much. Now he suspected,
or perhaps he had known all along.
They ordered their dinner properly enough when the server returned, listened to
the music and ate in what might appear as amiable silence. Paid the server, and
left arm in arm as they had entered.
Once outside, Trowa asked his question, "What did you tell him?"
"Exactly what I told you. That he didn't deserve you."
Never been this sure
Take it from where you want to grow,
there's always tomorrow.
"It was nice, thank you." Shiori said. They'd taken sandwiches to the forest
preserve and the flowers sacrificed for the occasion were still tucked into her
hair.
"How is it we're here already?" Juri glanced out the passenger side window and
the light from the lamp above her apartment door spread itself along the
walkway. "It's still early." She glanced back at Shiori, her hair thin and stringy
framing her face. Something alluring about the tangles.
"Right," Shiori said briskly, "And I need to at least finish reading the script for
tomorrow. Saitou's expecting a lot from me."
"We're all anticipating your best," Juri admitted, stepping out of the car. Shiori
waited until the older woman was inside, then taking the wheel with a resolved
grip turned back out toward the street. Releasing a little of her frustration, she
reached down to turn up the radio and sang along, enjoying how her voice was
solid enough to fill the entire car. It was mindless and Shiori didn't really feel
like thinking anymore. Thinking only made things more difficult.
She sat at the next intersection for a full four minutes, watching the light change
from red to green to red again. Then she switched her turn signal and took a left
turn instead. Driving through the better suburbs of the town, crossing the train
tracks. She pulled into the driveway of one of the houses and getting out of the
car, walked up to the front way to knock on the door.
"You wanted to rehearse?" Shiori asked, breathing quickly.
"Come in," Nichol took a glance down the street, holding the door open for her.
I'd rather have you smile
than have you fall, no matter where you go.
"Hello." Trowa said as the door opened, the evening was growing chilly and
he'd tucked his fingers into the front jean pockets. He trembled a little, but
doubted it was from the cold, "It's late, and a bit of a surprise but . . ."
"Dorothy called me."
"I see. Not a surprise then." He wasn't certain if that was a good thing or not,
simply by looking at Heero's calm face. It'd been so long since he'd seen those
dull blue eyes invigorated, before things began to get complicated. Months.
Suddenly too afraid to stay any longer, Trowa pulled away and down the stairs,
only looking at the ground.
"Where the hell are you going?" Heero had stepped outside, his wild hair dark
against the light from inside. Trowa swallowed carefully, knowing that if he
made one misstep then his heart would stop beating completely. Being so close
to Heero was that dangerous. Then more softly, "Where the hell have you
been?"
"I thought . . ." Trowa started, suddenly feeling the return of all the rehearsed
reunions he hadn't the luxury to hope for, and none of them fit that moment.
"That might be your problem," the Asian man suggested dryly, "Trowa, might I
suggest that you ask questions before assuming things. You have a splendid
ability to act as if everything is fine in most circumstances, but once you get
logical *and* emotional . . ." Heero closed the distance moving down a step
more, now so that he was at eye level, not once touching. Then gently again,
asked, "Why did you leave?"
A bit mesmerized by their closeness, Trowa answered, "I'm not sure I can
remember, it must have been a pretty lousy reason."
"Hn." Heero nodded in agreement, "Listen to me this time, Trowa. I've known
you longer than just about anyone. When I went through some dark and suicidal
times, it was you-you and Catherine-that waited them out. And when I blew my
inheritance buying The Glass House, I found my support in you." Heero
reached out to pull his fingers through Trowa's hair affectionately, "So when I
tell you that I love you, trust me. I mean it."
"But what about the trip . . . ?" Trowa hesitated, frowning. Disbelieving.
"Don't tell me that Dorothy told you to do this . . . I'll . . ."
"Dorothy," Heero's eyes narrowed, "You've managed to bewitch that woman
somehow, Trowa. For her betterment, but still . . . you . . . "
Heero stepped down again, and, on level ground, looked up to meet Trowa's
eyes with enough warning of his very obvious intentions, reached up with both
hands, and kissed his wayward friend very soundly.
"Damn, Trowa." Heero instinctively rubbed his own chin, eyes flashing. "We're
both cowards. It's been so long, and I've been lecturing *you* on courage. I am
a fool." But before he could say more, Trowa had ducked to taste his mouth
again.
"We've got some catching up to do." Breathed Trowa, pushing Heero back into
the house.
And you can turn it on
and play at anything you ever wanted to.
Cos you're not dull
and I'm not strong enough
to carry on wondering how.
We're gonna see this through.