Experiendo Discimus
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: yap-pa-yap-pa-pa alternate reality shmoshi-shmoshi-shmoshi
crossover ta ta ta Catatonia. And I found my college Latin book. How
inspiring! Salvete.)
Amicitia non semper intellegitur, sed sentitur.
~Friendship is not always understood, but it is felt.
"What do you want?" Juri said tonelessly, not looking up from her script. The
cast was more than a full week into production for the latest show, and Saitou
was at that time working very diligently with his frequently absent narrator,
Trowa Barton, who'd actually managed to come in on time and stay all day. Juri
had been quite relieved to see his sheepish grin that morning since the usually
reliable actor had been rather distracted by the re-ignition of an old flame. A
flame that seemed to have left her friend relatively unburned and without regret;
however, she had as of yet to see any benefit from it.
"Well, he made it today." Dorothy said instead of answering. She had just sat
next to Juri, and was running her fingers through her hair and then resting her
chin against them. Leaning in toward the other woman. "We'll see how long
Heero can let our boy wander about before he reels Trowa back in again." She
added in a low tone.
"I take it you don't approve?" Juri glanced over, curious. Dorothy seldom
seemed to show a genuine fiber. Everything she said or did had multiple layers
of untrustworthiness. As if life were all a game of burying yourself so deeply
that you survive everything else. Survival seldom included the well-being of
others.
"Who would!" Dorothy said with her put-on gaily, "It's so annoying to see how
pathetically delighted he makes Trowa."
"How does he do it . . ." Juri mumbled, tossing out the words without care. She
didn't particularly want to spar words with Dorothy.
"Trowa's weak." Dorothy replied simply. Then paused to let the implications
sink in. "That's why nothing changes."
"Weakness doesn't always mean that one will be unhappy." Juri felt herself
slipping into the conversation anyway. Her eyes weren't focusing on the words
anymore. And the pleasant sound of Shiori's duet was echoing around the
corners of the hall.
"Happy, huh?" Dorothy purred. "I wouldn't find weakness particularly pleasing
. . . now you do disagree with me." She let her voice adopt a challenge.
"Perhaps he's not so weak." Juri felt some satisfaction in entering an argument.
"At least he's following through on his feelings. Unlike those who fear them."
Dorothy's eyes flashed, "I'd say those are forces you understand quite well."
"What?" Juri leaned forward, not going to back down in a conversation with the
flaxen haired actor who fixed her eyes with the power of an experienced vixen.
"We're not so unalike, Dorothy." Juri emphasized each word. "However, I
would never pursue my feelings as if I were playing with a toy."
"But it is a game." Dorothy let a finger slide across her lower lip. "And
everyone else seems to be playing, except you—of course." Dorothy's laughter
covering each thought, almost concealing her words. "I'd worry about learning
the rules, before they're completely reversed." Dorothy gathered the things from
her lap into her pale arms and stretching out her neck, stood. Juri watched the
other woman's back, shifting slightly from one foot to the next as she added,
"When it comes, don't miss your turn."
Was that regret in her voice? Juri immediately looked past Dorothy, to where
Shiori was standing breathless from her nearing flawless performance. Next to
her, Nichol had draped his thick arm around her shoulders even as he leaned
away from the girl to tip her chin with his other hand. Both conversing with
Saitou. Not so unusual, since they did have most of their scenes together. And
most rehearsals. And that song . . . they performed together.
And then everything began to sink.
Small wonder, you've not heard from her
She's gone now, back in England
She got spirit, will go farther
But she can't see the romance in the color of your schemes
"Mr. Sagara?"
"Yeah," Sanosuke said sharply into his telephone. He was going to personally
unpluck feather by feather whoever was calling him. It was before nine in the
morning. "What is it?"
The voice wavered at the unexpected hostility, "Sir, we filled the order as you
had asked. Even taking the arrangement secondly to the office as were your
instructions. However, we were informed, sir, that the young lady no longer has
that apartment."
"What?" Sano said, the grogginess slipping from his throat, leaving it dry and
hoarse.
"The address. Ms. Bloom no longer lives there."
"What?" He repeated dumbly.
"Where would you like us to send everything? Did you have another address?"
"What?" His free hand kneading the skin of his forehead, then moving to the
back of his neck, "Another address? There is no other address." Then he added,
"She has to be there."
"Um, perhaps the office could give you a forwarding address, sir?" The voice
turned kind. "Maybe she's with family?"
"Trowa." Sano said triumphantly, immediately hitting the phone to it's cradle,
then picking it up again. "Trowa, Trowa . . . hmm." Sano held the phone
against his ear with one shoulder, walking over to fumble through the paperwork
on his desk. The dial tone momentarily reminding him that he'd forgotten about
the gift shop's original question. "Here it is. Trowa Barton."
While the phone called out, he felt his palms suddenly turn very damp. His bare
feet, chilled against the thin apartment carpet. What the heck was he going to
say to Cathy's brother? No one knew . . . the phone continued to ring. His
worry gradually distracted by the duration of the unanswered call. He reviewed
the schedule. Trowa didn't have to be at the theater until twelve . . .
"Who is it?" The voice answering the phone was not Cathy's brother.
Sano started, "Uh, Trowa . . .?"
"He's busy. Who are you?" It was not a very friendly voice, and Sano began to
suspect that it was the fellow Trowa was supposedly seeing. Then again, Sano
remembered that he himself hadn't exactly been that happy to wake up when the
phone rang.
"This is . . . " Sano started, then he paused. "Should I call back?" He did not
want to be calling and interrupting and irritating his girlfriend's brother. "I'll call
back." Sano offered, not wanting to think about it too much.
"Good idea. He's in the shower. Wait." The voice still seemed irritated.
Sano waited, hearing a second voice. "Was that the phone? Who was it?"
"Hn," came the voice of the obviously preoccupied stranger, "They'll call back."
The dial tone again. And Sano sighed, increasingly relieved. What the heck did
he think he was going to say or ask?
Then he reflected. He'd somehow lost her. He'd lost Catherine. She wouldn't
answer the door or his calls. And now, she was apparently gone.
Setting the phone down, he slumped into the desk chair. Staring. Tired of
staring he let his eyes close. More than anything, he wanted to hear her voice.
To watch her start a smile, her lips parting with hesitation. Then letting them
free. Because, she could smile in front of him. He wanted to make her smile. If
only she were free of whatever held her back, made her hesitate.
If so little else did, then he would. She only had to let him.
She had to.
She had left. Standing up abruptly, Sano grabbed a shirt and pulled a pair of
jeans from the floor. He would see this for himself. And then . . . if she'd gone.
He'd find her. He would. He would ask whomever exactly whatever needed to
be asked.
One doubt, reluctantly freed, haunted his bravado.
What if this was her final way of saying, "No."?
The color of your schemes, oh...
But you know and I, that all girls are fly
And all men must die, for their cars...
The familiar squeal of a suddenly started engine, and he looked once again at the
front of the Glass House. The sun reflecting from the windows, concealing
everything inside. Trowa breathed in the brisk morning air, cooler for all of the
shadows, and turned to smile softly at Heero.
"I should actually make it back to the Road Rage by noon at this rate," Trowa
said, "And if that truly was our last meeting, I shouldn't miss any more
rehearsals."
"Do you mind?" Heero said, after a little silence. His question reluctant for it's
necessity.
Trowa chuckled, "If it wasn't, would I have come?"
"Hn." Heero sounded thoughtful. "I'm . . . glad."
Trowa's eyebrow lifted as he intentionally began to lean nearer to his friend,
"Me, too." His voice once hushed, regained it's normal volume. "I'm glad
whenever you're with me. I . . . I want you to meet my friends at the Road Rage.
They've made me feel very welcome."
Heero glanced over quickly, then held the steering wheel with a stronger one-
handed grip. "You're not coming back?"
"Back?" Trowa wondered, "Back to the Glass House? Is that what you mean?"
"I'm keeping it," Heero said simply, "I want you there. With me."
"Heero, I . . . I haven't thought that far in advance." Trowa turned to look out
the car window. Brushing his reddish-brown hair from where it blew around his
eyes, and glancing rather sorrowfully at the swiftly passing buildings. "I have
this show to see through. And then . . . I'll still be with you. Regardless."
"I thought you left the Glass House only because of me."
"Well, yes." Trowa admitted, "The split wasn't really why I left. I just didn't
want to be there when you got back. I wasn't sure you'd want to see me. I
wasn't sure I would be able to stay near you any longer." Then he added lightly,
"Not that I'm in doubt now . . ."
"I'd hope not." Heero scowled, but Trowa felt the affection hidden deeply
within the contours of the otherwise familiar frown.
"To be honest," Trowa sighed, knowing he couldn't avoid the questions. "I'm
glad I went to the Road Rage. It's refreshing to work with them . . ."
Heero's head slipped forward, his dark hair falling against his cheeks. Trowa
could sense his sadness and almost took back everything he'd just said when
Heero's lips moved. "Okay."
"Okay?" Trowa repeated, afraid he was misunderstanding.
"Okay." Heero glanced over again, almost bashful. "It's okay. Just, please
remember, I need you too."
"Got it." Trowa said, trying to adopt a light approach even as he felt swallowed
by relief. "You'll never be rid of me."
"Hn. I've known you long enough to realize that." Heero scoffed. Trying to
regain his rough edge.
"Heero?"
"Hn?"
"Will you come in?"
"Hn."
Why blunder? There's no wonder
You've been feeling, six feet under
"Faye!" Sano hissed, trying to get his sister's attention from the stage without
Saitou noticing him. He was only a little late, but wasn't certain if Saitou was
out for his blood yet or if he hadn't realized the younger Sagara was absent.
Sano highly doubted the latter.
She turned slightly, twisting so that her dark hair slid along the line of her cheek
as it was trimmed short. Her eyes widened slightly and she tipped her head
Saitou's direction as a grimace crossed her features. Then he knew for sure
things were not so good. Well, he was almost an hour late, truth told. He
ducked down along the side of the stage and waited for Faye to come to him.
"You rooster head," She scolded, slipping off the stage and crouching next to
him. "Saitou's scalping people today right and left. Why are you late?"
Sano's jaw worked, but no words came out. "Well, it's sort of serious, sis."
"Huh?" Faye half-frowned, then tried smiling. "Are you serious?"
"I just said I was." Sano's voice lowered, his brow furrowed. "Do you think I'd
shrug off rehearsal for any old reason?"
"Well," Faye looked thoughtful.
"Stop it!" Sano growled, "I'm not in high school anymore."
"Not by much," Faye couldn't resist, but tempered her bantering.
"I'm not a kid." Sano said with finality in his tone. "And I'm tired of people
thinking I can't handle grown-up things. I'm going on twenty-two here!"
"That's old?" Faye laughed, "You do alright. But don't expect much." She was
surprised to see him wilt without retort. "Okay, let's slip out back and you can
tell me all about it. I need a smoke anyway. I'm getting nervous, between stage
managing and the fact my baby brother is getting all serious . . ."
Sano followed her and still wasn't certain what he was planning on telling her.
Everything? Should he try the classic 'I have this friend . . .'? She was dense
enough sometimes she might buy into it for about five minutes. He studied the
floor as he continued to follow her.
"Trowa! You made it!" Faye said, a bit startled.
Sano looked up sharply. They'd just turned down the hall toward the back
entrance. Where Trowa was stepping a more acceptable distance from a shorter
dark man. Sano stopped and wondered if that was the person he'd spoken with
earlier. Remembering what Cathy had said about someone with whom Trowa
had become uncommonly obsessed.
"Faye. Sano." Trowa nodded.
"Saitou's in the worst mood." Faye continued, "But I'm sure he'll relax once
you're around. This place could use more of the responsible sort."
"Right." Trowa tipped his head to one side, smiling easily.
Sano visibly flinched at the ghostly similarity of that happy expression. The
other man watched them closely, making Sano even more uncomfortable. He
fought down his automatic response to make a sharp remark.
"Anyway, Faye. Sano. This is Heero Yuy. He's a long time friend of mine and
. . ."
"Trowa's offered to show me around." Heero interrupted.
Faye laughed, "Hey, don't let us bother you, but trust me, Heero, . . . there are
more ~interesting~ places in the theater Trowa can show you than this hallway."
"Thanks, Faye." Trowa shook his head, with a bemused breath.
Sano found his tongue, "Don't let this uppity girl bother you guys. I'll take her
from here." He locked one hand under her elbow and half lifted, half dragged
Faye around them and out the back door. Trying not to notice the newly
intrigued look that Trowa's friend was giving them.
He closed the door behind them securely and taking Faye's handbag pulled out a
cigarette to thrust toward her. "Smoke. Here." He offered the lighter as she
tipped her head forward, balancing the cigarette in her lips. She pulled in a
breath as he continued to talk. "I need you to be discrete on this, which means
that no one besides Shin gets to know. Alright?"
"Sure." Faye crossed her arms, less annoyed with each crease compounding
upon her brother's expression.
Make it happen, you, it could happen
But don't forget to turn the light off if you're last to leave
If you're last to leave here...
"Trowa."
"Yeah?" The slim actor stopped staring after Sano and Faye to see Heero's
puzzled look.
"That boy." Heero said, glancing at the closed door, "I'm sure he's the person
who called you this morning."
"Sano?" Trowa asked, unworried. "I don't know why he would call, but it must
have been about the show. I'll ask him later."
"Hn." Heero nodded, still curious about the way Sano had reacted to Trowa.
Not in a threatening way, but more as if he was particularly awkward seeing
them. Specifically Trowa. "We bothered him."
"Well, everyone'll just have to get used to us." Trowa reassured, appearing
somewhat surprised at Heero's comments. Heero wasn't certain how to make the
explanation anymore clear, and he couldn't resist the pull that Trowa was putting
on his arm. "There are so many people I want you to meet." Trowa's smile was
enough to melt away his lingering curiosity.
Heero found enduring the lengthy greetings easy enough. Fortunately, many of
the questions overlapped each other so that he didn't have to answer many of
them. For the most part, they accepted him as Trowa's significant other. From
the most interested, he'd recognized Juri Arisugawa immediately, and she stood
nearby through all the introductions almost as a continuing wall of support.
Not that he'd sensed much hostility. Of course, Dorothy and Nichol needed no
introduction.
"Fancy seeing you here," Dorothy smiled in an aloof manner. Trowa had to
begin his scenes and Heero, having little else to do that day, agreed to stay for
the rest of rehearsal. Dorothy had found him in the back row. Somehow
maintaining their fragilely won civility, she added. "Although, I'm not terribly
surprised that you're still taking the opportunity to let Trowa take care of you."
"Dorothy." Heero let a warning slip into his tone, "You might get to play with
him during the day. But I'm the person he comes home to."
"Yes, too bad for me." Dorothy replied, still glib and not responding to Heero's
undertones. "It could have been different, but men are stubborn." She turned
her face from the stage to watch Heero's reaction, "Still, we'll just have to see
what happens."
Heero watched her blankly. He didn't care for her much, except that she was
another one of Trowa's friends. And a friend that bluntly disapproved of
sharing. He appreciated her frankness with him and decided to respond in kind,
"Don't waste your time. I'm not letting him go this time."
"You'd be an idiot if you did." And she was gone.
'Cos you know and I, that all girls are fly
And all men must die, for their cars
And you know and I, that all men are fly
And all girls must die, or something...
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: yap-pa-yap-pa-pa alternate reality shmoshi-shmoshi-shmoshi
crossover ta ta ta Catatonia. And I found my college Latin book. How
inspiring! Salvete.)
Amicitia non semper intellegitur, sed sentitur.
~Friendship is not always understood, but it is felt.
"What do you want?" Juri said tonelessly, not looking up from her script. The
cast was more than a full week into production for the latest show, and Saitou
was at that time working very diligently with his frequently absent narrator,
Trowa Barton, who'd actually managed to come in on time and stay all day. Juri
had been quite relieved to see his sheepish grin that morning since the usually
reliable actor had been rather distracted by the re-ignition of an old flame. A
flame that seemed to have left her friend relatively unburned and without regret;
however, she had as of yet to see any benefit from it.
"Well, he made it today." Dorothy said instead of answering. She had just sat
next to Juri, and was running her fingers through her hair and then resting her
chin against them. Leaning in toward the other woman. "We'll see how long
Heero can let our boy wander about before he reels Trowa back in again." She
added in a low tone.
"I take it you don't approve?" Juri glanced over, curious. Dorothy seldom
seemed to show a genuine fiber. Everything she said or did had multiple layers
of untrustworthiness. As if life were all a game of burying yourself so deeply
that you survive everything else. Survival seldom included the well-being of
others.
"Who would!" Dorothy said with her put-on gaily, "It's so annoying to see how
pathetically delighted he makes Trowa."
"How does he do it . . ." Juri mumbled, tossing out the words without care. She
didn't particularly want to spar words with Dorothy.
"Trowa's weak." Dorothy replied simply. Then paused to let the implications
sink in. "That's why nothing changes."
"Weakness doesn't always mean that one will be unhappy." Juri felt herself
slipping into the conversation anyway. Her eyes weren't focusing on the words
anymore. And the pleasant sound of Shiori's duet was echoing around the
corners of the hall.
"Happy, huh?" Dorothy purred. "I wouldn't find weakness particularly pleasing
. . . now you do disagree with me." She let her voice adopt a challenge.
"Perhaps he's not so weak." Juri felt some satisfaction in entering an argument.
"At least he's following through on his feelings. Unlike those who fear them."
Dorothy's eyes flashed, "I'd say those are forces you understand quite well."
"What?" Juri leaned forward, not going to back down in a conversation with the
flaxen haired actor who fixed her eyes with the power of an experienced vixen.
"We're not so unalike, Dorothy." Juri emphasized each word. "However, I
would never pursue my feelings as if I were playing with a toy."
"But it is a game." Dorothy let a finger slide across her lower lip. "And
everyone else seems to be playing, except you—of course." Dorothy's laughter
covering each thought, almost concealing her words. "I'd worry about learning
the rules, before they're completely reversed." Dorothy gathered the things from
her lap into her pale arms and stretching out her neck, stood. Juri watched the
other woman's back, shifting slightly from one foot to the next as she added,
"When it comes, don't miss your turn."
Was that regret in her voice? Juri immediately looked past Dorothy, to where
Shiori was standing breathless from her nearing flawless performance. Next to
her, Nichol had draped his thick arm around her shoulders even as he leaned
away from the girl to tip her chin with his other hand. Both conversing with
Saitou. Not so unusual, since they did have most of their scenes together. And
most rehearsals. And that song . . . they performed together.
And then everything began to sink.
Small wonder, you've not heard from her
She's gone now, back in England
She got spirit, will go farther
But she can't see the romance in the color of your schemes
"Mr. Sagara?"
"Yeah," Sanosuke said sharply into his telephone. He was going to personally
unpluck feather by feather whoever was calling him. It was before nine in the
morning. "What is it?"
The voice wavered at the unexpected hostility, "Sir, we filled the order as you
had asked. Even taking the arrangement secondly to the office as were your
instructions. However, we were informed, sir, that the young lady no longer has
that apartment."
"What?" Sano said, the grogginess slipping from his throat, leaving it dry and
hoarse.
"The address. Ms. Bloom no longer lives there."
"What?" He repeated dumbly.
"Where would you like us to send everything? Did you have another address?"
"What?" His free hand kneading the skin of his forehead, then moving to the
back of his neck, "Another address? There is no other address." Then he added,
"She has to be there."
"Um, perhaps the office could give you a forwarding address, sir?" The voice
turned kind. "Maybe she's with family?"
"Trowa." Sano said triumphantly, immediately hitting the phone to it's cradle,
then picking it up again. "Trowa, Trowa . . . hmm." Sano held the phone
against his ear with one shoulder, walking over to fumble through the paperwork
on his desk. The dial tone momentarily reminding him that he'd forgotten about
the gift shop's original question. "Here it is. Trowa Barton."
While the phone called out, he felt his palms suddenly turn very damp. His bare
feet, chilled against the thin apartment carpet. What the heck was he going to
say to Cathy's brother? No one knew . . . the phone continued to ring. His
worry gradually distracted by the duration of the unanswered call. He reviewed
the schedule. Trowa didn't have to be at the theater until twelve . . .
"Who is it?" The voice answering the phone was not Cathy's brother.
Sano started, "Uh, Trowa . . .?"
"He's busy. Who are you?" It was not a very friendly voice, and Sano began to
suspect that it was the fellow Trowa was supposedly seeing. Then again, Sano
remembered that he himself hadn't exactly been that happy to wake up when the
phone rang.
"This is . . . " Sano started, then he paused. "Should I call back?" He did not
want to be calling and interrupting and irritating his girlfriend's brother. "I'll call
back." Sano offered, not wanting to think about it too much.
"Good idea. He's in the shower. Wait." The voice still seemed irritated.
Sano waited, hearing a second voice. "Was that the phone? Who was it?"
"Hn," came the voice of the obviously preoccupied stranger, "They'll call back."
The dial tone again. And Sano sighed, increasingly relieved. What the heck did
he think he was going to say or ask?
Then he reflected. He'd somehow lost her. He'd lost Catherine. She wouldn't
answer the door or his calls. And now, she was apparently gone.
Setting the phone down, he slumped into the desk chair. Staring. Tired of
staring he let his eyes close. More than anything, he wanted to hear her voice.
To watch her start a smile, her lips parting with hesitation. Then letting them
free. Because, she could smile in front of him. He wanted to make her smile. If
only she were free of whatever held her back, made her hesitate.
If so little else did, then he would. She only had to let him.
She had to.
She had left. Standing up abruptly, Sano grabbed a shirt and pulled a pair of
jeans from the floor. He would see this for himself. And then . . . if she'd gone.
He'd find her. He would. He would ask whomever exactly whatever needed to
be asked.
One doubt, reluctantly freed, haunted his bravado.
What if this was her final way of saying, "No."?
The color of your schemes, oh...
But you know and I, that all girls are fly
And all men must die, for their cars...
The familiar squeal of a suddenly started engine, and he looked once again at the
front of the Glass House. The sun reflecting from the windows, concealing
everything inside. Trowa breathed in the brisk morning air, cooler for all of the
shadows, and turned to smile softly at Heero.
"I should actually make it back to the Road Rage by noon at this rate," Trowa
said, "And if that truly was our last meeting, I shouldn't miss any more
rehearsals."
"Do you mind?" Heero said, after a little silence. His question reluctant for it's
necessity.
Trowa chuckled, "If it wasn't, would I have come?"
"Hn." Heero sounded thoughtful. "I'm . . . glad."
Trowa's eyebrow lifted as he intentionally began to lean nearer to his friend,
"Me, too." His voice once hushed, regained it's normal volume. "I'm glad
whenever you're with me. I . . . I want you to meet my friends at the Road Rage.
They've made me feel very welcome."
Heero glanced over quickly, then held the steering wheel with a stronger one-
handed grip. "You're not coming back?"
"Back?" Trowa wondered, "Back to the Glass House? Is that what you mean?"
"I'm keeping it," Heero said simply, "I want you there. With me."
"Heero, I . . . I haven't thought that far in advance." Trowa turned to look out
the car window. Brushing his reddish-brown hair from where it blew around his
eyes, and glancing rather sorrowfully at the swiftly passing buildings. "I have
this show to see through. And then . . . I'll still be with you. Regardless."
"I thought you left the Glass House only because of me."
"Well, yes." Trowa admitted, "The split wasn't really why I left. I just didn't
want to be there when you got back. I wasn't sure you'd want to see me. I
wasn't sure I would be able to stay near you any longer." Then he added lightly,
"Not that I'm in doubt now . . ."
"I'd hope not." Heero scowled, but Trowa felt the affection hidden deeply
within the contours of the otherwise familiar frown.
"To be honest," Trowa sighed, knowing he couldn't avoid the questions. "I'm
glad I went to the Road Rage. It's refreshing to work with them . . ."
Heero's head slipped forward, his dark hair falling against his cheeks. Trowa
could sense his sadness and almost took back everything he'd just said when
Heero's lips moved. "Okay."
"Okay?" Trowa repeated, afraid he was misunderstanding.
"Okay." Heero glanced over again, almost bashful. "It's okay. Just, please
remember, I need you too."
"Got it." Trowa said, trying to adopt a light approach even as he felt swallowed
by relief. "You'll never be rid of me."
"Hn. I've known you long enough to realize that." Heero scoffed. Trying to
regain his rough edge.
"Heero?"
"Hn?"
"Will you come in?"
"Hn."
Why blunder? There's no wonder
You've been feeling, six feet under
"Faye!" Sano hissed, trying to get his sister's attention from the stage without
Saitou noticing him. He was only a little late, but wasn't certain if Saitou was
out for his blood yet or if he hadn't realized the younger Sagara was absent.
Sano highly doubted the latter.
She turned slightly, twisting so that her dark hair slid along the line of her cheek
as it was trimmed short. Her eyes widened slightly and she tipped her head
Saitou's direction as a grimace crossed her features. Then he knew for sure
things were not so good. Well, he was almost an hour late, truth told. He
ducked down along the side of the stage and waited for Faye to come to him.
"You rooster head," She scolded, slipping off the stage and crouching next to
him. "Saitou's scalping people today right and left. Why are you late?"
Sano's jaw worked, but no words came out. "Well, it's sort of serious, sis."
"Huh?" Faye half-frowned, then tried smiling. "Are you serious?"
"I just said I was." Sano's voice lowered, his brow furrowed. "Do you think I'd
shrug off rehearsal for any old reason?"
"Well," Faye looked thoughtful.
"Stop it!" Sano growled, "I'm not in high school anymore."
"Not by much," Faye couldn't resist, but tempered her bantering.
"I'm not a kid." Sano said with finality in his tone. "And I'm tired of people
thinking I can't handle grown-up things. I'm going on twenty-two here!"
"That's old?" Faye laughed, "You do alright. But don't expect much." She was
surprised to see him wilt without retort. "Okay, let's slip out back and you can
tell me all about it. I need a smoke anyway. I'm getting nervous, between stage
managing and the fact my baby brother is getting all serious . . ."
Sano followed her and still wasn't certain what he was planning on telling her.
Everything? Should he try the classic 'I have this friend . . .'? She was dense
enough sometimes she might buy into it for about five minutes. He studied the
floor as he continued to follow her.
"Trowa! You made it!" Faye said, a bit startled.
Sano looked up sharply. They'd just turned down the hall toward the back
entrance. Where Trowa was stepping a more acceptable distance from a shorter
dark man. Sano stopped and wondered if that was the person he'd spoken with
earlier. Remembering what Cathy had said about someone with whom Trowa
had become uncommonly obsessed.
"Faye. Sano." Trowa nodded.
"Saitou's in the worst mood." Faye continued, "But I'm sure he'll relax once
you're around. This place could use more of the responsible sort."
"Right." Trowa tipped his head to one side, smiling easily.
Sano visibly flinched at the ghostly similarity of that happy expression. The
other man watched them closely, making Sano even more uncomfortable. He
fought down his automatic response to make a sharp remark.
"Anyway, Faye. Sano. This is Heero Yuy. He's a long time friend of mine and
. . ."
"Trowa's offered to show me around." Heero interrupted.
Faye laughed, "Hey, don't let us bother you, but trust me, Heero, . . . there are
more ~interesting~ places in the theater Trowa can show you than this hallway."
"Thanks, Faye." Trowa shook his head, with a bemused breath.
Sano found his tongue, "Don't let this uppity girl bother you guys. I'll take her
from here." He locked one hand under her elbow and half lifted, half dragged
Faye around them and out the back door. Trying not to notice the newly
intrigued look that Trowa's friend was giving them.
He closed the door behind them securely and taking Faye's handbag pulled out a
cigarette to thrust toward her. "Smoke. Here." He offered the lighter as she
tipped her head forward, balancing the cigarette in her lips. She pulled in a
breath as he continued to talk. "I need you to be discrete on this, which means
that no one besides Shin gets to know. Alright?"
"Sure." Faye crossed her arms, less annoyed with each crease compounding
upon her brother's expression.
Make it happen, you, it could happen
But don't forget to turn the light off if you're last to leave
If you're last to leave here...
"Trowa."
"Yeah?" The slim actor stopped staring after Sano and Faye to see Heero's
puzzled look.
"That boy." Heero said, glancing at the closed door, "I'm sure he's the person
who called you this morning."
"Sano?" Trowa asked, unworried. "I don't know why he would call, but it must
have been about the show. I'll ask him later."
"Hn." Heero nodded, still curious about the way Sano had reacted to Trowa.
Not in a threatening way, but more as if he was particularly awkward seeing
them. Specifically Trowa. "We bothered him."
"Well, everyone'll just have to get used to us." Trowa reassured, appearing
somewhat surprised at Heero's comments. Heero wasn't certain how to make the
explanation anymore clear, and he couldn't resist the pull that Trowa was putting
on his arm. "There are so many people I want you to meet." Trowa's smile was
enough to melt away his lingering curiosity.
Heero found enduring the lengthy greetings easy enough. Fortunately, many of
the questions overlapped each other so that he didn't have to answer many of
them. For the most part, they accepted him as Trowa's significant other. From
the most interested, he'd recognized Juri Arisugawa immediately, and she stood
nearby through all the introductions almost as a continuing wall of support.
Not that he'd sensed much hostility. Of course, Dorothy and Nichol needed no
introduction.
"Fancy seeing you here," Dorothy smiled in an aloof manner. Trowa had to
begin his scenes and Heero, having little else to do that day, agreed to stay for
the rest of rehearsal. Dorothy had found him in the back row. Somehow
maintaining their fragilely won civility, she added. "Although, I'm not terribly
surprised that you're still taking the opportunity to let Trowa take care of you."
"Dorothy." Heero let a warning slip into his tone, "You might get to play with
him during the day. But I'm the person he comes home to."
"Yes, too bad for me." Dorothy replied, still glib and not responding to Heero's
undertones. "It could have been different, but men are stubborn." She turned
her face from the stage to watch Heero's reaction, "Still, we'll just have to see
what happens."
Heero watched her blankly. He didn't care for her much, except that she was
another one of Trowa's friends. And a friend that bluntly disapproved of
sharing. He appreciated her frankness with him and decided to respond in kind,
"Don't waste your time. I'm not letting him go this time."
"You'd be an idiot if you did." And she was gone.
'Cos you know and I, that all girls are fly
And all men must die, for their cars
And you know and I, that all men are fly
And all girls must die, or something...