Point of Balance
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: After reading Alithea's last story, I was inspired by her strange, romantic twist of putting an unwilling and unlikely Nichol with Trowa. I like the animosity between the two of them during the GW series. So, I thought I'd write some serious Nichol/Trowa, and have the Alternate Universe setting pick up on the skirt-tail of my longer series Road Rage. It might help to read Road Rage to follow this since this is one ~potential~ tag along to that story. Otherwise, to catch you up, Road Rage is a theater where both Trowa and Nichol were actors. Nichol disliked Trowa incredibly because everything seemed to come naturally to him--and there was a bit of an conflict because of Nichol's attachment to Lady Une, which was a non-issue because Road Rage Trowa has always been in love with Heero Yuy -- but even that has been a rocky relationship at best. This picks up about 2-3 years after Road Rage ended.)
***
If someone asked him later, Trowa Barton wouldn't have been able to pinpoint exactly what might have persuaded him to stop by the fast food restaurant. He had been thinking about the latest show at the Road Rage, called "Bleed," written by their usual red-headed scribe. Thinking about the play seemed to make everything else in life distant enough to remain bearable. And the rest of his apparent composure, well, that was acting. And then from point A to point B, he found himself hungry.
He pulled his familiar, old truck into the asphalt parking lot. The smell of the burgers already carried to him on the late afternoon breeze. It was a Saturday and he was almost half way on his drive home after visiting his step-sister, Catherine Bloom, who had a catering service down state. Her third anniversary with the business was coming up and, at the time, Catherine had employed three full time staff to assist her. Most of Friday evening had consisted of Trowa giving his sister frustrated stares behind the back of her latest addition to her service. Catherine seemed determined that since her new chef was openly gay that Trowa would automatically be interested.
The truth that Trowa had come to accept was that he had only felt one overwhelmingly emotional connection to one person and when one person left so did his interest in romantic love.
Dorothy had been more than supportive, "Everything of your relationship with Heero, all of your love and affection for him made him strong enough to grow past his insecurities. You did that." Then her tone had turned a bit more agitated, "Too bad he felt that growing further meant leaving you." The 'I told you so' he expected never came.
And, eventually, Trowa's hope that Heero was leaving for only a short while was dissolved.
However, Trowa found that perhaps he had grown to a new place as well. After a year, he found himself comfortable around the other actors at Road Rage again. Directing, Saitou was more than pleased that Trowa's punctuality was no longer dependent on his boyfriend's whims. Trowa slipped into a routine of dependability. Trying the latest imported beers at the International Velvet and singing with Juri now and again at the Karaoke Queen.
He smiled while putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the doorway, he hoped that the glass distorted and the weight it seemed that he had dropped off his already slender figure was an illusion. Catherine fed him well when he visited, but, without the necessity of cooking for two, Trowa had found TV dinners the quickest way to satisfy.
Pulling at the door, Trowa paused, catching a glimpse of a little girl running through the fenced in play area. Her hair was silken black, tied in two high pigtails with pink ribbon as a sharp contrast. She screeched as she ran sock-footed around the corner and raced toward a man who waited for her with open arms. Swallowing her in a bear hug that hid most of his face, but not before Trowa recognized the wiry haired actor. Or ex-actor. After the musical, the summer that everything had started to change and settle in their lives, Nichol had decided to leave the theater. Dorothy periodically would supply answers if anyone asked about him, but Nichol had only been part of the Road Rage cast for a short time. Even though Trowa had known him from years before as well, they hadn't been close. He half- smiled at the understatement of that thought, when he saw that Nichol had noticed him as well.
"Well dam . . ." But with a brief glance at the toddler, the burly man checked his language. Letting the girl cuddle his neck, Nichol certainly didn't look half of the imposing figure that he had maintained during their careers together. "Trowa Barton, fancy seeing you here."
***
A strange sentimentality settled over Trowa as he sat at the outdoor table bench with Nichol. Nadia scampered back to the sea of Fruit Loop colored plastic balls and, when he did speak, Nichol kept his eyes fixed on her.
"Dorothy keeps me apprised of the theater," Nichol commented dryly. Love was never lost on Trowa, Nichol had harbored a consistent irritation for the lanky actor ever since Trowa Barton stole away what he considered his Lady's better sense. The Lady who had been directing the Glass House theater during both of their tenures there. Nevertheless, a strange sense of mutual camaraderie lingered as did the autumn sunset.
Trowa chewed a French fry thoughtfully, "Does she?" Their conversation paused while Nadia brought to Nichol the prettiest plastic ball she had found, before returning to explore. Trowa could see the dark set of her eyes, brows and lashes mirrored in Nichol's expression. The question of who her father was sat beyond doubt. And Trowa was rather certain of her mother as well, although the question begged to be asked.
"No reason to speak with anyone else there," Nichol's tone unchanged, still distant. Although, for Nichol to have a conversation with Trowa Barton was a significant change from two years before, when the sight of the other actor did enough to turn his stomach.
"What are you doing now?" Trowa asked demurely, keeping his voice non- confrontational, even though he was increasingly intrigued by Nichol's change. Become a parent intrigued Trowa even though he had no children of his own. He had watch his sister and good friend Duo Maxwell raise their daughter, Helen, together until their divorce. When Catherine left Helen in her ex-husband's more capable hands. Catherine would be the first to admit she was a horrid mother; although, Trowa continually encouraged her. Regardless of Catherine's on-going quest for personal independence and contentment, Trowa loved being an uncle and couldn't see Helen often enough.
"Writing a column for a political magazine in the city," Nichol admitted, "I wanted to set aside a script and write something for myself. Something not connected to the theater." For the first time, Nichol turned to Trowa and met his eyes, "And you?"
Trowa dropped his gaze to examine the left-over, limp fries for his next potato victim. While he had never cared about Nichol's animosity or his opinion before, Trowa always had a persistent inclination to share the truth and often too much of it in conversation. Picking his words carefully, "I've thought about retiring from the theater also."
"Really?" Nichol's eyebrow pushed up into the dark hair he'd let grow out into somewhat longer coiled ringlets. "Wouldn't have expected that from you, Barton. With all of your fancy schools and training and Saitou backing your career. You were practically handed the moon, Barton."
"I liked the indy scene," Trowa said robotically, finding the answers that he'd reiterated to everyone at the theater just the week before, "But I think I'm needing some sort of epiphany or euphoric moment as an actor. I'm feeling rather dry."
"You do look like shi-," Nichol caught himself again, an almost whimsical look of apology on his square features. He rubbed his forehead and sideburns in order to collect himself, "You look pretty ragged actually. I was going to chalk it up to your traveling, but you have a heavy weight to your expression and I'd swe - say you've dropped weight too. What happened? Did Heero leave you?"
And that was all that had to be said.
***
If someone asked him later, Trowa Barton might have said that he started reading political magazines because he wanted to reconnect with the non- artistic world. As if that could inspire him to return to the shadows and stage lights of performing again.
In part, he was curious at how becoming a parent could change someone. After their initial meeting and watching Nadia play, Trowa had been rather surprised when Nichol had produced a pen and asked for Trowa's phone number.
If he didn't know better, Trowa would have felt as if someone, in this case the improbable Nichol, had been picking him up. However, unlike the handful of available men who might cruise him at The Selfish Gene, Nichol had followed the request with not a handful of Trowa's clothing but rather a handful of Nadia. Balancing her on one side while giving Trowa an incredulous look. "Never liked you that much, Barton," Nichol admitted, rather needlessly, "But I can't say I don't understand what you're feeling. About the theater."
For one thing, becoming a father had not kept Nichol from having strong opinions and putting them rather bluntly. Trowa yawned through some of the conservatism; still nothing could be specifically pointed out as a flaw in Nichol's reasoning. He was as talented at manipulating words to his purposes as he had been people. Trowa still couldn't reconcile everything Nichol had been with the person who had so tenderly kissed his daughter's forehead when he thought Trowa had gone.
The show brought itself to a close, a not-so-surprise gathering followed at The International Velvet to celebrate Trowa's participation with the tight knit group. Julia had even smuggled herself into the festivities for a few moments at the beginning so everyone could see the twins. Herself carrying Anastasia while Spike retired early with his sound asleep son, Gren, cradled in his arms. Something told Trowa that it was good that couple had two children since they were such attentive and almost selfish parents.
After Juri made sure that Trowa danced with her before letting him bow off the floor, Dorothy kept him company. Juri fixing her sights on a young woman with blue hair. As long as he'd known her well, Trowa suspected that Juri had a preference for individuals with no inhibitions about dyeing their hair.
"I can't believe you're leaving me." Dorothy balanced her chin on and leaned against her hands, watching Trowa intently as he tasted the drink someone had insisted he try that night. "What ever am I going to do?"
"You're going to be fine." Trowa nudged her affectionately with his elbow, then decided he liked whatever the drink was and tried it again, "Especially with whats-his-face coming back. With this long distance thing you've started, I'm sure having him back in the theater will cause all sorts of concentration troubles for you."
Dorothy laughed along with him, before becoming somber again, "I didn't think that having Ruka come back meant that you wouldn't be here. It doesn't really change anything. We've been co-conspirators for the past . . . oh it's been too long. Damn you, Trowa Barton." She playfully slapped Trowa's shoulder, jostling his drink a little.
"And here I thought that was supposed to be my line."
Before Trowa could think of a comic retort for Dorothy regarding his spilt drink, he almost spilled it all at the sound of that voice.
"Be civil, Nichol." Dorothy sat straighter, "What are you doing here?"
"I was in the area," Nichol started. Then balancing his hands into his dark leather jacket and standing rather awkwardly, he corrected, "I stopped by to see the show."
"Without telling me?" Dorothy said, half-puzzled and half-delighted. Trowa appreciated the perplexed rush of emotions. Dorothy had to have been Nichol's only friend for years, and even their relationship was distant at best. Trowa felt some urge to stand as well, and leaned back as the other two shared a prolonged embrace. "You got a weekend free from Nadia?"
"Don't say it like I'm pleased she's gone," Nichol's familiar scowl pulled down on his lips, creasing his brow, "She's with her mother this weekend because of the holiday." He glanced between Trowa and Dorothy as if uncertain what to say next. Then a half-crooked grin pulled at his cheek, and for once, an amiable sparkle pierced his dark eyes. "This place brings back the memories. If I remember correctly, this is the song where Yuy used to tangle it up with you on the dance floor, Barton."
Trowa almost appreciated the familiar rivalry, even under the mild sting. Dorothy appropriately gave Nichol a verbal undressing, all the while Nichol keeping the wicked grin and glancing between Dorothy's scolding finger and Trowa's immobile stare.
"Want to dance?" Nichol inquired, holding out his hand irritably ambiguous as his hand hovered in the air between them.
"Sure," Dorothy took it and pulled Nichol away. The music seeming louder since no one was speaking directly to him anymore, so Trowa watched as the other man spun Dorothy around, letting her skirt spin around her pale legs. Dorothy catching Nichol's hand again just as soon he pulled her back close. Tracing his hands down her sides as she laughed in his face, putting her hands on top of his and pulling them back from their teasing exploration.
It took a few tries before the server could get Trowa's answer regarding a new drink.
***
He had paid for caller ID for months before actually getting all of the equipment he needed to use it. If someone asked him why it took so long, the honest answer was that most of the time Trowa was home he had intentionally left the phone off the hook. Heero had never given him his messages anyway, always finding that Heero got distracted before remembering to pass them on. Trowa hadn't had anything to distract him in a long while, so in his free time he screened calls.
"Catherine, unavailable, the bank," Trowa half-winced, checking through the messages from a Saturday afternoon spent running errands. While working at the art museum a few days a week paid for food, other financial concerns and poor management were not long in coming to haunt him. "Unavailable again." Trowa clucked his tongue in amusement, then, "Heero Yuy."
His name was probably the only one that could make the bank seem like a small problem. And Trowa found it easier to sprawl back on the couch for a moment, taking an uncomfortable pillow from the small of his back and holding it against his stomach. Head cradled against one end, both feet and one long arm still touching the thin carpet of his apartment. Closing his eyes, Trowa wondered what might cause Heero to interrupt a peaceful duration of silence.
His first inclination was to call Catherine. The three of them had more or less grown up together. Catherine knew how deeply his affections for Heero had lingered. Years before they developed into something mutual. Then, Heero had left one day. Without warning. Spontaneously. After the first weeks of rather stunned denial, Trowa had come to believe that perhaps there had been something beneficial to Heero's sudden pilgrimage. Their co- dependence was something that Catherine and Juri had always hinted at as a potential problem. But, when Heero left, Trowa had found that he was no different than he had been while he was waiting for Heero the first time. Only each day, he had the shadow of a true memory - waking up with dark blue eyes watching for him. A low rumble of lust to greet him.
If you were to ask him, the only way Trowa could have set that aside would have been if Heero had gone. And he knew he was idiot enough to want Heero back. So when the phone rang again he answered within one ring.
He bent like flexible reed at the middle, reading the caller ID with as much incredibility on his face as in his voice, "Hello?"
"Barton, since I live on the way, I was wondering if you were going to be visiting your sister for Thanksgiving?" After a pause, "I have something you might be interested in."
Half fearing nothing would surprise him after that, Trowa replied much more collectedly than his initial reaction, "Sure, what the hell."
And after he put the phone down, he couldn't have told you why he said yes.
***
"No Nadia?" Trowa glanced around, not really caring how sloppy he looked since he'd driven most of the way in an autumn downpour of rain. Between running from the car to Nichol's house, most of his shoulders had been soaked through. His hair he pulled back from his face. Nichol waited at the doorway with a bemused expression, his features smooth for once not furrowed and angry.
"Holiday again." Nichol closed the door, letting the November weather come through only as sounds of periodic thunder.
"So she's staying with Shiori?" Trowa asked, knowing that it wasn't a harmless question. Not long after Nichol, Shiori had disappeared from the Road Rage. The rumor had always been that she'd gone to the west coast to have her child.
Nichol seemed nonplussed, "Of course, don't tell me you're the last one to have figured that out, Barton." Nichol's house was strangely bright and white, with gold and bronze ornamentation on the lamps and various tables scattered between the furniture. "Shiori still has a bit of a selfish streak in her, but I can't keep the courts from granting her some maternal privileges."
At the mention of selfish natures, Trowa glanced at Nichol wonderingly. The irritable man had done little to demonstrate anything but selfish motivation throughout their work together. Not that Trowa reciprocated any resentment toward Nichol, "I'd imagine you could afford a better lawyer."
"And I'm thankful for that," Nichol said pleasantly enough, but his narrow glance warned that Trowa was entering topics that were not his business. "Otherwise, Shiori would have kept Nadia in that vile, whore-house of failed actresses." The bitter edge wilted with a bit more tempered grace, "Shiori deserved better herself anyway. No place to be raising a kid."
"And I'm surprised you keep this place clean." Trowa continued conversing politely, sitting on the off-white couch and feeling quite like a country fellow in his burgundy and brown colors, flannel and jeans.
"Tidiness is in my nature," Nichol almost shrugged, before adding, "I had Dorothy redecorate for me when I moved to the new house. This is her doing."
Trowa chuckled lightly, "I can see that now. But you wanted me to stop by because . . ."
"Because," Nichol kept no further disclaimer, "If he hasn't told you yet, Heero Yuy should be calling you to tell you that he's getting married."
Trowa blinked a few times, before letting his mouth drop open a fraction. In that exact moment, if you asked him, Trowa would have said nothing ever again would surprise him. Except that one moment later, Trowa found himself pinned back on the couch with Nichol, of all unimagined people, pressing in to take an unexpected kiss.
***
He was torn between being restless or confused. Half wanting to run away from the invasion of the forced exploration, still his jaw responding regardless. Trowa's heart threatening to stop his breath, first by the cruel and forever separation from what he saw as his truest love. And then threatening to stop from the shock of physical sensation and pleasure. Nichol's weight fully pressing Trowa back to recline into the immaculate cushions, his hands however, far from practicing celibacy.
Trowa freed one arm and caught Nichol's with it.
Immediately, Nichol pulled his face back. His eyebrows curiously arched and a look that seemed strangely like inquisitive concern fired in his dark eyes.
"Are you okay?" The texture of the voice questioning him was so foreign, Trowa's heart started again only beating twice as fast.
"Okay?" Trowa gasped, "Okay with . . . okay with what?" Realizing what he was doing, Trowa let go of Nichol's wrist as if he'd awaken with a serpent tangled around him.
Then what could have been technically a look of relief crossed Nichol's features, not that Trowa had ever seen such an expression there before. Startling, the taller man again, Nichol collapsed forward, a silent chuckle rumbling through his chest. Then Nichol's voice, almost unrecognizable again came near his ear, "Remember the petite girl, from Spike and Julia's wedding reception?"
Trowa's memories of Heero spiraled backwards like a rolodex. Each moment with Heero cherished beyond his own life. Things he had wanted to forget, that had forever been imprinted on his personality, his behavior, his desire. "Yes." Trowa closed his eyes, not able to tell the crushing weight of his emotions from the weight holding him captive in reality.
"Apparently, the time away gave Yuy a chance to meet up with her again." Nichol continued to tell the story, holding Trowa in a way that strangely grounded him enough that he could hear what he'd never allowed himself to fear. Knowing that no matter what he had thought, that by no means was his Japanese lover coming back to him. Conveying it into his ear, into his thoughts, the voice was neither indulgent, melodramatic nor comforting. Coming factually and straightforward. Giving each detail to clarify and satisfy Trowa's reflected concerns about Heero's whereabouts and well- being.
"Do you understand?"
For the second time, Trowa responded, "Yes."
Nichol shifted so that his weight wasn't as great, balanced somewhat by his arms, "You aren't going to do anything stupid?"
"No."
"Good." Nichol leaned back, then crossed his arms over Trowa's chest, keeping him pinned even though Trowa hadn't yet had a moment to think about moving. "Heero apparently tried to call you but did reach your sister. She gave him a solid tongue lashing, and after speaking to Dorothy and Juri the girls decided that none of them could tell you. So I got drafted."
Nichol leaned forward to peck at Trowa's lips, a mockery of everything he had done before. But instead of becoming cruel, Nichol slipped. The peculiar concern still drained into his eyes, "I know he meant a lot to you. We all want you to move on, but we understand." Trowa could see an awkwardness filtering through Nichol's voice that had been assured just before. "Your sister is waiting for you to come to her. Can you drive?"
It wasn't until Trowa was in the truck and driving rather determinedly toward Catherine's home, that he realized that if he had heard from anyone else he might not have been so distractedly content.
***
If you had asked him, Trowa would have told you that he was only shining with half his power. The only thing to make his smile stretch farther was pleasing Heero Yuy. Trowa couldn't just wave aside more than a decade of affections devoted to that one man, but his indecision about the future was a bit re-evaluated.
He took a position teaching an acting class at a local university, and, within a year, Trowa was directing student productions. Quietly steering hopeful young actors to explore if not their full dream, at least the artistic spirit of their personality. One of his most promising students, Trowa pointed after graduation toward the Road Rage and suggested a little name-dropping of his professor with the director, Saitou, couldn't hurt.
But some things didn't change, as Trowa steered his same Chevy truck, which had seen many better days, into the apartment parking lot. Regardless, he'd been resolved to weather out any changes and follow a different path for a while. Which, if you had asked him, seemed easy enough while he was given the opportunity.
Trowa opened his apartment door and was greeted by lights illuminating the browns and greens of his furniture. Hesitating, Trowa balanced part way in, still leaning against the doorknob.
"Trowa." The voice was too familiar, still imprinted in his natural responses. An unwanted hope tightening around his chest. Sitting in the middle of the room was the long absent, Heero Yuy.
While the Asian man spoke with a solemn tone, Trowa couldn't help the elation covering his own response, "Heero?" Stepping forward, closing the door. Looking at the door, then back at his former lover. "You're not," Trowa shook his head, pulling strength from the decisions he'd made when he first heard of Heero's engagement, "You're here to . . . why are you here?"
Heero stood and looked torn between familiarity and alienation from his surrounding. The same apartment where he had lived just over a year before. The same indecision that Trowa had wanted to reconcile over and over again. He waited.
"Hilde and I have been talking." Heero started without preamble, "And while . . . she agrees with Catherine, that I haven't been . . . here, I've changed. I still . . ." His brows knit, and Trowa remembered trying forever to comfort that expression. Stopping the entire world to reach for Heero and reassure him.
Trowa gathered something from the floor and put it elsewhere, then in the distraction of movement said, "I've loved you for too long, Heero, to stop now." Heero stood attentively, and Trowa noticed for the first time that the aura of aggression that normally accompanied Heero's silence was gone. "But, I'm ready to say that we've both changed. And for the better. Since you left."
"I had to," Heero said simply, "Since it was too easy for me to simply use you."
Trowa nodded; although, he still couldn't imagine anything he wouldn't have done for Heero willingly. And somewhere he heard a whisper of his stepsister's voice suggesting that was exactly where the problem was rooted. "How's Hilde?" Trowa tried accepting what he already knew.
Trowa couldn't miss the subtle differences of Heero's face, the relaxed shoulders, the fingers uncurling from their defensive, subconscious fists. Her name calmed Heero remarkably, and also unleashed a strangely chatty and more than a little nervous conversation. Trowa listened, not knowing what else he could do.
"And you?" Heero appeared interested, or ready for any answer.
"I haven't." Trowa shrugged, resigned to his bachelor's life. Reflecting, he knew that he hadn't gone so far as to even kiss someone since his reactionary string of promiscuity after Heero first left. Except for Nichol's strange way of breaking the news of Heero's engagement. If he could count that. Trowa felt a delicate embarrassment, wondering what Nichol thought he might have needed then.
And then, a subtle curiosity as to how far Nichol would have let that thought go. Nichol.
***
"I was on my way to Catherine's and thought I'd stop by."
"Without asking?" Nichol stood in the doorway, a bit dressed down and looking as if he'd been well played on. Nadia smiling bashfully from her father's knee. The recognizable snarl half-way slipped into his tone, tempered for his daughter's ears.
Trowa good-naturedly shrugged, "Can I come in?" With only a few non-verbal protests, Nichol did open the door. "You bring out the best in your daddy, Nadia." Trowa smiled at her, as she watched him behind very serious and dark eyelashes and waved hello by swinging her purple skirt with both hands.
"Unlike some people." Nichol said, quietly.
"Mostly me." Trowa nodded, lifting his conversation for Nichol alone, "Why is it I bring out the worst in you?"
"Probably because everyone thinks you're somewhat . . . perfect." Nichol replied, although Trowa hadn't expected anything except an honest answer. "If they saw you now, they'd know how incredibly rude you are for not calling." Trowa was amazed at how politely Nichol could deliver his insults. Nadia had lost interest with the hem of her skirt and had darted off toward the back hallway. Nichol watched her until she was out of sight, then lifted his eyebrows, waiting. Not inviting Trowa in any further.
"I'm not perfect." Trowa filled the pregnant space the best he could. Suddenly a bit uncertain. Knowing that he'd come to see how much Nichol might have changed. Coming because, despite everything he told Catherine and Juri and Dorothy, Trowa wasn't happy by himself. Even though the small daily successes appeared to keep him content.
"It irritates me that you pretend to be." Nichol retorted. Crossing his arms. It was at that moment of unbalance, that Trowa pushed back on Nichol's shoulders. Pressing him against the wall between the thermostat and Nadia's three year old pictures. Nichol's voice was a little shaken, but he spoke before Trowa could do anything further, "I suppose your not going to ask are you?"
"No."
Nichol broke off Trowa's kiss by hitting his own head backwards against the wall, "Yeah, I know why you're here. Good grief, Barton . . . Trowa. It's rather pathetic how obvious you are, you do know."
"Are you going to send me away?" Trowa asked for the first time. Wondering if the indifference he had felt toward Nichol's animosity was going to stay indifference or metamorphosis into something else.
"We'll see."
No sooner had Nichol spoken, than Trowa was standing in the hallway as if nothing had happened between them. "What about Nadia?" Trowa asked, acutely aware he was being watched.
"What about me?" Nadia asked sweetly, peeking her head around the corner. Putting one toe around the corner as well.
"I was wondering where you'd want me to take you for dinner?"
Thinking solemnly for a moment, Nadia's face then lit up with an idea. "McDonalds!"
The end.
(Here's a free invitation to read Road Rage if you haven't. I'm somewhat pleased with threads of that story; although, as it was my first long fic it has a few low points. **chuckle** The Gundam Wing characters show up in chapter 8.)
(Disclaimer: After reading Alithea's last story, I was inspired by her strange, romantic twist of putting an unwilling and unlikely Nichol with Trowa. I like the animosity between the two of them during the GW series. So, I thought I'd write some serious Nichol/Trowa, and have the Alternate Universe setting pick up on the skirt-tail of my longer series Road Rage. It might help to read Road Rage to follow this since this is one ~potential~ tag along to that story. Otherwise, to catch you up, Road Rage is a theater where both Trowa and Nichol were actors. Nichol disliked Trowa incredibly because everything seemed to come naturally to him--and there was a bit of an conflict because of Nichol's attachment to Lady Une, which was a non-issue because Road Rage Trowa has always been in love with Heero Yuy -- but even that has been a rocky relationship at best. This picks up about 2-3 years after Road Rage ended.)
***
If someone asked him later, Trowa Barton wouldn't have been able to pinpoint exactly what might have persuaded him to stop by the fast food restaurant. He had been thinking about the latest show at the Road Rage, called "Bleed," written by their usual red-headed scribe. Thinking about the play seemed to make everything else in life distant enough to remain bearable. And the rest of his apparent composure, well, that was acting. And then from point A to point B, he found himself hungry.
He pulled his familiar, old truck into the asphalt parking lot. The smell of the burgers already carried to him on the late afternoon breeze. It was a Saturday and he was almost half way on his drive home after visiting his step-sister, Catherine Bloom, who had a catering service down state. Her third anniversary with the business was coming up and, at the time, Catherine had employed three full time staff to assist her. Most of Friday evening had consisted of Trowa giving his sister frustrated stares behind the back of her latest addition to her service. Catherine seemed determined that since her new chef was openly gay that Trowa would automatically be interested.
The truth that Trowa had come to accept was that he had only felt one overwhelmingly emotional connection to one person and when one person left so did his interest in romantic love.
Dorothy had been more than supportive, "Everything of your relationship with Heero, all of your love and affection for him made him strong enough to grow past his insecurities. You did that." Then her tone had turned a bit more agitated, "Too bad he felt that growing further meant leaving you." The 'I told you so' he expected never came.
And, eventually, Trowa's hope that Heero was leaving for only a short while was dissolved.
However, Trowa found that perhaps he had grown to a new place as well. After a year, he found himself comfortable around the other actors at Road Rage again. Directing, Saitou was more than pleased that Trowa's punctuality was no longer dependent on his boyfriend's whims. Trowa slipped into a routine of dependability. Trying the latest imported beers at the International Velvet and singing with Juri now and again at the Karaoke Queen.
He smiled while putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the doorway, he hoped that the glass distorted and the weight it seemed that he had dropped off his already slender figure was an illusion. Catherine fed him well when he visited, but, without the necessity of cooking for two, Trowa had found TV dinners the quickest way to satisfy.
Pulling at the door, Trowa paused, catching a glimpse of a little girl running through the fenced in play area. Her hair was silken black, tied in two high pigtails with pink ribbon as a sharp contrast. She screeched as she ran sock-footed around the corner and raced toward a man who waited for her with open arms. Swallowing her in a bear hug that hid most of his face, but not before Trowa recognized the wiry haired actor. Or ex-actor. After the musical, the summer that everything had started to change and settle in their lives, Nichol had decided to leave the theater. Dorothy periodically would supply answers if anyone asked about him, but Nichol had only been part of the Road Rage cast for a short time. Even though Trowa had known him from years before as well, they hadn't been close. He half- smiled at the understatement of that thought, when he saw that Nichol had noticed him as well.
"Well dam . . ." But with a brief glance at the toddler, the burly man checked his language. Letting the girl cuddle his neck, Nichol certainly didn't look half of the imposing figure that he had maintained during their careers together. "Trowa Barton, fancy seeing you here."
***
A strange sentimentality settled over Trowa as he sat at the outdoor table bench with Nichol. Nadia scampered back to the sea of Fruit Loop colored plastic balls and, when he did speak, Nichol kept his eyes fixed on her.
"Dorothy keeps me apprised of the theater," Nichol commented dryly. Love was never lost on Trowa, Nichol had harbored a consistent irritation for the lanky actor ever since Trowa Barton stole away what he considered his Lady's better sense. The Lady who had been directing the Glass House theater during both of their tenures there. Nevertheless, a strange sense of mutual camaraderie lingered as did the autumn sunset.
Trowa chewed a French fry thoughtfully, "Does she?" Their conversation paused while Nadia brought to Nichol the prettiest plastic ball she had found, before returning to explore. Trowa could see the dark set of her eyes, brows and lashes mirrored in Nichol's expression. The question of who her father was sat beyond doubt. And Trowa was rather certain of her mother as well, although the question begged to be asked.
"No reason to speak with anyone else there," Nichol's tone unchanged, still distant. Although, for Nichol to have a conversation with Trowa Barton was a significant change from two years before, when the sight of the other actor did enough to turn his stomach.
"What are you doing now?" Trowa asked demurely, keeping his voice non- confrontational, even though he was increasingly intrigued by Nichol's change. Become a parent intrigued Trowa even though he had no children of his own. He had watch his sister and good friend Duo Maxwell raise their daughter, Helen, together until their divorce. When Catherine left Helen in her ex-husband's more capable hands. Catherine would be the first to admit she was a horrid mother; although, Trowa continually encouraged her. Regardless of Catherine's on-going quest for personal independence and contentment, Trowa loved being an uncle and couldn't see Helen often enough.
"Writing a column for a political magazine in the city," Nichol admitted, "I wanted to set aside a script and write something for myself. Something not connected to the theater." For the first time, Nichol turned to Trowa and met his eyes, "And you?"
Trowa dropped his gaze to examine the left-over, limp fries for his next potato victim. While he had never cared about Nichol's animosity or his opinion before, Trowa always had a persistent inclination to share the truth and often too much of it in conversation. Picking his words carefully, "I've thought about retiring from the theater also."
"Really?" Nichol's eyebrow pushed up into the dark hair he'd let grow out into somewhat longer coiled ringlets. "Wouldn't have expected that from you, Barton. With all of your fancy schools and training and Saitou backing your career. You were practically handed the moon, Barton."
"I liked the indy scene," Trowa said robotically, finding the answers that he'd reiterated to everyone at the theater just the week before, "But I think I'm needing some sort of epiphany or euphoric moment as an actor. I'm feeling rather dry."
"You do look like shi-," Nichol caught himself again, an almost whimsical look of apology on his square features. He rubbed his forehead and sideburns in order to collect himself, "You look pretty ragged actually. I was going to chalk it up to your traveling, but you have a heavy weight to your expression and I'd swe - say you've dropped weight too. What happened? Did Heero leave you?"
And that was all that had to be said.
***
If someone asked him later, Trowa Barton might have said that he started reading political magazines because he wanted to reconnect with the non- artistic world. As if that could inspire him to return to the shadows and stage lights of performing again.
In part, he was curious at how becoming a parent could change someone. After their initial meeting and watching Nadia play, Trowa had been rather surprised when Nichol had produced a pen and asked for Trowa's phone number.
If he didn't know better, Trowa would have felt as if someone, in this case the improbable Nichol, had been picking him up. However, unlike the handful of available men who might cruise him at The Selfish Gene, Nichol had followed the request with not a handful of Trowa's clothing but rather a handful of Nadia. Balancing her on one side while giving Trowa an incredulous look. "Never liked you that much, Barton," Nichol admitted, rather needlessly, "But I can't say I don't understand what you're feeling. About the theater."
For one thing, becoming a father had not kept Nichol from having strong opinions and putting them rather bluntly. Trowa yawned through some of the conservatism; still nothing could be specifically pointed out as a flaw in Nichol's reasoning. He was as talented at manipulating words to his purposes as he had been people. Trowa still couldn't reconcile everything Nichol had been with the person who had so tenderly kissed his daughter's forehead when he thought Trowa had gone.
The show brought itself to a close, a not-so-surprise gathering followed at The International Velvet to celebrate Trowa's participation with the tight knit group. Julia had even smuggled herself into the festivities for a few moments at the beginning so everyone could see the twins. Herself carrying Anastasia while Spike retired early with his sound asleep son, Gren, cradled in his arms. Something told Trowa that it was good that couple had two children since they were such attentive and almost selfish parents.
After Juri made sure that Trowa danced with her before letting him bow off the floor, Dorothy kept him company. Juri fixing her sights on a young woman with blue hair. As long as he'd known her well, Trowa suspected that Juri had a preference for individuals with no inhibitions about dyeing their hair.
"I can't believe you're leaving me." Dorothy balanced her chin on and leaned against her hands, watching Trowa intently as he tasted the drink someone had insisted he try that night. "What ever am I going to do?"
"You're going to be fine." Trowa nudged her affectionately with his elbow, then decided he liked whatever the drink was and tried it again, "Especially with whats-his-face coming back. With this long distance thing you've started, I'm sure having him back in the theater will cause all sorts of concentration troubles for you."
Dorothy laughed along with him, before becoming somber again, "I didn't think that having Ruka come back meant that you wouldn't be here. It doesn't really change anything. We've been co-conspirators for the past . . . oh it's been too long. Damn you, Trowa Barton." She playfully slapped Trowa's shoulder, jostling his drink a little.
"And here I thought that was supposed to be my line."
Before Trowa could think of a comic retort for Dorothy regarding his spilt drink, he almost spilled it all at the sound of that voice.
"Be civil, Nichol." Dorothy sat straighter, "What are you doing here?"
"I was in the area," Nichol started. Then balancing his hands into his dark leather jacket and standing rather awkwardly, he corrected, "I stopped by to see the show."
"Without telling me?" Dorothy said, half-puzzled and half-delighted. Trowa appreciated the perplexed rush of emotions. Dorothy had to have been Nichol's only friend for years, and even their relationship was distant at best. Trowa felt some urge to stand as well, and leaned back as the other two shared a prolonged embrace. "You got a weekend free from Nadia?"
"Don't say it like I'm pleased she's gone," Nichol's familiar scowl pulled down on his lips, creasing his brow, "She's with her mother this weekend because of the holiday." He glanced between Trowa and Dorothy as if uncertain what to say next. Then a half-crooked grin pulled at his cheek, and for once, an amiable sparkle pierced his dark eyes. "This place brings back the memories. If I remember correctly, this is the song where Yuy used to tangle it up with you on the dance floor, Barton."
Trowa almost appreciated the familiar rivalry, even under the mild sting. Dorothy appropriately gave Nichol a verbal undressing, all the while Nichol keeping the wicked grin and glancing between Dorothy's scolding finger and Trowa's immobile stare.
"Want to dance?" Nichol inquired, holding out his hand irritably ambiguous as his hand hovered in the air between them.
"Sure," Dorothy took it and pulled Nichol away. The music seeming louder since no one was speaking directly to him anymore, so Trowa watched as the other man spun Dorothy around, letting her skirt spin around her pale legs. Dorothy catching Nichol's hand again just as soon he pulled her back close. Tracing his hands down her sides as she laughed in his face, putting her hands on top of his and pulling them back from their teasing exploration.
It took a few tries before the server could get Trowa's answer regarding a new drink.
***
He had paid for caller ID for months before actually getting all of the equipment he needed to use it. If someone asked him why it took so long, the honest answer was that most of the time Trowa was home he had intentionally left the phone off the hook. Heero had never given him his messages anyway, always finding that Heero got distracted before remembering to pass them on. Trowa hadn't had anything to distract him in a long while, so in his free time he screened calls.
"Catherine, unavailable, the bank," Trowa half-winced, checking through the messages from a Saturday afternoon spent running errands. While working at the art museum a few days a week paid for food, other financial concerns and poor management were not long in coming to haunt him. "Unavailable again." Trowa clucked his tongue in amusement, then, "Heero Yuy."
His name was probably the only one that could make the bank seem like a small problem. And Trowa found it easier to sprawl back on the couch for a moment, taking an uncomfortable pillow from the small of his back and holding it against his stomach. Head cradled against one end, both feet and one long arm still touching the thin carpet of his apartment. Closing his eyes, Trowa wondered what might cause Heero to interrupt a peaceful duration of silence.
His first inclination was to call Catherine. The three of them had more or less grown up together. Catherine knew how deeply his affections for Heero had lingered. Years before they developed into something mutual. Then, Heero had left one day. Without warning. Spontaneously. After the first weeks of rather stunned denial, Trowa had come to believe that perhaps there had been something beneficial to Heero's sudden pilgrimage. Their co- dependence was something that Catherine and Juri had always hinted at as a potential problem. But, when Heero left, Trowa had found that he was no different than he had been while he was waiting for Heero the first time. Only each day, he had the shadow of a true memory - waking up with dark blue eyes watching for him. A low rumble of lust to greet him.
If you were to ask him, the only way Trowa could have set that aside would have been if Heero had gone. And he knew he was idiot enough to want Heero back. So when the phone rang again he answered within one ring.
He bent like flexible reed at the middle, reading the caller ID with as much incredibility on his face as in his voice, "Hello?"
"Barton, since I live on the way, I was wondering if you were going to be visiting your sister for Thanksgiving?" After a pause, "I have something you might be interested in."
Half fearing nothing would surprise him after that, Trowa replied much more collectedly than his initial reaction, "Sure, what the hell."
And after he put the phone down, he couldn't have told you why he said yes.
***
"No Nadia?" Trowa glanced around, not really caring how sloppy he looked since he'd driven most of the way in an autumn downpour of rain. Between running from the car to Nichol's house, most of his shoulders had been soaked through. His hair he pulled back from his face. Nichol waited at the doorway with a bemused expression, his features smooth for once not furrowed and angry.
"Holiday again." Nichol closed the door, letting the November weather come through only as sounds of periodic thunder.
"So she's staying with Shiori?" Trowa asked, knowing that it wasn't a harmless question. Not long after Nichol, Shiori had disappeared from the Road Rage. The rumor had always been that she'd gone to the west coast to have her child.
Nichol seemed nonplussed, "Of course, don't tell me you're the last one to have figured that out, Barton." Nichol's house was strangely bright and white, with gold and bronze ornamentation on the lamps and various tables scattered between the furniture. "Shiori still has a bit of a selfish streak in her, but I can't keep the courts from granting her some maternal privileges."
At the mention of selfish natures, Trowa glanced at Nichol wonderingly. The irritable man had done little to demonstrate anything but selfish motivation throughout their work together. Not that Trowa reciprocated any resentment toward Nichol, "I'd imagine you could afford a better lawyer."
"And I'm thankful for that," Nichol said pleasantly enough, but his narrow glance warned that Trowa was entering topics that were not his business. "Otherwise, Shiori would have kept Nadia in that vile, whore-house of failed actresses." The bitter edge wilted with a bit more tempered grace, "Shiori deserved better herself anyway. No place to be raising a kid."
"And I'm surprised you keep this place clean." Trowa continued conversing politely, sitting on the off-white couch and feeling quite like a country fellow in his burgundy and brown colors, flannel and jeans.
"Tidiness is in my nature," Nichol almost shrugged, before adding, "I had Dorothy redecorate for me when I moved to the new house. This is her doing."
Trowa chuckled lightly, "I can see that now. But you wanted me to stop by because . . ."
"Because," Nichol kept no further disclaimer, "If he hasn't told you yet, Heero Yuy should be calling you to tell you that he's getting married."
Trowa blinked a few times, before letting his mouth drop open a fraction. In that exact moment, if you asked him, Trowa would have said nothing ever again would surprise him. Except that one moment later, Trowa found himself pinned back on the couch with Nichol, of all unimagined people, pressing in to take an unexpected kiss.
***
He was torn between being restless or confused. Half wanting to run away from the invasion of the forced exploration, still his jaw responding regardless. Trowa's heart threatening to stop his breath, first by the cruel and forever separation from what he saw as his truest love. And then threatening to stop from the shock of physical sensation and pleasure. Nichol's weight fully pressing Trowa back to recline into the immaculate cushions, his hands however, far from practicing celibacy.
Trowa freed one arm and caught Nichol's with it.
Immediately, Nichol pulled his face back. His eyebrows curiously arched and a look that seemed strangely like inquisitive concern fired in his dark eyes.
"Are you okay?" The texture of the voice questioning him was so foreign, Trowa's heart started again only beating twice as fast.
"Okay?" Trowa gasped, "Okay with . . . okay with what?" Realizing what he was doing, Trowa let go of Nichol's wrist as if he'd awaken with a serpent tangled around him.
Then what could have been technically a look of relief crossed Nichol's features, not that Trowa had ever seen such an expression there before. Startling, the taller man again, Nichol collapsed forward, a silent chuckle rumbling through his chest. Then Nichol's voice, almost unrecognizable again came near his ear, "Remember the petite girl, from Spike and Julia's wedding reception?"
Trowa's memories of Heero spiraled backwards like a rolodex. Each moment with Heero cherished beyond his own life. Things he had wanted to forget, that had forever been imprinted on his personality, his behavior, his desire. "Yes." Trowa closed his eyes, not able to tell the crushing weight of his emotions from the weight holding him captive in reality.
"Apparently, the time away gave Yuy a chance to meet up with her again." Nichol continued to tell the story, holding Trowa in a way that strangely grounded him enough that he could hear what he'd never allowed himself to fear. Knowing that no matter what he had thought, that by no means was his Japanese lover coming back to him. Conveying it into his ear, into his thoughts, the voice was neither indulgent, melodramatic nor comforting. Coming factually and straightforward. Giving each detail to clarify and satisfy Trowa's reflected concerns about Heero's whereabouts and well- being.
"Do you understand?"
For the second time, Trowa responded, "Yes."
Nichol shifted so that his weight wasn't as great, balanced somewhat by his arms, "You aren't going to do anything stupid?"
"No."
"Good." Nichol leaned back, then crossed his arms over Trowa's chest, keeping him pinned even though Trowa hadn't yet had a moment to think about moving. "Heero apparently tried to call you but did reach your sister. She gave him a solid tongue lashing, and after speaking to Dorothy and Juri the girls decided that none of them could tell you. So I got drafted."
Nichol leaned forward to peck at Trowa's lips, a mockery of everything he had done before. But instead of becoming cruel, Nichol slipped. The peculiar concern still drained into his eyes, "I know he meant a lot to you. We all want you to move on, but we understand." Trowa could see an awkwardness filtering through Nichol's voice that had been assured just before. "Your sister is waiting for you to come to her. Can you drive?"
It wasn't until Trowa was in the truck and driving rather determinedly toward Catherine's home, that he realized that if he had heard from anyone else he might not have been so distractedly content.
***
If you had asked him, Trowa would have told you that he was only shining with half his power. The only thing to make his smile stretch farther was pleasing Heero Yuy. Trowa couldn't just wave aside more than a decade of affections devoted to that one man, but his indecision about the future was a bit re-evaluated.
He took a position teaching an acting class at a local university, and, within a year, Trowa was directing student productions. Quietly steering hopeful young actors to explore if not their full dream, at least the artistic spirit of their personality. One of his most promising students, Trowa pointed after graduation toward the Road Rage and suggested a little name-dropping of his professor with the director, Saitou, couldn't hurt.
But some things didn't change, as Trowa steered his same Chevy truck, which had seen many better days, into the apartment parking lot. Regardless, he'd been resolved to weather out any changes and follow a different path for a while. Which, if you had asked him, seemed easy enough while he was given the opportunity.
Trowa opened his apartment door and was greeted by lights illuminating the browns and greens of his furniture. Hesitating, Trowa balanced part way in, still leaning against the doorknob.
"Trowa." The voice was too familiar, still imprinted in his natural responses. An unwanted hope tightening around his chest. Sitting in the middle of the room was the long absent, Heero Yuy.
While the Asian man spoke with a solemn tone, Trowa couldn't help the elation covering his own response, "Heero?" Stepping forward, closing the door. Looking at the door, then back at his former lover. "You're not," Trowa shook his head, pulling strength from the decisions he'd made when he first heard of Heero's engagement, "You're here to . . . why are you here?"
Heero stood and looked torn between familiarity and alienation from his surrounding. The same apartment where he had lived just over a year before. The same indecision that Trowa had wanted to reconcile over and over again. He waited.
"Hilde and I have been talking." Heero started without preamble, "And while . . . she agrees with Catherine, that I haven't been . . . here, I've changed. I still . . ." His brows knit, and Trowa remembered trying forever to comfort that expression. Stopping the entire world to reach for Heero and reassure him.
Trowa gathered something from the floor and put it elsewhere, then in the distraction of movement said, "I've loved you for too long, Heero, to stop now." Heero stood attentively, and Trowa noticed for the first time that the aura of aggression that normally accompanied Heero's silence was gone. "But, I'm ready to say that we've both changed. And for the better. Since you left."
"I had to," Heero said simply, "Since it was too easy for me to simply use you."
Trowa nodded; although, he still couldn't imagine anything he wouldn't have done for Heero willingly. And somewhere he heard a whisper of his stepsister's voice suggesting that was exactly where the problem was rooted. "How's Hilde?" Trowa tried accepting what he already knew.
Trowa couldn't miss the subtle differences of Heero's face, the relaxed shoulders, the fingers uncurling from their defensive, subconscious fists. Her name calmed Heero remarkably, and also unleashed a strangely chatty and more than a little nervous conversation. Trowa listened, not knowing what else he could do.
"And you?" Heero appeared interested, or ready for any answer.
"I haven't." Trowa shrugged, resigned to his bachelor's life. Reflecting, he knew that he hadn't gone so far as to even kiss someone since his reactionary string of promiscuity after Heero first left. Except for Nichol's strange way of breaking the news of Heero's engagement. If he could count that. Trowa felt a delicate embarrassment, wondering what Nichol thought he might have needed then.
And then, a subtle curiosity as to how far Nichol would have let that thought go. Nichol.
***
"I was on my way to Catherine's and thought I'd stop by."
"Without asking?" Nichol stood in the doorway, a bit dressed down and looking as if he'd been well played on. Nadia smiling bashfully from her father's knee. The recognizable snarl half-way slipped into his tone, tempered for his daughter's ears.
Trowa good-naturedly shrugged, "Can I come in?" With only a few non-verbal protests, Nichol did open the door. "You bring out the best in your daddy, Nadia." Trowa smiled at her, as she watched him behind very serious and dark eyelashes and waved hello by swinging her purple skirt with both hands.
"Unlike some people." Nichol said, quietly.
"Mostly me." Trowa nodded, lifting his conversation for Nichol alone, "Why is it I bring out the worst in you?"
"Probably because everyone thinks you're somewhat . . . perfect." Nichol replied, although Trowa hadn't expected anything except an honest answer. "If they saw you now, they'd know how incredibly rude you are for not calling." Trowa was amazed at how politely Nichol could deliver his insults. Nadia had lost interest with the hem of her skirt and had darted off toward the back hallway. Nichol watched her until she was out of sight, then lifted his eyebrows, waiting. Not inviting Trowa in any further.
"I'm not perfect." Trowa filled the pregnant space the best he could. Suddenly a bit uncertain. Knowing that he'd come to see how much Nichol might have changed. Coming because, despite everything he told Catherine and Juri and Dorothy, Trowa wasn't happy by himself. Even though the small daily successes appeared to keep him content.
"It irritates me that you pretend to be." Nichol retorted. Crossing his arms. It was at that moment of unbalance, that Trowa pushed back on Nichol's shoulders. Pressing him against the wall between the thermostat and Nadia's three year old pictures. Nichol's voice was a little shaken, but he spoke before Trowa could do anything further, "I suppose your not going to ask are you?"
"No."
Nichol broke off Trowa's kiss by hitting his own head backwards against the wall, "Yeah, I know why you're here. Good grief, Barton . . . Trowa. It's rather pathetic how obvious you are, you do know."
"Are you going to send me away?" Trowa asked for the first time. Wondering if the indifference he had felt toward Nichol's animosity was going to stay indifference or metamorphosis into something else.
"We'll see."
No sooner had Nichol spoken, than Trowa was standing in the hallway as if nothing had happened between them. "What about Nadia?" Trowa asked, acutely aware he was being watched.
"What about me?" Nadia asked sweetly, peeking her head around the corner. Putting one toe around the corner as well.
"I was wondering where you'd want me to take you for dinner?"
Thinking solemnly for a moment, Nadia's face then lit up with an idea. "McDonalds!"
The end.
(Here's a free invitation to read Road Rage if you haven't. I'm somewhat pleased with threads of that story; although, as it was my first long fic it has a few low points. **chuckle** The Gundam Wing characters show up in chapter 8.)
