Balancing Point By Jillian Storm

(Disclaimer: I seldom write a fic for pure personal indulgence. Thank you for letting me treat myself with a rare "successful" romance. Trowa and Nichol do not belong to me. This is a random spin off from my longer fic Road Rage, in which the two gentlemen in question were co-actors but far from being friends. Life led them to an interesting point of connection, bringing about a relationship of sex. The idea came to me after Alithea wrote a fanfic proposing the pair, and I couldn't let it sit untried. This is Nichol's perspective of the whole affair, while the former chapter is more from Trowa's. If you write a Nichol/Trowa fic let me know. I'm so intrigued by other perspectives of their chemistry now . . .)

***

Two weeks vacation. Two weeks to stay home with Nadia. Make her breakfast, teach her to tie her shoes, put up with her idea of music pounded away on the piano, and anything else that amused the four year old. Two weeks to celebrate her birthday and the coming first year of school. Nichol was multitasking his day away even before he had opened his eyes. Then there was the minor distraction of teeth scraping, pulling down along his earlobe. Two weeks of uninterrupted interaction with Trowa Barton, also on vacation. Now that, he thought, might be a challenge.

"I know you're awake."

Nichol didn't react. Trowa was a decent lay, and he was exceptionally good with Nadia. Still, Nichol couldn't help remembering the years of wanting to screw Trowa Barton figuratively and then through a series of strange events, he was actually doing just that -- on a regular basis. He furrowed his brow, and knew that anyone watching could see the range of emotions following each of his morning thoughts. Barton supplied several needs in Nichol's life quite adequately, but it did leave a great many subjects not talked about.

Like the affectionate expression in the green eyes that fixed on his as soon as Nichol opened them. Trowa reaching around to tangle the fingers of his right hand into Nichol's over-grown dark curls while kissing along Nichol's jaw.

The affection Trowa had for him was rather hard to explain. Nichol had spent most of his energy hating the slender actor. Hating him for his country boy success story in the business, hating Barton for charming everyone with his seamless good nature including the woman Nichol loved, hating Barton for appearing so goddamn perfect. Which in many ways he was. Close to perfect.

Nichol hissed, to that point immobile during Trowa's physical demonstration of saying 'good morning.'

Always perfect down to his submissive role in a sexual relationship. Always trying to please the other person.

"Trowa." Nichol grumbled, rolling over to shove off Trowa who was only leaning part way over his chest. Only succeeding in pulling Trowa closer to his back, while the taller man let his right arm wrap around more securely into place. After relenting for a few last sleeping moments, allowing Trowa to finger his wiry chest hair while pressing his own smooth skin full against Nichol's back. Feeling Trowa's deep breaths where the other man's head nuzzled his neck. "Alright, if you're so awake." Nichol murmured, "You go make Nadia breakfast."

"Good idea." And then, the comfortable extra warmth of Trowa's body heat was gone. Nichol heard a brief rustling of clothes and the soft closing of the bedroom door. A childish squeal came not long after as Nichol could imagine Nadia scampering from her own room to the kitchen. Nadia loved Trowa.

Love. Now that was another of the untouched subjects.

If you asked him, Nichol would say that keeping Trowa Barton around simply made life easier.

***

Nichol would say that Nadia, in a large part, redirected his entire life. Somehow, the little peach at the theater had let her self get pregnant, and, when the child was born, Nichol suddenly found himself revisiting emotions he had thought lost to him. He cared for Nadia's well being more than his own interests. A strangely satisfying opportunity to sacrifice everything he had to offer to one individual who depended on him. Nadia loved her father, and Nichol had never realized that someone could return such depth of trust to someone that scolded her, smothered her, and adored her.

A trust that he was just learning to validate through his own behavior. Which was why when gangly actor Trowa Barton just happened to stop at the fast food restaurant where Nadia and he had been, Nichol had long since tempered his immediate gut reactions. At least from verbal expulsion. He couldn't resist the reflexive churn of his stomach.

Even through the bars of the playground, Nichol had recognized the jean clad toothpick legs and green windbreaker. A peculiar smile on Barton's dainty lips. Nichol held Nadia in his arms at that moment, catching himself from cursing directly into her little ears. Then collected the comment into a more tactful, "Trowa Barton, fancy seeing you here."

Of course, Trowa had joined them -- making about two sentences of obligated chitchat, and chewing every bite of his food thoughtfully. Nichol kept an anxious eye on Nadia, knowing that Barton was only succeeding in unsettling his enjoyable evening with silent observations. Neither of them were high conversationalists, least of all in each other's company. The only connection they had after Nichol left the Road Rage theater was a mutual friend, Dorothy Catalonia.

Dorothy kept him apprised of her business at the theater and any juicy tidbits of scandals too good not to pass on. She wisely skipped over any conversation about Trowa Barton, since she (unlike Nichol) was inexplicably fond of the pathetically acquiescent actor. Within those few minutes, Nichol did notice that Trowa was distantly checking his comments. Replies to the stereotypical 'and how is work' questions were premeditated. His girly soft green eyes wore weariness and the casual clothing seemed as if they were still draped from their hangers.

It wasn't a surprise when Trowa said he actually was going to leave the theater. That he was looking for some 'epiphany or euphoric moment' - which amused Nichol. Coupled with the ragged appearance, he found it relatively easy to identify the problem. The only thing, the only person rather who ever got cozy with the stalwart Mr. Barton was his homosexual fascination and childhood infatuation. And for Trowa to be unsettled and unsightly meant one obvious thing.

Never one to spare Trowa, Nichol nailed his suspicions home. Asking quite casually, as if asking for the time, "Did Heero leave you?"

The involuntary wince, the painful, brief squint of those green eyes, as if against the sun that was long below the treetops, was enough of an answer. And to see Trowa Barton uncomfortable fulfilled years of trying to bring about that exact response in any area. Except it seemed unsatisfactory as well.

After collecting Nadia and encouraging her to put her assortment of plastic balls behind, Nichol realized Trowa stayed only a few feet away, hovering as if unwilling to leave. "Hey, Barton. What's your number, in case you're going to be in the area again?"

Trowa seemed surprised, but complied. Nichol didn't blame him. He wasn't quite sure why he asked even as he watched Trowa's narrow fingers scribble down the information. Fumbling to justify himself, Nichol supplied, "I can't say I don't understand what you're feeling. About the theater. It's different on the outside." With that, they parted ways.

After obsessively plotting Trowa Barton's downfall, the anticlimax was having someone completely other than Nichol bring it about. Simultaneously, as he encouraged Nadia to accept the restraints of her car seat, Nichol felt a perverse curiosity at how deep Barton's wound cut. Nadia settled back into the seat, cooperating only after her father agreed to give her a kiss.

"You're making your old man soft," Nichol felt his resurfacing tenacity dissolve as she watched him with dark violet eyes, framed by solemn dark lashes. The whole while her girlish voice continuing to chatter about whatever was fascinating her just then.

As he pulled away and closed the back car door, Nichol watched as Trowa drove the same dusty, blue-grey Chevy out of the lot and down the main stretch of the highway. Shaking his head, Nichol found most of his thoughts that evening returning to the time he spent in the theater. Drawn back to those memories repeatedly.

***

Those same memories called him back to the city, and, as he walked the final blocks from the parking garage and toward the corner theater called the Road Rage, Nichol felt the rush of those same moments of the past juxtaposing on the same brick walls and front glass full of posters advertising their latest show 'Bleed. The first difference was purchasing a ticket. He started at it as if never having seen one before. He certainly had never needed to pay to go inside the building before.

The front room had several new chairs in it where some of the evening's audience was reclining, waiting for admission to the auditorium and the stage. Nichol took a toothpick from the box balancing on the front desk and chewed it thoughtfully. Leaning against one wall and staying in the shadows. While he knew the cast was busy scurrying around backstage, he still didn't want to be seen prematurely. Because of the holiday, Nadia was staying with her mother, and Nichol hadn't felt like warning anyone he was coming. Not even Dorothy.

For a closing night, the audience was rather small. No more than fifty people in a theater that easily seated four times that many. And from what he had heard of their conversation, this was a multiple viewing for many of that fifty. Road Rage had the knack for growing loyal disciples in the audience. Nichol sat along the outside edge, knowing that would be the best place to remain unobvious. Slouching into the well worn, comfortable seat, he tucked his chin into the full grey cloth of his turtleneck and crossed his arms, still wearing his leather jacket. One thing hadn't changed, the theater was still unbearable chilly to him.

He hadn't bothered with a playbill, since the cast he was already intimately familiar with. Dorothy, in his opinion, succeeded in charming the audience most; although, hers was a complicated and dubious character. Quite fitting, which Nichol credited to Saitou's casting methods. Smirking bitterly at how during his tenure, Nichol tended to play the crafty or underhanded characters. Just because he had a little habit of watching out only for himself.

That evening, he also observed that Saitou had cast Barton as the dependable 'best friend.' Another typecasting, this one annoyed him. Everyone had overlooked Trowa's tactlessness when Heero Yuy had begun to shag Barton consistently. Even when playing a pivotal role and continually missing rehearsals, Trowa stayed in rigid Saitou's good graces. While the old anger danced on the edges of his thoughts, Nichol snorted with humor. When they had crossed paths, Trowa had said he was leaving to find 'euphoria' again. Sounded to Nichol like Trowa hadn't been getting good sex - if any.

Tracking the lean actor as he crossed the stage, Nichol wondered if the friendly Road Rage crew was going to send their reliable actor out in good style. So he followed them, as after shutting down the show, they quite predictably crossed over to the International Velvet.

***

Even in the shadows and after being absent for so long, Nichol still drew people to him while he lounged at the bar. Watching from one far corner as the regular Road Rage cast paraded Barton with affection. Back when he was one of them . . . but he knew that wasn't quite right. He never had been one of them. Nor had he wished to be. That Nichol had no interest in participating in community, he took each day like a game and left it with no attachments. The dozen women who had passed by him with lingering gazes at one point might have interested him. As a plaything.

But remembering how Nadia liked to chastise him for not properly reading the voice of the Big Bad Wolf, Nichol more often found himself wondering how he could protect her from a world full of bastards. Fooling around hardly interested him anymore, let alone existed as his favorite pass time.

It certainly didn't amuse him as much as watching Barton make a fool of himself.

Juri Arisugawa had made Trowa dance with her several times. But with any woman except his sister, Barton lost all ability to dance. Spending most of his time smiling sheepishly, Trowa only used his hands to pull back his reddish-brown hair (which still hung boyishly long) and making appearances to offer an excuse or a look of outright apology. Obviously only occupied with boys, Barton didn't know how to entertain a lady. Nichol almost snorted his drink when Trowa finally got Juri to let him sit down. And he sat down with Dorothy.

Seeing his opportunity to stir trouble, Nichol crossed over to where they sat. Trowa apparently stating to relax after his unsuccessful turns around the dance floor.

"Damn you, Trowa Barton," Dorothy's tone held the earnest affection reserved only for the lanky actor next to her.

"And here I thought that was supposed to be my line?" Nichol smirked as Trowa sloshed a good deal of his drink across the tabletop.

"Be civil, Nichol. What are you doing here?" Dorothy's gaze pierced Nichol clean through, her initial reaction of distrust.

"I was in the area," Perturbed, Nichol shifted his weight, but maintained his lofty tone. The last thing he wanted to do was demonstrate a loss of face, even though he had changed from the man who normally lurked around the edges of the International Velvet and other more disreputable establishments. "I stopped by to see the show."

Then he found himself pinned between Dorothy's arms. Her embrace first seen as an invasion, then welcome as Nichol relaxed. Even though they had kept in touch, Nichol hadn't seen her in months. Arguably, Dorothy was the one person Nichol regarded as a friend, and a friend whose good opinion was sought-after. After idle, polite conversation, Nichol had to smirk at Trowa's expression. One that seemed almost dazzled, or it could have been the new strobe light the Velvet used after eleven.

Remembering the awkwardness on the dance floor, Nichol recollected the self- assurance that Trowa had when he had his boyfriend near, "If I remember correctly," Nichol cocked his head and made sure to pin down Trowa's reaction, "This is the song where Yuy used to tangle it up with you on the dance floor, Barton."

He hardly heard Dorothy's snide defense when Trowa didn't respond. Nichol was remembering how it had been Yuy alone that brought out Trowa Barton's more basic emotions. The ones that made him less that perfect, and perfectly human. The vulnerable responses that piqued Nichol's interest in the person everyone else idolized. Even Heero Yuy had idolized the slim idiot since Yuy didn't think much past his limited desires to see Trowa's dependence on his lover. Nichol wondered if he could pull that vulnerable side out of Trowa again.

"Want to dance?" Nichol left his request to hover in irritating ambiguity. Dorothy accepting before she noticed Nichol's teasing twist in his lips. Knowing that Trowa was watching, Nichol decided to show him how a man danced with a woman. It took Dorothy only two minutes to put Nichol back in his place.

They shared a laugh. But Nichol knew he hadn't let Dorothy in on what he found most amusing. The lingering thought that he wouldn't have minded putting his hands on Trowa Barton. To experience Barton in his personal playground of pleasure. To partially reconstruct the competition Nichol felt.

And partly to see if he could find what it was in Trowa Barton that made him so intrigued and so goddamn horny.

***

Dorothy called him the next day, "Nichol, you . . . why did you come back to the theater?"

Cradling the portable phone between his shoulder and right ear, Nichol followed his returned daughter around the kitchen. Systematically using whatever means necessary to restore his immaculate kitchen to it's pristine condition after the morning 'toddler invasion' known to Nadia and most other people as breakfast. Nichol stood, watching Nadia wander off to the living room with a package of special markers that only left color on special paper.

"To see the show."

"Uh huh," Dorothy's laugh which followed played almost every note on a musical scale, "I think you came back to crash Trowa's bon voyage party."

"Maybe I did."

"Trowa mentioned that he saw you and Nadia not too long ago." Dorothy continued to pry, and Nichol debated spinning her some yarn about doing research for his next editorial entitled, 'Watered Down Booze and Other Signs of Social Decay.'

"We happened to be at the same greasy feast restaurant that Nadia loves," Nichol said simply, "Could have happened to anyone."

"I don't know," He could imagine Dorothy curled to one end of her white couch that matched the one she'd picked for Nichol's new living room decoration. One spared from Nadia's impromptu coloring by the Crayola's miraculous inventions of childproof markers. "I'd say you were asking Trowa to dance. You aren't trying to amuse yourself with that old rivalry again. I thought Nadia had finally given you a chance to devote your affections on someone who's last name does not start with an 'U'?"

Nichol sighed, "You know I've given up on the Lady."

"Funny you should put it that way," Dorothy would have been twirling the antique phone's cord around her finger, he could hear the level of plotting increase in her tone, "Trowa's finally giving up on his Heero . . . except . . ."

Nichol fought down his reflexive curiosity, trying to keep it out of his tone, even as he wondered what the latest news was regarding Barton's sporadic lover, "Except?"

"Well, it seems that Heero's getting married and has it in his head that Trowa would like being invited." Dorothy spoke more quickly, causing the pause afterwards to sit longer than Nichol would have liked while he prepared a response.

"I'm sure that'll go over quite lovely, why are you telling me?"

"Trowa doesn't know yet." Dorothy admitted, "And after talking with Catherine and Juri, we've suddenly hit upon the thought that if Trowa heard it from you . . . he might not take it as seriously."

"As seriously?" Nichol guffawed, trying to imagine explaining anything like that to Barton. Picturing Trowa's lips in a girlish tremble and a ridiculous cascade of tears and punching fists. Shaking the ridiculous image from his forethoughts, Nichol hit upon what might be truth, "You're giving me a chance to shatter Barton's heart for good, but . . ."

"Do you think Catherine Bloom would go along with that?" Dorothy clucked her tongue, which resounded through the telephone line.

"You want me to be the punching bag?"

"No," Dorothy replied simply, "We just can't bring ourselves . . . he's driving through there to see Catherine for Thanksgiving. I have his number, just tell him to stop by and . . ."

"I have his number." Nichol snarled, then realized the mistake of his spitfire agreement. If she found it peculiar, Dorothy didn't comment. Once filling in on the particulars, Nichol ended the conversation without so much as a good-bye and immediately dialed Trowa Barton's number before he could second-guess his actions.

It wasn't until Barton had hung up his end that Nichol realized that Trowa had agreed.

***

Of course, with the holiday, Nichol didn't have his daughter to hide behind. Nadia was his constant delight; likewise, she was a splendid distraction whenever someone uninteresting tried to engage him in conversation. A million trips to the grocery store, bank or fast food restaurant ended up with Nadia charming every fellow customer or employee in the establishment.

Of course the first thing Trowa said as he rushed in from the autumn rain was, "No Nadia?"

"Holiday again." Nichol disliked repeating himself, but the irritation was lost after Nichol took Trowa's full form in at a glance. His auburn hair was kinking into waves around his face and separating into individual, thin strands where the rain had touched it. Trowa rubbed at a few drops that lingered on his boyishly soft cheeks. For being as tall as he was, Trowa seemed eternally young in those conditions.

But that didn't keep Nichol's guest from irritating his host, "So she's staying with Shiori?"

"Don't tell me you're the last one to have figured that out?" Nichol was on civil terms with the girl, but he hated sharing Nadia with her. He blamed all of Nadia's childish vices on her mother's disposition.

Not that Nichol would claim to be perfect.

Not like Trowa Barton, who was glancing around the home with interest. Leaning around the doorway into the living room, then standing straighter glancing back at Nichol with an amused light in his eyes, "I'm surprised you keep this place clean?"

Nichol tried to imagine what Trowa's home must look like. Since at that moment, Barton looked surprisingly comfortable. At ease in his flannel and jeans, fitted over his lithe figure. Almost playfully, Trowa plopped, half sprawled, onto the full couch. Visiting Nichol's home such an unlikely occurrence that a pleased smile crossed his features. A light chuckle coming from Trowa as he inquired about Nichol's business with him, "You wanted me to stop by because . . . "

The amiable glow in Trowa's green eyes when directed at Nichol for the first time almost made him reconsider the duty Dorothy had given him. His obligation started to irritate him like the dull ache of letting Nadia from his arms when Shiori took their daughter for the holidays. Trying to dissuade Nadia's hurt by kissing it away. Which was the first time he ever associate himself to the idea of kissing the man in front of him.

So as he heard himself telling Trowa about Heero's coming marriage, Nichol faced Trowa Barton's despair seconds before the truth stuck home. Feeling and identifying with the simple human pain behind losing a loved one - for a short time, or forever. Before Trowa could form words on his opening lips, Nichol reacted to the lust he felt at Trowa's bewilderment.

Then everything moved quicker than his thoughts. Shoving Trowa back onto the couch, Nichol crushed his lips over Trowa's half-open mouth -- some coherent corner of his mind briefly wondering if he cruelly and always had been waiting for the moment of his rival's undoing to accomplish just this. Enjoying the groan that escaped from the other man's throat. He pressed more firmly against the wet fabric over Trowa's shoulders, sliding his hands downward.

Briefly, as he felt Trowa's body respond under him, Nichol wondered how far he could take Trowa's pent up emotions. Testing with his weight to rub their bodies together. With his eyes closed, Nichol still fully felt the appreciable and singular impression of the masculine body beneath him. Roaming to exploring every difference.

Then determined fingers caught his wrist and Nichol immediately pulled back. His eyes refocusing as he struggled for a coherent thought, "Are you okay?"

"Okay?" Trowa gasped, his hair amusingly tousled, "Okay with . . . okay with what?"

Nichol relaxed, immediately relieved by basking in Trowa's nonplussed reactions. A strange click of Trowa's jaw, the way his eyes fell demurely to the side. Nothing was said about Nichol's unexpected distraction, and he collapsed forward. The fraction of terror that remained of his own actions dissolving as he finished his task. Providing in a straightforward manner detail after detail of Heero Yuy's adventures into straight life. All the while pinning Trowa back so that all he could do to react was absorb.

"Do you understand?" Nichol took the tone he used with Nadia after explaining something new to her, like why it was important to learn to read musical notations or how one must always hold her father's hand while crossing the street.

"Yes."

"You aren't going to do anything stupid?" Nichol pushed, knowing that a suicidal Barton would certainly put himself in at least the bad graces of three powerful women.

"No."

"Good." Nichol leaned back, crossing his arms over Trowa's chest, since he suddenly wasn't willing to let him go. Wondering if Trowa Barton would be into anything stupid like letting Nichol have sex with him. Trying to hide those thoughts with specific excuses that sounded strange in his own ears.

"So I got drafted." Nichol finished explaining, and being terribly amused by Barton's incredulous expression, he finished his verbalized rational with a brief, noisy kiss. It disappointed Nichol a little that one action turned Trowa's malleable confusion into one frozen look of displeasure at being teased.

"I know he meant a lot to you." Nichol wondered why he was offering Barton any compassion, "We all want you to move on." He switched pronouns, hiding his uncertainty behind Barton's girl friends, "But we all understand."

The movement away from Trowa was so decisive, that Nichol used the momentum to guide him to the front door. It was still raining. He held the door open as Trowa ran his fingers through his drying hair. A defensive movement and Nichol caught himself starting to mirror it. His own hand wanting to hide, woven into his own dark curls.

"Can you drive?" Nichol asked wonderingly, as all of Trowa's responses were delayed. As if the taller, more delicately featured man were still sorting through the flood of reactions available to him and not finding anything appropriate. Nichol didn't know if telling Barton about that Heero Yuy wasn't coming back to his former lover made any difference to his own aggressiveness, but he couldn't wait to close the door behind him for his own relief.

"What were you thinking?" Nichol shook his head, trying to find an excuse for his amorous behavior. Wondering when the attraction to Trowa Barton had surfaced and how to put it back. "I've been celibate too long." He leaned against the door for a long time before he felt comfortable enough to walk again. And he didn't sit on the couch afterwards, choosing other chairs instead.

***

Using time to reconstruct his memories of that evening and distracting himself with overseeing piano lessons for Nadia, Nichol decided he must have been pretty hard up for some action in order to press Barton like that. Then it became a grand way to surprise Trowa past his distress over losing Heero. Everything that he'd heard from Dorothy and seen himself around the theater had indicated that Trowa Barton let himself become too emotionally attached to a childhood obsession. So in the end, Nichol prided himself on being clever.

That didn't exactly explain the fantasies that involved sliding his palms across a smoothed chest, popping buttons on a burgundy flannel shirt and kissing someone who smelled like rainwater. Afterwards, it left him quite unsettled in the morning.

Nevertheless, his irritation waned and from time to time, he wondered what happened to Trowa next. Whenever Dorothy called, he felt that was a subject better left unexplored, even though he listened closely for anything she might have said. Without Heero, Trowa could have found another lover, jumped off a bridge or even turned straight for that matter. Although, Nichol somewhat doubted them all.

Of course, he'd forgotten the mystery after months of negotiating privileges to have Nadia stay with him during the school year and summers both. Shiori finding better lawyers, and Nichol enduring extended delays.

The judge finally heard Nichol's request and agreed to it. That afternoon, he and Nadia read together. Nadia on her feet, leaning across his back while he sat on the floor holding the book itself so she could still see it. She wrapped one arm around his neck and absently pulled at her father's hair with the other, studying the words more closely as she peered over Nichol's shoulder. "I'm not sure." She admitted at last, whispering in his ear.

"What's the first letter?" Nichol prompted patiently, but was interrupted by an unexpected knock.

And an unexpected visitor, "I was on my way to Catherine's and thought I'd stop by."

"Without asking?" Nichol asked, perplexed. Feeling Nadia lean against his leg, and biting back a few choice insults he usually greeted with. But that wasn't exactly right. It had been years since he'd truly held any ill will toward the younger man.

"Can I come in?" Trowa's brashness overlooked every obvious indication that he wasn't welcome. Bending his head forward, Trowa addressed Nadia next, "You bring out the best in your daddy, Nadia."

Not knowing what Barton meant, Nichol responded automatically, "Unlike some people."

"Mostly me." Trowa lifted his eyes and fixed an amused expression there as his lips curled around his elusive smile, "Why is it I bring out the worst in you?"

Nichol found himself entertaining the old grievance about Trowa's intrinsic model of perfection over which everyone else had fawned themselves. Not quite certain with his unpracticed answer. Not quite certain what Trowa had in mind and wondering where time had changed the actor. Feeling vulnerable to everything and blaming it on the fact Nichol was wearing only socks.

"I'm not perfect." Trowa shook his head docilely.

Unimpressed, Nichol crossed his arms, "It irritates me that you pretend to be." He want to see a chink in Trowa's self-appointed armor, to make Trowa react, and experienced a rush of smugness Trowa shoved him. Held him against the wall. The delight laced with strange expectation, knowing from the heat between them what to anticipate, "I suppose you're not going to ask are you?" This Barton interested him.

"No."

As Trowa reached in to reciprocate the forcefulness of their first kiss, Nichol wondered if Barton had come for his euphoric moment. Wondered if Trowa thought screwing his antagonist might bring some needed epiphany. Unless Trowa had found that already and it had brought him back.

With nowhere to move to and little opportunity to make any coherent noises, Nichol hit his head against the wall. The sound distracting Trowa, having him pull away briefly. "Yeah," Nichol smirked, glancing down. "I know why you're here."

If Trowa was half as good as Nichol's dreams, it might be worth his while.

"Are you going to send me away?" Trowa's yielding tone struck a strange emotion in Nichol. Almost as much incredibility as if Nadia had asked the same.

"We'll see." Nichol responded, vaguely. Afraid of thinking about must of anything. Trying to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head and not reacting.any more strongly to the impression of Trowa's body.

Then all contact was gone.

Nadia skipping down the hall pleased that the visitor was going to take her out for dinner.

***

"Daddy!"

Nichol opened his eyes a second time to see Nadia's inches away, sparkling mischievously. "What is it, sweetheart?" Nichol glanced at his watch, the only thing he was wearing besides the bed sheets.

"Trowa made snowman pancakes." She said solemnly, having recently learned to disguise some of her enthusiasm to capture a grown-up's attention sooner. It bothered him a little that she was noticing and adopting his repressive nature.

"Snowmen, huh?" Nichol balanced on his elbow then closed the inches to kiss her forehead, "That's nice."

"Yes, it is." Nadia crossed her arms, another terrible trait from her father, then she adopted her serious voice again, "Does Trowa get to stay longer this time?"

The affair had been spontaneous at first, with Trowa stopping by unannounced whenever he was visiting his stepsister. Save for his increasing desire to screw Trowa Barton had surfaced from somewhere and following through had become one of his favorite pass times. Therefore, Nichol had started inviting Trowa over for weekends, allowing for hours of not-sex, which involved some reluctant attachment to simply talking with Trowa. Regardless of timing, Nadia had taken to Trowa immediately. For her birthday party, Nichol told her she could have anything she wanted, and Nadia listed quite assuredly three things: peppermint cake, peppermint ice cream, and Trowa.

Nadia scampered off after Nichol reassured her that Trowa would be there 'for a while.'

Although, Nichol sometimes wondered how long that could last.

Trowa came back into their lives after he claimed to have made his peace with his past. Nichol accused him of jumping from one obsession to another. To which Trowa had argued if that was such a bad thing. Trowa never claimed anything from Nichol other than a good romp in bed, a clever discussion over dinner, or use of his kitchen. All of which Nichol found agreeable.

Wearing only a pair of the pajama bottoms Nichol normally kept around for Trowa, he paused to stare wonderingly at the back of his . . . lover. The word came to mind and fit better than something distant like partner. But even when intimate, Nichol hesitated to call it love. Hesitated, while he watched Trowa work with a sufficiently large bowl of pancake batter tucked in one arm, the other spinning a plastic spoon into it and then bringing it to the warmed pan to sizzle and cook. Nadia was at the table, chewing part of her snowman that had been already divided into bite size pieces.

He refrained from the comment that came to mind. Then marveled that he was refraining to keep from potentially insulting Trowa. He breathed a laugh.

"What's this?" Trowa turned part way, using his dexterous lips to first blow his hair back from his face and next take a sudden kiss from Nichol.

"You're so domestic." Nichol said, trying to find a way to not sound condescending, letting one hand sit against Trowa's back while inspecting the damage to his typically spotless kitchen.

"I'm just playing wife . . . for the moment." Emphasized Trowa, shrugging, "Don't get too used to it or it's going to be a long two weeks."

Nichol felt his sloppy grin and tried to hide it, "How did you know I was going to say that?"

Trowa raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but Nadia answered before Trowa had an opportunity to respond.

"Because you always say that, daddy." She glanced between them, innocently chewing. Swallowing, before adding, "When I ask, Mommy says that, like with me, you just might insist on keeping Trowa here forever."

"I just might." Nichol caught Trowa's amused glance.

"If you ask nicely, I'm sure Trowa wouldn't mind."

"Listening to your daughter?" The taller man familiarly nudged his shoulder into Nichol's.

"Give me two weeks." Nichol dodged, "And how is it you seem to have managed to find my long misplaced good humor?" He frowned.

"Give me two weeks and we'll see what else I can dig up."

"Two weeks."