A/N: This grew from a drabble request made by chemicalchrush.

A/N #2: Thanks to Ro for being an amazing beta, and to Maeve, for beta-reading and always being so encouraging.

A/N #3: I am in NO way an expert on ballet or music/orchestral life. I'm an expert on NONE of the careers mentioned - with the exception of Wufei's, and even then I fully acknowledge he is way too young to have that job - so please just know I'm relying on the internet. If you have any suggestions or expertise to offer, I welcome it.

Warnings: language, angst, sexy times

Pairings: 2x3xR, 3x5, 1x4, 1x6, DxC others will be added as necessary

Pas de Trois

Chapter Three - Part Two

Watching Treize work with Heero and Iria had been one thing.

Having Treize stand in front of me, talking and demonstrating the choreography in a manner that suggested he doubted I would be able to manage even the slightest proficiency with it, had been another thing.

I had known it was coming - or at least suspected it. But there was very little I could do to mentally prepare myself for just how brutal Treize was with me.

It wasn't just that the brise he wanted me to execute wasn't perfect on my first attempt; it wasn't just the way he kept muttering ecarte at me and gesturing for me to open up more; it wasn't just the way he stood there telling me to go faster and faster during the fouette. It was the way that, when I finally performed to his satisfaction, he merely nodded and signalled for us to move on.

I had never felt so much frustration with myself or with a choreographer before. I felt like I was giving Treize everything and, when I finally managed to meet his expectations and prove that I was worth his notice, he treated me as though I had done no less than he had expected all along.

"We're getting drunk," I told Heero as we packed up our bags.

Heero snorted and looked over at me.

"Don't you have a show?"

Treize had finally released us at one - holding us an hour past when class normally ended - and I had to hurry to make it over to Lincoln Center in time for my matinee performance in The Firebird.

"After," I growled at him. "We're getting drunk after."

Heero frowned, and looked on the verge of turning me down.

"Did you have other plans?" I asked him.

He hesitated, and I let out an incredulous laugh.

"You cannot be serious."

Heero turned away from me and started to leave the rehearsal room.

I shoved the last of my gear into my bag and quickly caught up to him.

"Heero."

"Trowa."

I rolled my eyes at his tone. "After today, do you really want to spend the-"

"No, Trowa, I don't. The last thing that I ever want to do is see him again."

"Then don't see him again - outside of work."

Heero shook his head.

He was silent until we left the building, but when I stopped by the curb to hail a cab, he waited with me.

"I told him I wouldn't sleep with him until after casting because I didn't want-"

"You didn't want to have to fuck him for a role," I finished for him.

"No. I didn't want him thinking I was fucking him for a role. And he was right - it was my hang-up in the first place, not his."

"So you're telling me that you don't care that you spent the night with him last night and this morning he puts up a cast list that basically says you can go to hell?"

Heero refused to meet my gaze.

"Our relationship and work aren't the same - they aren't…" he trailed off, and I could see he was struggling to convince me. To convince himself.

"Heero," I managed to flag down a cab and opened the door, "how many hours have you spent working with him on the choreography for Le Corsaire? Because you weren't doing that as a member of the ABT company. You were doing that as his boyfriend."

The look he gave me made it clear that he knew that, and that he was trying very desperately not to think about it.

I sighed. "Look, Heero. At least get dinner with me tonight. Zechs is performing in Carmen later - you wouldn't even see him until after , anyway."

Heero nodded, and then he waved me away.

"Go, or you're going to be late - and we'll never hear the end of it from Ralph and Alex."

"And they already have enough to bitch about, what with their lack of talent," I muttered, but I got in the cab and closed the door.

"Lincoln Center," I told the driver as I settled back into the seat and pulled out my phone.

I turned it on to see that I had several text messages.

Text me dates - what company? Doro and I want to see your opening. Doro says not to let Zechs' choreography settle too deep - she wants you to dance it with her when the Joffrey does the Holmes staging next year! Merde, Trowa!

Cathy's text made me smirk, and I let myself have a moment of uninhibited pride at getting the role.

And then I saw the next text was from my mother.

Darling, we decided to come into the city today to see your matinee - wait for us after so we can take you out for dinner.

My parents had both retired as dancers twelve years ago. For a few years they had travelled the world, working with old friends and choreographing pieces, but five years ago they had settled in Philadelphia and accepted the Ballet Master and Ballet Mistress positions with the Pennsylvania Ballet Company.

Because they were only a two-hour train ride away, they came up to see my performances often - at least once a show -and while I appreciated their support, after the morning I had had, spending the evening with them was not going to improve my day.

I sighed, and tried to come up with any polite way to get out of dinner, and immediately felt selfish and ungrateful for even thinking about it.

Sounds great. Do you mind if Heero joins us for dinner?

It was a courtesy, more than anything else. My parents - my father especially - loved Heero.

I was paying the driver and hurrying out of the cab when my parents texted me back.

Of course he can! We haven't had the chance to tell him yet how much we enjoyed his Tybalt.

Romeo and Juliet was one of the few shows where Heero and I danced in the same company. Our roles as Mercutio and Tybalt were sizeable, and my death scene - at Heero's hands - had been some of my favorite choreography this season.

Change of plans. My parents are taking us to dinner. Meet us in the lobby after the show?

I turned off my phone as I hit the stage door and hurried down the steps.

By the time I made it to my dressing room, Susan, the dresser, was waiting for me impatiently, my costume over her arms and a scowl on her face.

"I'm so sorry," I told her as I dumped my bag and started to strip.

"Uh huh. Less talking and more getting naked."

With Susan's help I managed to get into my costume and makeup with just enough time to get to the stage.

I pushed all of my anxiety and nerves aside - all of my anger from this morning's rehearsal with Treize, my anxiety over the fact that my parents were in the audience, even my pride at getting Birbanto - and focused solely on Firebird, on Koschei.

-o-

I wiped off the layers of stage makeup as quickly as I could, but my hair, shoved under a wig cap, wig and horned crown for the last hour, was a mess.

I stuck my head under a faucet and tried to finger-comb through my sweaty locks.

"Hot date?" Alex asked with a sneer as I towel-dried it after.

I gave him a look but he shrugged a shoulder.

"I can't decide who you're fucking on the side - Zechs or McKenzie, or maybe even Treize? Ralph's always thought you were Une's little piece of ass, but I think you're smarter than that. Have to be, to get the roles you're landing."

I ignored him and dressed in the change of clothes I had started to keep in my bag since the morning I had had to trek from Brooklyn back to Manhattan.

Jeans and a sweater - nothing fancy - and I hoped that my parents would settle for going somewhere casual for dinner. Hopefully somewhere casual with a decent beer selection.

"Of course," Alex added as I stepped into my sneakers, "you should be careful. After all, sleeping with Zechs didn't work out so well for Heero, did it?"

That got my attention, and I glared at Alex's reflection in the dressing room mirror.

"Alex, I realize that it's difficult for you to understand, having no measurable talent of your own, but neither Heero nor I have to sleep with the artistic staff to earn our roles."

I wanted to say more, especially when Alex's eyes narrowed, but I couldn't keep my parents waiting.

And besides, it was immensely satisfying to walk away while Alex was still trying to formulate a response.

I found my parents and Heero easily enough. They were in the lobby and, predictably, a small crowd had gathered around them.

My parents had been famous enough that, even twelve years later, there were balletomanes who recognized them.

As I approached, I heard my father laugh at something one of his fans said and put his arm around Heero's shoulders.

"But this young man," my father said with a broad grin, "he's someone to watch! His Tybalt is fantastic. Heero has such great technique - and his grand jetes - I would have killed to be able to land those when I was his age!"

Heero lips curved upwards ever so slightly at the praise.

I had been jealous, the first time my parents met Heero and gushed over his talent. I had been jealous the first several times, in fact, until I finally got my head out of my ass and realized that Heero's parents were never around - never sent him notes or flowers or came to the performances.

It had taken another night of too much drinking and not enough sex for me to ask him about it, after, while we laid on our living room floor naked.

Heero's parents were horrified that their son was a ballet dancer - a ballerina, his father mockingly called him. They didn't care that, at twenty-three, he was a soloist for one of the best companies in the world. They didn't care that, if he remained healthy, he had every chance of being one of the best dancers in the world by the time he reached thirty.

All they cared about was the fact that their son had taken dance classes in secret, that their son put on ballet slippers and tights, that their son put on lipstick and eyeshadow and blush.

To my knowledge, they had never even seen him perform.

So, even though it still stung a bit to hear my father speak so proudly of Heero, I didn't begrudge him the attention.

Besides, my father was right. Heero was an amazing dancer - and he reminded me of my father as well.

My mother was the first to see me, and she broke away from the group to hug me.

"You were wonderful, my darling," she said after kissing my cheek.

I gave her a look. "I hobbled across the stage with a staff and twirled my cape."

"But you did it so well." We shared a smile. "Let's drag your father away before he puts Heero to sleep," she suggested.

She pulled me over, and my father looked up at me.

"Trowa! Hm. I don't know which is better for Koschei - that wig or your hair now."

I fought against the urge to run a hand through my hair.

Unless I kept it trimmed very short, my bangs refused to go anywhere but over my face, except when restrained by industrial amounts of hairspray and gel. It was something my father had teased me about for as long as I could remember.

"Well, it's been lovely chatting with all of you," my mother said with a smile at the crowd, "but we've got dinner reservations. Have a lovely evening!"

She pulled my father away, and Heero and I followed them.

"Reservations?" I asked him.

Heero nodded. "Your mother asked if I knew anywhere good."

I arched an eyebrow. "Heero, you think Chipotle is worthy of a Michelin review."

"It is," he insisted. "Where else can you find one meal with enough calories to sustain you for an entire week?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Please tell me we aren't going to Chipotle."

I wasn't in the mood to deal with that kind of food - or the aftermath of indulging in it.

"No, we aren't going to Chipotle," he said, in a voice that made me want to ask if he was lying.

"Then where are we going that you recommended?"

"Howard's End."

I stopped following my parents and glared at him.

"Why?"

He looked abashed. "It was the only restaurant I could think of - like you said, I don't know anything about decent food. I only knew the name of that place because you asked me to google it when Treize made reservations for your date."

"You realize Duo works there?"

"Unless he quit his job so he could scour the city for you," Heero said, doing absolutely nothing to abate my irritation with him. "I'm sorry," he muttered after seeing just how irritated I was. "She asked, and it was the only place I could think of, and as soon as I said it, I regretted it. But she googled it, and apparently they have some amazing lamb dish, and your father was just telling her how much he wanted lamb, and-"

"Okay, I get it." I drew in a deep breath. "It's fine."

Heero gave me a look. "Right. You're just as convincing as I am when you say that."

"Yeah, well, there's a reason we're dancers and not stage actors," I muttered.

We shared a smirk, and then caught up to my parents where they stood waiting for us by the fountain situated between the three theatres.

My father insisted on walking the eight blocks to the restaurant, and along the way he told Heero his favorite stories of dancers getting injured as Mercutio and Tybalt while my mother and I lagged behind. I had heard these stories countless times and my mother had been on-hand to witness the unembellished, actual events, years before.

"So," she asked as she looped her arm through mine, "have you met anyone since Wufei?"

My father had hated Wufei - almost as much as Wufei had hated my father - but my mother had inexplicably developed an attachment to Wufei that she had never explained to me. When I told her we had ended things, when she had badgered me into admitting that Wufei had ended things, I had felt her disappointment as though it was a tangible weight on my shoulders.

"Not really," I told her, because I was sure she didn't need to know about the dozens of men I had slept with since Wufei, or my disastrous date with Treize, or my… whatever it had been, with Duo and Relena.

"Hm."

"How are Dorothy and Cathy?" I asked, using the age-old tactic of shifting attention to my sibling.

"Oh, happy enough. We were there last month to choreograph The Dream for the Joffrey. Dorothy is a fantastic Titania - of course. Cathy seems well. She certainly seems to be making herself comfortable now that she isn't dancing anymore."

I bit back a sigh at that.

Comfortable was my mother's euphemism for fat. Growing up, I had heard her refer to my teachers or pas de deux partners as comfortable-looking with so much distaste that, even now, whenever anyone used that word, I immediately thought about being overweight.

"I'm glad they're happy," I said. "And I'm sure Dorothy isn't as good as you were."

"Oh, no, I believe she's quite a lot better. That girl is determined to wrap gravity around her little finger. She's incredible - and I hate that she won't even consider moving to New York or London."

"She and Cathy love Chicago - and they love working for the Joffrey. And Dorothy would never respect a male artistic director as much as she respects Ashley Wheater."

My mother sighed, but she nodded in agreement.

"Very true - and Dorothy asked me again about trying to convince you to move there."

I smirked at that and shook my head.

When Dorothy had first asked - demanded, really - that I consider auditioning for the Joffrey, I had thought she was just trying to be nice. Of course, it hadn't taken me long to realize that Dorothy didn't do just nice.

By the time we arrived at the restaurant, I had managed to almost not think about the fact that there was every chance I would walk in and be face-to-face with the guy I had gone home with and run away from the next morning.

I had thought about both Duo and Relena over the past week, about the party and after, laying on the rooftop and getting high and just existing in a way that was so very alien to the life I led.

I had thought about them, and I had even fantasized about them, replacing my usual habit of thinking of Wufei fucking me while I masturbated with imagining what sex with the two of them would have felt like.

Based on the way Relena kissed and the way Duo had become more confident when he saw the way I responded to him, I was willing to bet it would have been an incredible experience.

We walked into the restaurant, and I tried - and failed miserably - to restrain myself from looking over at the bar while my father gave our name to the maitre'd.

I couldn't decide if the world hated me or was trying to reward me.

There he was, dressed entirely in black, standing behind the bar and mixing a cocktail while chatting up a customer, a broad grin on his face, his features just as handsome as I remembered them.

Heero caught me staring and followed my gaze.

"Him?" he asked, sounding very amused.

I flushed and looked away from Duo.

"He doesn't really seem your type," Heero said, not even bothering to be inconspicuous as he looked at Duo. "I wonder if- he's looking right at you, Trowa."

I felt a moment of sheer panic, and immediately felt like an idiot. I forced myself to look back towards the bar, and my gaze met Duo's.

I was dimly aware of my father trying to get my attention, but all I could focus on was Duo's face, on the way his smile turned into that almost-cocky smirk.

Heero put his hand on my back and gave me a shove forward, towards the table where my parents were waiting for us, and I noticed Duo's smirk slip into a frown, noticed the way his eyes narrowed, noticed the way he turned away.

What the hell?

I sat down beside Heero and accepted a menu from our waiter - Dan - but I wasn't able to listen while he related the specials to us.

I looked back at the bar, hoping to catch Duo's eye again, but he ignored me.

My father ordered a bottle of wine for the table and, once it was poured, offered a toast.

"To Heero - who is a tremendous Tybalt, and to Trowa - who continues to impress me with his typecasting as a villain."

We clinked our glasses together, and I noticed Heero's frown.

"You told them about the casting?" he guessed.

I hadn't - I had, if I was being honest, wanted to enjoy the success of being cast as Birbanto for at least one day before having to listen to my father compare me, unfavorably, to himself.

"Casting? Oh- is the Le Corsaire casting posted already?" my mother asked.

I nodded.

"Well, how did you two do?" my father asked.

"I've been cast as Ali in C company," Heero said unenthusiastically.

"And Conrad's understudy," I added, knowing that while it wasn't good enough, it was still worth noting.

"Not bad," my father said. "I danced Ali a few times - you'll have a nice variation and," he added after winking at my mother, "trust me when I say that nothing helps your game like dancing shirtless in harem pants. Your mother finally agreed to go out with me after we opened Le Corsaire."

My mother rolled her eyes but she let my father kiss her, and I couldn't help but be amused.

"And you?" she asked me.

"Let me guess," my father jumped in before I could answer, "based on your recent trends… are you one of the eunuchs?"

My anger at the suggestion took me by surprise.

There were three eunuchs and, while they weren't exactly movable scenery, they weren't roles anyone ever dreamed of getting. They weren't even significant enough to be double or triple-cast - the same three dancers would perform them for every show.

"No," I managed to say after taking a rather large sip of wine. "I'm Birbanto in the A company."

My father's shock was less than encouraging.

"Darling! How fantastic!" My mother, at least, managed to recover quickly enough to smile and raise her glass for another toast. "Well done, both of you!"

"Yes," my father agreed hastily. "Well done, indeed."

I fully expected the rest of the evening to be my father regaling us with stories of his portrayals of both Ali and Birbanto, and I knew there was no way I could drink enough wine to dull my anger without earning my parents' disapproval.

So, as soon as I placed my order - passing on the lamb for the duck salad that would, at the very least, not have me emptying my stomach later - I escaped to the bathroom.

I stared at myself in the mirror, and I had to admit my hair was more of a wreck than usual, but I couldn't be bothered to try to tame it. Besides, my father would no doubt notice and comment on it if I did.

I stayed in the bathroom for too long, but not long enough by my estimation. When I finally left, I hesitated, looking at our table and then at the bar, where Duo seemed to be between customers.

Swallowing my fear of rejection, I decided to go to the bar and speak to him in an effort to forestall sitting down across from my father again.

I walked up and leaned against the counter.

Duo glanced at me automatically, hesitated, sighed, and then walked over.

"Can I get you something?" he asked.

And I realized quite abruptly that I had no idea what to say to him.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, and I licked my lips.

Shit. What the hell should I say?

"I wanted to apologize, for your birthday - for leaving the way I did."

"Yeah? Well, I guess I can understand why you'd sneak out."

"You do?"

Duo nodded. "Sure. Easier than some awkward morning-after conversation - even though we didn't have sex. You know, it's funny, but I've spent this whole week kicking myself about that? I'm such an idiot." Duo shook his head and laughed bitterly.

"Why?" I had to ask. "I've been doing the same. I-"

"Your boyfriend's getting jealous," Duo interrupted me, nodding past me.

I turned to see Heero looking at us.

"Heero? He's not-"

"I know the food's great here and all, but I'd consider it a personal favor if you didn't plan on bringing your boyfriend and your family here to rub my face in it again," Duo cut me off.

Before I could say anything, he walked to the other side of the bar, leaving me staring after him.

Fuck this day.

-o-

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