'Relativity' for the Community
Title: Relativity
Recipient: Community
Rating: G
Warnings: n/a
Summary: Sometimes Quatre thinks too much. A lot of those times, his thoughts are about Trowa. (Get together fic, 5 years post-canon.)
Author's Notes: Thanks to my lovely beta, genarti :).
Author: dictator_duck
It's strange, to Quatre, how time seems to run both fast and slow.
It's been five years since his last battle - that is, the last wielded with weapons one could hold instead of ideas carefully wrought and refined. In that time, things have changed beyond how he could have considered, five years ago. He is established as a CEO (easily predicted), Winner Corporation is deeply involved in the rebuilding of L3 (less certain, but foreseeable), he is deeply involved in universal education reform with Relena (unexpected), and he is at peace with 28 of his 30 sisters (unfathomable).
Yet, despite how life has changed -- when he opens his personal e-mail and finds a sparsely worded note, he can't resist the old warmth of fondness that spreads across his chest, the occasional uncertainty as he words his replies. It's merely Trowa, he tells himself; it doesn't matter what you say, he understands you.
The problem - the problem he's growing more aware of with every year of slowly growing perception, the problem he becomes more entrenched in with every year of inaction - is that, for him, Trowa can never be merely.
The realization hits him while he is shaving. He pauses and blinks in the mirror; finding the realization has not altered reality, he continues as he thinks. Not that he loves Trowa, or even that he loves him more than he loves most people -- he has known that since before they first spoke, a welling-up of affection for the boy who tried to have a fistfight in a mobile suit even though Quatre almost certainly could have killed him. The realization is more simple than that: the clicking into focus of all of his feelings and uncertainties, the fact that every time he thinks of the future he automatically allows for Trowa's space in it (would fight to keep him in it), the pleased uncertainty that steals over him sometimes when Trowa is in the same room and they're relaxed and making private jokes - all of this, he realizes, means he does not just love Trowa, but is in love.
It's not that he hasn't dated, hasn't spent hours dwelling in the pleasure of simply being near someone he loves. In the years he was with his first girlfriend, or even the scattered few months with others he's had those times, though they all faded into a quiet platonic fondness. He worries, somewhat, that that's what will happen if he dates Trowa - but, then, there's nothing wrong with that, as long as in love does not destroy their chance at plain love should it fade.
Though he doesn't know if Trowa is even in love in the first place; and how, he wonders, is he to tell?
(Pressingly: How does one even begin to date someone like Trowa Barton?)
Thankfully, he doesn't need to make a decision immediately. It's still months until he'll next see Trowa, when the circus comes to his colony for awhile. For now, all that really matters is the subtle change in intent behind the gift he sends for the birthday Trowa celebrates - a book about the evolution of nature-art in L5, during the second-wave migration. It takes him days to settle on it. He rifles through online libraries during his few spare minutes, reading about topics such as super-cooled carbon nanofoams, histories of the black market that used to control the lunar colonies, and - as always -music. But music seems too personal, and nanofoams too close to Quatre's own interests, and the histories too … lacking in beauty. Quatre can't really see the beauty in art that isn't performed, but he cherishes that Trowa can, and - it feels right.
He doesn't add a note. There are only so many ways to say happy birthday, and all of them seem edged with danger. He hopes that he will learn to control this paranoia - he knows there is no way this can go wrong; even if Trowa is not in love with him, he is unlikely to be angry when he finds out Quatre's feelings. But it feels like a risk, sharp in his heart.
Quatre almost isn't paying attention the day Trowa arrives; he's caught up in a set of trade contracts that need to be altered based on new legislation. It's too important to delegate, so he spends most of his day gathered around a table with lawyers. It's not until his watch beeps at 4pm, and he stares at it for a long moment - ten hours of picking through legal language will do that - that he remembers why he set the alarm in the first place. He looks up, sees the same exhaustion on his lawyers' faces, and feels a pang of guilt. This is the second day they've been doing this.
"Let's get back to this on Sunday," he says, and smiles at the brightening faces. They don't have much left to do, and L3's trade laws don't go into effect until Monday.
As soon as he's able, he leaves for the Winner house - at a brisk pace, only five minutes away. He lets himself in through the back, and finds Trowa in the sunroom being served tea by one of his nieces. Trowa glances up from his tolerant tea-drinking, and despite all of his tiredness Quatre can't help but grin.
"It's good to see you," he says, because it's true.
"Yeah," Trowa agrees, rising to his feet.
Quatre hugs his niece, and then he heads upstairs to show Trowa the room he'll be using. The circus is sparing him from set-up, and Quatre feels selfish again - but he's not bothered, being selfish about his time with Trowa.
Quatre had had fairly well-constructed plans for when he'd tell Trowa about his feelings; not the first night, when there would be so many days to regret it if the fallout was awkward. His mind was tired enough, though, that his brain-to-mouth filter turned out to not be as tightly woven as he would like
"You think too much," Trowa says, later that night, and Quatre can't find it in himself to be insulted even though he knows he's being laughed at.
He laughs quietly, instead, holding the back of Trowa's hand against his cheek for a moment. His eyes are closed, and he's pleased beyond any measure he knows. "I probably do," he agrees, after some thought. "But I don't mind." He opens his eyes, smiling at Trowa. "Do you?"
Trowa barely shakes his head, eyes still crinkled with laughter, and Quatre takes that as invitation enough to kiss him again.
For these moments, at least, Quatre hopes that time will slow down as much as it possibly can.
Recipient: Community
Rating: G
Warnings: n/a
Summary: Sometimes Quatre thinks too much. A lot of those times, his thoughts are about Trowa. (Get together fic, 5 years post-canon.)
Author's Notes: Thanks to my lovely beta, genarti :).
Author: dictator_duck
It's strange, to Quatre, how time seems to run both fast and slow.
It's been five years since his last battle - that is, the last wielded with weapons one could hold instead of ideas carefully wrought and refined. In that time, things have changed beyond how he could have considered, five years ago. He is established as a CEO (easily predicted), Winner Corporation is deeply involved in the rebuilding of L3 (less certain, but foreseeable), he is deeply involved in universal education reform with Relena (unexpected), and he is at peace with 28 of his 30 sisters (unfathomable).
Yet, despite how life has changed -- when he opens his personal e-mail and finds a sparsely worded note, he can't resist the old warmth of fondness that spreads across his chest, the occasional uncertainty as he words his replies. It's merely Trowa, he tells himself; it doesn't matter what you say, he understands you.
The problem - the problem he's growing more aware of with every year of slowly growing perception, the problem he becomes more entrenched in with every year of inaction - is that, for him, Trowa can never be merely.
The realization hits him while he is shaving. He pauses and blinks in the mirror; finding the realization has not altered reality, he continues as he thinks. Not that he loves Trowa, or even that he loves him more than he loves most people -- he has known that since before they first spoke, a welling-up of affection for the boy who tried to have a fistfight in a mobile suit even though Quatre almost certainly could have killed him. The realization is more simple than that: the clicking into focus of all of his feelings and uncertainties, the fact that every time he thinks of the future he automatically allows for Trowa's space in it (would fight to keep him in it), the pleased uncertainty that steals over him sometimes when Trowa is in the same room and they're relaxed and making private jokes - all of this, he realizes, means he does not just love Trowa, but is in love.
It's not that he hasn't dated, hasn't spent hours dwelling in the pleasure of simply being near someone he loves. In the years he was with his first girlfriend, or even the scattered few months with others he's had those times, though they all faded into a quiet platonic fondness. He worries, somewhat, that that's what will happen if he dates Trowa - but, then, there's nothing wrong with that, as long as in love does not destroy their chance at plain love should it fade.
Though he doesn't know if Trowa is even in love in the first place; and how, he wonders, is he to tell?
(Pressingly: How does one even begin to date someone like Trowa Barton?)
Thankfully, he doesn't need to make a decision immediately. It's still months until he'll next see Trowa, when the circus comes to his colony for awhile. For now, all that really matters is the subtle change in intent behind the gift he sends for the birthday Trowa celebrates - a book about the evolution of nature-art in L5, during the second-wave migration. It takes him days to settle on it. He rifles through online libraries during his few spare minutes, reading about topics such as super-cooled carbon nanofoams, histories of the black market that used to control the lunar colonies, and - as always -music. But music seems too personal, and nanofoams too close to Quatre's own interests, and the histories too … lacking in beauty. Quatre can't really see the beauty in art that isn't performed, but he cherishes that Trowa can, and - it feels right.
He doesn't add a note. There are only so many ways to say happy birthday, and all of them seem edged with danger. He hopes that he will learn to control this paranoia - he knows there is no way this can go wrong; even if Trowa is not in love with him, he is unlikely to be angry when he finds out Quatre's feelings. But it feels like a risk, sharp in his heart.
Quatre almost isn't paying attention the day Trowa arrives; he's caught up in a set of trade contracts that need to be altered based on new legislation. It's too important to delegate, so he spends most of his day gathered around a table with lawyers. It's not until his watch beeps at 4pm, and he stares at it for a long moment - ten hours of picking through legal language will do that - that he remembers why he set the alarm in the first place. He looks up, sees the same exhaustion on his lawyers' faces, and feels a pang of guilt. This is the second day they've been doing this.
"Let's get back to this on Sunday," he says, and smiles at the brightening faces. They don't have much left to do, and L3's trade laws don't go into effect until Monday.
As soon as he's able, he leaves for the Winner house - at a brisk pace, only five minutes away. He lets himself in through the back, and finds Trowa in the sunroom being served tea by one of his nieces. Trowa glances up from his tolerant tea-drinking, and despite all of his tiredness Quatre can't help but grin.
"It's good to see you," he says, because it's true.
"Yeah," Trowa agrees, rising to his feet.
Quatre hugs his niece, and then he heads upstairs to show Trowa the room he'll be using. The circus is sparing him from set-up, and Quatre feels selfish again - but he's not bothered, being selfish about his time with Trowa.
Quatre had had fairly well-constructed plans for when he'd tell Trowa about his feelings; not the first night, when there would be so many days to regret it if the fallout was awkward. His mind was tired enough, though, that his brain-to-mouth filter turned out to not be as tightly woven as he would like
"You think too much," Trowa says, later that night, and Quatre can't find it in himself to be insulted even though he knows he's being laughed at.
He laughs quietly, instead, holding the back of Trowa's hand against his cheek for a moment. His eyes are closed, and he's pleased beyond any measure he knows. "I probably do," he agrees, after some thought. "But I don't mind." He opens his eyes, smiling at Trowa. "Do you?"
Trowa barely shakes his head, eyes still crinkled with laughter, and Quatre takes that as invitation enough to kiss him again.
For these moments, at least, Quatre hopes that time will slow down as much as it possibly can.