PART 5

Trowa entered his room moodily. His hair was slicked back and dripped with cooling rivulets of water. Puddles marked his footprints but he didn't care, and as he walked by his beloved "World" on canvas he ripped the reject off and threw it. It hit the wall with a resound crack.

"Hey!" Catherine bellowed. Her voice carried well when she was angry.

How could she even consider that?! Doesn't she understand how much we'll have to dredge up to go there-- Trowa slammed the drawer of his dresser and pulled on jeans over his briefs-- they were ::gulp:: bikini briefs, because Catherine had a sick, sick sense of humor. At least they're not leopard spotted.... Plus, his blue jeans wouldn't fit with any other type of underwear.

"I just won't go...." He sighed loudly, fluffing up his dark and damp hair.

"Trowa--"

He whirled, hands freezing in mid fluff and both visible green eyes wide. His jeans drooped lower, unbuttoned and lower belly feeling a cool puff of air as his bedroom door opened.

Quatre stared, mouth agape, hand clenching the door knob tighter. His cute face grew steadily redder. Trowa couldn't prevent a small, weak smile from forming when the pale boy tried to apologize.

"I-- I'm sorry for-- I didn't know... I'm sorry!" Quatre's face was now a tomato red. Trowa lowered his gaze and turned around to finish dressing. His heart was thudding at an inhuman rate-- it took several seconds too many to button his jeans, and pull out a faded brown tee-shirt.

"Why did you throw your painting?"

Trowa sighed. He found an errant hair brush hiding in the pile of brushes and paints on his dresser and began brushing his hair into its customary flip, feather soft and spiked. Quatre was still in the doorway watching him, and leaving the question to the air.

"I was mad," Trowa admitted softly. He tossed the brush back onto the dresser and turned around. His blonde vision had moved a few feet further into the room. He stood casually, arms folded loosely around his midsection. Trowa took one step forward, then paused...

"Because of the circus?" Quatre continued gently. "You didn't seem to like the idea of performing."

Trowa shook his head and moved even closer. He was now just a foot away from Quatre's silhouette. He's warm, Trowa realized. I... I want to hold him...... The thought made him shiver, and Quatre straightened worriedly.

"What's wrong?" One graceful hand extended toward Trowa's hand, and when it touched the sensitive skin of his wrist Trowa stopped breathing-- choking for one millisecond on air perfumed by Quatre's sweet voice and touch... When he began breathing again he was shocked to find Quatre's wrist in his grasp, and Quatre inches away. Trowa caught his breath at the beauty's shocked expression, wide eyes full of questions and bottomless--

"Did you get lost?!" Trowa jerked away from the frozen moment and darted past Quatre's motionless form. He was out of the room and running down the stairs seconds later with Duo's confused shouts following him out the door and into the street. It was a pleasantly cool morning, with a slight dampness hinting of rain...

He went to the art store, in downtown Sanq. It was the only one and it was poorly stocked, but Trowa entered bravely and cruised the aisles, feeling the bored gaze of the cashier on his slender back. He picked up a few tubes of paint, a new brush... Fishing out the crumbled ten dollar bill in his pocket he paid and swung the cheap plastic bag in his hand once before stepping out...

How could she ever, ever consider working at the circus again. It was dad's life. Everything there would bring back memories; mostly of death... He sighed thickly and kicked angrily at the sidewalk. It had taken him a good hour to make the trek to downtown Sanq, and with the high sun came a deserted city strip. He was alone... I'm not used to *not* hearing Duo talking and talking, and Quatre laughing... Quatre... God I'm an idiot.... Even with his self loathing, his hurt and anger... He began drawing in his head. Washing away the angry slashes of red, in favor of translucent blue, and gray. Smoky in essence and weeping, like when it rained. Watercolors, he snorted. Mom used watercolors....

Inevitably he returned to that which he'd fled from. His home, shaded slightly by an adolescent oak in the front yard, was quiet. Catherine's car was still in the drive. Trowa wrinkled his nose. She'll hate me for about a day for running out like that... I'll have to explain... Everything... He sighed weakly. A heavy, cold raindrop landed on his cheek and the picture of a weeping sky grew sharper in his mind. He pushed the front door open with his shoulder and stepped inside slowly, gathering up enough nerve to waddle into the living room where Catherine was cursing.

"He is so dead when he gets home. You know that weird hair flip thing? Gone tomorrow morning. I told him if he ever ran off like this again I'd have his head shaved, like a monk--"

"Cathy," Duo chuckled lightly. Trowa paused before the living room door frame. He's not gone? Are the others here too.... "If Trowa's anything like me he'll be lost without his hair." His playful voice paused, then resumed with a calculating note. "Isn't there something else on him, that you could shave....?"

"Maxwell, please," Wufei snorted. "Get your mind out of the gutter."

"Hey, the gutter's a pretty cool place, you should visit it someday Wu." The smirk playing over Duo's cheerful was discernible as he went on. "I bet you have a really dirty mind under all that 'justice' and 'honor' stuff--"

"Shut up!!" The Asian belted suddenly. Trowa's lips quirked with a ghost of a smile. Probably blushing. His feet moved suddenly and he was slinking his way forward to stand before an irate Catherine. The look on her face was priceless-- and very angry.

"Trowa." The voice wasn't Catherine's. It was too soft. Too clear, and perfect... Trowa closed his eyes briefly, then raised them and nodded at Quatre's wide crystal eyes. Catherine caught a hold of his arm then and began pulling and cursing at the same time.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?!" She snapped as Trowa was hurled bodily into the kitchen. He met her fiery blue eyes and flinched when she flailed her arms in exasperation, and stomped. "You scare the shit out of me! You could have been run over in the street, mugged, dying in a ditch--"

Trowa kept his gaze on her livid expression. She looks like dad, when she gets mad like that....

"And what were you thinking, leaving your friends here? You abandoned them--"

"I didn't abandon them," he interrupted sharply. "When you walk out with suitcases, you abandon. When you die, you abandon--"

Her hand was smooth, swift and hard. The pain was purposeful. Meaningful and lasting... It stung that she'd hit him. His head had swung to the side at her force, and even now he could hear her crying. Soft, stifled sobs.

"Don't say that," she whispered. The kitchen was eerily quiet after her outburst. And so was she...

"I'm sorry," he admitted tightly. "It's Martin, the circus... My art class..." Among other things...

"We don't have to perform," she scolded lightly. "And how could you be upset over art class?" She paused and he felt her small hands as they curled on his shoulders. "Oh Trowa," she murmured. "They aren't failing you again--"

He shook his head quickly. "The teacher hasn't done anything," he sighed. "It's not just the class, or school..." He paused and threw his glance purposefully toward the doorway, beyond which sat the subjects, or the subject rather...

"We'll talk later?" She offered aloud. Trowa nodded, and felt her kiss his stinging cheek in apology. "I can't even guess what's bothering you, but maybe your friends can help..." She backed away and disappeared from the kitchen. He heard her light footsteps on the stairs, and over head as she entered her room.

It wasn't a black cloud that formed over him, but a presence, and even that presence wasn't black or foreboding; just black. Mysterious and covert; a blanket of impenetrable security...

"What'cha buy?"

Also known as Duo, Trowa sighed. He focused on his friend's black clad form lounging in the door frame. Duo was eyeing Trowa's bag with undisguised curiosity. With another humored, long suffering sigh Trowa held out his bag. Duo flocked to it with a victorious grin. Behind him Wufei filtered in, as did Heero, and finally Quatre at the end of the line but no less a sparkling figure...

His next sigh was silent as Trowa realized he remembered the feel of Quatre so close... Almost in his arms...

I'll have to apologize. The decision that presented itself was not welcome; but neither did it warrant objection....

The weekend was gone... He waited for the week to divest itself of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday before he caught Catherine in her room, settling bills. And he told her a lot of things... How he was afraid of doing something wrong in art class. How... how he couldn't stop thinking of Quatre, and drawing in his head... And the circus, grating against all of his nerves because it made memories resurface-- and not all of them were bad.

Only to my sister can I spill my guts, he realized as all of his stories played out and Catherine's expression never changed... She'd better feel honored, he grumbled.

"You look so much like mom when you talk," she swore suddenly. "You're animated. You wave your hands like she used to." She laughed and waved her fingers playfully at Trowa, who blushed and swatted her hands in embarrassment. Her expression calmed, and she smoothed back his hair so she could stare into both of his eyes.

"She loved it when you would paint pictures of her garden... Of the house and dad mowing the lawn." Catherine laughed sadly. "She'd never want you to give it up-- I don't want you to give it up, because it reminds me of her." Her grip in his hair tightened. "You're making me get all mushy," she accused.

"It's so out of character," he muttered dryly. She pulled his hair roughly to silence him.

"This art teacher might not be like the one on L3. You know how uptight those colonists are... Just.... I don't know... Be happy. Hn--" she snorted. "That's totally the wrong word for *you*. Be yourself. Be what 'happy' is to you... That can go for what you feel for Quatre, too..."

"You're right." He sighed dramatically and gently pried Catherine's fingers from her hair before continuing. "You are getting all mushy."

"Get out," she snapped. "Always knew you had a smart mouth."

Friday the portraits were due. No 'presentation' this time, Zechs had announced with a pout.

"Just put them on my desk and I'll fish out your next assignment-- this one will be more challenging!"

Groans were collective. Duo grabbed Trowa's arm and started shaking him.

"Whyyy, whyy more work! And he doesn't even let me use crayyyyons!!" His sobs were fake and appallingly loud but Zechs, who was one desk away passing out the next assignment, chose to ignore the boy's keening wail.

Trowa rolled his eyes and tried to shrug off Duo's vise like grip. Wasn't that easy because Duo apparently *was* a vise... Trowa's free arm was splayed over his sketchbook protectively, biding its time to open and release the portrait that had effected many a sleepless nights and confiscated drafts...

"Are you coming over tonight for dinner, Trowa?" Quatre asked softly between Duo's moans of 'slave driver' and forced sobs. Trowa smiled thinly at Quatre's innocent face, imagining that a halo hovering just above his head illuminated each pearly strand of hair...

He nodded. Duo had finally released him and was doodling on the desk-- Trowa choked at the braided boy's crude comic. It was a small round Zechs with a whip, snapping it at an equally small and leather clad Wufei. Trowa fell over in his chair as Wufei leaned over the desk and peered curiously at Duo's cheerful graffiti--

At the end of class Trowa slipped his portrait under several other images on Zechs' desk, and he fled on light feet. The thought of his work... His Quatre, exposed to another critical eye-- a potentially cruel eye-- was enough to make him ill and withdrawn the rest of the day... He staggered from class to class and from school steps to his front door. Duo had patted him on the back cheerfully before disappearing into his own house. A quick promise of "meet you at Quatre's" was thrown Trowa's way and two doors slammed.

Trowa bypassed the kitchen and trudged up to his bed. It had smudges from his latest midnight escapade with pastels, and he spilled his body across the comforter mindlessly. His easel had fallen over this morning in his rush to get ready... He drifted off while thinking about getting up, and setting it upright...

A teasing caress erupted across his face... Then vanished... Something from a dream combed through his hair and patted his back comfortingly. And it was asking him to wake up...

"Trowa?"

His dream, this dream that was *real* was enough to jump start Trowa's heart, and send his previously recumbent body into a wild attempt at rising. He focused on the blur that had awakened him and offered it a short grunt.

"Uhhhg Cathy... you scared the hell out of me--"

"I... I'm not Cathy," the blur admitted sheepishly. "She told me to come up and wake you..."

And wake me you did... Trowa's heart went haywire again and he felt like rolling into a ball again, hiding from reality because reality was insane.

"Quatre," he sighed deeply. "Sorry... Why are you here?" Having rubbed the sleep from his eyes Trowa could now focus on Quatre's form, crouched by his bed and staring intently at him.

"I wanted to pick you up," Quatre replied softly. "I wanted to talk..."

He's so beautiful, Trowa mused. I must have frightened him... and he's too beautiful to hate me...

"I'm sorry for... holding you like that," Trowa began stiffly. "I probably scared you as much as I did myself--"

"I didn't mind," Quatre interrupted. Trowa opened his mouth to keep speaking, then closed it for lack of an appropriate response. Quatre's cheeks brightened with an attractive rose blush and he laughed airily. "I can tell you didn't expect that."

Trowa nodded wordlessly. The crystal eyed, velvet skinned angel he'd obsessed over was watching him... Horizontal shadows filtered the sunlight from his window and dashed lazily across Quatre's face. Trowa felt his hands rise from the bed beside him, and angle toward the shadows, wanting to push them away... yet he liked the contrast of gray against cream...

"Duo showed me those portraits... Of me..." Quatre smiled suddenly, and leaned his face against Trowa's outstretched, hesitant palm. His movements were shy and brief but Trowa shivered from them. "They were...."

"Beautiful," Trowa mumbled suddenly. Quatre's eyes widened slightly, then closed as he turned his head and kissed the nearest finger on Trowa's hand.

Dusky rose, Trowa thought fervently. Beige... navy, or royal blue....