'Gravity' for lil_1337
Title: Gravity
Recipient: lil_1337
Rating: G
Warnings: Post-EW
Summary: Trowa and Quatre head home.
Author's Notes: I tried to combine introspective+romance from the prompt for this one.
Author: scacao
The lights in the shuttle cabin had been off for some time, but Trowa was still wide awake. At some point, he had decided to watch a movie on the little private screen that popped out of his chair, but he found himself staring out the window rather than paying it much attention. The darkness of space outside didn’t do much more for his racing mind than the darkness of the cabin; if anything, watching the stars blink and fade beyond the window’s thick plastic frame just reminded him of what lay before him, with all its swirling, dizzying potential.
Quatre had had no trouble falling asleep at all, and at some point he had slumped over in his chair, his head coming to rest against Trowa’s shoulder. Trowa certainly didn’t mind, though he suddenly felt guilty about getting up to use the bathroom or stretch his legs. Instead, he just watched the stars over the pale soft cloud of blonde hair and tried to will the drone of the movie’s dialogue to calm him.
Not long ago-- Two days? Maybe less?-- he had been in his trailer saying goodbye to his sister, who, to her credit, had not pretended to be surprised he was leaving.
“You’re a good acrobat,” she had said, “but that’s not what you were born to do, is it?”
Funny she said that, because Trowa had supposed for a while that it was. Their parents were circus performers, and so wouldn’t he, their long-lost son Triton, have been expected to follow in their footsteps? And perhaps, if Triton had grown up Triton, that would have been what he was born to do. Maybe that’s what the last few years had been about, both of them pretending that he was still just Triton all along, that all the years of mercenary life and espionage and warfare had been a fluke in the life of an ordinary circus boy.
But Triton had been dead a long time. And in the intervening years of nameless existence, the boy who had survived found there was a comfort to the uniform of a soldier, a familiarity. The grip of a gun in his hand, the curl of his fingers around a knife handle became natural to him. He had tried to leave it behind, had tried to find a version of himself that had never learned how to kill a man in silence, who didn’t know how to hack a military-grade code undetected.
But Triton, after all, had been dead a long time. And Trowa, the boy soldier, seemed to fit him a lot better.
It was amazing how quickly the pieces had fallen into place after he realized he missed the thrill and terror and comfort of fighting. The Preventers had welcomed his application, and whether that was due to the influence of his compatriots already in their ranks, he wasn’t sure, but he doubted it was coincidence Wufei Chang was slated to be his partner. The request that he relocate to Earth had come swiftly, and even as he hugged his sister goodbye, he realized that it had been coming to this all along. He was always going to get back into the fight, one way or another.
But he had never expected, hope against hope, that Quatre would come with him, that all he had ever had to do was ask. He had never expected those long-harbored feelings, bolstered by hurried trysts in the midst of war, to have meant something to him, too. He had almost talked himself out of going to see Quatre a hundred times, but something told him he needed him there, too, to be able to go to Earth, to start this life, his real life, as Trowa Barton. Because there were a few integral truths about Trowa: he was an immaculate fighter; he was a master of espionage.
But the only integral truth he knew about Trowa the person, not just the code name, was this: he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Quatre Winner, the boy he had surrendered to in the desert.
“Mr. Barton?”
Trowa started, realizing a flight attendant was speaking to him. How long had he been staring out the window, letting his thoughts run rampant?
“Would you like anything?” she said, her voice quiet. Didn’t want to wake her employer snoozing on his shoulder. “A fresh towel, glass of water?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” he said, just as quiet. She nodded and walked away.
“Trowa?”
He turned his head gently to see that Quatre had woken, despite both their efforts, and was looking at him through blinking, half-lidded eyes.
“You didn’t sleep?” Quatre asked.
He shook his head.
“I’m not tired.”
“I think I’ve taken too many shuttles,” Quatre murmured, rubbing his eyes. “I fall asleep as soon as I’m in my seat. It’s almost pavlovian.”
“We still have hours to go. You could go back to sleep.”
“I’m fine,” Quatre said, though he looked like he might succumb again any minute. “What are you watching?”
Belatedly, Trowa realized he still had a movie running on his screen. “I’m not sure,” he replied. “I was mostly looking outside.”
Quatre glanced out the window, his features lighting up. “Look at the Earth!”
There it was; round and perfect, swirling with clouds and oceans and all the things that had astounded him when he had first hurtled toward it in his gundam. They still managed to awe him.
“It’s funny how we’ve all ended up coming back,” Quatre said quietly. “Like it pulled us here.”
His hand slipped around Trowa’s on the seat, so naturally, like it was an afterthought. Trowa let him weave their fingers together, watching Quatre watch the world hang beneath the stars.
Quatre had features for which Trowa had had no comparison until he had been to Earth. His eyes were blue like shallow seawater, like the sky burning off the dawn. His hair was gold like the endless fields of wheat that Trowa had flown over in Heavyarms. To him, it made perfect sense that Quatre might come back. He was as vibrant and alive and beautiful as the planet itself.
“It’s strange,” Quatre said, a small smile playing on his lips. “I was born in space, but this feels like a homecoming.”
“Yeah,” Trowa said, and he was not really talking about Earth at all.
Quatre’s grip on his hand tightened, and for a while they sat in silence, watching clouds roll over the surface of the world. It seemed suddenly inevitable that it would turn out this way, that he would find himself making his way back to Earth, a soldier for peace, with the boy he loved at his side. He wondered why he had taken so long to realize that. Of course he would be pulled back. Why had he ever pretended differently?
An attendant came around and asked if they needed anything, breaking them from their spell. Quatre took a bottle of water and settled down into his seat.
“What do you want to do first, when we get there?” he said, turning to Trowa.
Trowa thought a moment, but the possibilities seemed limitless. So he picked honesty.
“Go to bed.”
Quatre laughed. “I thought you weren’t tired?”
“I didn’t mean to sleep.”
Quatre really laughed then, loud enough for the retreating attendant to startle. “Trowa!”
“Besides that?”
“Yeah,” Quatre said, smile wide, “after that.”
Trowa thought a moment.
“Let’s go see Wufei and everyone.”
Quatre nodded. “Okay.”
Behind him, the world loomed large and serene in the window, waiting patiently for their return. Trowa shifted and put his arm gently around Quatre’s shoulders.
“After all,” he said quietly, as Quatre leaned into him, “we need a proper homecoming.”
The End
Recipient: lil_1337
Rating: G
Warnings: Post-EW
Summary: Trowa and Quatre head home.
Author's Notes: I tried to combine introspective+romance from the prompt for this one.
Author: scacao
The lights in the shuttle cabin had been off for some time, but Trowa was still wide awake. At some point, he had decided to watch a movie on the little private screen that popped out of his chair, but he found himself staring out the window rather than paying it much attention. The darkness of space outside didn’t do much more for his racing mind than the darkness of the cabin; if anything, watching the stars blink and fade beyond the window’s thick plastic frame just reminded him of what lay before him, with all its swirling, dizzying potential.
Quatre had had no trouble falling asleep at all, and at some point he had slumped over in his chair, his head coming to rest against Trowa’s shoulder. Trowa certainly didn’t mind, though he suddenly felt guilty about getting up to use the bathroom or stretch his legs. Instead, he just watched the stars over the pale soft cloud of blonde hair and tried to will the drone of the movie’s dialogue to calm him.
Not long ago-- Two days? Maybe less?-- he had been in his trailer saying goodbye to his sister, who, to her credit, had not pretended to be surprised he was leaving.
“You’re a good acrobat,” she had said, “but that’s not what you were born to do, is it?”
Funny she said that, because Trowa had supposed for a while that it was. Their parents were circus performers, and so wouldn’t he, their long-lost son Triton, have been expected to follow in their footsteps? And perhaps, if Triton had grown up Triton, that would have been what he was born to do. Maybe that’s what the last few years had been about, both of them pretending that he was still just Triton all along, that all the years of mercenary life and espionage and warfare had been a fluke in the life of an ordinary circus boy.
But Triton had been dead a long time. And in the intervening years of nameless existence, the boy who had survived found there was a comfort to the uniform of a soldier, a familiarity. The grip of a gun in his hand, the curl of his fingers around a knife handle became natural to him. He had tried to leave it behind, had tried to find a version of himself that had never learned how to kill a man in silence, who didn’t know how to hack a military-grade code undetected.
But Triton, after all, had been dead a long time. And Trowa, the boy soldier, seemed to fit him a lot better.
It was amazing how quickly the pieces had fallen into place after he realized he missed the thrill and terror and comfort of fighting. The Preventers had welcomed his application, and whether that was due to the influence of his compatriots already in their ranks, he wasn’t sure, but he doubted it was coincidence Wufei Chang was slated to be his partner. The request that he relocate to Earth had come swiftly, and even as he hugged his sister goodbye, he realized that it had been coming to this all along. He was always going to get back into the fight, one way or another.
But he had never expected, hope against hope, that Quatre would come with him, that all he had ever had to do was ask. He had never expected those long-harbored feelings, bolstered by hurried trysts in the midst of war, to have meant something to him, too. He had almost talked himself out of going to see Quatre a hundred times, but something told him he needed him there, too, to be able to go to Earth, to start this life, his real life, as Trowa Barton. Because there were a few integral truths about Trowa: he was an immaculate fighter; he was a master of espionage.
But the only integral truth he knew about Trowa the person, not just the code name, was this: he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Quatre Winner, the boy he had surrendered to in the desert.
“Mr. Barton?”
Trowa started, realizing a flight attendant was speaking to him. How long had he been staring out the window, letting his thoughts run rampant?
“Would you like anything?” she said, her voice quiet. Didn’t want to wake her employer snoozing on his shoulder. “A fresh towel, glass of water?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” he said, just as quiet. She nodded and walked away.
“Trowa?”
He turned his head gently to see that Quatre had woken, despite both their efforts, and was looking at him through blinking, half-lidded eyes.
“You didn’t sleep?” Quatre asked.
He shook his head.
“I’m not tired.”
“I think I’ve taken too many shuttles,” Quatre murmured, rubbing his eyes. “I fall asleep as soon as I’m in my seat. It’s almost pavlovian.”
“We still have hours to go. You could go back to sleep.”
“I’m fine,” Quatre said, though he looked like he might succumb again any minute. “What are you watching?”
Belatedly, Trowa realized he still had a movie running on his screen. “I’m not sure,” he replied. “I was mostly looking outside.”
Quatre glanced out the window, his features lighting up. “Look at the Earth!”
There it was; round and perfect, swirling with clouds and oceans and all the things that had astounded him when he had first hurtled toward it in his gundam. They still managed to awe him.
“It’s funny how we’ve all ended up coming back,” Quatre said quietly. “Like it pulled us here.”
His hand slipped around Trowa’s on the seat, so naturally, like it was an afterthought. Trowa let him weave their fingers together, watching Quatre watch the world hang beneath the stars.
Quatre had features for which Trowa had had no comparison until he had been to Earth. His eyes were blue like shallow seawater, like the sky burning off the dawn. His hair was gold like the endless fields of wheat that Trowa had flown over in Heavyarms. To him, it made perfect sense that Quatre might come back. He was as vibrant and alive and beautiful as the planet itself.
“It’s strange,” Quatre said, a small smile playing on his lips. “I was born in space, but this feels like a homecoming.”
“Yeah,” Trowa said, and he was not really talking about Earth at all.
Quatre’s grip on his hand tightened, and for a while they sat in silence, watching clouds roll over the surface of the world. It seemed suddenly inevitable that it would turn out this way, that he would find himself making his way back to Earth, a soldier for peace, with the boy he loved at his side. He wondered why he had taken so long to realize that. Of course he would be pulled back. Why had he ever pretended differently?
An attendant came around and asked if they needed anything, breaking them from their spell. Quatre took a bottle of water and settled down into his seat.
“What do you want to do first, when we get there?” he said, turning to Trowa.
Trowa thought a moment, but the possibilities seemed limitless. So he picked honesty.
“Go to bed.”
Quatre laughed. “I thought you weren’t tired?”
“I didn’t mean to sleep.”
Quatre really laughed then, loud enough for the retreating attendant to startle. “Trowa!”
“Besides that?”
“Yeah,” Quatre said, smile wide, “after that.”
Trowa thought a moment.
“Let’s go see Wufei and everyone.”
Quatre nodded. “Okay.”
Behind him, the world loomed large and serene in the window, waiting patiently for their return. Trowa shifted and put his arm gently around Quatre’s shoulders.
“After all,” he said quietly, as Quatre leaned into him, “we need a proper homecoming.”
The End