challenge #56 - 'sprawling'

Heh...it's still Wednesday where I am. Technically. ^^;;

title: Promise
author: windsor blue
pairing: 3x4
rating: PG
warnings: none, really - possible spoilers for end of series
notes: Sequel to "Stop". i think this will be the end of this little fic series...three is a nice, round number.
word count: 430-ish


Pull, slice, toss aside. It was remarkably easy to disable the machine. To step past Quatre to get to it - half-sprawled on the floor, blood dripping down his side and over his hip - that had been far more difficult.

"Promise me we can do this again. Wake up in the same bed like this, I mean. Promise me this won't be the only time."

Trowa felt his mouth moving, knew he was saying something to the girl standing there with Quatre's blood on the point of her rapier. He hoped it was something hurtful, something that tore at her, made her cry. Maybe the urge to snap her neck would subside if he could see her tears.

"We can do it again tonight, if you want to."

He stooped to help Quatre to his feet, trying to keep himself numb for this girl, this girl that Quatre asked him to save instead. Trowa looked into her face for the first time and shook his head.

"I'm sure she's strong enough to take care of herself." And she was, now that he'd said it. Now that she could tell herself they believed it of her.

"I want to if you want to."

"I can fly," Quatre insisted in the hallway, his arm around Trowa's shoulders, held close. "I can get Sandrock out of here."

"I know," Trowa replied. He still helped Quatre strap into the pilot's seat. On his knees in Sandrock's cockpit he leaned forward and awkwardly, hurriedly, pressed his lips to Quatre's cheek. "You made me a promise," he whispered.

"I haven't forgotten," Quatre replied with a small smile, almost hiding a pained wince.

"I guess it's a date, then."

--

Quatre awoke to the feeling of pins and needles in his legs, of something lying over them, just below the knees. He sat up a bit in the bed, I.V. tubes tugging at the delicate flesh inside his elbow as he moved. And then he smiled.

Trowa was seated in a chair next to his bed, his upper body sprawled over Quatre's legs. One hand was pillowed under his head, and the other rested on Quatre's thigh, the thin, rough cotton of the hospital blanket keeping them apart. His eyes opened suddenly, but he didn't move a muscle - just lay there looking into Quatre's face as if he thought he'd never see it again.

"Hi," he rasped quietly.

"Hi," Quatre murmured back. He reached out, let his hand drop, reached again, his fingertips finally alighting on Trowa's cheek.

At his touch, Trowa smiled. "You kept your promise."

"Of course I did."

*end*