Disclaimer: not mine

For: [ darthanne ]

Request: Quatre/Trowa - the sitch didn't matter.

Drabble #8
by Merith

The farther they drove into the city, the more uneasy Trowa felt. He shifted in his seat, adjusted the seatbelt and looked in Quatre's direction. "Tell me again where this place is."

His smile was easy and excited, causing Trowa's stomach to plummet even more. "Just off Ninth and Venton. You're going to love it, Trowa. Just think, in a couple days, it'll be ours!"

Trowa swallowed hard, forced a small smile and thanked all that was holy he wore sunglasses. As much as he loved him, Quatre had only a passing acquaintance with neighborhoods like one he was about to plunge them into. He adjusted his seatbelt again, and stared out the window wondering how to extract them from this mess.

He looked hopeful when Quatre pulled over to the curb. Getting out of the car, he glanced up and down the street, his gaze rested on the house they were parked in front of. Some paint, a little repair. Maybe... And it was a residential block. Many of the houses, while older, weren't in such bad shape as he feared. Graffiti and litter seemed to be minimal. Maybe it wasn't so bad.

"...grey one across the street," Quatre was saying. Trowa turned to look.

"It's a dump." By the flash in Quatre's eye, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. Backtracking just a bit, he added, "It'll take a lot of work. And your dad's not going to like it." Mouth narrowed to a thin straight line. Again with the wrong thing to say. Quatre's glare would kill a lesser man.

"It might not look like much now, but I have plans and they don't include my father." Quatre faced the house, pointing upward as he spoke. "I'd like to remodel the third and fourth floors and let them out. And then we can start on the first two floors."

Trowa had come round the car to stand next to him. He watched as Quatre went into his plans; telling him how it could work, how they could do it without the support of his father, and still attend classes. Trowa cast a glance at the house, and thought of the history it'd seen, the families who had lived there, died there. He scouted the neighborhood again. No one was about. It wasn't Silicon Valley, but Quatre had surprised him more than once. For someone raised in a political quagmire being pulled from right winged corporate conservatism and pushed from liberal passive activist pacifism, Quatre had turned out all right. And he could hit pretty darn hard too.

He shoved off from the fender, pocketing his sunglasses. Putting a finger to Quatre's lips instantly quieted him. "Why don't you take me for a tour of our new home." The look he received told him he'd finally got it right. And maybe, just maybe so did Quatre.


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