When We Were Young 3

[kaigou]

Rating might as well be PG-13 for previous parts and this one. Warnings continue to hold; conflict is the point of these slices-of-life, and since I continue to be in a foul mood to some extent, there will be no make-up sex. Maybe later. Or maybe you can write it for me. Go you.

--------

Quatre smiled at the young sales clerk, and realized he'd left Trowa behind somewhere. He gestured at the young girl to wait, and looked around for his errant partner. Quatre found him studying a small table not far from the store's entrance.

"I like this one," Trowa told him. He lifted up the lid, revealing a mirror and a small tray.

"I think it's an old shaving table." Quatre frowned. "That's hardly suitable for our foyer. I was thinking something more like..." He glanced around, until his gaze fell on a large half-circle, with ornate legs. "That's cool."

Trowa stared for a long moment, as the sales clerk came to stand nearby, with the eager expression of someone waiting to answer any question that might arise. Quatre noted her name tag, and gave her another smile, this one a bit more pained as he waited for Trowa's commentary.

"What else does it do?" Trowa finally asked.

"It doesn't need to do anything but be a table," Quatre replied, patiently. "I just wanted a place to put mail, put our keys, gloves, stuff like..." He winced at Trowa's sharp look. "If we're coming in and going back out again soon, it's okay to just set something aside rather than putting it away."

Trowa snorted and studied the table a bit longer. "I don't like the legs," he finally said.

"What kind of table?" The sales girl gave them both a bright smile; she deflated a bit at Trowa's sulky look, but held on gamely, obviously realizing it was better to focus on Quatre. "That table is a reproduction in the Empire style, but we have Victorian and even Post-modern as well..."

"Post-modern," Trowa stated.

Quatre just sighed. He would've preferred Victorian, actually; he'd always liked the curves. Or Art Deco. Trowa tended towards simply utilitarian, which wasn't really a style so much as a demand that everything had to have at least six purposes for existing, or it just annoyed Trowa that it would take up so much space. Quatre was sometimes surprised Trowa hadn't figured out a way to turn his electric toothbrush into a mini-drill; then again, perhaps he had and Quatre just hadn't noticed because for him, an electric toothbrush was designed, and built, to be an electric toothbrush. Nothing more, nothing less, and sometimes that was fine. Unless you were Trowa.

"How about these?" Amy waved her hand towards a collection of glass-and-steel tables, but two were bentwood. Quatre made a beeline for those, while Trowa walked around the entire collection from a short distance, his frown growing.

"I like this one," Quatre announced. He ran a hand over the curved line of the table's half-oval. The legs seemed to curve down from the edges in a C-shape, meeting at the center before spreading out to form feet. "Is this beech?"

"Birch," Amy replied. "It's a shade whiter than beech."

"There's not even a drawer," Trowa grumbled. "And it's at least four feet across."

Quatre moved away from the table, coming up behind Trowa to say through gritted teeth, "the foyer is sixteen feet by sixteen feet. Anything less than four feet will look lost in the space." Amazingly, Trowa didn't make his customary complaint about the size of the foyer; he continued to stare glumly at the table -- which was just a table, nothing more, nothing less. Eventually, lips pressed firmly together, Trowa nodded once, turned, and left. Quatre had to breathe through his nose before nodding to Amy. "We'll take that one."

"Uhm, are you sure?" She glanced past Quatre, toward the front of the store, worried. "Did you want to think about it, perhaps?"

"No, that won't be necessary." Quatre handed over his card and filled out the delivery information, shaking hands with Amy before leaving the store. Next door was a small coffee shop, and he wasn't surprised to find Trowa sitting at one of the tables on the side, nursing a cup of chai. Quatre slid into the seat opposite Trowa, but shook his head when the waiter started to head in their direction. For a long moment, no one spoke, and Quatre waited.

"It is a pretty wood," Trowa finally said, but he didn't look up. He'd relaxed a fraction, but the sulky edge to his voice remained.

"I think it'll look good."

Trowa nodded, and finished his drink. He set the cup down, and gave Quatre a wry look. "But it's just going to be sitting there."

"It'll be holding stuff. It's not like it's doing absolutely nothing."

"Still."

Quatre took a deep breath, then a second one. "Not everything needs to do twenty things."

"I never said I wanted something that does twenty things. But just one thing? That's such a waste of---"

"We have more space than we know what to do with," Quatre protested. "Why can't we fill it up with beautiful things, even if those things are just a table, and nothing else?"

"Because it's more space for stuff to end up on," Trowa grumbled, barely loud enough for Quatre to catch. "Every horizontal surface..."

"Not this table. Really," Quatre promised. "Just keys and mail."

"We have an office for mail."

"We need a place to put the mail while we're taking off our coats." Quatre couldn't help but think: point for me.

Trowa's lips quirked, just slightly, and his gaze slid away from Quatre to stare out at the passerbys. "I see." He stood up, and jerked his head toward the door. "What's next on the list?"

"We need to find a gift for Hilde's baby shower."

"Right." Trowa smiled, just the barest amount. "I was thinking one of those cribs that you can dismantle and make into a twin bed as the child gets older."

Quatre was tempted to smack himself in the forehead. He should've known, but he decided it was better to give in. If he didn't, Trowa might sneak in some bizarrely-engineered extra toy for the baby, that looked like a beach ball but unfolded to be a vacuum cleaner, a coffee grinder, with extra space for storing camera batteries. After all, he'd won on the table; he could let Trowa have victory on a gift for someone else.

Comments

[rurounitriv.livejournal.com]

Still tense, there, but at least they're learning to accomodate each other better.

[solitude1056.livejournal.com]

Ehh, I never said it was chronological. In fact, I'm pretty sure I said it wasn't. ;)

[windsorblue.livejournal.com]

Or maybe you can write it for me. Go you.

That sounds like a dare. ^_~

The description of the Swiss Army baby toy Quatre imagined Trowa would make has slain me. I think someone gave me a diaper bag that was designed with similar intentions.

[solitude1056.livejournal.com]

When I think of the little things in their backgrounds, it seems so obvious I can't believe I've never read it anywhere. You live in a trailer, everything must do at least two things, every single inch is squeezed out and made useful, cubbyholes everywhere. Quatre, on the other hand, is used to massive amounts of space; to Trowa, the square footage in the foyer alone must seem like a princely amount for an entire apartment, and then add in the rest of the penthouse?

For all the jokes about Trowa being a kept man, however tongue-in-cheek, I would think it'd be a fundamental shift in one's comprehension of space and its uses, to go from a life in the tight quarters of a mecha's belly or a trailer, and overnight into a three-story penthouse. Moreso, perhaps, than Quatre felt during the war while disowned, given that he had the Maganacs as buffer, and didn't exactly starve -- and it was temporary. Trowa's new conditions are hardly temporary, and he's the one doing all the psychological adjustment, to some degree, as a result.

Yes. Consider yourself dared. Please.

[sharona1x2.livejournal.com]

It really does make a lot of sense that they'd have these kind of troubles. Their backgrounds are so very different. Fitting together shouldn't be so easy. I can't really recall ever seeing a fic that focused on that, although I'm still pretty new to reading Trowa/Quatre-centric fic.

[dirtyoldlady.livejournal.com]

Suddenly picturing Trowa shopping for sex toys and being disgruntled when they're not sufficiently multipurpose... but does the world really need a vibrator that can dice vegetables and locate lost keys? XD

[dirtyoldlady.livejournal.com]

I just wanted to let you know that I've really been enjoying this series; it's always great to see the characters portrayed realistically. :)

[leorising1959.livejournal.com]

Wow, that really seems like one of those lightning-from-on-high revelations about the characters that only the lucky few get. These days it seems like all the details in the GW fandom have been played out, so it's easy to just rely on accepted fanon and go on from there.

Kudos for finding more to these characters, even if you feel it was a facepalm moment for you!


^_^

[solitude1056.livejournal.com]

I'm constantly aware of space; there's an architect hiding inside me (as well as a carpenter) that will probably never have the chance to come out full-strength except in my own home. But that makes me highly sensitive to how we design, comprehend, and move through space. I've lived in some hellaciously tight quarters -- a one-bedroom home about two hundred years old where no room was larger than 12x12 and all four rooms were heated by three massive fireplaces (which took up a good bit of that 12x12, as did the stairs). And I've also been in spaces that are phenomenally large -- a two-story penthouse in NYC, for instance.

I've also always kept in mind, when thinking of Quatre, a little snippet from Addie Pray, the book Paper Moon was based on. She says, speaking of someone she'd planned to con but ending up taking as a co-conspirator, something along the lines of figuring out the difference between rich and poor. It's how they spend the money; a poor person (like herself), when spending a large amount, would buy big things, seeing that as the biggest expense. But not her formerly rich co-conspirator, who could spend massive amounts in one day on the tiniest things -- a watch here, shoes there, jewelry, a small settee for the living room. Dropping huge sums on something so insignificant, like purchasing (and thinking nothing of the size of) a twelve-foot modular sofa, is a clear hallmark of someone used to having (money or space) versus someone used to doing with a great deal less.

It's not really that this had never occurred to me before per se; it was just that I've rarely had interest in writing this pairing for that reason -- it seemed incomprehensible to me that these would be two people who could transcend their predispositions concerning so many things, and find life together to be anything near peaceable. I certainly never felt any affinity to the Trowa in many stories who appears to be perfectly comfortable being a kept man, for starters.

Eh, well. Off to put up drywall.

[leorising1959.livejournal.com]

Hmm, that's interesting. Now that I think about it, it seems like you're always very detailed about placing Duo & Heero in their surroundings (I'm thinking specifically of KmO and Howl here.) It's not overdone, don't get me wrong, not at all. I'm just saying that I can see how your sense of space lends detail and believability to your stories.

I've also had vague misgivings about the way Trowa has been portrayed, although I guess I can live with him being placid and serene with his "kept" lifestyle as long as the author lets us know he's had massive therapy. *laughs* I think you may have hit the nail on the head here, or hit it at least partially. Trowa's been a mercenary, a Gundam pilot and a circus clown; none of those occupations really lend themselves to "instant" comfort around wealth and power. I like that Trowa protests Winner Corp's layoffs, and wants ten uses for an item. It fits him! At last, something that fits him...

Really, I remedy a lot of the problems I have with 3x4 fic by simply not reading it. 1x2(x5) seems a much more flexible, less fanon-influenced pairing, and I stick with them mainly.

Bah, I'm rambling, and I'm not sure I'm making sense. Good on ya for not writing what you don't want to write! If more authors did that -- and if more authors actually put the thought that you have into 3x4 -- we might have more readable fic out there.

Happy drywalling,
Marcella


^_^

[nataliethompson.livejournal.com]

"I was thinking one of those cribs that you can dismantle and make into a twin bed as the child gets older."

*snorts* TROWA!!! Talk about obsessed...

As I see it, (back to that perspective thing?) this part doesn't change the argument back in part one. It just goes to show that there are two people in a relationship. Quatre was in the wrong last time...and Trowa is probably in the wrong this time. I thought you were going to keep it based on that initial argument, in which case sides wouldn't switch that way unless some startling new revelation about Quatre's decision were introduced, but hey, this works too. If it is a series of conflict-based slices of life, then Trowa obviously can't be right all the time.

But really. A 16 by 16 feet foyer??

Good job on these; can't wait for the next part! :)

[windsorblue.livejournal.com]

*dies* There's a bad joke in there somewhere about a vibrator being attached to a Clapper, but I'm pretending to be ladylike today, so I won't make it. ^_~

[windsorblue.livejournal.com]

I agree on the space issue, but I hadn't considered it enough to play with it before. In Solacium we toyed with the idea that Trowa couldn't really wrap his head around Quatre's wealth - that in theory, yes, he got that Quatre had enough money to last them comfortably well for the forseeable future, but that when he actually looked at the numbers involved he had to go sit down for a few moments in a quiet room with a very stiff drink. We tried to play it out a couple of times, but for the most part the audience reaction was that Trowa was being obtuse/stupid/complaining about something most people would give their eyeteeth for, so I let it fade. *shrugs* I tried to play around with the "kept man" thing as well - Trowa would joke about being kept, but for a long while it was more a matter of him realizing that while he could do just about anything if he needed to, he was now in the situation where he could do something career-wise that he actually wanted to with little fear of negative consequences, i.e. the 'starving' part of 'starving artist', and the paralysis that much freedom of choice can create. Again, it didn't come across like I'd hoped it would.

[bleedtoblue.livejournal.com]

I live with a Trowa...I've had that discussion...LOL...XD.

You give the characters wonderful dimension!

[solitude1056.livejournal.com]

Well, it's true that if you complain about something that other people see as good forture, they're just going to look at your cross-eyed. It's very hard to explain to someone who hasn't been there just how stressful it can be to suddenly have money. It's certainly not seen as trustworthy, the less so the more recently one has been without. I think I'd be right there with Trowa and that stiff drink, and the people insisting we're complaining about nothing be damned.

The kept man thing is almost harder, because I think it cuts too close to the bone for a lot of women (and remembering the fandom is predominantly women, if not essentially completely women). The idea of being a non-contributing half of the partnership can rankle, and it sure as help is not appreciated when an imaginary character -- male, at that -- complains to any degree about the fact that he's not actually, to him, bringing anything to the relationship that's measurable, and money is measurable. It doesn't matter if Quatre assures him twenty times a day that Trowa is one-half of an equal partnership; one glance at the biweekly deposits would make anyone feel like they're just kinda an afterthought.

(As one woman-friend put it when comparing her salary with her husband's -- and she has a college degree, while he doesn't!, "my salary pays for the mortgage, and nothing else." It was the only way she could measure her contribution, considering it was only a quarter of her husband's, without beating her head against the wall that women get so little on the dollar, etc., etc.) I felt the same way when we owned a bookstore; my salary was negative, because everything we had went into the shop. My partner assured me many many times that I was "doing something" but given that he worked, brought home a paycheck (to support us, and the business (when it needed it in its first few years), I felt like I was just being lazy or something. I had nothing, tangible, with which to measure my contribution. What was worse were the few friends (soon ditched) who acted as though I was a freeloader for letting my partner work while I "played" at running a business.

I can easily see Trowa getting that sideways attitude, for "playing" at being a Preventer (or even continuing to be in the circus) while his spouse foots the bill. I can't imagine that would sit well with Trowa by any stretch, and in fact I would only expect him to joke about being a kept man if among very close friends -- anyone else might not realize how sensitive he'd really be to it, and might make just a hair too much of it, rather than letting his joking take the lead as his comfort level grows.

[solitude1056.livejournal.com]

I don't know of any that do, specifically. Darthanne, Raletha, or Windsor might know.

[solitude1056.livejournal.com]

I was aiming for unrealistic, but you can see how well that worked out.

[solitude1056.livejournal.com]

No one's right all the time. And while the initial argument was one that I could see being non-war-related, it held two other arguments within it, neither of which I've seen as a source of strife in 3x4x3 before, either. And since I'm all about the strife right now, I figured I'd keep writing. If nothing else, anyone insistent that 3x4x3 is always lovey-dovey can have this shoved up their nose. To be blunt. No one is lovey and blissful 100% of the time; they may keep their arguments behind closed doors where the public can't see them, but they still argue. The only exceptions are people who are lying to you (or themselves), or trying to sell you something.

Yes. A 16x16 foot foyer; I've been in several. Usually with ten to fourteen foot ceilings, and all of them designed not with the message of "please come in and make yourself at home" but instead "FEAR MY IMPRESSIVENESS YOU PUNY MORTAL" which is an architectural message that I loathe outside state buildings and cathedrals.

[solitude1056.livejournal.com]

It's the alcohol!

[nataliethompson.livejournal.com]

anyone insistent that 3x4x3 is always lovey-dovey can have this shoved up their nose. To be blunt.

:) That's exactly what I was thinking. Besides that, personal experience leads me to conclude that no matter how perfect a couple may appear to be...they're not. ^^;; Really. I can't stress how much really. If only more people understand that...

[windsorblue.livejournal.com]

It doesn't matter if Quatre assures him twenty times a day that Trowa is one-half of an equal partnership; one glance at the biweekly deposits would make anyone feel like they're just kinda an afterthought.

Especially if the principal wage-earner is working 60+ hour weeks and coming home too tired to do much more than leave his shoes in the middle of the living room and stomp off to bed.

"my salary pays for the mortgage, and nothing else."

Yeah, I can relate to that sentiment. =_=;;;

[enigma-o.livejournal.com]

See. I go away from LJ for a few days. Ignore my friends list...

And when I get back, I find exactly what I wanted for xmas. Non 'happy-happy joy-joy' 3+4 fic. I often find people write lovely, entertaining, sparkling, arguement-ridden 1+2 fic. But 3+4 gets fluff and sap, all with a chocolate flavor coating and probably with 'little one' written on the packaging. In pink letters.

So thank you. I case you can't tell. I like you lots.

P.S. I'm referring to Shrapnel too here. I just never got round to commenting on it. Sorry.

[solitude1056.livejournal.com]

Oh, yes, because I am all about the motherfscking sap. That's what everyone always says, you want sap? go find Sol, Sol can give you sap. Probably by ripping off your head and shoving a box of sap down your throat with a booted foot, but damn it, it's SAP AND YOU WILL LIKE IT.

*puts cherry on top*

Glad you enjoyed.