Murphy's Law (Part Five)
by Lorena Manuel

Quatre sat in the car, massaging his left wrist, hoping he didn't break it in the fall. He gazed out the window, watching Trowa finish his business with the police officer regarding the grave violations.

The boy sighed as he watched, an irrepressible smile slowly breaking out, which was followed by a small giggle. "What a night," he murmured as he tried to stifle a full-blown laugh attack. In looking back, he'd finally realized how utterly ridiculous the whole thing was, and he chided himself lightly. "This'll go down as the most interesting New Year's Eve celebration for you, Quatre Raberba Winner."

Then he mulled over his relationship with Trowa…

A month of an awkward courtship…of dating, mixed signals, unspoken affection, hint-dropping. Of an inexplicable fear of showing more, like kissing…of driving their friends mad from the mutual bashfulness that really didn't need to be there…the culmination of all that pressure into tonight, a bizarre hodge podge of good intentions gone awry...and the final breaking down of barriers to give voice to what was already understood…and seemed destined to be since the beginning.

These thoughts swirled in Quatre's mind as he gazed at the slender, elegant figure of his beloved, feeling that long-awaited sense of closure at last. And when Trowa happened to glance his way, the boy raised his hand to his lips, kissed his fingers, and pressed them against the windshield, eliciting yet another luminous smile from his green-eyed god.

It would be several moments more before Trowa would be done with business and would take his place next to his little Arabian sweetheart. The squad car pulled out and quickly disappeard into the night.

"Well now," Trowa said as he hopped in, "we've got another half hour until midnight. What would you like to do?"

Then he noticed Quatre massaging his wrist. "Oh, shit--are you hurt? How come you didn't say anything about this?" he demanded, gently taking the boy's left hand and kneading it himself.

Quatre felt a jolt shoot up his arm, and he shivered. "It's only a sprain," he said, coloring a little. Damn, this felt so romantic. "I'm fine, really."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded although secretly he wished he'd sprained every muscle in his body in the fall--just so Trowa could extend his massage to more--well--appropriate areas.

"I'd like to take you to that place I was thinking about earlier--the one away from the crowds."

"Anywhere's fine with me," Quatre smiled, still unable to fully believe that they were now official.

"But first I'd like to eat," Trowa gave a sheepish smile. "I didn't have a good enough dinner earlier tonight. I mean, with Claudia being around and all…"

"I understand. I kind of lost my appetite, too. But it was all my fault. If I were using my head, you wouldn't have been on your own, and she wouldn't have been encouraged."

"Hey," Trowa cut in as he leaned over to steal a kiss. "It's over. Forget about it. Let's go and enjoy the rest of the night, okay?"

Quatre smiled and nodded. "All right."

They drove off into the night in search of roadside cafes or diners. Since the cemetery lay beyond the city limits, it took some doing for them to find any signs of life along the dark, lonely road. They had to make a quick stop at a convenience store first as Trowa wanted to purchase more batteries for his flashlight.

They sat in the car for a few minutes longer before stepping out as Trowa struggled to take his flashlight apart to check the battery size he needed. And while he did that, Quatre looked out the window to idly scan the people entering and leaving the store. It took a little while, but he suddenly frowned when he noticed everyone's odd behavior.

People would walk into the store laughing and talking but would walk out pale and wide-eyed and visibly shaken. Quatre noted this in some amazement, and he watched about three couples enter and leave, displaying this bizarre change in behavior every time.

The last customer had left--again pale and shaken--before Trowa had gotten what he needed.

"Okay, let's go," he said and got out of the car.

Quatre decided to keep mum about his strange observations, thinking that there was a good reason for what he saw. And whatever it was, he was about to find out for himself as the two stepped into the store.

The boy glanced around the store curiously. It seemed a normal enough convenience store. He didn't notice anything out of place and even broke away from Trowa to indulge in a little snooping around on his own. And as he walked up and down the aisles, he grew even more puzzled as he never found anything wrong at all.

He was about to join Trowa when his attention was arrested by the ice cream freezer, and almost hypnotically, he made his way toward it.

"Oh, yum," he said, peering into the glass, his eyes widening at the variety of flavors that beckoned to him from within. And when his gaze fell on a chocolate drumstick, his mouth began to water.

"Hello, do you need any help?"

"Oh--uh--I was just looking," he stammered as a hairy behemoth of a man walked up to him, flashing him an engaging smile. Quatre glanced at the apron he wore, amused at the way it looked too small against his massive frame.

"Well, we've got lots of flavors here," the clerk prodded and then, from out of the blue, snapped his head forward and curled his lip into a snarl as he barked, "Jerk!"

Quatre visibly jumped at the unexpected assault, his eyes widening even more as he gaped at his companion. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but no words could form, being too much in shock to respond properly.

The man smiled again and then lifted the glass hatch as though nothing had just happened. "See? We've got drumsticks in vanilla and chocolate, ice cream cups in five different flavors, orange popsicles, and ice cream sandwiches. Asshole!"

Quatre's shock and amazement had slowly grown into terror at this point as he watched the man break into yet another genial grin as he waited for the boy to make his choice. "Um--I--I suppose the chocolate drumstick sounds good," he squeaked, his eyes still glued to him.

"Good choice," the clerk said cheerfully and leaned over to retrieve the treat. He handed it over to the boy and said, "What about your friend? What do you think he'd want? Fucker!"

Quatre jumped again, almost shitting enough bricks to rebuild a colony. "I--I--I really don't know what Trowa wants," he replied. "I don't think he wants any ice cream…"

"Are you sure? Bastard!"

"A strawberry cup and maybe an ice cream sandwich in vanilla," the boy quickly and mindlessly stammered, and the man cheerfully obliged him.

Within minutes, Quatre was cradling half a dozen ice cream treats in his arms, fully terrorized into purchasing them. The clerk grinned broadly as he wiped his hands in his apron, staring down at the pale, stunned boy who stood frozen before him.

"Is there anything else?" he asked amiably, and the boy shook his head mutely. "All right then. I'll ring you up when you're ready. Stupid pig!"

He marched off, humming as he went, leaving the boy staring at his back in abject terror. Quatre must have stayed paralyzed for a brief moment before Trowa's appearance snapped him back to his senses.

"Cat," Trowa said with a frown, "what're you doing? You'll ruin your appetite with those things."

"I--I have to get them."

"What on earth for? We're supposed to have dinner after this."

"But I have to…"

"Don't be silly. Who says you have to?" Trowa opened the freezer and proceeded to return the treats, but Quatre held one back.

"I have to get this," he said as he clung to the drumstick. "I really, really have to get this."

Trowa could only look at him in amazement and then sighed. "All right. I can't argue with you, Cat. You can be pretty stubborn if you wanted to be. Let's go."

They walked up to the cashier where the clerk waited for them, flashing them the biggest, most brilliant smile humanly possible. "Oh, so you decided to just keep the drumstick, eh?" he said with a laugh before punctuating his question with "Motherfuckers!"

Quatre winced, and he turned to see Trowa staring at the man calmly before pulling out his wallet. "Yes, thank you," he said, unfazed. "We're actually on our way to dinner, and the stuff's only going to ruin our appetites."

Trowa, don't say that! You'll only piss him off!

"Oh, of course, I understand. Sons of bitches!"

The clerk rang them up, and Trowa paid and thanked him. "Have a good New Year, sir," he called out as he pulled a stunned Quatre along toward the door.

The man smiled and waved. "Happy New Year to you, too! Shitheads!"

The two made their way to the car, with Quatre unable to comprehend what was, by far, the most surreal experience he'd ever had at a store.

"You'd better eat your ice cream before it starts dripping," Trowa said once they were once again inside the safety of the car.

"Trowa," the boy said, "he scared me into buying stuff…"

"The man's suffering from Tourette's Syndrome, Cat," Trowa said quietly and patiently as he motioned the boy to start unwrapping the drumstick. "He can't help it when he cusses at you or calls you names. It's involuntary, and it's never directed at you."

"Oh," Quatre said, still feeling stunned as he started to work on his treat.

Trowa pulled out of the parking lot and got back on the road, engaging Quatre in small talk, no doubt to calm him down. And it worked. Along with the drumstick and the lively chatter, the boy soon found himself fully recovered from his strange experience.

They found a small restaurant a few miles further and decided to stop by.

"Wait--I'm not done with this," Quatre said when Trowa made a move to jump out of the car.

"Humph. Cat, your appetite's going to be ruined for sure."

"Couldn't you help me finish this?"

"Just dump it."

"No, I hate wasting it. Please?"

Trowa sighed and regarded him with an amused grin, shaking his head slightly. Then he leaned forward until his face was merely inches away. "You'll have to feed me then," he purred, and Quatre felt that jolt again.

Reeling a little from Trowa's smoldering power, he swallowed and offered his ice cream, watching Trowa bite into the creamy stuff with a scrotum-tightening slowness and without once taking his eyes off him. He pulled slightly away with a tiny smirk, chocolate ice cream dotting his nose, mouth, and chin.

Quatre started to hyperventilate, and he felt blood rush to his face. And before he could get a grip on himself, Trowa leaned forward and took another bite of the drumstick. He pulled away with even more ice cream smears on his face.

"Um…" Quatre said once he'd found his voice--but only after clearing his throat twenty times. "You--um--you've got chocolate all over your--your face…"

"Do we have napkins around here?" Trowa murmured, his eyes still holding the boy securely in their power.

Quatre stared at him for a second or two, and before his mind could fully comprehend what he was doing, he found himself nudging forward and gently licking ice cream off Trowa's face. He finished off by giving Trowa a deep, lingering kiss and a breathless "I love you" before pulling away.

Trowa smiled, his face just as flushed as his, and he lightly nudged the boy's chin with his hand. "I love you, too, Cat."

The magic was momentarily broken, and he opened the car door and stepped out. Quatre followed suit, making sure to dump the remaining ice cream at a nearby garbage can as they made their way into the restaurant. And as he pondered his unexpected and rather daring display of affection, he grinned.

Duo's chocolate sauce thing doesn't hold a candle to what I've just done, he thought, feeling himself flush a bright red once more and some excitement build up inside. He quickly glanced down at his shorts and was relieved to find them looking relatively normal despite the stirrings they were hiding under the khaki-colored fabric.

They were greeted with a pretty excited crowd and were given a party hat each.

"We're waiting for the countdown," the hostess gurgled as she led them both to a booth. "We'll be celebrating New Year's with free cream pies for everybody--you can choose your flavor."

"How much more time do we have left?" Trowa asked as he took the menu from her.

A sudden, loud cheer from somewhere in the restaurant momentarily prevented the hostess from replying, and she laughed as she said, "You're actually right on time. We've got another five minutes to go."

"Well, it looks like we won't be able to get to the place you wanted in time," Quatre said once they were alone.

Trowa shrugged. "Oh, well. I guess this is okay. I'm really hungry, and I know I won't be much of a companion to you if I were starving and cranky."

"So much for a romantic time together…"

"Cat, it's okay. Any place can be romantic if you made it out to be--truck stops, the grocery store, the lake--anywhere."

"Really?" Quatre's mind screeched to a halt.

Trowa laughed. "Of course! You knew that!"

Quatre watched his date bury his nose in the menu as he pondered, chewing his lip. Then a playful smile broke out, lighting his face with a mischievous glow.

Oh, hell, why not?

He shifted a little forward until he was sitting near the edge of his seat, and he lifted his right leg and gently nudged the toe of his sneaker against Trowa's crotch.

"Oh, Jesus!" Trowa gasped as Quatre began to massage him with his foot. He quickly dropped his menu on the table and gaped at the boy, who watched him steadily, blushing and smiling.

Trowa started to chuckle. "Damn, that Duo's a bad influence…"

"No--uh-uh. This has nothing to do with Duo."

Trowa's expression began to change, and he closed his eyes. "Cat--oh, man--you've got to behave yourself…"

The waitress suddenly appeared. "Hello, sweethearts," she sang, her eyes disappearing as she grinned. "What would you like to drink?"

"Two Cokes, please," Quatre said when Trowa failed to respond, being too busy with more important matters as the boy continued to work him up.

The waitress hesitated when her eyes fell on Trowa. "Are you all right, honey? You look like you're having an asthma attack."

"He's fine," Quatre replied, stifling a chuckle.

"Cat--Cat--I'm serious," Trowa gasped once the waitress left them. "Jesus, you're going to make me come in my pants if you keep this up."

Quatre rested his chin on a hand as he sighed contentedly, not once letting up on Trowa. "Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?" he asked.

Trowa closed his eyes again, his mouth hanging slightly open, his face flushing even more. "Oh, shit--Cat…" he murmured before picking up the menu and hiding his face behind it.

"Why don't you push my foot away then?"

"I can't--this just feels so good…"

Quatre thought he could hear Trowa hyperventilate behind the menu, and he giggled. Hmm, he thought, I could do this all night.

"Hey, everybody, countdown's on!" somebody shouted from somewhere in the restaurant. And in response, voices began to chant in unison with only one minute left till midnight.

Neither Trowa nor Quatre joined in the countdown, and they remained relatively detached from the commotion around them. In the last few seconds, however, Trowa managed to fight off the torturous effect of Quatre's massage, and he grabbed hold of the boy's ankle, gave him a tug, pulling him under the table. Quatre slipped with a little cry that was easily drowned out by the countdown, his arms flailing above him as he disappeared under the tablecloth.

And before he knew what was happening, he found Trowa sliding under the table as well, laughing as he crawled up to him.

"…five…four…three…two…one…HAPPY NEW YEAR!" the voices from beyond the tablecloth screeched, and the air was immediately filled with cheers and laughter and the sound of horns and whistles.

"Don't you ever do that again," Trowa said, rubbing his nose against Quatre's.

"It felt good, though--you said so yourself," the boy laughed.

"Hell, yeah, it did." Trowa paused, lightly tracing Quatre's mouth with his finger. "You're a handful, Quatre Winner. I love you."

Quatre beamed. "I love you, too. Happy New Year."

Trowa bent down and kissed him.