Chapter Text
Quatre leaned in the doorway and watched the neighbor's door. The tall man in the door was talking softly, but Quatre could hear the voice well enough to know he liked the way it sounded. He watched the small smile and nod, the bangs flopping slightly with the motion.
“Of course, Mrs. Avery. I'll be sure to stop by and get a piece later, but right now, I just couldn't. If I ruined my dinner, Cathy would have my hide,” Trowa answered politely.
“She needs to feed you better. Just look at you,” the old woman said poking an arthritic finger at his mid-section.
Quatre certainly looked. The man was handsome. And polite, he hadn't missed that. He also hadn't missed the other name, but Quatre wasn't going to give up the dream just for that. That man was going to be worth some effort.
“Well, if you need anything else, just call down. I'll be glad to come up and take care of it for you. Have a good evening,” Trowa said and started to turn. He saw the door just down the hall close.
With a shrug, Trowa headed back down to his apartment and a dinner he certainly wasn't eager to eat.
“I'm back,” Trowa called as he entered the apartment.
“Was it really broken?” Catherine asked as Trowa made it into the doorway of the kitchen.
“Yes, this time,” Trowa chuckled.
“She really is lonely up there. I'm surprised she doesn't think the cat talks to her,” Catherine sighed.
“She talks to it either way,” Trowa replied. “And she's making a blackberry cobbler tonight. I had to agree to come by and get a piece so that she'd stop offering me the last piece of apple pie.”
“Maybe we should go up, keep her company for a little while. I haven't seen her family around in a while.”
Trowa nodded as his sister turned to look at him. “I'll be sure to save some room then.”
“You'll eat your dinner, Trowa Barton,” Catherine huffed at him, hands landing on her hips.
“Always, but I certainly don't want to hurt the woman's feelings tonight, and she's concerned I'm not fed enough. I know what kind of portions she serves,” Trowa chuckled.
* * *
Quatre looked around his apartment quickly at first, and then more selectively. He was no handy man; he knew that all too well. But he certainly could manage to find some reason to get a chance to talk to the Adonis of maintenance.
He thought back to when he'd looked at the apartment and what the landlord had said about all the maintenance being handled by one man who was quite skilled in not just repairs but in dealing with his more reclusive tenants as well. Reclusive, he had been told, meant the tenants that just didn't go out all that much, including those without the means to go, though they were few.
Quatre had welcomed the assurance of an apartment where no one would pay attention to who he was. He'd finally gotten out from his father's shadow to some degree, and he didn't intend to be shoved back into it by people judging him based on something as unimportant as a name. He was a man of his own mind, and he didn't care to hear how they felt about his father's choices in business.
With a sigh, he settled into what was supposed to be a guest room with his violin. He always thought best while playing, his mind free to the flow of the music.
* * *
Quatre was jolted from his reading by a knock on his door. He placed the bookmark and closed the book gently, careful not to damage any pages, before he set it on the side table. He peered out the peep hole before opening the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, dear boy,” the elderly woman said as she looked into his bright aquamarine eyes. “I can't seem to figure out what is wrong with my phone. Could you call down and have Trowa come up and check it out?”
“Certainly. You live in the next suite, right?” Quatre asked, and she nodded. “Alright, I'll call him for you. I'm sure he'll be right up.”
“Thank you, sweetie.”
Quatre watched her go back to her apartment after assuring her that he'd call as soon as she was in. He shook his head as he closed his door and headed for his own phone. He held his breath a moment and let it out slowly before drawing the card out to get the number for his Adonis.
“Hello?” came a female voice.
Quatre blinked a few times, “Excuse me, is Trowa Barton there?”
“Yes, just a moment,” she said into the receiver and then in the background he heard her calling for Trowa.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Mr. Barton?”
“Trowa,” he replied with a faint chuckle.
“Trowa,” Quatre repeated quietly with a smile. “Mrs. Avery says she's having trouble with her phone. She'd like for you to check it out for her.”
“Alright, I'll be right up,” Trowa answered.
Quatre heard the phone click before he could say anything more. He looked at the receiver for a moment before the thought settled in as more than pathetic.
“I bet she's unhooked a line from it,” Quatre mumbled.
* * *
Quatre looked at the faucet and the fine mist coming from round the end piece. With a satisfied nod, he turned and crossed the kitchen to the phone and the little card he'd laid out. It didn't take long for his fingers to dial in the numbers, but as the first ring sounded, he started to question himself.
“Hello,” came the baritone voice.
“Trowa,” Quatre spoke, his mind screaming he should have just hung up the phone.
“Yes. Can I help you?”
“I'm sorry. I seem to have a problem with my faucet,” Quatre said and hoped that Trowa couldn't somehow hear his heart beat speeding up or his mind screaming and demanding he just hang up the phone before he got himself any deeper.
“Which apartment?”
“Four thirty-four,” Quatre answered.
“Alright, I'll be right there,” Trowa replied, and the phone clicked before Quatre could make himself speak again.
“Get a hold of yourself Winner. Like Ira says, it's just an experiment. If all goes well, you'll know what you need to know soon enough,” Quatre said as the receiver clicked into the base. He sighed, “Then maybe you'll stop talking to yourself.”
He hurried to put away the few dishes from his dinner that he'd finished washing so that the kitchen would be cleaned up. He drummed his fingers on the counter for a minute before hastily slipping the card into the drawer. He looked in at the apartment door and then back to the faucet.
“You're losing it,” he breathed and nearly jumped out of his skin as someone knocked on his door.
He looked through the peep hole, then eagerly opened the door. He ran his palms down his thighs as Trowa looked down the hall.
“Good evening Mrs. Avery,” Trowa said.
“Good evening, Trowa. Will you be over for cookies later? I just baked a fresh batch,” she called over to him.
“Not tonight. Cathy has dinner for me already, and she tried a new dessert of some kind,” Trowa offered. He hoped that would be enough to keep from hurting the woman's feelings. She was the closest thing to a family outside of Catherine Trowa had away from the circus.
Trowa turned his head back to find the blond looking at him carefully, the sharp eyes studying his face. “You said there was an issue?”
“Yes, please, come in,” Quatre said, stepping aside and wiping his palms along his jeans again. “I hope I didn't interrupt anything.”
Trowa shook his head, “Not at all.” He walked into the apartment and headed straight for the kitchen. He didn't waste time looking around, just right to work.
Trowa turned on the water and watched the water mist and spray out around the end. He turned the water off, turned the end with his fingers, and tried the water again. “There you go.”
Quatre looked at him through blond bangs before nodding, “I know nothing about faucets or plumbing.”
“It's alright. I've gotten worse calls,” Trowa chuckled. The sound made Quatre smile brightly. He looked into the gorgeous green eye he could see for the fall of Trowa's bangs and nodded once more.
“I really hope I didn't interrupt anything with your girlfriend. Had I realized it was that simple,” Quatre started, but Trowa held up a hand to stop him.
“You didn't. She's not my girlfriend; she's my sister.”
Quatre smiled and fought the urge to sigh in relief. “Only one?”
“Far as I know,” Trowa replied with an amused smile.
“Must be nice. I have 29. Talk about a struggle for a bathroom, even with my own. They always seemed to be in there as well,” Quatre chuckled.
“Twenty-nine?” Trowa asked doubting the number.
“Yes. My father had more than one wife,” Quatre answered carefully.
“Mormon?” Trowa asked with an eyebrow raised.
Quatre shook his head.
Trowa looked at the shift in the eyes looking at him, from watching with interest to gauging the situation. “Oh, I understand. If it makes you feel any better, I don't do religion per say. I have issues with organized religion in general.”
Quatre sighed lightly in relief that he hadn't just totally screwed up every chance he had with getting to know the man, let alone his living arrangements. He blushed as he realized he had actually sighed.
“I should be getting back,” Trowa said. “If I don't eat her meatloaf while it's hot, it might just kill me,” Trowa said with a teasing groan. “I was hoping it would be a job requiring I run for parts, which would mean drive thru dinner.”
Quatre laughed, “Is she into science too?”
“Science?” Trowa asked. “No, knives.”
“Knives?”
“We spent summers growing up working in a circus. We still do when they need help,” Trowa explained.
“My sister, Iria, is a horrible cook. I can't begin to understand how she can follow a formula so easily and not a recipe. I dont' see the difference.”
“Science doesn't have to taste good?” Trowa offered.
Quatre laughed, “That may be the very difference.”
“So, are you liking your apartment?” Trowa asked as he looked around the kitchen. The table was mahogany, a nice piece, far more expensive than most had there. The chairs were the same. And it was big enough for four. The counters were mostly bare, a small coffee maker and tiny toaster near the stove. A microwave set on the shelf over the stove.
“Yes,” Quatre answered watching Trowa's eyes take in everything. “I don't spend much time in the kitchen.” He wasn't about to say that he hadn't really had the opportunity to cook much before moving out. He was trying very hard to not let people know about his family's position.
Trowa moved back to the doorway he'd passed through to look around Quatre's living room. The TV was fairly large, one that Trowa wanted but couldn't afford on his salary. He fought the urge to whistle low at the sound system that he saw hooked to it as well. This tenant was no slouch when it came to electronics. Or his furniture for that matter, Trowa decided. The sofa, he noticed, had recliners on each end, and he was certain it had the fold down part in the middle back, covered in a suede that he was sure wasn't fake. The overstuffed chair that was off to one side was flanked by a small, two shelf bookcase. He couldn't see the titles from there. He also didn't miss what he was sure was a touch screen reader on top of the bookcase.
“Is there anything else you need fixed while I'm up here?” Trowa asked as he tried not to show how out of place he felt.
“I think that's all, sorry,” Quatre answered.
Trowa nodded, “Well, you need anything, call. You know how to find me.” And with that Trowa left Quatre's apartment.
Quatre sighed. That man was handsome to a fault, the fault being it was distracting. Quatre sat on the couch and reached underneath. He pulled out a book that was basically plumbing for the plumbing challenged.
“Okay that was far too simple to fix. He has the ability to talk to me like I'm just some guy, and I am not going to let him walk out that easy.” He flipped through the pages and set to reading.
* * *
Catherine watched Trowa leaning into the window. He'd opened it and stopped talking when something had pulled up out front.
“Oh my god,” Trowa gasped.
“What are you going on about?” Catherine asked.
“The blond,” Trowa groaned and pointed.
“Yeah?” she asked leaning closer and watching the blond.
“That's the guy that called last night about the sink,” Trowa tried again.
“Ohhhhh,” she replied with a smirk.
“Now I know I was dreaming,” Trowa grumbled.
“What? A guy like that can't enjoy a little conversation with the handyman?” she teased.
“Come on. That's a limo,” Trowa defended. “High maintenance guys like that don't settle for lowly maintenance men like me.”
“Says who?” Catherine snapped. “And who the hell told you that you were low or to be settled for? He should be honored you even noticed him.”
“Honored? I doubt that,” Trowa sighed.
“You shouldn't think so little of yourself. I'm sure there are some pretty high dollar prostitutes out there that get cars like that sent for them all the time. Doesn't make them any better in bed because they ride in it.” She paused for a moment and then smirked, “Though it might make it more interesting if the seats are leather.”
“And you wonder why I don't discuss my sex life with you,” Trowa sighed.
“Lack of,” she teased. “Admit it, you have the hots for him, and I can certainly see why.”
“He didn't talk to me like I was stupid just because I was fixing his sink rather than calling in some over priced plumber.”
“You fixed it, why should he?”
Trowa sighed as he watched the car pull away.