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"Gone Fishing"Written By: Dentelle_noir Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing AC or the
characters. GW belongs to Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. This
is a work of fiction and written for fun, not profit Rating: PG 13 Warnings: AU, Preventors. Drabble Pairings: 3x4 Summary: Trowa has to admit the reason behind
the problems he's having with Quatre a a partner in Preventer. "Gone Fishing"
That was the name of the club. You would have expected it was some seedy old foggies pub near a fish-smelling harbor. It WAS on the harbor, but with a spectacular view from the long glass panels that went up the sea-facing side of the building, just like the pinstripes of the elegant suits on the wealthy executives drinking martini’s in the uppermost lounge. They were fishing for young blondes who’d open their legs for a lot of expensive drinks. The second level of the bar was always pumping with dance beats, attracting the sexy single ladies who were out to have a good night and dance on their too-high shoes, and the men who gelled their hair, perfumed their suit coats, and tried to look like the executives from the third floor to hook a night with some of the dancers. The first floor, though, played rock, and it played it loud. It was funny because on the bottom floor most of the clientele yelled back and forth to each other, knocking back snake bites, playing beer pong, and sometimes not making it to the bathroom before they puked it all up. They were fishing to get drunk as fast as they could and go home with anyone who’d take them—men and men, women and men, women and woman—it was all accepted when everyone had enough alcohol in them. Trowa, though, showed up for a completely different reason. He was fishing for one person in particular who didn’t fit on any of the floors, really. The man he was looking for would be dressed in third-floor attire, enjoying the second floor music, and looking for a first floor kinda perpetrator as he worked surveillance incognito. He didn’t really know what the blonde would be fishing for if he hadn’t been working...but Trowa was determined tonight to be it anyway. He’d worked with Quatre for nearly two years. Ever since the war. They made a great team and after a few times trying out different teams among the best trained soldiers, Preventers just left him and the blonde together. Trowa had been trying for a few months to think of a way to talk to Quatre, and their relationship was suffering for it; there was more silence then words, it seemed. Today, Une had called Trowa into her office and told him that she was going to transfer them to different teams if they didn’t fix whatever problem they were having, then she sent him to relieve Quatre of the undercover surveillance mission. They had just gotten word that the perp was at a whole different club tonight, fishing for heroine instead of a date. Trowa found that blond head of hair screaming unheard for a martini and trying to avoid the spilled beer all over the sticky wooden bar. When Trowa came to stand beside him, placing a hand over his, the blonde startled at the contact, then relaxed when he saw it was his partner. Trowa turned to look at the bartender too, and slammed his fist down on the bar, “Can he get a FUCKING MARTINI!!” and within two minutes one was in Quatre’s hands and Trowa was picking up the tab, much to Quatre’s consternation. “Thanks for getting their attention, but I could’a paid.” Quatre said. “Why are you here, Trowa?” And he tipped that martini glass back and took nearly half of it in one go, not even wincing at the strength. But when he went to push away from the bar, he realized Trowa hadn’t let go of his hand. Trowa looked into Quatre’s eyes, “Une told me she’s gonna split us up if we don’t get over the problems we’ve been having.” Quatre frowned, eyes darkening, “I...see,” and he tipped the rest of the martini back. “Honestly, Trowa... I don’t know what the problem is. I know you’re nervous around me all the time. I can feel it. But I don’t know why.” Trowa took a breath and steeled his courage, thankful he’d been smart enough to knock back a beer while looking for Quatre because it made this just a little easier. “Quatre,” he said, “I love you.” Quatre blinked. Then blinked again, “Pardon?” “I’m crazy in love with you, Quatre. I’m always thinking of you...They’re gonna split us up as a team if I don’t say anything, and you might never wanna work with me again if you don’t like what I have to say...But there’s also a chance that now that I’ve told you we can—” “You’d better buy me another drink,” Quatre said sharply, leaning against the bar. Trowa was confused...but did it; getting him another martini even though he hadn’t expected any sort of response like that. “Quatre? I don’t understand...” “That’s what a date is supposed to do, stupid,” Quatre said, a slight smile, “And I don’t go home with anyone until at least the second date... I don’t know if I should make an exception for someone as oblivious as you.” What was that supposed to mean? When he showed up here, he had been fishing for a chance. Just a CHANCE that maybe Quatre wouldn’t hate him. “I love you too, Trowa,” Quatre said with a good-humored sigh. He turned his hand upwards so he held Trowa’s proper, and smiled in that way that had made Trowa’s heart skip a beat from the first day they had met. And he could tell, just by looking at him, that Quatre had meant every word. Trowa didn’t even need to wonder if this would last. Quatre had his heart, hook, line, and sinker.
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