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"25 Days of Gundam Wing"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: R Warnings: Romance, fluff, kissing, schmoop. Pairings: Trowa/Quatre Summary: Trowa receives his very first gift. Prompt: Gift "25 Days of Gundam Wing " Chapter 12: Gift Thirteen performances this week. Thirteen goddamned performances. It wasn’t easy to admit, but perhaps he was getting a little old for this. He wasn’t seventeen anymore and he could feel it now at the end of the day. What used to be child’s play was quickly becoming a chore. His muscles ached. His bones ached. Hell, even his hair ached. He loped to his trailer after saying goodnight to Catherine and the ring master, making sure to slide his hand along the lions' cages, promising them a special treat in the morning. They nipped and licked his fingers, letting him know they were going to make good on that promise. For now, the only thing on his mind was a hot shower and date with the Sandman. When he reached his trailer, he noticed the door was ajar, light from within spilling through the crack. Soreness forgotten, his soldier instincts kicked in as the adrenaline rushed through his blood. He steeled himself for a fight, jumping up the three stairs in a single leap, and yanked the door open. He landed on the carpeted floor of the living room in a crouch, dukes raised. "Oh hi, Trowa! Merry Christmas!" He straightened, surprised. Well, this was unexpected. "Quatre? What are you doing here?" The blond was in the process of decorating a small pine tree that he must have picked up on his way over. He stood with a box of ornaments in his hand, looking flushed and petite in his suit tails. The tie and top three buttons of his collar were undone, his jacket slung over the back of a chair. He grinned at Trowa with sparkling white teeth and chirped, "What does it look like? I'm decorating your trailer." "Why?" Quatre paused, giving him a sideways glace. "Are you always this dense?" "Yes, he is," called Catherine as she waltzed past the still open trailer door. Trowa slammed it shut and turned back to his guest. "I thought you were working." "I was. Now, I'm here." "You didn't answer my question." "Which was?" He narrowed his eyes, knowing full well Quatre was deliberately being obtuse. "Why are you decorating a tree in my trailer?" Quatre shrugged and dangled a red glass ball from his finger. "It's Christmas. I was lonely. I missed you. Simple." "You were lonely,” he repeated, deadpan. “Aren't you surrounded by Maguanacs at all times?" Quatre clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, making a tsk sound. "That's the other problem,” he grumbled cryptically. He unhooked the ornament from his finger, but made no move to put it on the tree, looking up at Trowa instead. "I just wanted to see you. Is that wrong?" He shook his head and stepped further inside, grabbing the ornament from Quatre's hand with a murmured, "No." He hung the red ball on an empty branch and smiled sheepishly at the blond. "I missed you, too." Quatre beamed, his eyes lighting up brighter than the Christmas tree. He held up the box for Trowa to take another ornament and together they hung the rest up, peppering the easy silence with causal small talk and steering clear of any subjects that were too personal. Once the tree was done, Trowa headed into the kitchen. "Tea?" "Love some," Quatre said, sounding relieved as he sunk down onto the couch and kicked his loafers off. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the tousled curls, and blew out a sigh that puffed his cheeks. Trowa peeked into the room from his place at the stove. "Long day?" "Long year." “Wanna talk about it?” “Allah, no. It’s fine, really. Nothing new.” He returned with two mugs of tea and set them down on the coffee table before plopping down beside his friend. He caught Quatre’s amused look and quirked a brow. “What?” “I like your costume.” He glanced down, blushing as he took in his giant polka-dotted clown pants and red suspenders holding them up. “Sorry. I didn’t have time to change.” “I just said I liked it.” He shifted, unused to compliments, but also a little flattered. “Thanks.” "Oh, I almost forgot. Here." Quatre reached down into one of the bags he'd brought with him and pulled out a package wrapped in bright red paper. "What's this?" "A gift." Trowa stared at him in surprise. "You didn't have to do that." "Trowa, you're my best friend. I wanted to get you something and when I saw this, I knew it was perfect." He wasn’t even sure what to say and mumbled out a lame, “Thanks,” feeling uncomfortably on the spot. "You're welcome. Merry Christmas." "But I didn't get you anything." "Are you kidding? Just being here is the perfect gift for me." Quatre nodded at his unconvinced expression. "I'm serious! Now open it." Trowa tore the paper away and stared down in astonishment at the wooden lion in his hands. "Quatre, this -" He looked it over, turning it round and round, marveling at the beauty of the sculpture. The workmanship was exquisite, every intricate detail carved by a pair of obviously loving hands. "Quatre, I don't know what to say." "Do you like it?" Quatre watched his expression closely, looking for any sign that he was displeased. He was stunned, at a complete loss for the thoughtfulness of the gift, the fact that he’d even gotten a gift. "It's - it's beautiful. Really, Quatre, this is too much." "Don't be silly! I watched the artist carve it and I knew it was perfect for you. Look on the bottom." He turned it over and looked at the underside. Engraved on the bottom of the base, a message was carved into it. Merry Christmas, Trowa. All my love, Quatre.. He felt the tears stinging the backs of his eyes, but he couldn’t stave them off. They spilled down his cheeks unbidden and he glanced up when he heard Quatre’s gasp. "Oh, Trowa! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you -" "No, no," he sniffled, brushing them away. "You didn't. I'm just - overwhelmed. I've - I've never received a gift before." Tears crested the blond's eyes, such a hopeless empath he was. "I'm sorry. I would hope your first gift was something that might make you happy. If it's not -" Trowa set the statue down on the table and cupped his palms around Quatre's cheeks. He pulled him in and pressed a kiss to the trembling lips. "It's a wonderful gift, but it's not the best one I've ever gotten." "What's the best one?" Trowa kissed him again. "You are."
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