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"Agglomeration"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: PG Warnings: Humor, Crack, Fluff, Cheese Pairings: Heero/Relena, Trowa/Quatre, Treize/Une Summary: Some things never change. "Senior Antics" Morning began as it often did at Sanq’s Shady Oaks Retirement Home for veterans. Unlike most retirement homes, this one housed former Gundam pilots so an ordinary day was about as un-ordinary as it could get. If Duo wasn’t busy starting food fights in the cafeteria with the creamed broccoli, he was seen shuffling down the hallway in his slippers and flannel robe, cackling like a madman with Wufei’s dentures in his wrinkly old hand. Wufei could generally be seen, and heard, several feet behind him, pushing himself along on his walker, slurring obscenities and threats through a toothless mouth. This life has been one hell of a ride, Heero mused as he leaned back in his wheelchair and observed the latest television cartoon series based on their roles in the war. God, but they just got worse every time they made a new one. He glanced at Relena when she patted his hand and smiled as she went back to her knitting. She had always been terrible at it, but Heero just didn’t have the heart to tell her that. Her once blond hair was now stark white and piled on top of her head and he watched as she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and tapped her needles back into place. Treize’s shaky voice drifted across the room as he crossed the threshold and padded over to one of the easy chairs, sitting down gingerly and Heero winced when he heard the man’s joints pop. “This humidity is terrible for my hair.” Une shuffled in a moment later, scoffing, and sat down in the opposite chair with her book. She slid a thick pair of readers onto her nose. “You don’t have any hair anymore, you bald geezer.” Treize lifted a spotted hand and gently touched his equally spotted head. “Shit.” “I like lasagna day,” Quatre piped up from the sofa. “Is it lasagna day?” He asked Trowa who sat beside him. Trowa shook his head and patted his love’s knee. “No, Quat. It’s not lasagna day.” “Oh,” Quatre sat in deep contemplation for a few moments, then looked back at Trowa. “I like lasagna day?” Trowa nodded, his infinite patience never wavering even when Quatre’s senility became so bad he didn’t even know his own name half the time. “Yes, you do.” “For Christ’s sake,” Zechs grumped from the other couch, having woke from his fifteenth nap of the morning. “Yes, you like lasagna, we know. You’ve only said it six times in the last hour.” Quatre gave him his customary blank stare. “Do I know you?” “I remember the lasagna they used to serve at my mansion,” Treize murmured from his chair, his expression wistful. “Nothing but quality ingredients and that expensive cheese that cost five hundred pence per ounce.” His mouth turned down into a sour pout. “Not this tasteless mush they serve you here.” “If you ate that crap now, you’d be farting everyone out of the building,” Une muttered, not looking up from her book. Treize shot her a watery glare. “All the more reason.” Heero glanced around the room at his peers, his friends, with a sense of nostalgia. They’d all been through hell, fought the same battles, faced the same demons, and here they were, living out the remainder of their lives, together, in peace. It was a beautiful thing. “Maxwell, get your wrinkly old ass back here and gimme back my teeth!” Well, relative peace.
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