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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: R Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort Pairings: 3x4 Summary: The "strong one" finally breaks
down. " Always" The heart doesn’t lie. At least that’s what Heero had told him once. He’d also told him to follow his heart which he’d done. It was terrifying at the time because his memories had been wiped out thanks to the near suffocation he’d endured while floating through space for the better part of forty eight hours. But despite his mind not understanding the situation, his heart had known. Had never forgotten that beautiful boy who somehow knew he needed love and acceptance, but approached it with the kind of sensitivity and awareness that indicated he knew Trowa did not want to be smothered. Trowa still appreciated that. Unlike Catherine, Quatre knew when to back off and give him space and when it was okay to get close. He had an uncanny knack for understanding people. When he approached Trowa near New Edwards and cheerfully greeted him with a sunny smile and a touch of snark, Trowa had snorted and walked away only to pause fifty paces down the boardwalk and turn around. He said nothing, only made a vague gesture with his hand, but it was enough to light up the blond’s face and run to catch up to him. Quatre was like that with everyone. Always happy to see his friends. Enthusiastically chirping about something, or another and he was never without a smile. Trowa often wondered if he’d ever had a bad day in his life. It came as a bit of a surprise when he’d gotten the call from Heero six months after the Eve Wars. Heero, who shared a strange connection with the blond that Trowa still didn’t understand. Duo had once said something about Newtypes and perhaps he was right. Heero had known Quatre was in trouble and he’d known exactly who Quatre needed. “Go to him. He’s hurting.” Trowa wasn’t sure what that meant, thinking Quatre had injured himself in some way. “What did he do? What are his injuries? Did he go to the hospital?” “No, Trowa. He’s hurting…inside. He needs you.” And that struck him because when had Quatre ever suffered from emotional agony, or been prone to bouts of depression? When had he ever shown a vulnerability like that? He was the strong one, often coaching the rest of them through their own traumas, happily burdening his own shoulders to help those he loved. Trowa wanted to kick himself for being under some delusion that it wouldn’t take its toll on the blond. Did he have anyone there for him the way he was there for everyone else? The answer seemed to be in the negative and Trowa’s heart broke for the one who’d always done so much for everyone else and when Quatre needed someone, needed him, he wasn’t there. “How do you know this?” Heero’s face was grim in the grainy darkness of the vid screen, but his eyes were pointed. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Trowa already knew the reason and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of jealousy. Heero, keen as he was, did not miss it either. “Don’t be stupid, Trowa. Despite our empathetic connection, it’s you he loves. It’s you he wants. Now stop playing with your balls and go to him.” Trowa’s mouth curled up slightly. “You hang around Duo too much.” “Probably. But you know I’m right.” “Alright. I’m going. I have to square away some free time, but I’ll go.” “Do whatever you have to do. His pain is so strong, I can feel from here. He’s so distraught, he’s not even trying to block it from me.” Considering Quatre was on L4 and Heero was on Earth, it was indicative of a powerful anguish and that was all the more incentive for Trowa to expedite his trip. “Let me know how’s he doing.” “I will. I’ll talk to you in a few days.” *** The trip was exhausting considering he’d been in Canada when he’d gotten the call from Heero and public transports seemed to perpetually suck the life out of you. He was practically dragging his feet by the time he reached Quatre’s apartment complex on L4. He nodded to the doorman who tipped his hat as he passed and headed up to the twentieth floor on the brass lift, bracing himself for what he could possibly be met with. He wasn’t good at comforting people. Didn’t even know what he was going to say. It took several minutes of knocking before he sensed movement behind the ivory door. There was a muted shuffle and then Quatre’s voice, sounding weak, defeated. “Who is it?” “You know who it is, Quatre. Let me in.” There was a long pause and then Trowa heard the distinct sound of a chain being slid off its track, followed by the click of deadbolts. The door cracked open and Quatre’s face appeared, barely visible in the dingy darkness of his apartment and the dim lighting of the hallway. But Trowa could see the puffiness around the usually jovial blue eyes. Quatre sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “What are you doing here?” Trowa pressed gently on the door and Quatre didn’t fight it. He backed away to allow Trowa inside, turning around and heading into the living room. The apartment was dark, quiet, but the flickering blue light indicated he had the television on, though the sound seemed to be turned down. He walked into the living room, his eyes taking in the empty food containers scattered about, realizing Quatre had been neglecting cleaning up after himself. Alarming because the blond was always neat and tidy. There were bed pillows and blankets on the sofa and he idly wondered how long it had been since Quatre had slept in his bed. He peered closely at the blond, noting the messy, unkempt hair and the slight dusting of pale stubble on his cheeks. His clothes were rumpled and looked as though he’d been wearing them for several days. Quatre gestured vaguely around the room. “Sorry, it’s…a mess.” He rubbed his face and looked up. “You want a drink?” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Quatre scoffed. “Tell you what?” Though his guilty expression told Trowa he knew exactly what. He glanced away and slumped down on the couch, resting his elbow on his knees. Trowa stared at the drooped shoulders, the weary hunch of his back, and his heart lanced with pain. “Quatre -” “Just…save it. Okay? I know I’m pathetic. If you came here to tell me that, then thanks. Duly noted.” Trowa walked around to the sofa and sat down beside him after clearing away the pile of blankets. He faced Quatre and took the blond’s hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs soothingly over the smooth skin. “I didn’t come here to tell you that. And no, you are not pathetic.” Quatre sniffled again, his voice cracking a little when he asked, “Then why?” Trowa squeezed the hands in his own, feeling the bones shift under the skin. “I’m here to tell you that I’m here. I’m here for you.” Quatre’s face crumpled as he lost his composure. No more needed to be said. He wasn’t alone. Trowa took the distraught man into his arms and held him tight as he let go of all the pain he’d been carrying around. He buried his face into the soft hair, and murmured, “I’m here for you. Always. I’m here.”
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