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"It Could Only Be You"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Yaoi, Fluff, Romance, Angst, Humor,
Post-Endless Waltz, Canon Compliant Pairings: 3x4, 4xOC, 2xH, 5xS Summary: Trowa's become accustomed to hearing
about Quatre's whirlwind romances, but when Duo informs him that the
blond has decided to tie the knot, he begins to regret the choice
he made two years ago. "It Could Only Be You " “Yo, Tro! What up, buddy pal, my man? You’re not going to spend the day with your dick in your hand, are you?” More than used to Duo’s vulgar ways, Trowa propped his chin on his fist and glowered at the grinning man. “When have I ever spent my day with my dick in my hand?” “Psssh. Every dude does that at least once.” “What do you want, Duo?” “It’s the big day!" Duo's expression was one of transparently false enthusiasm which gave him an eerie, almost mannequin-esque look. “Last chance to do your thang before blondie takes the plunge. You’re not actually going to let him go through with this charade, are you?” “He’s a grown man, Duo. I don’t own him. He makes his own decisions. If he didn’t want to do this, he wouldn’t be doing it.” Duo’s face drooped and Trowa bristled at the pity in his friend's eyes. “You are one dense fucker, you know that?” He shifted in discomfort. Ironically enough, that was exactly what Heero had said the other night. “You been talking to Yuy?” “'Yuy'? What are you, Wufei?” “We’re...not exactly on a first name basis at the moment.” He doubted they were even on a last name basis either. Heero wasn’t exactly cordial when they’d spoken, though Trowa couldn’t really blame him. Heero had taken his rejection of Quatre quite personally. Not surprising with how close the two were. When it came to Quatre, Heero was as protective as a mother grizzly defending her cub. “Yeah, I know. He’s pretty ticked at ya,” Duo quipped with a wink. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” “So what’d he tell you?” Trowa leaned back in his chair and worried his lip between his teeth. It wasn’t something he was eager to share. Heero’s biting words still stung and they probably would for some time. Trowa had taken most of it in subdued silence, knowing he’d brought it on himself. He'd expected as much when he called and Heero certainly didn't disappoint. “I’m sure you can imagine, can’t you?” “Naw, I wanna hear it. S’not very often our Hee-chan tears someone a new asshole these days. I’m feeling nostalgic.” “You’re a dick,” he muttered when Duo flashed him a toothy grin. “Well, let’s see...he called me just about every name in the book, cussed me out -” “English, or Japanese?” “Both.” “Dayum. That’s quite an honor. He doesn’t do that very often. You done pissed that boy off.” Trowa glared at him. “Could you possibly not act so goddamned pleased about all this?” Duo shrugged. “Okay, sorry.” Though he looked and sounded anything but. “What did you say?” “I wasn’t able to get much in edgewise, at least in the beginning. And I knew I didn’t really have any ground to stand on. I didn’t argue with him.” “Because you know he’s right.” “I...I don’t -” “Tro,” Duo interrupted, adopting his best mock-stern voice, the kind he liked to use when he was dishing out what he thought was fatherly advice. Trowa looked up to see the other man’s brows furrowed as he stared him down and knew he was in for another lecture. “You know he’s right. I know you know. You know you know. He knows you know. The only one who doesn’t know is Quatre.” “How could I even - Duo, I can’t do this! I can’t just barge in on his wedding and tell him I was wrong and then demand he dump his boyfriend to be with me. I’ve had two years to change this and I didn’t and he’s moved on. It’s too late. I’m not going to fuck up his life all over again.” “You won’t, Tro! This is what he wants, man. He wants you. He loves you!” “So why doesn’t he tell me that?” “He did, remember?” Trowa stopped short, his mouth snapping shut. Damn. He did, didn’t he? But...wasn’t it too late now? How could he live with himself if he disrupted Quatre’s wedding ceremony like some love-sick Neanderthal and made some corny sounding speech about how he'd realized the error of his ways? How could he live with himself if he ruined Quatre's relationship with his soon-to-be-husband just because he was too afraid to tell the blond what he should have said two years ago? Then again...how could he live with himself if he didn’t? “Tro, you are one of the most ballsy guys I’ve ever met, man. I’ve watched you throw yourself into the thick of battle and defy Death hundreds of times without batting an eye. But when it comes to Quat, I swear to Shinigami, you are the biggest pussy.” Trowa couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed by that. Duo was right. He really was a pussy when it came to Quatre. He was terrified. Breaking his neck in a fall? Oh, well. Shit happens. Death? Pffft, whatever. Lifetime commitment with the man he’d loved since he was sixteen? Suddenly he wanted to curl into a fetal position and bawl like a baby. What the hell was wrong with him? “Look, buddy. I get it, okay? When Hilde suggested we move in together, I nearly pissed myself. I kept thinking, what the fuck am I doing? I don’t know how to do this. I’m going to fuck everything up so bad. But you know what?” “What?” “I didn’t. Sure, we have problems. It’s no picnic trying to get used to living with someone’s weird habits day in and day out. We fight about money and we fight about mixing colors with the whites and we fight about stupid fucking shit, but at the end of the day, we still love each other. We make it work because we want this. So...you have to ask yourself, do you want that with Quat? Do you want to spend the next twenty, or thirty, or however many years wondering, what if? Or are you going to finally grow a pair and go fucking take what you want?” Trowa pressed his lips together and thought back to his conversation with Heero. Beneath the swearing and the berating, there had been an air of desperate encouragement in Heero’s voice. A kind of subtle goading, a brotherly push down the right path, disguised as a swift kick in the ass. He didn’t realize it at the time, but Heero had given him a good, old-fashioned dose of Tough Love.
***
“If you let him go...if you break his heart like this, I will never forgive you. I did not sign up to spend the rest of my life mailing out Christmas cards to Mr. and Mrs. Stephen fucking Woodrow every year.” Despite the somber mood, Trowa's mouth curled up at the corners. “I don’t know which is funnier. The fact that you referred to Quatre as ‘Mrs.’ or the mental image of you sending out Christmas cards.” Heero gave him a pointed look. “Any hypothetical Christmas cards I send will be addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Trowa Barton.” He sobered quickly and studiously ignored the surge of giddiness that twisted his belly from the thought of Quatre becoming his ‘wife’. “Provided Quatre would even want to marry me, of course.” “Trowa, don’t be stupid. You know damned well if you ordered him to put on a wedding gown and meet you at the nearest chapel, he’d be there with bells on.” “I don’t think he’d appreciate the whole gown, bride, 'wife' thing.” “Be that as it may. You know what I mean.” “Heero, I just - what could I possibly have to offer him? I have nothing. I share a beat-down trailer with my sister for Christ’s sake.” “If you honestly think Quatre gives a shit about any of that, then perhaps you don’t know him as well as I thought.” He looked down at his lap as his cheeks flushed with shame. “I’m not good enough for him. He deserves better.” “You’re the only one who thinks that. No one else thinks so, but I might be inclined to if you actually let him marry that asshole.” “What do you have against this guy anyway?” “He’s not you,” Heero answered in his typical blunt, no-nonsense way. “And Quatre will never be happy with him.” “You don’t know that.” “You are the most dense fucker I’ve ever met in my life and that’s saying something considering I work with Chang and Merquise everyday.” Insulted, he folded his arms across his chest and snapped, “So what are you suggesting I do?” “Whatever it takes.” “Why do you care so much?” “Because I care about Quatre. And I do care about you, contrary to popular belief. He’s miserable. He tries to hide it, but I can see it. He doesn’t want this. He’s only doing it because he believes this is his only chance to have a meaningful relationship.” “And what if you’re wrong?” Heero leaned forward until his nose was close enough to touch the screen. It would have been comical if not for the intensity of his dark blue eyes. “You should know well enough by now that I am never wrong.”
***
“Hellooo! Hey, Tro! You spacin’ out on me again, dude?” “Hmm?” He snapped back to the present and stared dumbly at the screen as Duo waved his hand in front of it. “Sorry, what?” “You havin’ war flashbacks, or somethin’, bud?” “No. Sorry, I was just...I was thinking about my chat with Heero.” “Uh-huh.” Duo tapped his index finger against his lip. “Well, at least you referred to him by his given name this time. I’d call that progress.” He waited to see if Trowa would say anything more and when he didn’t, he prompted, “So?” “So...what?” Duo rolled his eyes. “Are you gonna man up and rescue blondie from the clutches of the handsome and suave Mr. Woodrow, or are you going to sit there in your trailer with your thumbs up your butt?” Fuck, this really was the moment of truth, wasn't it? This was it. He was standing at the edge of a crossroad. Either direction he chose could make, or break his future. And he had to make a choice. It was now, or never. He had only - he glanced at the clock - five hours to get his ass to L4 if that was the direction he decided to take. If he was ever going to have a chance to stop this thing, if he was ever going to have a chance with Quatre, he needed to get over his fear and he needed to do it fast. He remembered a young soldier, nearly dead in Trowa’s bed for well over a week from a failed suicide attempt. He’d helped Catherine nurse the boy back to health while a steady mantra chased its tail inside his mind. A mantra, playing on an endless loop, reminding him of what he'd planned to do. When the time comes, you can’t mess it up. When you do this, there can be no chance of survival. You don't want to end up like this kid. It's a one-way ticket, Barton. It's your job to make sure it is. And that boy knew it once he was finally cognizant again. How he knew, Trowa had no idea, but he knew. He didn’t try to stop Trowa. Didn’t try to talk him out of it. Didn’t try to tell him that yes, there was something to live for and all he had to do was find it. He didn't say anything because he knew it didn't matter. Because he'd been there, too. They’d formed an odd sort of kinship, built on the understanding that death was an inevitable and just fate for lost souls such as they. Something they’d both accepted with a heavy resignation and the weariness of two young boys who’d seen and killed and lived through more than most adults five times their age. At the time, neither of them believed there was ever any coming back from that. That boy departed once he was well enough with a short, but genuine expression of gratitude for their hospitality and three simple words of advice, the latter of which was directed at Trowa. Advice that may have seemed trite and shallow to an outsider, but to Trowa, it had meant everything. Follow your heart. That advice served him well in the two years since Heero had given it. Those words were what brought him back to Quatre and which ultimately lead to the recovery of his memories. Those three words hadn’t failed him yet. He had no reason to believe they would fail him now. “Duo?” “Yeah?” “I estimate a thirty minute drive to the shuttle port, depending on traffic conditions. From there, it’ll probably take me around four hours to get to L4.” He left the rest unspoken. It didn’t need to be said. Duo got the gist and his eyes lit up in triumph. “You got it, buddy. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll stall the ceremony until you get here. You just get your ass here in one piece.” “I will. Thanks, Duo.” “I’m just glad you finally came to your senses. I was beginning to lose hope that you ever would. Talk about pushing the envelope.” “I just need to pack a few things and then I’ll be off.” “Just hurry, bro. Ain’t got much time. It won't be long before Quat sniffs me out and gets suspicious. You know how he is.” He smiled fondly. Quatre's gift of perception was legendary. “I'm leaving in five and I'll be there as soon as I can.” He snapped his laptop shut and hurried to his closet, pulling a large duffle out. He carelessly stuffed it with a few days’ worth of clothing, tossed in his phone and charger, then left his bedroom to grab a few toiletries from the bathroom. “Got a hot date, little brother?” He could hear the smugness in Catherine's voice and turned to see her standing in the doorway with her arms folded across her chest. Her face held nothing back and normally Trowa would have been irked by the obvious, ‘I told you so,’ but at the moment, he was far too apprehensive and distracted to let it bother him. “Cath, I gotta go to L4 for a few days...maybe more. I don’t know how long yet.” She grinned wide and stepped out of the way, shooing him off with a flick of her wrist. “Go! Off with you. Don’t come back until you’ve put a ring on it!" Jesus, is the Beyonce reference really necessary? He was halfway in the driver’s seat when she threw the trailer door open and called out, “I have dibs on the wedding plans!” He popped his head up over the top of the truck and gave her a dark look. “Don’t jinx me, Cath. At least wait until you know he didn’t murder me for ruining his wedding day.” “Oh, you’ll be fine. Go on. Get your scrawny ass out of here and sweep your boy off his feet.” He slammed the door closed and smoothly slid the key into the ignition, cranking it until the truck’s engine roared to life. There was no time to think, no time to second guess. If he allowed himself that, he would chicken out, no doubt about it. Call the whole thing off and bury himself under his bed covers for the next three months while he vegged out on soap operas, processed food, and wallowed in self-pity. When he thought about it that way, it was quite an effective incentive. At least enough to keep his foot on the gas. Anxiety made his belly tight and slightly queasy. This could go one of two ways. Either Quatre would melt at his confession, mumble an offhand apology to his newly ex-fiance, and then launch himself into Trowa’s arms with an exuberant, but noticeably seductive, “What the hell took you so long? Oh, who cares. Make love to me right here on the altar, you stud.” He winced and shook his head as he gunned the truck through a questionably yellow traffic light. That was wishful thinking, not a potential outcome. Who was he kidding? Quatre would probably stare up at him with those giant, guileless eyes that somehow managed to conceal the immeasurable intelligent and cunning mind behind them, shock rendering him silent, but not for long. Never for long. Then those delicately tapered brows would knit and lower and those serene turquoise gems, so angelic just a moment before, would darken like the gathering clouds of a storm. There would be a pregnant pause, a stillness so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and then all hell would break loose. Duo would probably shout something along the lines of, “Oh, shit, here it comes. Take cover! He’s gonna blow!” And then a heart beat later, his premonition would come to fruition as the rarely witnessed, but formidable wrath of a pissed off Winner rained fire and brimstone upon the mass of hapless spectators. And God help those who lived to tell about it. “I’m either the craziest son of a bitch alive, or the stupidest,” he muttered as he steered his truck into the first driveway of the shuttle port and headed towards the large parking structure. He took his ticket and pulled into a spot, cutting the engine with a heavy sigh. “And I’m sure Quatre will be more than happy to let me know which before he breaks my nose.”
~ * ~ Chapter 4 |
