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"Thirty One Days "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: drabbles, Thirty One Days of Drabbles,
Three Paragraph Fics, drabble challenge Pairings: Trowa/Quatre Summary: A challenge of three paragraph drabbles for thirty one days. Tags will be added when new drabbles are posted and rating may be subject to change. Notes: Major character death, allusion to suicide. "Thirty One Days " Chapter18: A Drop of Crimson The flowers were beautiful. That’s what everyone kept saying, though Trowa didn’t notice. The giant, white lilies, the official flower of funerals and also coincidentally Quatre’s favorite, draped over the casket in a cascading swag and were scattered around the burial site in massive abundance. It seemed as though every citizen on L4 had brought an arrangement. The bullet wound in his shoulder ached, but it was infinitesimal compared to the void in his heart. Catherine stood beside him with her arm looped through his uninjured one and dabbed a white handkerchief against her eyes. His eyes were dry, but focused on the casket where his love would spend the rest of eternity as if it was the only thing in the world that existed. It should have been me, he thought. He’d seen the gunman before Quatre had and acted with his phenomenally lightning quick reflexes, drawing the blond into his chest and turning his back to the gunman so that he would receive the bullet instead. He had, but unfortunately it went right through him. Right through him and into his love, the bullet lodging into Quatre’s heart and killing him instantly. The deep empathetic connection they shared was abruptly and permanently severed and that had hurt far more than the profusely bleeding hole in his shoulder. He stepped forward, placing a single red rose on top of the ivory casket, a drop of crimson in a sea of pristine white. He pressed his fingers to his lips then touched them to the hard wood, the last kiss of this life, but the promise of many more in the next. There was no need to cry. They would be together again soon. As he’d said once before, he said it again, the promise just as meaningful. I’m coming, Quatre. Wait for me.
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