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"Take Me Home Arc"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, Romance, Fluff, Angst, Drama,
Pining, Character Death (Not Trowa/Quatre) Pairings: 3x4 Summary: Fifteen years before Frozen Teardrop, Trowa and Quatre are still harboring feelings for each other, though they’ve skirted the issue for over a decade. Telling themselves it could never work with the lives they lead. A tragic accident forces Trowa to realize that life is too short and love is too precious. With patient persistence, he convinces Quatre to follow his own heart and take a chance on something that could wind up being the best thing that ever happened to them AN: This is the first story in an arc of three. It's based on a photo prompt from Tumblr. It is an exploration of what led them down the road to become Doktor T and Instructor W.
"This Lonely Road Always Leads Back To You " The noon train was late. It always was. Quatre tipped his head back onto the wooden slats of the bench, an exasperated sigh escaping between his lips before he could stop it. If he was lucky, he'd have time to catch a two hour nap before his meeting with the satellite resource's union. They were demanding pay raises and more vacation time. Again. If he wasn't lucky, he'd have to negotiate with no sleep which didn't bode well for him. It was his fault really. He'd had the audacity to take some personal time to visit Trowa and Cathy at the circus. The downtime had been nice. At least he was fed which was more than he could usually say. He was often far too busy to eat, even forgetting at times until his head spun and he was on the verge of puking. Even then, he would grab something out of the vending machine just to shut his body up for a little while. He knew he was working himself into the ground, but didn't really know what to do about it. The demands of his job were grueling, forcing him to sacrifice his own health to address problems both within and outside of the company. Not only was he responsible for his employees, but also for his colony. He'd become the unwilling representative for the L4 colony cluster even though he'd often pointed out other qualified, some maybe even more qualified than he was, candidates. It was his star status, he knew, as the Winner patriarch and a former freedom fighter. Not just any freedom fighter either. He'd piloted the Gundam Sandrock on behalf of all of them. They were the colony's icons. He also wasn't naive enough to deny that his appearance also had a lot to do with his people's celebrity worship of him. His face had graced enough magazines and tabloids with captions such as, 'Most Eligible Bachelor,' and 'The Beautiful Face of L4″. He'd read enough comments about himself on the internet, oftentimes objectifying him in rather vulgar ways. There was also the constant, rampant speculation of his relationship with Trowa. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd been asked if they were a couple. He always declined to answer. The truth was, they hadn't been together. At least not in the way so many people believed. Not in the way he wanted to be. He knew Trowa felt the same. Could feel the burning desire, the warm affection, the love that emanated off him like heady pheromones that made Quatre weak in the knees. It was all there, but they just couldn't seem to push through whatever it was that was holding them back. It was him, he was sure. His work, his responsibilities that kept them apart. That kept them from having the kind of relationship they both wanted. Trowa visited him often when he wasn't busy with the circus, but those visits never really amounted to anything more than a heart-warming cuddle. They had a few near-sexual encounters, but they usually led to Trowa backing away before anything really happened, which frustrated Quatre to no end. Trowa was afraid. There was no doubt about that. He was afraid of finding himself neck-deep in something he wasn't sure he could handle. He wasn't a public person and Quatre was, even though it wasn't by choice. Trowa shied away from the spotlight while Quatre grudgingly accepted it. He was tired of pushing his own needs aside because of obligation. Tired of being told he had no right to his own life because he had to sacrifice everything to enrich the lives of those around him. He was sick of being seen as a non-entity, a commodity, a figurehead, and not as a person. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be much he could do about it that didn't involve abandoning his responsibilities and risking being torn apart by the public. Trowa had seen the exhaustion on his face, in his body. The resignation. He'd pulled Quatre aside after supper to confront him about it when Cathy was finally out of earshot. They'd argued, as they always did when it came to them. It hurt. It hurt because they both needed each other so badly. They'd been skirting around each other for fifteen years, each of them becoming more and more despondent about the situation that seemed beyond their control. Trowa's eyes were imploring, begging him to walk away. Leave behind that which was destroying Quatre's life. 'I can't stand what this is doing to you.' Quatre threw up his hands in frustration, knowing this discussion wouldn't accomplish anything and sick of hearing it every time they saw each other. 'What would you have me do, Trowa? Just walk away? Shrug off my responsibilities? My obligations? All of the people who are counting on me?' 'You act like no one is capable of doing anything on their own. No one needs you to wipe their asses for them, Quatre.' He dropped his hands and glared, miffed that Trowa was right. 'Tell them that. I can't even sleep through the night because people are calling me at four in the morning.' 'All the more reason. They'll learn how to get by without you. Let your sisters run WEI.' 'I can't dump all of that on them!' 'There's twenty eight of them to balance the burden. There's only one of you.' 'Trowa, the media will tear me apart! They'll ruin me!' It was aggravating how Trowa didn't seem to understand, or care about the repercussions of leaving his position. 'So? Who cares what they think?' 'Trowa...' Quatre pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a calming breath. 'You don't know what it feels like. You don't understand what it felt like to come home and find out your own people were protesting you. Holding up signs that called for your death, chanting that your whole family deserved to die. This would be that, multiplied. I'd never be able to go back to L4.' Trowa cupped his cheek with a calloused palm, his eyes soft, almost begging. 'Then stay with me. I'll take care of you.' Quatre shot him a wry look. 'I'm not going to let you provide for me like I'm some kind of invalid.' 'Why not?' He pressed a finger over Quatre's lips to silence the outrage he knew was coming. 'You won't be treated like an invalid and no one said anything about you not providing for yourself. But, I don't mind providing for you. That's what we do when we love someone.' Quatre already knew, but hearing it made his heart race and his breath come faster. Just hearing it made it all the more real. 'You love me?' Trowa gave him a chiding look, but relented after a moment. 'You know I do.' 'Then why won't you ever make love to me?' 'Quat -' he sighed and pulled away and Quatre's heart dropped into his stomach. This was what always happened. 'I don't know how to explain this, but...I just - I just don't want to get myself any deeper in this than I already am without something actually good coming from it.' That hurt and Quatre looked away, stung. He understood, but it still didn't make it any easier to hear. He chewed his lip and nodded, reaching down to zip up his jacket. Nova Scotia was chilly this time of year. 'I understand.' He stepped away and grabbed his bag off the sofa. 'Thanks for having me over and tell Cathy thank you for the food and hospitality.' He couldn't look Trowa in the eyes and it consumed him with guilt. He tried for an awkward smile and stepped around him to get to the door. He was stopped when a firm hand grabbed his elbow. He turned, a protest on his lips, a 'Let's not complicate this anymore than it already is.' He never said it. His lips were taken in a heated kiss and Quatre cursed mentally though he surrendered with the kind of ease and willingness that he always did. He never could resist even though he knew this was as far as it would go. It wasn't enough, but it had to be. As long as Trowa was willing to give it, he would accept without complaint. He was left breathless and panting, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed up into the eyes he loved so much. How could he walk away? How could he not? Either way could ruin him. Trowa brushed his lips across his, gently, his soft breath hot over his face. 'I'll always be here when you're ready. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.' 'Trowa, I can't expect you to wait for me.' He kicked himself for that. The selfish part of him demanded Trowa do just that, but realistically, he knew it was terrible to expect it. The idea of Trowa falling in love with someone else hurt in ways he wasn't prepared to deal with. He nearly crumpled when a thumb stroked across his cheekbone, tenderly, reverently. He finally glanced up, suddenly wanting to cry. To fall into Trowa's arms and say ‘to hell with it'. If only that persistent sense of responsibility and obligation didn't overpower everything else. Trowa's eyes were brimming with the love that echoed in his own heart. A thousand lifetimes of it. An eternity. 'You know I have no choice. You've had my heart for fifteen years and you'll have it for the next fifteen, and another fifteen after that.' God, but why did he have to be so lyrical about it? 'Oh, Trowa!' He wrapped his arms around the taller man's neck, pressing his lips against a smooth-shaven cheek. 'You sentimental fool.' Trowa's laughter vibrated against his chest and Quatre cursed again for a world that wouldn't allow them to be together. 'For you, always.' Quatre blinked back tears and pulled away, shouldering his bag. He sniffled and rubbed his jacket sleeve across his nose. 'You make it harder to leave every time I'm here.' Trowa smiled. 'Then, it's working.' *** A faint whistle interrupted his musings and he straightened up, glancing down the length of the tracks to see the train coming. He huffed in irritation and stood, pulling his bag strap over his shoulder. Finally. Half an hour late this time. It seemed to get worse with every visit. It was cold, he was cold. Damp now after being pelted with icy drizzle for thirty minutes. He blinked as the wind picked up and blew the pin drops of water into his eyes. Mercifully, there weren't more than a dozen people waiting to board which increased his chances of being able to sleep on the way to the shuttle port. He found his seat and slipped the hood off his head, unzipping the jacket and laying it across the vacant seats across from him. He settled down near the window and pulled the shade, encasing his little area in near darkness. He was so tired, foolishly opting out of sleep to talk with Trowa almost the entire night. He now regretted that decision. He always did, but he just couldn't help it. Contrary to most people's belief, Trowa was actually quite talkative, especially when you got him going on about a subject he was fascinated by. Quatre loved listening to his ideas, his dreams and aspirations, what he thought and felt about things. He was passionate, fiery, even vehement at times. Something that never failed to work Quatre up in ways that he'd be forced to deal with later. Coupled with the soothing timbre of his voice, it was like magic. Soothing, comforting. It felt like home and Quatre realized with a pang, and not for the first time, how homesick he felt when he left Trowa to go back to L4. The life he left when he came to Earth wasn't his life. L4 wasn't his home. Not anymore. Home was here, in Nova Scotia. It was in soft green eyes and powerful arms. It was in love and devotion and the sense of belonging. Every time he left this place, he left more of himself behind. He knew there would come a point where he would leave all of himself behind and return to L4 an empty husk. He reclined his seat and shifted until he found a reasonably comfortable position and closed his eyes, trying not to remember how much more satisfying Trowa's bed was. The softness of the worn cotton sheets and the scent of detergent and Trowa. He pulled his legs up under his body, the phantom sensation of their limbs tangling together leaving him with a hollow ache in his core. He emptied his mind of thoughts with concerted effort when the train lurched, the hiss of the hydraulics starting up, slow at first, then gaining speed. He allowed the motion of the train and the faint, rhythmic thump of the tracks beneath him to lull him to sleep and tried not to think of what happened when he had nothing left to give when he went back to L4.
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