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"Incendiary"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, wrongful imprisonment, Newtypes,
internment camps, eventual rape/noncon Pairings: 3x4, 1x2, 5xS Summary: A group of wealthy college kids are murdered.
There are no witnesses, but there is a suspect. From within the simmering
sludge of irrational fear and prejudice, conspiracy theories are born
and innocent people pay the price. "Incendiary" Trowa slung his suit jacket over the back of a kitchen chair and opened the cupboard to grab a frying pan. He placed it on the stove and pulled out his phone, checking the time. He still had a good hour and Quatre always took long showers. He opened his contacts and located Mrs. Seigried, his morning client, to confirm their appointment. Now was the time to do it since his husband wasn't in the room. Trowa knew from experience that Quatre would be pulling faces, trying to distract him from his phone call. He desperately tried to stay professional, despite Quatre and his client doing everything in their power to be unprofessional. He knew he couldn't really blame Quatre. The woman was a pariah. She didn't care if her husband was cheating on her. After Quatre met her, he'd informed Trowa that she actually wanted her husband to be having an affair. If he was caught, her prenup would be rendered null and void. She would be free from her miserable marriage, several hundred million dollars worth of stocks, bonds, and cold hard cash, richer. Quatre read that off of her within the first few minutes of their initial interview. She was as selfish and nasty as they came. She was condescending and treated just about everyone around her with disdain. She hated Quatre. She hated the fact that Trowa didn't have eyes for anyone but him. Quatre ranted and raved after they'd gone home that night, outraged that this woman had so openly and unapologetically flirted with Trowa right in front of him. It'd taken Trowa hours to calm him down with lots of intimate words of reassurance, many soft kisses, and passionate lovemaking. Trowa was an open book that night, welcoming Quatre into his mind with no reservations. He'd needed Quatre to know that he wasn't going to leave him. His phone rang just as he was about to make the call, Mrs. Seigried's personal number popping up on his caller ID. Trowa cleared his throat and pushed the green button, establishing the connection. "Ah, Mr. Barton! So good to hear your voice. I hope I'm not calling too early?" "No, not at all, Mrs. Seigried." "Edna, please. Must we do this every time?" "With all due respect, Mrs. Seigried, I prefer to address my clients formally." "Oh, but I'm not just any client, am I?" The woman simpered. Trowa's eye twitched. He could almost hear her batting her eyelashes. He clenched his teeth, using his monumental gift of self-restraint to ignore the suggestive tone. "What can I do for you, Mrs. Seigried?" She sighed, sounding dreadfully put out by his unwillingness to address her by her given name. "Well, I'd like to know if we're still on for this morning? I know of a charming little cafe in the east district that has the most wonderful quiche - " "Yes, our appointment is still scheduled for eight thirty, but we will meet in the office, as we always do," Trowa said with practiced patience. She huffed, "Must you always do things by the book, Mr. Barton?" "Yes, M'am." "Very well. I will meet you there at eight thirty sharp." Her voice dropped conspiratorially, "Is - will your...husband be there as well?" She spat the word 'husband' like it was a dirty secret. It took every ounce of willpower Trowa had not to tell the woman off, once and for all. "No, M'am. He has a prior engagement." "Oh?" She said, instantly perked. "Alright, then. I'll be seeing you in about an hour. Goodbye, Mr. Barton." Trowa pressed the 'end' button on his phone and slipped it back into his pocket. He leaned his hands on the table, counted to ten. Breathe in, breath out... He'd been getting a lot of practice with these breathing exercises lately. Controlling his anger was imperative. Quatre would most definitely pick up on it, if he hadn't already, and Trowa didn't want to upset him. He couldn't wait to finally get this husband of hers on tape with his mistress so he could be done with this case already. He pulled eggs and turkey sausage out of the fridge. Turning the burner on, he heated the pan, dropping a pat of butter into it. It sizzled as it melted and Trowa went to work frying up the sausage and whisking the eggs. He spilled some onto the counter from the vigorous stirring and took a deep, calming breath, reaching for the dish towel to wipe up the splatters. "Was that the bitch?" Quatre's voice startled him and he jumped slightly, turning to see his husband in the kitchen, pouring coffee into a red cup. Trowa shook his head, turning back to his cooking. "You shouldn't call her that." Quatre leaned against the counter, mug against his lips, blowing gently. He shrugged. "Why not? It's what she is." "I know, but right now, she's our client. We need to be amicable." "It's seven thirty in the morning and I'm in my kitchen. I don't need to be amicable about a woman who is trying to get into my husband's pants." Trowa sighed and closed his eyes, not thrilled to be having this conversation again. He flipped the sausage. "Quatre, can we not do this? I know you hate her and I don't blame you. I don't like her either, but we have a working relationship at the moment and I need to be cordial, at least until this is over." "Sure is taking you a while to catch that elusive husband of hers." Trowa turned his head sharply, eyes narrowed. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Quatre's shoulders lifted in a casual shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. "Nothing." His tone was that of forced lightness. "Just...you don't usually have this tough of a time catching someone." Trowa faced him, hands on his hips. "Are you trying to insinuate something?" Quatre stared back, eyes challenging. "I don't know. Is there something to insinuate?" Turning off the burner, Trowa shoved the pan to the back of the stove. He spun around and stalked towards his husband, leaning into his space. He raised his hand, finger pointed in the blond's face. "You are unbelievable! I know I did not just hear you imply that I am deliberately taking my time on this case because I am interested in that woman. You damn well should know me better than that." He pulled back and walked around the table, grabbing his jacket. He unhooked his keys from the wall mount and turned back to Quatre who still hadn't moved. "I'm going to work. To do my job. I suggest you do yours as well." He left the kitchen and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. He reached his car and unlocked the door. He stood for a just a few moments, breathing hard through his nose, trying to calm his anger and regain his control. His muscles shaking with adrenaline. How could Quatre even think that? Had Trowa given any sign that he was interested in her? He didn't think so. Quatre would have been able to read if off him if he was. Trowa never hid his thoughts and feelings from his husband. Quatre should know better. He closed his eyes as the deep breathing began to work, blood pressure leveling out. He thought about how he would feel if their positions were reversed. Trowa would be furious if someone was relentlessly pursuing Quatre the way this woman was pursuing him. But Quatre knew he wasn't interested. That, Trowa was sure of and it relaxed him a little. Quatre's behavior was emotionally driven, lashing out in frustration. For that, Trowa could forgive him, but they definitely needed to discuss the issue of making unfair accusations, no matter how justified their feelings were. Trowa pulled the door open and slid behind the wheel, laying his jacket across the passenger seat. He grasped the handle to pull the door closed when he heard Quatre shout for him. The blond was running out the front door, not even bothering to close it behind him. He reached the car and stopped a few feet away, panting for breath. His socks wet from the damp grass. "Trowa, wait. I'm sorry. I was being awful." He swallowed, looking pained. "I know you're not interested in her and I know you wouldn't do anything to jeopardize our marriage. I'm just - I'm having a hard time dealing with this and it makes me angry and insecure." He looked up, eyes wavering, uncertain. "Forgive me?" Trowa was still irritated, but he could understand where Quatre was coming from. He got out of the car and closed the distance between them. He cupped his husband's face, looking deep into stormy eyes, said emphatically, "You are the only one I want. I love you. I hope you know that." Quatre nodded, hands clasping around Trowa's wrists. "I do. I know it. It's just - I know what she thinks of me. I know what her intentions are. She hates me -" "She doesn't hate you." Quatre gave him a look, brow raised. "She does. Who's the telepath here?" Trowa brushed a lock of blond hair off Quatre's forehead. "Look, I'm getting close, okay? I should be able to catch this guy within the next couple of days. Once I have the evidence, I can present it to her, and we can wash our hands of this. Alright?" "Promise?" Trowa stroked a soft cheek, tipped Quatre's face up, pressing a kiss to the plush lips. "Promise," he whispered. He held eye contact, opening himself up to be read and Quatre took full advantage. After a few moments, the blond sighed shakily, and nodded. "Okay. I really am sorry, love. I didn't mean any of that." "I know. I'm sorry you have to deal with this." "I'm sorry you do. First you have to deal with that - that tart. Now, you have to deal with my petulance. I'm such a brat." "Yes, you are, but I love that about you." "I'm sorry for that, too." "I'm sure you are, baby." "So...can I still kick her ass when this is all over?" Quatre turned hopeful eyes on his husband. "That might land you in a little bit of trouble," Trowa said, slightly concerned that Quatre would actually do just that. The blond smirked, "It'd be worth it." "Quatre." Quatre tilted his head back, laughing. "Alright, I'll be good. No violence then. Maybe Duo can hook me up with one of his paint bombs. Quid pro quo." Trowa chuckled, "Now, that I can get behind." He checked his watch. "I gotta go." "Be careful. When will you be home?" "Usual time, probably." He nodded, smiling. "Okay, I'll see you soon. I love you." He wrapped his arms around Trowa, mouth pressing eagerly against his husband's. Trowa kissed him, pushing all the love and devotion he had into it and the blond moaned in appreciation. He watched as Trowa climbed back into the car and waved from the curb as he drove away.
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