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"Windmills"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: Drama/Romance Pairings: 3x4 Summary: It was the crash that brought them to
this point. The crash that had nearly taken the love of his life.
The sight of the windmills would always remind him of what he'd almost
given up. "Windmills " The glimmer of sunlight reflected off the shining metal blades of the windmills like sparkling diamonds scattered about the ocean, strobing against his retinas in measured time. The sky was bloody with the fiery hues of red and orange in the setting sun and the faint hum of the wind farm a soothing white noise among the tranquil sound of sea waves. Skin, warm from the heat and salty from the water, slid lazily against his own and he ran the tips of his fingers up a creamy thigh, teasing beneath the still damp hem of his love's swim trunks. The fact that they were here, now, was a divine circumstance. The fact that the boy who reclined next to him was still alive, a miracle. Profound in their fortune that they'd even survived to make to this point in time. The idea that they could lounge together at the end of a pier and watch the sun set, once so foreign a concept, it seemed almost fictitious. It was the crash that had brought them here. A crash that occurred only a few dozen meters away. A crash that had nearly robbed him of the hopes and dreams he'd once harbored within his cold, bitter heart, too terrified to act on them. After years of war, it still wasn't enough for him to take the leap of faith he'd yearned for. It had been that crash that made him see that life would not have had any meaning if he couldn't reach out and take what he wanted, what they both wanted. They'd been afraid. So damn afraid of the very thing that almost kept them apart. It took the threat of permanent separation to provoke the suppression of fear and ignite the flames of alacrity. It was Quatre's transport that had plunged into the sea, taking out half the wind farm as it twisted and spun through the atmosphere after colliding with a satellite, smoke billowing out in a spiraling trail that had taken days to dissipate. On his way to a political conference, the young L4 representative had been the victim of a rogue attack, the satellite redirected to collide with the Earth-bound transport. He'd been the only survivor among a dozen people lost to the impact when the carrier first hit the satellite, then the ocean. He survived, despite the odds, the impossibility, and was found floating face down among the wreckage. He'd been comatose, on life support for three weeks with massive internal bleeding, pneumonia from aspirating salt water, and damage to his spinal column. Trowa got the call from Duo while traveling with circus. The ominous tone in his friend's voice like a harbinger of doom, echoing through his hollow rib cage like a shotgun discharge in a museum. The self-proclaimed God of Death, delivering apocalyptic news. It doesn't look good, Tro. He dropped everything. Every goddamned thing, leaving poor Cathy in a confused cloud of dust. Disregarding public transit altogether, he hot wired a spacecraft and flew halfway across the world, breaking the sound barrier in his need to get to Quatre, praying to every deity he could think of, but never believed in, that the boy would hang on long enough for Trowa to say goodbye. He met Duo in the desolate hallway of intensive care, heart sinking like gundanium in a pond at the sorrowful look in his friend's eyes, veins turning to ice at the possibility, the probability that he was too late. His friend simply pointed into a room, the darkness beyond, the knowledge of what waited inside, threatening to unravel him cell, by microscopic cell. He lost his composure at the sight that lay within. Of the one who he'd loved for so damn long, but never had the courage to reveal. Hurt, lost, and so terribly broken and he dropped to his knees in despair that he'd forfeited what his heart desired most. The regret like a black cloak made of poisonous lead. He wept in Duo's arms, damning the war, damning the enemy, damning the cards they'd been dealt, damning this power-hungry world, and most of all, damning himself for letting the opportunity slip through his fingers like grains of sand, elusive, intangible like the love he'd lost. By some incredible turn of fate, after three weeks by his love's side, Quatre had done the impossible. He'd done what everyone said he'd never do again. He woke up and Trowa hated himself for believing them. For not realizing that his Quatre was stronger than vast armies, a fortress of flesh, blood, and bone and unlike Trowa, he'd never given up his will to live. That tenacity gave Trowa the strength he needed to be what Quatre deserved. To be what Quatre had always seen when he'd looked at him, but could never see himself. The one thing that frightened him more than anything else was what he needed to survive. And he embraced it, cherished it like the priceless treasure it was. One year later, they greeted the crash site as a united front. The faces of survival, perseverance, courage, faith, and love. They dove, head-first into the depths of the sea, rolling with the swells and pushing beneath until the need for air forced them to break the surface. Then, they found their way back to each other, treading water as their lips met, chilled and salty, generating their own heat between them. The sun had set and the canvas of night painted tiny jewels across the sky, the ocean winds chilly on their cooling skin. Quatre swung a leg across his hip and and leaned over him, the tendrils of damp, blond waves just barely brushing the tip of his nose. The stars were spectacular, but the gems in those eyes held all the glory. He reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind his love's ear as Quatre smiled down at him. "Hard to believe just a year ago, I was floating half-dead right over there." "I'm sorry it took something so terrible to realize that I couldn't live without you." "I always knew you'd come around. It was only a matter of time." Precious time he'd nearly missed out on, had nearly given up. It may have been the crash that brought them together, but it was the undying love that kept them coming back. To never forget what it meant to nearly lose the one you love, and to hold on to those grains of sand with everything you have as they slip one by one through the unforgiving fingers of life. As Trowa watched the spin of the windmills, he knew they would always remind him of what mattered most.
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