"Defying Gravity"

A Romance in Three Parts

Written By: Kaeru Shisho

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Gundam Wing or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story.

Rating: NC 17

Warnings: AU, yaoi, some language

Pairings: 1x2x1, 3x4x3

Summary: A multi part story of romance starting with a turning point vacation, developing throughout a dangerous UC mission, and moving ahead through the unexpected challenges of a summer vacation.

"Part Three: It's Another Vacation"

Trowa had two more stops before he could kick up his heels and take a nap. Quatre had filled and taken both Trowa's bag and his own to L4. Trowa thought it was probably a mistake made by Rashid, packing in haste, but it meant that he would have to purchase one of his own. He piled the new clothes Heero and Duo had bought for him into a paper bag. On his way out, he elbowed the wall-phone handle back into place, jiggling it just enough, as he made a grab for the keys.

Thus when the telephone call came in from an unknown party, Trowa had just left for the shuttle launch port to L4.

Trowa's plans were simple:

1. Buy a travel bag in town and pack his new clothes;

2. Buy a fresh battery for his cell phone, having allowed his to die one time too many, and make it functional once again.

3. Buy tickets to L4, board shuttle, and thank Rashid for the ride.

In that way, he was able to place a call from the launch pad to the friends he was leaving behind. "Yuy? Hey... Yeah, well, I thought I'd let you know where I was headed so no one would get too bent out of shape," Trowa said from the spartan passenger compartment. "I know I'm fucked, but... hold on, Yuy, gotta incoming."

He switched calls, "Yo? What'sit to ya? Hello? Hell—oh fuckit."

He switched back. "Yuy, you still holding? Nah, some 'noname' asshole hung up on me. Yeah, high voice, my first and last name, why? You, too? Damn. I bet my exploding credit card bill this month that it's some prick from that porn-ring or trade-boy club. Fuck. Une's on it--? Well, okay. What? Louder, dude, the tug-jets are turning us. Shout over the roar of the engines! Better. Not a drop. I stopped drinking the hard stuff when Quatre and I agreed not to drink. All right. He'll either like the moustache or not. Why? 'Cause I need to tell Quatre something and I have to do it in person. I'm not telling you until I've told him. Yeah. Yeah, you take care of your own space-case there, kay? Bye."

Trowa Barton kicked back and closed his eyes for the long flight. Whether the decision was the right one or not, he'd made it and would see it through and live with the consequences. Life without Quatre was too bleak an existence. Nearly a week had gone by and he was already going out of his mind. Maybe Quatre could hire him on as a bootboy or driver, anything to remain close. He'd live a lie for the rest of his life, if it came to that. Pride? What pride did he need? Shit, he'd been a clown, for Christ's sake! What he needed was a reason to get up in the morning, and someone to kick him in the ass to do it.

(o)

"Where to?" Duo asked Heero.

"You wanted Wufei's assessment of the wording for our ceremony."

"I want Sally's."

"You'll get both."

"Yeah, they're both pretty opinionated."

"No, shit." Heero's smirk warmed Duo's heart.

It was an honest look on his face. Heero wasn't trying to protect Duo's feelings. Duo was tired of being treated like he was fragile or about to blow. He'd almost rather Heero knock him on his ass, than have him turn those worried eyes on him again. Wufei and Sally were on their way to the beach carrying fancy Italian sodas. They were delighted to listen to the boys' plans, so the group migrated over to one of the outdoor tables and pulled up chairs.

"Well, it sounds to me like practically everything is decided," Sally said. "I'm thrilled that you shared their ideas with Wufei and me."

Heero set a sheet of paper on the table. He looked uncertain as he flattened the folded corners with a finger. "We found this: 'A Ceremony for Civil Partnerships'—"

"Which, it says here, was 'compiled in conjunction with the Society of Registration Officers'," Duo inserted. "It ain't prayer-book language, but it includes some important things."

Heero lifted his finger, freeing the paper and inviting Sally and Wufei to read it. Sally looked it over and smiled, then handed it to Duo. "Read it aloud and see if it feels natural enough to repeat in front of a crowd."

"Okay." Duo cleared his throat, which wouldn't help, he knew, because he'd get choked up by the end anyway. "Here goes... 'I, Duo Maxwell, pledge to share my life openly with you, Heero Yuy. I promise to cherish and tenderly care for you, to honor and encourage you. I will respect you as an individual and be true to you through good times and bad. To these things I give my word.'"

Duo swallowed hard. "And then Heero would also repeat it, but with the names the other way round."

"I think it's lovely, Duo," Sally looked to Wufei, who was blushing and staring at his hands. "Wufei?"

"The wording is quite nice, especially... ah... the 'cherish and tenderly care' bit - in spite of the split infinitive."

"The split...what?" Duo squeaked.

Heero burst into a rumbling laugh that rose with volume to a near-giggle as he collapsed on the floor. Once he started, Sally couldn't hold back her laughter, or Duo. In the next moment, Wufei was chuckling at his own pedantic stuffiness.

Heero's uncontrolled outbreak was cut off by the ringing of his cell phone. "Yuy, here. Trowa? I was trying to reach you earlier. Right."

He said nothing for a few seconds, and Duo figured he was listening to a lengthy Trowa babble. He was about to ask him what was up, when Heero tensed.

"Yes, I'm still here. You want to call me later? A high-pitched man's voice? Duo and I both got calls. Milliardo, too. Whoever it is they asked for us by name. I hope you're wrong. I wanted that last mission over and done with. I called the commander and reported it. I'll add you to the list, but so far, Wufei's not been contacted. I-I said I'll call Une later and tell her that you've been contacted. Ah, Trowa? Have you been drinking? That's fine, then. It's just odd of you to take off this way, and then growing the moustache. Why does it matter what Winner thinks? Barton! That's crazy! What? Who?"

Heero looked at the phone, perplexed. "Barton hung up on me, laughing. He's on a flight to L4 to see Winner."

Now on their minds, in addition to their own 'weddings', were the two missing comrades. They all shared the silent hope that Quatre and Trowa would work things out enough to join them for Duo and Heero's happy event.

(o)

Their big day was Saturday and they hadn't much time to complete their modest preparations, but everything at the beach was "fucking marvelous." Heero walked up the shoreline from the Winner cottages to a rocky outcropping. His feet floated on air (a dreadful cliché but perhaps just forgivable in the circumstances) the entire distance. He deftly climbed to the top and closed his eyes a moment, enjoying the cool salty air buffeting his hair into an even more unmanageable mess. He pulled out his cell phone and was about to call Commander Une for an update on their mystery caller, when he noticed a man - and not as in "he was attracted to" kind of way, because this one was far from attractive. What made Heero notice him was that, in an egregious act of privacy violation, the man was staring fixedly at him.

There stood a gorilla of a man at the edge overlooking the beach from the public access parking lot. He was all muscles under a dark blue suit which looked as if it could scarcely contain them. He was wearing a white shirt and a tie which - just - held together the collar around a neck as wide as his head. For some reason he looked strangely familiar though Heero couldn't remember where he'd seen him before.

He stepped away from the cars and moved towards Heero. For such a big man he moved very lightly, walking on the balls of his feet.

"Mr. Maxwell," he said. The tone was high pitched almost refined and Heero could scarcely believe it came from the same guy, but his lips seemed to be operating in sync with the words. Perhaps the tie was constricting his larynx.

"No," Heero said, uneasily aware that, if he wanted to, it wouldn't take much from him to rearrange even a familiar face into something completely unrecognizable.

"Then you must be Mr. Yuy," he said in the same prissy voice, and suddenly it clicked. Or at least Heero knew where he'd heard the voice before. It was surely the man who had phoned him and later Duo, Milliardo, and Trowa, but who had refused to give his name.

The man moved slightly so that looking down Heero could see his shoes, small feet, small shoes, but with all that power of a gorilla behind them. He imagined the man kicking away at a head, cracking the bone, forcing the shattered pieces into the brain, and then he smiled imagining doing the same thing to the man. He made a noncommittal sound in answer to his question.

He must have taken it to be the affirmative because he said, "I have a message for you." He paused while Heero glared back, waiting. "I hear a couple of poofs are getting married this weekend," the sibilant voice went on. "This may not be a good idea. You've upset someone in a big way by all your activities, you know."

The man turned on his heel and, with a whisk and a twirl and a double chassis twist, he was out of sight into a dark automobile almost before Heero could take in what he had said. He lost no more time calling the commander of Preventer's.

"And I have placed his accent. New Germany. Duo did, actually."

"Interesting," Lady Une said, after he'd explained what had happened.

"You don't understand," he said. "He threatening our plans. What if he attacks Duo?"

"If he didn't attack you this morning, why should he attack Duo?"

Heero couldn't answer that, but he worried just the same and it bothered him throughout the rest of the day until, finally, he snapped at Milliardo over dinner.

"Pre-wedding nerves," Noin explained to her husband. "Just ignore him."

(o)

"No road as such - only a selection of wheel tracks where other vehicles have gone before. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" The dark-skinned, bright-eyed driver of the taxi twittered to punch up his joke. He maintained the one-sided conversation for most of the hour's drive from the launch sight. "Knowing which one has the firmest surface, and knowing what to do if the vehicle hits a patch of very loose sand, is an area where it helps to have a lot of experience."

They hit another bump sending Trowa head pounding into the roof of the vehicle. "Good thing I have an experienced driver."

"The very best!" the man said beaming. He missed the sarcasm directed his way.

Trowa slumped lower in his seat, bumping his long legs on the back of the seat in front on him, and stared out the window. He was surprised by how many different kinds of desert there were. There were some with lots of loose stones and very little vegetation; other areas had fewer stones and some tussocks of vegetation; and then sometimes the car passed full-blown sand dunes. It became easier to see how the edge of the desert was not a fixed line, but a gradual change, which changed not according to the recent past climatic history, as it would have had it been Earthside, but by man's hand—all purposeful and directed. Trowa couldn't help but wonder why they just didn't make it rain more. Why desert?

"Our stop, sir!"

The taxi driver buzzed off in a shroud of dust, leaving Trowa standing outside a home built like a fortress with sand-swept grounds. He hefted his new bag over a shoulder and squinted into the light, looking for some indication of an entry. Palm trees in obscene numbers dotted and clustered like a mutilated forest, but with imagination he could see that they also lined a path. Okay. Hoping to find an oasis at the end, he set out on the interesting un-guided walk through the palmery and past numerous rock formations. Just like the tourist brochures said: "The Winner estate is a copy of the Earthside Masmak Fortress, down to the last simulated rock."

As he strolled closer to the building he could see how few windows looked outward, he assumed to avoid the heat. He stopped outside a very imposing door with an ancient gateway. Twelve surveillance cameras had recorded his approach-- that he'd counted, so Trowa didn't bother knocking. He waited until the door unbolted and swung wide. Trowa informed the servant who opened the door that he was there to see Quatre Winner. The man blinked and asked him to step inside and follow him.

They passed beneath an intricately tiled archway, beautiful with elaborate designs, to pause a moment by a "wall of water" fountain. Trowa thought it was a beautiful greeting for new arrivals, a stark transition from the out-of-doors. He hoped he could wait there and meet Quatre beside the fountain, but the servant continued on. For a moment, Trowa held back to admire the fine plasterwork decorating the fountain with the carved inscriptions he couldn't read, and then "followed the leader" obediently.

"You may wait in here."

The servant disappeared as Trowa stepped into the dusky room. Cats spawned in the darkness of the palatial room shrouded with fabric tapestries on every wall, and where even at midday a lamp was needed. One was lit, it's fringed shade casting a puddle of gloomy light to reveal a woman sitting with a cat on her lap.

"Hello," Trowa said. "I'm a friend of Quatre's."

"Hello to you."

One cat sat aloof and princely; his tale wrapped around him in the manner of robes of state.

"Handsome cat," Trowa said, casting about for something to say, "golden like a lion." Or Quatre's hair...

"You've seen a real lion, I suppose."

"Actually, yes, I have. I fed the big cats in the circus and helped with the training."

"Oh!"

The subject of the cat exhausted, he thought to move the conversation along a little faster if he was ever to see Quatre. "I'm here to see Quatre Winner. We, ah, work together; have for years." His confession elicited an electric response.

"You're a friend of my brother?" the woman squeaked.

He thought they'd got that sorted out long ago. "Yes. You are his sister, then?"

"There are twenty-nine of us, but I am second oldest. Call me Lina."

"Nice to meet you, Lina. Can you tell me where I can find Quatre? Is he in?"

"I assume he is. It's a party for him. I will take you to meet him."

Trowa smiled all the way to his eyes. That's resourceful of you. "Thank you." Starched women never were a problem for him; he always figured it would come out in the wash.

Elegant marble flooring, leading to the only window he had seen was passed up in favor of a path blanketed with richly colored carpets, thick underfoot absorbing all of the sound of his entry into a candlelit, cavernous room. Upon a table glittering with hundreds of tiny inlaid bits of gemstones was spread a lavish selection of excellent food. He noted platters piled high with fruit, dates, almonds, raisins, figs, oranges, clementines, and pomegranates, bowls embellished with sweets, and stacks of mouth-watering cakes. Trowa wondered if it was the normal spread or a special occasion, and when he could eat. Before he could ask Lina, a short dark-haired young man ran into the room.

"Kalil, good. You can take this man to see Quatre," Lina said. She introduced Kalil as Quatre's friend and a falcon trainer.

Trowa tried for an enigmatic smile. "Yo! Nice to meet you, Kalil."

"Oh! I've seen your face before! You are one of those Gundam Pilots. The facial hair, it makes a pretty good disguise."

Not good enough, apparently.

Chapter13

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