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"Defying Gravity"A Romance in Three PartsWritten 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 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"
Chapter 15
Trowa called the taxi service requesting the same driver as before. His thoughts were on Quatre, his dilemma, and their unsatisfying solution. Was he running away too afraid to assert himself and leaving Quatre to think marrying this woman was his only choice? He had wanted to be supportive, but was he just relinquishing Quatre into the clutches of these people who, although they was family and past friends, were still in recent years total strangers who knew nothing about what it was that Quatre needed or wanted? He considered turning around and marching right back into the fortress, demanding that Quatre acknowledge him, and then haul his ass back to Sanc. Heero would do it over Duo, but Heero had balls and a suicidal tendency. Trowa lacked Wufei's seemingly unlimited self-assurance and Duo's gritty tenacity. Also, he was positive that Quatre deserved better than what he had to offer, and he couldn't replace the job Winner Corporation had waiting for him, or the family. He was just a step up from a street cop who could offer the heir to the Winner estate a rocky, gay relationship. Removing temptation, leaving was best, Trowa decided. By the time the taxi arrived, he was deep into his dark thoughts. He dumped his bag into the back seat and blindly fell in alongside it. "Shuttle launch," he said, in case the driver hadn't gotten the message when he'd made the appointment. (o) Dear Quatre, I know I promised that I would be there during your wedding. I tried to prepare myself, but I couldn't. I can't watch you becoming the half of another person. I was afraid of breaking down during the ceremony and causing you many problems. So I'm going back. Don't be sad, Quatre. I don't blame you at all, and neither should you blame yourself. Everything that has happened wasn't in your hands. Perhaps the stars were jealous of our love, or perhaps our love wasn't meant to exist. Go, Quatre, and live your life. Be happy, if not for yourself, at least for me. Bye my friend and thanks for all that you have given me, Always yours, Trowa P.S- Don't forget to dry your hair after having a bath or I'll come back and kick your ass. Quatre looked at the letter, his hair fresh from the shower dripping onto his chest and back. Nothing more was written, but the traces of dried tears left on the white paper told him everything. He crushed the letter to his chest and squeezed shut his eyes, fighting for control. His groom's clothes lay undisturbed on his bed. He wouldn't cry, he promised himself. There were no arms to hold him, and he was so alone in the crowded world. (o) "We've landed on L4 now," Edwards reported to his commander. "Williams is bringing our secured car around. But I got a new report from New Germany. You won't believe how the caller got their phone numbers." "Tell me," Une demanded her tone grim. Edwards looked over his notes. "You aren't going to like this." "I don't like any of this." "This is just what I deduce from the report from the new Preventer's Agent in Charge—" "Just tell me." "Neither Gunter's place nor Milliardo's were sealed or properly cleared of evidence." "You discovered that when you were there. What's new?" "The home phones were not collected and stored by the agency—that's according to the inventory lists I just received. They couldn't find them when we asked for them a day ago. And since both residences were broken into, again, as we found, and the phones were missing when we checked, we can only guess that whoever broke in, stole the phones and have been able to trace call histories based on the numbers." "Dear God." Commander Une jotted a note to herself to have the recently demoted Preventer's Agent in Charge Klaus Bauer brought up on charges for negligence and neglect of duty. "When do you arrive on at the Winner estate?" "One hour, less if the roads are good. Oh, Williams is here and says forty-five minutes regardless of the road conditions. He ordered us a SUV with crash plows." "Hurry." (o) Quatre watched his reflection in the mirror. When he was younger, he often wondered if he would ever have the opportunity to wear a bridegroom's attire.He dressed himself in the white, silk-brocade suit. His was really beautiful with a fine cut and shining with beads threaded into the design, making him look ethereal with his pale face and golden hair. He fastened the decorative sword at his waist, one his father had once worn, and stared at the turban resting on the bureau, then back up into the mirror. He didn't look anything less than a medieval prince. A pauper prince, he corrected himself. Beautiful as it was, it felt very suffocating and seemed to weigh thousands of kilos without Trowa by his side. The beggar sharing his lowly meal with the one he loved was certainly more beautiful and lucky than he was. "Everyone will be left stunned when they see you." Quatre turned as Qadira entered his room. "Making sure I haven't run away?" he asked. "Or run my self through with the sword?" "Don't be silly. When I see you like this, I realize how much you have grown up. You have become a man, a man who's going to have his own family. I'm really proud of you, my brother." She grabbed Quatre's shoulder affectively. She looked pleased. (o) Trowa stared unseeing at the receding line of palms fading into the dunes, lines of dust. Lines of dust? He had been in the car nearly half and hour before looking into the rear view mirror and noticing the driver was a different one from before. He wasn't even of Arab extraction. His heart rate stepped up. Lines of dust? Lines of dust billowed behind vehicles on convergent courses with theirs, one on either side. He checked his cell phone. It was off. He turned it on and read messages, several of them from Agent Edwards, Yuy, Milliardo, and Commander Une. He didn't need to read them to surmise that he was in danger. (o) "We are on route to the Winner estate. Approximate ETA thirty minutes. You'd think they'd pave the roads here," Edwards rumbled. "Keeps the riff-raff out," Une said. "Barton is not answering his cell phone. He could be injured already." "He probably turned it off after that last mystery call, knowing him," Edwards replied. "What's that Williams?" he called to the agent in front of him. Edwards returned to his call. "Commander, converging vehicles in sight." "Yours is bullet-proof, but his is not, remember that," she warned. "Roger, ma'am!" (o) Trowa felt the car's speed slow fractionally to match that of the flocking vehicles. He was unarmed, but he bet his driver was packing. "Don't slow down." "You are wanted alive," said the driver, his accent thick New German. "Cooperate and you will be." Trowa knew then that the driver, and possibly his abductors, didn't know of his Gundam fighter past. His eyes gleamed. It was nice to have an edge. He calculated the distances he needed to move and the degree of flexibility in his long limbs seconds before making his move. In a burst of energy, his body moved fluidly into the front passenger seat. One arm reached across the driver's chest to his neck. As his grip tightened around the driver's neck, the man's hands left the wheel to pry his fingers away. The car lunged to the wrong side of the road, propelling them both into the side of the car. Trowa threw his weight into his moves pushing harder on the windpipe and dragging the man away from the door toward the opposite side of the car, rising out of his seat to grasp the steering wheel. The man was large and heavy and slow to move. He wasn't so stupid not to go for his gun either, but Trowa expected that. He punched the man hard to his soft gut, knocking out the last of his air. Keeping one eye on the road and the other on the driver was all Trowa could handle. Skirting the edge of his awareness was the buzzing of his cell phone and the other cars closing in. He concentrated a moment on steering the car onto the right side of the road and blinked. A car was barreling toward them. "Move!" he growled, using his legs to shove the driver into the passenger seat. He kicked the man's feet away from the brake. Such small feet for a man! Without acceleration, his car rolled to a crawl. Trowa used the imaginary safety of that moment to yank out the driver's gun and pistol-whip him into unconsciousness across the temple. He could make out the year and model numbers of one of the cars. If he remained where he was, he was a sitting duck. Duck! He slouched in his seat as a line of bullets exploded through the passenger side window, tore across the space where his torso and head had been milliseconds earlier, and blasted out the front window. The driver moaned and slumped against the door. Trowa shifted into reverse and hit the gas. The car complained, huffing a black cloud of exhaust, and the tires squealed, agonizing over the change in direction, before finally reversing direction. As the car gained speed, propelling backwards down the pounded rock road, it rocked and bucked, perilously close to spinning out of control. Trowa inched up, peering between the seats and out the back. He kept his car on the road, barely, the vehicle on his right, shot past, but a second coming up from the left veered around positioning for better shot. Wind whipped his bangs into his eyes. He shook them loose and felt the air sweep them over his head. Trowa adjusted his speed, leveled the driver's confiscated gun on the door edge where shards of broken glass wedged it tight, and lined up his shot. Two moving vehicles, one wildly, one semi-automatic against hell-knows-what submachine gun, most likely—no sweat! The car drifted into range. He wondered then about what had become of the car coming directly at him, refocused, and squeezed the trigger. Got it! He didn't see if his shot hit the target or not. A shriek of metal and smell of burning rubber combined with the sickening crunch of heavy machines pummeling into one another slammed his senses like a wall of horror. He registered a vehicle outfitted with a battering ram front grille locked onto the smashed body of what might have been the car from which the first shots had been fired roaring past. He smiled, thinking of how odd it was that someone was on his side. Then the tires were blasted flat under him and his car went out of control. (o) "Quatre!" Kalil came hurriedly in the room, "Quatre! Your friend the one we call Peridot had an accident. It's not--" But Quatre didn't hear more. Voices erupted in his mind, screaming, "It's all because of me! He must have been really tense. I shouldn't have left him! I shouldn't have let him go alone!" Pictures scattered into his mind, one worse than the other, covered in gore and confusion. Quatre revived all the moments he had spent together with Trowa- the mornings, the nights, the meaningless bickering, but mostly the support he always gave. "I must go to him," Quatre announced. "Where is he?" "The hospital outside of town, but, Quatre, you can't. The ceremony starts in twenty minutes. Anyway, Kalil said that it's not so serious. It's just--" his sister started. "You don't understand! He's my best friend!" Quatre said. "I love him!" Qadira and Kalil took several minutes to register what he had said. Strangely, Quatre didn't feel scared, nor did he try to cover what he just said. It felt right! In that moment, he knew that he should have done it days, if not years, ago. However, he just regretted that he needed such inauspicious news to give him this courage. "What?" his sister barked. "I'm in love with Trowa. He has been my boyfriend for a year." "You're a faggot!" Kalil said with disgust. "I can't believe that your mother gave up her life giving birth to a freak, a half-man!" "Kalil, Qadira, please--" Quatre started. "I don't know what you are," his sister said dismissively, "but you're going to marry right now. I don't want you to play with our family's honor. Unlike you, I have my word to uphold!" "I'm going to the hospital," Quatre said. "You're not going anywhere!" Kalil shouted as he grabbed Quatre's arms. But to what must have been his great surprise, Quatre slipped out of Kalil's hold effortlessly. At that moment he must have realized it was folly to try and fight an ex-Gundam pilot. "Leave him alone!" Quatre heard a young lady's voice shout. "Zaira!" Quatre uttered, shocked to see his youngest sister enter the room followed by two other sisters, Zaida and Lina. "I won't let him leave," Qadira snorted. "This concerns my reputation, our family's!" "I won't let you sacrifice our brother to please your so-called society," Zaida said firmly. "Today, when he needs our support, you're talking about honor. Didn't your honor prick you when you didn't have the time to talk to your brother for years? Where was your honor when he needed your affection after the war? You're going to let go him go to his friend, because they need each other right now." "How--?" Quatre asked, both surprised and bemused by the unexpected support. Zaira stepped forward and dipped her head as a blush rose up her neck. "I, ah, saw a letter in your drawer and-- being the snoop that I am-- I read it and learned about you and Trowa. That boy really loves you." It was Quatre's turn feel abashed. "That was my personal stuff." "I know, but I could tell you were both unhappy about something and I saw him leave before the wedding, so I went to find out if there was anything I could do to help, and you weren't in your room and so I did some snooping and... Sorry." "This is wasting time!" Qadira reminded them. "I'm not finished saying what I have to say!" Zaira said. "See, I know from experience that it's very difficult to find a person who loves you that much these days-- boy or girl. You shouldn't let him go, Quatre! What saddens me is that you didn't tell me anything. How could you have thought that I wouldn't understand? I'm your little sis, silly boy! You always confided in me!" Zaira's eyes shone with motherly love as she shook off Qadira's restraining arm. "Dear, Quatre, how could you think I don't care about your feelings? Is there anything more important to me than your happiness? And you thought that your joy would kill her?" she said gesturing to their eldest sister fuming nearby. Quatre hugged his youngest sister and for the first time he smiled. It felt so nice to be accepted by some of his family. Lina begged for her turn then jumped into his arms and squeezed. He no longer had to hide his identity and live as a convict, maybe. "Go and be with Trowa!" she whispered in his ear. "I will, sister-mine, and but I have to go somewhere else first."
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