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"Caught in the Crossfire "Written By: Miss Murdered Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters –
am just borrowing to torment for my amusement Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Swearing, yaoi, violence, hints of long
past NCS Pairings: Primarily 3x2, past/presentish 1x2,
past 3x4 and 1x3 Summary: When Trowa's nephew is threatened by
the ruthless father who abandoned him, Trowa needs help in order to
fight back and protect both Catherine and the little boy. Things get
complicated when both Shinigami and the Perfect Soldier come to his
aid as the three men must discover where they stand with each other
while they work out a way to protect Trowa's family. "Caught in the Crossfire " Chapter 13
As they sat at a small circular table, Trowa looked at his tea in a chipped mug rather than at Quatre. The years had made his feelings regarding his first relationship less confused but on seeing that person for the first time in so long a lot of latent emotions resurfaced. Quatre wasn't the first of anything for Trowa except maybe his first actual heartbreak. He could give him that dubious honour. He wasn't his first betrayal and he hadn't been his first sexual experience. He'd been Quatre's first time – had tried to make it memorable for all the right reasons and enjoyable unlike his own – preparing him while going down on him, making love to a beautiful blond in the middle of a war. And Trowa could admit he was the first person he loved and that was why he'd left his mark. He drank a sip of his tea, looked at the papers that littered the table rather than at Quatre – plans of Nabokov's home laid out along with all the logistics of what amounted to an assassination or murder if it was looked at in the harsh light of day. They'd discussed everything, arguments made, plans rearranged with different input but now it was only hours before Quatre left with Eli and Catherine. And inevitably they were going to do this – have this discussion and put old ghosts to rest. Trowa didn't believe in ghosts nor did he feel the need to assuage Quatre's guilt after all these years but Heero had disappeared to do a perimeter scan and Duo had gone to one of the bedrooms to sleep so that they could rotate who was on watch. It seemed that they all conspired for them to have this conversation – Catherine had made tea as some kind of peace offering to the blond man after her slap. It had left a mark. Trowa remembered the feeling after his own aborted self-destruction. Catherine did not pull her punches. Trowa drank more tea – wishing for the acidic taste of alcohol or a strong cup of coffee. Some kind of stimulant rather than the tea. Tea was Quatre. He hardly drank it. Brought back memories that he'd preferred to forget. Trowa intended to keep the conversation short and unemotional – to keep it strictly formal and unfriendly. He didn't want to owe Quatre anything but he did now – a private shuttle, his personal security team, the costs of hiding Catherine and Eli on a satellite. And Duo had made it happen – it made him clench a hand involuntarily, the one rested on his knee, as the thought of Duo setting this up, of making this happen behind his back, caused irrational anger. His feelings for him were already confused since the first fuck and now he felt bitter and a faint sense of betrayal. And he didn't like it. "You're married," Trowa said, matter-of-factly after some time just to make some conversation. To keep it neutral. "Yes, I have twin daughters, I could show you pictures but…" Quatre paused and looked as awkward as Trowa felt. None of it felt right between them. "You and Duo. I wouldn't have expected that in a million years." "We're sleeping together. Nothing more." Quatre blinked. "Casual sex doesn't seem very… you." "You don't know me anymore." "And Duo and Heero?" "Not together." "But Heero's here…" "And they are not together," he answered but then he remembered how they stood together during the plan discussions, how their eyes drifted towards one another and how Duo seemed to gravitate towards Heero like a moth to a flame. Those observations made him make another comment. Or maybe it was Quatre – those baby blue eyes, that sincerity of his concern, all those things that made Quatre who he was. Who he'd always been. "They still have feelings for each other," Trowa stated, looking at his clenched fist. "Sounds complicated," Quatre said, that smile on his face that made him look young. "Isn't everything with us?" Quatre laughed gently and put his cup down. "Always has been... You look good, Trowa." He tried not to flinch at the statement. He didn't want a compliment from his ex and nor did he feel that he could give one to Quatre. Quatre was an attractive man – probably more so now that he'd grown a lot more into his father's looks than the young boy that he'd been but Trowa didn't say anything. Yes, he didn't have romantic feelings for Quatre Winner anymore but there were feelings that he'd buried. Hurt. Anger. Resentment. Plus a fuck load of others he wouldn't admit. "And Eli seems like a good kid. You and Catherine seem to have done a great job." "He is." Trowa didn't want to elaborate anymore – Eli was a good kid but he didn't need to sit and discuss it with Quatre. He'd lost that right years before, being told some clichéd line about it being 'me, not you' and making Trowa feel like nothing. Like he meant nothing. They'd been young though, insensitive, heroes of war, finding their way after the battle had finished. "I don't want this to be awkward," Quatre said quietly. "I would like us to be friends again. Before everything we were friends, remember?" Trowa nodded. He did remember being friends. Being offered shelter. Being offered friendship. The boy who came out of the cockpit first – stupid move, he always thought. Things had just happened because of the intensity of war – he wouldn't have fallen as hard and far without those circumstances. The fear of dying without feeling something good. And Quatre had been that something good. Wide eyed and willing. "I don't know if we can be friends again. You used me." "I was young, Trowa, and I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't understand how much I hurt you. I just had too much to live up to." He stopped and looked at his cup of tea. Trowa let him continue. "I always envied you. I always envied Duo and Heero. After the war, you three could be anyone you wanted to be but I… but I couldn't. Wufei couldn't. We were sons. We had expectations and yes, Trowa, I loved you but I couldn't just run away to the circus and be with you. As much as I wanted to… I couldn't be like you three." There was sincerity in Quatre's voice and the words were nice and sounded right but Trowa just stood up. The cup clattered. "I can't do this. We don't need to have a heart to heart, Quatre. I'll trust you with Eli and Catherine. I trust you to get them off world and protect them but I don't want to be friends." He started to walk away and for some reason the whole situation reminded him so clearly of that day, so many years ago, when he walked away from a fifteen year old Quatre who asked him his name and who wanted to be friends. They'd moved on a lot from that point, become men, but still, they were those same boys somewhere. He looked back briefly. Quatre looked disappointed and then despite everything he looked like his Quatre – that boy he'd idolised a little too much. Remembered Quatre underneath him, his rough hands trailing down his back – your first fucked you over. It certainly was true of them. And of Duo and Heero. That thought stung again. "One day I hope we will be," Quatre said softly, his voice barely a whisper. "Friends that is. Even after all these years I miss that." Trowa stopped for a moment, spoke gently. "One day, maybe." He wanted to be alone but there was nowhere to go in the claustrophobia of the apartment except the bedroom with Duo and he knew he should go for a walk, a run, use up some pent up energy before confronting him, speaking to him alone for the first time since that kiss that felt like static across his lips. Before the blindside of Quatre's return. But he couldn't leave the apartment – Nabokov's men could be potentially anywhere. He feared the worst as they all did. And so apart from hiding in the bathroom for the duration of the night, he had little choice but to open the door to the room Duo slept in. It was quiet and he felt a pang of longing at the way he lay on the bed, the covers thrown off and his legs tangled in them, tight t-shirt and boxer shorts and nothing more. Trowa considered then stepping out, of hiding in the bathroom as it seemed a better idea but despite his stealth skills, Duo had heard him. Trowa swallowed, tried to dampen down the anger and the bile in his throat, tried to not feel so goddamn sick but it was difficult. Everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours that had been painful and complicated had been of Duo's making, those decisions that he'd made for Trowa – the plans to kill Nabokov, the plans to get Catherine and Eli off world. Bringing in Quatre. "You okay, Tro'?" Duo asked, his voice muffled by sleep. He was. He wasn't. Trowa wasn't sure as Duo was sliding off the bed – that impossible hair, those eyes bright in the darkness of the room and when Duo was in front of him, looking up in concern, Trowa reacted, pushing him to the wall, the suddenness of the attack making a small yelp fall from his lips. Trowa pushed at him, Duo looked a little startled, a little unsure but was ready to defend himself, sleep and the unexpected force giving Trowa an advantage but not for long. "Look, man –" "No," he said, interrupting any speech, any apology – he didn't want to listen to Duo. Not at all. As the way he spoke was so damn eloquent, persuasive that he'd agree and Trowa needed to say his piece. "You did that without telling me. You could've said something. Quatre doesn't appear just like that. How long since you contacted him?" Duo looked like he would've shrugged but he didn't due to the hands on his shoulders. "Before we left Sanc, the day after we..." The sentence was left hanging and Trowa let go then, worried if he didn't that he might just punch Duo. The words "the day after..." was accompanied by a look that said volumes – the day after we fucked, that's what it meant, and Trowa punched at the wall rather than at Duo's face. It hurt a little as he backed away and walked to the other side of the room, looking out of the window as Duo remained where he had been pinned. The sheer distance between them in a tiny room the main indicator of the status of whatever their relationship had been now. Whatever it was going to be. Whatever it was, over now. "I did what I had to. Fuck it, you asked for him dead, you asked for my help – and shit, I'm gonna use whatever fucking methods I need to. Just because you still hold a candle for Quat don't mean shit. It's eight years, Trowa, grow up a little." Trowa had ignored Duo's eyes for that speech but looked up at that. "Like you? Who fucked me to get back at Heero?" "I did not fuck you to get back at him," Duo said, his voice laced with anger. "I told you what it was at the goddamn time, asshole." Trowa snorted. "So all this is unintentional? Fucking with people's feelings because you're Duo Maxwell and you can?" "Fuck you, Barton," he spat back. "You already did that," Trowa answered dryly. Duo threw his hand up, his eyes blazing with barely suppressed violence. "Oh yeah and you didn't want me? Fuck, I had feelings for you, dickwad." Duo made a noise low in his throat and grabbed for clothes, avoiding Trowa's eyes. "'Least you being an asshole makes this easier." Trowa took in the statement. The word feelings created a lump in his throat, a constricting feeling in his chest but he asked one word softly. "Easier?" Duo looked up after having shimmied into jeans. "We didn't say anything in front of blondie just in case any shit happened so he had deniability." Duo's hands were clenched in fists, his eyes downcast. "We're pinning everything on me. One of my identities – a hit man for hire, you know?" he said and then his eyes did meet Trowa's – big and expressive. "And it'll be so fucking watertight that I'm going into hiding for a damn long time. I'm not gonna exist so this is the last night I'm a person. Last time I see any of you. Makes sense, I guess, I have fuck all to live for." Trowa voice was scratchy against his throat. "You'll see Heero. He's as much of a ghost as you are." Duo laughed. "Not how this works. I'm not gonna risk his life – I'm letting him go. He needs to figure out who he is without my bullshit. He's had ten years of me fucking with his head, we don't need to do this for twenty, thirty years – he needs to be free of me." He found himself stepping forward, his feet moving of their own volition in the silence of the room. Duo looked vulnerable then, smaller than when he was talking animatedly, when he was grinning, when he was holding a gun and was Shinigami again. Duo looked up as Trowa approached, his eyes fierce and mouth set in a determined line. "I'm sorry this happened, I didn't mean this shit. I didn't mean to fuck with you, Tro', it just happened, you know?" "You don't need to apologise," Trowa said, his hand reaching for his jaw, moving to his cheek where a stray strand of hair from the braid lay across it. "I wanted it to happen." "Yeah?" "Yeah." "Shoulda just walked away that first time," Duo said softly, his face leaning a little into Trowa's touch. "We didn't." "No, ship sailed an' all." Duo's hand went to Trowa's chest, his palm across roughly where his heart was, and they were paused there on the brink of a relationship that they could never have. "I have fuckin' feelings for you, fuck knows why." "My outgoing personality?" Duo chuckled. "Naw – because you had the same shitty start and instead of becoming the goddamn worst like me, you made a better choice. You made a family and you raised that kid like your own. I chose death cos' it was easy for me. You chose something better." Trowa didn't think he made a better decision – just after Quatre there was nowhere better for him to go than the circus and Catherine. And he needed no awards for raising Eli – he'd automatically loved him from the moment he was thrust into his arms as tiny hands wrapped around his fingers. There was no time to think of what they might've had – a different lifetime where they weren't standing in this situation. Fuck. Trowa had feelings as well, complicated ones, ones that a guy with a braid had created by walking into his life when he needed him. Who'd helped him when no one else could, who'd kissed him hard, who he'd fucked in a cheap hotel room, who'd fucked him in a shower and now stood in front of him, alone, one last time. "I gotta relieve Heero," Duo said, his hand leaving Trowa's chest. Trowa reached out as Duo moved to walk away, his arm around his bicep. "Then we don't have long." "Tro'?" He didn't say anything else, just pulled Duo in for a searing kiss – the last chance they'd ever have. They'd never be alone again. Tomorrow they'd be travelling to kill Nabokov with Heero and then Duo would disappear. And although they'd never intended anything to happen between them – never wanted it – it had and they only had a few more hours before Duo would walk out of Trowa's life forever. The thought hurt more than he anticipated so rather than letting it dominate in his mind, he ran his fingers up Duo's t-shirt, slid them against his skin and met his lips with fierce lust. They made it to the bed for one final moment of slick, hot sex, escaping the realities of the situation by grinding against each other, hands all over each other's bodies, removing clothes and finding themselves naked, together, for the last time. Trowa tried to imprint the experience in his memory as he touched every part of Duo's skin that he could, as he trailed his lips over him, taking his cock into his mouth, trying to make it last, trying to make Duo make all those moans and gasps so that he would be able to think of in the lonely nights to come. He released him from his lips and gazed down at the way Duo looked in the throes of passion, his braid mussed, his eyes dark, his skin shimmering, his hands lodged gently in Trowa's hair and he realised – he could've been in love with him. More than he'd ever been with Quatre, nothing like his random experiences with random guys and nothing like the silent movement of skin with Heero. In a different time and place they could've had something. But it would never be more than a few quick times. A few needy kisses. And it would just be something else he lost in the span of the twenty six years he'd been alive. They came within moments of each other, the build-up
slow and intense, and Trowa collapsed onto the bed, surprised when
Duo laid on his chest, that hair tickling his nose and for a few hours,
in a temporary apartment in Minsk, with both of their exes in close
proximity, Trowa imagined as he drifted to sleep, what they could've
had – and what would never be.
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