"Firsts"

Written By: Waterlilylf

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. All rights remain with Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. No profit being made here.

Rating: R

Warnings: Yaoi, Post Cannon, sap, angst

Pairings: 3x2

Summary: How do you get past losing the love of your life, the person you fell in love with when you were just fifteen? Trowa desperately needs someone special in his life, even if he hasn't quite realised it yet..

"Firsts"

 

Chapter 9 - The Blue Danube:

The Winner Travelling Circus was in full swing when he walked into the hotel lobby. Bodyguards on point, and a couple of young women glued to their phones, speaking urgently in low voices. Undoubted signs that the man himself was on his way. Trowa got a couple of suspicious glances until Rashid gave him a nod. He was a couple of hours earlier than planned; he propped himself against a wall and sent Duo a quick text and then waited for Quatre.

Quatre and accessories, he amended, when the lift descended. Shit. He even had the kid with him; he hadn't mentioned that he was bringing him. The kid, the nanny, more guards in sharp suits; a couple of harassed-looking assistants in even sleeker suits.

Quatre himself was the most casual person out of all of them, in jeans and a pale blue fleece. Stylishly casual clothes that undoubtedly had cost more than Trowa's entire wardrobe. He had Auri on his hip, and one of the assistants trotting alongside, pointing out something on the tablet Quat was holding. He was listening to Auri's babble, and trying to look at the screen in his hand, and didn't even notice Trowa until he was almost level with them. Then he looked up and dropped the tablet and almost dropped his son, and just looked at Trowa with one of those unguarded expressions he didn't let out very often these days.

Fuck.

It never got any easier.

He pulled Quat against him, not wanting anyone else to see that look. 'Hey, shrimp. Quat.' He ruffled Auri's curls and leaned in to give Quat a swift peck on each cheek, and then a slightly more lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth. Something he wouldn't have dared to do when they'd been together, but the break-up had actually had a couple of unexpected benefits. Failing to give a shit about Quat's family and their damned protocols was chief of them.

Quatre was pink-cheeked when he let him go. 'Goodness. How very European of you.'

'Well. We are in Europe,' Trowa pointed out blandly.

Quat made a face at him, and then suddenly seemed to remember his dignity, and where they were. 'Have you just arrived? It's wonderful to see you, and so early! I didn't think you'd be here for hours yet.'

'Got an earlier connection in Paris,' Trowa explained. 'Where are you guys all off to?'

'We were just going to go down to the river before it gets dark, to see the ships. Will you come, or do you want to see your room?'

'Tough choice,' Trowa teased, pretending to consider. 'I'll come with you, I guess. Try to keep you out of trouble.' His eyes flicked to Quatre's entourage and Quat gave one of those choked little laughs and then looked down at the child on his hip, and the tablet at his feet in three distinct parts, and gave a carefully-feigned little grimace of helplessness. His well-trained staff immediately swooped into action. The nanny smoothly took Auri into her arms, and the assistant dived forward to pick up the pieces of his little gizmo, and then it was just the two of them with no distractions and each and every member of the Winner retinue suddenly looking anywhere but at their employer and the man who'd kissed him. Trowa was tempted to do it again, properly this time, but Quat knew him way too well and had already taken a pre-emptive step back.

'Yes,' Quatre said. 'Well. If you've quite finished mauling me in public and embarrassing every single member of my staff, shall we go?' He was obviously doing his best to sound tart, but there was a definite glint in his eyes that made Trowa grin down at him. Anyway, he'd never objected to a bit of recreational mauling.

The walk through the lobby was a royal progress. He forgot, sometimes, what Quat's life was like nowadays, especially when he had Auri with him. They shed most of the hangers-on along the way, keeping the kid and the nanny and the assistant with the broken tablet, who didn't look like he was overly happy to tag along, but wasn't sure of leaving the royal presence without being officially dismissed. He was cute, inevitably. They always were. Trowa sometimes wondered if Quatre chose his own assistants for their ornamental value, or if someone in HR thought he'd appreciate having eye candy around.

They made it as far as a conservatory leading out to the terraced gardens which fell to the river, and then had to stop for the security guards to fan out before them, securing the perimeter. Quatre didn't betray his irritation at the delay by so much as the flicker of an eyelash, though Trowa knew him well to know just how much he hated it all. Auri just watched, obviously used to this. Shit. He was two, and he already thought this palaver was a part of normal life.

'Come on,' he ordered suddenly, taking Quat's arm, and pulling him outside. The security guards didn't like it, very obviously, but he didn't give a fuck. He could protect Quat from any dangers which might be lurking in a hotel garden. Hell, Quat was more than capable of protecting himself. Once, he wouldn't have waited 'til he got some stupid signal. He probably wouldn't have now, except he had Auri with him; he never minded taking chances if it was just him.

He'd been the despair of his security forces for years. He'd either flat-out refused all but the most basic precautions, or else simply sneaked off when he felt like it. That had all changed with Auri's birth, and it was beyond stupid, beyond petty, but it was something else he couldn't help resenting the kid for. One more millstone around Quat's neck. That was what fatherhood had done for him, hemming him about with even more restrictions.

Walking with a toddler was pretty much how he'd expected. Covering the first ten meters from the hotel took as many minutes, with Auri stopping to peer at every crack in the pavement and every blade of grass. Then he clamoured to be picked up and carried. Not by any of the phalanx of doting adults around him, who would have leaped at the chance to take him, but by the one person who didn't want to.

'Uncle Trowa's tired, dearest.' Quatre bent down to talk to his son. Typical Quat, thinking he could reason with a cranky two-year-old. Just for a second, as he leaned over the boy, Trowa saw his jacket skim over the bulge in the small of his back. 'Do you remember me telling you? He had a very long flight to come here and see us.'

Auri's bottom lip stuck up, ominously. Trowa had spent enough time with Cathy's girls to know what that meant.

'It's OK. I don't mind taking him.' It wasn't that he had a major problem with the little boy. He was bright and cute and funny and most of the time, now at least, he didn't smell too bad. It was just hard, sometimes, to look at him, and think if Ariel Ahmed Rashid Winner didn't exist, if Quat hadn't needed an heir so much, they might still be together.

'Would you?' Quat's face lit up. 'He'd be thrilled. He's so fond of you.'

Trowa didn't really think that the kid could be all that attached to a man he'd maybe met a dozen or so times in his life, some of them when he'd been too small to register anything. Still, he'd spent approximately forty per cent of his life trying to make Quat happy and old habits died hard. That particular habit had apparently transferred to the next generation. Great. He'd be in thrall to the Winners for ever.

He scooped Auri up. It was about three months since he'd seen the boy, and he'd apparently doubled in weight. 'The size of you! Quat, you're feeding him too much.' He gave Auri a gentle poke in the stomach, producing squirms and giggles and then upended him and poked him again. Imagine that. He was ticklish in all the same places as his father.

Quatre was looking at them with that soft-edged smile which generally presaged a tsunami of sentiment. Uh oh. He turned the kid right way up, and set off briskly down the path, warding off any incipient gooiness.

If Quat had wanted to play Happy Families with Trowa, he'd had his chance, years ago. Trowa had got, kind of, Quat's need for an heir to the business. He'd even dimly recognised that, beyond that, Quat had actually wanted fatherhood. He'd been willing for them to look at adoption or surrogacy or whatever. Hell, he'd have gone out and stolen a damn kid from somewhere if that was what the only way for them to get one.

He put Auri down on the little terrace beside the river and Quatre knelt at his feet to point at the castle on the other side, at the boats floating on the shining blue waters; to warn him not to go too close. That was never going to work anyway. Couldn't show a kid a shiny treasure like that, and not expect him to run towards it, want to grab it with both hands Auri nodded solemnly to whatever Quat was saying, obviously not paying any attention but knowing what adults expected, and immediately took off to drown himself .

'He's turning into a real little boy.' Trowa commented, sitting down on a bench and watching Auri head across the grass as a speed he couldn't have managed back in March. In the last few months, he'd sloughed his generic baby blobbishness, and you could already see him turning into a miniature Quat. He had his father's exact bone structure, although the colouring was off. His hair was a darker blond, a shade that would probably turn to light brown eventually, and his eyes, having cycled through a few colour changes, had settled on a bright, clear greeny-hazel. 'Fast too. He's got your turn of speed.'

Quatre groaned, joining him on the seat and closing his eyes briefly. He opened them after about two seconds though, tracking his son. 'Don't. Please. We'll have to start putting him on a lead or something. He just takes off and he can vanish in about two seconds.'

'You're being pretty relaxed about him now,' Trowa said, a bit surprised by the fact that Auri was being allowed within two miles of a river, alone, when Quat had spent most of his first year hovering anxiously. He stretched one arm along the top of the bench, and Quat, probably not even realising he was doing it, immediately moved closer to him. Not quite touching; not too far from it.

The nanny looked around and gave him a quick, sly wink. Trowa promptly winked back. He liked Megan. She was a tough, cheerful Aussie with a wicked sense of humour. Quat's family hated her, naturally. Not nearly deferential enough for them. She did call Quat Mr. Winner, but it was laced with a certain amount of irony, and she contradicted him when she felt like it, and generally treated Auri's illustrious father with the same amount of respect as the two-year-old child. Quat adored her, but then he'd always liked stroppy women.

'I'm trying, honestly,' Quatre sighed. 'He needs space, I do know that. I don't want him to grow up feeling he's being restricted all the time. He needs to have some sort of freedom.'

The illusion of it anyway, Trowa amended, given that the kid had Megan and Rashid and a couple of guards close enough to forestall any disasters. Still, Quat was trying. Trowa even got why he was trying so hard to give Auri his little freedoms, his small rebellions.

Give him enough space and he might not want to run off at fifteen to fight a war.

'You never said you were bringing him with you.'

'Oh.' Quatre twisted to look at him. 'I hadn't planned to, but Sura and I were both going to be away at the same time, and I don't like leaving him at home without one of us being there. You don't mind, do you? He'll be with Megan most of the time.'

'It's OK.' Trowa shrugged, knowing he wasn't being terribly gracious about it. Still, maybe it was for the best. Auri would be a distraction if nothing else.

'This is so lovely.' Quatre lifted his face up to catch the last rays of the dying sun, and closed his eyes again. Kept them closed this time. It took physical effort not to lower his arm, pull him even closer. ''I do miss Earth so much.'

'Move back,' Trowa suggested. 'You're here half the time anyway.'

Quatre opened his eyes and took a quick glance around, checking no one was within earshot. 'I'm thinking about it.'

'Really?' That was a surprise. Quat was always saying he missed living on Earth, but in that wistful, hopeless sort of way that meant he wouldn't do anything about it because he didn't think his wishes actually counted for anything.

'Really, in that I'm considering it as a serious option, yes. Like you say, I spend a lot of time here. And I'd like Auri to grow up here. He'd have so much more freedom than on L4. He could just be himself, rather than the boy who's going to inherit WEI.'

'Which he is.'

'One day, yes. Not yet. I want him to have a childhood. Friends. To go to school with other children. A normal life. Everything I never had. He won't have any of that on L4. I see it already, people treating him differently. My household staff let him get away with all sorts of things, even when he's being a brat. That's not how I want him to grow up.'

'Where would you go? And what does Sura think?'

'New York or London, most probably. They'd be the most practical places. I have no idea what Sura thinks. She'd like it, I imagine. We'd all be a lot less restricted, really.'

Ouch. There was a thick layer of bitterness underlying that statement. Quat didn't talk about his wife much, but they generally seemed to get on well enough. Well enough for two people who led largely separate lives, overlapping only when it came to their son, and occasional high profile joint outings.

He dropped his hand to squeeze Quatre's shoulder, and Quat leaned into his touch. 'Talk about it, angel?'

'Later, yes. Please. Just wait 'til he's in bed. Then we can talk properly.'

Easier said than done. There was a walk along the river first, and then a light supper for Auri, and then the merest mention of bed produced an epic tantrum. In Trowa's opinion, the kid was over-tired and over-excited and needed nothing more than a good clip on the bottom. He'd have cried himself to sleep in two minutes. All the fussing and attention was making him worse as Quat doled out stories and soft toys and cuddles and promises of treats for good little boys.

Trowa hovered at the bedroom door for a couple of minutes, and then wandered back to the sitting room. The suite was horrendous; all red velvet and gilding. It felt like being inside one of Relena's more ornate crowns. He was flicking through the hotel menu when Quatre came in, looking for a particular blue rabbit which was apparently Auri's talisman against night terrors. Trowa obliging joined in the hunt and found the thing squished behind a pile of Quatre's folders. Bloody kids.

'Thank you,' Quatre caught it one-handed when he lobbed it over, and gave him an apologetic little smile. 'I'm so sorry. He's almost asleep, he just wanted Bluey, and then I just have to see a couple of people about tomorrow. I promise, it won't take long.'

'It's OK. You want something to eat? I might order dinner now.'

'Please. Salmon with pasta. And something ridiculously indulgent like chocolate soufflé. It's been a long day; I need calories.'

'You'll get fat, like the shrimp,' Trowa teased.

Quatre stuck his nose in the air. 'My son is neither a crustacean nor fat.'

Trowa laughed and picked up the 'phone. As it happened, neither of the items Quat wanted were on the room-service list, but then Quatre Winner, with his own private chefs, had never really got the concept of menus. Trowa went off-menu himself, and hung up, feeling a slight pang of guilt when he thought of the chef's probable reaction to having to produce a Malaysian seafood curry for Mr. Winner's guest. The hell with it. Quat was presumably paying enough.

Midway through, Trowa went and got himself a bottle of wine from the bar in the adjoining room, and just sat back, watching Quat's life ebb and flow about him. God, it brought back memories of that first year of him being CEO, determined that somehow he could run his company and have Trowa in his life and keep his family happy.

First the head of his PR - Trowa could never remember her name - about some media interview Quat was meant to give; followed by Rashid who wanted to go over security precautions, and then Megan, back to assure him that Auri was fast asleep, and finally the cute assistant from earlier, with papers to sign, and a question about the next day's schedule.

Give the guy his due, he was obviously willing to leave straightaway, but Quat had to do the small talk thing, and because he was never happy unless he was micro-managing someone, making sure he'd had dinner, and was happy with his accommodation.

In the end, Trowa walked him to the door before Quat could ask him to stay to eat with them, and shut it firmly behind him, before going back to his sofa and his wine.

'Oh, dear.' Quatre stretched and laughed. 'If anyone else tries to get through that door, I hope you'll shoot him.'

'For real?'

'Well.' He thought about it. 'Not Auri. Not unless he's having another tantrum. Oh, I don't mean that.'

'I know you don't.' He caught Quat's hand as he walked past, heading for the armchair, and pulled. Quatre resisted for a second, no more, and then let Trowa tug him down onto the sofa and curled against him.

'There you are,' Trowa murmured. 'Finally.' He pressed a quick kiss to the little furrow between Quatre's brows, and slid a hand down his back.

'Trowa? What are you...? Oh.'

Trowa held up the gun. 'Any special reason for this?'

'All the usual ones. You know.'

'Any specific one?' It wasn't all that unusual for Quat to carry a weapon, but he rarely did so around the kid.

He looked up. 'I'm told there's to be a demonstration tomorrow. There could be trouble.'

'A demonstration against you?'

'Partly me, yes.' He sighed, letting Trowa settle him back down. 'WEI is starting a joint initiative with the government here. Mining. We're providing some of the finance. It's not popular. Strip-mining in a national park.'

'Shit, Quat.'

'I know, Trowa. I know. I hate it. I voted against it, I've been trying to push for alternative methods, but we're supplying less than ten per cent of the finances for the entire project. It doesn't entitle me to much say in anything.'

'Pull out?' Trowa suggested. 'You can't have known about this from the start.'

'It was always a possibility. I believed it was so remote as not to worry about, which was my mistake. And we're too committed at this stage. We can't get the reputation for pulling out of projects at the last minute, especially not with a government. I did suggest it to the board but I was over-ruled. It's awful though. It makes a total mockery of everything I've been doing to make WEI an environmentally-responsible company. How are we supposed to have any sort of credibility after this? We already have environmental groups calling for global boycotts.'

'It's not your fault.'

'No, but I'm still a nicely visible target. So much easier to protest against an evil capitalist colonial coming to rape one's country, rather than one's own government.'

'Specific threats?'

Quatre just shrugged. The answer was obvious anyway; he didn't normally travel with this level of security, even when he had Sura and Auri with him.

'No wonder you're tense.'

'It's been a rather long day. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to have to sit through all that.'

'It's not a thing. I was enjoying the view. He's hot, that new assistant.'

'Do you think so? He's quite frighteningly efficient. I'm terrified of him.'

'Not what I said. Quat, seriously, aren't you ever tempted?'

'I wouldn't dare. It would be a quite insane risk. Not unless it was someone whom I totally trusted.'

Trowa picked up his wine glass again, but didn't drink, just held it carefully. 'As a not entirely smooth segue, you were going to tell me about you and Sura. You're having problems?'

'Yes. For a while now.'

Trowa nodded; he'd picked up hints here and there. The surprise would have been if they hadn't. Fuck, you couldn't just take two people, two total strangers, who had virtually not one thing in common beyond belonging to the same species, and expect them to make a life together.

Quat clinked a fingernail against the wine glass. 'May I? Please?'

'You don't drink.' He handed the glass over anyway.

'A little wine sometimes.'

He gave the glass back and Trowa poured in another glug from the bottle. 'Since when?'

'Since Auri. The terrible twos, I think it's called. He's so exhausting sometimes.'

'It's a long way, taking him here for such a short time. He's probably wrecked.'

'I know. But Sura suddenly decided to visit a school friend. I thought he might enjoy coming here.'

'I guess.'

Quatre took the glass for another sip, and then sat up abruptly as someone knocked on the door.

'Probably dinner. Want me to shoot whoever it is?'

'No!' Quatre said firmly. 'I'm starving.'

It was dinner, borne in silver salvers by a train of no less than six waiters, and accompanied by the head chef, who went through the whole rigmarole of explaining each dish and how it had been prepared, and showed an alarming tendency to want to stay and watch them eat. Trowa cut that off by opening the door pointedly, and gesturing, not very politely.

'That was most horribly rude!' Quatre was laughing though, as he picked up his fork. 'The poor man!'

'Tough.' He poured another glass of wine, and offered it to Quat. 'So, tell me. What exactly is going on with you and Sura?'

'What's to tell? You know most of it. It's hard on her. She went from being a daughter in her parents' house straight to being my wife, and Auri's mother. She was only eighteen and didn't have much say in any of it. Then she was so sick when he was born, and... I don't know. I don't see her very much these days, actually. She's always away seeing family or friends, or on shopping trips or whatever else she does.'

'Does she have someone else?'

'No.' Quatre twirled pasta around his fork, considering. 'At least, I don't think so. She's just not very happy. Neither of us is. We hardly even see each other any more.'

'What are you talking about then? Divorce?'

'Nothing so formal, I hope. Possibly separate households, for a while anyway. We spend so little time together; it would hardly make a difference. We haven't really talked about it. Anyway. I don't know. I don't want Auri's life to be too badly disrupted, that's the main thing.'

'Yeah, I guess.' The curry wasn't bad, just a bit bland. Trowa ate his way through it, watching Quat pick at his pasta, and the accompanying salad. More pushing the food around his plate than actually eating.

'Is it OK?'

'Sorry?' Quatre took a second to catch up. 'Oh, it's fine. Delicious. I'm just not as hungry as I thought I was.'

'And are you OK?'

'Not really. Tired more than anything. I'm very glad you're here.'

'Me too.' He draped an arm around Quat, properly, the way he'd wanted to outside. and pulled him into a comforting hug. 'Don't look so sad. It'll work out. The whole Sura thing.'

'Will it? Really? I rather doubt it.'

Trowa shrugged. She'd been chosen by his family; a pretty young girl from the right background, who'd been raised from birth to be the perfect wife, who was all wrong for him. 'It might be good for both of you, moving away from L4. A fresh start.'

'I suppose,' Quat said indifferently, going back to poking at his food. 'Maybe.'

Something suddenly clicked into place. Quat was a decent enough actor, good at hiding his emotions when he had to. Not that good though. In the space of minutes he'd revealed that Sura might be leaving him, that the marriage was probably over.

He was being far too damn calm for a person who was all about fixing things, pleasing other people, finding solutions, and he was apparently willing to let his wife walk away from him without a murmur.

'Quat.' He said it so softly, although there was no one to overhear, asking a question he already knew the answer to. 'Have you met someone else?'

Quatre didn't answer. He didn't remotely need to.

It stung, ridiculously. Yeah, Quat had started the beginning of the end, but Trowa had been the one to walk away, and then he'd ended their affair, just after Auri's birth, putting himself so deliberately out of Quatre's way because he'd thought it would help.

And Quatre had gone off and found someone else.

'Want to tell me about it?'

'Oh, there's nothing to tell.' Quat picked up his wine glass and looked at the contents. 'Truly. It's just ... someone I like. Nothing's ever going to come of it. He's involved with someone else, and I can't anyway.' Quatre carefully twined a ribbon of fettuccine around the prongs of his fork, and then put it down. 'I've made a total mess of everything, haven't I?'

Trowa closed Quatre's fingers about his fork. 'Eat something. That chef will probably kill himself if he thinks you didn't like it.' He waited for Quatre to take an obedient mouthful. 'I don't know, Quat. You got what you wanted, right? Your company; the kid.'

'I lost you.' Quat gazed down at his bowl of pasta as if it might hold answers. The pasta gazed back blandly. 'Trowa. If I moved back here, to Europe, we could....see each other more often. Couldn't we? I was thinking, I could buy a holiday home in Sanc. Somewhere remote, where we could be together. Just us.'

A remote castle or hunting lodge, yeah. Going back to all that secrecy and paranoia and exhaustive precautions before every meeting. He'd had two years of it, after Quat's marriage, and then the occasional indiscretion since he'd supposedly finished it.

He'd had just a few weeks of having Duo in his life, in contrast. Duo kissing him in public and driving up to the lighthouse and sitting with him in the canteen at work.

'Quat. I've been seeing Duo. For a few weeks now.'

He'd meant to tell Quatre at some point. It was the whole point of being here. He hadn't meant to blurt it out like that, but really there was no easy way. And it stopped Quat looking at him like that, laying out his latest plans for how he wanted the world to be.

He'd known anyway. That was pretty damn obvious.

'Who told you?'

'I don't think it matters. Does it?'

'Guess not.' He took a slug of wine. 'That was a fairly staggering non-reaction.'

'I know. I'm sorry. You know I love you both. It's just....rather a surprise. The two of you.'

'Or not, apparently,' Trowa couldn't resist pointing out. God, if it was Wufei, he'd kill him. He'd said he wouldn't though, and it wasn't like there weren't other suspects. Half of Preventers for a start. Quat was friendly enough with some of them.

'I haven't known for long,' Quatre said quietly. 'I would...I would have liked you to tell me.'

'I wanted to do it face to face. Obviously, someone got there first.'

'It doesn't matter. It just.....it feels like the end of us.'

There were plenty of things Trowa could have said to that. Like Quatre having been the one to go off and marry someone else.

'What was I supposed to do, Quat? Sit around with my finger up my ass waiting for you to get your act together? It's not like I haven't been with plenty of other people.'

Quat knew that perfectly well. Damn, Trowa had even called him after some of those encounters, usually pissed and desperately lonely and desperate to hear even the sound of Quat's voice.

'I want you to be happy,' the blond said softly. 'Of course I do. It's just that none of the others meant anything, did they? They weren't serious.'

'I never said Duo was.'

'Duo's our friend; not some stranger in a bar. Of course it's serious.'

Trowa shrugged. 'Whatever,' he said testily. 'Not like I'm running out to buy him an engagement ring. I don't know how the fuck serious it is. We've been out a few times.'

'Goodness. He actually enticed you out of the lighthouse. He deserves some sort of award for that.'

'Ha ha,' Trowa said sourly. 'Funny, Quat.'

'I'm just joking.' He hesitated. 'I suppose .....there's Heero as well.'

'No, actually there isn't,' Trowa said coolly. 'They broke up. I'm sure you know that, since you're so damn well up in what's happening in my life.'

'Trowa, please don't be angry.' Quat lay one hand on his arm, and looked up at him beseechingly. That look he hadn't been able to resist since he was fifteen. Shit. 'I'm sorry. I just don't want you getting hurt. I love Duo but he always goes back to Heero. You know that.'

'Not this time, I don't think.' He tried to sound certain about it; to feel certain. This was Duo's best friend, the person he confided in. 'He moved out; I think maybe he's worked out that he can do better for himself, be with someone who actually wants a real relationship. Not just sex on demand.'

Quat's cheeks flared crimson. Trowa had actually meant Heero, but it was a fairly effective dig at Quat too, even if unintentional.

'I met him on L3, last week,' Quatre said sturdily. 'Heero, I mean. We had dinner together.'

'Yeah? Let me guess; as far as he's concerned, Duo's just with me to teach Heero some kind of a lesson, and he'll see sense eventually and go back to him, right? Not going to happen.'

Quat gave him one of those soulful looks, all shimmering aquamarine. Seaspray in sunlight. 'I don't want you getting hurt. That's all. And those two do always end up back together.'

'Not this time, they're not.' No fucking way was he letting Duo go; not back to Heero who hadn't a clue how to treat him. 'I'd better go,' he said finally with a well-stimulated yawn that wouldn't fool Quat for a second. 'I've been here for a few hours now. Don't want some enterprising member of staff calling the press to stay we're shacked up together, do we?'

'You could stay. No one would know. I've reserved this whole floor; there shouldn't be anyone around now, and your room is beside mine anyway. There's an adjoining door.'

Of course there was. He'd lied to Duo, weeks ago, when he'd said he'd finished it, finished the sex. He'd tried to, but in two years, there'd been a few occasions where there'd been a bit of backsliding. When it was safe enough and they were both lonely enough.

Trowa breathed out, took a long, careful mouthful of wine. 'What would it involve, exactly, me staying?' he asked levelly.

'Anything you liked.'

'And what would happen in the morning? I'd get rid of the condoms and shove the sheets down the laundry chute so no one could check them for stains, and then skulk back to my room and mess up my own bed and hope no one saw me? I remember the drill,' he added bitterly. 'Thanks but no thanks, Quat. I get that you don't have a problem cheating on whoever you happen to be with, but I do.'

He meant it to make Quat angry, to exterminate any thoughts of seduction that were floating around in that blond head too close to his; far, far too close. Trowa could smell the synthetic lemon soap he'd used to wash his hands. It always undid him, that smell. The fact that Quatre, one of the richest people in the universe, invariably used a cheap generic brand of soap, just because a nanny he'd once had, who'd been kind to him, had liked it. She'd been fired after a year, Quat had told him, for indulging him too much. He'd been five.

He hadn't, quite, meant it to hurt Quat so much, but it very clearly did.

'I think that's about the most horrible thing you've ever said to me.' Quat's voice was commendably level, despite the pain in his eyes.

'Duo's supposed to be your friend. You could try thinking about him.'

'You said yourself it wasn't serious.'

'Serious enough not to want to hurt him like that,' Trowa said harshly. 'You're married, Quat. I'm with someone. Let it go.'

'What if....I weren't married?'

'If you were single?' Trowa asked. 'Single and ready to be in an actual honest relationship with me; is that what you're asking?'

'You know I can't.'

'I know you won't,' Trowa said quickly, quashing the usual spiel about familial obligation and share-holders' expectations and cultural norms and the ghost of dear, dead Daddy that Quat always trotted out.

'I can't,' Quatre said wretchedly, and kissed him.

~ * ~

Chapter 10

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