Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Autumn Coffee ❯ Scrambled Eggs ( Chapter 8 )

Title: Scrambled Eggs

Author: Kiarene
Pairings: 5x13, 3x4
Rating: PG
Summary: Trieze makes breakfast. Quatre follows Wufei to work.

Published: 11th Feb 2006
Disclaimer: You know the drill.

 

A/N: Sorry about the long delay between chapters…

 

 

Scrambled Eggs

 

 

Trieze thought about preparing breakfast in bed for Wufei as he headed towards the kitchen. In the early morning, the house was very quiet. As he drew nearer, he heard muffled clinking noises and frowned.

 

Winner.

 

Very few things ruffled Trieze Khushrenada, of course one being his adorable husband, and so the ginger-haired man sternly reminded himself that such a distasteful arrangement was only temporary. That he would put up with Winner, and the occasional annoying call from Barton, for Wufei's sake. He once commanded an army — getting along with an unwanted houseguest was nothing. It was only temporary…

 

A forked brow twitched.

 

Except that it has already been a *week* since Winner arrived, and it doesn't seem as if he would be solving his problem with Barton anytime soon. In other words, it doesn't seem as if he would be leaving anytime soon, and it was severely cutting down on his nookie-time with his dragon. So far, it had been rather easy to avoid Winner — for himself. Unfortunately, the problem was that Wufei was *not* interested in avoiding Winner and it became a severe test for Trieze to see which he would rather do — avoid Winner or miss time with his Wufei, since Wufei was trying hard to spend time with the blond ex-pilot these days. Winner, too, seemed to be eager to rebuild his friendship with Wufei.

 

What an annoying person.

 

Trieze debated momentarily if he should come back later when Winner would have left the kitchen, then decided that nobody was going to kick him out of his *own* kitchen. When he stepped in, Winner was seated at the counter, sipping at a cup of tea. Moving past Winner as if he wasn't there, Trieze proceeded to take out a few eggs and milk. Scrambled eggs were quick to prepare and he could be back in their bedroom in fifteen minutes.

 

The eggs sizzled in the frying pan, fragrant and warmly yellow. While waiting, Trieze took out an orange and sliced it neatly. He could feel Winner's eyes on his back as he moved about efficiently, but he ignored the other man. However, it seemed that Winner didn't feel the same.

 

“Khushrenada…”

 

Trieze poured out the coffee from the French press into two cups and arranged the sugar bowl and creamer neatly on a tray.

 

“…I just want to thank you for your hospitality.”

 

“It's Wufei's hospitality, not mine,” he replied coldly. He slid the eggs onto a plate and covered it, before leaving the pan in the sink to soak. Picking up the tray, he prepared to leave.

 

Then he changed his mind. Without Wufei around, this was a good opportunity to give the blond man a piece of his mind. “Winner, do you know what your problem is?”

 

He turned his head to look at the confused blond, his eyes hard. “You are too passive. Do you know why you're still here? You're making the same mistake you always had — you do not dare do anything. It's been a week since you arrived. Tell me, have you contacted Barton?”

 

“…yes.”

 

Trieze sneered at that weak reply, his grip on the tray tightening. “Talked to him? Solved anything? *Done* something?”

 

Winner kept guiltily silent.

 

“Wufei suffered because you didn't dare do anything. I will never forget that,” Trieze hissed, and turned to leave.

 

“You're weak.”

 

~

 

Quatre was stunned.

 

You do not dare do anything.

 

His tea cooled as the other man's words ran through his mind. It's true. He has always been what he though was the `peacemaker', the one who stayed out of conflict, the one who wrung his hands and tried to plead for others to stop. In a family of twenty-nine females, he learned to avoid direct confrontation. But in the end, that could be just as bad.

 

He has always been what the psychology books called, passive-aggressive. He didn't always let others walk over him; rather, he'd simply smile conciliatorily and later, quietly, sneakily, get his way. He had always taken pride that such an approach made both parties happy… But not always.

 

Weak.

 

Yes. Yes, he was. He always had relied on people to take care of him; his Manganacs, his sisters, his board of directors, to catch him if he falls. To shield him if the situation got nasty. Even during the war, the other pilots often distributed the jobs such that he rarely got to fight on the front-line.

 

You're weak.

 

His hands clenched. Unclenched. He had been trained as a Gundam pilot. Groomed from young to take over a corporate empire. Somebody strong. Independent. A leader.

 

But where was the man he was supposed to be?

 

~

 

Wufei stirred sleepily as the rich smell of coffee wafted through the room.

 

“Good morning!” Trieze sang merrily as he strode in the room. He placed the tray on the wheeled bedside table, pushing it until the table was over the foot of the bed.

 

“Oh!” Wufei came awake, looking greedy and guiltily at the food. He gave a yawn and sat up, blinking owlishly. “You didn't have to—“

 

“But I love to.” Trieze slid into bed beside his husband. “It's just a simple breakfast, nothing lavish.”

 

Wufei looked pointedly at the tiny vase with a single rosebud. The cutlery caught the morning light that streamed in through the sheer curtains, and the napkin Trieze deftly placed on his lap was pressed linen.

 

“You're always doing so much for me,” Wufei said softly. He picked up a wedge of orange and bit into the sweet fruit. “I'm terrible with housework, I can't cook…”

 

“But you make me so very happy,” Trieze said, a besotted smile on his face. Wufei gave a sheepish sigh.

 

Wufei never did household chores as he was growing up, turning his nose up at what he deemed `women's work'. Even during the war, the Gundam pilots were too busy running and taking care of their machines to worry about the houses they stayed at. Food was usually something bought from the supermarkets, hardly fine cuisine. Moreover, five teenage boys? *Laughed* at the idea of wimpy housework. They often camped out for days in the forests; dusty floors and moldy toilets and scuttling insects were *nothing*.

 

And so, when he moved in with Trieze, he was utterly mortified to realize that compared to the ex-general's impeccable habits, he was a slovenly barbarian. His attempts at cooking, well, the food was edible. Just.

 

Wufei tried hard though, until he realized that his attempts were simply resulting in more work for Trieze to clean up. Along the way, they came to several agreements. Wufei didn't like the idea of Trieze shouldering all of the household chores, even if the retired general didn't mind, and so now a maid comes in once a week to clean the house, and they send their laundry to the cleaners twice a week. However, cooking was something Trieze genuinely enjoyed.

 

“I could never match the things I do for you, to what you're giving me,” Trieze murmured, forking a bit of egg and holding it in front of the dark-haired man.

 

“How can you say that? I'm not even doing anything!” Wufei felt utterly useless, next to his older, more competent and richer husband. He accepted the egg absently, and Trieze felt his loins stir at the adorable pout.

 

“Well then, you can just keep that up if you want to make me happy.”

 

And when the breakfast was finished and Wufei pushed the table away to thank him properly, Trieze felt very happy indeed.

 

~

 

The sound of footsteps broke Quatre from his thoughts. A glance at the kitchen clock showed that he had been there for almost an hour. Shaking his head, he got up and threw away the cold tea.

 

Wufei stepped into the kitchen, dressed in casual jeans and a deep green shirt. He was carrying a laptop backpack.

 

“Going to work?” Quatre asked curiously. Wufei had taken a few days off the previous week to show him around.

 

“Yes. I've a meeting,” Wufei explained. A thought struck him. “Uh… Would you like to see the Preventers office?”

 

The offer was tempting. “But, won't I be in the way?” Quatre fretted.

 

The Chinese man gave a small laugh. “I'm sure Une and Sally would love to meet you, and as an ex-Gundam pilot, you would definitely be welcomed.”

 

“Well, all right.” Quatre placed the cup on the drying rack. “Just let me get changed.”

 

Wufei was watering the plants in the living room when Quatre came down, dressed in a brown suit. The Chinese man raised a brow, putting down his watering can on a dish in the corner. “There's no need to be so formal.”

 

Quatre looked faintly embarrassed as he fiddled with his tie-clip. “I usually dress like this when I go to work. Shall I go change?”

 

“Oh no, that's fine. You forget who my husband is. Trust me, I've seen *formal*,” Wufei assured him. Picking up his bag and keys, he strode out the door. “Come on.”

 

The Khushrenada-Chang garage housed a low slung sports car and a sports bike. Quatre was surprised when Wufei walked past the car. “Er…”

 

“Oh, Trieze is taking the car today,” Wufei tossed Quatre a helmet.

 

“But…”

 

“Hey, don't worry. I've been riding for years, remember?”

 

Quatre shuddered. He did remember — the pilots were all fanatical speed freaks, but while the others preferred fast cars, Wufei's and Trowa's vehicles of choice were motorbikes. Only under dire circumstances would he pillion behind Trowa.

 

“Hey, why the pale face? I'm an excellent rider,” Wufei said confidently, straddling the bike and pulling on his helmet. He stroked the bike lovingly. It was a beautiful machine, all sleek and sharp angles, in glossy black with a Chinese character painted stylishly in red on the fairings. Quatre recognized it as the character for `dragon'. Even Wufei's black helmet matched his bike; a little red dragon was painted on the side.

Quatre gave the car a last wistful look, and reluctantly climbed on behind Wufei.

 

“Now remember, don't hold me, hold the tank!” Wufei's voice was a little muffled, from under the full-face helmet.

 

Quatre gave a little shriek as they peeled away. And *this* was why he was so reluctant to ride!

 

Wufei, like Trowa, was an excellent rider. Top-notch skills, lightning reflexes… and the balls to use them.

 

Quatre's hands were clammy against the cold metal of the tank as they weaved in and out of the traffic. Colors and shapes whizzed past. It was terrifying to *see* that, but when he knew from experience that if he closed his eyes, the sensations were much worse.

 

Whenever they entered a long stretch, Quatre could *feel* the bike accelerating, and he chanted frantically, “Slow down slow down!” The steady whine of the engine increasing as the revs climbed reminded him of a jet engine taking off… and that image did not help!

 

But the truly heart-stopping moments were whenever they rounded a corner, so low and so tight that Quatre had horrifying visions of them skidding and sliding.

 

When they finally arrived, Quatre got off shakily. Once he managed to pull his helmet off, he turned to yell at Wufei. “Didn't you hear me screaming at you to slow down?!”

 

The overhead fluorescent lights in the basement carpark off glinted Wufei's helmet visor as he turned to Quatre, before the Chinese man took off his helmet. He switched off the engine and without the whine of the bike, the underground enclosure sounded suddenly quiet. “Did you say anything?”

 

Quatre huffed in frustration, knowing that Wufei probably couldn't have heard him over the sound of the engine. “You were going too fast!”

 

Wufei *actually* had the nerve to look surprised. “I was not! In fact, I was actually going quite slowly today because we weren't wearing protective gear.”

 

“You mean… you normally go faster than that?” Quatre asked in a faint voice.

“Yes,” Wufei said blithely.

 

“Still,” Quatre worked back some of his outrage. “You were cornering dangerously low!”

 

The two men walked towards the elevator. In the back of his mind, Quatre noted that most of the lots have already been filled up. It was past nine, after all. Apparently, Wufei was able to enjoy quite a fair bit of flexibility in his working hours.

 

“I wasn't cornering low,” Wufei argued back. “Why, my footpegs didn't even scrape the road!”

 

Quatre shuddered again and held up his hands. “Enough.”

 

As the doors closed, Wufei glanced at Quatre, and then said in a deliberately light voice. “You never rode pillion on Trowa's bike?”

 

Quatre was a little startled. Wufei had carefully avoided any mentioned to Trowa, or any of the other pilots, since he had arrived. “Oh no, of course not,” he replied, in the same light-hearted tone. “Does Trieze ever ride pillion on your bike?”

 

Wufei sighed. “No, he refused to.”

 

Quatre snickered.

 

~

 

Quatre had thought he might be horribly bored, or that he might be intruding upon Wufei's colleagues, but to his surprise, he realized he was enjoying himself. Many of the older Preventer agents had been key military personnel during the war, and recognized the blond ex-pilot with admiring respect. Quatre himself recognized quite a number of familiar faces; he was pleasantly surprised when he realized that the head of the engineering personnel was in fact one of the mechanics who worked on their Gundams!

 

“I'm not sure how long the meeting will take,” Wufei worried, clutching his laptop and a mug of coffee. “Will you be—“

 

“Sure, I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself for an hour or two,” Quatre said breezily. “I'll probably amuse myself by hacking into your secret files. Then I'll post your porno pictures on the Preventers' intranet bulletin board.”

 

Wufei snorted in disbelief. Quatre raised a brow, and patted the monitor in front of him. “You doubt my hacking skills? Moreover, I've console access.”

 

Wufei snorted again, and walked off with a lazy wave. Quatre grinned, and turned back to his email.

 

Another thing he had found surprising was the relative ease he could manage his company, even from a distance. Of course it was most efficient if he was physically at his desk, eight to six every day, but even now, he still managed to get a goodly amount of work done with the use of technologies such as vidphones and emails.

 

He had fled, literally, when everything became overwhelming. After the initial euphoria dissipated, he felt like a naughty schoolboy playing truant. When he checked in on his company, it was with a sense of dread and trepidation. But, his company wasn't doing too badly and he cleared up the urgent matters quickly. He felt simultaneously relieved and bewildered, then crushed and depressed and redundant. Wufei had scolded him, saying that it simply showed that he has a competent team of employees and he was working much too hard, and Quatre simply felt a little foolish.

 

As he wrapped up the last email, a message flashed. It was Trowa's daily email. Quatre felt excited and clicked on it eagerly. Oddly enough, their relationship had improved since he left. Trowa didn't sound as surly, and the demanding tones of the first few emails became remorseful. Usually, Trowa would write about the daily happenings, what was going on at the circus or the latest local news. The message usually ended with a plea to `come home' or `forgive me'.

 

Both Duo and Wufei were of the opinion that he should simply leave. Find someone new. Khushrenada, of course, couldn't care less. The few friends he was in contact with were divided. But he couldn't do that… He thought about it often. What if he were to find something new? Move on?

 

But the thought of being with someone else seemed like a betrayal, and his thoughts constantly drifted back to Trowa. What should he do?

 

However, when he caught sight of Wufei's expression as the agents filed out from the meeting later, his pensive mood fled. He asked worriedly, “Bad news?”

 

Wufei made an attempt to ease the frown from his face, and he sighed. “Pretty much so.”

 

Une entered Wufei's office, shutting the door behind her. “Quatre Winner. I heard from the other agents that you were here today.” The older woman looked at him speculatively.

 

“I happened to be free today,” Quatre said politely. They made small talk for a while, as Wufei filed some reports and checked his emails.

 

“It's really too sad Wufei is the only ex-Gundam pilot we have,” Une said suddenly. She sighed dramatically. “Lord knows we could use more agents of his caliber.”

 

Quatre fought down the urge to fidget under her thoughtful gaze. He had no doubt the formidable woman knew of the Gundam pilots estrangements — she was one of Trieze's main aides, and he could practically see the wheels in her head spinning at his presence. Wufei had never been in contact with any of the other ex-pilots for years, and suddenly one shows up?

 

“Well, just speaking for myself, I'm just a humble businessman now,” Quatre said blandly.

 

“What about the others?”

 

“What about them?” Quatre felt uncomfortable. Une's eyes were sharp, the gray in her hair and her severe bun only reinforcing her reputation as an iron lady.

 

“We have an emergency. I trust I am not exaggerating when I say it is serious, and we need capable agents. No, not just capable, but exemplary,” she said crisply. Wufei's head turned, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Now, we could field as many of our top agents as we could spare…”

 

Quatre knew what was coming.

 

“Or we could send in just a few of the best.”

 

For several long minutes, the office was silent. Then Quatre shook his head. “I doubt if we're even half as fit as we were during the war, Lady, We're older now. Rusty.” He gave a deprecating smile.

 

“It's not so much your physical ability I'm interested in, as your other skill sets,” Une said smoothly. “The Gundam pilots' infiltration skills, hacking and intelligence gathering, were infamous. For just a small group of teenage boys, you five had an impressive list of contacts all over the globe, and even in space. More than anything, you have the experience.”

 

She leaned forward. “What do you think?”

 

~*~