Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Eyes Cold As Stone ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

Eyes Cold As Stone

Chapter 1

It had been three years since they had met each other. Three glorious years of war, death, destruction, and life. Three years with the knowledge that the other existed. Three years. Trowa glanced at the forgotten paperwork littering his desk. He rested his chin in his hand and stared thoughtfully out of the window. The outside world beckoned for him, but he didn't see any of it. Trowa only saw him. His face, the golden hair, the crystal blue eyes, but most of all, his smile. Quatre. Trowa loved Quatre, loved him with all of his heart, but couldn't tell him. Trowa sighed. He was pathetic. He couldn't even tell Quatre that he loved him, couldn't say anything to the man who represented his life. Trowa couldn't tell Quatre how sexy he looked when he meekly gazed at him through his golden bangs, sheepishly asking if he wanted to go to dinner or a movie or if he looked good for the upcoming interview. Trowa just turned to putty, and loved every second of it. Trowa turned back to his neglected paperwork. Fuck it. He didn't feel like working today anyway. He stood up, absently smoothing his Preventer's uniform. Without a backward glance, he stalked out of his shared office, incidentally enough, shared with Quatre, and made his way to the lobby. Waiting impatiently in the elevator, he counted the floors he passed on his way to salvation. Being cooped up in the office, nice as it was, would be considered punishment worthy of the Spanish Inquisition on his most prized day of the year. Well, most prized, and most dreaded. Today was the day he first met Quatre. Prized as it was for bringing him into the graces of the blonde-haired pilot, it was dreaded because of the pain it carried, not being able to hold Quatre in his arms, or plant stealthy kisses on the top of his head, or any number of erotic things that were currently bouncing around in his head. Trowa tapped his foot impatiently as the elevator slowed to a stop on the fourth floor. He closed his eyes, just wishing to be anywhere but here. Fuck! He should never have come in this morning, he should have fucking stayed home. In bed. This was totally uncalled for; he could have avoided-

"Trowa?"

Trowa's eyes flicked open at the familiar voice ringing through his head. He turned his head slightly, drinking in the sight of unruly blonde hair and passionate blue eyes. He smiled warmly at his secret love before speaking.

"Hey. What are you doing?"

"I just got done with a meeting with Lady Une."

"Ah. That's why you haven't been in our office all day." Trowa smiled at Quatre's blush, as if Quatre had anything to be guilty about.

"Yeah." Quatre smiled sheepishly causing Trowa to get a little too excited. Damn these pants. He stealthily clasped his hands in front of him. "Une had some pretty hard news, though." Quatre's smiled was quickly replaced by a mixture of anger, regret, fear, and sadness, almost as if he had just been told that a new war was breaking out.

"News? About what?"

"That's classified…for now. I'm not at liberty to discuss it with anyone, including the rest of the Gundam pilots." Quatre began to squirm. "I can say this: it wasn't good." Trowa kept up his scrutiny of Quatre, hoping that he would give him more of an indication as to what was going on. The elevator chimed the end of the descent.

"Where are you going, Quatre?" Trowa grasped Quatre's elbow halting his transit of the lobby.

"I have Preventer business outside HQ today."

"Because of your meeting with Une?" Quatre glared at him. He had hit a subject Quatre wasn't supposed to talk about. This really was bad.

"Trowa…" Quatre warned before sliding out of Trowa's grip and fleeing through the crowded lobby. Trowa sadly watched him get swallowed by the multitude. Happy Anniversary, Little One. He shook his head sadly and turned to escape to his motorcycle.

He loved the sensation of the wind tugging roughly at his hair as he whipped around curves. Revving his bike's engine, Trowa sped up, meeting the wind. It felt good to be out here, racing over the pavement, flying past endless trees. Eventhough this joyride didn't take his mind off of Quatre, it allowed Trowa to think more clearly about his feelings. And his decision. Slowing down, Trowa turned off the main road and parked his bike among the roadside bushes. Checking his cellphone for the time, he took off running down the trail, which stretched out before him. Trowa ran his frustration off, reveling in the fresh, unrecycled air of Earth. Bending over, hands on his knees, trying to get his ragged breathing under control, Trowa realized exactly how much he wanted Quatre. Slumping to the ground, Trowa pulled his knees to his chest and rested his head. He stared at the clear sky, thinking it dull in comparison to Quatre's eyes. Why can't I get Quatre out of my head? Trowa snorted, like he'd want to. Quatre was his life, his air, his blood. Quatre was everything to Trowa, and more. He didn't worship Quatre, or place him on a pedestal, but desperately needed Quatre, the way a desert man needs water. He knew that he could never take advantage of Quatre's love, not that he'd ever get it, but…well, you know. Hope in the strangest places. He knew that he had to tell Quatre, and soon. Trowa shuddered as his mind supplied him with images of an irate Quatre exclaiming how disgusting he thought Trowa was. Trowa sighed, he didn't want Quatre to get mad at him, but quite frankly, the worst case scenario was Quatre declaring Trowa lower than dirt, than the scum that grows…ew. Trowa lowered his eyes to the sunny patch of wild grass waving to the sky in front of him. When was it that I knew I loved Quatre anyway? It wasn't at first sight, though something drew me to him…Trowa sighed again, thinking blindly: I always sigh too much on this day. He let his sharp gaze graze over every object within sight. He started, remembering the moment he knew that he was in love with Quatre…

"Trowa? Are you ready yet?" Catherine's impatient voice called from the kitchen of their trailer. "You're going to be late for the shuttle if you don't get your ass in gear!"

"Damnit, Cathy, I'm almost done. Hold your horses!"

"As if I had any horses to hold on to." Catherine mumbled under her breath. A few, long moments later, Trowa came spilling out of the bathroom, reaching out blindly for his overly stuffed duffel bag, and grabbed Catherine, pulling her outside with him.

"Shit! The shuttle's gonna leave in a half-hour! Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!"

"Don't say I didn't warn you, but you had to take all day in the bathroom. I didn't even get a shower." Cathy crossed her arms over her chest as Trowa sped toward the spaceport. "Don't wreck my car, it's the only one I've got."

"Yeah, yeah." Trowa mumbled, concentrating on the road and the tiny clock embedded in the dash.

"I heard that, you know."

"So?"

"Trowa! You are impossible!"

"No. I'm late."

"Your fault."

"Shut up."

"I feel gross because of you."

"Stop being indignant."

"Shut up." Cathy recrossed her arms and stared out of the window. "Why do you have your boxers all in a twist over this trip anyway?"

"…" Cathy turned to look expectantly at him. "I honestly don't know."

"Hm."

"Trowa, don't get into any trouble."

"I'm just going to see Quatre."

"I know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Trowa didn't understand his sister.

"Just go. The shuttle's almost done boarding." Cathy smiled. "Have fun." She added with a conspiratorial wink. Trowa shook his head in exasperation and kissed her on the cheek.

"See ya soon."

"Bye."

Staring at the brilliant stars, Trowa fidgeted in his seat thinking about Cathy's words to him in the car. Why was he so excited, to the point of virtual giddiness, about seeing Quatre again? Why could he hardly keep still, wishing desperately for the shuttle to move faster. Hell, was the shuttle even moving at all? He was all in a bind about seeing Quatre again, after six months. Six months? How hard was six measly, long-ass months without the decadent and stunning, absolutely to die for Quatre Winner? Damn. I've got it bad. Wait-what do I have bad? What do I have? I have Quatre-not really, but let's pretend. Trowa closed his eyes, imagining Quatre as his, and immediately broke out into a broad smile. A smile that would have even startled Quatre, and he's the only one who has truly seen me smile…

God, it's about fucking time, I thought this shuttle would never get to L4. Let me off, let me off, let me off. Okay. I'm here, I survived, I'm incredibly hot-fucking desert. Shit, I sound like Duo. Take a deep breath…oh, shit.

"Quatre!" Trowa tried to sound normal, but he could hardly contain his excitement at seeing the blonde. Quatre visibly brightened at seeing him. He raced, yes, raced over to Quatre only to scoop him up and swing him around in middle of the packed spaceport. He laughed at Quatre's startled squeal. He basked himself under the sun that was Quatre as he made one more turn and reluctantly returned Quatre to the ground. And even more reluctantly, let Quatre go. He could still feel where Quatre had been pressed against his body; it was a cool kindof tingly sensation that he really liked. I mean really liked. But he felt cold, almost like he had been stripped of all clothes. He felt naked, and he knew why. He loved Quatre. He looked down at the floor as Quatre spoke to someone, probably Rashid, and saw his pants poking out a little. Shit. Now he had a hard on for Quatre that likely wasn't going to go away any time soon, not as long as Quatre was anywhere in thought distance.

Trowa sighed.

The cellphone woke Trowa up from his memories. Reaching down to his belt, he grabbed the offending phone, contemplating whether or not to try to skip the thing on dry land.

"Barton."

"Trowa? We need you here at HQ immediately." Lady Une's voice drifted through the phone.

"What's so urgent?"

"We're having an emergency meeting in a half hour. It involves you. I'll see you there." Lady Une severed the connection without even a good-bye. Trowa stared at his phone perplexed. Something wasn't right. First Quatre on a classified mission-in middle of the day, nonetheless, and now this. Emergency meeting my ass.

Trowa slowly picked his way back to his motorcycle, gunning it up and racing back to HQ.

______________________________

Quatre fled the building. He couldn't be near Trowa any longer, one more question and he'd betray the confidence that Lady Une had given to him. Letting out an exasperated breath, Quatre gathered his wits and strode, with newly regained confidence, out to his car to carry out the mission assigned to him. Damn. He felt like swearing. Shit. Fuck. Damnitalltohell. Damn. What were some of those wonderful colorful curses that Duo used all the time? Oh, yeah. Goddamnit all to hell while the shift-faced bitch fucks the monkeywhore up the ass, motherfucker!! He knew he should think of more curses, but it really wasn't him. Fuck that shit! Assfuckinghole! What the fuck? Quatre sighed. This was helping, but not in the right way. He fished out the keys to his car, and crawled in slamming the door before a new string of curses came to mind. This time, he couldn't hold back screaming them at the top of his lungs. Boy, Duo would be proud. For fuck's sake! Why the hell did this have to happen now, of all times? Quatre felt like he was going to explode, shrivel away and cry at the same time. And he couldn't even tell anyone why he was upset! This day was completely infuriating, and it wasn't even noon. Fuck. Maybe he was getting a little too into this whole swearing thing; after all, it wasn't the end of the world. Okay, fine. It could possibly be the end of the world if he didn't get his ass in gear and finish his assignment-no, mission. Knuckles turning white on the steering wheel, Quatre peeled out of the parking lot.

Halfway to his destination, Quatre turned the radio on. Maybe music will help. He glanced behind him, and changed lanes, leaving his blinker on for the next exit. He didn't know what station the radio was tuned to, nor did he care. Maybe if it had been a different day, he would have cared about lending his car to Duo last night, but today he just couldn't find it in him when the announcer shouted, or seemed to anyway. Quatre didn't bother turning the blaring radio down, he opened his window instead. As he neared his destination, a new song came on. Quatre began moving to the hiphop beat, and laughed hysterically at the words, filling them away for future use. Strains of Limp Bizkit rushed out the window.

It's a fucked up world and a fucked up place; everybody's judged by their fucked up face. A fucked up dream and a fucked up life, a fucked up kid with a fucked up knife. Fucked up mom, fucked up dad, a fucked up cop with a fucked up badge…

Quatre screeched to a halt in front of one of his companies, threw open the door, and ran inside. The secretary greeted him warmly.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Winner?"

"I need to see Abdul. Now."

"Sure, hold on a sec while I page him for you, sir."

"Thank you." Quatre was too nervous to sit down, but he forced himself to anyway. Sitting there, waiting for Abdul, he let his mind wander to comforting thoughts of Trowa. His favorite was the mental picture of Trowa dripping with honey. Okay. That thought process can stop right there. No. Now is not the time for juicy pictures. He sighed at the sight he knew he would never get to see. Trowa couldn't possibly love him back. Quatre shook his head, what did it matter now? They were only going to die. Afraid, and alone.

But it did matter. It mattered a lot. He knew that he loved Trowa. He knew it ever since he found Trowa huddling in the circus. After all, the pain that ripped through his heart when Trowa didn't remember him was heartbreak, and heartbreak comes from love. He knew that he loved Trowa from that moment, eventhough he wouldn't admit it to himself. Quatre smiled at the memory of when Duo forced him to see the truth.

"Motherfucker."

"Butt pirate." Duo giggled.

"Good one Quatre, you monkeywhore."

"Whoremonger."

"Shitface."

"Gee, that's so original, Duo."

"Stop mocking me! Your turn."

"Sister of a motherless goatwhore." Quatre cracked up laughing when Duo choked on his drink.

"Damn, Quatre. I think I taught you too well."

"Ew, Duo. You just spit Sex on the Beach all over me!"

"Hopefully I didn't get sand in any unwanted places." Duo giggled hysterically. Quatre threw the closest pillow at Duo's bobbing head.

"Ow!"

"Not…funny…" Quatre could hardly speak with all of the escaping giggles.

"Was to." Duo pouted. Quatre burst into another round of giggles.

"Duo." He panted, getting control over his breathing. "Hand me another drink, will ya"

"Kind?" Quatre giggled again. Duo looked at Quatre's rapidly reddening face. "What kind?"

"Screaming Orgasm, please."

"Isn't Trowa supposed to give you that?" Duo said slyly. Quatre turned an even brighter shade of red before stammering unintelligibly. "What? I know you like him. What's wrong with hoping for some sex?" Duo asked innocently…enough.

"I…um…haven't…um…" Quatre stammered feeling really drunk, and really stupid.

"Haven't thought about sex? Or sex with Trowa?"

"I haven't thought about liking Trowa as more than a friend." This caused vodka to come flying out of Duo's nose.

"Shit! Ow! goddamnsonofabitchmotherfuckingvodka. FUCK!"

"Duo! Are you okay, Duo?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. But, Quatre. Really. I think you're lying to yourself. I've seen the way you look at Trowa, and that's not how friends look at each other. You like him, a lot more than you're willing to let yourself believe." Quatre let Duo's words sink into him, sobering him up. Deep down inside, Quatre knew Duo was right. And after three more drinks, he brought the subject up again.

"I don' like `im at'all." Quatre slurred.

"Who?" Duo's eyes were getting all unfocused.

"Trowa."

"You do too like `im."

"Nu'uh. I love `im."

"Love?' Duo broke into the silliest grin Quatre had ever seen, and slapped him on the back. "Atta boy." Quatre smiled at the two Duo's sitting in front of him, and promptly passed out.

"Quatre?" Quatre blinked at the voice pulling him away from his memory.

"Abdul? Oh, Abdul." Quatre jumped up and led the Maguanac fighter away from the lobby. "I need to talk to you in private."

"Sure thing, Master Quatre. Is this okay?" Abdul asked, pushing open a door to an empty conference room.

"Perfect." Abdul led the former Gundam pilot into the well-furnished room.

"What can I do to help?" Quatre braced himself.

"How long would it take to build five Gundams?"

______________________________

Quatre bounced his knees nervously in the Preventer's conference room. His meeting with Abdul had gone very well, after Quatre practically had to give the freedom fighter the Himlecht Maneuver after asking him about the Gundams. Quatre stifled a nervous giggle at the look on Abdul's face. It really was priceless; too bad he hadn't had a camera with him. The picture probably would have made a profit. Quatre sighed. If only it were under different circumstances, if only it were a practical joke. If only. Quatre glanced up as Trowa walked in the room, smiling a bit at some stray grass hanging from his uniform.

Trowa spotted Quatre squirming in his chair, and sauntered over to sit by him. Trowa noticed Quatre was smiling oddly at him. He raised an eyebrow in a silent question as Quatre's hand snaked out to brush some grass off of his lower back. Trowa tried to hide his gasp of pleasure at Quatre's touch, but didn't succeed as he heard Duo snickering behind him. Deciding to ignore the loudmouth, Trowa settled into the chair beside Quatre, smiling his thanks. Duo grabbed the chair on the other side of Quatre, throwing an arm casually around Quatre's shoulders. Trowa felt a pang of regret in his gut, wishing it were him who had his arm around Quatre, instead of Duo. He silently watched Heero enter and sit by Duo, and Wufei come around the table to plop beside him. Trowa looked at Wufei lounging beside him, shook his head and regarded Lady Une as she entered with Zechs, Noin, and Sally. Sally grabbed the chair by Wufei, who grumbled something about injustice, like usual. Zechs and Noin completed the circle on the other side of Heero, leaving Une standing between Noin and Sally. Silence fell heavily around the table as Lady Une made eye contact with the main Preventer's.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are going to war."