Warnings: Umm…in this section, I guess the only thing would be shounen ai. Maybe language—I don’t remember.
Pairings: well, this is a 3x4/4x3 fic, but this section only as 3+4 and 2+Hilde. My big warning is that other than Trowa, all the characters are straight (well, Quatre has some tendencies . . . he just needs to accept them . . .) and of course, like all my straight-fics (and most my fics, in general) this is sympathetic to Relena. I like her, and I’ve vowed to stop apologizing to the GW fan-fiction world about it; if you can’t deal with her, well, don’t read it.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing, of course, is not mine. It’s owned by Sunrise and the Sotsu Agency, along with whatever copyrights the N. American companies added to it.
C&C is more than welcome.
From Forever to Forever
Prologue: To Have
"The peace of the world will in the end
depend on our capacity for friendship and
our willingness to use it."
—Bertha Conde
Christmas Day, A.C. 198—Quatre Winner—4:00 p.m.
I run through the halls, trying to find the other pilots. I can't wait to tell them my news—I haven't seen them for three months. I'd been pretty busy, and I hadn't been able to call them while I was away, so now that I'm back, I have to make up for the lost time. And there's a lot to tell them. I can't keep the grin from my face—I've been like this for three days.
The Preventor Headquarters aren't incredibly large, but it takes a while to get from the barracks to the recreation room. I'm pretty sure they're in there—at least Duo and WuFei are. There's no telling about Trowa and Heero. They're not exactly the most social people, so I kind of wonder if they're even going to be at the Christmas party.
When I enter the room, it's pretty crowded and noisy. I can't even hear Duo's remarkably loud voice. He should be here, though. He wasn't in his and Trowa’s room when I checked—none of the guys were in the barracks. I pray that they're all here, I'm too excited to round them up, and I want to tell them all together.
"Hey Quatre!" I finally hear Duo's voice over the clinking beer bottles and the loud stereo. He weaves through the crowd of billiard players and clamps on to my shoulder. "You made it!"
"Yeah," I say, trying to hold back on my grinning until the others are here. "Where are the rest of you guys?"
"Over here," Duo says, pulling me across the room. Heero and Trowa are leaning against the wall, scowling and drinking. I can tell that things haven't changed that much. WuFei's finishing his turn at the pool table. They don't look incredibly happy, but I know that their presence alone means a lot. "We figured you'd be calling today to tell us that you couldn't make it after all—you've been too busy to drop us a line every now and then?"
I blush slightly at his admonishments. I was busy—but there was more to it than that. Trowa and Heero nod their hellos and WuFei hands me his cue stick. I set it on the table, careful not to bump anything.
"I have been pretty busy for the last month—but it's not what you think," I begin.
Heero raises his eyebrows slightly. "You mean, you haven't been buried in your family business since you left?"
"Then why haven't you bothered to call us?" Trowa actually sounds . . . concerned.
"Well," I say, pausing to take a deep breath, "I met a girl."
"Ah, I see now." WuFei smiles, almost mischievously.
"Yeah." I don't bother hiding my grin now. "Her name's Silvia. Silvia Noventa; her grandfather was Field Marshall Noventa, of the former Earth Sphere Alliance."
Heero nods again. "Yeah, I know her. So does Trowa."
"Really?"
"Mm-hmm," Trowa concurs. "We met her during the war, when Heero was recuperating."
"She mentioned something about having already met a gundam pilot—I guess I just forgot." I shrug my shoulders. It's not that important to any of us now—Field Marshall Noventa's death was in the past now, and we'd atoned for it ten times over during the war. "But anyway," I continue, shaking my head, "I met Silvia when I was back in the L4 cluster, and we really hit it off."
"Great!" Duo claps me on the shoulder again. I'd forgotten about that annoying habit of his. "So why isn't she here?"
My smile is so wide it actually hurts my cheeks. "She's in Marseilles, with her family. We already had different Christmas plans, so we decided to go ahead and separately tell everyone that we got married."
"Married?" I've never seen Heero look so bewildered. His eyes are wide and his face pale. "But you're a Preventor. We can't just run off and start families!"
WuFei scowls—I've been expecting that sort of reaction from him. "Marriage is seldom wise among children."
I shake my head, my smile lessening. "We're not children anymore, WuFei. I'm eighteen, I've lived and fought more than most people on earth, I already own a colonial corporation—the list goes on. She's older than me—she'll be twenty in four months—and she's already got a stable career in the parliament on my colony. I don't think we've been careless about it." The bitterness in my voice is noticeable. I expected them to be happy for me. I glance at Trowa and Duo, looking for support.
"Is she pregnant?" Duo asks, his face straight. He's not joking.
"No," I answer, my voice surprisingly even, despite my rising anger. "We didn't get married because we had to. We did it because we wanted to, because we're in love."
Duo watches me closely for an instant, maybe searching for some sign that I'm being completely honest or something. But after a minute he breaks into a grin and hands me his beer. "This calls for celebration!" he shouts, yanking me close for a hug.
I pull away, pleased that someone finally seemed to get it. I immediately give the beer back, though—I was raised Muslim, so I can't drink with them. Instead I look over at Trowa, who still hasn't really said anything. I'm about to say something to him when he leaves the room.
I suppose "leaves" is a really subtle way of putting it.
He storms out, probably heading toward the barracks. I want to follow him, but WuFei pulls me aside.
"You know, I don't exactly approve of marriage and all, but I'm sure you'll make it work better than anyone else I know." His voice is soft; his words are sincere. I don't know a lot about his past, but I remember he did tell me about the wife he had before the war. I can't blame him for being against marriage after his ordeal, so I'm incredibly grateful for his words.
"Congratulations, Quatre," Heero says, tossing me the cue stick again. "Wanna play a quick game? It may be our last chance, considering that the last time I saw your wife, I was going to let her kill me, and she was almost mad enough to do it." With a strangely maniacal laugh, he starts pulling the balls out of the pockets of the table.
"Ignore him," Duo whispers. "He's probably half-drunk. I doubt she still holds it against him."
For an instant I wonder what I'm getting into. But it only lasts for an instant. I love her, and I know that she's completed my life.
Christmas Day—Trowa Barton—6:54 p.m.
He didn't follow me. I want to hit myself every time I think about him. Of course he didn't follow. He probably hadn't noticed that I left. He's too happy, he's enjoying his newfound wedded bliss.
And where does that leave me?
I'm being melodramatic. Catherine always tells me to loosen up, not take things so seriously. But what can be more serious than this? I know he's making a mistake. He's got his whole life ahead of him—his career, his family—they can wait. He has to live his life before he can settle down, right?
Even as I tell myself these things, I know that there's something else bothering me. This isn't the way I'd always seen it.
The frigid air feels good out here on the balcony. It's a little too cold, since I don't have a coat—but I really don't care right now. I just don't want to go to the mess hall, where they've set up a Christmas dinner. The others will be there, and Heero will examine me, wondering what is making me even more withdrawn. And Duo and Quatre will talk about Silvia Noventa, and how distinguished and beautiful and intelligent she is. Quatre will tell them all how he met her, and what their first date was like, and how he proposed. And the whole time WuFei will give me sympathetic looks, as though he's figured out the secrets of the universe, and he knows that I haven't yet.
So tell me, WuFei, how do you deal with the love of your life marrying someone else?
Even to myself it sounds ridiculous.
How can I love him? We're both soldiers; we're both guys.
How can I not love him?
I sigh, leaning against the painfully cold metal railing. I want the day to end. I want to go to bed and wake up with some sort of answer. I want to stop feeling angry and betrayed. Why should I feel betrayed if I've never told him how I feel?
"Hey." Quatre. His voice is soft, gentle. For a moment I wonder if that's the way he talks to her. But then I get the image of him kissing her, holding her. My stomach turns, and I get angry with him, angry with myself.
"Why aren't you having your Christmas dinner?" My voice doesn't reveal any of my emotional turmoil, and I'm thankful.
"I wanted to see why you were out here," he answers hesitantly. Though my back is turned to him, I'm certain he has one hand on the doorframe, the other in his pocket. His head is probably cocked slightly to one side, and in this light his eyes are undoubtedly a deep turquoise shade.
My thoughts only make me angrier. I want to lash out, but I don't know where to begin.
"Will you come back inside?" he asks. "It's way too cold out here, Trowa."
I love the way he says my name. Even though it's not my real name, every time he says it, it feels as though I'd had it since I was born. I want him to say it again, and I know that if I don’t answer him, I might hear it.
"Trowa?" I don’t smile, but I can feel an old familiar soothing sensation in my chest. He continues. "It’s really cold. Don’t you think you should come inside?"
And listen to them all talk about Quatre’s new perfect life? I’d rather stay out here for the entire night.
I feel him step closer to me. "Tonight’s my last night with the Preventors," he says, his voice low. "I resigned this afternoon. You’re my best friend, Trowa. I’d really like to spend the evening with you."
How many times have I thought the same thing? I close my eyes—they are burning, and I’m sure I’ll cry soon if I keep thinking like this. Of course, the context of my thoughts was undoubtedly different. I feel really strange.
I turn on him. "Why did you do it? Don’t you realize what you’re going to miss out on? You won’t be able to go on any more missions, you won’t be able to hang out with us. You have an entire life to live and you’re tossing it aside in order to lead some crazy fantasy life. You hardly even know her—you just met a month ago." I can’t finish what I want to say. How can he choose someone he’s known for a month when I’ve loved him for three years?
His eyes flash with anger. "Listen, Trowa," he says, his voice filled with venom. I’ve rarely heard him sound like this. "I didn’t come out here to have my decisions questioned. I think I know better than you what I want from my life. I don’t need missions to make me feel like a strong person. I don’t want to go around fighting for the rest of my life. I care more about her than I’ve ever cared about anything." His eyes soften. "But next to her, you’re the most important person in my life—I came back today hoping for some support, not to be chastised by my closest friends."
So that’s how it will be from now on? I’ll be the second most important person in his life, while he’s the center of my universe? It isn’t right. I would hand over my life to him in a heartbeat if I could, but apparently he would never care enough to let me. And what will happen once he has children? Will I be bumped down, gradually becoming the third, then the fourth most important person in his life?
I’m being selfish. But I love him too much to just watch him leave. I try again.
"Did you consider how other people feel about you? Did you ever think about the people you’d be leaving behind?" I ask, stepping closer to him. I want to touch him.
"Others?" His face pales. "What are you talking about, Trowa?" His voice growls slightly, as if he knows what I’m about to say and he doesn’t want to hear it.
I ignore his warning. "I always thought that somewhere along the line we’d leave the Preventors together." I reach out to him, tugging his shoulders. He resists slightly. "I thought that maybe we’d end up married someday." There. I’ve said it.
His eyes go wide, his mouth hanging open just a bit. I’ve shocked him. I’ve probably disgusted him, too, but I don’t care. I yank him close to me, crushing my lips against his. One arm winds around his waist and I cradle his head with the other. Just one kiss before I let her have him. I’ve dreamed about this numerous times. But never did I dream that he’d struggle and push me away. My chest hurts from the force of his shove.
"What are you doing?" he demands, taking another two steps backward. His face is twisted into an expression of horror and anger. "Trowa—men don’t marry men, they marry women." His voice drips with sarcasm, and I refuse to let my emotions show on my face. His words are killing me. "How could you do this now—today—when I came to tell you about my marriage? Damnit, Trowa, you can’t do this!"
I press my lips firmly together, trying to deny the stabs of pain in my chest. "You’re right," I answer softly. "I’m sorry I said anything." I brush past him, heading inside. I’m sorry I ever confessed. I’m sorry I ever fell in love. I’m sorry I ever met him.
But I’m still in love with him. I can’t stand it, but I still want to be the one wearing his wedding ring.
Christmas Day—Duo Maxwell—9:23 p.m.
I’d have to be blind not to notice the tension. Quatre isn’t talking to anyone. Trowa hasn’t been seen for hours. It’s so obvious to me that it’s hilarious no one else has figured it out.
Trowa is hopelessly in love with Quatre. He has been for a while now. The first time I noticed it was when we finished out last battle against the Libra. Heero had flown off into space, and we landed on MOII, along with Quatre’s Maganac troops. Quatre was still in a lot of pain from his duel with Dorothy—she kicked his ass in that sword fight.
But Trowa immediately ran over to his side and carried him to the infirmary. I followed—I was concerned about Quatre, and I didn’t really have anything else to do. When I got into the sickbay Quatre had been laid out on an examination table and he was unconscious. Without the adrenaline of battle, I don’t think he could handle the pain.
Trowa was taking care of him, cleaning the wound with gentle hands. And he looked scared. Now, in the three years I’ve known Trowa, I don’t think I’ve ever really seen him look scared. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look like anything—he’s always just calm, sensible Trowa. But that time he looked worried. And he was so careful. It was really weird, watching him handle Quatre with such tenderness when I had seen him kill hundreds of people. I guess that’s always surprising with mobile suit pilots—but it was really weird with Trowa.
And that’s when I realized that he loved Quatre.
Looking back it’s really obvious that he’s always had a thing for him. But I didn’t know where to look, I suppose. Up until today I thought that Quatre loved him back, too.
Who’d’ve thought Quatre would be straight? He’s not exactly the most . . . masculine guy I’ve ever met. He dresses so primly, and he’s awfully sensitive. I guess I always figured him for gay. But now he’s married—so I suppose that means I was wrong. Unless he’s denying his own feelings, that is.
I don’t know why I’m stressing over this. I guess I don’t have anything better to think about. Hilde brushed me off again—I’m kind of getting the idea that she’s not really interested anymore. But I don’t want to give up just yet. I just need to lay the Maxwell charm on good and thick. That’s gonna make her realize what she’s missing! Or maybe I could play WuFei’s game. He always pretends that he’s not interested in Sally, and it drives her crazy. She’d bend over backwards for some attention from him. Or I could be like Heero. He just laughs maniacally and spends his free time in the shooting range, ignoring the world around him. Yet Relena Darlian still sends about twelve messages a week. Personally I think he’s on the verge of a mental breakdown. I wonder if he ever writes back . . .
Overall, I think this Christmas has sucked. Yeah, I’m happy for Quatre, but I’ll never understand why anyone would give up the Preventor life to get married. Then again, Hilde’s a Preventor, so I get to see her all the time. But I still don’t understand marriage. I think Quatre’s the only Gundam pilot who gets life on the outside. The rest of us are too caught up in the killing and the scheming to understand falling in love in any normal way.
I’ve been sitting in the lounge for at least thirty minutes now, and no one else has come in. WuFei’s in the library, I just know it. And Heero’s probably at the range. No telling with Trowa. And Quatre may as well not be here. I think he’s concerned about Trowa. No, he’s smiling, so he’s probably remembering how good it is to hold Silvia. Not that I blame him—I’ve seen plenty of pictures of her to be jealous. Somehow this sweet little killer friend of mine managed to snag one of the hottest girls in the world.
Poor Trowa.
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