Hello Gundam Wing fandom... i'm back after like... 1000 years...

Summary:

Eleven years since the last major set of battles, since the gundams Quatre's path seemed to derail as soon as it got going. His sisters took over the family business. He was uprooted from earth and moved to a colony furthest away from everyone. Working a day to day job as an engineer, on medication for health problems, and struggling with a boring diet. It had been five years since he backed out of being a preventer, and expressed feelings for his dearest friend. Only he was inadvertently rejected. Leading a somewhat dull life, Quatre is unaware of the cage he's in until Duo and Trowa decide to crash in.

Warnings:

Some sexual content (Lime), light graphic content, MxM relationship

Pairings:

3 x 4, light mentions o and 1 x R/2 x H

After Colony 207

Three pills, twice a day. One for anxiety, one for appetite, and one for the headaches. The first three were taken with breakfast, before coffee was drank. Faux eggs with protein supplements, and two vegetable sides. He was essentially living off a vegetarian diet. Which this far in space it was all you could get. Plenty of water to top it all off. Even the water tasted fake.

He grimaced at the eggs, but if he didn't eat them his hair fell out. It'd been years since he had a nice chicken breast or beef tenderloin. No pork, aside his father's religious views in regards to their culture's history. He never cared for it. Although, lamb or pheasant, duck or rabbit would be a nice change of pace.

He tried to relax his jaw some, let it hang slack so that he could somewhat relieve the pressure in his head. The TMJ was brought on by the jaw clenching, the jaw clenching was from the anxiety and stress.

He pushed his hair back and started to cut at the eggs, glancing at the asparagus and potatoes at the side. The potatoes were going to be bland, as were the stalks of asparagus.

Quatre had zero skills in cooking. All he knew was how to fully cook the faux eggs, roast the potatoes, and the asparagus. He had a huge set of seasonings but the one time he tried to make something he ended up ordering takeout. They were a gift from his sister, one of those sets they sell at christmas time.

He was good at so many things, but cooking, cleaning, and sometimes cutting his hair was on the list of things "Quatre needs help with".

Quatre yawned and finished the food, three small portions of food went by fast. Now he could drink coffee. The pills were already down with enough water and since he had food in his stomach he could drink some life giving coffee.

Coffee was expensive, and he spent most of his meager wages on that alone. The Heir of the Winner Foundation didn't get him too far in life. It was taken away from him by a couple of his sisters, who insisted that he was too "unstable" and "young" to know anything about working a company. So they set him up with a job, and a home on a colony.

They taught him the basics, paid for several months of rent so he could get on his feet. Then dropped him like a baby bird.

He poured the coffee, wishing it was fresher. Coffee didn't stay well on export ships, so by the time it was purchased, a lot of the aroma had been gone.

It was good, but he'd had better. After so many years of drinking tea during the war it colored his appreciation for the staple. Tea reminded him of so many terrible things. Earl grey had been his favorite, but anymore it reminded him of the others. Of his father's death, his sister's injury that put her in a coma that she died from after the second war.

So coffee it was. Black, little bit of the sugar substitute they had on the colony. No milk.

Not that the coffee did anything for his fatigue, and he'd even been told not to drink it by his doctor. He just enjoyed it, it brought him some enjoyment. Even though the caffeine tended to give him more anxiety issues than sate them.

Work.

He slipped on the full body utilities. Then boots, and tied his thermoluminescent dosimeter, or TLD to his waist. They wouldn't let him work without the radiation monitor. ID case on the lanyard was put over his head and hung around his neck. He checked it twice to make sure all his cards were inside. He didn't like the PDAs they had, and he was denied one because of his activity in the war. He was refused a lot of luxuries thanks to the war.

He wasn't allowed internet, or a computer. He had regular house inspections on a bi-monthly basis to make sure he wasn't building bombs. His medical records were property of the local government. His neighbors all knew about his war past and they avoided him. The whole "blowing up a colony" didn't sit well with them.

Quatre had his share of guns pulled on him, he found it oddly surprising that he was the one regarded to be dangerous, but a man who pulled out a highly illegal weapon on him only got community service. When he got his place searched, because you know: "there must have been a reason he attacked you."

His life was full of unfair discrepancies. His sisters thought that him being on a colony would be better than on earth. That he needed to go back to his normal life and continue where he left off before he ruined his life with the gundams. Their words, not his.

Pill one was working, which made his trek to work bearable. The monorail system was a gamble, he sat away from everyone and kept both hands visible at all times. People got jumpy when you didn't. He stared down at the patch on his utilities that marked everything he wore. Along with the barcode forcefully branded across the back of his neck.

In AC 203 they began to label all those served in the war. All factions, not just the gundam pilots. Though he couldn't even be sure if the other four would have allowed themselves the torture that came with it. He'd touch it on occasion, look at it in the mirror to confirm it's existence.

On the train he thought back to the other four. He doubt any of them got caught long enough to get branded. They probably were happy on Earth, living lives with different names. They were probably free, happy and free.

He looked out the window and watched the passing scenery. All engineered structures and forestry. Everything was made by human hand.

Work was long, as usual. He made it on time, clocked in. Sneered at, given leery looks. He looked at the work sheet and headed to his position and started to work. He was an engineer, working mostly with electrical and nuclear systems. Given his talent with the gundams, he was a shoe in for the job.

He did his job, effectively and up to standards of his position. Every day was like this, with the exception of two days off.

He'd go home from work, sit down at his table and eat dinner. Take his last three pills and shower. Send his clothes through the wash, and hang them up after.

Then came reading, and bed. No internet meant no entertainment. He could hear through the walls other people laughing about something they'd see on television. He had books, and enjoyed getting new ones from his sisters, or using a day a month to go to one of the shopping centers and order a few. The train systems had television, and the reports they talked about always caught his attention. The weird controversies and bouts of activism on earth and other colonies made him uneasy.

Not like he could do much, the moment he tried anything he'd be shot down. He was well aware of the limits his brethren went through when they tried to say things the government didn't like.

He rode the train home that night, like normal. Went home and ate his pre-packaged dry salad. He put the croutons to the side to discard. If he wasn't getting any dressing he wasn't going to eat the rock hard bread crumbles.

He showered, but felt a sense of unease. After getting out he double checked to make sure he took his nightly medicine, finding it gone he tried to relax. Quatre took a deep breath, counting in his mind trying to calm his mind. No one was there to hurt him. His doors were locked, his security hadn't been tripped.

He laid down in bed, that edgy feeling hadn't left him. So he stared at the pages in his book, laying on his side as he flipped through the pages. He groaned, he had to re-read the last two when he realized he had no idea what was going on. Shutting the book he tossed it to the side and curled up around his pillow.

He glanced at his violin. The only memento left from the war. It was the only thing he could keep. The rest was on earth in some storage facility that may not even be there anymore. He smiled and turned to his back, thinking of playing with Trowa. He covered his mouth and laughed lightly.

He glanced at it again. "I didn't pull you down recently.." his voice called out before his brain could react.

The still blonde shot up in bed and clambered out of bed. His heart racing as he grabbed the instrument. He looked it over, for any bugs or anything out of the ordinary.

There was nothing wrong with it. And yet, he knew someone had been in his house.

He didn't sleep that night.

When he turned off his alarm, he debated on calling in. Taking another sick day to recoup. His mind had been reeling, he'd spent two hours searching the entirety of his house and making sure there wasn't any bomb hidden. He looked for taps, for traces of whoever the hell was there while he was at work.

He was griped at, but he had the day off. He didn't look sick the day before, so of course he was faking it.

He stayed home, had breakfast at his normal time, took his three little pills and laid down.

Thank you for reading!

I hope you enjoy and definitely let me know what you think!

Next Time:

"Done… with what?" He glanced back at Trowa who finally looked up.

"This and that.. what are the pills for?" Duo asked.

"This and that." He had to look away and he went to the counter to lean. His jaw was so tight and his teeth crushed together that his ears began to ring.