Something about these overused plots is highly addictive. Like cheap chocolate or certain emerald-eyed pilots. Oooh, emerald-eyed pilots covered in chocolate….

*ahem* No, I don't own Gundam Wing or Trowa Barton. But I do own plenty of cheap chocolate. That's something, right?

Not much Duo in this chapter, but he becomes very, very central later. Promise!

Trowa pried the cap off the lime green bottle, sniffing the contents of its depths once the top had been successfully removed. The liquid smelled suspiciously similar to overripe fruit, but Catherine had guaranteed its success towards wooing women and homosexual males. At least fighting as a pilot, you didn't have to worry what you smelled like. You were expected to reek.

Checking himself in the mirror of his minuscule bathroom, he decided to dab the aftershave on his neck beneath his turtleneck. The bottle was returned to its home on the sink's rim as Trowa deemed himself ready. Ready to confess his feelings to the man he loved after running from his emotions for months.

Quatre Winner.

He picked up his cell phone as he shoved his feet in his boots and his keys in his jeans. Waiting in front of his door, he shifted his weight from leg to leg in nervousness as he waited for Quatre to pick up the line. The anxiety faded as soon a familiar cheerful voice replaced the droning rings. No need to worry. We're supposed to be together. Best friends. Three and four. "Hey. Do you have a minute? I wanted to talk to you, privately. I mean in person."

"Is everything alright?"

"Of course. It's just important. Are you too busy?"

"Not for the afternoon if you don't mind limiting conversation for an engagement I have this evening. If it's that important, do you want to wait until tomorrow? My whole day is free after work then."

"It shouldn't take long. Today is fine."

"I'll see you soon, then?"

"Definitely." With a light smile that refused to disappear, Trowa hung up the phone and quickly made his way to his crush. Driving up to the fence surrounding the Winner property fifteen minutes later, he decided to park on the street and leap over the wrought-iron spikes instead of waiting for clearance at the gate. The guards over the vid-screen always looked at him with disgust. Plus, the whole ordeal rubbed him the wrong way—too aristocratic, almost. Too rich. Why did an ex-terrorist need bodyguards anyway?

He led himself inside the unguarded side door, nearly hidden behind layers of twisting ivy. Fishing his keychain out of his pocket, he held the metal pieces tightly for a moment. He carried a special fondness for his keys. He needn't have many endearing household items, unless his cat could be included, but each of his keys carried a special meaning. One for the first house he ever owned, one for his old but beloved pick-up truck restored by his own hand, then one to each of his friends' places. Duo playfully titled their sharing of keys their personal "open-door policy," only "without the benefits." Trowa hoped soon he and Quatre wouldn't need separate keys. Or have any lack of benefits.

Once inside, he searched for his quarry, scouting the office first then the master bedroom. Quatre was lost in his closet, a space large enough to swallow both Trowa's kitchen and living room. Trowa knocked gently on the open door before stepping over a few discarded Armani suits. A frustrated blond popped out from behind a shoe rack, holding a few crumpled ties in his hands. "Oh, hi! Sorry, time got away from me. Obviously."

Trowa resisted a laugh at the heir's expense. "It's fine. You seem busy."

"Just getting ready for a date tonight. But you wanted to talk about something important?"

The speech he had planned conveniently decided to fly out of Trowa's head at this point, scattering out the closet's window into the sadistically bright sunlight outside. "You have a date? With one of the model trophies your sisters try to force on you, right?"

"Not this time, no."

"Then with who?"

With a small blush, Quatre smiled sheepishly. "Dorothy."

Trowa felt like someone had punched him in the gut, holding him up in the air with a heavy fist, not letting him go, not letting him breathe. "Catalonia?"

"That would be the only one with both know."

"But she's…she…You're really going out with her? On a date?"

With a long sigh, Quatre dropped the silk ties to the floor so he could place his hands on Trowa's thin shoulders. "I shouldn't have said anything now, not when you have something important of your own to discuss. But you're my best friend and I had this annoying, bubbling desire to tell you. I tell you everything." His wide blue-and-green eyes searched Trowa's hopefully. "I love her."

Jerking back out of Quatre's grasp, Trowa tried not to let his betrayal show on his face. Shit, if he hadn't said anything…I would have looked like a fool! Jeez, Quat, I'm only crazy about you! How would you have reacted to that? Pity me? "You've got to be kidding."

Quatre frowned, upset taking the place of hope. "You don't approve?"

"How can you expect me to approve?! She stabbed you! She tried to kill you!"

Surprised at the taller man's uncharacteristic outburst, Quatre's voice went low and gentle, trying to sooth the sudden anger. "I nearly killed you once, but you forgave me. She deserves the same kindness you've shown to me."

"She wasn't insane when she hurt you!" Trowa knew the moment the word escaped his mouth he had gone too far, despite the truth in the statement. He could almost touch the grief radiating from his comrade's heart, but the sting in his own kept him from apologizing. "When have you even been spending time with her?"

"She needed a job and she's got a head for business. She's absolutely brilliant, Trowa. Her presence in my office has been—"

"Forget I asked." Quatre bit down on his bottom lip but Trowa saw the pink mouth tremble anyway. Guilt intertwined with the betrayal clenching his heart, now fragile since he had removed the walls around it with the help of the tearful man before him—ironically. "Dorothy means that much to you?" Do you know how much you're hurting me?

"I've never felt this way about a woman before. Will you…will you be able to talk to her? I want my girlfriend and my best friend to be friends too. I love you both so dearly."

No, you don't. "Don't expect me to befriend her, but I won't oppose your relationship with her. If she's what you want. She is what you want?"

"Yes." Quatre hugged Trowa in relief before starting to unbutton his crumbled lavender button-up shirt in exchange for a pressed white one. "I'm sorry again, I've been rude! What was it you wanted to talk about?"

Trowa averted his eyes. "It's not important." Not anymore. "You need to get ready, so I'm going home."

"Oh. You're sure?"

Definitely. Trowa rushed out of the mansion, not caring to avoid the surprised-looking guards on his way back to his truck. Once inside the safety of the heavy doors, he slammed his palms against the steering wheel, slumping against the dash with defeat. How could I have been so wrong? I'm not a stupid person—there were signs! He lights up when he looks at me. He phones me at all hours of the night to tell me about his day. He'll take my arm when we go walking. He protects me. He played music with me. He returned to sanity for me.

To mock his misery, his cell rang happily from his passenger seat, dancing across the worn cloth in perky delight at receiving a call. He had dumped it there in his haste to run to Quatre. At the last ring before the voice message would answer, he picked up the device grumpily. "What now?"

A slight pause answered him, before Heero responded professionally, but not without a trace of concern in his normally steady voice. "We have a mission. You're my gun."

Good. A distraction away from all this emotional crap. "Give me half an hour to get there." Trowa checked in the toolbox under his seat for his firearm, making sure it was fully loaded before heading towards Preventers headquarters. He knew he should be insulted playing sidekick to Heero simply because the ex-pilot of Wing refused to kill again and stop mission work at the same time. Trowa had no problem continuing to take the lives of those who disturbed the peace he helped create.

But the fact he was again used for his murdering prowess instead of his piloting or mechanical skills made him feel like a soldier-for-hire again.

Heero was waiting for him in the briefing area after Trowa clocked in and changed to uniform in his office. "What exactly is this about?"

"A laboratory in former Europe has been conducting illegal genetic experiments on live humans. They claimed to have discovered a breakthrough in altering DNA, but when they were punished for their crimes, refused to offer their results."

"And now they are threatening important political figures and Preventer agents in the name of revenge?"

"Correct."

"And we're to break in to download their scientific research without detection?"

"Also correct."

Trowa felt slightly higher in spirits when he realized the distant location meant an unusual form of transportation. "Can I pilot the jet?"

"Only if I can fly it back."

"Deal."

Finding a place to land near the coordinates of the laboratory wasn't particularly difficult, and they made the rest of the way quickly on foot. The genetic-research company had desired privacy, so the lab was graciously away from other buildings and civilian residences. For Trowa, that equaled a decreased possibility for causalities.

Sneaking in the back door with a replicated pass key, the agents deftly traveled through the halls, searching for the computer database and avoiding detection rather unnecessarily.

"No-one's here."

"That we can see."

"Come on, Heero, you called me in for nothing. You don't need a bodyguard to run through a bunch of empty rooms." To prove his point, Trowa stepped out into the middle of what seemed to be the main lobby, guiding Heero out of the shadows with him. To prove him wrong—the current theme of the day—the floor gave way beneath them, knocking them to the tile as they plummeted ten stories below ground in a hidden elevator.

"Well, shit. Again."

Heero stood up, attempting to pry open the metal doors facing them before sniffing the air. "What is that smell?"

"I don't smell anything."

"It's akin to fruit. Bad fruit. Some type of gas?"

"Cologne. A gift from Catherine."

"…I wouldn't suggest wearing it again."

"Pay attention to the matter at hand, Yuy. The doors are opening."

Blue eyes snapped to the doors as they indeed parted, revealing a large room, just as empty as the others with no exit. Trowa stepped forward first, scanning the area with his gun ready just to make sure. The ground beneath him was also metal, as were the lower halves of the four walls surrounding him. The rest of the walls were composed of a dark glass. He beckoned Heero to join him. "Two-way mirrors. Guess we're not alone after all."

"Question being, what are they holding us for?"

"Question being, what in the hell are they waiting for? We're not going anywhere."

Heero suddenly turned and caught a second dart in his right hand as it flew from the opposite wall, only to grunt in displeasure when another entered the flesh of his left shoulder. Trowa pulled it out before it could empty completely, comparing it to the one found in his own skin. "They're the same except for the encoded numbers. A001 on mine and A003 on yours."

Glancing at the dart he caught, Heero frowned. "This is also A003. The liquid is clear and thick, but obviously not instantaneous in bringing about sudden demise."

"They think we're lab rats." Trowa raised his gun at the wall appearing to be the source of the annoying darts. "They should have known better." He sent three bullets into the glass, listening as each hit a solid object beyond and weakened the glass by creating substantial white spider-web patterns in the mirrors. Using Heero as an unsuspecting but unsurprised leverage point, he jumped and hurled himself at the damaged glass, rolling into the room beyond.

The rest of his bullets were spent taking down the wide-eyed and unarmed scientists. Heero climbed up when the shooting stopped, targeting an operative computer and expertly hacking into the system. "Look around and see what else you can find."

Trowa did as he was told, turning over bodies and scouring cabinets while Heero inserted a disk into the computer and downloaded its contents. "So much for not being detected. Hey, I got a briefcase here full of the same darts."

"How many?"

"Including the ones we've handled, ten. All labeled A001 to A005, two for each code." How uncanny. Please be a stupid coincidence.

Heero pocketed the disk and took the briefcase. "Good. I've got the elevator rigged to go back up in thirty seconds. The less chaos we create on the way out, the better."

"What did Duo tell you once? It's always the quiet ones?"

"That was before he heard you snore."

"Just get in the elevator, Yuy."

Reaching headquarters safely, they reported to the medical unit to undergo a few standard tests required after being injected with a foreign substance on a mission. I've got to stop working in places that list crap like this in the employee handbook. After being released, they were called into the organization's president's office to hand over the briefcase and the disk.

Trowa always derived some amusement from the president of their Preventer division, a former Alliance captain handpicked by Lady Une after she left the position to spend more time with Kushrenada's daughter. Parkinson was a massive, muscular man with an equally massive handlebar mustache, all crammed behind a desk crafted for a woman of Une's stature. Each time Parkinson would bark an order or punch his fist in the air to emphasize a point in his speeches, the rolling chair he was jammed into would threaten to burst with a warning creak. Parkinson often liked to bark orders and make redundant points.

"Gentlemen, on behalf of the Preventers, I apologize for any inconvenience you experienced during your mission."

Trowa held back a sharp reply, years of practice keeping his face impassive. Inconvenience? You had us walk straight into a trap! Oh, the chair squeaked again…I hope it breaks. Right now.

"We have our top scientists working on the information you delivered. According to the medical unit, there is nothing detectibly wrong with either of you, so I expect you'll be satisfied with being sent home. Until we find out what effect that compound had, you are both absolutely forbidden to discuss the incidents of the mission with anyone but me and each other. The ones responsible don't need any more publicity and we certainly don't want any rumors of agent failure floating around. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir!" they chorused together, a habit not lost after the war.

"Good. Dismissed."

I've got to start working in places that care more. They filed out of the room, shutting the door and the brewing captain behind them. As they clocked out and returned to the garage, Heero glanced over at his departing partner, apparently not having forgotten Trowa's earlier melancholy. He gently clasped Trowa's elbow within a strong hand before the latter climbed into his pick-up. "You okay? It's not like you to be reckless out in the field."

Trowa got the feeling his friend was not referring to any negative effects resulting from the mission. "No. Don't want to talk about it, though. I'm sorry if my recklessness put you in danger."

"Don't worry about it. Headed home?"

"Yeah. All I want is to hit the pillow and not wake up until tomorrow evening."

"We have lunch tomorrow at Wufei's, remember?"

"Grand." This day just keeps getting better and better. What's next, my flesh is going to start corroding thanks to that stupid dart? Have my death labeled as a result of a workplace 'inconvenience'? Trowa pulled out of the hold on his arm."Thanks, Heero. See you then."

The gunless perfect soldier waved his goodbye, exiting the Preventers building to return home. Trowa's chest burned unpleasantly with envy when he remembered Heero had a lover waiting in his bed. As Trowa literally kicked his truck to life, he wished Quatre would be waiting with the same worried devotion for him. He had always waited with hitched breath for Quatre's call when the Arabian returned home from a business trip.

His small house seemed suddenly more cramped than usual when no-one greeted him with a warm embrace. Reaching into the near-empty depths of the cabinet under his kitchen sink, he groped around for a smuggled bottle a whiskey Duo got him for a housewarming gift. Smearing away some of the dust, he realized that although he had only worked through the spout of the bottle in four months, the rest of the bottle was going to disappear a lot quicker.

Pouring an ample amount of the amber liquid in a shot glass, he was silently grateful he never picked up the common mercenary trait of having high alcohol tolerance. Or a medium level tolerance, for that matter. He figured one shot would be enough to knock him out. The glass traveled with him into the bedroom where he shed his dirty uniform on the floor and turned down his already unmade bed.

He waited until his cat Mayhem curled up on her side of the bed, rubbing her long grey fur absently as she stretched out next to the spare pillow. "Guess you'll get to keep your spot, girl. At least you're here with me." Sliding in-between his sheets which needed to be washed, he slung back the shot of whiskey, hoping for a dreamless sleep and a late arriving morning. The glass hit the carpeted floor with a muffled thud as he sunk away from reality.

The end of chapter one! The next chapter will be more eventful. And less sad. Trowa's going to wake up with a wee surprise…