Big Wheels

The distant ding of a cabin light woke him from his deep sleep.

Aware once again of the hum of the shuttle's engines filling his bones, he wanted to sink back into his dream, which was already fading from his memory. Instead, a flight attendant's gentle hand on his shoulder brought him back.

"Sorry to wake you, Mr. Winner, but we have twenty minutes to the beginning of docking proceedings."

Sitting up in his seat, he managed a groggy thank you, and she moved on to the next row.

The aisles were still dim, lights coming up gradually as passengers stirred awake or put away their things. Here and there were brighter spotlights where those who did not or could not sleep were finishing up their work, the glow of computer screens illuminating faces in the dark. A food cart made its way through the cabin, packed with foil-wrapped stuffed quiches, insulated zero-gravity cups of coffee, milk, or juice.

Body stiff, head a little fuzzy, Quatre found he had little appetite, but was desperate for some caffeine. The stewardess who had woken Quatre plucked a fountain pen from mid-air, and gently shook its sleeping owner to inform him of their ETA. A businessman across the aisle read a newspaper hard copy.

Catching sight of the headline on the front page, Quatre turned away.

And toward the tiny shuttle window, peering through his reflection and out into the blackness of space.

Their destination, Colony C-421, slowly grew in size outside the spacecraft: a magnificent silver wheel of titanium and carbon fiber, turning gracefully without end through the vacuum. Four main pillars met like spokes in the center; and on one side, an arm spanned the diameter of the wheel colony like the second hand of a clock, extending into space toward them, waiting to grab hold of a second wheel that had never been constructed. As the colony slowly turned, shadows devoured a section at a time, throwing into the sharp relief of space all the bulges and reveals that patterned the outer wall like geometrical arabesques.

The immensity of it could only be grasped close up. But Quatre liked colonies best like this, when the miracle that was this delicate balance between human perseverance and the inhospitable indifference of space could be blotted out by the palm of his hand.

It was not lightly that he appreciated such a view. The true fragility of the colonies was a lesson he had learned the hardest way, and would never allow himself to forget.

As they pulled into the shuttle port, a young child sobbed somewhere in the cabin at the change of air pressure in her inner ear, and a middle-aged couple smiled at one another in sympathy. Quatre stuck his empty coffee cup snuggly in his seat's holder, and put on his glasses. When the other passengers stood to retrieve their carry-on luggage, he pulled out his laptop case and overnight bag and unbuckled his harness, waving an elderly couple ahead of him with a smile. If they recognized him, their grateful nods did not show it.

The young trio of stewardesses who saw him off were a different story, however. One clutched the latest issue of Today to her chest—the same issue stuffed into all the shuttle's magazine pockets—which he paused to sign for her after her coworkers goaded her, blushing furiously, into asking him. With earnest, if awkward, enthusiasm, she swore she would vote for him if she were a citizen of L4. The sounds of her coworkers' giggling as he departed made him smile and shake his head, and not altogether in amusement.

He had barely set foot inside the terminal when—

"There he is, the man of the hour!"

Quatre started. So much for his disguise.

He looked around to see who had recognized him, and completely missed the man rushing up beside him to seize him in a great big bear hug.

It took only a split second to identify his attacker by his unmistakable braid, if nothing else. Quatre laughed, and managed to pull himself away to arm's length. "Duo, you old pirate! Why didn't you tell me you were going to be here?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Well, you succeeded! But could you try not to let the whole colony know I'm here?"

Duo chuckled. Some of the disembarking passengers glanced their way as they passed, but none lingered on them too long.

"Sorry, man. I get it: You're traveling incognito."

Duo raised an eyebrow at Quatre's temporarily brown hair—which, in Quatre's opinion, made him look uncannily like his father. His face had thinned out some, and though at 190 centimeters Quatre wasn't quite as tall as his father, the height genes had started making their presence known in his late teens.

At the moment he wore a cashmere sweater over an oxford shirt and pressed slacks. His slightly tinted glasses were a little too large for his face, which prompted Duo to pluck them off him, quite to Quatre's embarrassment. "You're wearing glasses now, Q?" Duo looked through them and started. "Hey, these are prescription!"

"They're just for reading," Quatre said, taking them back. "And traveling undercover."

Duo shook his head. "Boy, reading glasses? At your age? Now you're starting to make me feel old. But, man! It really has been a while, hasn't it?"

"Sure has."

Quatre sighed, finding himself more at ease just by Duo's presence. It felt good to see his old brother-in-arms again. They kept in touch regularly by phone and mail, but he couldn't pinpoint the last time he had seen Duo in person, only that it must have been about three years ago.

As Quatre had expected, Duo had hardly changed a bit. He had gained some weight, almost all of it muscle. He still had his braid, though a bit shorter than it had been during the war. Duo still resisted any outside attempt by color to infiltrate his wardrobe. The smile that was never absent from his wide, violet eyes was not clouded by the deeper kind of troubles that Quatre felt must show in his own. If peacetime had been good to any one of them, it was Duo. Whenever Quatre talked to him, it seemed things were going well, even when they weren't.

All at once, it hit Quatre how much he had missed that optimism of Duo's. He couldn't wait to catch up.

Hilde was waiting for them when they finally moved away from the flow of traffic. "Love the glasses," she told Quatre before reaching up to hug him on tip-toes.

Duo had to add: "They're prescription."

Hilde gasped as she pulled back. "No! Quatre, you're getting old!"

It sure felt that way. From being a fifteen-year-old gundam pilot in the war, to attending university as a teenager, and from the lengthy legal process of working out his inheritance, to side projects rebuilding damaged colonies and taking over control of the family business, and now running for office, the last decade had been busy enough for an entire lifetime.

In fact, it seemed at once a lifetime ago and yesterday since Quatre and the other gundam pilots had last been together, an eternally frozen continuum in the back of his mind forged by hard times shared. He did feel older; but the television screens, the newspapers and magazine covers on the newsstands they passed, reminded him with almost embarrassing clarity that he was still a young man of twenty-eight, whose touted movie-star good looks and few trillion dollars to his name didn't hurt his likability either.

"So, did you have any plans for when you arrived in colony?" Duo asked him as the three made their way to the car. "Trowa's not due in till later tonight."

Quatre shrugged. "I was just going to check into my room and take a load off until then. But that was before I knew you'd be waiting for me when I got here." He smiled. "I take it you two have something else in mind."

"Nah. I mean, we were hoping for a chance to catch up, but there'll be plenty of time for it tonight. You need your rest."

"We'll give you a lift," Hilde said. "We can catch up on the way. By the way, have you eaten?"

When the two found out Quatre hadn't, they wouldn't take no for an answer. It was still early in the day, and Duo and Hilde knew a little place near their hotel that had proved a hit with them the day before. They insisted on treating him, even threatening to lock the car doors so he couldn't escape, and Quatre could do nothing except call ahead to the hotel, informing them he would miss his ETA, and apologize for the inconvenience.

Sitting in the passenger seat beside Duo, listening to him and Hilde feed off each other's quips, Quatre had to marvel at his old friend's efficiency in getting him out of the spaceport and fed before anyone chanced to recognize him.

After three years of marriage, and a six-year on-again-off-again courtship they had denied for six years as being any such thing, Duo and Hilde still operated like a well-oiled machine. Naturally, everyone had seen it before them. Which was why no one had been as surprised as the two thought they would be when they finally announced they were engaged. If anyone had been surprised by anything, it was that they had waited so long. "We didn't feel there was any need to rush," Hilde had said by way of explanation. "We're still young." If anything their relationship seemed to benefit from the wait.

"But we won't be young forever," Duo would inevitably add.

Which was why when they told Quatre of their engagement, he insisted on paying for the wedding, small and just-family-and-friends as the two told him time and time again it had to be. By then Quatre had already put most of his legal battles behind him and was working with his sisters to rebuild the Winner Corporation as it had been under their father's charge. It was the least he could do for an old friend, yet Duo remained adamant he would someday, in some way, pay Quatre back. Even if it was just a little at a time.

Quatre supposed letting Duo start with lunch was the least he could do.

"It had to be two-oh-five," Duo was saying, half to himself, as they sat at a booth in the cafe. "Let's see, we were married in April . . ."

Hilde turned to him, twisting the straw in her lemonade absently. "Wasn't it July of that year? The last time we talked face-to-face? We ran into each other at that place in Ptolemaios, completely by accident. Remember? And to think, Quatre, if I had had my way, we wouldn't have even gone into that store. We said we were going to try to get together again soon after that, but somehow we all got too busy to arrange anything."

"So, it's been three years," Quatre said. "It doesn't seem that long."

"Amazing how time flies these days. But I remember when it felt like each day was a lifetime."

"Have you seen any of the others since then?" Quatre asked, and sipped his coffee. He didn't need to specify: any of the others from the war.

"Trowa's been by a couple times," Duo told him. "Ever since he quit the circus, though, it's been tough for him to find time off work to meet. We get Christmas cards and stuff from Sally and Une. You know, from that stint with the Preventers. I don't think I've heard from Wufei at all since the wedding." He glanced Hilde's way for confirmation. "Or before, for that matter. To tell the truth, I was surprised he came at all. But then, you know how Wufei is."

"Yeah, I know." It didn't surprise Quatre that he said nothing about Heero. They hadn't seen or heard from him since shortly after the war on Christmas Eve, 196.

"What about you?" Hilde asked, leaning across the table.

"I run into Relena on occasion," Quatre said. "Our work takes us to a lot of the same places. Conferences, opening ceremonies, high-society galas. That sort of thing. Ball games."

"Ball games?" Duo snorted.

Quatre shrugged, a wry smile on his lips. "When you get to be on the cover of Today, Duo, you'll learn a thing or two about diplomacy and public appearances right quick. Everyone wants a piece of you, even if it's just a handshake or tossing out a first pitch. Anyway, it's been the same with Dorothy and Une. Aside from the ball games."

Hilde gave him a sympathetic look. "But I bet you guys don't get much time to talk. About anything other than business and politics, that is."

"No. We don't."

"So-o-o. Are you seeing anyone?"

Her question came with such nonchalance, its suddenness didn't faze Quatre.

But Duo looked embarrassed for him as he leaned closer to her and said, "Hil, don't ask the man a question like that. Not after he's just been on a twenty-hour flight. And, for that matter, after just about every reporter on- and off-planet has asked him the same question."

"I can read, Duo, thank you very much. But that's not something a person can just go and spill to the whole Earth Sphere. However, we're all friends here, so . . ." Hilde wiggled an eyebrow. "The dirty, if you please?"

Quatre made her squirm for another moment before giving in: "No, I'm not seeing anyone."

"Aw, that's a shame."

"Knowing Quatre, he'd say he's too busy for romance," Duo teased. "He's got a huge multinational corporation to run, all these charity events and conferences to go to—not to mention the campaign. Not that he doesn't have the same natural urges as the rest of us―"

"And now I'm to be one of the main speakers at this exhibit opening," Quatre added, eager to change the subject. "I have that to look forward to."

"That's right. Thursday evening. Have you written my speech yet?"

Quatre chuckled. "You mean my speech, Duo? And yes, I've already written it. But I'm not going to spoil the surprise. You haven't changed your mind about speaking, have you?"

"No." Duo sighed. "I think seven speakers will be more than enough for even this gala. Plus, I don't think anyone wants to sit and listen to me blunder my way through some script when there's some damn sexy marvels of engineering to be gawking at. I'm just going to make you guys look good."

Hilde rolled her eyes, but Quatre understood. It wasn't simply that they came from different worlds. Just because someone was a good storyteller didn't mean he was good at public speaking. Case in point, Quatre considered himself the complete opposite.

They paused as the waiter came by to take their orders and refill the men's coffees.

When he left, Duo sobered.

"I have to tell you," he said, "Hilde and I were really surprised when you came out about . . . Well, you know."

Quatre stopped stirring his coffee. But he hesitated to meet Duo's eyes. "Why's that?"

"Well, for one thing, because out of all of us you're the only one who ever had much of a choice in the matter. We all knew Wufei would have to disclose his involvement, given his position in the Preventers, and with Trowa―well, who could forget that one time Heavyarms literally brought the house down? Heero doesn't really count because he disappeared. . . . But you had the most to lose. Not to mention, you were the only one with plausible deniability."

Duo leaned forward, and his meaning was clear in his eyes.

"Have you decided what you're going to say about Zero?"

"Not yet," Quatre said. "I'm not looking forward to it, but I'll have to make a decision soon. As for the rest, though, it was going to come out sooner or later. Yes, I had a choice. But the way I saw it, I had only two options: I could either tell the truth myself, or have my opponent out me in a way I would have no control over. I think anyone in my position would choose the former."

"I'm not so sure about that. But to be fair, it is pretty amazing you were able to keep it under wraps for so long."

"And that had a lot to do with my decision." Quatre folded his hands on the table. "I've come to a point in my life where I don't want to hide who I was anymore. People's feelings have changed since the war, but I'm still the person I was. Just wiser, and eager to atone for my actions. For a long time, I was ashamed of what I did, and it was easier to stay silent, to hide. But then I guess I reached a point where not being able to tell anyone was what really tore me up inside.

"I like to think that we've come to a point, as a people, where we can look back on the war with more objective eyes. Yes, some of us did truly terrible things and, yes, we made terrible decisions that hurt a great many people. For that, I can't expect that I can ever be forgiven. But at least it's a little easier to look back and say, 'These were our reasons for doing what we did,' without it having to hurt so much."

"But it still hurts," Duo said.

Quatre nodded. "That's why I expected people to be more outraged than they were. I don't quite understand it myself."

"God forbid," Duo snorted, "the rabble's gone reasonable."

That earned him a little chuckle from Quatre. "If only that were the case. You'll hear all about it this week if you turn on the news. I guarantee it. And plenty of it less than reasonable. There's a great number of people who are still claiming the Colonies are to blame for giving rise to the gundams. Many of them are colonists themselves."

"That's hardly a surprise. They'd rather take responsibility for us than White Fang."

Quatre could agree with that assessment. "But in hindsight, there's a growing consensus that the Colonies should have taken a more active role even before the conflict started. It was their own autonomy that was at stake, after all."

"That was my experience on MO-II," Hilde said. "After White Fang, a lot of people still thought of the gundams as terrorists, even if they were the lesser of two evils. You guys really embodied the anger and frustration the Colonies felt toward Earth rule but were too afraid to express. It was Mariemaia's war that made you five heroes," she said as she looked from her husband to Quatre. "Seeing you stand up for the people of Earth, and the people of Earth rally behind you—I guess in a way the Colonies felt like they were being forgiven. So this new show of support for the gundam pilots doesn't surprise me at all.

"I think this could actually help you quite a bit in your campaign, Quatre. Hell, you broke the story yourself, so you've got timing working to your advantage. That took balls—and frankly," she added to Duo's laughter and shake of the head, "balls are what people are looking for in a candidate. You're in a position now where the media's going to be more likely to believe your interpretation of what happened, if someone were to come along telling a different story."

"Take my advice, Quatre, and listen to this woman," Duo said, pointing a thumb at Hilde. "She really knows how to pick 'em. Honest to God, I can't tell you how many bets I've lost to her when it comes to elections. I've just about got ironing down to a science."

Quatre cracked a smile. "I'm glad you're on my side, then."

"You know, it's not just Hil. I think Trowa's really counting on you to come through for him. He seems to think you getting elected is the only way he's ever going to see his pet project realized, what with Relena being so dead set against it."

"She's not 'dead set,' she's―" Quatre snorted. "God, Duo, is that what he said?"

Duo gave him his best innocent look. "Well, not to the press."

"Damn." Quatre sighed, but he couldn't quite wipe the grin from his face. Nor could he quite contain the excitement that suddenly pervaded his voice. "God, Duo, Trowa and I . . . We haven't spoken to one another in years. And now I think I'm going to kill him when I see him."

It was a little past noon when they dropped Quatre off at his hotel.

It was cool and drizzling in the colony―the forecast warned showers were scheduled off-and-on for the entire week―but under the carport there was no need to rush, making sure for the dozenth time that Duo and Hilde could find their way back that evening to pick Quatre up.

The hotel was the finest in this district of the colony, one that prided itself on having served all the big-name politicians, business tycoons, and popular celebrities in its few years of operation. The interior was warm with rich colors and chic textures, potted plants and flattering, indirect lighting.

His suite was not much different.

A sitting area with a plush sofa and an oversized television. A gleaming kitchenette and bar counter. Even a raised area in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in which a dining table large enough to seat ten comfortably was fit, apparently with the intention it could double as a conference space. Beyond that was a balcony, which Quatre doubted would be getting much use during this wet spell. Across from the kitchenette, the bedroom—king mattress, full wardrobe, another TV, great view of the city below—connected to a bathroom which seemed, rather unnecessarily, twice as large.

All in all, it wasn't bad. Quatre's secretary had, diligently as always, made sure he would be well taken care of. His luggage had arrived, stacked neatly by the nearest arm of the sofa. The refrigerator was stocked with a variety of juices, bottled water, and alcohol, the cabinets and drawers with stoneware and cooking utensils. There was a kettle and a coffee maker. He brewed himself a strong pot and settled down on one side of the overstuffed sofa to read the itinerary she had also had faxed over earlier that day. It was waiting for him on the coffee table when he arrived, along with a letter from the concierge.

He had a driver to take him to his various appointments, but thanks to Duo's generosity, Quatre wouldn't need the man until tomorrow. Then there would be no more free rides from his friends, and little free time for leisurely chats.

Quatre planned on using the rest of the day to catch up on work, namely practicing the speech he would be giving at the museum gala on Thursday evening. No doubt there would be journalists there pressing him for interviews, meaning he might as well count on no sleep that night, and the following day he had agreed to speak at an outdoor fund-raising event. Its goal was to raise awareness of the impact of a less than 1-G environment on child development, a topic that hit close to home. The same organization also studied degenerative disease and fertility problems associated with long-term space living, the latter of which had been a problem in his own family for generations.

But he was actually looking forward to those two days and their tight schedule. It was the interviews to come in the days after that Quatre was not so keen on. The news that he had been one of the five gundam pilots still stung many across the Earth Sphere—and the Colonies especially—like a freshly reopened wound. No doubt the major media outlets would find some way to work the exhibit opening into some already-brewing theory of Quatre's ulterior motives, before he was due to appear on their respective television programs.

Just thinking about it, Quatre could feel a tension headache start to come on. He put the itinerary and the coffee cup down, leaned back in the sofa. His gaze drifted to the gray, wet world outside the window.

The glass was well sound-proofed, but the image itself, of raindrops running in rivulets down the pane, was mesmerizing in its melancholy. Funny how our strongest memories can be tied so tightly to the weather, he mused. Or maybe it was only because, in the colonies, a sunny day was easy. Rain took a little more talent, and luck. Not unlike human relationships. . . .

Feeling drowsy watching the weather, he decided it would be all right to rest his eyes for a few minutes.

It turned, as such things inevitably do, into a two-hour nap.

After chastising himself for the lost time, Quatre took another quick inventory of the kitchenette cabinets, jotted down a few items he would need for a quick dinner on his palmtop, and unpacked a heavier jacket from his suitcase. Safe and anonymous behind his glasses and brown hair, he walked down to a corner market, finding himself renewed and reinvigorated by the rain on his head and the fresh produce at his fingertips.

For a man in his position, to be in complete control of these seemingly minor things for the first time in a long time was a bigger deal than he could ever explain.

The club was called Receiver. This seemed an appropriate name for an establishment that had the closest bar to the spaceport without actually being in it. It jutted out from a corner of a massive shopping complex, overlooking a maglev line that threaded like an artery into the center of downtown from the port, as though the place were literally a terminal for the transfer of carbon dioxide and oxygen as well as people and their money. The music it played was smooth, the decor an easy-on-the-eyes soft neon blue for all those travel-weary eyes still trying to adjust from the dark of space.

Apparently it was a slow time at the port, or else just a slow day for a club like Receiver. There were lone travelers at the bar, some businessmen and -women laughing in the booths. The three of them had no problem finding Trowa. He waved them over from his own booth, where he sat between Relena and Dorothy.

About three years ago, Trowa had finally allowed his face to be seen by the world. Or the bottom half of it, anyway. No more hiding behind a mask of brushed-forward hair. Though it was still brushed forward, it was shorter and just fell over his eyes, and had the unexpected effect of making him look younger than he was. Of all of them, he could probably still pass for a teenager at twenty-nine. In the right light, any waitress would card him just to make sure those brilliant olive green eyes did not belong to one Dorian Gray. Likewise, his simple, stylish clothes did not age him. His posture was relaxed as he lifted an arm to hail them.

On one side sat Dorothy, her long, pale blond hair pulled back in a thick, loose braid, her lips glossed to a high polish. She wore a thin cashmere turtleneck, but rather than being conservative the shirt clung shamelessly to every curve. A flirtatious grace was hardwired into her every expression and movement, so it seemed to Quatre that one who didn't know her so well might take her grin of recognition as cold and insincere. He, however, found it as welcoming as a warm embrace―a thing which, on the other hand, coming from her, he would have had to take with a rather large grain of salt.

On Trowa's other side, Relena looked like the odd one out in a two-piece suit and her own more subtly made-up beauty. She had exchanged her girlishly long hair some time ago for a bob that framed her face in a more mature fashion, though she remained attached to the habit of pinning back the sides, as though to better free her eyes for all the goings-on in the world around her. The smile she gave the newcomers was one Quatre recognized instantly. He had been guilty of it too many times himself: inside, the heart racing with the fear of saying the wrong thing to someone you felt you should have been a better friend to.

Before them, their drinks sat half-drunk and mostly ice. Not the hugging types, the three scooted closer together at Dorothy's prompting to make room for the newcomers. There was plenty of room. The way she pushed against Trowa's ribs seemed to Quatre a bit presumptuous, even for her, but Trowa let out a small grunt of a laugh at it, just hearing which made Quatre forget about anything else.

As everyone shuffled into place, they exchanged the typical greetings. Expressing the passing of time in the requisite ways, the empty shows of regret they hadn't run into each other sooner that only seemed emptier with each passing year.

Ordering drinks, Hilde insisted hers be extra-virgin. Trowa asked the others as though just remembering to do so: "Have you guys eaten yet? 'Cause we haven't had anything since that squeeze-tube stuff they tried to pass off as dinner on the shuttle four hours ago." He gestured between himself and Dorothy.

"Sorry, we just ate," said Duo, to which Hilde added eagerly, "But we can always help you clean up."

"You two came in together?" Quatre asked Trowa when Dorothy had finished ordering a variety of small plates. "That's convenient."

Trowa and Dorothy exchanged a look.

"Well, that was more or less the point," Dorothy said.

Whatever she meant by that, Quatre was in no hurry to find out. Trowa seemed lighter than the last time they had met—not just in mood, but as if his whole person were operating in a different level of gravity from those around him. His complexion seemed healthier than usual, brighter, and overall Quatre would have called it an improvement. Becoming a civilian had been hard on Trowa, Quatre knew, in some ways even harder than it had been for Wufei, who at least had the Preventers to give his life new meaning. Traveling and performing with the circus had given Trowa something to focus on, and a place to belong, but after a while it stopped being the challenge his personality craved.

It must be this new project of his, Quatre decided. Trowa always had been happiest when working with his hands.

"I mean it, Hilde," he was saying to Duo's blushing bride, who always had had a bit of a soft spot for Trowa. "Something seems different. If it's not your hair, then what? Hey. Why're you blushing?"

"You mean glowing, don't you?" Duo tried.

Which earned him a halfhearted slap on the arm from Hilde. "You two. You're both the same, you shameless flatterers. It's all this weight I've been gaining! I know, I know, it's still too early to worry about that, but I've always been kind of a petite woman, and I swear these things show!"

Trowa stopped his joshing, and even Quatre blinked out of his reverie. "Wait," Relena said. "Do you mean . . .?"

"Are you . . .?" Dorothy began.

To their surprise, it was Duo who turned red as a beet. "That's right, slimes. It's official. I'm gonna be a daddy."

"We're pregnant!" Hilde chimed in. She positively beamed. "Only twelve weeks, but still. . . ."

That was all the rest of the table needed to break into cries of congratulations. The girls rushed Hilde with questions about the baby, and Quatre must have joined in; but in his shock to hear the good news he wasn't sure what he actually said.

Trowa couldn't keep the grin off his face as he leaned across the table to shake Duo's hand. "I can't believe you're going to be a father, Duo. Though, to be fair, I can't imagine that of any of us—"

"I know, right? That little spud's gonna need all the help he can get."

"Whatever." Dorothy waved that last remark off. "We all know that kid's going to be one lucky little bastard with you two for her parents."

"Or him!" Duo cried petulantly.

Quatre laughed. "I can drink to that. Whichever he or she turns out to be. I, for one, couldn't think of any two people more deserving of the utmost happiness. So congratulations, you two."

After a round of hear-hear's and a clinking of glasses, Dorothy took Hilde's arm in the most sisterly manner she could manage.

"Well," she said to the table, "not to steal your thunder, of course, but I just thought, while we're on the subject, I have a bit of an announcement to make myself―"

"Oh, no," Trowa groaned, lowering his head. "I thought we agreed we weren't going to say anything tonight."

He looked genuinely mortified, his old shyness coming back to him with a vengeance.

Of course, having said such a thing only made the rest more curious. Duo laughed, and Quatre couldn't help going along with him. The former leaned back in his seat. "Ah-ah, shouldn't have said that, Trowa. Now you guys have no choice but to tell us."

"We were going to wait until the right time."

"Hey, so were we!"

Ignoring Duo, Trowa shot a nervous look at Quatre, as though begging him with his eyes to intercede for him. If Quatre hadn't been in such a good mood, he might have recognized the look in his old friend's eyes as a look of genuine terror.

But Quatre only shrugged, thinking that if Trowa and Dorothy had come to some new decision on their joint project, it couldn't hurt to say it now, among friends.

Dorothy rolled her eyes. "What is it with men? I thought asking was the tough part. Is it really so hard to tell your own best friends when you've gotten engaged?"

As she enunciated the last word, her left hand came out from beneath the table; and that was when the other four finally noticed the ring. A simple band, it had been easy to miss, but now Quatre wished to God he hadn't missed it.

Relena leaned forward and said, "Are you serious?" grabbing Dorothy's hand to take a closer look for herself. Duo muttered something to Trowa along the lines of "Way to go, buddy."

As for Quatre, it felt as though a million disorganized questions were bubbling in his mind, and his mouth could only manage to form the least common denominator:

"What?"

His voice sounded small to his own ears. He felt the smile stick to the corners of his mouth, though it had already fallen from the rest of his face. Glancing around the table, he locked eyes with Trowa, who alone out of their group was not smiling back.

"We're getting married," Trowa clarified, for Quatre alone. "Dorothy and I."

Author note: This is apparently one of those anime where a change in hair color and some fancy shades can make you unrecognizable to strangers. Quatre's father was tall AF, so Quatre is tall. Consider this my official response to all the doujinshi.

For anyone interested, the title comes from the song of the same name by Electric Light Orchestra off their classic Out of the Blue album. The big wheel of the lyric is, in short, a wheel of karma―action and consequence going round in a never-ending loop―but Jeff Lynne has described it as evocative of drifting through space (on a big, wheel-shaped spaceship, perhaps?). I'll let readers decide how best to interpret the title.