Disclaimer: I don't own the Gundam Wing universe and make no financial profit from writing.

Note: As always, many, many thanks to Kaeru Shisho for editing and all the rest of it.

Silk and Scrubs:

It was, Trowa decided bitterly, all of a piece with the general shittiness of the past twenty-four hours that, when he'd finally finished the paperwork for the death he'd had to call during his shift (a six-year-old with leukaemia, and life was so fucking unfair sometimes, and what was the point of being a paediatrician if you could only sit by and watch a little girl die?), and taken a shower (cold, damnit, because the water heater in the doctors' locker room was broken again), and dumped his scrubs (which had almost had to be peeled off) down the laundry chute, he ended up heading out of the hospital at exactly the same time as Mueller.

Because the guy was a fully-certified, grade A, copper-bottomed asshole, he didn't even have the decency to keep quiet as they walked down the corridor, yammering on about the pretty new nurse in Paediatrics and how she'd already turned down three invitations to the hospital's annual ball. (Sensible girl; it was always a nightmare, and Trowa was already planning his own excuses. (Well, assuming Quatre didn't decide he would like to go)).

Trowa blinked as they walked out into actual daylight; eyes adapting after hours of fluorescent lights in the wards.

'I'm not interested,' he said shortly, cutting into Mueller's rambling speculation about whether she was single or not.

'No,' the bastard gave him a sidelong glance. 'I suppose you wouldn't be, would you?'

Trowa didn't go out of his way to hide his sexuality at work, but he didn't exactly broadcast it either and most people respected that. Mueller didn't. There were slyly pointed comments; jokes that just fell short of the hospital's strictures of harassment and bullying.

He'd met Quatre just the one time, at a hospital fund-raiser and Trowa had wanted, very much, to knock his teeth out at the way his gaze had flicked over Quat. His boyfriend might be a slim blond who taught yoga for a living and had a penchant for pastel colours but he also ran marathons and had trophies for fencing and skiing and nobody got to look at him like that.

Typical closet case, Quatre had said, after. It's sad, really, don't you think?

That put a whole new perspective on things, and Trowa had really wanted to go and thump the guy.

He still did, and the idiot never seemed to get it. He was bad enough to take on a good day; after twenty-something hours with no sleep, he was impossible.

'No ride today?' Mueller asked as they walked out of the back door. The words were innocent enough, but the tone was slyly insinuating. 'That blond guy usually picks you up, doesn't he? Your…friend?'

'Boyfriend, actually.' Trowa corrected, just to watch the asshole's expression. 'I thought you knew that. And no, he doesn't collect me on Tuesdays. That's our bondage day so he's at home, handcuffed to the bed. It's been great chatting to you, but I'd better get back to him, really.'

That left Mueller spluttering and scarlet; Trowa gave him a wicked little grin. Hah! It got rid of him too; he stumbled over a goodbye and took off in the direction of his car.

Trowa watched him drive off, and then thought about the logistics of getting home. Quatre's place, rather. A taxi would be quick and convenient but there was always the danger of getting a garrulous driver and after talking – listening – to Mueller, he didn't feel up to listening to some random stranger's views on life. There was a bus that went near enough to Quat's but the service wasn't that frequent and the bus stop was frequented by chatty old ladies and the bus would be full of noisy school kids, this time of the morning.

Taxi, he decided, on balance, and screw the expense. It was the only problem with Quat's house; it was across town from the hospital, too far too cycle. He had his 'phone out, ready to dial when Heero's car pulled up beside him.

'I saw you'd finished,' his friend explained briefly. 'Thought I'd take a break.'

Trowa got in, nodding, appreciating that Heero didn't mention any of the rest of it. Even by the usual standards of Sanque General, it had been a hell of a shift.

'So,' Heero said as they drove out of the hospital. 'Quatre called me last night. He wants me to come to dinner on Thursday.'

'That's nice.'

'Hn.' Heero didn't sound overly thrilled. 'Who is it this time?'

'Who is who?'

Heero snorted. 'Who's he trying to set me up with now? It's not that Chinese guy again, is it? I thought he got the message after the last time.'

'What? Wufei's hot. Quat thought you'd like him.'

'He wanted to stick needles into me! On the first date!'

'Shocking. Needle penetration is only acceptable after the third date. Wufei must have thought you were a total slut, propositioning you like that.'

'That isn't funny.'

'Yeah, it is.' He'd have to remember that joke, to tell Quatre. He'd laugh. 'Come on, Heero. He's a nice guy, and acupuncture's been around for hundreds of years. It's pretty well regarded as an alternative therapy.'

'Alternative idiocy! You'd never have said something like that before meeting Quatre,' Heero said pointedly. 'And I don't want to go out with Wufei again. Or the other one.'

'Zechs? He's gorgeous.'

Heero just sniffed. 'He's quite insane.'

'That's a bit steep, maybe.'

'He kept talking about Tantric yoga and then he offered me a sensual massage.'

'And you turned him down?' Trowa shook his head. 'You're nuts, Heero. I'd do Tantric yoga with him anytime, or massages, or anything else he was offering. I mean,' he added hastily, 'I would've, before Quat.'

'So, this dinner. It's just us? Or all of Quatre's flaky friends?'

'They're not flaky. Just…different.' And nice enough, really, once you didn't let them start talking about crystals or seaweed or Indian holistic treatments.

'Zechs gave me a healing crystal to counteract rays coming from my computer,' Heero said, in flat negation.

'Well, that was nice of him. And Quat just likes fixing people up.'

Heero sighed. 'So who is this new person I'm to meet?'

'There isn't one, so far as I know. Quat's just having a few people over. That Duo guy's going to be there. He's getting back from India tomorrow.'

Damn it. He'd actually managed to bury the thought of that for most of his shift.

'Ah. Your number one fan. I suppose Quatre's invited lots of other guests so you won't need to talk to each other.'

'Very funny. It'd be nice if you came, actually. I could do with one person on my side.'

'He's Quat's best friend. You're going to have to get on with him a bit better.'

'I've tried and he still hates my guts,' Trowa said flatly. 'If I try being nice to him, he tells Quatre I'm trying to hit on him again, and if I ignore him, he tells Quat I don't care enough about him to be make an effort with his friends.'

Heero started to laugh. 'Well, you did hit on him the first time you met,' he smirked. 'In front of Quatre, no less.'

True enough, even if it had all been a misunderstanding and, mostly, Heero's own fault. It had turned out superlatively well though so, fair enough, Heero was entitled to gloat a bit.

Nearly three months ago, that had been. Another one of those shifts; Heero had taken him out to a club they went to sometimes, where the music was almost loud enough to drown out any thoughts.

They'd been standing at the bar, downing Glenfiddich single malt that was really far too good to be tossed back like it was cheap plonk. Trowa was trying hard, very hard, to focus on the burn as he swallowed, and the beat of the music, and the shouted conversation he was having with Heero about a film they both wanted to see.

Trying very hard not to think about the last hour at work. She'd been five months old and the paramedics in the ambulance had already said she was gone. They'd still tried though; they always did with kids. As Trowa had walked out, he'd seen the police car arriving. He'd already heard the gossip in the locker room; the mother's boyfriend, who'd claimed he'd been trying to stop the baby crying, hadn't meant to hurt her.

Trowa hated people sometimes. And Heero would be doing the autopsy the next morning. He drained his glass; ordered them both another. Fuck the expense.

Two years ago, when he'd first started at the hospital; a year, even, he might have been cruising someone by now. He'd moved past that phase, mostly. There'd been times when it had even helped a bit; a reminder of life and pleasure and intimacy.

He handed over the money for the insanely over-priced drinks and gave one to Heero. The barman wasn't bad, he thought, draining his glass. Short gelled hair; flirty smile. Nice ass in tight jeans. Could be way worse ways to spend the night.

On cue, the guy turned around and smiled at him. 'Can I get you anything else?' Little smirk on his lips; one eyebrow raised. Not just drinks he was offering, clearly.

Trowa propped his elbows on the bar, leaning in, looking at his name tag. 'That depends. What time d'you finish up here, Sam?'

The barman sighed theatrically. 'Late shift. Three am. I'm off tomorrow though; I can stay in bed all day if I like. Oh, excuse me a sec.' He gave Trowa another smile that was trying just a bit too hard to be charming and wistful, and moved down to serve a customer at the other end of the bar.

Heero, at his elbow, sighed as well. 'Here we go again. If you're going to stay here and wait for him, I'm going home.'

'I'll come with you. Just let me finish this, OK?' Sam was already cosying up to the new guy he was serving, and it would be too depressing sitting on a bar stool by himself for two hours.

'All right.' Heero looked around, and then jerked his chin toward the other end of the bar. 'That guy keeps looking over at you. Do you know him?'

That guy.

Trowa'd noticed him when they came in. Of course he had; you couldn't not. There were two of them at the table and the blond was cute enough if you liked that type, Trowa thought, but the other guy was the one who glowed, who'd had every man in the place stopping to take a second look….There was the hair for a start, in a braid that you could use as a leash or a sex toy, and a lot of creamy skin on display under a microscopic top and ripped jeans. And that delectable, divine ass; Trowa could imagine being hip-deep in that and forgetting all the troubles in the universe.

More than enough to make him forget the whole one-night-stand embargo.

Oh, yeah.

What the hell, fuck celibacy.

He heard Heero laugh beside him, and tore his eyes – very reluctantly – upwards to find that the guy was giving him the finger. Well, that was as good an invitation as any. He plonked his empty glass on the bar and went hunting.

He was even more gorgeous up close; blue eyes that glowed violet under the club's strobe lighting and were currently spitting fury. ''Where the fuck do you get off, you asshole, staring at me like I'm a piece of meat?'

Trowa grinned at him. 'Sorry; you're wearing that outfit in a gay club because you don't want people looking at you?'

If he hadn't known Heero for years, the guy's glare might have been marginally more effective.

'You think I'm asking for jerks like you to get their rocks off staring at me?' he demanded. 'I've got a right to wear whatever I want.'

Trowa shrugged, knowing he was being obnoxious, not caring overmuch. Another time, he might have felt like screwing all the temper out of him, but he wasn't in the mood for putting up with someone else's bad humour; not tonight. ''You are, certainly, but if you want to put yourself on display like that, the rest of the world is entitled to enjoy the view. And I gather you've been looking at me so you can't really talk.'

'Dream on,' the guy said scornfully. 'I was trying to get the barman to come over. I've better things to do than look at the likes of you.'

'Duo!' someone said, shocked.

Oh.

It was the little blond guy. Not really his type, Trowa thought, giving him a quick up-and-down appraisal, but not bad. Not bad at all..

'Leave it,' Duo said shortly, looking at Trowa looking at his friend, 'This guy's just going.'

'I just got here.' Trowa leaned against the bar, smiling down at the blond. 'You want to dance?'

Blondie looked a little uncertain, glancing at his friend and then back at Trowa.

'No, he damn well doesn't,' Duo chipped in. 'Not with an asshole like you. He's got better taste.'

'He can't speak for himself?' Trowa asked softly. He wasn't looking at Duo though. He didn't normally go for blonds, but this one was a serious honey.

'I'd love to dance,' Blondie said with a sudden burst of decision.

It was stupid and petty, but as he walked off with the blond's hand in his, he couldn't, for the life of him, stop turning back and giving Duo a smirk, just to see his expression. The brief little flare of triumph carried him all the way to the dance floor in the middle of the room, at which point he realised he really didn't want to dance at all.

There was one streetlight in the alley, turning the blond's hair to shining gold. He hadn't objected to Trowa leading him outside, didn't object either when Trowa backed him against the wall of the building. Trowa rested his palms against the rough stonework and leaned in. The first kiss was a tease, to see how he'd react; just a light peck on the corner of his mouth. That was what Trowa had meant it to be, anyway.

He hadn't quite bargained for how the blond would react; that his lips would part at the first touch, or how very good he'd smell, or the clear aquamarine of his eyes, the colour of seafoam in sunlight.

Oh, God, just perfect, Trowa thought hazily, tugging him closer. Perfect; more than enough to make him rethink his policy of not having sex with random strangers. Stupid damn rule. He ran his free hand – the other one was entangled in that bright hair – over the blond's exquisite ass, and then felt his companion tense. Not in a good way.

Not the sort of guy who went in for sex with total strangers in back alleyways, then. Trowa wasn't either, really, but it had happened a couple of times nonetheless.

Damn.

He carefully moved his hand out of the danger zone, resting it on the blond's hip, and pulled back a little bit, not remotely threatening. 'OK? Sorry.'

'It's all right.' He was smiling.

Good recovery; as if that little flare of panic had never been. Nice smile – if Trowa wasn't flattering himself overmuch, it held maybe even a shade of regret. A little relief as well, that he'd backed off straightaway.

'You know, if you'd wanted to know if I'd had my tonsils out, you could have just asked.'

That made Trowa laugh. OK, this one was really growing on him. 'I'm a doctor,' he said smoothly. 'I like to check things out myself. What's your name?'

'Quatre Raberba Winner.' He said it very properly, as if they were at a garden party, as if they hadn't had their tongues down each other's throats a minute ago.

'I'm Trowa. 'You want to get a drink or something?'

That had been it, really. There weren't that many places open at 1 am; places where you could sit and talk. They'd found a café that served muddy, tepid coffee and stale pastries, but none of that had mattered. They'd sat at a sticky, stained plastic table and started to learn about each other.

It was normally awkward; trying to make small talk with someone when you'd just been trying to stick your tongue so far down his throat it might come out through his belly-button, and you really just wanted to do more of the same, but you were expected to be interested in where they'd grown up and what they liked to do at the weekend.

It was different with Quatre. For one thing, they didn't really talk at all, just sat and looked at each other. Trowa was still a bit dizzy at the sheer wonder of finding him, and he thought Quatre felt the same.

He hadn't thought it would be like this.

Duo had called Quatre's phone a few minutes after they'd sat down, and from Quat's responses - 'I'm fine'; 'We're just having coffee. Yes, there are lots of other people around' and 'No, Duo! Of course he's not drugging my drink!' and 'Duo! I'm quite capable of taking care of myself!'- he'd gathered that Duo was a protective friend, and that Quatre thought that he was too much so, and that - just possibly - a part of why Quatre had gone off with him had been because Duo had warned him off.

They hadn't had sex – properly – in a bed – for another couple of weeks, but that hadn't stopped Duo from carrying on like Quat had been a sheltered, shrinking virgin, and Trowa the moustache-twirling cad who'd abducted him and deflowered him by force.

In reality, they had fairly similar histories, sexually – a bit of experimentation as teenagers, trying to work out who they were, what they wanted; then flings at university and then a few longer-term relationships in their twenties that hadn't worked out for one reason or another.

They'd both been with one partner who'd cheated.

Quatre was probably a bit more experienced, just because Trowa had had part-time jobs all the way through uni, and that hadn't left a huge amount of time for socialising, and the first couple of years after qualifying had been devoted to getting his bank loans paid off.

Admittedly, there had been what Heero called the 'man-slut phase' but it hadn't really lasted all that long, and it hadn't been about relationships; just the sex, and a lot of the time it had been pretty drunken and forgettable and regrettable.

'Trowa? Heero looked at him, faintly concerned, and the car had stopped moving. 'You OK? I thought maybe you'd fallen asleep.'

'Thinking about Quat.'

'You're lucky. You know that?'

'I do. Very much. See you on Thursday, right?'

Heero groaned. 'Do I have to?'

'Yes. It's one meal. He's going to be staying with Quat, so I'll have to put up with him whenever I'm there.'

'Doesn't he have his own place?'

'Says he's not in Sanque often enough to get somewhere.'

And why bother when he could install himself in Quatre's house whenever he wanted? He had the cheek to call Trowa a gold-digger; he was the one who sponged off Quat. Bloody homeless vagrant.

'So you'll be coming home then?'

'Yeah, tomorrow probably.'

Heero nodded. 'Good. I've missed having Allie around.'

That made him feel a tiny big guilty; OK, officially Allie was his dog, but he and Heero had always shared her. 'I know. It's just easier leaving her at Quat's when we're both working double shifts; there's a garden and she gets on with his dog.'

He waved Heero off, and stood on the pavement. He'd been dreaming about this moment for hours, in the scant, spare minutes when his brain had had time to think of anything outside the hospital. Weaving fantasies about bed and hot food and a hot bath, with Quatre's bright smile threaded through all of them.

Quatre.

He just had to walk up the flight of stairs to Quat's front door. He took a deep breath, not wanting to bring all of the darkness and exhaustion into Quatre's home, his life. He stopped himself just before he pushed the bell, and fumbled in his back pocket instead for the shiny new key. It still seemed a bit presumptuous just letting himself in. Quatre liked him to use the key, though, and he compromised by calling out as he walked through the door.

Then the dogs were there; his own Golden Retriever launching herself at him and Quat's Saluki, every bit as golden and graceful as her master, circling them both. He pushed Allie off, and held out one hand to Sumayra, ridiculously gratified when she sniffed it, granting him one small wave of her feathered tale.

Seducing Quat had been a hell of a lot easier than winning his dog over, Trowa reflected wryly. But then Quat had been susceptible to certain blandishments that were wholly inappropriate (not to say illegal) for a purebred Saluki with an ancestry that went back centuries.

He ruffled her ears – the exact colour of Quat's hair – and she actually gave him a tiny lick. Both dogs trailed him downstairs. Quat was chopping fruit at the table; barefoot, slouchy combats, a hot-pink t-shirt with an anime character on the front. The day got incrementally better; a lot more so when Quatre jumped up and kissed him, tasting of strawberries.

Quat, the ideal boyfriend for a doctor who'd had a bad day, didn't ask questions or commiserate or try to trot out platitudes about how he'd done his best. Later, when Trowa was ready, he'd listen.

Instead, he waited for Trowa to sit down and handed him a green drink 'avocado smoothie with wheat germ' (It tasted better than it sounded. Or looked.) and Trowa took a long swallow. It was nice being here. Quatre's kitchen led into an orangery (the posh word for a conservatory) and it was flooded with early morning sunlight, dappling the tiled floor and picking up the gold in Quatre's hair.

Heero was right; he was lucky. Aware of it, too; most of the time. Allie milled around his feet for a minute, snuffling, and then wandered off to lie in a pool of sunshine.

'She's tired.'

'I took them both running with me,' Quatre said, smiling. 'And then to the studio. I was taking the sunrise class.'

'Oh, God.' Trowa looked over at Allie, who was mostly Golden Retriever with a bit of tornado thrown in, and winced, imagining how much havoc she could create in Quat's studio, which was full of scented candles and artwork and delicate, breakable things. 'How much damage did she do?'

'She behaved perfectly. Of course, she might have been too tired to do anything else.' He pushed a bowl of chopped fruit across the table. 'I thought pancakes for breakfast. Would you like to shower first?'

Trowa ate a strawberry; it tasted like Quat. God, he was tired. Berries were this month's thing; a step up from March's flax seed oil craze, and streets ahead of that gunky seaweed supplement Quat had raved about in February; he was a health food nut, and had a disconcerting habit of believing everything on the internet.

Berries were good.

'Food would be great. If I go upstairs, I'll probably fall flat on the bed and not get up.'

'Hmm.' Quatre grinned. 'That does sound promising.'

'Give me a few hours' sleep and something to eat, and I'll show you promising. I'm wrecked and all I've had in the past twelve hours was a crappy sandwich from the canteen.'

Quatre tutted at that, and Trowa just sat back, picking at his fruit and letting Quat fuss over him, and talk about how terrible it was that a hospital didn't serve decent, nutritious meals for over-worked employees, and how he'd got some sort of special mineral supplement for the dogs from a friend, and an article he'd read about the benefits of strawberry seeds. (Trowa had a sudden mad image of him sitting at his table and painstakingly de-seeding his way through a punnet of strawberries.)

It was all good, really. Quatre didn't expect him to respond to any of it so Trowa could slouch back in his chair and rest a foot on Allie's stomach and enjoy watching his boyfriend move around.

Quat still had a bit of a tan from New Year on his family's yacht in the Seychelles (it did his head in, sometimes; how different their lives were) and he'd painted his toenails to match his t-shirt. Very sexy.

Very sexy altogether, he was, Trowa reflected, enjoying the view as Quat bent over to get something out of the fridge, and he got a glimpse of something under his boyfriend's combats; a wisp of dark blue silk with a little ruffle on the edge.

Oh, God.

He hadn't even known that sort of sexy underwear was a turn-on 'til he'd met Quat, but it seriously, seriously was. That little thong of his with the feathers had become one of Trowa's favourite items in the whole universe.

Now, just that tiny glimpse had all sorts of fantasies hurtling through his brain. Yeah, he could bring Quat off with his mouth, through the sheer fabric, and then turn him over and God, he could already imagine the luxurious slide of silk against himself; the scratch and pull of the lace.

'Well. I thought you were tired.' Quatre was smiling as he put a bowl of cream on the table.

'Not that tired. Never that tired.' He reached out to hook one finger through Quatre's waistband. 'Come here. You're gorgeous. And I've got the next forty-eight hours off,' he added, gloating. 'You won't object to me keeping you in bed for all of it, will you?'

'Absolutely not. At least, I have two classes this afternoon at the studio, but I'm sure you'll be asleep by then, and I'll just have to run out for a couple of hours tonight to pick up Duo from the airport; but otherwise I'm totally yours for as long as you like.'

Duo. Fucking clown, Trowa thought sourly. So much for having Quat to himself for a couple of days; Maxwell would be cock-blocking him all over the place.

'You just need to get to know each other a little bit,' Quat said softly, looking at his expression, pressing a series of tantalisingly slow, suggestive kisses down Trowa's neck. 'I'm sure you just need to spend a little more time together.'

'The guy hates me,' Trowa said bleakly. It was hard to hold on to any Duo-inspired bitterness though; given what Quat was doing. 'I was thinking, it'd probably be easier if I didn't spend so much time here, when he's around. I should go home for a bit anyway; do laundry, hang out with Heero. You could come over for a change.'

They'd started off spending alternate nights at each other's home, but lately the balance had shifted a bit in favour of Quat's; he had a massive bed, and a proper bath-tub, and a swing-seat in his back garden that wasn't overlooked by his neighbours. All good things.

'Oh, Trowa' Quat's beautiful eyes gazed at him sadly. 'Please don't. I'd hate to think you're leaving because of my best friend. I'd love the two of you to get on. Duo doesn't really hate you at all. It's just that you don't know each other proplerly.'

Trowa wasn't sure about that, but was getting to the point of having more important things to focus on. He had Quatre in his lap, and one hand, sliding under his waistband, meeting warm, soft skin and then something deliciously silky, making him smile.

Maxwell wouldn't be arriving for hours, yet, and he wasn't remotely tired anymore and he had a fantasy to fulfil.

'You're wearing way too much, Quat,' he whispered, and then Quat was squirming in his lap, wriggling out of his trousers.