Disclaimer: I own nothin'
Pairings/Warnings: 2x3, m/m sex, character death (Howard – I love this guy and I kill him!), some angst, bad language…
A/N: I'm posting this as I work on it which is *really* rare for me so I'm not 100% sure how long this multi-part is even though I know the plan.
This fic is my overdue 2x3 club dues and is inspired by the song Flicker Fade by Taking Back Sunday which is my ultimate 2x3 song.
Flicker Flicker Fade
The flight touched down and Trowa tried not to growl under his breath as the passengers clapped the landing. It was still not something he'd ever get as the pilots job was to land the plane. Plus it was hardly a difficult job piloting a commercial airplane. It was one Trowa could do in his sleep. Doing some impressive acrobatic moves in a mobile suit was worth a clap. Not some dull landing onto grey tarmac.
"Civilians," he muttered under his breath as he waited, stuck in the window seat with a woman and a young child in the way as he waited for them to be allowed to exit the flight, the stairs being connected and all the procedures being followed.
Trowa was a patient guy, always had been but waiting was frustrating and he was somewhat bored already due to a dull flight. He wanted to stretch his long legs, confined in the standard class seat as that was all he'd been able to get at short notice. And he needed to be here. Fuck, did he.
Finally, the passengers began to disembark and Trowa was able to grab his beaten khaki rucksack from the compartment above his head and follow the line of people to the terminal of Honolulu International Airport. The queues through immigration looked long but Trowa didn't care, walking to the line for officials and agents, grabbing for his identification in his pocket that proclaimed him a Special Operative Preventer agent and it granted him quick access into Hawaii. As soon as his ID was scanned, the security personnel looked at him, his eyes widening and he only nodded and looked awed.
"We just need your fingerprints, Mr. Barton."
He did as he was told and was through immigration within minutes, looking over to see the lines and lines of tourists who would have a much longer wait than his own.
Without any luggage to collect, Trowa was soon going to be out of the terminal building and he grabbed for his sunglasses, perched in the pocket of his grey loose fitting shirt, ready to fix them to his head once he got outside. But he couldn't leave straight away as he got through to the exit as he was waiting for a ride from someone, someone he hadn't seen in a while and it was then Trowa scanned the crowd, spotting him despite the way he stood against the wall, his head bowed and arms folded across his chest. Camo shorts and a plain white t-shirt. Sunglasses in the v of his t-shirt. He looked more "normal" than Trowa had ever seen him but it had been years. And even though Heero Yuy had changed, had moved on in his life away from violence and fighting, as soon as he looked up, Trowa met those bright blue eyes and nodded, walking towards him as though it hadn't been years since they'd spoke.
"Barton," Heero said gruffly, a slight nod.
"Yuy," he replied, returning the favour.
And without another word between them, Heero grabbed for his sunglasses, securing them to his head and led the way out of the terminal building. Trowa followed suit, perching the aviators on the bridge of his nose as they walked out into the humidity and blazing sunshine of Hawaii.
It wasn't somewhere Trowa had been for a while as it was hardly a terrorism capital but he had been before and he remembered the moisture in the air, breathing it in as they walked towards a car, a silver sedan rental that seemed sedate and boring for a man like Heero Yuy. But then they were older and Heero, unlike Trowa, had opted out of Preventer. He was just a civilian now.
Trowa slung his meagre pack into the back seat of the car and folded up his tall frame into the passenger side as Heero slid into the driver's side, starting the engine and making a quick reversing move to get out of the space and make their way out of the lot.
As they drove, Trowa looked out of the window surveying the environment, glad that Heero never made him talk straight away. He guessed it could've been Quatre that had collected him from the airport and that thought was not pleasant. And Wufei would've been blunt and pried but Heero did nothing of the sort. Instead, he let Trowa ask after he mustered up the courage.
"How is he?"
Heero grunted, briefly looking at Trowa through his Ray Bans. "He's being Duo."
It was said in a weary way that said all Trowa needed to know. He'd be pretending that it didn't matter, that shit didn't hurt, that he was fine and dandy, thank you very much. Just like when Trowa had walked away. Duo had told him he was fine. Always was. He was Duo fucking Maxwell and nothing could hurt or touch him. That's what he said. That's what Trowa never truly believed.
"Same old," Trowa said under his breath, hoping it was quiet enough not to be heard but of course, Heero picked it up.
"He doesn't know."
"I thought Quatre would've said."
Heero made a "hmm" noise low in his throat and said nothing more. Trowa hadn't been invited or whatever. He didn't know how it worked with funerals. Did you invite people? Shit. He needed to know this etiquette but when he'd found out he'd decided to come. And he had spoken to Heero, Quatre and Wufei but not Duo. It would make it interesting, Trowa thought, his fingers on his jaw feeling the stubble there as they drove, his eyes looking out of the window through his tinted lenses. Duo could flip. Duo could act all casual and pretend there wasn't history between them. He never knew how to read him. It's what had made them untenable.
They were driving to the tourist heart near to the imposing resorts with so many damn floors when Heero spoke softly.
"He misses you."
"Thought he was dating some other guy," Trowa retorted bitterly.
"There's always some other guy," Heero replied, "as none of them are you, idiot."
Trowa let a short bark of a laugh leave his lips. "Yeah? When did you become Mr. Relationship Advice?"
Heero only shot a look through his sunglasses. "Since you two need to be fucking told."
Amused, Trowa turned to look out of the window again as Heero turned off the highway and they passed a large sign that proclaimed White Sands Hotel - Conference Centre and Spa and five small stars underneath. Trowa didn't think Heero knew what he was talking about but still, Trowa had just flown from L1, to Washington and to Hawaii all for a guy he used to fuck around with. It showed some crazy ass amount of commitment.
They pulled up at a plush white marble lobby, Heero getting out and Trowa doing so once he'd grabbed for his bag in the back, the keys handed over to the valet and Heero even handed a tip over. Really did seem Heero was a truly "normal" member of society now. Trowa almost smiled but only walked into the plush lobby smelling flowers and feeling the cool of air-conditioning as he walked across the tiled floor.
Soft music that was probably meant to be "authentic" played low and Heero accompanied Trowa as he checked in, standing by the side of him as credit card details and card keys were exchanged, his arms folded across his chest and looking at his shoes. It seemed some habits did not change.
"Have a nice stay Mr. Barton," the receptionist said cheerfully and Trowa nodded, smiled and grabbed all that he needed, ready to make his way up to the fourteenth floor and his room.
Heero pushed himself off the counter and followed Trowa. "The plan was to meet for dinner," Heero said as they walked across.
"I'm not here, remember?" Trowa grunted and was about to expand on his words when he heard Heero's name being called and he would recognise that voice anywhere.
Trowa had heard it enough – hell, in his dreams and in his realities. He'd heard it in the heat of passion and when he was so fucking pissed the old L2 slang filled his speech pattern. And he turned, instinctively wanting to see him even though he knew this was not going to go well. All Trowa could think is that it was a good thing they were in the lobby of swanky ass hotel. As shit, there would be no blood spilt.
Duo looked like Trowa remembered him. Older, yeah, the slight hints of age in the creases around his eyes and the braid… yeah, the braid was shorter but he was still Duo. Those blue eyes, the tattooed arms, the smirk that had gone from happy to something else entirely in two seconds flat and Trowa was almost ready to adopt a defensive position. He wanted to but he didn't need to as Duo's anger was directed towards Heero.
"What the hell, 'Ro?"
Heero, defender of the free world, cowered under the intensity of that blue eyed stare and Trowa let a small quirk of lips grace his features.
"It's a funeral. He can be here."
"You coulda fuckin' warned me," Duo growled and Heero shrugged in response and Trowa realised he should speak.
"I wanted him to keep it secret. Don't blame Heero."
Duo whipped around to stare down Trowa and it suddenly brought back a million fights to the forefront of Trowa's mind. "What are you doing here, Barton?"
He swallowed as fuck – really, what was he doing here? The funeral didn't matter to him – he barely knew the guy but maybe it was because of Duo. As no matter what, Duo seemed to always drag him back somehow. Fuck. It always came back to him. No matter how many men or women Trowa fucked, Duo Maxwell reared his ugly head in his mind and Trowa was doomed. He stopped relationship-ing years ago. Started casual sex. It was easier than every relationship being a shadow of what they'd had.
"I wanted to pay my respects to Howard."
"Howard fucking hated you," Duo spat back, "there's no need for you to do that."
Trowa realised that perhaps he'd made a mistake but then he saw Heero step forward, only a fraction and he spoke softly. "Peacemillion."
Duo's rage subsided a little then and Trowa saw him glance between them. "Okay… just one of you coulda given me the heads up, right? Mostly you though," Duo said, directing that "you" to Heero.
They stood then paused for a moment and Duo then shrugged. "I'm gonna go nap before dinner… you can join us. Then it's a full Gundam pilot reunion, right?"
"Thanks," Trowa replied as the offer was made with a friendly enough tone and the three of them approached the elevator, waiting for it to arrive and then all standing as far apart from one another in the small metal cube.
Trowa didn't meet Duo's eye all the way up to his floor, glad that he was the first to get out as he walked to his room, bringing out the key card and opening the door, walking into a beautiful bright and palatial room, a balcony overlooking the sea.
Sighing, Trowa locked the door, checked all the available exits and security then dropped his bag on the bed. He walked over to the mini bar, ignoring the ridiculous prices and got out a tiny bottle of vodka, pouring it into the glass neat as he went to the sliding doors, opening them and stepping out onto the balcony.
"This was a stupid idea," he said softly and he downed the vodka, looking over towards the waves as the liquid fire of alcohol tore down his throat.