If this looks familiar, it's probably because it is. I posted it as a standalone a LONG time ago and pulled it because I decided it really didn't stand alone so well.

"You love him, don't you?"

If the question wasn't startling enough, its source, a girl young enough to be his daughter, made Trowa Barton wonder if anyone else had noticed that his mind was wandering.

"I'd rather not talk about it, Faith," he replied. "We're just old friends, that's all."

She only smiled that mysterious, alluring smile and shook her head knowingly.

"Don't give me that," she said. "You can't hide something like this from me. We're too much alike, Trowa."

"Oh?" He glanced down at her for the first time that evening, raising an eyebrow just so she'd giggle. "You think so?"

"Mmm," she murmured, not answering his question. "Why don't you tell him? You couldn't ask for a better setting."

Trowa shrugged and gazed out into the night. Nights were beautiful on Earth if you were far enough out of the city. The moon was still low in the sky and, without clouds to hide them, the stars were shockingly brilliant. The air was cool, but not cold, and the breeze was perfumed with the lavender that grew in the fields nearby. France was lovely this time of year. Truly romantic.

Maybe that was what had given Faith the idea.

"Why don't you tell Maggie?" Trowa asked, answering her question with a question.

It didn't bother her, though. Not the way her question bothered him.

"I love Maggie," she admitted. "But she's like my sister, Trowa. I'm not in love with her, not the way she wants me to be. I don't want to hurt her. And Mom—Mom would flip."

"What about your dad?"

"Dad knows," she said. "I don't know how he knows, but he does. He brought it up once—he told me that he doesn't care who I end up with as long as I'm happy. He said that having a reliable, trustworthy partner is more important than what other people might think or say about me. I don't need his approval, but I'm glad I have it."

Trowa smiled at that. They really were too much alike, at least on some levels. Maybe Faith deserved a straight answer.

"I tried telling him once," Trowa said. "A long time ago. He wasn't too happy about it. He isn't as accepting of himself as we are, Faith. He's afraid. When I told him I didn't want to keep it a secret, he told me that I ought to look for someone else and have a normal relationship. A wife. Kids. But it wasn't what I wanted, then or now."

Faith smiled. "Having the capacity to love anyone doesn't automatically translate into the desire to do so, does it? The heart wants what it wants. To hell with what other people would consider normal."

"I wish we had understood that when we were your age," Trowa murmured. "It's too late for us now, though. We're too old."

That got a laugh out of her. "You're still breathing, aren't you?" she asked. "Maybe you're both older and wiser now. You should talk to him."

"What would I tell him?" he asked, trying to decide if he was taking her seriously or just humoring her.

"Tell him the truth," she replied, as if it was just as simple as that. Maybe it was that easy for her, though. Faith was a terrible liar; she'd finally given up any attempt at pretense and started speaking her mind. Trowa wished he had that kind of courage.

"I think I'm going back inside," Faith decided. "Dad spent all this time teaching me how to dance after Mom said she wanted to throw this party. It seems a little silly to put all that effort to waste. Think about it, Trowa. Really. No one who matters will think any less of you—either of you—if you decide to pursue this."

Trowa managed a smile for her, although it wasn't a particularly happy one. "When did you become the relationship expert?" he asked. "Aren't you stringing three people along right now?"

She grimaced at that, and he regretted wording it quite so strongly. Faith was just too softhearted to choose one of her admirers and risk alienating the others. They were all close friends; when Faith finally made her choice, it would probably destroy their little group. And Trowa didn't think she was ready for a serious relationship yet anyway.

"You're the one who told me that I should follow my emotions," she replied, her tone slipping into the cold monotony that she'd inherited from her father. "Why don't you take a little of your own advice? Follow your heart, Trowa."

She patted his hand gently and walked back inside, where the party would probably continue for another few hours. Trowa stayed where he was, listening to the ebb and flow of the music and trying to put his head back together.

It had been years since he'd confessed his feelings. He hadn't quite been rejected—it wasn't exactly an unrequited love—it was just that he wanted an open relationship, out of the closet, and he'd been too stubborn to settle for anything else.

Now, though, he wished he'd given it a try. It's better to have loved and lost, he thought sadly.

The door banged behind him, but he didn't look back. It was probably Faith again, returning from her dance. She didn't like parties or close situations any more than her father did; Heero tolerated them for Relena's sake, but Faith didn't share his compunctions.

"Back so soon?" he asked. "People are going to think you have a crush on me if you keep hanging around like this, Faith."

"Ah—Trowa!"

"Quatre." She sent you, didn't she? he thought, glancing at his friend.

"I didn't realize you were out here," Quatre said quickly. "Faith said it was a nice night. I thought I'd come out and get some air. I'll leave if I'm bothering you."

"No," Trowa replied evenly, doing his best to keep his tone steady even though his heart was in his throat. "Stay. I'll go if—"

"No," Quatre said, his soft voice tinged with sadness. "Don't let me run you off."

The words brought back old memories, but Trowa didn't think it had been intentional. He swallowed hard, trying to calm his pounding heart. He had let Quatre run him off once and sheer stubbornness had kept him away, forcing him to abandon the one piece of advice that had kept him going throughout some of the worst hardships he'd ever faced.

He looked at Quatre again, steadily this time, and didn't look away when Quatre noticed him staring and met his gaze. There was something there, something that went deeper than the chemistry they'd always shared. Maybe it was time?

You're still breathing, aren't you? he thought, sucking in a deep breath just to remind himself that he was. It's definitely time to find out if we're both older and wiser.

"Quatre. We should talk."

"Yeah. We should, Trowa."

Notes: I'm reposting this (I took down the original a while ago) as a sort of companion to Chapter 3 of Ode to Joy because I felt like Trowa needed a break. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!