Disclaimer: As always, I don't own GW and I make no claim to it…

Warnings: Angst alert! deathfic, yaoi with references to m/m sexual relations, my usual smattering of swearing, older pilots (28)

Pairings: 3x2x3, a hinted 1+2 and 4+3

A/N: This fic is four parts – four psychologist's appointments. Inspired by the song Waiting… by City and Colour which is a beautiful and amazing song. I highly recommend listening to it as it shows where the whole fic came from and because Dallas Green's voice is spine tingly good.

Big thanks to Ellewrite for her beta job on this one - sorry for all the angst!

~ Session One ~

A Coma Might Feel Better Than This…

The waiting room was meant to be pleasant. Light from a bright spring day filtered through the windows – the blinds raised to let it illuminate the room. There was a leather couch and two chairs set around a large wooden coffee table that had magazines artfully spread out on it – National Geographic, a magazine about photography and one about hiking. Neutral topics. Trowa had walked in, took in the surroundings, selected one of the chairs and sat, crossing one of his long legs over the other and slouching his shoulders. He reached out for one of the magazines and then decided against it and instead glanced out the window.

The waiting room window overlooked a park area – the grass bright and artificial, the trees swaying in a light colony breeze. The view was nice. Calming and pleasant. Probably meant to soothe the crazies.

Green eyes looked up to the abstract print on the wall. It was all in blues. Swirls. And he squinted at it a second before coming to the conclusion it looked like nothing. He wondered if it was a test – one of the tests for him to say what he saw. He'd done those before in psych evals – done to death with what he thought black splodges meant and tried not to say things like "dead puppies" or "person without head". Maybe he had no imagination. Probably didn't.

He was dressed casually, straight cut, slightly baggy jeans, brown leather belt and grey Preventer t-shirt. It was a warm day and he'd not bothered bringing a jacket – maybe he should've as he'd gotten his share of stares as he walked through the streets. Not because of his status as former Gundam Pilot 03 or Preventer hero. The burns. Down his neck and down most of his right side. Chemical burns, deep and weeping and raw and ugly. He decided he didn't care. Maybe that was why he sat waiting for his compulsory psychologist appointment. Or one of the many reasons.

Trowa looked at the door plaque and stifled a smile as the pretentious amount of letters after a single name.

Dr. Chang Wufei

BSc (Hons), MA, Ph.D, CPhys

The clock said 11.14 a.m., the glowing digital numerals on the wall along with the temperature and the air humidity. He played idly with the shoelace on one of his brown work boots and wondered if Wufei was like all the other doctors he'd ever met – making him wait beyond his appointment time. The only time he'd received swift treatment was the chemical burns and thank whatever God or Gods had granted him that small mercy – he had been frying in his own body, trying not to scream as his skin sizzled – sensations he never wanted to feel again.

Waiting. Waiting was hell. The clock had stubbornly turned to 11.15 a.m and he stopped playing with the shoelace and planted both feet firmly on the floor and stared at the door.

His fingers pushed his fringe to the side a little on instinct as one foot restlessly tapped on the floor. There was no need to brush his hair to the side anymore. His bang no longer covered his eye, it stopped just at his eyebrow, but some habits were ingrained and it was a nervous one. He didn't need to hide behind his hair anymore – he was twenty eight, not a teenage boy figuring out an identity or in his early twenties establishing himself as the Trowa Barton he wanted to be. Or the Trowa Barton he could be.

The door opened and a young woman exited. She glanced in Trowa's direction but looked slightly tearful and walked straight from the waiting room and out the door to the corridor. There was no dedicated receptionist for Dr. Chang. Trowa had signed in at the lobby, specified which office he was accessing and been directed vaguely by a perky girl who rang up to inform Chang that he had a visitor. The young woman must be a regular as she didn't stop in her stride. Knew the building and everything and the routines.

Trowa waited as a man he had not seen for years appeared in the doorway and nodded.

"Barton."

He didn't speak, instead nodded and got up heavily from the leather chair and walked into the office. There was no handshake between them, Wufei only motioned for him to take a particular chair in the same leather as those in the waiting room as he took a more standard office chair. In between the two chairs sat a small round table with a jug of water and a paper cup and a box of tissues. Trowa looked around the room to the desk with a state of the art computer, avoiding at first Wufei's gaze that had already seemed to take in his casual clothing and burns, in that always so calculated way.

The office had numerous book shelves – mainly texts on psychology but a few choice texts – the Art of War and such. The walls had certificates of all Wufei's many qualifications – his two doctorates and his ordinary degrees and his masters. The only thing that seemed out of place was a painting, or more a framed tapestry, of a red dragon. It was the only thing that didn't say standard psychologist's office. The only thing that said anything about the man sat in front of him after all these years.

"Do you know why you are here?" Wufei said simply.

"You have to clear me for active duty."

Wufei laughed in a faintly mocking way and Trowa tried to recall if he had ever heard the L5 native laugh. He wasn't a real laughing sort of man. But then they had very minimal contact over the years. Paths had diverged – careers totally different and no overlapping circle of friends. But this wasn't the same teenage boy he'd known. The war time Wufei Chang didn't wear glasses. Would have worn something that at least made some statement about the culture he was so proud of but now he was wearing a white shirt and black trousers. Smart shoes. Pretty dull. Very Western.

"I am not here to clear you for active duty. I am here as you have been suspended pending psychological assessment of you suitability to return to the Preventers at all."

"On full pay."

An eyebrow quirked.

"You needed to add that I'm suspended on full pay."

"Why is that important, Barton?"

Trowa shrugged. "If I was so emotionally volatile they wouldn't be paying me. Or for this. They'd have fired me – made me resign on medical grounds. They want me back in active duty."

"You value yourself that highly?"

"I am a very competent agent."

"No argument there… but perhaps, we have already got off on the wrong track."

"You started this track."

"And I am putting an end to it."

The room was silent. Wufei had relaxed back a little into the deep leather of his chair and Trowa draped one arm over the back of his own and looked out the window. He could see the trees still – it was quite soothing. Maybe it was good for the crazies.

A thought occurred and Trowa looked back over to the ever patient Wufei Chang.

"Isn't this a conflict of interests? We were friends."

"Were is the operative word. We have barely seen one another in six years. I am also the leader in my field and therefore the best qualified to deal with this."

"Your field?"

"Post-traumatic stress disorder."

Trowa grunted. No other response for that. PTSD. Of course. That's what they thought.

"It was also noted that you tend to be hostile to medical professionals and considering our shared history, I may be suited to your temperament."

"Fine," Trowa said.

He had to be fine. Had to be here – forced as conditions of his suspension. The same suspension that he'd handed over his gun and badge to for the interim.

Silence again. Wufei's eyes were narrowed behind the glasses, frameless lenses that almost gave the impression he wasn't wearing them and Trowa met those eyes. He had an hour appointment – in fact, four weeks of hour long appointments and he was sure he could spend the entire four hour stretch in a staring contest with Dr. Chang. He was here out of necessity and he could be obstinate as he liked. Une had probably calculated that Trowa was more likely to speak to a former ally than the usual Preventer mental health team. However, he didn't feel like talking. Really didn't.

He resented the impression people had of him as quiet. He was not quiet – he spoke when necessary, talked when he had something to say rather than engaging in pleasantries and nothingness. People had perceived him as anything from rude to aloof to mute but he was none of those. Just more of a man of action than words. More a man of thoughts than speaking them out loud.

"This will be a long session if you are not going to speak to me," Wufei said finally.

"What do you want me to talk about?"

"These sessions are for you, Barton. You should direct what we talk about."

"I don't want to talk."

"Apparently not but this is a waste of both our times if you don't."

Trowa shrugged. "You wear glasses now," he said, finally. It was something, just a stupid observation.

"My eye sight has always been poor – I wore contacts during the war."

"Didn't your doctor offer surgery?"

"I refused it," he said. Silence again. Trowa reached for the table and poured some water as a delaying tactic. Wufei spoke again, quietly, matter-of-factly. "You cut your hair."

He took a sip and the held the paper cup loosely in his right hand. "Not to Preventer standards."

"Don't lie or evade in this room, Barton. You were a Preventer the last time we met and you still had hair over your eye. When did you cut it?"

"Three years ago."

"When did Duo cut his braid off?"

"I don't want to talk about Duo."

Wufei leaned forward a little in his chair, eyes sparkling as though he'd won a small victory – known he'd hit a raw nerve. The rawest. More raw than the chemical burns that covered his arm, shoulder and neck.

"Did you use your hair to hide behind?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe or yes?"

"Yes."

"These sessions will be less torturous if you co-operate, Barton."

"Yes I used my hair as a method of hiding. It meant people couldn't read me entirely as they couldn't see both eyes. Happy?"

The black haired man smiled and sat back in his chair. "Ecstatic."

Another pause. Another silence. Trowa took another sip of water, every small action being observed and he was suddenly very aware of his body. How he held himself. How he sat. He didn't like Wufei's gaze, didn't like that analytical and judgemental look. He never really had. He supposed he'd never had the most functional relationships with any of the former Gundam pilots. Except Duo – but that was a whole different ball game. And it was hardly a successful relationship.

"You are aware I never liked you," Trowa said.

"The feeling was mutual, Barton."

"You were too high and mighty for my tastes. All honour and noble shit."

"And you were too good at hiding and pretending. You unsettled me. Always far too good at playing the enemy."

Green eyes glared and then flickered to the dragon tapestry. Wufei was the good doctor now – the one with the illustrious career and respected academic papers but in their conversations, he saw the sixteen year old boy fighting for the wrong side – the Eve War and Mariemaia. Wufei had become the enemy. Trowa had entered the Barton Foundation knowing they were wrong – Wufei didn't. But then Trowa had his fill of Barton's and knew they were all crooked and dangerous.

"Why did you cut it three years ago? Did anything significant happen?"

"Missions, paper work, usual."

"I have in your file that you took a month long leave of absence – June through July." He glanced at a file – Trowa recognised the logos and stamps of the Preventers. Copies handed to the doctor. "You had not taken any of your required vacation days up until this point in all your years of service. Care to explain?"

"I needed a vacation."

"Where did you go? The circus and Catherine, perhaps?"

"No."

"Did you spend it with Duo?"

"Off limits," he said, a low growl in his voice.

"For your mental health, I would advise that you not keep blocking Duo out of this conversation or our future sessions."

He gritted his teeth and gave a glare as strong as anything Heero Yuy could muster. He planned on downing the rest of the water, crushing the paper cup and throwing the damn thing at Wufei but then realised that was a childish and stupid action. He needed to do his mandatory four hours. He finished the water, threw the paper cup to the trash, making the shot and took a deep breath before answering the question.

"Yeah, I was with Duo – Hawaii."

"When did you start a relationship with Duo?"

"Eight years ago."

A smile almost crossed Trowa's face. Wufei had a brief moment of surprise on his otherwise composed face. They'd all still seen each other at that point – all tried to attend important moments. Been there for the wedding of the century when Heero actually married the princess, been there at the campaign speeches when Quatre stood for his first few rounds of elections, been there when Wufei graduated with one of his many degrees. They'd all come to Trowa's own Preventer graduation when he'd become a full agent after the years of training. Though Duo had never had an event for them to attend – he supposed they could've gone to see him jet off for the first time in The Helen but Duo hadn't had big moments. Just little ones.

Faded. Peaked at sixteen maybe. No, that wasn't true. He was quite happy – wanted to be a Spacer, a Sweeper and a scrap man. Wanted the freedom of his own space cruiser and didn't want the Preventers or the bullshit of politics. Just wanted to pilot and felt no obligation after the wars to do anything else. Admirable really. Duo did his bit for peace between fifteen and sixteen and hung up Shinigami when Deathscythe exploded. Trowa hadn't been able to live in peace, he'd tried but he was a merc at heart, and if the Preventers were willing to pay him to kill, he'd take the job.

He realised he'd drifted into memories again when Wufei's voice sounded impatient. Maybe he'd had to repeat himself. Trowa looked up.

"How would you characterise the relationship?"

How to characterise it? Trowa remembered that first time – all bad vodka and cigarette smoke and cheap linen sheets. Duo pulling him through the door, all tongues and teeth and hands. He should mention that they started after one of Wufei's graduations – probably say that they'd got bored and found alcohol and were already pretty hammered by the end of the ceremony. More hammered after the champagne and strawberries after-party function and they'd gone back to the hotel together – a cheap one – having bought vodka on the way and fell down drunken on the bed. Both a little to uncoordinated to remove clothing but getting out of it enough to fuck, clumsily, all out of rhythm. Taking a while to get anywhere as they were on the verge of being too drunk but got there, determined maybe, and then he had Duo underneath him and it was good. All hot and sticky and smelling of booze and full of clashing of teeth and stops and starts. Changes of position as they didn't seem to work all that well together that first time – all out of alignment, maybe, off kilter but they learnt after that first night. They both weren't anywhere near virginal but it felt awkward – weird those first few times but it got better. Hell, it got better.

"Sexual," he answered.

"You spent a month vacation and eight years in a relationship with Duo and you term it as only sexual?"

Trowa shrugged. "Friends with benefits, maybe."

Friends with benefits sounded okay – fuck buddies probably. They may have done the vacation thing three years ago but hadn't done it since. It had been fine for a week – hiking, fishing, snorkelling, fucking but they weren't exactly compatible all the time. They irritated the hell out of each other but then that was the vacation when Duo came down from the bathroom in that two storey wooden beachside house and had no braid. Just gone. And they didn't discuss it as Trowa walked to the bathroom and grabbed the same pair of scissors and snipped off most of his bangs, the lighter brown hair falling into the sink alongside Duo's chestnut brown from where he'd attempted to even up the damage as the braid sat on the floor, snake like. Stupid really. Both of them. A stupid discussion, drunk on tequila the night before, when Duo was running his fingers through his hair, moving the bangs and exposing both eyes.

"You need to quit hiding, Tro'."

A conversation about hair – about fucking hair – and they'd ended up arguing. Trowa made a comment about the braid, something about getting a little old for it and that was it. Fireworks. A few punches and sleeping alone. Too temperamental. It was easier not to have conversations – to just define it all as sexual as then they didn't piss each other off. Never discussed it again. It was three years and he still sometimes found it weird seeing Duo without the braid. Sometimes couldn't pick him out in a crowd – at a bar stool – took a second of recognition.

"Were you exclusive?"

Trowa blinked and looked up, realised he'd drifted off into memory. "No. I slept with a few people – he slept with whoever he wanted. No strings."

"But you maintained a relationship for eight years. It seems more than just something sexual."

"We weren't commitment types."

"You or him?"

"Both."

Wufei frowned and glanced over to the clock. They'd been at this for forty five minutes. The time had actually gone pretty quick, Trowa realised. Maybe it was better to talk during these stupid things. He stretched a little in his seat and winced at the searing pain down his side, the stretching of synthetic skin and his own skin and wounds.

"You don't hide your wounds."

The words seemed odd. The sudden change in conversation startled Trowa and he took a second to orientate himself. Maybe that was a tactic. Talk about Duo – fuck his head up and then turn it back to the wounds and the Preventer mission that had brought him here.

"I don't see the point."

"We established that you hid behind your hair, correct? And you were known as an infiltrator."

"Yeah and your point fucking is?"

"You were known as the one among us who hid and disguised himself. You were the one who didn't stand out and blended in. You didn't hide your wound. You must have got looks from civilians, I imagine."

Trowa only nodded. He'd had looks – plenty of them. A little girl pointing – made him feel a bit like the elephant man or something. Least the mother had told her off for pointing.

"You don't want to blend or hide anymore."

"I forgot a jacket, Chang – it's a warm day, nothing more psychologically enlightening."

"You want to stand out now, I think. You want people to see the physical scars as you cannot deal with the emotional ones."

"I forgot my fucking jacket."

"Why didn't you go to the funeral?"

The question felt like a punch to the gut. Sucker punch and all. Trowa stood and decided it was over. He was done. Wufei was sneaky – all insidiously working to get him to say things – using that war time antagonism. Making it seem like a war, a game, a battle of wits – something he'd understand.

"Sit down, Barton or you'll never work for the Preventers again."

Trowa stopped and looked over at Wufei, sitting calmly. All composure and clean white lines and those stupid glasses.

"That's blackmail."

"No, Barton. I am the only chance you have of getting back into the Preventers. You tried to kill yourself on a mission. Death by chemical bomb."

"I wasn't killing myself."

"You needlessly put yourself in the line of fire – I would call that suicide."

Trowa realised he'd not made his way halfway across the room. Pathetic really. Hadn't even tried to exit dramatically. He walked back to the chair and sat forward, more confrontationally than before.

"I did not try to kill myself."

"I still believe you did. You'll have to convince me otherwise but you have three more sessions to do that."

The clock had magically turned to 12.13 p.m. Wufei was rising from his office chair and Trowa took that as his indication that he could leave. He felt like he'd been scrubbed raw and they hadn't even gone beyond the surface. Dr. Chang was good it seemed.

Wufei offered his hand and Trowa took it, the friendly gesture seeming out of place and step with their surroundings.

"On a personal level, I am glad to see you. We may not be friends or like one another but we were comrades and I feel that I have missed a part of myself not seeing you, Trowa."

Their hands returned to their sides. Wufei still stood very straight – all that martial arts posture and Trowa naturally slouched – all due to his height and feeling like he was too damn tall for most people.

"Yeah, thanks, Wufei."

"I would advise you to get in touch with the others in your therapy. Analyse your feelings."

Trowa nodded though had no intention of doing that. "Until next week."

"Yes, until next week, Barton."