"You do realize you don't have to do this," Quatre said, even as he scrawled his signature over yet another empty space on the page. "You owe me nothing, you shouldn't have to do what I wasn't willing to do."
Trowa hummed, taking the piece of paper and signing his own name under Quatre's. It didn't look as neat, didn't look as formal, and he set it on the growing pile of paperwork that was his new reality. He'd have to work on his signature, have to work on making it neater, and have to get used to writing it more. The first and last time he had ever signed anything was for his driver's license, and that had been three years ago.
"Well, that's it," Quatre sighed, not sounding pleased at all. "You're officially my legal heir. Happy?"
Trowa took the last sheet, that last signature line intimidating on the stark-white paper. Trowa didn't let himself hesitate as he signed his name again, the messy, childlike squiggle that stood for his name erasing his future as much as it did the empty space on the page.
"I'm happy that you're free to do as you please," Trowa answered, placing the last paper on the pile and picking it up, handing it to the lawyer who had patiently been waiting for them to finish.
"When will you do something for yourself, Trowa? When will your happiness matter?" Quatre called after his retreating back. Trowa didn't miss a step, didn't answer as he pushed open the glass doors and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The sounds of traffic and pedestrians assaulted his ears, and only practice kept him from flinching, from reaching for a weapon and seeking cover. The only thing he pulled out was a cigarette carton, tapping one out and placing it at his lips before lighting. The addicting smoke filled his lungs, soothing his mind before escaping his body, a small cloud of smoke rising to join the overcast sky.
The air tasted like rain, the promise of showers looming over the city as he joined the flow of bodies along the cement path that would take him somewhere that had food and didn't have Quatre. The smell of spice drew him into a small Mexican restaurant, where he walked back out with a takeaway bag several minutes later. The crowd drew him several more blocks, where he broke away to sit in a small park, leaning against a tree as he started eating his food. He worked through another cigarette as he ate, watching the few people in the small patch of nature stuck behind four stone walls.
When he knew he had been away long enough, that it was time to submit to Quatre's presence and take responsibility for his decisions, he pushed himself to his feet and went to go throw his food away. But he hadn't heard the approach of feet, hadn't seen the darkly dressed figure until he was colliding with him, going down in a tangle of limbs and swearing. He felt scorching liquid soaking into his clothes, could feel the burn on his skin, and he was pushing himself away, ignoring the pain in favour of helping the cursing man to his feet. While the amount of hair might have thrown someone else off, Trowa had felt the distinct lack of curves, and knew that what his knee had connected to had definitely belonged to a man.
"Are you okay?" he asked, and the furious purple eyes that met his were stunning, even in their anger.
"Watch where the fuck you're going!"
"I didn't realize you were standing in front of me," Trowa stated, his own temper flaring briefly before dying out again. "I had just stood up. You should learn to see what's in front of you."
With that, he pushed passed the stranger, ignoring the cursing behind him as he went to rejoin the masses. He smelled heavily of coffee, and it made his insides churn, but there wasn't much he could do about it right then. When he finally pushed through the front door to Quatre's home later that night, he was greeted with a darkened hallway and silence. He didn't bother to turn on the light as he went up the stairs to his bedroom and changed clothes, brushing his hair and washing his hands and face before going back down to the kitchen.
As he expected, Quatre was sitting at the table, a cup of tea and an air of exhaustion his only companions. Trowa fixed himself a cup as well, taking the other seat and sipping carefully at the hot drink. When Quatre spoke, his voice was pitched so as to not disturb the peaceful atmosphere.
"You're going to go through with this, it doesn't matter what I say," he started, staring down into his cup. Trowa didn't look at him, his eyes focused on the soft yellow wallpaper. "I never wanted this for you. But it's too late for regrets." Setting his tea down, Quatre shifted his focus on Trowa, who didn't return the favour.
"Tomorrow there will be a meeting with the heads of the Chang-Yuy Corporation to finalize the business contract. After that, we will be going to lunch to formalize the marriage contract. Please dress for both occasions, there won't be time to change in between."
Quatre stood up from the table, placing his cup in the dishwasher. He hesitated in the doorway, his head turning to look at Trowa, before he parted with his final words.
"I wish you were more selfish, Trowa."
The meeting went smoothly, Trowa standing behind Quatre as the young CEO brutally picked apart every nuance and line of fine print. Then, once everyone was satisfied and papers were signed, Trowa followed behind Quatre as they made their way down to the lobby, where a car waited for the two of them. There was no conversation on the ride over, the tension in the car palpable enough to have the driver twitching a bit. It was entertaining, and Trowa kept shifting a little to watch their driver flinch at every movement. When Quatre kicked his shin, giving him a glare and a firm shake of the head, Trowa sighed and slumped back into his seat, stretching his legs out as far as they could go and letting his bangs shield the world from sight.
"Come on," Quatre prompted as the car came to a stop. Quatre tipped the driver well, most likely to make up for Trowa's behaviour, before leading the way into the restaurant. The waiter led them to a secluded table, setting down menus and leaving to get their drinks. Trowa took his seat, not bothering to pick up the menu and instead letting his eyes sweep the room. The lighting was dim, a small light hovering over every table without illuminating the space around it, creating an intimate setting that imitated a false sense of privacy. There weren't many people in for lunch, the only other occupants being a young couple in the back corner who didn't understand that just because it wasn't brightly lit didn't mean that they couldn't be seen. Not to mention the table cloth wasn't that long. He tilted his head, watching the young man bite his lip as the young woman slid under the table, everything except the top of her head still visible to the rest of the world.
It was as the woman was sliding down the zipper of her boyfriend's pants that three men stepped through the door, Trowa observing them though his peripheral. He observed as Quatre straightened beside him, his blond hair shining brightly even in the dim lighting. He saw them coming closer, blurring and distorting in the corner of his vision as the woman quickly slid her mouth onto the man who was trying too hard to look nonchalant.
Trowa was listening intently to the introductions as the newcomers joined their table, hands being shaken and chairs sliding as they took their seats. Trowa kept ignoring them, his head tilting to the side as he watched the woman fumbling to bring off her partner, trying too hard for such an effortless task. Her former experiences were probably limited, as most of her technique looked to have been picked up from porn sites or cheap paperback erotica. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he didn't turn to look at Quatre, even as he heard him ask, "Are you here?"
"Her technique is terrible. I'm tempted to go over and coach her," Trowa responded blandly, his head coming to rest on his shoulder. It let both of his eyes come uncovered, revealing his rather irritated face. "I'm beginning to feel insulted."
Quatre made a curious noise, standing to see over Trowa's shoulder before he sighed, reaching out and forcefully turning his head towards their guests. He leaned over so that his words wouldn't carry to the others, but it didn't stop Trowa's spine from turning to ice, or lessen the threat in his words.
"We're here to do business. You're the one who agreed to it, so don't behave like this."
Quatre took his seat again, a pleasant smile on his face that belied the anger burning in his eyes. Trowa sighed, picking up his glass of water and taking a sip. He let his eyes sweep over their guests, one of them destined to be his future partner. He let his eyes rest on each one for a moment before focusing on his water glass, dismissing them. Quatre sighed beside him.
"This is my… friend," Quatre said, hesitating on the last word. "Trowa Barton, this is Heero Yuy, Chang Wufei, and Duo Maxwell."
Trowa flicked them a glance again as their names were given, each one nodding as a name was called. None of them offered any words, and he could feel Quatre growing more agitated by the minute.
"So which one of you is the unlucky bastard?" Trowa asked, and Quatre pushed away from the table angrily, storming off towards the restroom. The lady under the table jumped as Quatre smacked his hand against their table as he passed by, and Trowa could hear her choking from where he was.
"Disgusting," he heard Chang say, having finally noticed the couple in the corner. Trowa hummed in agreement.
"Indeed. She focuses too much on sucking like it's a straw. She should utilize more of her hand," Trowa said, watching as the couple left some money on the table and hurried out of the restaurant, meals mostly untouched. "It's all in the wrist." Chang choked on his drink, and Trowa gave a wicked grin.
"You seem to view this arrangement as a negative event," Yuy cut in, his tone holding no hint as to whether this was a question or a statement. Trowa shrugged.
"No, the arrangement is not a problem. I don't really care if it happens. As long as Quatre's business profits from it, I don't care how it affects me."
"So you're either a fuckin' saint, or you're a really bad liar. You'd go into this blind just 'cause your friend wants you to?" the third man, Maxwell asked, the voice familiar to Trowa. He finally let himself look hard at the three of them, his eyes focusing mostly on Maxwell. When their eyes connected, Trowa smirked lightly.
"That depends who you ask. Some accuse me of not being able to see what's in front of me," Trowa mocked, and he saw recognition flash across his face.
"You're that dick who spilled my coffee," Maxwell realized, anger starting to coat his words, and Trowa just shrugged.
"Depends on where you were standing. You're the dick who dumped their coffee on me."
The table went quiet, and Trowa hummed tunelessly, sipping at his water. After a few minutes of calm, in which Quatre still had not returned, Chang cleared his throat and asked, "What do you hope to gain from this arrangement?"
"Personally? Nothing. I agreed to be a part of the contract in lieu of Quatre for Quatre. I understand how this marriage is necessary for both the business and for publicity. It assures that both of the companies benefit and have ties to each other both professionally and personally, and will continue to do so down the line. So I will gain nothing from this except assuring Quatre's business succeeds and profits from this deal, and I refuse to let anything happen that will prevent this outcome."
"And I told you that you didn't have to do that," Quatre said, sitting back down in his seat. The anger had faded, replaced with the weariness that had been present since Trowa proposed the idea. "I would have worked it out without you sacrificing your anonymity for it."
"You have no desire to marry."
"Neither do you."
"Regardless, you have enough to do and I owe you."
"I told you that you don't owe me anything! If you ever did, you've paid it ten times over! Stop finding excuses."
"This conversation is over. It was over six months ago, and nothing will change the outcome," Trowa said firmly, before turning his attention back to the trio. "So, as I never received an answer, who will be batting for your team?"
"That would be me, lover boy," Maxwell drawled, leaning his elbows against the table and twining his fingers together to form a spot to rest his chin. He held Trowa's gaze evenly as he did so, and Trowa felt a shiver run through him against his will. He refused to look away first, refused to let Maxwell win this—whatever it was that they were doing. He seemed amused by Trowa's defiance in averting his gaze, and conversation picked up between Quatre and the other two while they kept staring each other down.
Trowa vaguely listened as details, gains, losses, and limits were set on the contract so that he had an idea of what he was signing away, but he never let his vision waver, never let his gaze slide to either side, even as the minutes dragged on. When their food arrived, Trowa didn't look down at it, merely let routine kick in as he methodically relocated the food from his plate to his palette. It was childish, yet at the same time important, as if he'd be giving something up or deemed insufficient if he lost.
"Let's go, Trowa," Quatre interrupted quietly, touching a hand briefly to Trowa's shoulder before letting it fall away as he stood up. Trowa could hear the others standing, could hear them saying farewell and beckoning for Duo to join them. When Trowa stood, he held Maxwell's gaze for a few more moments before deliberately dismissing him. This wasn't as efficient as if he had done it at the start. No, it was as they were leaving that he could dismiss Maxwell, could let the other man see that Quatre was more important than the stranger who had dumped hot coffee down his front not even a day ago. But when he moved to pass by Maxwell, a hand seized his arm, and a hot breath brushed the shell of his ear, teasing the nape of his neck as he got the last word in.
"Goodnight, my bride," he said, letting go of Trowa and pretending that he hadn't just insulted Trowa deeply, hadn't just given him a piercing blow that shook him to the core, made his blood stew with heated anger. But he refused to start something here, refused to get physical in front of Quatre, and pretended he hadn't heard Maxwell.
But he had, and he kept hearing that whisper, kept feeling that hand on him and the brush of air against his skin, even as the night stole over him and changed to dawn.
He didn't see Duo Maxwell again until the wedding. How much of that was deliberate was never stated outright, but he had a feeling Quatre's hand had been involved. There had been several more meetings where Trowa had stood as bodyguard, which was what he was paid to do, and saw both Yuy and Chang again, but Duo had been absent from all meetings. He was probably running around town tossing coffee at unsuspecting strangers. When he stated such, Chang had choked on his drink again and Quatre had smacked his arm in rebuke. Trowa was unapologetic, and the meeting had ended with a rather annoyed Quatre and a strange sense of satisfaction for Trowa.
Papers were finalized, arrangements were made, signatures were handed out like Halloween candy, and life went on. The wedding was mainly for publicity, Duo and Trowa having signed the marriage certificate prior to the modest event. Rings were exchanged along with a chaste – and very brief – kiss, and scripted speeches given at the 'private' reception.
The deal was sealed, and now Winner Enterprises was allied with Chang-Yuy Corporations for better or worse. Quatre would inform them of any political or social events that they needed to make a presence at, and they could go about their lives pretending to be a happy, loving couple in the eyes of the public.
He doubted their private lives would be as simple and clean-cut.
Their honeymoon was a trip to some tropical beach that Trowa despised. Duo had enough fun playing on the beach and in the warm waters, but Trowa refused to subject himself to more sand than he had to, and just sat in the shade reading a book. They had to be seen in public together, had to let some amateur cameraman snap a few pictures of them spending quality time together, but at night Trowa slept on the sofa while Duo monopolized the bed.
Things didn't change much once they returned to their new home, provided courtesy of the businesses. It was modestly large, allowing enough space for them to comfortably live together with minimal contact. Meal times were coordinated enough that as one was leaving, the other was arriving, and they kept separate quarters. Trowa would have been more than happy to keep this arrangement if it hadn't been for the first incident.
Duo had eaten his food.
Trowa stared into the cupboard, the spot where his lunch should have been sitting and waiting for him to prepare it glaringly empty of any such thing. He took a steadying breath, counted backwards from ten, and then stood and left the kitchen.
He was not going to take this lying down.
Two hours later, just fifteen minutes before Duo would be back from wherever the hell he went in the afternoon, he was sliding the last box back into place. He examined the kitchen with a meticulous eye, seeing nothing out of place. Satisfied, he left to go take a shower. He smelled like a used litter box.
He was still in the shower when he heard the loud, angry curses through the three closed doors and spray of water. He heard those three doors slammed open, the door to the shower opened, and the water forcefully turned off as a furious Duo Maxwell stood before him with no small amount of rage showing in his short, lithe body. Trowa was impressed that Duo would be angry enough to confront him in the shower, and told him so.
"You mother-fuckin' son of a bitch," Duo hissed, grabbing Trowa's shoulder and slamming him back against the shower wall. Trowa's head smacked the tile, his world bursting into stars before he felt his neck straining, his eye and nose radiating pain from where Duo had punched him. He managed to avoid the second punch, and tackled Duo out of the shower before a third could be thrown. He felt his knees connect to the floor painfully, shooting spikes of pain up and down his legs and ass, but he hit back, not caring that he was wet, covered in soap, or in the buff. It wasn't the first fight he'd been naked for, and apparently it might not be his last.
He finally managed to get a firm grip on Duo, pinning him to the floor and halting the blows. Panting, and with no small amount of blood dripping down onto Duo's face, he asked him calmly, "What is the matter?"
"You fuckin' put your god damn cat's shit in all the food!" Duo snarled, his words coming out between his own attempts to catch his breath. "What the fuck did you do that for?!"
"Don't eat my food. Ever. Understand?"
Duo stared up at him in disbelief.
"You went and opened every fuckin' package of food in the house, stuck a piece of shit inside, and sealed the fucking package again, just because I ate some Pasta-Roni?!"
Trowa just continued staring him down.
"There's something seriously wrong with you," Duo muttered, but the fight left him, his muscles going lax under Trowa. Trowa slowly let his own grip loosen, his fingers moving away from Duo's wrists, and he sat back on his heels, looking down at Duo.
"I don't like you touching my shit," Trowa said simply. "So I figured if you wanted it so much, you could have some more."
"It's just food, Trowa," Duo said, his voice taking on an odd quality. It wasn't anger, or mockery. It was more like concern, placating, as if Trowa was balancing on the edge of a building and ready to step off. Trowa felt his hands twitch, felt his spine stiffen, and Duo's posture relaxed as if to compensate.
"How about we share? We can share the food, and you can have a shelf for what you like and don't want me to eat, and I'll have a shelf for the same. Any food that's not on that shelf is fair game. We don't have to—don't have to make this harder than it is, okay?"
The idea seemed so simple, so easy, and Trowa couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't thought of it before. But how would be know if Duo would follow through? He said as much, and Duo didn't react as if offended. It was making Trowa feel strange, like a sliver of reality had shifted, as if the script of their life had changed and no one had told him about it. Duo kept staring up at him calmly, his hand slowly moving to rest against Trowa's arm.
"We can eat together. You'll be there to make sure that I don't eat any of your food. I'm sorry I ate your pasta. I was in a rush and all my food would have taken too long to cook. I should have asked you first, and I am sorry for that."
Trowa let out a shaky breath, letting his head fall, his chin resting against the hollow of his chest. Duo's thumb was rubbing against his arm soothingly, and when Trowa felt him shifting under his legs he pushed himself off, backing up several steps to give Duo space to stand up. He couldn't meet Duo's eye, even as he observed the man from the edges of his vision.
"Trowa, look at me."
Duo's voice was firm, unyielding, and Trowa's head jerked up, his eyes locking with Duo against his will. Duo gave a smile.
"Finish your shower and get dressed. We're going grocery shopping after."
Trowa tugged at the ends of his sleeves as he watched the people passing by on the sidewalk outside. The restaurant that Quatre had chosen this time was different than the one he had met Duo in the day he found out they were to be married.
That was part of why they were here, in this small diner that still had the remnants of the lunch-rush left in its wake. Bussers were hurriedly cleaning tables, one stacking used cups, plates, bowls, and silverware in their bucket as another busser was spraying and wiping down the table once it was cleared. Their actions showed that they'd worked together for some time, never bumping or stumbling over each other as they worked table after table. They were very aware of the other, moving and sliding past to complete their task.
It was soothing to watch, Trowa felt, as if it was scripted, filmed, and set on repeat. Quatre and Duo were eating their own meals, letting Trowa take the time to mentally return to the table and to their conversation.
"Are you back?" Quatre asked, when Trowa shifted and picked up his water. Trowa hummed his agreement, setting his water down and picking up a fork. His meal had already started to go cold, but he wasn't going to complain about it; it was his own doing. So he dutifully cut off a piece of chicken with the edge of his fork before popping it into his mouth. It was still warm in the middle, the edges having cooled and the sauce that had been coated over both the meat and pasta having congealed more than was required of the pasta dish. It was perfect.
"Those two work well together," Trowa remarked, his eyes falling on the two bussers again. They had begun to work on the opposite side of the row now, and while he wasn't tempted to focus all of his attention on them again, he felt an inexplicable urge to explain what he was thinking to Quatre. Quatre tended to draw that response from Trowa, and it was a never-ending source of frustration, as if he had to excuse his own actions.
"They do. Do you want to leave them a tip when we leave?" Duo suggested, and Trowa glanced at him, confused. While they weren't hostile towards each other, they weren't exactly… agreeable. They had been sharing meals for a couple months now, Duo chatting endlessly about anything and everything while Trowa sat and listened patiently. It was… enjoyable, Trowa was willing to admit, though he had never told the other man that.
"I would," Trowa said quietly, and he glanced up at Quatre to see a faint smile dancing on his lips.
"Then we will."
That word. We. It was something they had donned for public events, a part of their vocabulary meant for the press and for the companies, but not meant for them. It wasn't meant to be, until that day where Duo had eaten his food and Trowa had sabotaged his. 'Me and you' had started to become 'we' day by day, and there were more activities that involved 'we' instead of 'you and me.' Not only meals, but movies, shopping, laundry, cleaning, card games, and yard work.
"How have you been, Trowa?" Quatre asked, picking up his tea and taking a sip. Duo was drinking coffee, the smell overwhelming from such a close distance. It was a smell he was learning to put up with though, because no matter how often Trowa threw away the coffee beans, Duo just brought more home. Every morning Trowa would pick up the small bag of beans, put them in the bin, and take the trash out. Every morning, there would be a new little bag of coffee beans in the cabinet. It was a never-ending cycle, and it had become something that Trowa counted on every morning.
Quatre repeated the question, letting Trowa know he had sunk too far into his own thoughts again and hadn't answered yet.
"I am doing fine. Cat misses you. She still sits by the fridge and meows. I'm trying to teach her to stop doing that. You spoiled her too much," Trowa answered, a frown forming.
"She has killer kitten eyes, what was I supposed to do?" Quatre defended himself, pouting. "She'd just keep staring at me until I gave in and fed her a treat."
"Yes, and now she's fat, lazy, and demanding."
"And you love it, don't deny it."
Trowa didn't respond, opting to take another bite of his chicken instead. Duo and Quatre had already finished their meals, and they traded small talk while Trowa aimed to finish his own.
"How are things with you, Duo?" Quatre asked, and Trowa listened quietly as Duo started talking about one of his many hobbies. Duo liked to dabble in anything that held his attention for longer than five minutes, Trowa had come to learn over their time together. He had been on a photography kick when they were first married, had started doing pottery a month later, and now was beginning to get a taste for gardening.
"And you can grow all kinds of things!" Duo was exclaiming, waving his hands to emphasize. "Like, there's flowers and bushes and shit, but then you can grow food, and herbs, and trees, and they're just as nice, and you can eat things from them, and they bring birds and bees and insects and all other cool things, and—"
Duo had been talking about this last week at breakfast, the enthusiasm having formed from a documentary Duo had apparently watched on a nature show the night before. Trowa had sat quietly and listened, just as he was doing now. Unlike Trowa, however, Quatre was actively responding.
"Yes, gardening is quite rewarding. I remember the garden Trowa kept back when we first met, and my family had never been one for getting their hands dirty. I remember my oldest sister would get so angry when we'd come in at the end of the day, covered in dirt and smelling like fertilizer, but she didn't have any complaints after the first harvest. I believe the garden still exists, now that I'm thinking about it."
Duo made a high-pitched noise, his eyes widening as he put his cup down to turn to Trowa.
"You know how to garden? Why didn't you say something?! I've been ranting at you about all this shit for a week, and you already know it all!"
"I don't care if I know it or not, you were enjoying yourself. Why make you stop?"
"Will you help me start one at our house?"
Our house. When had Duo started calling it that? When had it become that? Trowa shifted, his stomach souring and bile rising in his throat. Quatre must have caught the look on his face because he gestured behind them, with a quickly uttered, "Bathroom's down the hall to the left."
Trowa made it with hardly a moment to spare. Bracing himself against the porcelain bowl, his lunch left him in a few heaves, his eyes remaining closed as he pulled some paper off the roll and wiped his lips and nose, flushing all the evidence away. He washed his hands and face at the sink, head bent to watch the water flow around the basin and down the drain. He didn't want to see what he looked like. He didn't want to know what he had looked like right before he ran away.
"Trowa?"
Hands slid across his stomach, arms embracing him from behind as Duo pulled himself flush against Trowa's back. He felt Duo's cheek pressing between his shoulder blades, fingers lacing together against his stomach, and a steady, calming heat flowing from Duo's body into his own. Trowa didn't look up, didn't move at all. He kept staring down into the flowing water, hands placed on each side of the basin and supporting his weight.
"Did I upset you?"
Trowa shook his head, his chin pulling at his shirt as his face moved from left to right.
"Can you tell me what's wrong?"
"I don't know." Trowa honestly didn't. He had no idea why the thought of hearing those words had upset him so much. If he were to be honest, it wasn't those words that had caused this sudden… loss of composure. It had started when the mention of the garden had been made. When Quatre's old house had been mentioned. When Quatre had volunteered a sliver of his childhood memories to the man he was married to.
"Was it when I said it was our house, or was it because Quatre told me about the garden you had?"
"I don't know."
"Trowa, look at me."
Trowa turned around, Duo's grip not loosening and making the fabric of his shirt twist around his stomach uncomfortably. Duo was pressed up against him, his face turned up to look into Trowa's. He gave Trowa a smile, a flash of white teeth quickly hidden again behind pale lips.
"If there's ever a problem with what is being said, or being done, just talk to me. Tell me, okay? I'll listen."
"Why?" Trowa whispered, honestly confused. His head hurt, and he wanted to go home, go to his room and close the door and crawl under the covers. He wanted to block out the world, block out life for a little, because right now it was too hard to handle.
"Because I'm your husband. That's what I'm here for. I'm here to listen, just as you listen to me. I'm here to give you a hand, to support you."
"But you didn't choose me. You don't love me."
"Does that matter?" Duo asked, and Trowa's mouth went dry, his mind blanking and stilling. His eyes focused intently on Duo's, the humour and lightness gone to be replaced with a chilly seriousness he hadn't seen since that day in the bathroom. "I don't need to love you to care about how you're doing. I don't need to choose you. We're in this together for better or worse. It might have been an arrangement, but I am not a fuckin' liar, Trowa Barton. We exchanged a promise to take care of each other, to support each other in sickness and in health, to be together until death do us part. I might not love you, and I might not have picked you to be my partner, but we're here regardless. You agreed to be married, and I agreed to be married, and that's all that matters."
"Is it really that simple?" Trowa murmured, and Duo grinned.
"It's only as complicated as you want to make it, Trowa. If we make it simple, it'll be simple."
Trowa closed his eyes, his head dipping to rest his cheek against Duo's hair, as Duo leaned his own cheek against Trowa's chest, right above where his heart was beating. His own arms came to slide around Duo, holding him just as tightly as Duo held him. He could smell Duo's shampoo, smell the light cologne that the man preferred to wear around when they didn't have a formal event to attend. He could smell that god-awful coffee that Duo always had to drink, and instead of making him feel nauseous it made his chest ache.
"We should go back out," Trowa mumbled against Duo's hair. "Quatre's waiting for us."
"No, he left. I sent him away so that you didn't have to feel pressured to go back out sooner than you were ready. If you want, we can call him later tonight, okay?"
Trowa nodded.
"I'd like that."
"Get dressed," Duo said, pushing open the door to Trowa's bedroom. Trowa was stretched out across the bed, wearing a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else. The sunlight streamed through the open windows, patterns dancing across his back as the wind caused leaves to move in front of the glass panes. Trowa didn't look up from his book, ignoring Duo's presence entirely.
"Come on, honey," Duo teased, pushing down on the edge of the mattress. Trowa bounced a little, and he sighed, closing his book and folding his hands together to rest his chin on as he gazed at his giddy husband.
"What."
"Go get clothes on! I'm taking you on a date!"
Trowa stared at him balefully, and Duo laughed.
"Come on, let's go! There's supposed to be a carnival coming through town and it's only here tonight and I really, really want to go."
"I know."
"So what are you waiting for? I want to see it!"
"It's nothing fancy," Trowa murmured. "It's only here for one right for a reason."
"Don't be such a party pooper," Duo whined, crawling on the bed and draping himself over Trowa's back. He wasn't exactly light, and Trowa felt the air pushed from his lungs as Duo used his muscle mass to his advantage. Lips brushed against his shoulder as Duo wiggled and whined. He could feel them dragging across his skin as Duo pleaded with him.
"Let's go see the acrobats, the animals, the clowns and all the other cool things. Let's get out of this damn house and do something!"
Trowa sighed, rolling over and knocking Duo off of him.
"You owe me," Trowa muttered, sitting up and setting his book safely on the nightstand. Duo watched from his bed as he moved over to the large closet, grabbing a shirt and a pair of jeans and sliding them on before running his fingers through his hair to smooth the tangles out. He looked at Duo through the mirror's reflection, smirking lightly.
"Like what you see?"
Duo flushed red, mumbling something and bounding from the bed in a rush to leave the room. Trowa chuckled, putting socks on and grabbing a pair of sturdy walking shoes. When he met Duo down in the foyer, Duo was still a little pink in the face, but Trowa didn't point it out.
"Take the car or walk?" Trowa asked, and Duo shrugged.
"Both?"
Trowa hummed, grabbing the car keys and stepping out the door. They officially had a driver at their disposal, courtesy of Winner Enterprises, but Trowa hated having someone driving him around. Even Duo had learned quickly enough to not fight him on this, instead letting Trowa be the driver when they went places together. Duo had his own car that he took when he went out alone, but when it was time for them to become a 'we' they took Trowa's car. Duo dutifully got into the passenger seat, his embarrassment fading as his former excitement came back full-force.
"So I was thinking we can get dinner out tonight too. I'm treating, just so you know, because it was my idea. So have fun and do whatever you want."
Trowa hummed, turning the key in the ignition and relaxing as the car turned on the first try. It wasn't as if the car were old, or damaged, or that it shouldn't turn on the first time he tried it. But it was a habit he had, from when he hadn't been so fortunate. From before Quatre stuck his fingers into Trowa's life and messed everything up.
"You okay, Tro'?" Duo asked, and Trowa nodded. Glancing at the clock let him know he'd been sitting in the driveway, car still in park, for almost ten minutes since he started the engine. Swallowing down nausea, he shifted gears and started leaving the circular driveway.
"Just thinking."
"You think a lot. Be careful you don't miss what's happening in front of you while you're looking behind."
Trowa shot him an annoyed glare, pushing the stereo button with more force than needed. The car flooded with sound and Duo took the hint, turning to look out the window at the passing city instead of talking.
Trowa normally didn't drive with music playing. He preferred the silence to the sound of instruments and voices trying to fight for dominance. Duo knew this, and also knew if Trowa didn't want to talk to him, he'd play the music instead. His way of telling Duo that no matter how annoying the music was Duo's thoughts were wanted even less at that moment.
Trowa didn't remember driving across town, towards the edges where field met city. He pulled over into a spot near the outskirts of where the circus would be setting up, not letting his lapse of focus show to where Duo would pick up on how rattled he felt.
"You doing okay?" Duo asked, his hand lacing with Trowa's as they walked around the car. Trowa blinked, startled. He hadn't gotten out of the car yet, or so he thought.
"You really didn't want to come today, did you?" Duo asked, and Trowa shrugged.
"I'm here, does it matter? You wanted to come."
"Yes, but just because I want to do something doesn't mean you have to. You're allowed to be selfish, you know."
"You sound like Quatre."
"I think I'm beginning to understand why you two argue all the time," Duo muttered, pulling Trowa along after him.
They played some of the games set up at the booths for the carnival, Trowa's aim well enough to win one of the large toys hanging from hooks above their heads. So Trowa was left to haul around a giant purple panda for Duo as the man raced from booth to booth, determined to try every game once. When they worked their way from one end to the other, Duo wanted to go watch the circus set up for their performance tonight. Trowa just trailed behind, holding their prizes and letting Duo do as he pleased.
"Well, speak of the devil and he appears!" a voice called out, and Trowa looked up from the ground. Duo's talking to one of the performers, who was grinning and pointing at Trowa.
"Trowa Barton, I haven't seen you in years. You promised to come back and visit sometime, young man!"
"I'm here, aren't I?" Trowa muttered, and Duo looked between the redheaded woman and Trowa with an intense focus.
"You brat, give your big sister a hug!"
Trowa let himself be pulled into her embrace, even as he uttered the familiar, knee-jerk response of, "I'm not your brother."
"You could be. I'm still willing to do the blood tests."
"It doesn't matter. Catherine, this is my husband, Duo Maxwell. Duo, this is Catherine Bloom, the woman who took care of me for several years before I left to live with Quatre."
Catherine's mouth was hanging open, taking over Duo's role of measuring the two of them up and trying to figure out what was going on. For once, Trowa felt in control, felt as if he were the one holding all the cards, and it was pleasant to be on the giving end instead of the receiving one.
"Do you know what time the performances will begin tonight?" Trowa asked, not giving her time to puzzle out the new revelations in his life. "Duo was interested in watching and I would hate to have to fight for a good view. I figured if we arrived early we'd find good seats."
"Nonsense! I can get you special seating, the Manager would more than allow you and your… husband," she flushed at the word, as if she weren't sure it was the appropriate one, "to have VIP tickets."
"We aren't budgeting that much…" Trowa murmured, and Cathy laughed heartily.
"Like anyone in the troupe would charge you, Trowa! We never found a person who could fill your shoes. It took four. Tonight's on the house, got it? And…" her voice trailed off, a real smile forming on her face. "I'm glad you're doing good for yourself. I was worried about you. I thought you died, since you never came back."
I did die, Trowa thought, but he didn't tell her. I don't know what you're talking about.
"Honey," Duo said, lacing their fingers together and giving the woman a rather charming smile, "we still have to take these to the car and go eat. The flyers say the show starts at 8PM, we can make it back here if we go fast enough. Catherine, was it? It's a pleasure to meet you. I hope we won't be strangers," he said smoothly, and it wasn't long before Duo was leading Trowa away, guiding him around tents and poles and people. When they were far enough away, Duo dropped his hand, his anger showing in his words as he refused to look at Trowa.
"Why didn't you tell me you knew them?! I looked like a fool!"
"I didn't think it mattered," Trowa said. "I haven't been a part of that circus since I was fifteen."
"She recognized you immediately!"
"She raised me, Duo." Trowa stopped walking, his hands shaking slightly. "From my earliest memory, Catherine was there, and I left when I was fifteen."
"To live with Quatre, she said that."
"No, I didn't live with Quatre until I was almost twenty."
The air stilled, the sounds of laughter and traffic fading as their eyes connected.
"I told her I was leaving to go with the boy who kept visiting the circus, and she believed me. Quatre tracked me down eventually and brought me home to live with him, but by then it was too late. I was broken, and I can't be fixed. I didn't mean to hurt you, I didn't mean to make you feel embarrassed in front of Catherine. But this is who I am, Duo. This is something you can't fix. Quatre tried, Catherine tried. You tried. But it's not going to change. I'll do this to you again."
"What happened between Catherine and Quatre? What did you do?"
"Everyone. Everything."
Trowa locked himself in his room for a week. He ignored the smell of food coming from the kitchen, ignored the knocks on his door that was followed by Duo's voice, letting him know that there was food for him. He ignored the vibrations of his phone as Quatre tried to call him, ignored the hushed voices on the other side of his reality. He ate the protein bars he kept in his nightstand, and drank water from the sink, and spent most of his time under the thin sheets pretending he didn't exist.
He hadn't expected Duo to go so far as to break into his room, though. When he heard the sound of metal scraping metal, and the door opening, he resisted the urge to look. He squeezed his eyes closed, hoping that Duo would think him asleep and leave.
But the bed shifted as Duo knelt by his waist, and there was a brush of air against bare skin as the covers were lifted. They weren't tossed aside, and Duo didn't speak. Instead, there was a stillness, a quiet that was so delicate he feared the beating of his heart would break it apart. The world beneath him shifted as Duo stretched out beside him, pulling the blanket back over them and wrapping an arm around Trowa's waist.
"Hey, husband," he whispered, his face pressed into Trowa's arm. He could feel Duo's lips moving against his skin, could feel the heat of Duo's body filling the bed and making him uncomfortable. It was hot enough outside already, and now Duo was making it even warmer.
"I missed you," he admitted. "It's odd to eat alone. It's wrong."
Trowa didn't move, and Duo sighed, shifting and pressing a hand to Trowa's shoulder and nudging him.
"Talk to me, Trowa. I don't know what's going on unless you speak to me."
He turned on his side, facing Duo and letting himself see him. He let himself notice the play of shadow and light on pale skin, the way his nose turned up a little at the end, and how his mouth was flexible and supple, ready to form either a smile, grin, pout, scowl, or sneer with a subtle motion. How there was stubble growing along his jaw, darkening the complexion and shadowing his chin and neck. How his neck itself was firm and strong, with wide shoulders branching out to strong arms and gentle hands. Duo was wearing very little, a simple black undershirt and boxers and nothing else.
"Trowa?" Duo prompted again, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. Trowa leaned into the touch, and his mouth opened to utter words for the first time since he had admitted the truth.
"I'm broken," he reminded Duo. "Why do you keep trying to fix me?"
"I'm not trying to fix you, husband," Duo corrected. "I'm trying to learn how to handle the pieces that remain. I'm trying to learn which piece fits where, and see how much can fit back together. There might be pieces that can't be found, there might be gaps left behind, and you will never be as strong as when you were whole and healthy. But I need you to show me those pieces and let me help you."
Trowa whined, a sound that startled and scared him as much as it seemed to startle Duo. But the surprise faded quickly from his features, being replaced with a gentle understanding that caused Trowa's chest to hurt, to feel like he was being torn apart, exposed in a way that his current nudity would never achieve.
"I can't fix you, Trowa. Only you can fix yourself. Would you be willing to let me help you with those pieces?"
Trowa rolled on top of Duo, pressing his lips against that cursed, brutally honest mouth. He let himself roll his hips into the ones beneath him, let himself stop thinking, stop hurting, and instead let his body take control.
"Trowa," Duo breathed, reaching up and stroking his cheek gently. "Do you want this?"
Trowa paused, his breaths mere pants from exertion, fear, and desire. He could hear Quatre asking the same thing, asking him, 'What do you want, Trowa?'
What do you want?
Learn to be more selfish.
You're allowed to be selfish.
You're allowed to want.
"I want you," Trowa whispered. "I want to be selfish."
"How do you want me?" Duo asked, his hands sliding along Trowa's shoulders, up his neck, brushing against his ears before reversing and making their way back down. Over and over, Duo's hands continued to move, to feel him, and Trowa dipped his chin to his chest as he decided.
"I want you to take me. I want you to break me open. To see what I'm missing. Help me feel good again."
The world moved around Trowa, hands pressing against his shoulders as Duo bent down to kiss him firmly. He felt the mattress digging against his back, the fabric bunching uncomfortably against his skin. He wriggled, trying to get comfortable, and Duo lifted up for a moment, helping tug the fitted sheet smooth again. Trowa relaxed, looking up into Duo's face with a sense of calm he hadn't felt in years.
"Make me feel good."
Duo grinned, kissing Trowa with the intent to do just that. Hands carefully traced his body, lips and tongues melding together, skin pressing against skin as Duo gently worked on him. Each touch was deliberate, each catch in his breath and sound drawn out of him intentional. There was no fumbling, there was no questions of if it felt good, because Duo could see it on his face. Trowa couldn't hide himself, wouldn't hide himself, not even as he worshipped Trowa like a treasure, like something that was precious and worthy of attention.
"You're so beautiful," Duo breathed, pressing his lips against the hollow of Trowa's throat. One hand was stroking Trowa's arm, trapped there as an elbow propped Duo and supported him above Trowa's writhing figure. The other hand was between Trowa's legs, working two fingers inside of him with careful precision. He was gazing calmly down at him, steady and sure, and Trowa latched onto it with intent, focused his heart and soul on Duo's never-wavering conviction. He didn't let himself be swept away in a sea of confusion and pain, didn't let himself drown in his thoughts and fears. Duo was there, offering him a world he had been too afraid to experience alone.
Duo broke him apart, like he had promised Trowa. He shattered his defenses, he exposed his fears. He saw Trowa as his most raw, tattered self, and soothed the rough edges. He swept his hand along jagged edges, not fearing the sting of cuts and nicks, but instead softened them, made them less painful for both of them, and as he filled Trowa with his release, sealed those edges and preserved him. Trowa wasn't fixed, he was far from fixed. But he felt less damaged, felt as if there was a chance to be real again, and he sobbed as his own release finally came. It was more than just semen that stained his chest. It was pain, darkness, and misery. He had let some of it go, let Duo draw it out of him, and it was cleaned up as gently as Trowa was.
He let Duo lift him up, let Duo cradle him even as Trowa cried, and let himself be laid down in Duo's bed. Warm arms wrapped around him, holding him tight as Trowa let himself be selfish and cry for what he had lost. What he would never have again.
"I'm here, until death do us part."
"Go ahead and set it on the table," Duo said, gesturing towards the kitchen. Trowa watched as the two men obeyed, moving to unburden themselves with the food they had brought along. Trowa took Wufei and Heero's coats, hanging them in the closet and then offering them a drink. As he left to prepare them, he caught Wufei's question before the door closed between them.
"How's married life treating you?"
He didn't hear Duo's answer, but he didn't need to. Compared to a year ago, their marriage was on a much better path than it had been at the start. While they fought on a regular basis still, there was resolution after. Trowa didn't put Cat's litter in the food anymore, which he knew that Duo appreciated.
They had joined rooms a few months ago, Trowa bringing over his modest amount of clothing and adding it to Duo's, filling both the wardrobe and closet with both their belongings. They shared a bed, shared a house, and shared a purpose. Some days were better than others, and some were much, much worse; but those days were becoming fewer and fewer.
He brought the drinks into the sitting room, placing them on the table before moving back into the kitchen to check on the food.
Duo and Trowa had started the garden behind the house, Trowa's experience with growing plants aiding Duo in learning how to do so as well. They had harvested their first bounty that week, and Duo wanted to celebrate by having a dinner and using them. So they had placed calls, sorted schedules, and spent the day preparing to host three CEOs in their home.
The doorbell rang, drawing Trowa back to the present. Drying his hands on his apron, he moved in quick, sure strides to the door, pulling it open and revealing the smiling face of Quatre Winner.
"Come in, do you want a drink?" Trowa asked, taking the coat and hanging it up beside Heero and Wufei's. Quatre nodded, handing Trowa a small parcel.
"I brought some cider, to go with dinner. I wouldn't mind a glass of water. I take it the others are here already?"
"In the sitting room, feel free to join them."
But Quatre followed Trowa into the kitchen, the door closing firmly behind them as Trowa resumed his cooking.
"How are you doing?"
"…I am doing better."
Quatre smiled, a genuine grin that took ten years off the 25-year-old multi-billionaire. For a moment, Trowa saw again the young, hopeful face that had chased him through tents and wrestled with him in the mud outside the tiger pens, that had given Trowa a glimpse of friendship and love, and had set the path that Trowa would one day walk down. Trowa smiled back, briefly wondering if he'd ever be able to feel as free as he had at that time, when the world was still a bright and cheerful adventure.
"Are you back?" Quatre asked, and Trowa let his eyes trace along his face, memorizing this moment and imprinting it on one of his many pieces.
"I didn't leave," he promised. "I don't think I'll be going anywhere for a while. I'm rather liking where I'm at right now."
Quatre blinked back tears, muttered, "Fuck it," under his breath, and then strode across the room to pull Trowa into a hug, burying his face in Trowa's shoulder. Trowa just let his arms come up and hold him, supporting Quatre as he cried against him, the fabric and flesh muffling the sobs as he let himself go. The air moved as the kitchen door was opened, and he met Duo's eyes as he looked in on the moment. Duo quietly stepped into the room, the door closing soundlessly behind him as he moved to stand by Trowa.
"I never thought that—I had hoped, you know," Quatre said, words thick with emotion and wavering in the air. "I mean, you were so passionate and exciting, and I wanted nothing more than to take you with me when you guys left. But when I thought I found you again, Cathy said you had already left to stay with me, and I knew something was wrong. I looked for you, looked for years, and when I found you… It was awful, Trowa. That boy I knew, that headstrong, cocky, assured performer was gone. You barely knew who you were anymore, barely knew what day it was, what year it was. You didn't even recognize me, yet you didn't even seem to care that I was leading you back to my home. I could have meant you harm, but you were too far gone. I couldn't find you anymore, and no matter how hard I tried, I could never reach you."
Quatre sniffed, rubbing a sleeve against his face. Trowa didn't interrupt, didn't move to help, knowing that he didn't need to. Whatever had been eating at Quatre was finally breaking loose, and Trowa wasn't going to do anything to prevent this burden from being lifted.
"You got off the drugs, got out of rehab, and I did my best to stop you from falling back into old habits. But you still weren't there. Physically, yes, I had you back. You never left my side, and even went so far as to be my personal bodyguard. But mentally? I didn't know where you were half the time. And then there were the times where you would just walk off, and I couldn't be sure that I'd ever see you again. That eventually, you'd walk out the door and I'd have to find you again in some run-down whorehouse on a drug trip."
Duo's hand found Trowa's, lacing their fingers together as a thumb rubbed against his wrist. It was appreciated, but not necessary. He knew what a mess he had been. What pain he must have given Quatre. He had never understood Quatre's dedication to Trowa, his refusal to give up and toss him back to the curb like any other sane person would have done.
"I just wanted my friend back. I just wanted you back. And," Quatre choked on a sob, looking up and giving Trowa such a raw, beautiful smile that Trowa felt his chest ache, "here you are. Hello, I missed you."
"I'm home," Trowa said quietly. "Would you like some dinner?"
"Very much!" Quatre laughed, hiccupping. "Oh hell, look at me. I'm a mess! You'd think I was one of my sisters or something, with all these waterworks."
"No, you're just tired," Trowa corrected. "I'm sorry I couldn't find my way back sooner."
"It's okay, Trowa. We all walk at our own pace."
"All things considered, that didn't take long," Wufei remarked, pushing his way into the kitchen.
"Is that what your wife says?" Trowa asked, and Duo snickered, pressing his face into Trowa's shoulder to muffle the laughter. Wufei turned red and Quatre smirked, but Heero didn't even crack a smile as he walked in behind Wufei.
Instead, he responded with, "I have never needed to say such a thing." He wasn't sure how much more blood could colour Wufei's face, with as red as it was at that moment. Wufei tried to change the subject, to get the conversation back on track.
"With how you behaved at our first meeting, I would have expected this kind of breakthrough several years down the road, not several months."
"Sex heals all wounds, time merely moves it along no matter what," Trowa said sagely, and Wufei spluttered.
"Yes, I have a magic wand that fixes everything," Duo taunted, eyes dancing in merriment. "All it takes is a few waves and a poke, and bam, everything's better."
"Takes more than that, husband," Trowa corrected. "It takes several pokes, too many to count."
"Okay!" Wufei broke in, his voice cracking in his embarrassment. Quatre just laughed, and Heero smirked, his hand rubbing comfortingly at Wufei's shoulder. "I don't need to know this!"
"But you're the one who brought it up," Duo teased. Trowa shook his head.
"Let's eat before the food gets cold. This is a harvest festival, not a sleepover."
Conversation was light and pleasant, the subject of Trowa's stability and recovery never mentioned. Instead, they talked shop for a while, complimented the food and the garden, looked at some of the gadgets that Duo had built at the office, and took their leave. As Trowa moved to close the door behind Quatre, he saw him look over his shoulder and smile.
"Welcome home, Trowa."
This was a commission piece requested by missAmberly! Hope you enjoyed it!