Warnings: language, yaoi (i.e., male/male sexytiems)
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and the characters are not mine. I just fangirl them like nobody's business.

Duo POV

Theme music: "Seven Devils" by Florence + the Machine

Why was it that the best and worst moments of life always came in pairs? A question for the ages.

I stared dumbly at Treize Khushrenada, shocked completely and utterly stupid, as he set Dorothy back down on her feet and, with a charming smile, confided, "I was just making sure your wet bar was fully stocked."

"You didn't!" Dorothy nearly squealed before ducking into the limo. "You did! Champagne!"

He chuckled and, turning to Hilde, said, "Ms. Schbeiker. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise, Mr. Khushrenada."

"Please, call me Treize."

Dorothy clamored back out of the car and threw her arms around him for a second time. "Pink champagne! I knew there was a reason why you're my favorite uncle."

"Yes, of course," he replied good-naturedly.

I thought about tearing his face off, stomping in his sinuses, and feeding what was left to the local wildlife – all two million squirrels, five hundred thousand chipmunks, and three woodchucks. Footage of the feeding frenzy would be a bit hit on YouTube.

Trowa bumped my shoulder and I realized I was strangling the edge of the car door in my white-knuckled grasp.

"Are you going to introduce me to your friends?" Treize prompted his niece. His niece. Holy fuck. Dorothy was his Goddamn niece. How had I not known this? And… hold up. Why did Trowa not look surprised?

"As if you couldn't guess," Dorothy replied with an indulgent eye roll. "I've told you about them often enough. This is Dominic Maxwell and Trowa Barton."

"A pleasure to meet you face to face at long last," Treize said, holding out his hand. I couldn't bring myself to take it.

Thankfully, I had a socially acceptable excuse. I released the car door and held up both hands which were smeared with that exhaust stuff and oxidized rubber junk that inevitably collects around the edges of vehicle doors. "Sorry, man. I'm all covered in car grime."

"Ah. Thoughtful of you to mention it." Treize didn't try to shake Trowa's hand, which was kind of too bad as I sorta wondered what he'd do about it. Watching Khushrenada's arm being yanked out of its socket was guaranteed to brighten up my day. What was left of it, anyway.

"Duo? Trowa? Are you sure you guys aren't coming?" Hilde asked, leaning into the still-open doorway.

"Sorry," I said. "I don't feel like bailing my car out of impound tomorrow morning."

"I could have my driver return it to your home for you," Treize offered and I was this fucking close to seeing how many of his teeth I could knock out with one punch. I didn't care that he'd just nodded toward the two security goons who were lurking next to his sleek, black sedan. I'd take them down, too. Bring. It. On.

But was I seriously going to commit Trowa to this kind of altercation? I wasn't dumb enough to think he'd let me charge in with fists swinging while he waved pompoms from the sidelines and cheered for me.

"No thanks!" I replied through a smile so fake I figured it had to have a "Made in China" sticker on it somewhere. "It has a delicate transmission."

He didn't press, and I was somewhat disappointed. Part of me wanted to just come right out and accuse the bastard of conspiring to plant a bomb under the hood, but then I'd have to explain that little comment to Dorothy. Hilde might believe it was just another random instance of off-key Duo Maxwell humor, but Dorothy wouldn't be fooled.

Damn it.

"Well," Treize said briskly, "that is a pity." Turning to Dorothy, he continued suavely, "Darling, I suppose you and Hilde will have to finish off that champagne by yourselves."

"Mission accepted," Dorothy replied with a smirk. Turning back to the limo, she paused to ask, "Will I see you at brunch tomorrow, Uncle Treize?"

Not if I run him over with my car and throw his body in the Hudson for the fishies to nibble on.

"Of course."

"Bye, Duo! Bye, Trowa!" Hilde called, waving. "Thanks for coming tonight! We'll email you copies of the video!"

As if I cared about any of that now.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trowa nod once in acknowledgement. I managed to do the same. Thank God both she and Dorothy were too distracted by their sparkly, pink drink to notice.

Treize shut the door and the limo pulled away. Despite the lingering presence of my classmates as they whooped and yelled and chased each other around the parking lot, I suddenly felt totally alone. Like it was high noon and I was facing down Treize Khushrenada on the dusty main street of Tombstone.

"Lord Maxwell," Treize began and I suddenly knew that we were moving this game to the next level. Oh, yeah. He knew exactly who I was. That little introduction thing had all been for show, for his niece's benefit. The fucker. He'd been using Dorothy to keep tabs on me and she didn't even know she'd been played. He said with sincerity, "I was saddened to hear about your father's death. Tragic."

Oh my God. I was going to kill him. Witnesses and goons be damned. I gritted my teeth. I felt my hands curl into fists. I didn't realize I was shaking until Trowa grabbed my arm to keep me from moving into a crouch that was gonna result in me springing at the bastard's neck and tearing out his throat with my teeth.

"Yah," Trowa answered in a diamond-hard tone. "It was. If you've come to pay your respects, they're not welcome."

I would tell him how much I loved him later. After I killed Treize and he helped me get rid of the body. Oh, and after I asked how and when he'd found out about Dorothy being related to the sonuvabitch.

"They say actions speak louder than words," Treize remarked. "So I'll just get on with the gesture of friendship I came here to make."

"Right. Because supplying teenagers with pink champagne would ruin your street cred if word got around," I snarled.

He had the gall to laugh. And then he said, "My company has been working closely with the Laotian government to clear the site of the collapsed temple, donating equipment and manpower to the effort."

"Uh huh." He could pretend to be a fucking philanthropist all he wanted but we all knew he was a self-serving, money-grubbing slug playing at war games. Find what you were looking for? I didn't say. I knew he hadn't found it. Otherwise, he wouldn't be here now.

Treize gestured toward his own jacket pocket and, with a knowing grin at Trowa, inquired, "May I?"

Trowa narrowed his eyes and nodded once. Still, he braced himself beside me as if Treize really was gonna pull a gun on us right here, surrounded by high school seniors. But what he actually removed from his pocket was—

"A photo?" I spat. "Is this supposed to be some kind of sick memento?" Here, Duo, this is where we found your father's body. Right here. In fact, if you look closely, you can still see the smudge where he—

Treize affected a wounded expression. "I'm hurt that you think so little of me, Lord Maxwell. No, it is not a memento. It's the image of an artifact the crew recovered."

At the mention of the word "artifact," I snatched the photo from his manicured and moisturized fingers, heart pounding in my throat. I glared at the image, and then I felt the blood drain from my face. I wasn't looking at a photo of that damned half of a key thing that he was after. I was looking at an image of a hunting knife – my hunting knife – the hunting knife I'd dropped somewhere inside the temple, sometime between leaving my dad by the stairs in sight of daylight and going back for Trowa.

"Strange that such a recent item was found at a site which has been abandoned for decades," Treize remarked. "I don't suppose you know how it ended up there?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because your fingerprints are on it."

Fuck. I thought fast. "Gee, what are the odds that the knife I lost in Vientiane would've ended up a couple hundred miles away at that old place?"

Treize smiled widely. "Precisely my thinking."

I wasn't fooled. "So that's your game, is it? You're gonna spin this so it looks like I was there? Are you actually suggesting that I was somehow involved in my own dad's death?" Which was pretty close to the truth. Fuck. "Even if you could get people to believe that, what good would I be to you in prison?"

"Absolutely none," he agreed cheerfully. "But you're assuming that yours are the only fingerprints on this knife and, as you said, you lost it in Vientiane…" He looked expectantly at Trowa.

Oh fuck NO. "Don't you dare," I growled. "You leave Trowa out of this."

"Oh, I am. For now. At the moment, this particular knife has been conveniently misplaced in the Laotian forensics lab archives. But it might, one day in the not too distant future, find its way to an Interpol office." He frowned in a mockery of thought. "Tell me, do they require fingerprint scans when entering England as well as the U.S.? Or is that done during the visa application process now?"

"You—!"

Treize smiled warmly and, with a flick of his fingers, removed a business card from his lapel pocket. He offered it to me with perfect etiquette. "I'll be waiting for your call, Lord Maxwell. I believe you're already familiar with the business venture I'd like to discuss."

I took the card because I couldn't kill him. And if I knew anything about business it was this:

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer," I murmured on a hateful breath as Treize joined the goons by his car and slid into the backseat.

"What?" Trowa asked, probably thinking I'd lost my mind.

Watching the sedan pull out onto the road, I tucked the business card in my pants pocket. The lapel pocket was too good for that piece of trash.

"First rule of living in the jungle," I told Trowa, oddly impressed that I could speak at all. My voice sounded so mellow compared to the seething fury roaring and tearing through my guts. God how I wanted Khushrenada broken and bleeding at my feet, free of charge, with zero repercussions and no refunds or exchanges.

Trowa contemplated my brief explanation for a moment before saying, "That's not a rule where I come from."

"Yeah, well." I shrugged. "Here, the people closest to you are the ones most likely to stab you in the fucking back." Which put me in mind of Dorothy. I contemplated just how close Khushrenada had gotten to me, how close he'd been all this time. Jesus. All he'd had to do was call up his darling niece and ask her about her day and listen to her ramble about her friends from school. Instant Maxwell update.

That slimy, scheming, scum-sucking bastard. He'd drawn first blood.

I insisted on checking the car over before I drove us home. I also took special care to abide by each and every traffic law, to the letter. I probably drove Trowa insane with how careful I was being, but he didn't say a thing. Whenever I glanced in his direction to check the passenger side mirror, his expression was frozen. He looked just like that statue I'd taken him for back in Egypt when I'd climbed out of the Jeep, almost fallen on my ass in the sand, and then nearly had the shit scared outta me by a silent watcher.

I could only guess what he was thinking about and this was not the place to discuss it. I felt like we were being watched, like police officers on patrol were following us, just looking for an excuse to pull us over, haul us in, take fingerprints and start asking questions.

Oh God this looked bad. This looked so epically bad.

"Duo," Trowa said when I just unlocked the front door and marched over to the sofa.

"We're fucked," I replied.

He shut the door, threw the deadbolt, and approached me with caution. "No, we aren't. It'll be fine."

I rolled my head back and glared at him. "No, it won't. He's threatening you! It is not – and it will not be – fine!"

He shrugged as if there was nothing whatsoever to worry about, as if I'd just announced that it was Halloween and I'd eaten all the candy meant for the trick-or-treaters, as if we could just hand out condoms to the kiddies. Problem solved and STDs prevented in the next generation. Two birds with one stone.

Trowa said, "Let him make his accusations."

"Oh, no. No. You did not just say that." Was he insane? Had he developed a dementia-inducing brain tumor in the last hour? Had he gone out frolicking in the forest and been licking frogs while my back was turned?

"What's the problem? It's just a knife. Your father's blood isn't on it."

"It doesn't have to be." I pushed my bangs back from my face. "Goddamnit, Trowa, either you or I or both of us were in the temple where the knife was found. That's what the prosecution is going to argue. Now, if I pay for your legal fees, it's going to look like I conspired with my boyfriend to take my dad out of the picture so I could inherit everything."

"So don't pay my legal fees."

Now he was just being ridiculous. "Sure. OK. Your public defender will have you locked up for the rest of your life by lunch." And just so we were on the same page here, I emphasized, "In prison, Trowa."

"No," he refuted, shaking his head. "The burden of proof is on them. There's reasonable doubt."

I wanted to smack him. As if the written law ever worked out like it was supposed to. As if the justice system was fair. "Prove that you weren't there," I dared him and I was gratified when he looked a little worried. "Prove that you didn't intend to kill him." It was easier for him to shrug that one off, but then I twisted the metaphorical knife for both of us: "Prove that you weren't involved in his death."

His breath caught.

I gave him a grim smile. "Yeah."

He slid down into one of the armchairs that we hardly ever used, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring down at his feet. "What do we do?"

I blinked with surprise and heard myself ask far too sweetly, "Oh, you mean, you knew that Dorothy was Treize's niece but you didn't come up with any contingency plans?"

Trowa looked up at me… and he kept on looking for a long moment. "How could you not know about that? She's your friend."

I stiffened. "She's Hilde's creepy, mansuit-coveting girlfriend! Why would I ask? And how the hell did you find out?"

"I Googled her."

"What?"

He repeated, "I Googled her, Duo. Like I Googled Hilde and Sally and Miles and Rod and your fokken lawyers and anyone that I've met through you, anyone that I've met at my school, anyone—"

"Why?"

He gave me a look of such incredulity that he probably thought I was the one who'd been licking toads and smoking mushrooms. "I'm a merc, Duo! As you like to conveniently forget!"

"I didn't forget! I just don't understand why you'd find out something like this and then not mention it! Not once! Goddamnit, Trowa, this is huge! Do you get that? How could you keep this from me?"

"I wasn't keeping it from you! You had your plate full with the company. I was just doing my job."

His job. Really? "Maybe I was unclear before, but when I said, 'You're not a merc to me,' I meant, 'You shouldn't be a merc for me.'"

"Well, I am one. And while I can't help you deal with stockholders and market research, I can keep an eye on Khushrenada and the people he has watching your every move!"

"Is that what you've been doing?"

"Of course! Why do you think I'm always sending photos in my emails to the captain?"

"What has that to do with anything?"

He huffed out an exasperated breath. "Every time we've gone out, someone has been following us!"

"And you didn't think I needed to know this before now?"

"It's not your job!"

"Damn it, it's my fucking business!"

"And the company isn't enough for you? What were you going to do if I'd told you about Khushrenada hiring okes to shadow us? Plan a fokken counterattack?"

"We'll never know, will we? I wasn't allowed to make that decision!"

He shrank back as if I'd just planted my fist in his gut. Yeah, well, now he knew what it felt like. His betrayal left a hole in my middle. I half expected my guts to spill out if I so much as breathed.

And yet, I couldn't just sit here anymore, either. I couldn't sit here and look at him. It fucking hurt to watch him bury his face in his hands, to watch him stop resisting and just give in to the fact that he'd fucked up. Yeah, I was angry with him, but I hadn't wanted to hurt him. Not like this.

I got up and lurched in the direction of the bathroom. I couldn't deal with this now, not the mess Khushrenada had dumped in our laps or the mess I'd just made of Trowa, or he of me. I'd had enough.

Bracing myself on my arms over the bathroom sink, I thought about puking. I thought about smashing my fist into the mirror. I thought about throwing our still-damp towels on the floor and stomping on them. I thought about going back out into the living room and wrapping Trowa up in my arms and never letting him go.

In the end, I just sighed and shrugged out of my jacket. I couldn't bring myself to let it fall on the floor. This was the jacket my dad had married my mom in and I was the only biological evidence that they'd lived at all. Solo was dead. My mom and dad were dead. I shouldn't care about a fucking tuxedo jacket. This didn't make any sense.

I balled it up gently and tucked it under one arm before I sat down on the commode so I could reach down and untie my shoes. I hated these shoes. I'd worn them in Vientiane. When I kicked them off, the fabric of my trousers rubbed over my knees, creating little vibrations in the bandages Trowa had put on my rug-burned patches of skin earlier. Jesus, had that only been this afternoon? What the fuck had happened to the universe in the meantime? When had it all gone to hell and why hadn't I gotten the fucking Tweet about it?

Standing up again, I dropped my pants on the floor, glanced down, and hissed. Goddamn it, this was just what I needed; there was blood soaking through the bandages on my knees. That'll teach me to breakdance hours after riding Trowa like some kind of rodeo star. "Fuck," I hissed, and then I snorted wryly. Yeah, I guess I could say that again.

Before I decided whether or not it was worth repeating, the bathroom door swung open silently. Huh. I must've forgotten to shut it all the way. Trowa stood on the threshold, his one visible green eye moving up and down, scanning me. His jaw clenched when he saw my knees.

"Bugger all, Duo," he muttered.

I guess this meant I had a reserved seat on the counter again. "Would you believe me if I said I didn't even notice until now?"

He snorted softly and began going through the drawers and cabinets, reassembling his impromptu med kit. I jumped up on the counter, still holding onto that fucking tux jacket like it was a security blanket.

To my surprise, he didn't just rip the tape and gauze off. No, he soaked a washcloth in warm water, wrung it out, and applied it to each of my knees until the bandages just about slid off on their own.

"How can you be so good at the little things," I asked, my mouth on autopilot, "and then totally miss the obvious?"

He paused, breath held for a long moment, and then he sighed. He was scowling as he tossed the used gauze into the little, plastic trash can. "Because that's what I have the most experience at," he shocked me by replying. I'd thought I'd just asked a rhetorical question. "I was never in charge of the big picture until you needed me in Laos."

He was right. I'd put him in charge when he'd arrived in Vientiane: I hadneeded him to be my captain, to tell me what we were going to do and how we were going to do it.

He still wasn't looking at me when he said, "I shouldn't have assumed that I'd earned a second chance at it. You're right. I should have mentioned it."

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

Nodding in the direction of the shower, he said, "Go on. I'll re-bandage your knees when you're done."

Because I had no idea what to say to that, I did as he suggested. He sat on the commode the entire time; I could see him through the pebbled glass of the shower door. I'd just finished washing my hair when he finally spoke.

"The knife… I gave it to you."

For a second, I had no idea where that had come from, but then I realized he was offering yet another alternate explanation to counter Treize's story. I closed my eyes and sighed. "Yeah, so I could help you finish the job of taking my dad out of the picture."

"I wasn't even in the country when he was taken."

"Doesn't mean either of us weren't involved."

"There are dozens of other fingerprints on that knife."

"But ours come with a big, juicy motive attached."

"Just whose side are you on?"

"Yours. You need to understand, baby: it's not the evidence or the justice system that wins out in court; it's the guy who tells the best story."

"No one in their right mind would believe that you wanted your father dead."

"Yeah. Unfortunately, most people are right-handed, which means they're in their left minds."

He sighed. "What are we going to do?" he repeated.

"I'm working on it."

He shook his head.

"You are not allowed to just give up, you got that?"

"…yah."

His defeated whimper didn't engender much confidence. I ordered, "Repeat the hell after me: I, Trowa Barton, sexy South African badass—" He choked out a laugh. "—do hereby promise not to let myself get screwed over by Treize Khushrenada."

"I promise, Duo."

He hadn't repeated it word-for-word, but his tone was strong enough to carry a 2-liter bottle of Mountain Dew, so I figured that was probably the best I was gonna get.

Silence stretched out between us again, lounging in the steam-filled air and smirking his ass off. I slammed the tap shut and felt compelled to ask, "What kind of counter-attack do you think I would've come up with? If you'd told me about Dorothy and the rest of 'em?"

"You would have shut Dorothy out and then Khushrenada would've known that we'd found his informant. The okes following us would've taken more precautions to prevent me from keeping an eye on them."

I thought about that as I dripped in the shower stall. "Yeah. You're probably right about that."

He handed me a fresh towel when I slid the door open and he waited for me to wring the water out of my hair before draping yet another fluffy, warm towel over my shoulders. I sat up on the counter without prompting. I knew better than to wait until I'd finished drying my hair to deal with the strawberries on my knees. By then they'd be scabbed over, dried out, cracked to hell, and bleeding.

It was a total déjà vu moment to be sitting here as Trowa patched me up for a second time today. It was too bad he wasn't naked this time. I wracked my brain for something to say. Trowa was too quiet and it scared me when I tried to imagine what kind of thinking he was doing on the other side of that too-fucking-noble expression of his. For once, my gift of gab epically failed.

I sighed, slumping back against the mirror when the bathroom door shut quietly behind him.

This time, when I thought the word, it didn't seem nearly as funny.

Drying my hair took normally took an eternity and a half. Tonight was no exception. As I worked through it, my mind started nudging me toward bigger and better oh-fuck-I-just-shit-myself fears. I pictured Trowa packing his backpack and walking out the door. Or just walking out the door – sans backpack – and heading over to Khushrenada's posh office and slicing the man's throat open… before turning himself in to the police. That visual was so strong that my hair was just shy of dripping when I could no longer take not knowing where he was or what he was doing. I dumped the blow dryer on the counter and fumbled for the bathroom door. My hands slipped on the condensation-coated knob and I had to bite my lip and force myself to focus.

When I got the freakin' contraption to work, I just about fell into the hallway and, still wrapped in a towel, I barged my way into the living room. It was empty. I headed for my bedroom. No one was there. I tried the music room and I was well and truly scared now because he wasn't sitting at the piano. Goddamn it! Why hadn't I said something? Stopped him? But no, wait. His backpack. If that was still here, then maybe—no, wait! He was probably still packing or digging out his knives. I could stop him! I could tell him I—

I slammed into Solo's old room so hard the door almost bounced back and bashed me in the face. I wouldn't have cared if it had. Trowa was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in his normal PJs: khaki sleep pants and a grey long-sleeved T-shirt. He was ready for bed, but he was just sitting there. The covers were still done up and tucked around the edges of the mattress with military precision. It made no sense for him to be ready for bed, sitting in here on a bed he'd never used with the covers still undisturbed. Fuck it; I'd figure it out later. What was more important was—

You're still here. Oh, Jesus. Thank you.

I would have said the words if I'd had the breath and spit to form them.

It was only when relief released me from my quiet panic that I remembered the fact that I'd put Treize's business card in the pocket of the tuxedo trousers, which were piled up on the bathroom counter. So Trowa wouldn't have known where to find the guy in the first place. But, then again, he was well-versed in the art of Googling by now, wasn't he?

When I continued not speaking, he asked, "All right?"

"Uh…" I honestly didn't know.

"Your hair's still wet," he observed just as I asked, "What're you doing in here?"

"What's it look like?" he asked with a self-directed sarcastic grin. Christ but it was like looking in a mirror. He had my smirk, my sarcasm… the whole shebang.

I squinted at him. "Like you're plotting to kill Khushrenada in a way that leaves me off the hook."

His chuckle was dark. "Good guess."

"But seriously," I continued with sudden desperation, not willing to focus any of my attention on imagining a knife, a wire, or a wooden stake in his hands, hands that had touched me and molded me into someone who needed him, someone who would go insane without him, "if you're tired, just come to bed."

He jerked and looked up at me for the first time since I'd accused him of mercing behind my back. Incredulous, he rasped, "Would I be welcome?"

What the hell kind of question was that? "Shall I go write you an invitation?" He'd never needed one before. In fact, if I remembered correctly, he'd hauled my ass into my own bed our first night here together. Talk about taking the initiative.

He didn't answer. He just, y'know, watched me.

Belatedly, it occurred to me that he'd come in here for a reason. "Oh. OK. Uh, if you wanna be alone, I can understand that." Not really, but it seemed like the right thing to say. I had to give him a choice, after all.

"You don't?"

I honestly had no idea what was going on with him. I'd never seen him like this before. "Why would I?"

Trowa blinked and, in the next heartbeat, gestured in the direction of the living room. "Perhaps because of what was said out there?"

Hold up. "What did I say?" Were we arguing some more? Because, if we were, it'd be nice to know what we were arguing about.

"You don't trust me."

"Dude! I just took a shower with you sitting on the Goddamn toilet. What the fuck? When did I say I didn't trust you?"

"When you told me I took your choice away."

"Well, you did. That doesn't mean I don't trust you."

"That doesn't make any sense!"

Oh, God. What a fucking mess. And it was starting to give me a headache.

I marched into his room and sat myself down on his lap, deliberately choosing the most precarious and vulnerable position I could: I straddled his thighs. My towel gaped open. My toes just barely brushed the floor. The edge of the mattress was pressing into my shins. I had zero traction. I placed my hands on his shoulders and urged, "Trowa, look at me." I watched as he did, his gaze moving from my thighs, skipping over the peepshow I was giving him courtesy of the slightly-too-small towel, roving up my chest, and then meeting my gaze. "Look at me." I gripped his shoulders harder. "Do you really think I don't trust you?"

I held my breath.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

I waited.

And then, with a sobbing sigh, he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me close, and pressed his face to my bare shoulder. Oh, thank God. Thank you Jesus and Krishna and Allah and Jehovah and whoever the hell else was out there.

"All I want is you," he murmured. "Yet all I ever do is fail you."

"That's bullshit," I told him.

He shook his head.

My fingers twitched. I was this freaking close to wringing his neck. "Look, this is… normal. This miscommunication stuff. It happens all the time. In families."

"Family?"

"Isn't that what you want?" I checked, lifting my left hand and deliberately brushing the ring he'd given me over his jaw. "Isn't that why you asked me to… er…" I cleared my throat. "Why you gave me this ring?"

"Partners," he answered.

"Eh?"

"You asked what I wanted. I want us to be partners."

"Oh. Well, as long as I'm wearing this ring, that's the end game."

He leaned back and looked at me. His eyes were dry. Hallelujah.

Smiling for him, I placed my hand over the pendant I'd given him. "Right?"

His hands pressed up my back beneath my damp hair, warm against my cooling skin. "Right," he replied, tilting his chin up in a mute request for a kiss.

I obliged. We were far too exhausted to manage much more, but I needed this affirmation like I needed to breathe. Damn, but he'd scared the crap outta me. And frustrated the daylights outta me. And was now kissing the hell outta me. From where I was sitting, I would have felt it if he'd gotten hard and, conversely, it would have been pretty tough to miss if I had, but it was almost three o'clock in the morning and we were both done in.

"C'mon," Trowa murmured, reaching for the covers and tearing them loose with a jerk of his arm. I dropped my towel on the floor and slid into bed. He followed and wrapped me up in his arms when I shivered against the cool sheets. "Thank you," he murmured into my hair.

"For what, baby?"

"For forgiving me."

"You're not gonna do it again, are you?"

"I was raised a merc, Duo. I might."

"Well, if you catch yourself keeping information from me…?" I prompted, determined to give him a test he could pass.

"I'll tell you. I promise."

"Then there's nothing to forgive."

And there wasn't.

I laid there in my brother's old bed, holding onto my boyfriend, my soulmate, my partner, and I thought about the shit Treize was equipped to deal out… to my Trowa.

I thought about his plans… to take away my Trowa.

I thought about packing our backpacks and making for the Canadian wilderness, but I knew Trowa would never agree to that. He'd never let me give up my whole life so I could hide out in the boonies with him. I thought about the forensics report at the house in Colchester and what interest – if any – the authorities would have in it, but discarded that avenue as well. The more public this became, the more careful Khushrenada would become… and the more I'd have to lose.

I thought and I raged and I pondered in the dark with only Trowa's even breaths to mark the passage of time. Sometime around dawn, an idea came to me suddenly, miraculously. There actually was a path that did not lead Trowa to either prison or deportation. There really was a way for me to counter that smug sonuvabitch. Holy fuck. I had a plan and it was gonna work. Unfortunately, I was pretty sure Trowa wasn't gonna like it much.

I fisted my left hand in his T-shirt until the glass ring he'd given me pressed into the flesh of my finger. He stirred in his sleep and nuzzled my shoulder. "Hmm…"

Tears prickled the backs of my eyes as I smiled gleefully up at the ceiling in the gloaming. It was my turn to save Trowa. This was my chance to finally save someone. I could do this. I understood how Khushrenada's mind worked and it was gonna be the bastard's downfall. Oh, yeah. It was time to give the man exactly what was coming to him. It was time for the God of Death to come out and play.

NOTES:

As you've probably already guessed, action-y goodness starts now. The chapters will be shorter (and the POV will shift back and forth) but the great news is that there's going to be something like 11 or 12 parts to The Quest. Yay! ...right?