Epilogue

Duo POV

Theme music: "Standing Ovation" by Good Charlotte

Notes: I've edited out the sexytimes. If you'd prefer to read the unedited version, you can do so on Archive of our Own (a.k.a. AO3)


I'd been planning for this day for a long, long, loooong time. That didn't necessarily mean I wanted to get out of bed and get on with it but, damn it, we were on a schedule.

I wrapped myself tighter around my lover, murmuring a breath against the scars peeking out from the armhole of his tank top and squirming myself closer to his heat. Despite the years, I was still crushing harder with every passing day on this South African, former mercenary.

"Hnn," he groaned sleepily. "Skort, love. Keep on with that and we'll end up in a press."

My lips stretched into a grin against the swell of his enviable arm muscles. "Promise?" I added a lick for emphasis.

The moment he started turning over, I tucked my arms in and rolled right off the bed, taking the bed sheets with me. Thank God we'd added a couple of rugs to this room. I dive bombed onto the one on "my" side of the bed, landing with an oomph and a cackle, looking up with a grin just as Trowa's sleep-mussed bedhead peered over the edge at me.

"Where do you think you're chucking off to, bokkie?"

"Got a date."

That earned me an arched brow. "At—" He checked his wristwatch. "—half past seven in the morning?"

"Yup."

I grinned as he lowered his forehead to the edge of the mattress. "Nooit. Arse back in this bed. We have loads of time yet."

I wiggled out of the sheets that I'd stolen. "Well, if you don't wanna go be awesome with me, then I guess I'll call my backup fun-times pal."

"Howard will slam the door in your face after he tells you to bugger off."

"You're gonna send me over to Howard's for bugging?" I teased, playing dense. "That's cruel, babe. Cruel."

"It's buggering," he corrected me, still muttering at the mattress, "and no one other than me had better have the privilege."

Taking a chance, I shuffled closer on my knees and grabbed his head so I could speak through his silky hair, "Then up 'n' at 'em, gorgeous. We got names to take and ass to kick."

With a torso-heaving sigh, he lifted his face, angling for a brief kiss. "Let's do this-" he proposed, "-you climb back up here and take my arse instead."

"Tempting, Trowa. Trowa Tempting," I sing-songed, recalling our introductions on a sandy Egyptian evening a decade ago. "But…"

"Arse, butt, bum… any of those will do, thank you."

I snorted. "C'mon. You're totally awake. And this is happening. You need this. Trust me."

He flopped over onto his back. I stood up and braced my hands on either side of his head, looking upside-down at him.

"Do you trust me?" I asked into those green eyes.

He let out a long breath. "Can I have coffee first?"

I snorted. "Can you have coffee. Jesus. I'm not out to torture you, y'know."

"Well that's good news at least."

I pushed myself away from the bed and threw open the wardrobe doors, grabbing the first pile of clothes that I'd put together last night. "Comin' atcha," I warned him as I chucked the bundle at the bed. He caught it against his chest, picking apart the folds of fabric with an adorable nose-wrinkle.

"Duo."

"Yeah, babe?"

"Is this… spandex?"

"You know it!" I was currently wiggling into my own set of black duds. Trowa looked up as I finished tweaking the body suit into place. He was clearly not complaining about how it looked on me. I shrugged on my flak vest and scooped up the duffel I'd squirreled away in the back. I checked my watch. "Coffee should be done perking. Just lemme brush my teeth and the bathroom's all yours."

When I came back out, duffel bag still in hand because after all the trouble I'd gone to for this like hell was I letting him have any clues about what we were gonna be doing this morning, Trowa blocked my path with an arm braced in the doorway. He was wearing his set of super spandex and holy fuck was he hot in it.

"Tell me we're not going out in public like this," he purred against my minty lips.

I smiled. Very slowly. "Are you kidding? If anyone other than me sees you in this get up, I'll have to kill them."

Pressing myself against him, I deliberately rubbed our bodies together, generating enough heat to summon that dopey, drowsy look which I believed was commonly referred to as bedroom eyes… before I ducked under his arm and dashed out of our room on the fourth floor. "See you downstairs in ten!"

"Or else what?" he growled.

"No coffee for you! Bwahahaha!"

He made it downstairs with thirty seconds to spare. Which was good because denying him caffeine on today of all days would have been just plain not nice. I leaned a hip against the freestanding butcher's block in the middle of the kitchen and watched him watch me over the rim of his cup. How did the guy get sexier with every day? Just… no idea on that one.

"Where's your ring?" he asked, setting the empty cup aside.

"In a safe place."

His brow lifted at the juicy hint I'd just given him. "Are we about to get on with being unsafe?"

"In a manner of speaking," I confessed with a shrug. I unzipped the duffel bag with a flourish and tossed a set of knee guards at him. Gray ones. Mine were black.

Trowa cocked his head at me as I bent over to slide mine on. When I reached for the elbow guards, I chastised, "Someone's about to get left in the dust."

"You'd leave a man behind."

"Depends on the man's behind."

"Mercenary."

I chuckled as I twisted the first elbow guard into place. "I know one who'd make the cut."

"What else have you got in that bag?"

"You'll see."

He sure as hell did when I passed him the holsters and then the handguns and finally the clips of ammo. He balked. "Duo. What-?"

"They're rubber bullets," I assured him, "but wear a helmet anyway, would ya? It'll make me feel better."

He took it from my hands. I grabbed mine from the completely deflated duffel bag and headed for the backdoor with a brisk stride. I could hear the whisper of his footsteps just behind me. Down the hall. Over the threshold. Across the backyard to the barn door where I paused, put my own helmet on, and gave him the rundown: "Quatre's latest toy is inside. It's got a body-heat targeting laser. You'll feel the hit, but it won't burn. Six hits and you're done, so we're gonna have to take this bad boy down before it takes us out."

"Who's going to know if we've been hit?"

"Quatre. Computer uplink."

"Bugger and fuck." He chambered a bullet into his first handgun and I was this close to licking the tips of his bare fingers. He might not be a merc anymore, but that didn't mean he couldn't make my brain short circuit just by handling a gun well. All business now, he murmured, "Right. I'll go first. Distract it. How many hits will it take to drop the fokken thing?"

"Dunno."

"What?"

"Prototype," I explained. "Hasn't been through Quality Control yet."

Trowa smirked, leaned in, and kissed me gently. "You really do know how to show an oke a jol."

"I try." I grinned. He shifted away. Flipped the helmet visor into place. I grabbed for his shoulder harness. "Hold up. Lemme go first; you're the better shot."

"Duo, don't-"

But I already was. Because, of the two of us, I was by far the fastest. The door squealed open and I was already rolling across the packed-dirt floor, coming up behind my first chosen cover. I didn't pause before I was on my way toward the second and the "zrrrrm!" of a laser hummed in my ears.

Hah! Missed me.

I sat back against my second cover. Paused. Drew a deep breath. Rolled back to the first cover.

The bipedal robot - just under two meters tall and designed for the dual purpose of scientific investigation and rescue operations - spent precious micro-seconds recovering from the trajectory it had expected me to take. I squeezed off two rounds - pop-pop! - and then I was rolling back to the stack of wooden crates that had served as my second cover before performing a squirming retreat toward the empty oil drums that would serve as Cover Number 3.

I could hear the sound of the machine's footsteps - whirrrt! whirrrt! whirrrt! - as it stalked me. I was gonna have to take a hit to get out of here unless-

A dark shape darted through the sunbeams across the way. The robot sidestepped toward the safety of the stack of cinder blocks that I'd used as my second cover, but Trowa got one shot off. The bullet hit something in the robot's vulnerable neck joint; I heard the crackle of a spark.

I dashed for my next post, getting a whiff of electrical smoke in the process.

Ducking down, I scrabbled to safety behind the old, riding lawnmower just as another "zrrrrm!" sent the air molecules vibrating.

Missed me again. Hot damn, I was on a roll!

The soft noises of the robot's mechanisms ensured that I knew where the thing was at all times as I wove and dodged, firing at the robot's casing whenever it started to zero in on Trowa's position across the way. Divide and conquer: Trowa and I divide and then we conquer the shit that stands between us. Hell yeah.

My shots put some dents in the pretty, white, metal housing, but that was about it. My contribution to this shoot 'em up, stress-burning merc-off was dangling my ass in its sights so Trowa could take out more vital junctures of wiring.

"I feel like we're missing something here, babe!" I hollered over another round of sparking and electronic wheezing.

The robot whirled toward me, its metal fingers clanking in anticipation of getting a hold on me. Wasn't gonna happen. But I was gonna take a hit. Nothin' for it now. I grabbed for a knotted loop of rope and kicked the cinder block off of the release lever. Alley-oop! I soared up toward the hayloft. With the sound of the air rushing past my ears and the pop-pop! of Trowa's attack, I didn't hear the laser. Sure as shit felt it, though. A hot spot right on my lower ribs. Ouch!

But I rolled across the hay-strewn boards and out of sight before the enemy got a second shot.

"Status!" Trowa barked.

"Rib shot. Not fatal." I clattered over the boards, making no attempt whatsoever to muffle the sound of my footsteps. "Shit!"

"What?"

"I got it! We're missing the theme music, man!"

Trowa snorted. "Next time, bokkie. A little help now-now?"

Grasping the railing with my legs, I swung down and fired off two rounds at the enemy, stopping it in its tracks. Trowa made it over to the four wheeler, which offered minimal coverage, but I figured he was well aware of this. I pulled myself back up and out of the line of sight before the laser went off again.

"Whadaya say, babe? Are we all warmed up?"

"Depends. What's Phase Two?"

I chuckled. Soft and low. Which was pretty much self-explanatory.

The next shot Trowa fired off managed to bust the robot's camera lens. I heard the glassy crack! and leaned over to take aim at the audio-receiver holes in the thing's helmet-like head. Trowa silently relocated himself away from where the robot had last sensed him. Sure enough, the laser shot out at the four wheeler, uselessly hitting tire tread.

I shot again as Trowa pulled himself up the wooden slats nailed into the wall and up to the hayloft.

"Hey," I breathed, "you made it."

Rolling his way, I let him scoop me up in his arms as I flipped up our face guards for a quick, hard kiss.

"Do the honors?" I asked, nodding to the canvas-covered industrial sink I'd had it lifted up here the day before. Howard had known better than to ask for specifics.

"Your looker OK with this?" was all he'd wanted to know as I'd pushed things around and finished with set-up.

"He's gonna love it," I had assured him.

Trowa confirmed my estimate with a smirk and a twinkle in his visible eye. "Ready, bokkie."

"Sweet. Let's smash some robot." I grabbed the knotted rope and swung myself out over the open barn space, drawing out Quatre's latest Anime-inspired design. God, the guy was such a geek. But what else could I expect from the chief consultant for the Maxwell Labs Robotics Division?

I slammed both feet into the wall opposite. The barn shook. The robot wobbled into the open after me. Trowa tripped the level and dropped the load.

CRASH!

Spitzzzzz spitz zzz-zzt!

Whirrrrrrrrle-ff.

Pssssh.

"We've got smoke!" I declared.

"Victory," he summarized.

"Hah!" I scrambled down the rope. Trowa was already there to greet me. We didn't bother with the mess. Quatre's latest not-so-wonderful wonder wasn't in danger of burning the place to the ground, so we hauled ass back to the house. Burst through the door with our lips already damp from open-mouthed kisses. From the first floor lounge, I could hear the beep of the answering machine and Quatre's irate voice:

"Duo! Trowa! What in the world have you done to Sandrock! I said you could test him out, not obliterate him! Duo! DUO! You pick up this phone right now or so help me-!"

Whatever he needed help with would have to wait. According to today's itinerary, it was Shower Time.


We washed up. We dried my hair. As always, it was a team effort when we were on a schedule. Trowa helped me with the hair bands. This was not a Casual Braid kind of day. This was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of day, but Trowa was relaxed and smiling instead of freaking out and itching to wrestle someone, so I figured my plans for the morning had worked out all right.

We had sandwiches with Howard at his place and then I tossed Trowa the car keys. The radio stayed off during the drive to town. I chatted, told some anecdotes, pestered Trowa to offer up his share, and then I navigated us through London to our destination.

We were early, but that was fine. Rehearsal and final checks, y'know. I stood where I was told to and smiled when Trowa looked my way. It wasn't until we took our garment bags to the changing room that I realized there was more than just nerves going on here.

"I'm so sorry, Duo."

"What?" Were we canceling this shindig?

He hung up his garment bag and then took mine from my hands. Unzipping it, he sighed, saddened. "I promised myself I'd never make you wear one these."

"Babe. You aren't making me do anything." He didn't look at me. Just stared at the sight of my new tuxedo. "This thing-tonight-I want to be here and I want to wear this for you."

Trowa swallowed thickly. His fingers tightened. "But you don't have to. You can wear whatever you like."

I reached out and covered his hands with mine. "Trowa, look at me."

Drawing in a breath, he did.

I told him, "This isn't uncomfortable for me. Not at all. It's a privilege."

He blinked, his breath catching.

"May I?" I asked, suddenly realizing that I hadn't asked. I'd just assumed he would be OK with whatever I was OK with. Sometimes I could still be a real-

Trowa's lips on mine stopped that train of thought. A soft, knee-weakening press of warm skin-on-skin and then he pulled back. He let me look into his eyes which were suspiciously misty. "Yah," he answered. Just that. But, to be honest, words weren't really necessary.

Once we dressed, ate a couple of power bars apiece, and checked our teeth, it was time for us to part ways.

Trowa gave me another kiss, cradling my face in both of his talented hands, and I wrapped my arms around his waist. I held him until there was a knock on the door.

"See you soon," he told me quietly.

"I'll see you first."

He left with a smile curving his lips. I took a deep breath and headed out to the lobby to wait and, eventually, do the meet-and-greet.

Thomas Darlian and Relena were among the first to show up. Thomas had a couple dozen new gray hairs, but Relena looked good. Successful. Clearly, she was kicking ass and taking names at her dad's law firm.

Wufei and his little girl arrived shortly thereafter, saving me from small talk about lawyer things. I didn't have to fake my enthusiasm at meeting the child he had literally gone to war for, and I learned that she was currently playing the violin-

"But I wanna play the cello," she asserted with a formidable glare at her father. Holy hell. How old was she? Six or seven? What a spitfire. I wished Chang luck. I was pretty sure he was gonna need it.

Hilde was still putting on her lipstick as Dorothy dragged her through the double-doors. The hug my best friend gave me was surprisingly strengthening and when I straightened up, I found my posture infused with renewed vigor.

I was somewhat surprised that Quatre made an appearance… given what Trowa and I had done to his precious Sandrock just - I checked my watch - ten hours ago. "Does this mean we're forgiven?" I dared.

"Not at all. This means I'm already working on the payback."

Ooh, boy. This was gonna be fun. Heh. But what else could I expect from the guy who basically ran the Maxwell Labs Robotics Division?

Though Trowa hadn't voiced any objections when I'd told him my idea for starting up a robotics section in the company and recruiting Quatre for it, I'd sensed something was off. It had taken a visit to Howard before I'd clued in: Trowa had been jealous. Not necessarily of Quatre specifically, but that there were parts of my life that I would more readily share with someone from a privileged background.

"What the hell am I supposed to do about that?" I'd bitched at Howard.

"What would you want from him if the situation were reversed?"

While I was generally wary of accepting food from Howard, I couldn't deny that he had the ability to dish out excellent food for thought.

So, a few days later, I'd asked Trowa if he'd like to attend a business reception with me.

Trowa had frozen stiff, no longer using his fork to convey that night's reheated mac-n-cheese to his mouth.

Watching me carefully, he'd repeated, "A reception?"

"Yeah. It's basically a formal business party. Dinner. Schmoozing in suits. That kind of shit. I, uh, actually already declined. Technically, I'm still allowed to refuse these things - while I'm in mourning for my dad and all - but yeah, it's an annual thing that Sheikh Raberba Winner throws. My dad's always attended, though, so they sent me an invite outta courtesy. Nobody really expects me to go this year, but I should have told you about it - asked you - before I said 'no.' I'm sorry."

I would never forget his reaction: the way he'd seemed to start breathing again or the way he'd reaffirmed his grip on his fork one long finger at a time. "There's naught to be sorry for. Some larny dinner halfway to-it's not… I've no place in that."

"It is absolutely your place. Being there right next to me is-I mean, OK, I completely understand if you honestly don't want to deal with corporate shit or if I haven't earned it. I know it's asking a lot and-"

"Stop. Why would you say a thing like that?"

"Because I want you to come with me. Not this year, obviously, because I already sent my regrets, but from next time, yeah."

"For-what. For backup?"

"No. Yes. Damn it. Because I'm wearing your ring. And this is what couples do. And…"

"I'll just embarrass you."

"Not possible, Tro. After everything we've been through together, that would never happen."

His silence had sliced through my gut like a buzz saw. Several of them. On the highest setting.

I'd abandoned my seat on the sofa and crouched on the rug at his feet, ignoring the slight twinge in my nearly-healed thigh. I'd paid attention to only him, so I'd seen the exact moment the realization had hit: this was important enough for me to beg him for if necessary.

"Please, Trowa. I want you with me. I want you to be a part of everything I do. Including business. If you're OK with that."

"How can I be? Duo, I've no fokken idea how to behave in a room full of toppies."

"So I'll give you some pointers, but you're a smart guy, Tro. And you've got a hell of an instinct for people. You can do this. And, if you wanna try, then I definitely want you to be there." I'd grinned. "Hell, you know I'll give you a blow-by-blow account after the fact if you opt out, but it's not gonna be very entertaining since I'll just be missing you like crazy the whole stupid, boring time."

To Trowa's continued hesitation, I'd launched a final volley: "I'm heading an international company, so this is my responsibility, but my dad used to take my mom to these things and then, after she died, he started taking me… to help me prepare, yeah, but now I'm in charge and you're my plus one."

"I'm your…" He'd blinked at me as the full weight of what I was saying sank in: I was asking him to attend these functions as my partner, my confidante, my other half, my spouse.

"Just think about it?"

"I don't need to think about it. I'll go. Mos, yah."

Yeah. I couldn't stop myself from grinning as I recalled how we'd celebrated immediately after. They say you'll always remember your first time and I most certainly always would. That night - the feel of Trowa's hands and hips and hardness as he'd opened my body and filled me for the first time - I would always remember.

The next time I'd brought up the issue of calling Quatre up with that job offer, Trowa had merely kissed me and wished me luck. I hadn't really needed the luck, but Tro's support? Hell yeah, I'd needed that.

I hadn't been surprised that no arm-twisting had been required to sign Quatre on. In fact, right up until last year, the guy had been running the whole show at the lab, but with his father's failing health, he'd been forced to return home. It was still good to have him consult… even if the guy was a sneaky little sadist. It was entirely possible that that was something Trowa actually liked about him.

In any case, it had been ages since Trowa had gotten jealous. Of course, that might also be because I shamelessly scheduled corporate shit around his plans. If I wasn't with Trowa, then I was a call away and he knew it. Anytime. Anyplace. No exceptions.

Yeah, the last few years had been tough, but worth it. The company was doing well, expanding into new sectors as technology opened up new opportunities. That was my contribution, mostly. I didn't have much influence on daily operations, though I was fully aware that my decisions could and would affect the working conditions of our employees.

Some quarters were better than others, but so long as we weren't in the red, I figured I must be doing something right.

"Aweh, Duo!"

Speaking of doing something right! I felt a huge grin at the sight of Bodrick Barton, head of residential security in Lagos. The man had even put on a suit for the occasion. Trowa was gonna be slack-jawed with shock. Good thing my phone was charged and stashed in my pocket, ready for snapping photos!

"Captain, sir!" I greeted, shaking his hand before turning to Bryce and Martins and… hell, the whole troupe was here. Well, the fellas who had helped raise my Trowa. I could thank these guys for having Trowa's back every day for a million years and it still wouldn't come close to being enough.

"Thank you so much for coming all this way," I told them. "He probably won't admit to it, but it means the world to Trowa to have you guys here for this."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," the Captain insisted.

Bryce hemmed, "Well, maybe for a date with Cathy, I would've."

Martins punched him in the arm. Right where his old knife wound scar was. "Shut up about your wife already, man. This night ain't about you."

"Then what the hell am I doing here in a damn suit?"

"Cleaning up. You ought to try it once before you buy the farm. Just so we know what to tell the undertaker to expect."

I snorted. God, these dudes were a riot. "No harm in looking handsome while you're still alive, man."

"Damn straight. I'm sharing my beauty with the world."

"Blinding them, more like."

I waved an usher over before busted seams and headlocks happened. Waved them off as they were led to their seats. Always a pleasure seeing Trowa's family. Yupper.

Not ten minutes later, Heero Yuy tried to slip past me, but I forced a moment of eye contact and a formal Japanese bow on him. The guy still didn't have much in the way of small talk to share with the world, but he was a dedicated scientist. The company had asked him to work on several projects over the years, but aside from video conferences, I hadn't seen him much. Japan was quite the hop-skip-and-big-ass-jump away.

Professor G was almost fashionably late, the ass. He even went to the trouble of a disdainful sniff as we shook hands. Still, the buzzard didn't fool me. He was pleased as rum punch to be here.

So was I.

I checked my watch and although the lobby was full-to-bursting with people, I needed a moment.

I took the long way around, going so far as to duck into a corner with my phone lifted to my ear to avoid making eye contact and offering obligatory handshakes to people I'd only met in passing. I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, and let myself feel the thrum of energy in my body. God, today was huge. Six years' worth of sweat, stress, and tears. And if I was this wound up, how the hell was Trowa doing?

I nearly called him, but he'd have his phone off by now. Getting his head into the zone. Hell, he was probably calmer than me.

I forced myself to head back to the lobby for one more round of smiling and insisting on how happy I was to be here. Which was true. Maybe my laugh was a little sharp and my grin too wide, but these people didn't know me well enough to tell the difference. So it was fine.

The lights dimmed once… twice… and the chatter simmered down to hushed murmurs as the guests moved into the auditorium. I found my seat easily and sat down beside Bodrick who was scowling thoughtfully at his program. I glanced over and saw the short article that had probably caught his attention.

"Ah. Tro didn't tell you about all of that, did he?"

The captain shook his head. "A bit of it. But the film things and awards, no. Not a peep."

I shook my head and sighed. "Though he fully deserves it, don't skop him too hard over it, yeah?"

"Yah," the man agreed on a chuckle. "A good skopping never taught him much anyways."

Didn't I know it! I'd gotten more through to him with soft words than I ever had with a no-holds-barred session on the wrestling mat. So, yeah. Bodrick and I were in agreement on that one.

Ahead of us, the curtains whispered open, revealing a stage. Seats and stands had been arranged in the classic series of nested half circles. The percussion section was already set up in the back. There was movement from the wings as the performers appeared, instruments in hand, and moved to their chairs. I applauded with the rest of the audience.

"It helps," Trowa had told me once. "It helps get you to where you need to go without tensing up."

When everyone was in place, the first chair violinist rose and played a single long note to which the entire string section joined in, adjusting their tuning.

The violinist sat and the principal flutist stood, played a different note, and the woodwinds joined in, filling the air above our heads with something warm. Vibrations, according to the scientific instruments Maxwell Labs made. Spirit, according to the players whose very breath we were experiencing.

And then, the conductor appeared.

I stood, applauding the figure he cut as he moved across the front of the stage in his new tuxedo. His hair had been slicked aside and tucked behind one ear so I could see both of his green eyes, which unerringly met mine.

"I can't do this. In front of all those people," Trowa had fretted in my arms the night before. "I can't."

"Then don't. Do it for me. Ignore everyone else and do it for me. Do it because I know you can and I want you to and I'm rooting for you one-hundred-and-nine-million percent."

I saw him and he saw me. He smiled as he took a bow.

Turning his back on the fading applause, he stepped up to the podium, looked to the right and received a nod of readiness from the concertmaster in the violin section. Trowa looked to the left and got another nod from the principle flutist. He looked out across the full orchestra. He lifted his arms.

A complete hush fell over the audience as the musicians lifted their instruments.

With a twitch of the conductor's shoulders, it began.

The world's first full-length concert of works composed and arranged and conducted by Trowa Barton.

Most music school graduates, even the most talented alumni from Julliard and Berklee, had to schmooze for years for a shot at something like this but, luckily, I'd been saving my pennies for a while. So when Trowa had asked what I'd like for Christmas this year, I'd told him: this. This is what I wanted. My contribution was the money to make it happen. His gift to me was the music.

The music, which swelled and then softened. Stopped for a breathless moment. Marched with pride and slithered with cunning and rolled with joy. The music, which was incredible and real and filled with Trowa. I could hear him, his memories and heartache and hopes and laughter and love, in every chord and solo.

I had to grab for my stupid handkerchief and dab at my face before the lights came on for the intermission. Beside me, I saw Bodrick doing the same.

I didn't say anything as people stood up and began milling around. Bodrick sat forward, elbows on his knees, turned his face toward me and said one word, "Dankie."

I sucked in a shaky breath. "No, Captain. Thank you."

As the man grinned at me through his beard, Martins reached around and punched my arm. Bryce gave my shoulder a pounding on his way to the restroom. I stayed in my seat until the lights dimmed again.

When the curtains parted once more, a single figure emerged to applause. It was Trowa and I gasped at what was in his hand. The lights gleamed off of the silvery flute and I gaped as he bowed to the audience, looked into my eyes, lifted the instrument to his lips, and began to play.

The opening notes of Chopin's Nocturne Number 9, Opus 2 soared into the theater.

Oh, God. He hadn't told me he could-this was-Jesus. This was an adaptation of the version he played for me on the piano but he hadn't told me he could do this on the flute.

I shouldn't be surprised, though. Trowa was good - really good - on the piano, but from the moment he'd picked up a flute, we'd both known he'd found his true calling. There was nothing he couldn't play on a flute. Hell, I'd even dared him to give his best shot at Queen's We Will Rock You and damned if he hadn't pulled it off. Ending on a smirk, even. Smug, sexy, talented jerk.

But this. Chopin. My song. He really was giving this music to me. Just me.

I tried not to start crying until he'd taken his bow and left the stage, but I failed. I could either feel the music and release the tears, or I could resist both. So, yeah, I cried. But I was smiling, too. I was, however, too distracted by the look in his eyes to applaud at the end. From the soft grin curving his lips, I didn't think he minded.

He bowed and left the stage, and I was finally able to breathe easily. Bodrick reached over and gave my forearm a fatherly pat. The gesture almost made me start crying again. Damn it.

Thankfully, it was time to applaud the return of the orchestra. We waited through tuning. We applauded the return of the conductor, and the hall fell silent again in anticipation of the second half of the concert.

Trowa had put a lot of thought into this. I knew this because I'd seen him scribbling and fussing with compositions at the piano for months. Whenever business had allowed me near either the music room in New York or the one in Colchester. According to the program, the entire second half was a medley comprised of the compositions that Trowa had won awards on interspersed with variations on some of the film scores he'd written for student and independent film productions.

It has been a busy six-and-a-half years, lemme tell ya.

"Duo?" Trowa asked as I caught up with him backstage following an encore. "Was it-?"

I kissed him. To hell with the dudes from the cello section and a couple of saxophonists hanging around. I kissed him and I took my time, too. "Beautiful," I said against his lips before another slow kiss. "Incredible." I painted his lips with the tip of my tongue. "Amazing." One more taste and then I concluded, "Perfect. Thank you."

His smile. It was never gonna not make my heart race.

Trowa kept an unapologetic hand on my waist for pretty much the entire reception. We circulated through the lobby and I mostly smiled and offered moral support while Trowa accepted congratulations from champagne-sipping and hors d'oeurvre-nibbling fans, former classmates, filmmakers, and music professors. I was tempted to steal G's glass of champagne and ban him from the bar after I overheard his nasally voice claiming for the fourth time that he'd been the one to discover Trowa Barton.

"Jesus, his voice carries," I complained sotto voce into Trowa's ear.

He chuckled. "Be thankful you've never had nightmares about it, bokkie."

"Oh, hell."

"It was. Absolutely."

Our gazes met and I offered him an apologetic squeeze to the fingers riding my waist. Yeah, there had been a lot of nights when work and school had pulled us in separate directions.

Remembering all the times my phone had rang late at night, I told him, "I'm glad you called me, though."

"As well."

I didn't say that since he was done with school, we'd be able to spend more time together. Naw, if tonight was any indication, he was gonna be just as busy as I was in the coming weeks, months, maybe years. We'd just have to wait and see.

I was good at that: waiting. When the principal flutist came over to talk flute things with Trowa, I took a moment to glance down at the glass ring on my finger. I didn't wear it all that often because I was afraid I'd break it. I had a plain silver one for everyday use. But tonight was special.

Very special, as it turned out.

After wrangling Quatre, Wufei, and even Heero into agreeing to coming out to the house for dinner the following evening, I drove Trowa and I home.

Howard wasn't there - he was spending the night in London. He'd gone to the concert separately and would be driving our friends out here tomorrow so he'd opted to stay in the same fancy suite that Trowa and I used when we had to overnight it in the city. I hadn't even gotten past the word "jacuzzi hot tub" before he'd been hollering at me to book the room already.

So it was just me and Trowa. Some snacks from a convenience store. Or, corner shop, I guess would be the term here. Anyway, we crashed on the fourth floor rug in front of the fireplace, plunder spread out and Mildred looking on.

Seven years ago, we'd celebrated Christmas right here. Just like this. Well, a couple of weeks from now it would be seven years exactly.

Fingertips sifting through the strands of hair at my temple had me smiling Trowa's way.

"What are you scheming?" he wanted to know.

I shrugged. "Just thinking about time… you, me, us, this room, Mildred over there perving like a champ-"

"Duo."

"Yeah?"

Trowa's thumb feathered over the glass ring I was wearing. "I'd like-" He stopped and I stared at his bangs. The hair gel had long since lost the battle and now his hair was doing its usual thing hiding half his face from the world. "Tonight was…"

I brushed his bangs aside and he looked up at me.

"I think I can do this. Music. I think I can make a living at it."

"I know you can. And you will." I grinned.

His throat worked as he swallowed. "This was what I've been waiting for."

"Waiting for what?"

"To be able to stand on my own. I can do that now."

My heart squeezed to a stop. Shit. What were we talking about here? Living separately? Him moving to L.A. or Paris and me staying on with the company and more Skype calls in the middle of the night and-?

Trowa drew a deep breath and gave me a shy smile. "I can be a husband from now. Your husband?"

I startled, just as shocked now as when he'd walked across the stage with a flute in hand. Well, with a lead-in like that, could you blame me?

His long fingers brushed over the ring that he'd bought for me at an airport duty free store years ago. "Dominic Maxwell. Duo. Will you let me give you a gold one?"

He waited while I got my shit together. I hadn't forgotten our deal - this ring and what it meant and what I was supposed to remember to say when we were ready and he asked - I just… I just needed a couple of seconds to get my lungs to work and my throat to open and my tongue to move. Plus, it was kinda hard to enunciate clearly while grinning so wide it was actually kind of painful, but I somehow managed it.

"Yes," I told him, answering his first question. "And hell yes," I repeated, answering his second.

He tilted his chin and I leaned in. We kissed, moving closer together...

Moving closer together. It had all started ten years ago at a dig site in Egypt and it hadn't stopped. No matter what came between us, so long as we kept reaching for each other, it never would.

Trowa and I visited a goldsmith for our rings. The artist had to make a special mold just for us. It wasn't as if you could just walk into a shop and buy a ring with your name spelled out in hieroglyphs. Especially names like ours.

The ancient Egyptian words for "time" and "eternity" linking us - "Trowa" and "Duo" - together on an unending band. I was proud as hell to wear that every day.

I was proud and happy and just plain thankful to be that. Every day. Together.


Notes:

Those of you who have seen the movie "Lara Croft: Tomb Raider" will hopefully recognize "Sandrock." (^_~)

Yet another amazing coincidence. I chose Chopin's Nocturne 9, Opus 2 waaay back in the beginning of this story simply because it seemed like something you could play that would send little boys to sleep. Not because I liked Chopin or the song in particular. And then, as I was writing the epilogue, I thought to check - just for shits and giggles - if there was a flute solo version. AND THERE WAS. (Though, to be fair, many piano solos have been adapted for flute, clarinet, and violin to name a few.) Generally, it's played with piano accompaniment, but Trowa goes it alone in this concert.