From Forever to Forever: ...Take This Man?

This part is really the emotional climax of the whole piece, I suppose. Quatre really isn't as much of a bastard as he seems. I apologize if he comes across this way—I keep trying to bear in mind that the reader doesn't really know what's going on between the chapters, as I do. Anyhow, look out for low-flying shounen ai/yaoi and lots of angst and foul language!

Disclaimer: GW isn't mine. If it were, there would've been a heck of a lot more Trowa/Quatre scenes! (Forget "subtle hints"—they'd be all over each other!!)

C&C? I'd love some!

From Forever to Forever

Part Fourteen: . . . Take This Man?

Christmas Eve, A.C. 212—Heero Yuy—5:32 p.m.

"I'm not listening to this, Duo." Quatre's voice is quiet but fierce. I pause outside of his office, hiding in the shadows of the dim hallway, so I might not be noticed. I've never seen Duo and Quatre argue.

Duo slams his hands down on the large mahogany desk. "Do you even realize what you're doing?"

It's about time someone talked to Quatre about this. Ever since Silvia died, he's become withdrawn and secluded. That's perfectly normal, of course—but it's been three years. We've expected him to get better—not worse.

Quatre sits down behind his desk, resting his chin on his hands. His expression is stubborn. "What am I doing?" he asks, his eyes unusually cold as he stares at Duo.

Duo's voice is low, almost a growl. "You're using him." He clenches his teeth and continues. "You're using Trowa like your personal whore—have you thought about the way he feels whenever you fuck him and run away?"

I catch myself before I gasp with astonishment. Quatre and Trowa? I knew Trowa was gay—but Quatre? How long has this been going on?

Quatre looks up at Duo with wide eyes and a shocked expression. "You know?" he asks in a choked whisper.

"I've known since the first morning after," Duo replies with a sarcastic laugh. "You left your belt at his apartment in your rush to escape."

Quatre's face darkens. "It wasn't like that."

"Really? Try explaining that to him. Every time I see him he looks worse! He's miserable."

I hadn't really noticed many changes in Trowa—but apparently I'm not as observant as Duo. I didn't realize Trowa was gay until Duo said so; and I hadn't realized Trowa and Quatre were together, either.

Duo sits down in the chair across from Quatre, leaning on the desk. "How many times has it happened, Quatre?"

Quatre's answer is so soft that I have to strain my ears to hear him. "Four times." He won't look Duo in the eye. Is he ashamed of having sex with Trowa, or of the way he's been treating him?

Duo sighs, exasperated. "Where do you want this thing to go, Quatre? You can either stop it all together, or move forward. But you can't keep on like you have been. You're killing him. He loves you—he has since we were kids!"

"I know," Quatre answers, hanging his head. After a long pause, he looks up at Duo with a determined expression. "You're right. I have to put an end to this."

Duo frowns, his face mirroring my own. "So you're gonna break it off with him, then?"

Quatre's about to answer when the phone beeps shrilly, making all three of us jump.

"Yes?" Quatre asks curtly.

"Mr. Winner—we have an emergency. Is there any way you can come down to the office? I know it's Christmas Eve, but—"

Quatre cuts his secretary off with a wave of his hand. "No, I understand; I take it you've figure out who's been embezzling, then?" He rubs his closed eyes. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Duo sighs and turns off the screen. "Do you want me to make your excuses?"

Quatre shakes his head, looking distracted. "I'll go." He stands up, running his hands through his hair and walking toward the door.

I immediately start walking toward him, as if I had been coming down the hall rather than standing around eavesdropping. I nearly bump into Quatre.

"H-Hilde's wondering where Duo ran off to," I blurt out, surprised at the way my voice is shaking. I try not to avoid Quatre's gaze—I don't want to look as guilty as I feel.

Quatre pushes past wordlessly and Duo casually flips his braid back over his shoulder. "Jeesh—a guy can't leave her side for a few minutes!" He laughs light-heartedly, perfectly masking his anger with Quatre.

He drags me back to the living room, where Quatre's kissing Maja goodbye and assuring everyone that he'll be back soon. Duo leans up against the wall next to Hilde, crossing his arms and examining the Arabian. The corners of his lips turn down in a slight frown.

I glance over at Trowa, searching for some sort of reaction from him. He is watching Quatre with a blank expression.

But something about him seems different. He looks lost.

Christmas Eve—Trowa Barton—11:48 p.m.

"What time is it?"

I turn around to see Quatre in the doorway, rubbing his eyes slowly. I wonder where he's been all this time. Was it just the office, or has he been avoiding coming home?

"It's almost midnight. Everyone's gone." I don't bother hiding the anger that's creeping into my voice. I dry my hands on a towel, not looking at him. "I tucked Maja into bed about an hour ago." I don't tell him that she'd been adamant about waiting up for him.

"Thank you," he says, sitting at the kitchen table. "You didn't have to do the dishes, though."

I shrug. I only did it to keep myself busy while I waited for him. I had to make sure he came back before morning. He may not believe in Christmas, but his daughter does. There could be nothing worse for her than waking up tomorrow morning to find her father still gone. Wondering where he'd been all night. And who he was with.

"What happened that was so important?" I ask, wondering if his company really had been in trouble, or if he had been searching for a way out of the dinner party. What kind of problem takes five hours to solve? I remind myself that it's none of my business, either way, but I can't help wanting to know.

He sighs. "There were some problems at the main office building. For the past month I've noticed that the numbers weren't adding up properly—my assistant managed to put all the pieces together and figured out who the embezzler was before she went home for the day. They waited until it was absolutely necessary to tell me, though." Letting out another sigh, he rests his head on his folded arms. "I wish they'd waited a bit longer." His voice is muffled and tired.

I grudgingly agree that it was a valid reason to skip out on dinner, but it's been happening so often lately. I remember a time when Quatre would've taken the call and insisted that his top executives handle it without him. Now he finds any justification to leave. Is he even aware of his daughter? Does he realize that he's hurting her, too? I know why he's doing it, but I'm past the point of being sympathetic. Instead of getting better as time goes by, Quatre's handling this worse and worse.

"You know," I begin, taking a deep breath, "drowning yourself in your business or your colonial politics isn't going to bring Silvia back." I know I'm treading on dangerous ground. I'm sure raising Maja and living each day without her is hard, but it's the kind of thing he's got to get used to.

His head snaps up and he gives me a threatening look. It's clear I'm not the first person who ever said something to him about it. "Trowa," he growls, "you don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" I counter harshly. "You're never around—you're always on business meetings or tied down with politics." I pace across the kitchen, trying to keep my voice down in case Maja's still awake. "I don't even see you anymore—none of us do. And if you do manage to visit, you end up running away with your endless excuses. It's like you're trying to solve everyone else's crises without realizing that you have your own problems that need to be dealt with! Damn it, instead of facing life without her you've started drinking, even!"

I stop abruptly. Quatre only drank a few times—and every time he did, we ended up in bed. I stare at him, surprised I had the guts to even hint at that—so far it's been a forbidden topic with us. Quatre shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

Then it dawns on me. It's not the others he's avoiding. It's not the memories of Silvia that he's fighting. He doesn't want to be near me. He knows it will happen again, and obviously he doesn't care for the complicated messiness of the whole business. "This isn't about Silvia, is it?" I ask, my voice low. I know my hands are shaking, but I hope my voice is steady. "This is about me."

He stands up, not meeting my gaze.

It's over.

Duo was right—nothing could come of us. It has to end sometime. I'm not prepared for the sudden pain of it, though—my chest feels like it's been shot full of holes.

"I'm sorry Trowa, but I can't let myself—"

I cut him off angrily. "Look, I don't care what you feel about me—you just shouldn't take it out on Maja or anyone else. If you couldn't handle what's been going on you should've stopped before it got out of hand!" I throw the towel onto the counter irritably. He should've stopped before I got so involved.

I was involved before it began.

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Quatre insists, glaring at me. He reaches into a cupboard and pulls out a bottle of champagne. His face softens slightly. "Trowa—can't we talk?"

I look at the bottle, then back at him. I can't believe this is happening. "Great," I spit out at him. "Just what I wanted. I get to be fucked this Christmas."

Christmas Eve—Quatre Winner—11:55 p.m.

"No thank you!" he continues with venom.

I watch him grab his coat and storm out of the kitchen without saying a word. I follow him, wanting to call him back, but I'm afraid of what I might say. I'm afraid of what I might confess. As I reach the foyer, he's leaving. The door slams behind him, echoing in the quiet room.

"Dad?" Maja's voice draws my eyes up to the darkened landing.

"You're still up?" I ask. She should've been asleep by now. I glance once more at the door. I should go after him.

"I-I wanted to say goodnight." I climb the stairs wearily, wishing I could go talk to Trowa. Maja takes my hand and leads me back to her bedroom.

As she climbs back into her bed, I glance around the room. She's like every other eleven-year-old—no, nearly twelve-year-old girl, with pictures of her favorite actors and music groups plastered over the pale blue walls. But on her nightstand I see three framed photographs. One is the last family portrait we had taken. She was seven, and I was holding her in my lap while Silvia stood behind us with her hands resting on my shoulders. A happy family. Another picture is a snapshot, taken the day after she was born, of Silvia holding her. I can remember taking that photo.

The last photograph is the one that surprises me the most. I have no idea where she got it—it's not one I've ever seen before. It has Trowa and me, wearing our Preventor uniforms and standing in front of the barracks. We look like kids. I wonder if Trowa gave it to Maja—and when. I don't remember him looking so—

"Daddy?" she asks, nearly causing me to jump. She hasn't called me that for at least a year now. I sit on the bed next to her as she tries to make herself more comfortable, like a cat. Once she's done she looks up at me with big eyes. "Why were you and Trowa arguing?"

"You heard us?"

She nods. "I was coming downstairs to say goodnight. But then I heard his voice."

I don't even know where to begin. I'm afraid she'll be hurt by what Trowa said. By what I've been doing. "Did you hear what we were saying?"

"No," she answers, "but I saw him leave. Why do you fight if you love him?"

What?

She half-smiles at me, reminding me more of Silvia than she ever has before. "Mom told me a long time ago that Trowa loves you—when you had to go on that mission. But now I can tell that you love him, too."

"What makes you think that?" I ask Maja, my voice choking.

She smiles at me, closing her eyes and snuggling against her pillow. "You look at him with different eyes. They're sparkly and you're nicer when you're with Trowa."

I am? "Do you think I should stop?" I have to stop now.

Maja shakes her head and looks up at me again. "I think Mom would rather see Trowa taking care of you than seeing you like this."

"Like what?" I ask. I wonder when my little girl became so wise.

She shrugs. "Like a zombie."

I nod. I have been a zombie lately. Maybe it's time to start living again—to start loving again.

I lean over and kiss her forehead, turning off the lamp on her nightstand. Before I can make it to the door, though, she speaks up.

"I wouldn't mind if you decide to marry Trowa, Daddy."

"Go to sleep, Maja," I say sternly, closing the door behind me.

I pause at the top of the stairs, not sure if I should go to bed or chase Trowa. The question lingers for less than a second. If I hurry, I might be able to reach his apartment before he does. And then I can tell him everything. If I don't, I may never see him again.

I rush down the steps and out the front door. Trowa's car is still in the driveway; he tries to start the engine, but it sounds like it's flooded. He drops his head onto the steering wheel. Even from far away I can see his entire body shaking.

What have I done to him?

I walk over to his door, tapping lightly on the window. He gets out wordlessly, leaning against the vehicle and crossing his arms over his chest. He's still mad. I can't blame him.

"What?"

I swallow nervously. "I only left because I was scared."

He looks at me skeptically. "What are you talking about?"

I explain. "All the times you woke up and I was gone—I was afraid of the way you made me feel. I was afraid that I'd lose Silvia if I let myself fall in love with you."

I pause, but he says nothing. His silence scares me and in a panic I wonder if I should try to take back my words. But then I notice something in his eyes. He doesn't give, but he softens. Just enough to give me courage. "But I think," I begin quietly. "I think I was a little in love with you before I ever met her." I lay one hand on his shoulder, reaching up to his cheek with the other. How did I go so long without noticing how beautiful my friend is?

He flinches. "What do you want from me, Quatre?" he demands, his voice shaky. The tears in his eyes send sharp stabs into my heart.

"Everything," I whisper. "I want to be with you. Trowa, I want a real relationship. I love you." My heart beats erratically as I wait for his response. He just looks at me. I force myself to keep going. "I-is it too late?"

Trowa sighs, laying his hand over mine. I stare up at him, hardly believing the action. "I thought it was," he admits in a choked whisper, "but I guess I'd wait forever for you."

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