I watched Sally before she left, and saw the distracted look in her eyes. She had more to say. But it'll keep, I know. I hope that she makes it to Wufei's apartment without getting into an accident. What Duo said to him was very true, I realize, in a way that I didn't before. She loves him.

I glance out the window in my office and find that the skyline is bright enough to warrant the blinds being closed a little, and so I do, stepping over. With my back to the door, I barely hear the footsteps of the person who steps inside and don't notice them until the door closes behind whoever followed me in.

"Trowa."

"Jean, now isn't the time."

"I was worried, you know," he offers, and as I turn to look at him, I see it's true, in moderation. Whatever else, Jean has always been honest with me. But that's not what drew me to him. The eyes reminded me…

He starts to see the original is standing there, still the short, pale angel that he's always been. There's a cold glance between the two of them, and I speak as much to divert their energy as to respond to his comment.

"I know you were, Jean."

Nevertheless, there's a moment where the two of them glare at one another. I can see Jean sizing Quatre up, and the businessman looks not a bit less vicious as he surveys Jean. "I take it the two of you have met, then," I say, stepping over to the small closet and retrieving my jacket before scooping up my laptop case. "If not," I add when neither replies, "let me be the first to put this on the table. Quatre, this is Jean, my less than faithful paramour, Jean, this is Quatre, the… a very old friend."

I see the hurt in Quatre's eyes, but at the moment, I'm simply too bone tired to explain properly to Jean what he is to me, what he has been to me.

"The Winner CEO that has you hopping like a puppet on a string, you mean?" His words are harsh. I think it's a bit of his ego that's striking back for the blow I dealt his vanity. "The one that broke your heart years ago?"

The noise of a slap breaks up the conversation, and I glance at Quatre with an inquiringly raised eyebrow, and he shakes his head, wiping a tear from his eye. The ring on his finger glints in the sunlight, and the ache in my chest I managed to ignore for a while with him returns at double the force.

One hand holding his slapped cheek, Jean starts to retort, but I lift a finger to his lips and take him by the wrist. "Go back to your office, Jean, and I'll see you tonight. Mr. Winner and I have some unfinished conversation that needs to happen."

He looks hurt as well, and offended, but as I guide him out the door he doesn't protest vocally, and when it closes behind him, Quatre finally lets the rest of the tears fall down his cheeks. He takes himself the three steps over to the desk and picks up a tissue.

"Is that all?" he asks, once he finds his voice. "Is that all I am to you?"

"Quatre, you wanted a family," I say in a soft voice. "You wanted a family and you needed an heir. We both know I couldn't give you that. Not in a way you could accept."

"Trowa I still-"

"I'm tired, Quatre," I reply, shoulders slumping slightly, "I'm tired and I want to be able to rest for once." I don't want him to say what I know he's going to. I can't handle that, after everything else. I was ready to die on that mission. I was ready to give up my life so that Wufei and Sally would be happy together, because I know that they will be. I meant what I said when I said that he would make it back to her.

I intended it to be my last act.

I was mistaken.

Duo changed all that.

"Trowa, please, listen, I-"

"What do you want to hear me say, Quatre?" I ask, voice colder than I mean it to be. "That I love you? That I always have? That hasn't changed. I still love you. I won't lie to you. Not now. I won't start that. But I won't take the happy family from the child your wife is pregnant with. And I won't make you unfaithful to her. Because we both know you won't leave her for me… no matter what you feel for me."

Quatre, after all, made his choice long ago.

I step over to the door and open it. He puts a hand on my arm, and my skin, even through my uniform and jacket, tingles. He does that to me. He makes my flesh tingle and my body ache. "I love you, Trowa," he replies, "and I'm glad that you're safe."

"I'm tired, Quatre," I repeat, and I know how weak a defense against his words that is. "And I'm sure your wife misses you."