Disclaimer: My little experiment has come a long way. Thankies to everyone who has reviewed. I look forward to more feedback. I do not own Gundam Wing in any way, shape, or form. However, Megan, Emily, and Salina are entirely my own intelletcual property. Please ask nicely if you want to play with them. I'm really good about sharing my toys. :)

Small Packages

Chapter 4

Three hours later found Trowa climbing into Yuy's Volvo at the hospital. Unfortunately, his jeep was a standard and he couldn't shift gears with his arm in a sling. Funny how he hadn't even noticed the fact that his hand was broken until he'd attempted to put his own vehicle in reverse. In the end he'd called Yuy and tersely demanded a ride to the ER. As per his usual manner, Heero had merely glanced at his hand and shaken his head.

Trowa had been grateful for the silence. Though he knew his friend was seething at the stupidity of his actions, Heero saw fit to remain silent while the doctor set the bones and scolded him to be more careful in the future. Trowa now sat in the passenger seat, his entire body drained from the experiences of the day. His anger had drained long ago, turning into a sort of defeat. For the first time, he addressed his friend. "Thank you, Heero."

"No problem." The exchange was simple enough, but carried with it the weight of emotion that neither of them had ever been adept at expressing. "Don't forget to call Quatre at his office. He'll worry."

"Yeah, I will." Trowa responded just as quietly, leaning his head back against the seat rest and closing his eyes, it would appear that the Demerol was beginning to kick in. It seemed like barely a minute had passed before he felt the car give a small jerk as it crunched to a stop on the gravel driveway. He jerked himself up and shook his head lightly to clear it. "Thanks, man."

"Sure." Heero's eyes were shuttered as he nodded, staring straight ahead at the road. Trowa fumbled with the seatbelt and awkwardly opened the door with his left hand. He gripped his bottle of painkillers tightly and kicked the car door closed. A quick glance at his watch told him the time was almost 7:30. Quatre would be home soon. He could at least get changed and prepare himself to face his husband's wrath. Quatre sometimes walked a fine line between his empathy and his testosterone-driven need to protect his family. Where Trowa was concerned, the two often ran parallel. Contrary to what he knew most of their friends thought, he and Quatre were not a quiet couple by any means. They butted heads often and when they did, sparks flew.

Their relationship wasn't one based on Quatre needing protection or coddling, or Trowa needing constant reassurance of his own value. In all reality, it was more a meshing of two people who were so vastly different that there was truly never a dull moment. And one of those moments would surely come when Trowa relayed his actions of the day and just how his hand had become mangled.

It was sure to be one of their more colorful and lingually diverse arguments. That was another misconception many people had about Quatre. Innocent and angelic he may appear, but innocent and angelic he most certainly was not. The Arabian man could curse with the best of them, and rage with them, too.

Trowa shook his head and sighed as he inserted his key into the lock, letting himself into his home. He made his way into the kitchen and frowned when he noticed Rashid sitting at the table engaged in quite conversation with his wife, Salina. Upon his entrance, the woman glanced his way, moving quickly to cover her head with her hajib. Out of habit, he averted his eyes, waiting until she greeted him quietly. "Good evening, Master Trowa."

He forced a smile, though he could see the question in her eyes as she took in his bedraggled state. "Hello, Salina. Dinner smells wonderful."

"I'm making roasted lamb with potatoes tonight." She replied promptly.

Rashid however, was not so kind as to let the obvious injury pass without question. "What happened?"

"It's nothing. A stupid mistake." Trowa let the smile drop as he moved to the counter and fixed himself a cup of the fresh coffee. "I suppose it's a good thing I'm left-handed." His attempt at humor went unnoticed by the burly man. He doctored the coffee liberally with cream and sugar carrying it carefully to the table and setting it down before dropping into a chair.

He heard shrieks of laughter from the playroom directly above the kitchen. Rashid and Salina's private quarters were just on the second floor, accessible to the kitchen via the back staircase and the rest of the floor through a door usually kept locked. He took a sip of the coffee and glanced upwards. "I see Amala has a friend over."

Rashid opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted when Quatre darted into the kitchen. "Trowa! I thought I heard you. You're home early."

"So are you." Trowa smiled minutely, a reflexive action at the sight of his husband after one of the worst days of his life. He studied the other man appreciatively for a moment. Quatre had evidently just emerged from the shower. His normally impeccable appearance was abandoned in favor of a pair of khaki shorts and a lavender button-down worn open over a white undershirt. Platinum hair curled slightly, still damp after what Trowa knew had to have been a long soak in the shower. Quatre only did that on a day that had to have been particularly stressful.

The blond man's smile disappeared as he caught sight of the cast peeking out of the sling. "Trowa, what happened to you?"

Trowa opened his mouth to speak and then snapped it shut again. He drew in a deep breath and then averted his eyes to his coffee cup. He took a long sip, stalling for time. Quatre, notoriously patient moved closer, taking a seat in the chair by Trowa's. Salina quietly set a cup of coffee in front of him. He nodded absently to her in thanks, but waited for Trowa to speak. Obviously there would be no deterring his husband today. Emerald eyes met questioning aqua as he exhaled deeply. "Une tried to put me on suspension. She termed it an 'involuntary leave' or something like that. I don't know what happened. I just, I guess I lost it. I broke my hand on the conference table while I was telling her to go to hell. I quit on the spot."

"Oh." Quatre's eyes flashed in silent anger. He remained perfectly composed however as he spoke. "Is that all you want to tell me about it?"

"That's all there is to say. She insisted that I wouldn't be able to go back to work until the staff psychiatrist cleared me for duty. It was an incredibly stupid thing to do on her part and I proceeded to tell her so."

"So essentially you lost your temper because she was showing concern for you?" Quatre pressed quietly as he took a long sip from his own coffee.

More stomping and shouts of laughter came from upstairs. Trowa glanced up once more. Rashid pushed his chair back and signaled to his wife. "We will calm them down, Master Quatre."

Trowa frowned faintly as he watched them go. He returned his gaze to Quatre and sighed. "I don't know. I just… I don't know. I guess I sort of snapped."

"Trowa, I need to ask you something and I need you to be completely honest with me. You know I won't be angry with you for being honest." Quatre's normally confident voice took on a hesitant quality.

Trowa nodded. "You know I will."

"I know." Quatre paused and then glanced upstairs. "When you said that you and Emily Hanahan were close, how close did you mean?"

The other man frowned. "What does that have to do with this?"

"Maybe nothing, but I need to know."

"Quatre." Trowa reached out with his good hand and covered his husband's. "You know that I would never do anything to hurt you. What happened with her was a very long time ago. I'm perfectly fine with her death."

"I don't quite believe you're okay with it. But that's something I can't help you deal with, Trowa. I'm asking for a completely different reason. It's not because I'm insecure or jealous either."

"Then why. This isn't something that's ever come up before." Trowa frowned.

"Just answer the damn question." Quatre's infinite patience seemed to be wearing thin.

Trowa moved his hand away from Quatre's and massaged the bridge of his nose wearily. "We were involved for a couple of months, that's all. I wasn't in love with her or anything."

"You keep saying that, Trowa. 'Involved' and 'close', but I need to know how close." Quatre insisted quietly.

Trowa growled in frustration. "That's exactly what I mean… close… if you're asking if I slept with her, then yes. I did. But you knew when we first started dating that I you weren't the first person I'd ever been with. And she wasn't either. And Emily knew that and she was fine with it." He barked out a harsh laugh. "Goddammit, Quat. Why the sudden need to know my sexual history blow by blow. You want a list? It's not like it affects you anyway."

"Shut up, Trowa. Just stop it." Quatre hissed at him, normally kind eyes suddenly glittering harshly. "You don't even know why I asked, so don't get sanctimonious on me. And when your "close" relationships pop up to turn our life together upside down then it sure as hell does affect me." He rose abruptly, sending the wooden chair skittering back. He crossed to the counter and pulled a file folder from his briefcase. A few steps and he returned to where Trowa sat. He dropped the thick stack of papers onto the table in front of his husband with a deliberate thunk.

Trowa blinked at them uncomprehendingly, then back to Quatre. "What is this about, Quatre. I don't have the energy for guessing games right now."

Quatre leaned forward on the table, his posture mimicking Trowa's own from earlier. He spoke lowly and clearly. "Emily Hanahan had a child. A daughter name Megan Noelle Hanahan. The child is five and a half. Wufei showed up at my office with her this afternoon and left her and her documents with me. I had Iria do a DNA test to make certain there was no mistake, Trowa."

"Quatre, again… what the hell are you talking about?"

"Think Trowa. Why would Emily Hanahan's 5 year old daughter end up in my office? Hm? What connection could she have with you, Trowa? Why would I have tests done? You're a really smart person, love. Think about it for a minute." Quatre stared at him hard.

Trowa frowned blankly as the wheels in his medication-fogged mind began to function. Shock rocketed through him as he slowly began to shake his head. "No."

Quatre nodded in tandem. "Oh, yes. Very much, yes. Congratulations, Trowa, it's a girl."

Trowa licked his lips and sat back in his chair, eyes never leaving his husband's face. "You're angry."

"Damn right I'm angry. Do you realize the kind of position this child has been left in? I couldn't even tell her if she was going to live here or not. I told her she was staying here for a while."

"She's…here."

"Yeah. And she's got an addiction to Mountain Dew that Salina seems to find cute, so guess what she's been drinking all afternoon. That's beside the point, Trowa. She doesn't even know you. You never thought to check back up on her mother just to make sure there were no loose ends?"

"Why would I think there would be? I was 16 years old for gods sake. Quatre, be reasonable! I'm lucky I even remember to use a goddamned condom!" Trowa spat the words angrily.

"Well now we obviously know that at least one of your condoms didn't work, don't we." Quatre snorted derisively before pulling his chair back up to the table and scooting it into place. He sighed heavily. "Trowa, I love you." His voice was suddenly quiet, defeated. "You have a huge decision to make and I don't want you to make it without me. And I also don't want you to rush into it. You're my family and that makes this girl my family too. Whatever you decide, I'll support you. We can talk later, after dinner, after you've had a chance to meet your daughter."