Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

-BEGIN FIC-

Trowa sighed gloomily as he walked down the street, hands in his pockets and eyes gazing at the sidewalk before his scuffed black boots.

There he was, sweating under the unbearably hot sun in his dark turtleneck and tight jeans, slinking down the hot sidewalk that ran next to the burning asphalt road otherwise known as "Market Street." Never mind that there were plenty of huge skyscrapers here to cast shade over the huge multi-lane road, it was still hotter than the imaginary fires of any person's individual hell - or so Trowa believed. Blinking once more to chase droplets of sweat from his eyes, he groaned as he came to a halt before stepping into the street.

Glancing up, he glowered at the stoplight. 'Change, dammit.'

'I have to get to the flower shop before it closes.'

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The servants of the grand and glorious Winner manor were stepping as silently about the huge mansion as they could, as if its tile and carpeted floors were crafted of the most fragile of eggshells.

The Lord of the house was mighty angry that afternoon.

After the fight with his lover, the 200BC Roman Sword had been the first item to go, being thrown right out the nearest open window.

Then it had been the ming vase.

Then it had been the collection of guns that belonged to the long-banged man he claimed as his significant other.

Then he'd thrown himself onto the couch, turned on the afternoon soap-fest, and instructed everyone that the next person to bother him before Trowa apologized for wrecking his Lotus while tearing around L4's expressways would be immediately lopped into 9 pieces and Fed Ex'd to his or her heirs.

And there he'd remained, sulking miserably, sucking on the corner of the pillow he cuddled to his chest and sniffling as he watched Brenda fall into a coma and Joshua being seduced by Samantha in his weakest of moments.

Sniff. "He'd better come home soon."

"And his apology better be damned good."

"Samantha... you're such a slut!"

Sob.

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Trowa proudly walked home, his hands nearly shaking.

'This'll do the trick.'

'No one can resist an apology like this!'

His lips slipped into a rare smile as he glanced down at the contents of his left hand, their pretty red petals held into a loose, beautiful bouquet by the cellophane wrapper.

'A dozen roses won't be refused.'

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Quatre looked up as he heard the door open. "Trowa!" he immediately called, his eyes glistening.

Trowa sheepishly thrust the lovely boquet forward to be received.

Quatre stared, jaw loose and eyes wide.

'It's working!' Trowa's mind cheered.

"You brought me... flowers?"

Trowa nodded.

"You brought me the mutilated genitalia of plants? What the hell!"

Blink. "You mean you don't like them?"

"Oh, am I supposed to be impressed by you presenting me with a rose bush's testicles! What kind of barbaric tradition is this, chopping the reproductive organs off some innocent life-form and throwing them at another to show your affection? I suppose next it'll be a cow's balls? Maybe a frog's ovaries?"

Sweatdrop.

"UGH! Out! Out! And I don't want to see your face until you come up with something decent! How revolting! I feel filthy just being in the presence of those poor decimated... things!"

Bowing his head, Trowa walked out of the house, closing the door behind himself.

"So much for flowers."

-end-