Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters, and make no monetary profit from writing about them.

Many thanks to Kaeru Shisho, for editing, to Mifibou, who not only suggested a story set in Paris, but also did the translation to French, and to everyone who has been kind enough to comment.

Cross-Border Co-operation:

I'd looked up the location of the Winner HQ building on-line before my flight. In retrospect, I needn't have bothered. The thing was huge; a glittering multi-storey edifice that towered over the mostly low-rise city.

Quatre was in there somewhere; probably in a state-of-the-art corner office, befitting the only son and heir to all he surveyed.

It was handily located just across from the Metro; the stop was called Winner Tower. It was weird, seeing Quatre's surname on signs everywhere.

Blagging my way past the doormen with some bullshit story about a meeting I was late for was a piece of cake. For all their smart uniforms, the guys were hopeless at their jobs.

The next obstacle was a bit more formidable. Before getting to the lifts, I needed a Visitor's tag, and the security guys here were more vigilant, pointing me to a receptionist's desk.

'I'm here to see Quatre Winner.'

'Certainly, sir.' The young woman flashed me a coolly professional smile. 'May I ask your name and what time your appointment is for?'

'I don't have one. It's personal.'

'I'm sorry, sir. If you need to see Mr. Winner, you'll have to contact his assistant and make an appointment.'

Mr. Winner doesn't see any scaff and raff who turn up off the streets.

She didn't say that out loud. She didn't need to; it was pretty damn obvious from her attitude. One manicured fingernail tapped the side of her desk.

Snooty bitch.

She gave me a flick of her perfectly styled blond hair and turned away with a little smirk, loving her little moment of power.

I hate these sorts of places and the people who work in them. This princess obviously thought she was way too good for her job; probably had dreams of catching the eye of the boss's son, and shimmying her way into a life of luxury.

Hah.

Dream on.

He's taken.

Unfortunately, he was also very hard to get to. Damn. Maybe I should have worn a suit; camouflage can be useful sometimes.

I had Quatre's number. I could have just called him, except that would pretty much screw up the surprise part of surprising him at work.

Right then; new plan needed. Back outside to regroup and then…

'Excuse me,' a woman's voice said behind me. 'Are you Trowa?'

'How did you know?'

She beamed up at me. Nothing like the snotty receptionist, this one; she was petite and red haired and actually smiling like she meant it. 'I'm Becky, Quatre's PA. He has your picture on his desk, and I answered a call from you on Monday.'

Oh, yeah. I remembered; for once, I'd got an actual live person instead of Quatre's voicemail. Unfortunately, it hadn't been Quatre himself.

'Does he know you're coming? He never mentioned it.'

'I wanted to surprise him. But that bloody Nazi at the door won't let me in.'

'Her!' She threw a withering glance over at the reception desk. 'Never mind; I'll have a word with her later. Now, come on!'

'Rebecca!' the fascist blonde watchdog called out as we walked past. 'That man doesn't have an appointment. You can't take him upstairs. I haven't given him a visitor's badge!'

A truly evil grin spread across Becky's face as she sauntered over to the desk. 'Honestly, Julia. If you're going to work here, you're going to have to learn who people actually are. Mr Barton is Quatre's boyfriend, and Quatre probably isn't going to be too happy to find out how you treated him.'

She was beaming as we headed for the lifts. 'My God, you've no idea how good that felt!

She's been a bitch to me ever since I started working here.'

'Glad I could help!'

She practically glowed as we entered the lift, warming up the small compartment, and then ushered me along the corridor to her desk. Which was right outside a door with Quatre's name on the outside.

Finally.

Becky picked up the phone on her desk and dialled. 'Quatre?'

'Becky?' His voice, sounding a little confused. 'I thought you'd gone out for lunch.'

'One of your afternoon appointments showed up early. May I show him in now?'

She gestured to the door, giving me the thumbs up and totally ignoring Quatre's questions as to who was actually there.

And I opened the door.

I'd had a dream in my head, ever since I'd booked the flight, about how things would go once I saw him.

OK. It didn't go quite how I'd planned. At this point, in my imaginings, he would have hurled himself into my arms. He didn't do anything of the sort; maybe because he would have had to vault across what looked like a square mile of polished antique desk, topped with stacks of files and a computer and even the photograph Becky had mentioned.

I could have done it. Quatre had never mentioned any particular gymnastic skills; fencing and riding were his things.

Quatre Raberba Winner, in the flesh, wasn't quite how I'd imagined him to be, either. In all the photos I'd seen, he'd been dressed in bright, casual clothes, with tousled blond hair, and a sparkling smile for the camera.

In real life, he was wearing a dark, severely-tailored suit, had his hair neatly combed and slicked back from a slightly off-centre parting, and there was the hint of a frown between his brows.

Oh fuck.

'Trowa?' He just blinked at me. Not even the vaguest hint of a smile. Hell. Maybe I should have listened to Duo when he'd said his best friend didn't like surprises.

I pulled out a chair, without waiting to be asked. It didn't help. Standing, I'd felt like a naughty kid summoned to the headmaster (which might have been sexy in other circumstances). Sitting down, I felt like he was interviewing me for a job.

'What are you doing here?'

'I thought we could maybe go for lunch. Even business tycoons have to eat something, right?'

'That would be….lovely.' He had to pause before selecting the adjective. 'I just – you really came all the way here to take me out for a meal?'

'Yeah.' I shrugged. 'Or coffee. Whatever.'

He swallowed.' I'm sorry. I thought we'd agreed to wait to meet until I moved to Paris.'

'It seemed kind of stupid to be this close and not see each other. We're less than an hour apart by 'plane; I had the day off; the airline had a special deal on. If you're busy or something, we can just leave it.'

'No! No, not at all. I didn't mean…I'd love to go for lunch with you…it's just rather a surprise and I wasn't expecting…Can you excuse me for a moment?'

OK, he was finally starting to sound a bit more like himself. He got all flustered sometimes when I teased him about things.

Then he was grabbing the desk 'phone like a life line, rattling off a list of an afternoon meeting to be cancelled, and alternative arrangements to be made, and for the necessary people to be notified.

It was kind of odd seeing him like that; very much in control. He was smart and funny and could be a little diffident about some things. I hadn't really imagined what he'd be like at work; that he'd have had a personality transplant.

'Right.' He turned to me with a resolutely bright smile. 'There; everything's fine. What would you like to eat? There's a lovely little Italian restaurant around the corner. Would that be all right?'

'Italian would be great.'

He kept up a stream of small talk as we walked out of the building. Asking every possible detail about my flight took us to the pavement. Questions about Duo brought us to the restaurant. It was nice enough; someone's idea of what an Italian country kitchen looked like. More importantly, there were some good smells coming from the kitchen, and the other diners were happily digging in to steaming plates of pasta.

Once we were seated, he started on the subject of food. How much he loved Italian food; his attempts to cook favourite dishes; a pizzeria he'd been to a couple of times in Rome which was his favourite restaurant ever, and then he began to rattle off his recommendations for this particular place.

'The spaghetti carbonara is really good here, and they do wonderful pizzas. Or they have different specials every day…'

'Do they give you a commission on how much they sell?'

'Excuse me?'

'Look, Quatre, I didn't come for the food. I don't care what I eat. I'll have whatever you're having. I came here to talk to you, not get a review of every restaurant you've ever eaten in.'

He gave me a sudden, quick grin, and I realised abruptly that Quatre Winner was actually rather shy.

'Sorry. I have a habit of …. talking too much sometimes.'

'Yeah.' God, I had to wonder about his and Duo's friendship. Did they both just talk at the same time, or did they have some sort of agreed itinerary over who got to speak and for how long? Still, people said I didn't talk enough, so maybe it would balance out.

If things worked out.

Ordering took a few minutes, while Quatre listened intently to the day's specials, and then changed his mind a couple of times about what he wanted. I ordered the same as he was having, to save time, slightly regretting that he'd chosen mineral water over a glass of wine.

'Quatre.' He'd gone, in the space of one minute, from babbling to total silence, playing with a slice of bread, dunking it in olive oil until it was a soggy mess. 'Just tell me, was this a mistake, me coming here?'

Things had …cooled down a bit between us in the last few weeks. The non-stop stream of texts, emails and calls had dwindled significantly since he'd left L2. He'd said he was working on a major project and had a deadline.

'No!' Well, thank God for that. 'Not at all. I just wanted our first meeting to be perfect. Not that this isn't very nice and everything but…'

'What's wrong with it exactly?' I pressed. 'I finally get to meet you and we're sitting in a very nice restaurant about to have some good food. By my standards, that's pretty good.'

'It's all wrong,' he burst out. 'I'm wearing this hideous suit for one thing, because we have a really strict dress code, and my hair's awful.' His eyes narrowed as he glared at me, running one hand through his hair so it stuck up in little spikes. 'That is not funny!'

'Oh, it is. Admittedly, that is a truly hideous suit.' It looked like something an undertaker would have worn to bury his entire family; stiff material in a sombre black colour, and an equally horrible tie. 'Why don't you take it off? Oh, not all of it,' I assured him. 'But you could take off the jacket and tie, couldn't you?'

'I could.' He did, even going to far as to open the top two buttons of his shirt. Racey guy. 'Much better,' I approved. The shirt was a pale blue that matched his eyes and showed off a nice little bit of pale skin at his throat. 'You don't look so much like you manage a mortuary now. One more thing.' I reached out to mess his hair up a bit more; it was soft under my fingers, just a little sticky from whatever gel he'd used. 'Much, much better.'

What was really better was how he leaned into my hand, obviously enjoying the little caress. He was smiling too; a real smile instead of the pinned-on variety.

Things were good.

'Everything OK now? I never meant to freak you out, you know. I thought it might be fun to surprise you.'

'I hate surprises!' He declared emphatically. 'They're too unexpected, and you don't have time to make plans, and I like to plan everything so I know where I am. It's what I do!'

Since he didn't seem to like being laughed at, I buried my nose in my glass of water. I'd apparently just found Heero Yuy's soulmate. Still, my best friend was blissfully happy with Duo, who'd probably never planned ahead for anything in his entire life. I just had to convince this little blond control freak that he could be happy with me.

'I've been planning our first meeting in Paris for weeks, and it was going to be perfect!' He flicked me a suspicious glance, as full of wounded dignity as a kitten with a wet tail. 'Are you laughing at me, Trowa?'

'Wouldn't dream of it,' I said promptly and perfectly truthfully. Now that I'd met him in the very appealing flesh, my dreams would be far too full of other things. 'I'm looking forward to it. No reason why we can't have a second first meeting. What did you have planned, exactly?'

'It's a surprise.' He looked a bit uncertain. 'Heero said you like being surprised.'

'And you don't.' Obviously.

'I'm just really nervous.'

'Of me? Why the hell would you be nervous of me?'

'Because…why wouldn't I? What if you don't like me?'

'That cuts both ways, you know. You mightn't like me either.'

'Of course I like you!' He blurted, and then slowly turned seventy shades of scarlet.

'Good.' I gave his hand a little squeeze. 'I like you a lot and it would be sad if it just went the one way. As far as I'm concerned, surprises are good. And now I know it's in the works, I'll have that to look forward to.'

He laughed and everything was suddenly OK.

The pasta, when it came, was excellent; Quatre even unbent enough to agree to a glass of wine. I didn't know about him, but in my book this was shaping up to the perfect first date. There were just enough other diners to keep up a muted hum of conversation, but the place was quiet enough that we had no one sitting beside our table.

'Uh oh,' I muttered, watching the door swing open and a truly scary-looking woman in a severely-cut suit and dagger-heeled shoes stalk through. 'I'm betting some poor guy is in for a real bollocking when she catches up with him.'

'Oh no!' Quatre breathed, looking like he wanted to hide under the table. 'That's my father's assistant, Miranda. She's going to murder me!'

She looked murderous all right, and sounded it, rapping off a list of complaints from his dad, ending with a demand that Quatre head straight back to work and chain himself to his desk for the rest of his natural life.

He was wilting at the start of the tirade, then his chin flung up, and he just glared back at her. 'That's quite enough, thank you, Miranda. Please inform my father that I've already made plans for today and I'll be back in the office tomorrow. You may also tell him that in the future I'd appreciate him talking to me in person, rather than sending a member of staff to deliver messages.'

'Master Quatre, he said..'

'I think Master Quatre's just told you what to say.' God, Master Quatre. That was kind of sexy.

Her eyes swivelled around to me, narrowing like a snake. Horrible things. 'Who exactly are you?'

'Trowa. Trowa Barton. I'm an archaeologist.' OK, I wasn't sure where the hell that had come from.

'He's my boyfriend.' Quatre sounded rather proud of the fact. 'Now, good afternoon, Miranda. Please tell Father I'll see him in the morning.'

'Wow.' I gave his hand a quick squeeze. 'You are amazing.'

He laughed shortly. 'Hardly. I should have done that weeks ago. Oh, can you give me a minute please?' He took out his phone and dialled. 'Becky? It's me. Can you please cancel all my appointments for this evening? Yes, even the dinner meeting. I'll be back tomorrow morning. Yes, thank you. I will. Yes, I'll tell him.'

'Tell me what?'

'That you're good for me.' He took a huge slug of wine. 'Wow. I actually have the rest of the day off. I haven't even had an afternoon free since I got back to Earth.'

'How come? You always seemed to have plenty of free time when you were on L2.' Even when he'd been in the office, he'd been happy to talk or email.

He sighed. 'I was originally only going to be here for a fortnight, remember? Father wanted me to brush up on all our European subsidiaries, so it was madly intensive, but I thought it was only for a couple of weeks so I went along with it. Then he kept delaying my move to Paris, and gave me a project here, and I suppose I just got too caught up in work to object. For the last couple of weeks, I think I've basically done nothing but work and sleep.'

'Poor Quatre. That sucks. But you must have friends here, right? I mean, you grew up here. Haven't they tried to take you out sometimes?'

He twirled a few strands of fettucine around his fork. 'I thought I had friends. Up until I was exiled to L2 and suddenly no one wanted to know me any more. '

'I've been meaning to ask you about that,' I said suddenly. 'How come you just up and left on your dad's orders? Didn't you even think of just staying here and finding another job?'

'Oh, I was totally shell-shocked. I'd known my parents weren't exactly going to throw me a coming-out party but I hadn't thought they'd be that bad. I think I was on the shuttle before I even fully realised it. Then I actually got to L2 and met Duo and found out I had almost total control at work, and I started to enjoy it.' He shook his head. 'It's going to be different this time. I've got options. If Father is determined to treat me like this, I'll look for another job. In Paris, naturally.'

'Oh, naturally,' I echoed, grinning. OK, he wasn't quite the guy I'd got to know – thought I'd got to know – over the 'phone, but I liked this version. A lot.

'Um, that's all right, isn't it? I'm not being too presumptuous or anything?'

'I happen to like presumptuous.' I clinked my glass against his. 'To the emancipation of Quatre Winner.'

'Absolutely. Goodness, I can't believe I've been such an idiot. I'm sorry, Trowa. I've probably been working eighteen hours a day for the past month and I've totally neglected you.'

'Tunnel vision,' I told him. 'It's happened to me when I'm working to a big deadline. Nothing else even registers. I'm kind of flattered that you still managed to plan this big date in Paris.'

'It's the only thing that's been keeping me going,' he said frankly and then blushed. 'Knowing I'd get to see you.'

'And now you're seeing me.' He hadn't minded the hand-squeezing before, so I did it again, this time keeping his hand in mine. 'So…my flight's not 'til eight this evening. We've got the whole day together. What would you like to do?'

He considered, smiling faintly as he looked at our joined hands. 'You've never been to Sanque before. I could show you around a little, if you liked. The Old Quarter is beautiful, all cobbled streets and gabled houses. And we could go for a walk in the Botanic Gardens. The cherry blossoms should be in bloom.'

'That sounds great. Really. Always assuming there's a secluded spot in the park where I can kiss you under a cherry blossom tree.'

'I – I think there might be.' He was blushing at that, cherry-blossom pink. Cute. 'Um. Trowa, what time do you start work tomorrow? '

'Not 'til eleven. Why?'

'Because there are early morning flights to Paris.' His colour deepened to wild rose. 'I mean, if you liked you could stay the night.'

'I'd like. Madly. I'm not sure if I can change my ticket though.'

'I'll look after that.' The phone was whipped out again. 'Becky? Can you please check flights to Paris for tomorrow morning? No, it's for Trowa.' He looked at me. 'She's looking it up. What's your passport number? Oh, that's perfect. Yes, just the one seat, please.' He was suddenly holly-berry-red. 'Um, no thank you. That's not necessary. Thanks, Becky.'

'So I'm staying here tonight?'

He nodded. 'Your flight is at half past eight tomorrow. Executive class so you only have to check in fifteen minutes before. Don't worry; it's on the company account and we have zillions of air miles so it won't cost anything.'

'OK.' I gave in gracefully, letting him be Mr. Take Charge for a minute. 'So what did she say to make you blush like that?'

'Um.' He fiddled with his napkin. 'She wanted to know if she should book you a hotel room.'

'Did she now?' OK, Becky was getting the biggest bunch of flowers ever.

'Yes. I hope you don't mind. I mean, I have a spare room if you…'

'I hate spare rooms,' I said firmly. 'Utterly loathe them. Practically a phobia.' God, I could feel the melon-slice grin taking over my entire face. 'So what's the plan? A nice walk 'round town, then dinner and a movie before you take me home? You said you haven't seen the new Harry Potter yet.'

Or we could just go straight back to his place and I could find out exactly what he was hiding under the horrendous suit. I crossed my legs resolutely. There'd be time for that. The whole night and then all our lives, ideally. It wouldn't hurt just to do some dating stuff first.

'That would be…amazing.' He glowed up at me.

'Perfect?'

'Perfect.' He nudged my foot under the table.

'Good. Now, just two things we've got to do. I'll need to stop off somewhere to buy a toothbrush and something to change into for tomorrow. And you need to book your flight to Paris.'

He nodded fervently. 'Yes, of course. Even if Father does end up firing me!'

'I don't think he could be that stupid. But you could always be my toy-boy 'til you get a new job. I bet Heero's stepfather would employ you like a shot. Now, come on. I'd rather not kiss you in front of a roomful of strangers, so we need to find a cherry tree that I can push you against and kiss the hell out of you.'

When we eventually found the perfect tree, sunbeams were filtering through the blossoms to tangle in his bright hair, along with a few stray petals. My hands, ghosting over his hips, could feel the folded paper in his pocket; a print-out of a one-way ticket to Paris for the following week.

The perfect setting for a perfect, perfect first kiss.