Title: Inconsequential Goings
Rating: PG
Characters are not mine. I am just borrowing.
Written for Jilly-chan.
Trowa and Quatre met at a small bar near the shuttleport, and they always took the same table. It had been cobbled together out of an old go board and a beautifully carved but mismatched column of wood. They were the only ones who actually used the table to play a game, setting their drinks, instead, on the precarious perch of a window ledge. Trowa had long since made his last move and was taking a sip from his beer when he noticed his friend's distracted gaze. He followed it to an abandoned shuttle that was going to be hauled off for scrap.
"It's a good thing this isn't chess," Trowa said as he set his drink down, "or you would have lost on a time penalty."
Quatre nodded, but then started and said, "I'm sorry, what?"
"Your move," Trowa indicated the board with his hand.
"Oh?"
"Penny for your thoughts," Trowa asked, and crossed his arms over his chest so as to better rest his chin in his hand.
Quatre shook his head and made what was a particularly poignant move for someone who appeared to not to be paying attention.
Trowa raised his eyebrows and nodded. "I remember when I had to teach you how to play, and now you make moves like that." Trowa examined the board and made only a slight recovery. "He isn't jealous is he?"
Quatre's brow knit together and he said, "Of course not. He understands."
"Really?"
"Yes, besides I told him you were dating that girl," Quatre moved his hand to jog his memory. "The blonde."
"Sylvia?"
"Yes."
"We stopped seeing each other."
"Oh," Quatre was genuinely surprised. "I thought you were good together."
Trowa shrugged and reached for his drink. "It was just…" He paused and tilted his to consider his friend's distracted state. "Besides, Sylvia was just dating me to get something out of her system."
"What, exactly," Quatre looked the board over and pursed his lips before making a decision. "That may be your lot."
Trowa looked at the board and nodded. "Pilots, specifically the variety that operated giant robots," he confessed. "I heard she's dating a doctor now." There was an odd insinuation in the statement.
"Lucky guy." He was clearly not quite in the conversation.
"Lucky gal," Trowa corrected. "What is it that's going through that head of yours?"
Quatre sighed and looked out of the window. "If you could go back in time would you change anything?"
"I probably wouldn't have let you almost kill me," he replied with a chuckle, but then conceded, "No. Not at all." He grimaced and confessed, "You know you're the only real friend I've ever had. It seems weird, but it's true."
Quatre nodded. "I'm not sure I can say the same. About regrets, I mean."
"What would you change?"
"A few things, but...I guess nothing of real consequence." He shook his head and stood up. "We should go on a hike or something."
"Okay. Should I bring along a bottle. You seem to be in a mood?"
"Bring what you like." He shrugged. "I'm not in a mood. I'm just-"
"Yes," Trowa replied with a sage nod. "Yes, indeed you are."
End.
