Disclaimer - OK, they're not mine, I own no part of Gundam Wing and I'm doing this for the fun of it. No profit involved.

Many thanks to my wonderful reviewers!

Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous:

'What crap is that you're watching now?' Zechs surfaced as the commercials came on, fumbling for the remote. I managed to grab it just in time.

'No! I want to watch this. It's some function on L4 and they're going to be interviewing Quatre when the break is over.'

I could sense them exchanging brief, over-my-head glances, but, presumably out of deference to my supremely shitty night, they refrained from commenting on people who needed to watch popular TV to catch up on what their supposed best friends were doing.

'Oh, joy unconfined,' Zechs contented himself with murmuring dryly, just low enough that I could choose whether or not I'd heard.

As always, I flung myself into the breach to defend Quatre's honour.

'Look, I know you have a problem with Quat, but he is my friend, and you might try to respect that.'

'I might find it easier to remember he's your friend if he would.' Zechs snipped back. It could have all just denigrated from there into one on those is / isn't arguments, except that Wufei pointed out the show was back on.

There was Quatre in some fancy ballroom, all spruced up in a tux, with a blonde girl at his side. There was, apparently, an inexhaustible supply of young ladies in the universe who were only too happy to dangle on the Winner heir's arm like a glittering ornament, usually when some tabloid or other had been making suggestive remarks about his relationship with Trowa.

This one was the usual type - model girl pretty, dressed in the sort of gown Relena used to wear before she developed a sense of style, and doubtless possessing the perfect pedigree and the finishing school education.

Quatre was beaming at the camera - he's always been incredibly photogenic - and the lady reporter was smiling archly at the couple and telling her audience that Mr. Winner and his companion, the Honourable Miss Delphine Carrick, had some incredibly exciting news to share.

There was a bit of giggling and blushing from Delphine; then she laid one hand on Quat's arm and the camera zoomed in to the sapphire ring adorning her fourth finger.

The cameraman panned back out to the crowded room, showing people raising glasses and cheering, then outside for a brief shot of a fireworks display and more happy people, before zooming back to the ballroom.

Behind me, Zechs was swearing, quite possibly in Russian, and Wufei slid down to sit on the floor with me. Both of us riveted to what was happening on screen.

Quatre was explaining that he'd actually proposed a week or so ago, but that he'd held off making it public, so he and Delphine could just 'enjoy having their very own special secret'.

Zechs started to make retching sounds at this point so we didn't get all of the next bit - there was some waffle about how Quat had known Delphine since they were kids, how she'd shared ballet and music classes with his sisters and how they'd kept the relationship a secret for months because she was such a shy and reserved young lady, and didn't feel comfortable being tailed by the media.

Well, she'd apparently managed to conquer that little hang-up, flashing her sapphire at the camera, snuggling up to her fiance and affirming that yes, she would definitely be available for interviews over the coming days, that she was the happiest girl alive, and that she just wanted to share her happiness with the whole world.

'Oh, poor Trowa.' Wufei murmured, tilting his head back to look at his partner. 'This is awful, isn't it?'

He's used to it, I said absently, tilting up the vodka bottle to suck the last few dregs. 'It doesn't mean anything, you know that. It's just some publicity stunt to keep his family happy and stop the rumours for a while.'

'Duo, this is considerably more than some … publicity nonsense!' Zechs told me in his very quiet, very dangerous voice; the one that sounds like sharpened steel ripping through silk. 'I know you're fond of Winner, but try to imagine how Wufei would feel if I went on Global TV to declare my engagement to some girl.'

'I'd freaking crucify you,' I snapped and he gave me a smug little smile.

'It's not the same and…'

The 'phone buzzed at that point, probably fortunately, and Wufei leaned over for the receiver. All our 'phones are set up on Speaker; part of the the whole privacy embargo.

There was that little ripple of static that meant that call wasn't coming from Earth, and then an impersonal operator's voice asked if we would accept a collect call from L4.

'From a Mr. Trowa Barton.'

'That's fine,' Wu said quickly. 'Put him through please.'

A long silence, interspersed with lot more of the fuzzy crackle.

It's someone playing a joke, I said finally. It didn't make any sense - if Trowa wanted to call us, he certainly didn't have to reverse the charges to do it.

Then Trowa's voice, very low and hesitant. 'Wufei. This is Trowa. I'm sorry to bother you so late; I forgot about the time difference.'

'Trowa, hi. That's fine, we're up anyway. Is everything OK?'

'Sure. Fine. I - I'm going to be flying to Earth soon. I was wondering - Maybe I could stay with you for a day or so?'

'Of course you can. When are you leaving L4?'

'In about ten minutes, actually. I have a shuttle to London and then a connecting flight. I should be arriving about seven pm tomorrow, but if it's any trouble I can…'

'No trouble,' Wufei reassured him quickly, cutting across Trowa's protests that he could find his way to the house. 'We'll come and pick you up. What's your flight number? OK, we'll see you tomorrow.'

'Thanks, 'Fei.'

There was another stretch of snowstormy static and then the line went dead.