Disclaimer - unfortunately, they're not mine and I'm playing with them purely for fun...no money involved.

Note - I know absolutely nothing about mechanics, physics or space travel. Please suspend disbelief…

The 'F' Word:

Fine.

That was basically the extent of Trowa's conversation on the way home. Zechs claims that FINE stands for fucked up, insecure, neurotic and exhausted, and that exactly summed up the way Tro had looked, standing outside Arrivals at the airport.

He'd been very sleek and stylish the last few times we'd met. Since the war, he'd discovered a taste for Italian designer suits that flowed along his long, lanky frame; he'd even started to wear his hair out of his eyes sometimes, either gelled back or gathered in a little pony tail.

Today he had on frayed jeans and a battered army surplus jacket, long bangs hiding his face. He just looked - lost - standing there and waiting to be collected, an old duffle bag at his feet. We'd all been there, but Trowa had always been the survivor, the together one, our chameleon who could wrap any environment around himself.

Wufei and I exchanged glances, mouthed the other F word to each other, and went to collect him.

The plan had been for him to sit in front with me, so we could talk and he could admire the view of the mountains, but somehow he managed to install himself into the back seat, knees practically up to his chin, replying in monosyllables.

He was fine. Quatre was fine. The Maganacs were all fine. Cathy and everyone at the circus, down to the bearded lady with the dancing poodles were - you've guessed it, right?

Granted, he'd never exactly been Mr. Gabflapper, but I'd forgotten how unforthcoming he could be, how he could practically weave an impenetrable wall of silence around himself, repelling all attempts at invasion.

Wufei took over the conversation as we hit the coast road, and I had to concentrate on my driving. He managed to get a few slightly different responses - Hilde's pregnancy was 'great'; Sally's promotion to Head of Surgery at her hospital was 'about time'. My comment that my friend Patrick, whom Trowa had met a couple of times in Florida, had gotten engaged, didn't get any response at all.

He'd either fallen asleep, or was faking really well, only stirring when I pulled up in front of the house and killed the engine. Getting out of the car, he showed his first sign of animation on the whole trip. To be honest, I think I would have shot him if he hadn't been even a teeny bit impressed, because our house is just amazing. It's very modern, granite and wood and huge expanses of glass that reflect the sky and the trees and the mountains. You'd think it would be out of place in the middle of the countryside, but somehow it blends in perfectly.

Trowa extricated himself from the car, using some sort of acrobatic unfolding technique and stretched.

'This is beautiful! I know you sent me the pictures when you moved in, but I never imaged anything like this'

'Cool, huh? Come on in. We'll show you your room and then give you the guided tour, if you like.'

Apparently he didn't like. After we'd shown him how to work the shower, and where he could find extra blankets and towels, Trowa begged off the tour, claiming he was feeling a bit jet-lagged, and would prefer to rest before dinner. As he'd already stretched out on the bed, there wasn't much point arguing the point so we headed off to the kitchen.

Wufei got a long kiss from Zechs, who was preparing dinner; I got my cellphone flung at my head, and only just ducked in time.

'Duo, I swear I'm going to start stapling this to your head. You do realise the whole point of a portable telephone is that you actually carry it around with you? Anyway, Hilde left a message for you, and Mitch called to say that there's a problem with that new design, something about the hull needing more reinforcement. He's sent you and he wants you to get back to him.'

'I told them that the hull design was going to be a problem,' I muttered absently, scrolling down through Messages Received to find Hilde's.

'And some guy called Leon left a message on the answer service; he wanted to know if you got home OK last night.' He grinned at me. 'Something you forgot to tell us?'

'You know Leon; the head bartender at Steel, the tall one. Thinks you're hot.'

'Does he, now?' Zechs glanced over at Wufei to check he was listening. 'Well, I commend his taste, but it sounded to me like he has a little crush on someone else.'

'He was just being nice. Zed, can you shut up for a sec? I'm trying to listen to Hilde.'

'Duo, hey, it's Hilde. Listen, Zechs told me about that asshole, Ben. I'm so sorry, babe. Anyway, if you want him killed, I can do it and plead that my hormones are driving me crazy. I bet I'd get off with a sympathetic judge. Call me tomorrow evening - I'll be throwing up all morning and I have to see my gynie after lunch. Should be home around six. Talk to you then, OK?'

I was still grinning when I switched off. Hilde was about three months pregnant and afflicted with every ailment known to woman, including some no one had ever heard of.

'Are you going to call Leon now?' Zechs looked up from stirring something in a one of the pots he had going on the stove, and listening Wufei's Trowa-update.

'No, now I have to work.' I fetched my laptop from the lounge and set in on the kitchen table. 'We're not eating for a while yet, are we?'

'About an hour; I thought Trowa might want to unpack and have a shower before dinner. You've got plenty of time to call the cute bartender.'

'It would be only polite to call him back,' Wufei chipped in. 'It's really sweet that he was so concerned about you.'

'And, Duo, if you dated him, we'd probably get free drinks at Steel.'

'I think you can afford to buy your own drinks,' I logged onto my email account and waited for it to power up. 'Aren't you always saying it's a mistake to start a new relationship immediately after you break up with someone?'

'It's never a mistake to spend time with someone who likes you, and cares about you.' Wufei told me gently. That guy has read way too many relationship self-help books.

'Precisely. This Leon's interested in you; he knows now that you don't put out easily, so he's obviously not just after the sex. You should call him.'

'What I should do is try to fix this gazillion-credit disaster of a shuttle. Can we please just assume that I'm on the rebound from Ben and don't want to jump into anything straightaway?'

'Duo, you've been on the rebound for the last six years! It's practically your natural state.'

'Thanks a bunch.' I printed out the multi-page email from Mitch - he's my boss, by the way - and spread the papers over the table. The kitchen smelt wonderfully of some sort of garlic-and-herb-laden sauce; Zechs was getting Wufei to taste spoonfuls of this and that and Wu was sounding making very appreciative noises.

One of those incredibly nice, cosy homey moments. Like being in one of those corny, happy family sit-coms. With a few little twists.

Example; instead of doing my history homework, I had a shuttle to salvage. This is what I do; I have a Masters in Mechanical Engineering (something I still sometimes can't get my head around; me with a formal university education) and I work for a Florida-based company, as a shuttle designer. Mostly commercial craft, but this baby, if we could ever get her off the design specs and into space, was going to be a rich man's little boy-toy. A very rich man, as a matter of fact; Victor Trent had recently inherited, at the age of twenty-three, one of Earth's biggest pharmaceutical companies, and was apparently determined to fritter it all away as soon as possible.

His latest whim was a private shuttle to whizz himself and his harem of supermodels off to the colonies for wild weekends; he knew zilch about space craft but he had a very specific design that he wanted. I think it was based on something he'd seen in a sci-fi movie. The problem was that he wanted something sleek, zippy and manoeuvrable but the reinforced titanium hull required for deep space travel was just too heavy for the engine size.

I was pretty sure I had a solution; not entirely sure Mitch would go for it. Oh, well, it was at least worth a try. I checked the time, probably still early enough for Mitch the workaholic to be in his office, and dialled his number.

'Duo! Thank God! I've got Trent coming into the office tomorrow and we've got a serious problem here. I 'm going to have to tell him we need more engine power, and that'll change his whole design.'

'Hey, Mitch. Listen, don't panic yet. I think I've got a solution. Have you heard anything about a titanium / Gundamium alloy mix? It's would be nearly half the weight of pure titanium.'

'I've heard about it,' Mitch didn't sound too enraptured, 'but it's just experimental, isn't it?'

'Not exactly. The military's been using it for years now. It's just never been used commercially. I think it might work for us, though.'

'Duo, is any of this actual public knowledge, or have you been hacking into government files again?'

'Would I do something like that?' I teased, trying to remember whether I had or not. 'Actually, there have been a couple of articles published; I think it just hasn't taken off commercially because there' s a bit of a prejudice against gundamium.'

'That could be an issue in this case as well. You know the Trents are an old Pacifist family.'

'Just tell them it's some new alloy - give it a fancy name and they'll never know the difference. The cool thing is, if we can use it, we'll be able to streamline the design a bit more, like Mr. Trent wanted in the beginning, even put in the carbon heat shield he wanted. And he did say money was no object.'

'I suppose it might be worth a try. Maybe. If we aren't going to get arrested by the military police.' Aaargh. Mitch is a great boss in many ways, but he's also the world's worst pessimist. His glass is never just half empty; it's also got a big crack in it and whatever liquid is left is probably poison. 'All right Duo, can you send us a report with some new designs and any literature you can find on the alloy? And you might want to register with the patents office...'

'Sure will. Say hi to everyone for me.'

'Problem all solved?' Zechs wanted to know.

'Yep,' I logged off and glanced up to see them both grinning at me.

'You're just so cute when you're all caught up in your designs,' Zechs pulled me up into a hug, ' Dinner in about ten minutes; go and call Leon and then we'll eat, OK?' He dropped a kiss on the top of my head and released me. 'And you don't get any dinner if you don't call.'

'That's blackmail! Wufei, are you listening to this?'

'Mmmm. And it would be a shame if you didn't get to have any dinner. Zechs tried out that new recipe for pasta with clams, didn't you milyi? It smells wonderful... And there's banana pudding for dessert. That's your favourite, isn't it?'

Damn. I hate when they both gang up on me.

'Oh, if it'll shut the pair of you up, I'll do it. But I want sushi tomorrow night. And all the leftover pudding. Deal?'

Zechs actually looked disappointed that I'd caved so easily; but I just couldn't be bothered. No point spoiling dinner with an argument that I'd probably end up losing.

I dialled the number Zechs handed me, and got lucky for once; it went straight to voicemail.

'I called him. I left a message. Satisfied? Can we eat now? Do you want me to get Trowa?'

Wufei handed me a plate of pasta.

'I went to see him while you were working; he said he ate on the flight over and just wants to sleep. And Duo, he doesn't want to talk to Quatre right now, so if he calls, we haven't seen Trowa, OK?'

'OK,' I swallowed another mouthful. 'It won't be hard for Quat to work out where he is though. All he has to do is check shuttle passenger lists.'

'It might be a little harder than that. Trowa used a different fake ID for each flight and he paid cash just before boarding.'

'Oh,' I absently twirled spaghetti around my fork, pondering what this meant. Then I took my first bite and forgot all about Trowa.

'Zechs, this is incredible. Seriously. Waaaaaaay better than sex'.

'That might be more of a compliment if you'd had any within living memory!'

'Hey, I resent that. I could be having wild sex every time I go to Florida. You don't know everything about my life, believe it or not!'

'Right. Although things may be looking up if that's who I think it is calling back,'

We all focused on the ringing phone, calculating distance and relative speeds.

'Can we just have dinner first? I swear, I'll call him back after dessert.'

'No way; you'll talk to him now and then….' He had just reached out one long arm when the message service kicked in.

Expecting Leon, we all jumped to hear Quatre Winner's voice instead.

The kitchen vid screen has been broken for a couple of weeks now since the pineapple incident, so I knew Quatre couldn't actually see me. Still didn't stop me from wanting to hide under the table.

'Duo. Hi, it's Quatre. Sorry, I know it's been a while since I called but you know how busy I am. The thing is...I'm a little worried about Trowa. We've been having a few problems and I thought perhaps he might have called you…..Maybe you could let me know if he has? I'd really appreciate it. Things have been rather stressful here lately, and I just, well, I'd like to hear if he's been in touch.'