Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Gundam Wing and am doing this solely for fun.

Warnings: Yes.

Note: Quatre's flashback takes place approximately a week before the events in chapter one.

Many,many thanks to Kaeru Shisho, for beta-reading of unparalleled excellence, proverbs, chapter titles, stories, chocolate....Thanks also to everyone who has been reading.

The Hour in Which You Are:

'Master Quatre?' Sarab questioned softly as he unlocked the front door. 'Is everything all right?'

No. Everything is wrong.

Quatre stapled on a determined smile and nodded. 'Of course it is. I'm fine, Sarab. You may go; I hardly need to be escorted to my own bedroom.' He tried for another smile, but somehow doubted this one was any more successful.

The Maguanac cast him a somewhat doubtful look, but left anyway. One benefit of employees; they tended to obey orders, even against their wishes.

Quatre sighed, slowly ascending the grand staircase. He probably would end up needing a bodyguard. Trowa was going to be furious with him. He'd half expected his lover to meet him at the front door; that he hadn't was a bad sign. A sure signal that they would need privacy for whatever was to come.

Quatre took a deep breath and reached out for the handle. Maybe Trowa would have fallen asleep, or merely lost track of time. He was only an hour or so late, after all.

Yeah right, as Duo would say. And maybe the world had suddenly shifted on its axis….

It hadn't.

The door jerked open and Trowa hauled him inside, none too gently.

'Where,' Trowa demanded, 'the fuck have you been?'

'You know perfectly well where I've been.' Quatre wrenched his arm away. 'I've been to dinner with Delphine and her parents. You personally checked the security arrangements this afternoon. Remember?'

'You left their house just before ten. It took you over an hour to get here?'

'You've been spying on me!'

'I am supposed to be in charge of your security. 'Spying' on you, as you call it, happens to be my job.'

Quatre's mouth twisted. 'Is it absolutely necessary for you know where I am for every second of every day? Don't I have the right to a little privacy if I wish?'

Trowa took a deep breath; probably counting to ten backwards in some obscure language, Quatre thought dispassionately. He was so controlled normally; he kept a virtual stranglehold on most of his emotions and impulses. Even with Quatre, they were usually unleashed only during music or sex. Sex, mostly, nowadays; he couldn't remember the last time they'd made music together, but Trowa had always possessed a wickedly imaginative streak that provided the perfect counterpoint to Quatre's needs.

'I had no idea where you were,' Trowa grated. It wasn't necessary to be an empath to read his anger. He'd always known Trowa had a temper; even during their worst fights, there had always been a line Quatre had tried not to cross. Lately, he was dancing further and further across that line.

'You weren't answering your cellphone. Sarab wasn't picking up the car 'phone, which is against my standing orders. He's also disabled the tracking device on your car. I'll be having words with him in the morning about that.'

'It's not his fault. He was doing as I'd asked.'

'That sort of behaviour is unacceptable.' Trowa's mouth settled into a grim, unforgiving line. 'Someone tried to kill you just a few months ago. In our own home! Have you forgotten that already? What if you'd been attacked this evening? No one had any idea where you'd gone.'

'Someone almost killed me, Trowa, because your security arrangements were inadequate.' Trowa flinched; almost eight months after the assassination attempt on his lover's life, he could still be stabbed for guilt for allowing an enemy to get that close. 'Correct? I see no reason why that means I have to spend the rest of my life as a virtual prisoner. I'm sorry if you don't like it, but I refuse to live like that.'

Trowa swept one hand through the butterscotch fall of his hair. 'Quatre. Please. Can we talk about this rationally? I'm not trying to make you a prisoner or anything of the sort. Would it be such an imposition just to tell me - or Rashid - where you're going? All you have to do is let someone know you're all right. That's hardly an unreasonable request.'

Oh, Allah.

Please, Tro, don't go all reasonable and rational on me. Not now.

Quatre sat down on a stool and began to unlace his shoes. 'You're overreacting. I had Sarab with me. And I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.'

'That's not the point. Look at me. No more stunts like this one, understand?'

'Is that an order or a request?'

'It's whichever you're more likely to listen to! If you want to spend some time alone, or whatever it is you want, that's no problem. Just let someone know where you are. I don't think that's invading your precious privacy too much.'

'Fine,' the blond snapped. 'In future, I'll make sure to inform you of every movement I plan to make. Is that acceptable? Now, if that's everything, I'm going to bed.'

'Duo called while you were out.' Trowa followed him into their bedroom. 'Again. I said you'd ring him when you came home.'

Quatre shrugged out of his dinner jacket, draping it over a chair. 'I'm more than capable of making my own social arrangements, thank you, Trowa. It's too late to call now; I'll ring him tomorrow morning.'

'I wouldn't lose any sleep over it,' Trowa remarked dryly. 'I'm sure he's hardly expecting a call. He'll probably have a minor heart attack if you do get around to contacting him sometime in the next decade.'

'Just what is that supposed to mean?'

'He's meant to be your best friend, isn't he? Shit, anyone else would have given up on you by now. Just when was the last time you spoke to him properly?'

'I'm sure you make up for it,' Quatre said coolly. 'I'm sure the two of you had a wonderful time discussing my many shortcomings. Maybe if I weren't responsible for this entire colony, I'd have more time to gossip with Duo on the 'phone.'

'You are not responsible for this Colony! You are responsible for staying in contact with your best friend. Fuck, Quatre, he'd do anything in the world for you, and you can't find ten minutes in your horrendously busy schedule to talk to him.'

'You seem to be compensating quite nicely. I'm sure he wasn't overly disappointed.' Quatre shrugged carelessly. 'You and Duo seem to be developing a very cosy little friendship, from what I can see.'

'Don't fucking say that!'

'Or what? Or you'll hit me again?' Ah, there it was; something slowly but inexorably shifting behind those green eyes. Pain and sorrow and regret; yes, all of those, but this time his emotions were shaded with anger. Swallowing, Quatre pressed on. Better just to get it over with.

'Look at me, then, and tell me you've never felt any sort of attraction to Duo. And I'll know if you're lying.'

'Look at me, Winner, and tell me you've never felt any sort of attraction to Heero. And I'll know if you're lying too.'

'That was years ago,' Quatre tossed the comment carelessly over one shoulder as he began to remove his cufflinks. Trowa had bought them for him years ago; gold for his hair, sapphires for his eyes. It probably hadn't been appropriate to wear them to have dinner with his fiancée's parents. 'You know that perfectly well. You're my lover. Shouldn't that imply some degree of trust?'

'Lover?' Trowa demanded acidly. 'Shouldn't that preclude some level of trust? Intimacy even?'

'Is that you want, Trowa? To screw me? Or for me to do you? Fine, if that'll stop you interrogating me like this. Can we just get on with it, please? I'm exhausted, and I have a breakfast meeting at seven.'

'That's really romantic. Are you sure you can fit me into your schedule? You don't need to check with one of your assistants that you're not supposed to be somewhere more important than here?'

'If you want romance, perhaps you could stop yelling at me for one second. That isn't terribly romantic either, you know.'

Trowa snorted. 'I didn't think you were interested in my attempts to be romantic any more. Not after what happened the last time.'

The last time. Quatre's fingers shook very slightly as he replaced the cufflinks in their velvet box. It had been Valentine's Day, a holiday he'd always loved. He knew Trowa privately thought it all a bit silly, but ever since the war, they'd taken turns to surprise each other. Trowa had suggested getting away for a couple of days, for a break they both badly needed, but Quatre's schedule hadn't permitted that.

In the end, he hadn't bothered coming home at all that night, claiming he had too many conference calls to make from his office. When he had turned up the next day, their bedroom had been strewn with wilted delphiniums, his favourite flowers and Trowa hadn't been there. They'd had their worst row ever that night. Two weeks later, he could still shiver at the memory of the pain in his lover's eyes. It was the only time he'd ever been scared of Trowa, of what Trowa might do to him.

All his own fault, of course. He'd taken one of their special dates and made a mockery of it.

'Are you having an affair?' Trowa was standing by the edge of the bed, studying him as if he'd never seen him before.

'Hardly.' Quatre shrugged carelessly. Absurdly, the accusation stung; the idea that Trowa might doubt his fidelity for one second. Whatever else he'd done, at least he'd always be faithful. It didn't even start to compensate for the rest of it. 'Where would I find the time?' He'd meant it as a joke. Of sorts. It - didn't work; even without looking at his lover, he could feel the slow pulse of anger. 'You're being ridiculous. I'm going to take a shower.'

'I'm talking to you,' Trowa snapped.

'Well, I'm not talking to you. Can't you yell at me in the morning when I'm properly awake?'

'Don't turn your back on me, Quatre!' Trowa wrenched him back, slamming him against the wall.

He'd been expecting it, but it still hurt. Not just the physical; the fact that Trowa had done it at all. The first time Tro had hit him, he honestly hadn't known which of them had been the more surprised. Months later, when he'd perfected the art of it - goading one's boyfriend to violence - it was still a shock, but bearable. Something he could view objectively.

'You're hurting me,' he whispered.

'I'm sorry.' Trowa let his wrist go instantly, cradling Quatre in his his arms.

'My fault.'

There would be a bruise, Quatre thought; one advantage of having very fair skin was that it marked so easily. Mission accomplished. He could take the photograph later; one more tangible piece of evidence to an abusive relationship.

'I'm so sorry. Quatre, I swear, I'm didn't mean to hurt you.' Trowa was still murmuring apologies as they clung together.

Yes, you did. And I meant you to do it.

Over the past few months, they had developed a pattern. Afterwards, they would both gasp apologies, in each other's arms, and then

'I know. I'm sorry. I just - love me, Tro, please. Please.' He punctuated his pleas with bites and licks to Trowa's throat, nipping at the frantic pulse under the skin, until Trowa moaned deeply and bent to kiss him.

His eyes flicked toward the ornately-carved wooden chest beside their bed, the one that was always kept securely locked, but Trowa shook his head.

'Not tonight , Kitten. No toys. Just us, OK?'

Quatre nodded, not quite trusting his voice, not with Trowa sliding his shirt off his shoulders, as impersonally as a valet, but with those green eyes devouring him. Trowa, more than anyone, had always known just what he needed.

Lying on the bed, he watched Trowa undress; the other man was taking his time about it, and Quatre could feel the swirl of emotions from him.

Remorse, desire, need, love.

Quatre flowed into his lover's arms, luxuriating in the press of skin against skin. So good…he could almost forget everything in Trowa's embrace. Almost.

Trowa brushed the pad of his thumb against Quatre's lips and they parted instantly, tongue darting out to lick it. The blond's head lolled back on to the pillows, sucking at each of Trowa's fingers in turn.

'Now, please. Please.' Quatre gasped with pleasure as Trowa's infinitely talented mouth closed around one nipple, and those slick fingers slid between his legs.

'It won't be enough, angel.'

'It is. I don't care…Please, Tro. Tonight, I just want you inside me. Just you….'

'Quite sure about that, sweet? You wouldn't prefer to be on top this time?'

'Nnn…aaahhh..' Quatre tried to formulate some sort of coherent response, but it was difficult, given the things Trowa's tongue was doing to him.

'Trowa!' Oh, Allah. Even after seven years together, there were some things that could still take him by surprise.

'An actual word,' Trowa teased. 'I must be doing something wrong.' He bent his head so those long, feathery-soft bangs tickled Quatre's skin just so, and blew a little draft of warm air down his lover's cock.

He'd wanted it hard and fast and rough; a form of penance. He'd wanted it to hurt. Trowa made it slow and soft and gentle. A dance of two bodies moving to find a perfect joining.

'Well?' Trowa murmured at the end. 'Did you see your stars?'

'A meteorite shower. Thank you.'

'Any time, angel,' Trowa pressed a kiss to the curve of his lover's throat, and sat up.

'Don't go. Please.'

'I'm just going to the bathroom. We need to clean up a little bit.'

'In a minute,' Quatre begged. Sex with Trowa was invariably wonderful; the after-effects tended to be less so. But, lately, he'd wondered every time if this was to be the last, and wanted to cherish every second of Trowa's company. He remembered Duo, years previously, saying that even when things had been terrible with him and Heero, they'd still had those little moments of intimacy after sex. Secure in his relationship with Trowa, he'd felt only pity for his best friend. Pity and an absolute certainty that he and Tro would never be like that. 'I don't know why you stay with me. I'm such a mess.'

'Because I love you. All of you. And I'm glad you're not perfect, honestly. It makes us a good match. I'll never leave you, you do know that, don't you?'

Yes, you will. I'll make you. I have to.

Aloud, Quatre said, 'You did before.' It was amazing how much that still stung - he'd purposely goaded Trowa into hurting him - and then he'd been shocked that Trowa had just walked out. Of course, the fact that he'd gone straight to Heero hadn't helped.

Trowa sighed heavily. 'I didn't leave you, angel. I just needed a little time to myself, you know that. I was so scared of what I'd done to you.'

'I deserved it, right?'

'Don't say that. Kit, we can't keep on like this. Maybe I should look at some sort of therapy or something.'

'You've always said that you don't believe in that sort of thing.'

Neither of them did actually.

Quatre had been in and out of therapy at his father's orders since childhood; they'd all assured him that they wanted to help him, to be his friend, that whatever he said would be treated in total confidence, and then they went and reported it straight back to his father.

They'd made him see a therapist after his suicide attempt. Some sort of hospital policy. He'd attended a dozen or so sessions, and it had been an utter waste of time.

He'd even agreed that the act of slitting his wrists had been an expression of self-hatred, a manifestation of stress from the war. He'd never told anyone, not even Trowa, that he'd purposely tried to mutilate himself so his family wouldn't be able to write it off as some sort of accident. He'd wanted them to know just how deliberate it had been.

' I've been going to therapists since I was five, and they never managed to fix me.'

'Don't talk like that, angel. Please.'

'Kit, what's wrong with us?'

There's nothing wrong with you. Only me.

'I don't know,' Quatre whispered. 'I'm sorry. I just feel so trapped sometimes.' Like I'm going to suffocate. 'I - just - I don't know what's wrong with me.'

'Hey. It's not just you, OK?' Trowa kissed the top of his head. 'We'll sort it out. Two's better than one, right? Like you told me that first night.'

That first night. A hotel room in San Francisco, during a war. It would be the eighth anniversary in a few weeks' time. They wouldn't be together by then.

'Always.' One hand reached up to stroke Trowa's hair. 'I'm sorry.'

'Stop saying that, angel.' Trowa's brow creased. 'Apologies don't fix anything, you know that.'

'I know. I 'm s..' Quatre closed his mouth sharply, clicking his teeth together. It was perfectly true, after all; no words were ever going to make up for what he was doing. Maybe, one day, Trowa would find out what it was all about and maybe he'd be willing to forgive his lover, or at least understand. Probably not. He'd already made his decision and that was the end of it. It was ultimately better to have Trowa alive and safe and free than mixed up in Quatre's mess.

He'd almost been shot a few months before, before Quatre's eyes, in their own home and by a young man whom Quatre had known for most of his life. A very definite warning that nowhere was safe, no one was to be trusted.

And Tro was a survivor. One day, he would manage to find someone else to love him, someone who wasn't totally screwed up.

'You haven't touched your violin in weeks; we haven't been to the cottage since January. This isn't life, Quatre; this is existing. Can you remember the last time we slept late together, the last time we did anything together that wasn't fighting or sex?'

'I'm sorry,' Quatre murmured penitently, meaning it. I'm so sorry for everything. 'It'll get better, I promise. Just wait until all the engagement hoopla is over, and the elections, and then we'll be able to spend more time together. Maybe we can do something tomorrow morning?'

'You have a breakfast meeting at seven, remember? With David Souhef.' Trowa frowned. 'You know I don't like him.'

'I know. It's not as if we're friends or anything; we do business together, that's all. I don't know why you have such a problem with that.'

'I've seen the way he looks at you.'

'I can't exactly help people looking at me, can I? When exactly did you develop that jealous streak, Mr Barton?'

'It's not that,' Trowa snorted. 'I look at him and see us in ten years' time. You sneaking off to meet me, when your wife isn't looking.'

'We'll never be like that! '

'Won't we? We're already getting there, Quatre.' Trowa let him go abruptly and rolled flat on his back. There were still only a few inches between them; a distance that yawned like a gulf. 'You're not even officially engaged yet; it's only going to get worse when you are. What happens then; you'll be trying to sneak off from your parties half an hour earlier to spend a little time with me?'

'It isn't going to last forever.'

'That's what we said years ago, isn't it? When we first left the circus?'

Quatre nodded. He'd hated every minute of life at the circus; no, that wasn't quite true. It had been the first real home he and Trowa had shared; no matter that it was a smelly, sixth-hand trailer that smelled of animals, it had been theirs and they could pull the door behind them and shut the universe out. Well, they could try. The door latch was broken and had to be secured with string, and Cathy was always dropping in. After the first two weeks, Quatre was convinced that she had some sort of psychic gift to tell just when her brother and his boyfriend most needed privacy.

Of course, it hadn't helped that she'd disliked him from the very start. He'd stolen her darling brother away then, and now Quatre, not Cathy, was the centre of Trowa's life.

It had been Trowa, ultimately, who'd made the decision for both of them to leave. Quatre had been miserable, torn between wanting to be with his lover, and guilt that he was failing his family, failing his dead father. Again. Trowa, for his part, was happy to be back with his sister, and enjoyed performing, but all too aware of how unhappy Quatre was.

When Trowa decided it wasn't working out, he'd felt only a profound sense of relief. Maybe he hadn't been able to adapt to life in Trowa's world, but Trowa was the sort of person who fit in anywhere. He would turn WEI's fortunes around and he would do it with his beloved Trowa at his side.

He'd grown up knowing just how homophobic L4 was, and he'd convinced himself it didn't matter. He loved Trowa, and Trowa loved him, and there was no reason to be ashamed of that. The servants had walked out en mass in protest; the older and more traditional of his relations had swooned at the very notion of their baby brother being a - one of those - and flatly refused to meet him; there had even been protests by morality groups outside WEI buildings.

Despite all that, it had been - fun, almost, at the start. Another undercover mission. The very proper young businessman and his devoted bodyguard. Quatre had spent his childhood being groomed for this task. At the beginning, Trowa wouldn't have known a balance sheet if it turned up on his breakfast plate but he soon turned out to have a very acute grasp of figures and logistics.

They'd tried to make it into a game. Sneaking off to have sex in the WEI boardroom, or Quatre's office, or the elevator. Quatre had discovered a strong streak of exhibitionism, and they'd found out that they were both turned on by the threat of discovery. There were conference calls with Trowa sucking Quatre off under his desk, countless meetings where they'd played footsie and Quatre had installed a custom-made swivel chair in his office, after they'd broken three of its less sturdy precursors.

It hadn't lasted.

After the novelty had worn off, they'd both realised it wasn't just a game but the way their lives would be for years. By the terms of this father's will, Quatre wouldn't inherit full control until he was twenty-one. If he chose not to become involved in the company at all, the company would be divided equally among his sisters and their families. None of his sisters knew anything about business, having been raised to be devoted, decorative wives, and their husbands all had their own visions for the company. All of them saw the company as a convenient bank to fund their lavish lifestyles, not the largest employer on the colony. None of them cared that the colony was suffering terribly in the aftermath of the war, or that a properly managed Winner Industries could help to restore prosperity.

The plan, originally, had been to stay on L4 until Quatre was twenty-one, by which time they could appoint some trusted managers who could be relied on to do their best for the company. Quatre wasn't sure exactly when that had changed; when their targets had become more ambitious and then he'd become involved in politics and started to think that maybe he could fight for L4 in a different way.

Trowa sighed heavily. 'How was your evening, anyway?'

Quatre pulled a face. 'Terminally boring. If I were Delphine, I'd marry the first person who asked me, just to get away from that family.'

'Did you discuss making the official announcement?'

'Mmm. Delphine's mother is running a benefit gala on Saturday night. We can do it then.'

'There'll be no going back after it's public, Kitten. You know that?'

'I know,' Quatre burrowed closer, nestling his head into the crook of Trowa's shoulder, the place that had always felt like home. 'Really, it's just another form of business arrangement until the elections. L4 would never choose an openly gay councillor. We've both known that from the start.'

'And then what happens? You'll jilt her?'

'I don't know, Trowa. I'll think of something. It's not as if she wants to marry me either, you know.'

'You are planning to tell Duo and 'Fei, right?'

'Of course,' Quatre lied.

Trowa nodded. 'Make sure you do. I don't want them finding out because someone leaked it to the tabloids.'

'I wouldn't do that. How is he?'

Trowa's lips curved. 'The usual. Panicking because he's got a big date on Saturday night.'

'Really? With that friend of Hilde's again? What's his name, Ben? Do you think it's serious?'

'It's only their third date, love.' Trowa's smile deepened, almost touching his eyes. It was so long since he'd smiled properly, since Quatre had seen that glowing light in his eyes. It was a little miracle to think that, in the midst of all that was wrong, he could still lie in Trowa's arms and talk about their friends, about their lives. Like nothing was wrong at all. They'd always been able to do that for each other; to create their own world, regardless of what the universe was doing around them.

There was an ancient Arabic proverb he'd told Trowa about years ago; 'What is past is gone, what is hoped for is absent. For you is the hour in which you are.' Wufei had written it out for them during his calligraphy phase, and had it framed. It still hung above their bed, and had never been more true. It was all they had; this hour in which they were.

'Now, don't you start scheming,' Trowa teased. 'Duo is quite capable of managing his own love life. Besides, it's rather soon to marry them off, don't you think?'

'Well, he sounded nice, from what you told me. I'd just like him to meet someone; it's been almost a year since he broke up with Mischa. I still wish they'd stayed together, you know. He adored Duo.'

'Which would have been fine if Duo had adored him back,' Trowa pointed out. 'He misses you, you know. Both of them do.'

I miss them, too, Quatre thought sadly. Alienating Duo and Wufei had proven more…challenging than he'd anticipated. He'd underestimated their loyalty to him; he should have realised that a friendship that spanned more than eight years couldn't be destroyed in a few months. Any more than a relationship could, however hard one tried. He'd apparently managed it with Wufei, though.

'Wufei doesn't.'

Trowa gave him one of those long looks that seemed to see right into his soul. 'You know that isn't true. He's tried calling you several times since Christmas to talk.'

Christmas. Quatre swallowed. It had always been special; not because any of them believed in the religious element, but because it marked the end of the war. It was also, of course, the anniversary of Duo's accident. The four of them had spent every Christmas together since then, until the previous year, when Quatre had made a last minute excuse. He'd thought Wufei was personally going to come to L4 and strangle him.

'You can't keep on like this.' Trowa said suddenly, propping himself up on one elbow and staring down at his partner. 'They're your friends. Our friends. Duo can't understand what's going on with you; he's worried he's upset you somehow and he doesn't know how to make it right. And he hates the fact that you and 'Fei fell out. I know all this political career is important to you, but don't your two best friends at least deserve a few crumbs of your attention?'

Quatre flushed. Trowa had mentioned the topic before, a couple of times, but he'd never been so firm about it. It was one of the things he loved about the other man; Tro believed in giving people space and time to make their own decisions, their own mistakes. He'd even giving up on trying to convince Quatre that Heero wasn't the devil incarnate. It looked like he was losing patience this time.

'It's not like I'm doing any of this for my own gratification,' he said defensively. 'But I'm committed now. And I believe it's the right thing to do. The colonies hardly have any autonomy and the ESUN is trying to take even that away from them with its new legislation. We need someone who's prepared to ; you know most of the current L4 Councillors see the job as nothing more than a way to gather bribes and live in luxury on Earth for three years. My father would want…'

'Your father is dead.' Trowa said bluntly. 'He's been dead for years, now, Quatre, and you're still trying to live up to what he wanted from you. Isn't it ever going to be enough? You've made WEI one of the most successful corporations in the whole damn universe, L4 is the most prosperous of the colonies. What's next on your plan, exactly? What more could he possibly expect you to do?'

'We talked about this. We both agreed! You thought it was a good idea; I wouldn't have considered any of this if I hadn't thought you supported me.'

'I did. I'll support anything you ever want to do, if it makes you happy. But you're not, are you? You're stressed all the time, you're treating your friends like shit; the people who really care about you. We're all worried about you. Is it really worth it, angel? Think about it. If you really think that you need to do this, that you're the only person in the universe who can do this thing; fine. I'm here for you. We all are. But I don't want you ruining our lives to try to please a ghost. Understand?'

He broke off abruptly, frowning and rubbing the line etched between his brows. The line that he was far too young to have.

'Tro. Are you all right?'

'Another headache,' Trowa lay back as Quatre's gentle fingers rubbed his temples. 'God, that feels good. You know, I think I'm going to stop taking those pills we got.'

'You don't know they're what's causing the headaches,' his lover argued. 'It did say on the 'net that it can take time to adjust to the dosage.'

Trowa snorted. 'I'm half-asleep sometimes. It's not exactly safe, is it?'

'Maybe we could alter the dosage,' Quatre suggested.

'Drugs don't solve anything, Quatre!' Trowa snapped; then he saw his lover's face and his voice gentled. 'We can't go on like this, sprite.'

Sprite. Quatre felt his throat constrict at the absurd name; it was so long since Trowa had called him that.

'I know.'

Trowa sighed. 'I'm serious. This is killing us both. We need to sit down and talk. Properly. I don't just mean fighting and apologising and having sex, and that's all we do now, isn't it? Another thing; I don't think I can carry on as your bodyguard. Not the way things are going right now. I'm not exactly effective at the moment, given these headaches, am I ?'

'Trowa, no.' Quatre gasped, horrified. He'd never envisaged that particular scenario. So stupid of him. Of course, Trowa would do anything to keep him safe. Drat. 'I trust you more than anyone in the universe to guard me,' he said sincerely. 'Please don't talk like that. We'll sort something out. You know how much I need you with me.'

Now more than ever.

'Promise me you'll think about it,' Trowa urged. 'Please, love. We can't keep pretending things are fine; I can't anyway. Not now.'

'I promise.' It didn't matter. He thought about them all the time, about what he was doing. What he was going to do. 'I do love you. Always. Whatever happens. You know that.'

'I know,' Trowa echoed softly, bending to kiss his forehead. 'It's OK, Kit. Try to get some sleep, hmmm? Things'll be better in the morning.'

Oh, Trowa, sleep can't fix this. I'm the only one who can make it right….