07-Jan-2006
Title: Launch 4/?
Author: TB
Archive: GWA
Category: Action, yaoi
Pairing: 3x4
Disclaimer: The characters and storyline of Gundam Wing are used here
without permission. I do not profit by their use.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Lemon, plot development
Spoilers: This story takes place 3 years after EW and will reference it
and the series.
Notes: It's possible that Trowa might come off as somewhat bastardised
in this story. I don't actually think it's OOC-- I think this is a
genuine possibility for his development, though it's not the battered, soulful
Trowa of fanon. As for Quatre, I'm exploring "real" explanations for his
background and his Space Heart. The medication he takes in this and
upcoming chapters is real, and is really proscribed for people
suffering from congenital valve defects. I am assuming that, as in the show,
some science, like space travel, has jumped forward considerably, while
other technologies haven't advanced as much. I'm trying to be judicious and
back up my writing with research.
The party had died down perhaps an hour ago. The music still played, though quietly, now, and the lights still burned brightly, but the crowd had shrunk when he wasn't watching. The sand was cool and damp under his bare feet, and he was fighting the temptation to drop his heavy shoes and consign them to the briny deep. The champagne-buzz he'd been working on earlier had disappeared by now, and he was content to enjoy the night and the stars.
He saw the body walking toward him along the surf and thought from the shoulders it might be Ehrlich. But she didn't walk like this person, and as they came closer, Quatre surmised it was a man, anyway. He slowed his own pace to a loose amble, allowing whoever it was to catch up to him.
It was the clouds over the moon parting momentarily that showed him the face of his visitor. It was Trowa.
When they stood facing each other, Quatre said, 'I didn't know you were here tonight.'
'I wanted to catch your speech.'
Trowa was barefoot like himself, his strong calves sandy under the cuffs of his trousers. He wore a nice suit, one Quatre had never seen before. It had an Oriental collar, open now to show a long sliver of chest. His hair was the same as ever, a moon-bleached fall of blackness over half his face. His mouth looked sculpted of marble.
'How was it?' Quatre asked.
'Like all your speeches. Passionate. Moving.' Trowa lifted one shoulder, and a large shoe twisted and swung along his chest, tied there by a black lace. 'You don't ever make notes, do you.'
'I've always thought it was better to speak from the heart.'
Trowa finally looked away, out over the waves. 'You rambled a little in the middle.'
He'd known that, but it still stung a little. 'I had a lot of time to fill,' he said, trying for a light tone. 'They lost a speaker last-minute.'
An unreadable eye came back to rest on him. 'Hard to believe you'll be gone for nine months.'
'Not really gone, gone.'
He didn't move, but suddenly Trowa seemed to be standing much closer to him. Trowa stood nearly a head taller than him, and Quatre found himself having to look up the distance.
'Maybe you can give me a tour of your boat?' Trowa said.
Quatre understood what he was really asking. It took a moment to find his tongue. 'I hadn't intended to board until the morning. The crew are busy running a final diagnostic. My presence would just disrupt that.'
'We could sneak on.' He said it without a discernable expression, but his voice was low and suggestive. Quatre felt his face heat.
'Why don't we just go back to my hotel,' he corrected gently. 'I have to check out anyway. I was going to get a few hours sleep and leave early in the morning.'
This time he saw the step that brought them chest to chest. A broad hand smoothed down the line of his spine, raising shivers in its wake, and settled low on his waist.
'Gone enough,' Trowa said.
Like it didn't matter that it had been nearly five months since he'd seen Trowa last. Longer since they'd slept together. Without a note or call-- from Trowa, at least. He'd had two from Trowa's secretary and one from Wufei when Wufei had picked up Trowa's mail for six weeks.
Gone enough. That was saying something.
'Come back to the hotel,' Quatre murmured.
Trowa's fingers squeezed, then let him go. 'I think you lost your sense of adventure,' he answered. 'It would be like old times. Trying to keep quiet... a tiny cabin in enemy territory. Silence and secrecy.'
'I can't imagine what's got into me,' Quatre said drily. 'Old times or not, Trowa, I want to sleep on a soft bed sometime tonight and eat a good breakfast in the morning, all courtesy of a place I'm already paying for anyway.' He reached, this time, to part the linen Oriental collar and touch a patch of curly chest hair that dipped down toward a smooth sternum. 'So are you coming?'
Their trek back to the hotel was silent, interrupted only by staff crossing from the deck back to the service entrances. The music was off now, the guests dispersed. The lobby was empty of all but the maitre d'hotel. Quatre stopped Trowa with a soft touch, and led him to the front desk. As he drew near, he saw it was Mariah, the woman who had handled most of his schedule. They were both smiling when he came to a halt before her mahogany station.
'Mr Winner,' she greeted him warmly. 'May I arrange a wake-up call for you tomorrow?'
'Five should be fine,' he decided, not letting himself look at Trowa. 'If you could arrange a small breakfast.'
'Certainly.' She typed quickly on her computer, then looked up at him with her smile growing less professional and more friendly. 'Anything else, sir?'
'I'd like to settle my account tonight, actually,' Quatre told her, tugging his diary from his inside coat pocket. Mariah immediately printed his bill, and set it before him with a pen from her own lapel. Quatre signed where appropriate, and added a considerable tip to be spread among the staff. That completed, he removed a number of small envelopes from the diary, one with Mariah's name sitting atop the pile. 'Please see that these are distributed,' he asked her. 'There are several without names at the bottom, because I'd like everyone who had a hand in my stay to receive one, even if I didn't meet them. Particularly the staff who cleaned my suite-- they were wonderful.'
Her large smile lit her face. 'Mr Winner, how kind! I know how everyone will appreciate your thoughtfulness.' She smoothed a hand over the envelopes and looked up at him again. 'Please come stay with us again,' she added firmly. 'We will be poorer without you.'
'I believe her,' Trowa murmured, as they rode the lift to the sixth floor. 'You must have tossed away a couple thousand credits on this place.'
'It's my money to spend,' Quatre replied easily. 'And I've certainly stayed in places much worse than this. Why not reward them?'
'With thank-you notes?'
'It's an acceptable way of showing thanks,' he said, as they reached his floor. He led them into the short hallway, now dimmed for the night into a golden glow of mirrors and flowers. His door opened at the touch of his key to the pad. 'Mariah, for instance, was a terrific help. She's got a postgraduate degree in business, but when she divorced her husband she was passed for promotion and she's been stuck in middle management. A word or two from someone like me can put her back on the fast-track. She's outgoing, efficient, and competent.'
'And it's your job to see that that happens?' Trowa tossed his coat over a wing-back chair, never so much as glancing about the sitting room, leaving Quatre to wonder if he'd already been inside it. The thought of Trowa sneaking about his private space bothered him for a moment, but he deliberately ignored it, and stripped his own jacket.
'I have the power to make it happen,' he responded, only missing one beat. 'I try to use the power wisely, but the point is to use it. It doesn't do anybody any good tucked away in my pocket all day long.'
When he turned to face Trowa, he found a familiar expression waiting for him in the single visible eye, in the half-curve of full lips. Amusement. The sort of amusement one had when faced with children saying silly things.
Quatre sighed, and dropped his jacket over the settee. 'Are you here to seduce me or not?' he asked.
Trowa's teeth flashed white and straight in a wonderful, rare smile. 'Show me the bedroom.'
The sheets had been turned down, a light quilt artfully draped over the left corner. The mints were on a saucer on the bedside table, not the pillows. His packed suitcase and duffle rested on racks under the window; the shutters were open to the cool Spanish breeze. The lace curtains waved gently.
Trowa turned off the overhead lamp, and took hold of Quatre's shoulders from behind. A moment later, warm, open lips pressed against the back of Quatre's neck. He shivered at the brush of a tongue.
'I can't believe I ever forget how amazing you are,' Trowa whispered against the shell of his ear.
He grinned at the window. 'Me neither,' he answered, and turned into Trowa's arms.
They slept for a little after, and Quatre woke into a dark room to the feeling of Trowa's breath against his thighs. He gasped when sloppy heat and a wriggling tongue enveloped him, a fist gripping him at the base. He sought blindly for Trowa's head, found the sheet, and struggled to throw it aside. Trowa's hair was coarse and thick under his palms. He broke a sweat when a callused thumb wormed against his backside.
'You're so tight,' Trowa broke away to murmur. 'You don't sleep with anyone else, do you?'
He had to remind himself to breathe, with the thumb demanding all his concentration. 'You had to ask that?'
'You could. I wouldn't mind.' Trowa licked delicately along his length, giving him a minute of singular attention.
'Who would I sleep with, Trowa? My work day isn't a revolving door for dates.'
'Some flunky. A handsome lawyer.' Trowa swallowed him hard and fast, released him just as suddenly. 'I always thought Duo had a thing for you.'
That woke him up. 'I hate it when you do that,' he said. 'Stop trying to put obstacles in front of my friendships.'
Trowa straightened his hand and pushed deep. Quatre saw fuzzy light for a moment. 'I'm just saying.'
He'd never quite asked, wasn't sure he wanted to know, if Trowa slept with other people. They didn't use protection. He'd never felt right asking that, either, and it was a thin hope that Trowa would respect him enough to get tested. Or warn him if he needed to. He said, 'There's no-one else as long as there's you.'
Trowa's lips explored him again. 'I know,' they answered. 'You were always sweet like that.' And brought him to climax again.
He was tired. He had to get up in an hour, and he had the hollow feeling of being dehydrated. But post-orgasm was sleepy and pleasant, and Trowa draped over him like a big cat.
'I'm not sweet,' Quatre remembered to say. 'I love you.'
'I know you think you do,' Trowa replied. Amused. Kissed the back of his neck, the favourite spot, and added, 'Go to sleep while you still can.'
But he woke before the call came, convinced he'd sleep through it, and dragged himself into the shower without bothering to turn on any of the lights. He'd only gotten as far as shampoo when Trowa joined him, disgustingly alert, if quiet. He washed Quatre with the nubby cloth from the rack, slipping a finger into him again when he turned to face the spray. Quatre thought he'd be sore later, but Trowa seemed content with just the gesture of ownership.
'Maybe I'll help you bring your stuff on board?' Trowa said.
Quatre pulled away, and turned to face his lover. It was almost pitch-black in the bathroom, but he could see the glint of Trowa's eyes and slick hair, the smooth face so close to his. Not for the first time, he wished he knew how to decode the almost-expressions he found there. He said, 'Why are you trying so hard to get on my ship, Barton?'
But to his surprise Trowa didn't meet his look. The taller man stopped touching him, then sighed and brushed a finger over his jaw. 'I was trying to show an interest,' he explained awkwardly, in an odd, lame tone. 'You talked about this thing for months and I never really listened. I guess... last night I realised how much this actually means to you. This is something you really care about.' He lifted his shoulders, and let them fall. 'Okay?'
His suspicions faded into amazement. 'You really came here just to see me?'
Trowa's mouth turned down in a little scowl. 'You make it sound--'
'Like you care?'
It hung there between them. Then Trowa huffed out a breath, and wrapped a taut arm around Quatre, pulling him close and holding him there firmly. Steam eddied about them in the dark. Quatre took that as the only answer he was likely to get, and pressed his face into Trowa's shoulder to hide his grin.
'Okay,' he whispered.
**
'Mr Winner,' Mostyn greeted him, bright-eyed and grinning despite the fact that outside the wide windows of the bridge, it was only just beginning to brighten along the horizon line. 'And this is?'
'Trowa Barton,' Quatre introduced them, gesturing vaguely as Mostyn leaned across a console to grip Trowa's hand in a gruff shake. 'Trowa is the senior securities analyst at NM-B CDP,' he added.
'Securities analyst?' Mostyn repeated, real interest sparking in his eyes. 'I lobbied for NM-B,' he added to Trowa. 'I've been very impressed with your work. Unfortunately, it was a government contract.'
'I was disappointed when we lost that bid,' Trowa agreed courteously, winning his hand back. 'It would have been an engaging project, designing for your ship's network.'
Mostyn's ever-present grin turned crooked. 'I'm almost afraid to ask how Unilyd measures up, in your opinion.'
'Considering how many of my employees were stolen away to Unilyd, I'd say very well,' Trowa answered drily. 'Half of my best engineers and two designers I recruited out of university myself. You're well protected.'
'I love the world of corporate backstabbing,' Mostyn laughed. 'I imagine Quatre could tell us stories to turn our ears blue.' He stepped back, signaling an end to the discussion. 'Have you had a tour of the bridge, Mr Barton?'
'Not yet.'
'O'Callaghan,' Mostyn called, and a young man in blue polo stood up from his console. 'Stephan O'Callaghan,' Mostyn explained, gesturing the man over. 'Mate on this voyage. Give 'em the tour, son, and then get the extra off the ship so we can launch.' He winked at Quatre and Trowa, and turned back to his business.
O'Callaghan and Quatre had met before. Quatre performed brief introductions again, and then O'Callaghan began to point out features of the bridge. 'We use GPS Navtrac and a Loran Loran navigator,' he explained. 'Piloting is shared between the captain and myself. Our Chief Mate, seated there with the Notre Dame cap, is Suki Yamamoto. She's a die-hard fan.' He named the rest of the crew on the bridge, Darrius Baptiste, the lead seaman, and Jiva Traore, the second seaman. He described the function of the consoles briefly, not noticing that both men were more than familiar with bridge equipment. Quatre, accustomed to paying polite attention, nodded and added commentary at the right moments, allowing Trowa to be customarily silent. Their 'tour' took all of three minutes, and then O'Callaghan excused himself to his console. Relatively alone in a corner of the bridge, Quatre faced his lover, and found him already looking.
'Guess this is it,' Quatre told Trowa.
'Guess so.' Trowa nodded toward the door, and they slipped outside to the narrow wheelhouse walkway. The dawn air was chilly, and Quatre suppressed a shiver as goosebumps appeared on his bare arms. He hugged himself.
Trowa's fingers brushed his chin, then dropped back to his side. 'You'll fit in. You always do.'
'I know.' He made himself smile. 'You know, I wouldn't have missed you so bad if you hadn't shown up last night.'
'I'm not even gone yet.' Trowa's eyes seemed to be saying significant things; at least, it was pleasant to imagine they were. 'Maybe I'll see you again when you make landfall.'
'I'll let you know our progress.' He always did. Trowa rarely made use of Quatre's little reminders, but Quatre hadn't yet convinced himself to stop sending them. 'You better disembark. They really want to get out of here.'
Trowa nodded. He leaned down, touching his lips to the top of Quatre's ear, making him shiver again. He said nothing else, and Quatre knew better than to call good-bye as he watched Trowa climb down the ladder and off across the deck.
Mostyn poked his head out the door, catching Quatre's attention away from Trowa's retreat. 'Would you like to join us on the bridge for launch?' he asked.
Quatre turned to look at him, and grinned himself. 'You know,' he said, 'I think I'll stay on deck. I want to have my first ocean sunrise outside.'
The captain's smile deepened. 'Welcome aboard, Quatre.'
**
Trowa ordered another breakfast for himself at his own hotel, one farther from the Dorada Marina and the departing ship than Quatre's, but significantly more suited to Trowa's purposes. The Husa I'lla provided him with private business facilities, but better yet, operated under his own company's security systems, albeit not the most comprehensive package he offered. By eight in the morning he was seated in an empty conference room with his own laptop, a channel he knew beyond doubt was secure, and a mixto con huevo with a side of chocolate-drizzled churros.
He keyed a very private number, and sat back to wait.
It took time. He let the call sit, his screen filled with the green and grey logo of his company, a small caption keeping track of signal repeats. He'd nearly finished the mixto when a click told him his call had been accepted, and secured. He wiped his fingers quickly, and leaned toward the laptop just as a familiar face replaced the logo.
'Target has launched,' he said shortly.
Chang Wufei nodded once. His private office at Preventers HQ, an impersonal space absolutely without clutter, was the backdrop to his aesthetic head and shoulders, the crisp collar of his uniform and the sleek lines of his black hair. 'As anticipated?'
Trowa leaned back, dropping his elbows onto the arms of his plush leather chair. 'They had stronger security than I'd hoped. I wasn't able to make an amphibious approach.' It had probably been Quatre's influence that produced the armed and well-trained guards who had observed a strict perimetre about the ship. Trowa had determined very quickly that it wasn't worth attempting to penetrate it, however easy it might have been. He had, after all, had a fall-back plan. 'I got onboard. I planted a bug on the bridge.'
'Just one?' Wufei did not look pleased.
'One is better than none,' Trowa pointed out. He reached past his laptop, picking up an object he had been deliberately ignoring since he had set it there. He contemplated it a moment before bringing it to the screen for Wufei to see.
'Pills,' Wufei said. 'Pills are your fallback?'
'Not my pills.' He shook the bottle, eliciting a clacking noise, and settled back in the chair, rubbing his thumb along the ridge of the cap. 'I replaced them with the placebos. According to our good doctor, we've got approximately three weeks.'
Wufei's face had settled into deeply unhappy lines. 'I'm still not convinced this is our best course,' he snapped. 'Quatre is a friend and an honourable man.'
'Which is why he'll never suspect I've tampered with his medication.' Trowa put the bottle back on the table, determined not to look at it. 'He's taken them all his life. He'll have to leave the ship to get more, once he realises the batch he has isn't working. We agreed that getting him off the ship before we move was paramount.'
'Without harm!'
'It's just a heart condition,' Trowa dismissed it. 'You read his files. It's mild enough to be controlled by medication. He won't be in any danger. He may not be comfortable, but I remind you that we agreed. This is an easy way of getting him off the ship. We can be ready in two weeks.' He cut off any further protest by moving on. 'Inform your contacts. I'll take care of our client.'
It was a visible struggle. But before too many seconds had slipped away, Wufei nodded his acceptance.
'Chang,' Trowa added. 'This was a successful first phase. The early victories will be small, but they are still victories.'
He didn't receive affirmation this time, but Wufei's shoulders seemed to straighten. A moment later, the Preventer cut their connection, and Trowa's screen returned to the logo.
Trowa found he had picked up the pill bottle again. He read the label, one he had easily extracted from the database of Quatre's primary physician and replicated in his own office in Brussels. Propanolol, 90mg. One tablet twice daily.
Quatre would take the placebos until he started feeling drained and sore. He might have nightmares, but nightmares were old friends to Gundam pilots. The symptoms of his heart condition would return. Chest pain, palpitations. Headaches and weakness. But Quatre had lived with that all his life too, and always maintained that the condition was tolerable. He laughed about it when he forgot to take his medication.
Trowa stuffed the bottle into his trousers pocket, and put it out of his mind. He queued a new programme on his laptop, and opened a connection between himself and the ship sailing out of Dorada. Information began to scroll across his screen, the rate increasing as Trowa cautiously expanded the range of his bug, creating a network of the GTEK serial multi-port interface, the differential GPS and gyro. He forgot about the churros as he settled in to read.
End Part 4
(:./erin/launch4)
