Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, its characters, its quotations, or its plotlines. They belong to the Sotsu Agency who owns their trademark, Bandai who licenses their use, and, of course, the guy who created them. I am neither receiving payment for this work, nor will I accept any. No copyright infringement is intended.

Pairing: past 3+4, current 4+5+4
Rating: PG
Warning: Third person Trowa POV. Angsty. Lime-y.

On a Park Bench
by Muffie

A year ago, he'd sat on this very bench, wearing this very trench coat, and watching the warm spill of candlelight through that cafe's very window. He'd pulled his bangs off to one side and worn a pair of small, round lenses. He'd been going for technogeek and ended up with something a little too beat poet. He'd missed technogeek this year, too, but he'd been mistaken for a painter or sculptor. Maybe he'd have to give up black; it seemed to bring out the inner artist in him, the inner artist that really exist. It had been cold then, too. He had seen his breath huffing in the faint moonlight and the snow had fallen with thick, heavy flakes. Like now, he hadn't felt the chill, he'd only the felt the burn in his chest. He'd been contemptuous of the trite and melodramatic idea of ripping one's heart out. He'd learned otherwise a year ago. It still hurt.

The difference between now and then was the face next to the window. Last year, the face had been framed by unruly blonde curls that did nothing to hide tears tracking down cheeks that belonged more on a porcelain cherub. Quatre had visibly sniffed his way into a sort of pained stoicism that didn't fit him. He'd fiddled with his fork, sipped at his water, and stared at a front door that he knew wouldn't open. He knew it wouldn't open because Quatre had reserved the entire cafe for the night, just for them, and he wouldn't going in. This year, Quatre's face shone as he stared at the door, his joy visibly leeching everywhere. The cafe had again been reserved and the champagne was the finest he could find. No doubt the chubby, little chef sang in the kitchen, lining the ingredients for his most magnifique crea---

"I'm not surprised to find you here, Trowa."

He flinched, beneath his trench coat where no one could see it. "Heero."

Heero settled onto the bench next to him, wrapped in a navy peacoat. "Are you going in?"

He frowned at Heero, then tucked his chin into his scarf.

"I didn't think you would." Heero stretched his legs out comfortably. "You sat here and watched him last year, didn't you?"

"What do you want?"

Heero shrugged, his eyes on Quatre. The usually harsh lines of his expression were gentle. "Did you stay for the whole thing last year?"

He rubbed at his cheek and watched Quatre spend a few moments in conference with the owner of the cafe. "No."

They sat in silence for a few moments, while Quatre bounced in his seat and watched the cafe's owner trot off toward the back.

Trowa cleared his throat. "Aren't you going to ask why I did it?"

"Nothing to ask. You followed your emotions." Heero shrugged again. "I think you're the only one who followed that advice."

He scowled. "It was the right thing to do."

"Most of it was."

Most? Trowa turned his scowl to his feet. "What do you mean by that?"

Heero didn't say anything.

"Well?" He looked up from the ground and met Heero's eyes. He had thought they'd be boring through his skull, to see what sort of dangerous secrets lurked inside, instead, Heero was watching him with something between sadness and concern. "You didn't just give him up, you gave up all of us."

He couldn't stop the tension seeping along his spine. "I didn't give anything up."

Heero smiled, looking so much like the little boy he hadn't been allowed to be. "I know you, better than he ever did. You gave him up so he could---"

A few blocks away, the cathedral bells pealed the Angelus. Quatre quit bouncing and turned toward the door again. Trowa squinted enough to see the anticipation fighting with apprehension on his face. Quatre had no need to worry, he knew. Heero chuckled beside him, quiet and almost happy. Before the bells finished, Wufei climbed out of a cab, paid the fare, and went into the cafe. Quatre shot to his feet and cuddled Wufei into a hug.


"It's their first real date. Wufei made them wait for a year."

He pulled the trench coat tighter around himself and wished that Heero would just go away.

"It's what you wanted, isn't it? It's why you made sure that Duo and I had tickets to the game that night. You knew that Quatre would call Wufei when you didn't come, to make sure you weren't suddenly called in or that you hadn't been in an accident." Heero leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees.

Wufei gave Quatre a lingering kiss before having the seating rearranged. Instead of across from Quatre, he sat diagonally, within touching distance.

Trowa closed his eyes and forced down the knot in his throat.

Heero slumped back in the bench. "There were better ways to do it, Trowa."

He was suddenly and unreasonably angry. What he would have given for Heavyarms and an unsuspecting Oz base right at that moment. "No, there wasn't."

"You could have told him."

"He knew I loved him. Hell, he probably still knows that I love him." Trowa forced himself to uncurl his fists. "He would never have let me go. He knew I loved him so much, but he didn't know that he didn't love me back."

Heero's head jerked up. "What?"

"Once, he told me that he couldn't tell the difference between my love for him and his love for me. He thought it meant something great for our relationship. And after that I started to understand." Trowa let his hands burl back into fists.

He watched Wufei feed a tidbit Quatre, who shone in a way that burned him to the core.

"Understand what?"

Quatre closed his eyes and kissed Wufei's fingers.

Heero nudged him with an elbow. "Trowa, what did you understand?"

Trowa couldn't tear his eyes away from Quatre's smile. "How much I love him."

There was silence for a moment, then the sound of Heero settling deeper into the bench.

"And how much he didn't love me." Trowa felt himself smile, even though it hurt to do it. "Did you know?"

Heero shifted again. "About Wufei? I think so." Trowa's hands relaxed so he shoved them in his pockets. "It was the right thing to do, wasn't it."


"It was."

Heero poked him with an elbow again. "You didn't have to give all of us up."

He huffed in disbelief. "Yes, I did. There was no way I could stick around."

Wufei paused in his nibbling to steal a kiss. The snow started to fall, dropping thick, heavy flakes. A waiter slipped into the glow of candlelight with a silver hand cart, removed their plates and replaced them with a different course.

"Where'd you go?" Heero was watching him instead of the cafe, he could feel it.

He shrugged. "I went to the place where they made Heavyarms. I thought it would be abandoned. They make pots and pans now."

Heero grunted.

Trowa smiled a little more. It didn't hurt quite so much when it involved Heero. "Got a job. Anodized woks."

The snow settled around their feet and along the sidewalk in front of the cafe. Somehow, Wufei and Quatre had gotten closer together without moving their chairs.



"Come home."

Foreheads touching, Quatre and Wufei shared some pasta thing.

He looked at Heero who was looking at him. "Maybe you could come to L3. Visit. See a few woks."

Heero didn't say anything, not even a grunt.

He dropped his gaze to the bench between them, picking at the lint inside of his pockets. "It's not time yet."

"When it is?"

He watched Quatre and Wufei kiss again.

"I'll come home."


on to 'on a park bench - part 2

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