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
Pairings: past 3/4, present 4/5
Rating: anyone who isn't anti-yaoi
Warnings: yaoi, third person Trowa POV, a little angsty, a little sappy, a little hopeful
Notes: I originally did not intend to write anything more for "On the Park Bench", but Windsor Blue's
inner OT3er apparently wanted to whack Trowa on the head and make him go for broke. It occurred
to me that Wufei would probably want whack Trowa on the head, too. So, here we are.
I'm such a dork. This is a sequel, but not a necessary one. Actually, I don't
think you necessarily need to read the first one to get this one, but it might be nice.
On a Park Bench - Part 2
He thought that, after years of piloting a mobile suit, if anything went wrong it'd be with his elbows. Now it seemed that he was on a fast track for carpal tunnel syndrome. Almost two years on an assembly line, screwing bolts through wok handles was taking its toll. Trowa dropped onto a bench in the park, rubbing his wrists. Carpal tunnel. Stupid, just stupid. He swiped at his sweat with the back of his hand. Maybe he should pick more physically demanding employment so he could give up this jogging in the park crap. Or he could join a gym. Maybe he should have brought a water bottle along.
A honk yanked his attention to the street more than a dozen meters away. A cab cut across traffic and parked at the curb, half on the sidewalk. He scratched himself idly at the waistband of his shorts, where the sweat started to turn annoying, and watched as the passenger climbed out. He had long, black hair swinging freely around the middle of his back and broad shoulders. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear that was---
Wufei. It was Wufei.
If he had that water, he'd choke on it. He could out run him. Wufei was encumbered by a formal looking, Chinese suit and Trowa only had on a pair of shorts and running shoes. He could get away, have his half-packed bag all the way packed, and make it to the port before Wufei could get to his apartment. He could.
Wufei flowed to a stop right in front of him. "Hello, Trowa."
Trowa nodded a bit, wishing he hadn't tied his hair back.
"Do you mind if I sit?"
"You don't have your sword with you, do you?"
Wufei looked startled for a moment, then smiled. "I am unarmed."
Trowa waved his hand over the open half of the bench and pretended an interest in traffic.
"I have no plans to hurt you." Wufei sat, arranging his feet casually in front of him. "I will admit that for a long while, I couldn't decide if I should kill you or kiss you. Perhaps both. You hurt Quatre a great deal."
He sighed and watched a pale blue car drop three children at the curb.
"I picked up the pieces two years ago. I gave him a shoulder to cry on and a friend he could have when he needed it. That's what you intended, isn't it? You left so he would turn to me."
He could hear Wufei grinding teeth. "Dammit, Barton, that wasn't your decision to make!"
He sighed again. He'd been waiting for something like this for almost two years.
Wufei tucked a length of hair behind an ear and frowned at the three children running towards the playground. "When Heero returned from his sudden desire to visit L3 in the middle of winter cycle, we managed to get him to confess that he'd come to visit you, you were doing as well as could be expected. He told us why you left."
Trowa closed his eyes and curled his fingernails into his palms.
"We thought you left because you didn't love him. I cannot begin to describe how much he hurt when Heero told us that you left because you thought he didn't love you, that he loved me instead."
Trowa sighed. "Now he's happy."
Wufei snorted in disgust. "Heero told us about that nonsense of yours. Something about how you turned coward because you thought Quatre was confused about whether or not he was feeling your love for him."
Trowa forced his jaws to unclench. Did he have to go through this every single year? Who next year, Duo? Relena? The ghost of Treize Khushrenada?
"A few months ago, Quatre told me that he couldn't tell the difference between my love and his. The same thing he told you, right?"
It felt like, like, it felt like he'd fallen from the trapeze and missed the net.
Wufei twisted to face him. "So who should I send him off to, Heero? Or do we count backward and try Duo first? Perhaps we should try a woman? Any suggestions?"
"Sarcasm doesn't suit you."
Wufei smirked. "It suits me perfectly. Ask Duo."
"What do you want from me?" Try as he might, Trowa couldn't keep his tone even, couldn't keep the growl from his voice.
Wufei was silent for a moment, then he said, "Come home."
He jerked his head around, eyes locking on Wufei. Wufei, apparently, could look no higher than at Trowa's chest.
"Surprised to hear that from me? We miss you. I miss you." Wufei smiled a little. "I'm not giving him up for you, Barton. I've misplaced my martyr complex."
"Are you coming home?" Wufei cocked his head a bit, his hair curling around his shoulder. "You told Heero you'd come home when the time was right."
"Well, then. The time couldn't be more right."
"Woks, Barton. Woks."
Trowa tilted his own head and regarded Wufei solemnly.
Wufei smiled, affectionately this time. "Come home, Trowa."
Trowa smiled back.