Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing because if I did, I wouldn’t be a rapidly-going-broke college student!

This is Part Three of the Dangerous Missions Arc
Pairings: 3x4
Warnings: None

Summary: Trowa faces his worst fear... a haircut

Mission: Haircut
by Persephone

"K’so! Quatre, you traitor!" Trowa glared at his seemingly innocent lover who held up his hands in defense.

"Tro, don’t be silly! You mentioned the other day that you should get a hair appointment to Duo so I just thought I’d help you. I don’t understand why you’re so upset..." Quatre blinked in surprise when Trowa jumped up from his seat at the dining room table where they were eating lunch and began to pace.

Trowa ran his hands through his decidedly too-long hair in frustration, "In front of Duo, yes! He hates hearing about stuff like that!" He smiled for a second, lost in memory, "His face got all red and mottled and he started to breath faster and faster and he gripped his hair with both hands like he was a drowning man struggling to keep his hold-" Quatre cleared his throat pointedly and narrowed his eyes at his husband.

Quatre rested his chin on one hand and fiddled with his fork with the other, "Well, why would you say it then?" The nonchalant position belied his own amusement at the situation.

Trowa stopped in his tracks and turned to look disbelievingly at his lover, "You mean, you don’t remember? Just last week he glued Rashid to the seat of his brand new car and then the week before used our...ah...well, you know...our ‘stuff’ to tie Abdul to the boat at our weekend barbecue." Trowa crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin defiantly, "It was payback."

Quatre lifted his head and smiled a smile that could only be considered feral, "Remember when you forgot all about Relena’s yearly dinner with the world’s ‘not really important but seriously rich people’ in Duo’s words?" Trowa nodded reluctantly, "Ah, good, then you remember that you made plans with the guys and I had to go by myself? To Relena’s estate. To Relena’s party! Where all she talked about was superficial things like fashion and who was dating what famous person, and why grass turns different shades of green!?!?!"

Trowa plopped down into his chair and heaved a deep sigh, which stirred his overly-long bangs and caused them to tickle his lips annoyingly. "Did I not make up for that the next night?"

Quatre’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head slowly, "Not hardly. Consider this payback, my love."

Trowa eyed Quatre appraisingly and then eyed the distance to the door. Before Quatre could even blink, Trowa was up and running towards the door.

Quatre jumped up from his seat, knocking over his chair and was hot on Trowa’s heels, "Tro! Don’t be ridiculous! It’s a haircut, it won’t kill you!"

Trowa took a precious second to look over his shoulder. His eyes widened comically when he saw how much closer Quatre was than he thought.

He picked up the pace and ran through the open doors onto the veranda, "Stay away from me, you traitor! I told you my secret fear when I was drunk that night and you used it!" He threw over his shoulder, "That’s low, Quatre, so low!"

Over the garden fence, he jumped, under the orchard trees , he ran and still Quatre followed. It wasn’t until he got to the small lake that his feet twisted on the sand and he went flying. He landed on his back with a loud curse and watched as Quatre caught his breath a few feet away, bent over with his hands clasping his knees, chest heaving.

He lifted his head and shook back golden strands that fell in his eyes, "Damn, Tro, you can still run faster than anyone I’ve ever met."

His compliment was met with stony silence.

He tried a cajoling smile but it withered under the death glare being sent his way.

Finally, he sighed, and held out a hand, "Come on, Trowa. Stop acting like a baby and be the man I know you are. Be brave, love." He barely managed to withhold a smirk as the obstinance faded from Trowa’s eyes and he thought he had won when he saw that it was replaced by...fear?

He dropped to his knees beside Trowa in alarm and wrapped his arms around him, "Trowa, I never thought you were serious! Oh, Allah, if I had known just how frightened you really were I never would have made the appointment! Honest! But why are you so scared of hair stylists?"

Trowa pulled away with a shudder and leaned back against Quatre’s welcoming chest. "It all started before the war..." and he began a tale of one little boy with a mop of auburn hair in his face that was forced to get it cut so it wouldn’t hinder his sight... "And do you know what they gave me, Quatre?"

Entranced, Quatre could only manage a shake of his head. Trowa whirled to face him and and slicked his hair back from his face, "A BUZZ CUT! I was shaved! It was horrible! The barber was a sadistic bastard who only wanted my hair for a wig for one of the commanding officers!" He grabbed Quatre by his shoulders and shook him, caught up in his fear, "I can’t take it again! I need hair, Quatre! I like to shampoo and condition, to brush and detangle! Hell, I even like the fact that I need one of those really cool rollers with the sticky paper on it so take hair off my clothes! I like having you run your fingers through my hair at night and to ruffle it in the morning to say hello!" He stood and pointed a finger imperiously at his lover, "I’m not going! I refuse! And you can’t make me!"

Quatre stood warily and glanced at his watch. It was a good thing he told the barber they’d be late. He could read Trowa like a book and if he didn’t want to do something...well...you just had to make him do it anyway.

Quatre turned and walked back the way they came. He hid a smile when he practically heard Trowa’s jaw hit the sand, "All right, Tro. You win, I was wrong and you are right. So I’ll just call the barber and tell him you don’t trust him. He’ll be ruined, fired, and eventually his family will be thrown out on the streets because he won’t be able to pay his rent and then they’ll starv-"

"All right!" Trowa ran up to match Quatre’s pace as they headed for the house. "You win, dammit. I won’t have anyone out on the streets because of my fear."

Quatre turned his head and gave him a brilliant smile, "I knew you’d say that! That’s part of why I love you, you know."

"Yeah, yeah. I hope you still love me when my hair looks stupid." Quatre laughed as Trowa continued to grumble until they reached the patio doors.

Quatre opened the door, "Okay, here’s the thing. I told the barber to come here so you would be more comfortable in your own surroundings. So, he’s in our bathroom. Let’s go, love."

Trowa took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic pulse pounding in his ears. The things he did for that man...

Trowa stepped through the bathroom doorway and turned back to Quatre.

Quatre glanced at his watch and noted the time.


"You owe me so big, buddy." Quatre merely smiled. "Stuff like...I get to be top for the whole week kinda stuff. Deal?" A sedate nod.


"Okay, here I go." Trowa stepped through the doorway and stopped dead in his tracks. His jaw hit the floor and he nearly fell over in surprise.


"DUO!?! Why the hell are you holding shears!!"

Quatre chuckled from his seat on the bed.

"Payback is so sweet."

Part Four of the Dangerous Missions Arc- Quatre’s story is next!


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