Stand Inside Your Love
By Link Worshiper

Pairing: 3+4+3, 1+2+1, 5+S+5
Rating: PG-ish
Warnings: shounen ai, het, song-fic, bit of language here and there, fluff and sap, post EW
Disclaimer: GW © Sunrise, Sotsu Agency and Bandai; lyrics by the Smashing Pumpkins
Betas: My Other Half and Rocky (Thank you for ripping this story to absolute shreds!)
Etc.: For Sailor Comet

--@--

[You and me,
Meant to be.]

On L4, everything was far grander than what Trowa was accustomed to. Unlike the many grimy cities, the dirty, rusted streets he’d spent many a night lurking upon, wrapped in the cover of their grotesque darkness, the capital city of the L4 colony cluster was a bright, almost shining district of marvelously tall buildings and wide avenues. Even the gross wad of gum stuck to the heel of Trowa’s left sneaker seemed cleaner than anything he’d ever come across during his time as a wandering soldier.

Though he was not a stranger to this particular colony or its main, bustling metropolis, Trowa still always felt rather out-of-place whenever he came to visit. Granted, the stealth expert was used to slipping in and out of places without a soul noticing his presence at all, but in a city like this, he was hyperaware of the fact that his casual dress and rather distinct height attracted attention. More attention than he was used to, anyway.

He had grown much taller in the past five years that had elapsed since the old Eve Wars, though he was still just as wiry and lanky as ever. His hair was still cropped military-style behind his head, but the long, jutting sweep of cinnamon brown hair that hung in his face no longer seemed so concealing now that his features had elongated and trimmed with age. His emerald green eyes were still the same, beautiful, delicately narrow shape; his expression was rarely weighed down by that saddened, lonely look that used to linger there so often during the war years. Still the quiet, passionate person of his youth, but no longer plagued by emptiness or the uselessness, Trowa Barton had a rare need for existence that had seemed like but a dream when he was a teenager.

[Immutable.]

He wasn’t sure quite where or when it happened, why, or even how, but at some point along the line, he had found himself impossibly infatuated with his former comrade-at-arms, Quatre Winner. Looking back on those war-torn times, Trowa couldn’t help but think that the whole idea of it was ludicrous, especially considering the sort of person he had been at the time, but there it was. To deny that Quatre had quite a hand in helping him comprehend who he was and what it meant to truly be alive would have been folly. (Though to deny that Quatre had such an effect on everyone he met would have been quite more so.) Even from that very first moment they had met, Trowa had been awestruck by Quatre’s profound ability to understand the universe, to understand him. In turn, Trowa, for his part, had not the same, easy time understanding Quatre, and it wasn’t until his recovery from amnesia that the true value of Quatre’s all-encompassing spirit even began to make sense to him. Or mean something.

[Impossible.]

The humming engine of a hover car whipping around the street corner jarred Trowa from his mental wandering before he stepped out into moving traffic. He absently touched the luminous LCD display affixed to the nearby lamp post to summon the walk signal so he could cross the busy road, which was clogged with sleek hover cars. Everything on this colony was so new and top-of-the line! There was technology swarming L4 that probably wouldn’t be introduced on Earth and L1 for two or so years. It would be even longer still before either L3 or L5 would catch up, and heaven knew when L2 would see even a byte of this progress. Even these new hover cars, which were common throughout most of the L4 cluster, had only just begun to spring up on L1. Trowa shook his head at the thought as the CGI-animated character on the street light across the way changed its glow from red to green and began to walk in place.

It was amazing how, even with the drastic improvements of life since the birth of the ESUN, things still remained so divided. Then again, ever since the ESUN had come into existence, there was quite a bit of positive change. For instance, civil rights and equality had taken off like never before. Trowa fondly remembered how quickly Heero and Duo had been to set a date for their wedding when the ESUN Parliament finally passed laws that allowed for marriage between all pairs of people, regardless of gender, race or religion. Many other institutions, despite their long-practiced traditions, were encouraged to adopt the policies of the ESUN, which included a long-awaited reform for many religious groups that often feuded over such moral issues. (In fact, a good many religions has since assimilated, fizzling many differences among people; there were people of all faiths flocking to churches and mosques, and temples alike, furthering that dream of one totally unified nation.)

[It’s destiny;
Pure lunacy.]

A frown crossed Trowa’s face at this thought of weddings as he slowed his pace to a halt. Hands jammed in pockets, he stared down at his white sneakers, noting how much grime had collected on them since he’d left the spaceport that morning. He had come to L4 to attend a wedding, after all, and that led him to thinking about Quatre, which sent a shiver of nervousness down his spine. He hadn’t seen the blond billionaire in almost two months, and despite the many e-mails and phone calls that they frequently exchanged, he couldn’t shake the fear that maybe in that gap of time, Quatre had somehow changed into a person who wouldn’t want anything to do with a low-life, circus echelon like Trowa. Even with the promise of something more for their relationship, Trowa couldn’t ignore the hollow fear of being cast out again, a sentiment that had been practically ingrained into his nature since childhood.

Straightening his shoulders, Trowa lifted his chin and pulled himself out of the downward spiral to the dismal pit of doldrums he walked dangerously along. He had hardly lifted his foot to resume walking, however, when he noticed where his absent-minded wandering had carried him.

[Incalculable.]

High above him loomed the thin spires of the city’s largest church, a frivolous, dated sort of building with heavy, wooden doors and an ornately carved, stone portal, huge stained glass windows and empty-faced statues. Floral wreaths hung from the doors and long, hanging banners of celebratory red and white flapped in the artificial colony breeze. Despite its grandeur, Trowa found a strange kinship with the ornate, stone structure, since the church seemed just as out-of-place in the middle of L4’s largest city as he did. Having little else to distract him anyway, he decided to take a quick peek inside, if only to satisfy his curious nature.

The inside of the sanctuary did not disappoint. The front vestibule was a small nook, tucked beneath the choir balcony and separated from the rest of the church by a wooden prayer railing topped with a set of arches that looked like empty stained glass windows. The wider, central arch straddled the main aisle that crept up to the church’s main altar. Above, intricate paintings adorned the vaulted ceilings, and seemed to light the place all on their own with their vibrant colours and softened details. The altar glowed with a luminosity that seemed to beckon even to Trowa, a man of very little religious ties.

He hardly took the time to absorb all of this before he realized that he wasn’t alone in the church. Old habit kicked in, and he quickly slipped into the dark shadows that dripped from the low arches of the ambulatory. Hiding behind a thick, stone column, he watched as a pair of nuns and a blond woman wearing a blue business suit slowly made their way up the aisle from the altar. They were hanging thick, lacy wreathes of white and red roses from each pew, linking them all together with crimson ribbons, long scarves of white silk and gauze. Trowa’s face fell again, reminded of the wedding at which he would see Quatre again; his unfounded nervousness slipped down his throat as he unconsciously swallowed.

[Insufferable!]

It seemed he wasn’t as well hidden as he had hoped, because the woman in the business suit noticed him lurking almost immediately. Somehow coming off as excited, despite her very professional air, the woman, beckoned to Trowa. “How do these flowers look?” she asked, gesturing to the wreaths the nuns were still busy hanging from each pew. “Do you think they’re too much for a small wedding, or just right?”

Trowa rubbed his throat, swallowing again. His mouth suddenly tasted arid. “Lovely,” he managed, internally wincing at the sandpapery quality of his voice. “I’m sure the service will be wonderful.” He quickly slipped behind the column again, the fleeting wish that he could just melt into the stone bricks and disappear crossing his mind.

The woman seemed satisfied with his answer and returned to her decorating work, but Trowa was still left with the desire to be alone so he could think better. To avoid any other wedding-related questions, he quickly scanned the immediate area for a hasty exit, and quickly settled on the slightly ajar door to a nearby confessional. Wasting no time in slipping inside the tiny room, he closed the wooden door behind him and latching it shut.

[But for the last time,
You’re everything that I want
And ask for.]

The confessional was like a little wood and stone box, separated into two halves by a wooden partition with a small, screened window through which the confessor and a priest could communicate. A single chair sat beneath the tiny, round window cut into the sandstone wall.

With a sigh, Trowa sat down and stretched out his tired legs, leaning his head back against the wooden partition. “Finally, some solitude,” he murmured to himself with an air of triumph.

No sooner had he let the words slip past his lips, was there a thump and the sound of wood clattering across stone from the other side of the partition. Trowa’s relaxed position immediately stiffened as he sat upright in the chair, one hand pressed against the wall and the other instinctively reaching for the handgun he no longer carried. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

“Don’t be frightened!” came a worried voice from the other side of the partition. Through the partition’s screen, Trowa could make out someone’s silhouette as he righted the chair he had knocked over when Trowa had startled him.

[You’re all that I dream!]

Instinctively, Trowa knew that this person wasn’t going to be an immediate threat to him, so he let his guard down once again, something he was proud to say he was able to do since the end of the wars. “I’m sorry,” he said as he resumed his former, slouching position in the chair. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“It’s okay; I didn’t know you had come in either,” said the man on the other side of the partition. His voice was bright and warm, much like Quatre’s, which just sent Trowa tumbling back down the hill with his heavy boulder of concerns regarding said millionaire. “I’m no one to worry about,” the stranger continued. “Just someone trying to get himself a bit of alone-time, you know?”

“Do I ever,” mumbled Trowa, who didn’t even realized he had done so until the words were halfway out of his mouth.

There was a brief pause from the other man, as if he was contemplating whether or not to say what he asked next. “You’re not a preacher, are you?” he wondered, at length.

When he heard this, at first, a smirk teased Trowa’s lips before erupting into a quick bout of laughter. The idea of Duo as a preacher was silly enough, but him? Now that was just ridiculous, and he told the other man so.

The other man laughed in response. “Just making sure, that’s all,” he said as his bright whoops died down to chuckles.

A grin still adorning his face, Trowa crossed his arms lazily over his chest and shook his head, his long bangs swishing back and forth in front of his eyes as one large clump of cinnamon brown hair as he did so. “Were you planning to make a confession, then?”

“God, no, not to any preacher. I don’t like having to explain myself to them,” the other man explained loosely. There was another short pause in the man’s speech before he went on. “But to you… you I might.”

Trowa made a small, humming noise in the back of his throat, but said nothing, waiting for the man to go on. It seemed like there was something heavy on this man’s mind that he was having trouble thinking through on his own, which was completely fine as far as Trowa was concerned; perhaps listening to the other man’s troubles, no matter how trivial they might be, would help distract him from his own wandering thoughts.

“I’m getting married today,” he said suddenly, sharply cutting off Trowa’s inner monologue. Trowa startled, the chair screeching across the floor as the other man’s words registered in his mind. So much for not thinking about Quatre.

[Who wouldn’t be the one you love?]

“Congratulations.” Trowa cleared his throat and repositioned himself on the chair, sitting a bit more stiffly than before, though not quite as rigid as he had been when the man had initially made his announcement. “I am also attending a wedding today. This afternoon, actually.”

“You must be excited,” the stranger commented.

“No more than you, I’m sure,” replied Trowa in return, sincerely meaning his words.

A low noise of agreement sounded from the other side of the partition, and then fell into silence once more. It wasn’t an awkward, uncomfortable silence, as most instances tended to be, but a comfortable, contemplative one that lingered warmly between them.

At last, the other man spoke his mind, expressing the real thing that had been bothering him. “I’m very nervous,” he admitted softly. “I don’t know if I ought to be bursting with anticipation or if I should be scared.”

“Why?” Trowa wondered, and then patiently awaited the answer.

The other man seemed to hesitate briefly as he thought over his words. “Well, what if something happens?” he began slowly. “Like, what if my fiancé decides to have nothing to do with me? What if I’m left standing at the altar, alone?” Another short pause interrupted the man’s speech. “I’m not fantastically special or anything; there’s tons of people who are far more appealing than me. There’s so much to consider and reconsider in the world—what if my fiancé decides it’s not worth jumping into such a large commitment as marriage?”

[Who wouldn’t stand inside your love?]

Trowa’s heart seemed to palpitate irregularly. Here, more or less, was the same trouble Trowa was having. He worried often that Quatre would find someone far better suited to him than Trowa, someone who had more to offer and complimented him in ways Trowa could never hope to. There were so many people in the world, and he was only one, of them, and insignificant at that. How could Quatre possibly want him above anyone else? Trowa regarded himself as a particularly plain individual.

“Then again,” the man went on, “it’s probably unfair of me to talk about someone’s thoughts like I know what they are.” A quick laugh floated up from the stranger’s side of the partition. “For all I know, my fiancé’s sitting somewhere worrying about the exact, same thing!”

“Maybe,” agreed Trowa, that little smile of his threatening to dispel his worried thoughts as it crept back across his face. It was consoling to know that he wasn’t the only person who feared rejection and wondered about his self-worth. “Probably,” he then amended after a moment of thought. “But I would try not to think about it so much,” he added quickly, wincing when he figured he probably should swallow a spoonful of his own advice.

[Protected and the lover of....]

The hollow sound of knuckles rapping on wood peeled through the little confessional and interrupted any further conversation between the two. “Sir? Are you in there?” came the voice of the woman from before. It seemed that the wedding she and those nuns had been decorating for was that of this man; Trowa didn’t blame him for wanting to shut himself up for a little quiet space.

A heavy sigh from the stranger filled the confessional as he answered, “Yes, I’m here, I’m here.” The sounds of movement came from the other side of the partition as the other man stood up. Trowa watched his dark silhouette cross past the partition’s screen as the stranger stepped towards the door on his side of the confessional. The door sounded on its hinges and the other man’s feet stopped as he paused and said softly to Trowa, “Thank you, by the way. You’re the best listener I’ve ever met… Trowa.”

[...A pure soul and beautiful you.]

The door clicked shut before Trowa even had a chance to react, leaving the tall, green-eyed man frozen on the edge of his chair.

By the time he was able to get over the shock of being addressed by name, a few minutes had already passed. There was no chance the stranger who somehow knew him was still lingering nearby. Sure enough, when he exited the confessional, he found himself standing in an empty church; even the women who had been hanging the place with flowers were nowhere to be found.

However, a quick glance at his wristwatch showed he really didn’t have that much time to stay and ponder the mysterious groom much longer. He had twenty minutes to get downtown to the hotel where his wedding party was staying. No doubt Wufei would have his head on a pike if he was a moment late.

[Don’t understand.]

Traffic and uncooperative red lights made Trowa’s dash from the large church to the hotel much longer and more painful than it should have been. When he was finally pushing through the revolving door to the grand hotel’s main lobby, he was very much out of breath and covered in a light sheen of sweat from running. Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry about checking in, as he was to meet Wufei in his room to get ready for the wedding.

The ride up to the fifth floor in the guilt elevator seemed much slower than it really was. Trowa was antsy, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as the system of weights and pulleys pulled the car upwards. He watched the curlicued arrow slowly move from number to number with a ding as the elevator car passed each floor.

When the twin, golden doors slid open, Trowa stepped out into the carpeted hallway, surprised to see none other than Heero and Duo loitering against the decorative table across the way. Both were still dressed casually, Heero in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and Duo in a tee shirt and a pair of biking shorts he seemed to be wearing just for Heero’s benefit. They halted whatever conversation they had been having and looked up when Trowa approached them, silently exchanging a communicating look that Trowa had yet to understand, despite knowing them as well as he did.

Grinning, Duo took the initiative as he straightened and clapped a friendly hand on Trowa’s shoulder. “Well, old buddy,” he said, his other hand on his hip, “it sure was nice knowing you. Too bad you won’t be making it to the wedding—losing out on quite a party, you know?”

“No, not really,” Trowa said warily, sensing one of Duo’s particularly odd jokes.

Duo removed his hand from Trowa’s shoulder and used it to flick his long, braided hair over one shoulder, turning his pert nose up in the air. “Well, I’m just saying it’s a real bummer that ‘Fei’s gonna murder you before you get the chance to—”

“That bad, huh?” Trowa queried, cutting Duo off with a little smirk. He knew that Duo was exaggerating Wufei’s annoyance at his tardiness, but he did appreciate the tip-off that he would have to tread around the Chinese man lightly.

“Is it ever! You’d think it was his wedding, for Chrissakes!” Duo exclaimed, throwing his arms up over his head, causing his tee shirt to ride up and his braid to flick back and forth like a brown snake. Heero seemed too distracted by Duo’s lower torso to bother throwing in some glib note of sarcasm, as he was wont to do whenever his husband got particularly carried away.

Trowa shook his head, unsure of how to respond to his friend’s antics. Instead, he asked for the number of Wufei’s room and geared himself up for the inevitable tirade that was sure to come flying at him the second he walked through the door.

“Fifty-five,” Heero informed him as he started down the elegant hallway.

“It’s the one that’s conveniently located next to the good Dr. Po’s room!” added Duo with an evil chuckle, which earned him a laugh from both Heero and Trowa. (“But damn, the God of Death is a funny bastard!” he cried happily when he saw their reactions.)

[Don’t feel me now.]

Room fifty-five was the second-to-last door at the very end of the hall. Though Trowa was a trained mercenary, who had seen some rather gory and horrific things in his time, he couldn’t help but find himself dreading his confrontation with Wufei as he stood before the white, paneled door, suddenly finding the intricate molding of the door frame very interesting.

He was about to raise his hand to knock, when the door suddenly flung open, revealing an absolutely livid Chang Wufei. Despite the fact that the small Asian had barely grown two inches since his youthful days as a soldier, he still managed to look quite intimidating when he was angry. Trowa took an unconscious step back.

“Do you know how long I have been waiting for you, Trowa Barton?” Wufei demanded to know.

Trowa tried to get a few words in edgewise, but Wufei wasn’t about to let him have the chance, especially since Heero and Duo chose that moment to come down the hall to their room, which, like Sally’s, was also next to Wufei’s. A small vein throbbed on Wufei’s forehead as he shouted around Trowa’s lanky body at them; “Maxwell! Yuy! What the hell are you doing not dressed yet? Get the fuck dressed! We have less than two and a half hours to get going!”

Trowa looked over his shoulder in time to see Duo whisper loudly to Heero, “Hissy fit number twenty-three.”

“Twenty-four if you count the incident over the creamer at breakfast this morning,” Heero whispered back as he casually unlocked the door with his card key and entered the room.

Duo smirked triumphantly in Wufei’s direction. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, ‘Fei! We’re going, we’re going!”

Wufei’s onyx eyes narrowed dangerously as his tightened fist quivered at his hip. “You’re going nowhere; that’s where you’re going, Maxwell.”

Duo stuck out his tongue and pulled down his lower eyelid. One of Heero’s hands appeared from inside of the room and roughly grabbed a handful of Duo’s shirt, yanking him impatiently towards him.

“And no hanky-panky!” Wufei shouted after Duo as the door swung shut behind him with a loud bang.

“No promises, ‘Fei!” came a shout from the other side of the closed door. Trowa rolled his eyes hopelessly.

Wufei wasted no time in refocusing his attention upon the initial source of his frustration, but the result was no less explosive than Trowa had expected it to be. “And you! You, Trowa Barton, were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago! I didn’t go out and pick up your tux for nothing, so you had better get in here before I really get pissed off!” He certainly had some odd ways of showing how much he cared for his friends.

“I’m sorry. It took me longer than I expected to get here from the spaceport,” said Trowa as he stepped past Wufei into the room. It was a very beautiful hotel room, with cherry wood furniture, red, gold and ivory trimmings and a large bay window that looked out over the street below.

“Okay! That’s… okay,” Wufei said, taking a deep, calming breath as he centered himself. He covered his face with one hand and then pinched his nose with his forefinger and thumb, massaging the space between his squinted eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he added as an afterthought. “I just want everything to be perfect for everyone this evening.” He let out a breathy sigh as his hands swung back down to his sides.

Trowa smiled at his Chinese friend as he sat down at the little writing desk by the windows. Wufei had always been a passionate person in everything he did, and it was nice to see that he had not lost any of that zeal in the calm years of peace they had recently been enjoying.

Meanwhile, Wufei was opening the tall wardrobe on the other side of the room. “Quatre thought you would benefit more from black than white,” he was saying as he reached inside and removed a pair of hangers from which hung the tailed coat, a crisp, white shirt and black slacks. He then laid them on the bed and sat down beside them, crossing his arms.

“Quatre picked it?” Trowa asked as he rose and made his way over to the bed, gingerly lifting the hangers as if one false move would rip the whole thing to shreds.

“Quatre bought it,” Wufei returned, blithely ignoring the loud thump that came from behind the wall that separated his room from Heero and Duo’s (though his cheeks did turn an interesting shade of red).

“I see,” murmured Trowa as he carefully folded the garments over his forearm and made his way to the bathroom to get dressed.

[I will breathe
For the both of us.]

All Trowa could think of was Quatre as he shed his plain, blue turtleneck and tight jeans. He hung the tuxedo on the hook on the door and shucked his street clothes in the middle of the bathroom floor, then turned on the shower. He spent three minutes beneath the icy jet of water, cleaning himself as fast as he could, before turning it off and stepping out into the bathroom with a shiver. Wrapped in a towel, he went through his typical bathroom routine: brushing his teeth, shaving and then dabbing himself with a spray of Wufei’s cologne for the special occasion. Then, on went the tux, which, just on principle, made Trowa’s worry and thought about Quatre intensify.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, he found Wufei sitting on the bed, now dressed in gray slacks, a white button-up and suspenders, concentrating on something on his palm-sized computer. Trowa coughed discreetly and held his arms out, asking, “Well, how do I look?”

Wufei immediately tossed the pocket computer onto the bed and got up, striding over to Trowa in four large steps. He fussed over the tuxedo’s fittings, tugging on the jacket and smoothing down the lapels countless times. He even redid Trowa’s slim necktie, even though it had been done perfect before. Trowa hid a smile as Wufei messed with his clothes, finding it amusing that despite how hard Wufei tried to be a hard-ass, he was still such a caring friend. “You can stop with the mother-hen routine, Chang,” he said with a light chuckle as Wufei started pulling the knot of his tie a bit too tight. “I’m sure I look fine. You finish getting ready.”

[Travel the world.]

Wufei looked a bit flustered and quickly backed off, mumbling something about a corsage on the desk. Trowa found it lying beneath the lamp there and pinned it carefully to the thin lapel of his jacket. He examined his pale reflection in the nearby window, feeling like was masquerading as a stranger in those fancy clothes. He self-consciously ran his fingers through his long bangs a few times, but they refused to fall any differently. Easy, Trowa, easy, he told himself calmly. You’re acting like you’re going on a blind date with someone you don’t know!

It wasn’t long before Wufei was slipping his cell phone and his pocket computer into his jacket pockets, asking Trowa if he was ready to go. Trowa gave one last, fleeting glance at his reflection and then quickly bade it goodbye, turning his back on it before he found himself fretting about mediocrity again.

[Traverse the skies.]

Surprisingly, Heero and Duo were waiting for them in the hall, somehow able to beat them, despite their obvious procrastination. Both looked wonderful, dressed in black tuxes like Trowa’s; Duo even wore a black cloak around his shoulde, making him look like an English aristocrat. “Well,” he said, pulling at the wrists of his white gloves, “are you ready, Trowa?”

Words hesitated in Trowa’s mouth as he opened it to speak. He straightened his jacket and held his chin high, trying to buy a few moments of time so he could sort out his thoughts and the zillions of emotions pumping through every blood vessel in his body. A gulp dropped down his throat; “As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” he said at last.

“Great!” Duo exclaimed enthusiastically. He swept one arm out to the side, casually enveloping Heero in the black folds of his cloak. “Well, ‘Ro? Shall we?” he said with a little, mock bow of his head as he placed his other gloved hand on Heero’s elbow.

They had only taken a few steps down the hall towards the elevators, when Trowa stopped and looked over his shoulder, realizing that Wufei wasn’t following along. “Aren’t you coming?” he asked.

For one brief second, a surprised, almost guilty expression crossed Wufei’s face, like a cat that had been caught with the pet bird in its mouth. “You three go on ahead,” he said quickly, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes into that no-nonsense glare of his. “I’ll catch up with you when Dr. Po is ready.” He turned his back on Trowa before the tall, green-eyed man had a chance to make a comment.

I really have no right to make fun of him about Sally, though. After all, I used to wait around for Quatre like that too, thought Trowa as he started for the elevators again, quickening his pace to catch up to Heero and Duo.

[Your home is here,
Inside my heart!]

While the trio waited for an elevator car to reach their floor, Trowa found himself almost jealously watching Heero and Duo from the corners of his eyes. Despite the fact that they seemed as different as the sun and moon, an angel and a devil, they were beyond perfect for each other; Trowa could see that in just the way they stood with each other, their arms looped around each other in an unending knot. Trowa was pretty sure he knew who complimented him in such a way, but the question was if that person felt the same way in return.

[And for the first time,
I feel as though I am reborn.]

In the lobby, Heero had the concierge call a speedy hover taxi to take them to the church. (All three of them had active roles in the service and were required to be there a bit early.) The ride was fairly uneventful, save the rather creative driving techniques of the haphazard taxi driver. Trowa spent most of the trip staring out the window, watching the L4 city zoom past in a blur that seemed to blot out his reflection in the glass window of the car.

When the taxi came to a halt, Trowa was surprised to find himself back at the church he had lingered at before arriving at the hotel. While Heero paid the cabbie, Trowa got out of the car and stood, awestruck, on the front steps of the church, gaping at the decorated cathedral like he had never seen it before in his life. When Quatre had informed him of the arrangements for the wedding, he had only been told the name of the church, and had never really thought to put an actual building with the name. They had a few wedding rehearsals in the basement of Quatre’s mansion in Italy, and that had been that.

What an odd coincidence. Does that mean that the groom in the confessional was…? Trowa quickly shook his head, damning himself for starting to worry himself into a tizzy again. That stupid bundle of nerves in the pit of his stomach was starting to make him feel anxious again.

[In my mind,
Recast as child and mystic sage.]

“Aw, Tro, don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet!” Duo’s voice clamoured up from behind. Trowa startled, a little embarrassed at being caught in such a moment of bewilderment. Duo clapped him on the shoulder, whispering softly in Trowa’s ear as he passed by, “Don’t worry, Tro; I got cold feet too.” Then he winked at the green-eyed man and continued up the steps to the front doors of the church, which were now flung open to welcome the wedding guests.

Slightly agape, Trowa watched as Duo neared the top of the steps, his elegant, black cloak fluttering around him as he moved. Duo Maxwell, the most outgoing, confident human being ever had gotten nervous on his wedding day? The concept was absolutely mind-boggling to Trowa, especially when he took into account how flagrantly dedicated Heero was to Duo. How could Duo have ever had a second when he doubted that?

[Who wouldn’t be the one you love?]

“He was afraid I’d… ‘come to my senses’, as he put it,” Heero explained, suddenly standing beside Trowa with his hands in his pockets as he watched his husband greet the Peacecraft siblings at the top of the stairs. He stole a glance at Trowa, who was also watching Duo with curiosity, and went on. “The day we got married, Duo told me he’d spent every hour before the wedding worrying that I’d realize I was making the biggest mistake of my life, that he was going to ruin me. Really, it was too late for that!” A light chuckle fell from Heero’s lips, reflecting an easy-going brightness that had once been stifled in their more somber days. “He kept asking about Relena, pointing out everything he thought was better about her,” Heero went on. “I suppose he still had it in his head that I had this thing for her, which is absolutely ridiculous, because I never did in the first place!”

“But you love him,” said Trowa, still eyeing Duo with a cocked eyebrow. He then turned to the shorter man beside him, “You two knew that even during the war!”

Heero was shaking his head, one of his hands absently raking at his ever-messy brown hair. “When we were kids, he always talked about me like I was a larger-than-life hero, putting me on this pedestal, and went on about how he would give anything to be just like me.” Heero’s hand slid further back across his head, allowing his thick bangs to swing back over his face. “And every time I told him we were really quite alike, he’d laugh at me, tell me I was shooting the bull. Truth is that there are things about him that I could never hope to be, just like there are things I am he swears are above him. But it’s because of that we just kind of… fit, you know?”

[Who wouldn’t stand inside your love?]

Mouth half open, Trowa turned to say something to Heero, but found that the Japanese man had already moved on and was climbing the church’s steps after his husband. Trowa smiled slightly to himself, murmuring, “Yeah, I know.” Then he quickly jogged up the stairs two at a time.

Even though Trowa had seen them decorating the church earlier, he wasn’t quite prepared to walk into the sanctuary and feel the full impact of all those flowers and ribbons and banners. But what really got to Trowa was seeing the pews slowly being filled with his close friends. There weren’t tons and tons of them, and when everyone arrived, they would probably only fill up the first two rows of pews, but these were all the people he had come to trust and love like a family.

“Trowa!” a familiar, female voice called, echoing from the front of the church. Trowa looked up in time to see his sister hurrying down the aisle as quickly as she could in the long, pale yellow skirts of her elegant dress. A trio of matching, yellow roses adorned her bouncy, reddish brow curls.

“Catherine!” he cried happily as she practically flung herself at him, wrapping her gloved arms around his neck as she gave him a warm, greeting hug. “How are you? I’m so happy you were able to find time to come out here!”

She let go of him and stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest as she smiled at him. “And miss my only little brother’s wedding?” she scoffed, rolling her bright, green eyes. “Not a chance!”

The smile on Trowa’s face mimicked the one on his sister’s. “Thank you, Catherine,” he said sincerely.

She just flashed him that knowing grin and took him by the elbow, guiding him down the aisle, towards the altar. “It’s so cute,” she said conversationally as they walked, “Quatre’s been here all day, stressing out because he’s paranoid about something not being perfect. And in between all that agony,” she added, giggling like a schoolgirl, “he’s been bugging me nonstop about you, asking if you’d said anything to me.”

[And for the first time,
I’m telling you how much I need
And bleed for....]

“Like what?” Trowa wondered, his mind suddenly moving much slower when it came to processing that new bit of information.

“Oh, the usual this and that,” Catherine brushed it off easily as they reached the altar, where she was sure to take painstaking care in positioning Trowa just right. “At first it was just things like, ‘When is Trowa arriving on L4?’ and ‘Is he staying at the hotel with everyone else?’, but then it progressed to, ‘Has he said anything in particular about me, lately?’ and all that sort of thing….” She went on a bit more in that fashion as she straightened out his tux yet again. She even redid his tie.

“A-Are you sure?” Trowa stammered slightly as Catherine moved to talk to the minister, who was standing nearby. She just winked at him and flashed that damned Cheshire cat grin at him again.

[...Your every move
And waking sound.]

Remaining in his place by the altar with Heero, his best man, Trowa watched as the pews began to slowly fill up. Relena and Milliardo, who were in the company of Lucrezia Noin, sat in the front pew beside Sally and Wufei, who had finally arrived. Dorothy was there, grinning in that strange way of hers, next to Lady Une and her adopted daughter, Mariemaia, while Hilde sat with an ecstatic expression on her face on the end. All of Quatre’s sisters and many family members filled up nearly three other pews.

Presently, a series of loud bongs sounded from the church’s bell tower, a sure sign that the wedding was to start at any moment. A hush settled over the whispering congregation as they anxiously waited for the momentous occasion to officially begin.

[And in my time....]

But for a long while, nothing happened, and the guests began to murmur suspiciously among themselves while a thin shimmer of sweat coated Trowa’s forehead. Duo, who was acting as Quatre’s best man, looked just as nervous as he continuously alternated between checking his wristwatch and looking around for any signs of the missing groom. “Where is he?” Duo muttered under his breath.

Needless to say, Trowa was becoming exceedingly nervous; this was the very nightmare that he had feared would happen. He didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry that his prediction of Quatre discovering he wasn’t the one he loved had come true. Even Heero looked a little worried.

“Oh, Allah, I’m late!” a wonderfully familiar voice reverberated throughout the church. The small congregation of guests all twisted in the direction of a small door that was practically hidden behind the altar, where Quatre Winner, himself, emerged, hurriedly smoothing back his blond hair. He looked a bit ragged, like he had been running everywhere all day; his pale blue vest and white jacket were unbuttoned and his tie was crooked. He sped around the altar and took his place beside Duo, still fidgeting with his appearance. Duo helped him fix his tie while he buttoned his vest and coat up. “Sorry, sorry,” he was saying. “I’ve been so busy with everything and I can’t believe that I....” His words fell into a low mumble as he messed clumsily with his buttons.

[...I’ll wrap my wire around your heart
And your mind.]

Trowa watched the whole production with a soft smile on his face, suddenly knowing that Quatre had been just as anxious about the wedding as he had been. Despite the little scare, Trowa decided that Quatre’s delay had been the most reassuring moment of the day; something about seeing the blond millionaire frantic and a little less his usual calm calm reminded Trowa that at heart, Quatre was no different or less human than anyone else. Trowa’s entire face brightened as he caught Quatre’s gaze, marveling at how much Quatre was just Quatre, despite everything in his life that threatened to change him. And there was nothing Trowa loved more than just Quatre.

“I’m sorry,” Quatre mouthed to Trowa as Duo fiddled obsessively with the blonde’s tie.

He looked like he was about to launch into an explanation, but Trowa silenced him by holding a finger over his lips and mouthing back across the way, “It’s alright.”

The anxious tension melted from Quatre’s posture as he relaxed. Knowing Trowa would understand; he always did. “I know,” he mouthed back.

Their little communication was cut short as the minister cleared his throat and cracked open the black ceremony book he held in his hands. He was a kind old man, dressed in the festive, white robes of matrimony, and had been more than happy to preside over the wedding of Quatre Winner and his lover. “I know you’ll have a wonderful life together,” he had informed Quatre over the phone, when plans for the service were still very new. “This man must be an extraordinary person, Mr. Winner; I don’t even have to meet him to know that. Your sense about people is so flawless, and for you to have found someone that you wish to spend your life with, well, that speaks highly of him in and of itself. You must feel a connection to him like you’ve never felt with any other person, am I right?”

[You’re mine forever, now.]

Most of the priest’s words rushed past Quatre’s ears as he stood restlessly beside Duo, clenching and unclenching his fists as one of his feet rolled slowly from toe to heel. He watched Trowa as subversively as he could, admiring the relaxed, yet alert way the handsome, green-eyed man stood. Despite being quiet, Quatre knew that Trowa as an extremely eloquent soul, far more thoughtful than most anyone he knew.

“And do you, Trowa Barton, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and health, so long as you both may live?”

[Who wouldn’t be the one you love and live for?]

The question came up way faster than either of them expected, and they both seemed surprised that the service had whipped by so quickly. They had been so lost in their own internal monologues about one another that they had hardly heard a word of the beautiful ceremony Quatre had organized down to the last ribbon.

Trowa hardly had to think about his response. The words “I do” came rolling off his tongue almost immediately, bringing the most amazing, warm smile to Quatre’s sunny expression. He took the golden wedding band Heero had been holding for him and stepped forward, pulling Quatre’s left hand into his and sliding the ring onto his finger.

The same question was then repeated for Quatre. “I do,” he said, loving the way Trowa’s smiles were so subtle, yet managed to brighten his entire face with such a simple quirk of his lips. He took the matching ring from Duo and moved forward to grab Trowa’s hand.

As he pushed the band onto Trowa’s slim ring finger, he heard the green-eyed man whisper softly, “Why, Quatre?”

His thumb and forefinger still pinched around the ring, Quatre’s aquamarine eyes flicked up at Trowa curiously. The confused expression on his face was more than enough to communicate his thoughts.

“Why do you love me?” Trowa clarified, unsure of what had even possessed him to ask, “Why me?”

[Who wouldn’t stand inside your love and die for...?]

Heero and Duo exchanged knowing looks and then refocused their attention on the wedding couple simultaneously.

“Oh Trowa, do you even have to ask?” cried Quatre, releasing Trowa’s finger to clasp his whole hand between both of his. “Because you always listen carefully; you’re the only person who really listens to me. Because of the way you You’re the best listener I know, Trowa.”

Trowa’s lips moved soundlessly, his eyes widening slightly. He had never heard Quatre proclaim his feelings in so decadant and honest a way, but just hearing it made him feel like his feet were hovering above the floor.

“Because I love the way you watch me without really looking,” Quatre went on, his fingers curling tighter around Trowa’s long fingers. “Because of the way you smile in your sleep, or the way you say you’re name like I wouldn’t know it’s you whenever you call. I love the way you say so much in your silence, the way you have the most beautiful answers to every question and the way you hold your books. The way you play your flute on rainy days or how you laugh at me because my fingers are too short to play the piano well.” A small tear dotted the corner of Quatre’s eye as he concluded, “It’s because I love you, Trowa. I love you.”

Not even waiting for the ceremonial permission, Trowa pulled his hand free from Quatre’s and grabbed his beloved’s round cheek, guiding their lips together as the minister pronounced them a truly wedded couple. A thunderous applause rose up from the little congregation as they continued to kiss.

When they pulled apart at last, watching each other adoringly, Trowa took a moment to quietly say, “I’m sorry I asked that. I had just always wondered how someone like you could possibly love a person like me.”

If at all possible, Quatre’s grin became even warmer than before. “The only thing I ever wonder is how I couldn’t.”

[Who wouldn’t be the one you love?]


Owari