Painfully slowly, he slipped the wires from his right hand and eased it toward the handgun on the console. Those footsteps were getting closer. Whoever it is knows I'm here, Trowa realized. As fast as he could, he replayed their last battle in his head, wondering if they had missed any Oz survivors or if someone had actually managed to follow them back to Quatre's safe house. Quatre...

Don't let yourself get distracted! he scolded himself. If someone gets by me...the others are asleep...Quatre would be killed, or captured...the thought of the blonde boy in Oz's hands forced him back to the sound in the hangar. They were almost at his gundam.

"Trowa! Trowa, are you in here?"

Trowa stopped moving toward the gun and looked back out. He knew that voice. Dropping the rest of the wires to the floor, he leaned out and looked down at the gray floor. "Quatre?"

The mop of blonde hair beneath him tilted back as bright blue eyes stared up at him. "Hey, Trowa, I knew you were here somewhere! Are you finished yet?"

Trowa shook his head. "I've got to fix the wiring in here."

Quatre gave him a lopsided grin. "You know you're not going to fix it tonight, at least not until your gundam is refueled so you can run your diagnostics. You need to get some rest, or else you won't be up in time to do that tomorrow."

He hated to admit it, but Quatre was probably right. Quiet as a mouse, Trowa left the wires spread about in the cockpit and sealed the hatch, carefully leaping down to land beside the other pilot. Quatre smiled as they walked out of the hangar and started across the extensive grounds. On the other side of the grassy field, they could clearly see one of the lights on in the large window.

"You shouldn't leave the lights on at night like that," Trowa suddenly said. "It's too noticeable."

Quatre shook his head. "If I didn't leave it on, I would never find my way back at night. The only reason I found the hangar is because it's directly across from the house. Besides, no one knows about the Winner family's involvement in all this. They think I'm just a dumb little heir sitting up in some satellite somewhere."

Trowa glanced down at the smaller pilot beside him. He'd heard Quatre's voice catch as he spoke, and Quatre had now lowered his eyes to the ground. "You don't like being the heir to the largest fortune in the solar system?"

Quatre smiled sadly at him. "Does it show that much?" He sighed and his shoulders drooped as if he was exhausted. "I was just...created...so my father would have a male heir. He had twenty-nine daughters before he got to me, but he could just create another Quatre if he wanted. I'm sure that's what he's doing right now."

"Why?" Trowa asked. "He already has you."

Quatre laughed humorlessly. "No, I'm afraid I don't fit my father's ideals. I practically disowned myself when I left home."

"I take it he doesn't approve of you operating a gundam in war," Trowa said softly.

"He'd rather see me get shot than fight to defend myself," Quatre sighed. "I think he just wants me to be a dutiful child and accept everything he says as if it came straight from Allah."

Trowa puzzled over this, his eyes staring off in the distance. Quatre noticed his companion's contemplative silence and looked up. "Trowa, are you all right?" They were close to the house now, so that he could clearly see Trowa in the light.

The tall pilot nodded. "I've...never had parents to tell me one thing or another. I grew up with mercenaries." I shouldn't be saying anything, it's better if he doesn't know. I must not get close.

"You must have been very lonely," Quatre whispered, accompanying him up the porch steps.

"Did your father ever tell you where your name came from?" Trowa abruptly changed the subject.

Quatre blinked at the conversation shift but recovered quickly. "Um...no. I never really questioned it. Why?"

Trowa stopped walking and looked up at the stars. "I don't have a name, not really. I took this name from someone else. I never felt like I was anymore before." Why on earth am I telling him this? I can't allow him to get close to me.

"You'll always be my Trowa," Quatre murmured.

Trowa whirled and stared at him in surprise. For a moment, Quatre had no idea what was wrong, but then his eyes widened in horror and he put his hand over his mouth. "Oh no...I said that out loud..." He turned away and struggled to keep from hyperventilating. "I...I should...um...go..."

Unable to speak from the shock, Trowa watched Quatre disappear past the door. Once the small pilot was out of sight, though, Trowa could hear the shattered sob escape out of him as he raced up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door shut.

He...he said...but then...and that means...no, he ran...Trowa scrambled his thoughts together, trying to make coherent sense out of the mess his mind had turned into. What just happened? He replayed the last five seconds over in his head, but all he could come up with was the sound of Quatre's sobbing as he ran away. A look of concern flashed over his normally stoic face and he went in, locking the door behind himself. He silently went up the stairs, but he passed by his own door and headed for Quatre's room.

Trowa didn't waste time knocking. He opened the door and spotted Quatre sitting on the far side of the room, his arms resting on the open window sill and his head hidden in his hands. His shoulders shook with almost violent force as he muffled his cries in his shirt.

How could I have been so stupid? Quatre thought, bitterly remembering what he had just said. How could I just let that slip out? Now he'll never even come near me...at least he was my friend before...now he'll hate me...the thought wrenched another despondent groan out of him.

A heavy hand abruptly fell on his shoulder, startling Quatre so much he nearly fell out of his chair. Instead, he found himself pressing back against something soft that folded to wrap itself around his body. He looked up, excess tears spilling out, into Trowa's face.

"I...Trowa, what--I'm sorry, Trowa, I didn't know, I didn't think--" Quatre started to ramble, but the other pilot interrupted, shaking his head.

"No, you didn't think," Trowa whispered. "Didn't it even occur to you that I might feel the same way?"

Quatre stared unbelieving into his eyes, more tears forming. "But...you're perfect...you would never..." his voice choked itself off, and he tried to turn away again.

Trowa put one hand out just under Quatre's jaw, his fingers resting lightly along his cheek, and tilted Quatre's face back up. Fast falling tears slid along his fingers and down his wrist. "Do you think this is imperfection?" he asked, bending down to steal a kiss. When he pulled back, there was a hopeful light in Quatre's eyes that hadn't been there before. "Do you think this is a fault?"

"I...don't..." Quatre mumbled, wishing he could put his feelings into words. He allowed himself to collapse limply into Trowa's arms and hope. "I don't know what to think," he admitted. Tears kept streaming down his face, but this time, it was Trowa's shirt that soaked them in. His eyes closed as he felt Trowa running his fingers through his blonde hair and along his side, soothing him. "I've never felt anything...like this..."

"Neither have I," Trowa responded. "I've never felt anything this strong before...and it frightens me." Although it seems to have terrified you, he thought. You have cultural and familial preconceptions to fight against. I have nothing to hinder me and nothing to support me. Well...I didn't...

"We...can deal with this in the morning," he murmured. "When we're both rested and it isn't so dark."

Quatre nodded, but he made no move to his bed. He was already nodding off and his head drooped against Trowa's chest. Trowa smiled and pulled him further into his arms, cradling the slighter body as he walked out of Quatre's room and towards his own room. There he slid him into his bed and crept in after him, drawing the blankets up over them. Quatre smiled unconsciously and nuzzled up against Trowa's warm body, legs tangling into Trowa's as he edged closer.

Trowa gave him one last kiss for the night, then turned out the light, put one arm possessively around Quatre, and closed his eyes.

The End