Disclaimers: They don’t belong to me people.
Warnings: Yaoi, meaning men with men. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. Lemons abound in here. Explicit lemon.
Pairings: 3x2
ADVANCED RESERVATIONS – PART 1
Raising his head from the sidewalk, Trowa found himself in front of a bar. It was a more up-scale bar, from the fancy signage, but what was important to him was the fact that it was somewhere he could get a drink, or possibly a few of them. In recent years, his life had gone to shit, and he needed a way to forget, at least for a short time.
He wasn't sure what he had done to make his life take a turn for the worst, but he was sure that he had done something. After all, at the end of the war, he had been on top of the world. He had had everything a person could want, and had been very content with the way things had been going. Not happy, but content, and that was much more than he had ever expected.
He had gotten a high ranking job with the Preventers, pleased to be able to assist in the peacekeeping process. His assignments had been fulfilling to him, keeping him out of the public eye, yet allowing him to use his various skills. His friends knew when to give him space if he needed it, and could tell when he needed company. He had had a wonderful, sweet, and loving partner who seemed to understand almost everything about him. Their relationship had been good, and he had believed that Quatre had felt the same. Until about seven months ago.
Seven months ago, his life had collapsed around him. He had watched it happen, and was still in a state of shock about why it had happened. He wanted to repair the downhill spiral his existence seemed to be swirling in, but he couldn't figure out how to pull back out of the vortex.
Pushing the door open and shuffling to the leather covered bar stool, he thought to himself, `At least I still have my job'. The worst thing about that was that he no longer found the job interesting, having been assigned to bodyguard roles for the last two months, compounding to his growing melancholy. When Commander Une had noticed his deepening depression, she had deemed that he was no longer in the right state of mind to take on the tougher, and more exciting field assignments.
His eyes scanned the polished wood of the bar, registering the presence of the bartender behind the counter. Without looking up, he mumbled, “Scotch, straight, leave the bottle.”
“Rough day?” a silky voice queried. He finally got the energy to raise his head. Green eyes, not emerald like his own, but more of a watery jade, met his own curiously. She was an attractive woman; tall and leggy, with long red hair and a generous smile. If he had been attracted to women, he would have considered hitting on her. Then again, the way his luck was running, he would probably have as much of a chance with her that he would with any male.
“Rough life,” he answered to her question.
Her eyes went to his jacket, the Preventers logo standing out prominently. She gave him a guilty look, “Do you mind if we keep your coat back here? I'll put in the boss' office until you get ready to go. Sometimes having a cop around makes people nervous.”
He shrugged out of his coat, then removed his shoulder holster and held it and his weapon in his lap, out of sight of the other patrons. He received a large smile at the gesture and handed over his jacket. “Just don't let me forget it, if you don't mind.”
“You don't seem like the forgetful type,” she gave him a soft laugh.
“Only after a couple of drinks,” he returned with a rueful smile. “Isn't that the whole reason to drink, so you can forget?”
She stared at him for a long moment, and then shifted, setting his jacket to the side and fetching a shot glass and a bottle of fifteen year old scotch. She gave him a small smile, pouring the first drink for him, setting down the bottle beside the glass and picking up his coat. When he raised his eyebrow at the label, she let out another small laugh. “Well, if you're gonna drink to forget, might as well do it with style.”
He surprised himself by letting out a small but honest chuckle, then looked intently into his glass. The bartender must have understood the gesture, for she quietly walked to the other end of the bar, leaving him alone to contemplate the ruin of his life in silence.
He drank down the first glass of liquid at once, enjoying the burn of liquor going down his throat and warming his belly. It was little things like this that kept him going, made him force himself to get out of bed every morning. The warmth of the alcohol reminded him that he was still alive, that he still had feelings. They were buried deep, and often had a hard time being shown, but his feelings and emotions were still there.
After his third drink, he heard a laugh. Looking up, he realized that the bartender was back, standing in front of him, watching him closely. She held her hands up, making a placating gesture and he wondered briefly what the expression on his own face was. “I didn't mean to bother you,” she stated, voice soft. “I was trying to figure out where I know you from. I've seen you somewhere before, but I can't place it.”
He shrugged, not offering any suggestions about where she could have seen him. There had been several photos of the five pilots after the war, and other pictures of him had been taken with Quatre while they were still together, though he had tried to avoid photographers as much as possible.
She didn't ask anything else, probably sensing that he wouldn't give her any answers anyway. She continued to study his features for a long minute, making him nervous under the scrutiny. He was about to say something about it when she suddenly broke into a grin, snapping her fingers. “I got it!” she enthused, before turning and walking to the other bartender on duty, a large man with arms as big as Trowa's waist. After a brief conversation, the big man turned on a heel and passed thru a door that Trowa hadn't paid any attention to.
The woman returned, her eyes glittering. “Do I need to leave?” he asked, hoping he could get up without falling off the chair. It had been a while since he had drank, and the alcohol was hitting him rather quickly.
“Now why would you need to do a thing like that?”
“You were watching me. I thought you were uncomfortable with me being here.”
“You can't leave without letting the boss see you, Trowa.” His head jerked at his name and the reached for his sidearm, stopping when she began to laugh. “That's not necessary. You're safe here. Everyone that works here is from the colonies, and we all have a soft spot for former Gundam pilots.
Eyes wide, he moved his hand away from his gun, reaching for the glass again. “My name was never released to the public. How do you know who I am?”
“Did you even look at the name of the place when you came in, or was it pure luck that had you stumbling in here?”
He looked around, really looked, for the first time since coming inside. What he had believed to be a bar was actually a fancy small scale restaurant that had a number of tables scattered across the room, grouped so even if you sat at a table surrounded by people, you could still have privacy. Feeling something nudge his fingers, he looked down blearily at the menu the woman was pushing across the bar to him, attempting to focus his eyes.
His arm jerked when he saw the name, nearly causing the half-empty bottle to topple over. The bartender grabbed it, straightening it before a drop could spill to the polished counter. With a smile, she filled his glass. He swallowed it down quickly, and then met her eyes again. “Maxwell's?” he managed to croak out.
“Like I said, you can't leave 'til the boss gets to see you,” she held out her hand. “My name is Car, by the way.”
“Car?”
She let out a delighted laugh. “It's a long story. Perhaps I'll tell you sometime if you come back.”
Uncertain if he was being hit on or not, he felt it was safer to keep his mouth shut. With another smile, she moved away again, letting his mind wander back to a person he had believed it was better for him to forget.
Large violet eyes that, more often than not, shined with an impish light, set inside a heart-shaped face that normally wore a sly grin that sat underneath a pert nose. Broad shoulders that led down to a narrow waist, leading down to lean hips and long legs; and finishing off the package was the rope of long hair that looked like spun silk with shots of sunlight mixed into the weave.
Trowa shook his head, willing the image to fade. Now was not the time to remember the obsession he had suppressed for so long. He had hid his attraction first because of uncertainty, not sure how his attraction would have been met. Later, he had continued to hide how he felt for Quatre's sake, believing it to be unfair to the gentle Arabian for him to bring up his desire for another. In the end, trying to hide how he felt had done more harm than good.
He drew himself out of his thoughts when he felt a presence behind him, turning slowly, his heart racing. He nearly toppled out of his seat when his eyes fell on the American for the first time in over six years. He let his eyes roam, drinking in the man standing in front of him with eagerness that he hoped didn't show on his face.
There were changes. Duo had left the boy he had been behind and had become a man in the passing years. The face was lean; a slight shadow of stubble coating his cheeks and chin, and the braid was longer, falling almost to his knees. The sparkling eyes and mischievous grin were still present, the body still lean and muscular.
That was all that Trowa got to see before he was pulled out of his seat in a fierce hug. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness as the smaller man wrapped his arms around Trowa with a delighted laugh.
Duo pulled back, keeping his hands on Trowa's shoulders, the contact sending shocks through his body. He was glad Duo was still holding him, because the room was spinning around him. The only thing remaining still in the room was Duo, and that could have been because he was so focused on the man.
“Trowa Barton,” Duo mused out loud, “what the hell are you doing in here trying to down a whole damn bottle of liquor by yourself?”
He stared for a moment, his eyes focusing on those pink lips. Realizing what he was doing, he shook his head, regretting it as he listed to the side, Duo's arms wrapping around him again to keep him from falling. When he was steady again, he snorted and reached for the glass sitting on the bar. “Didn't have anything better to do.”
Duo's eyebrows shot up to disappear under his bangs. “Wanna talk for a while?” He asked suddenly, gesturing with his hand at a set of nearly hidden steps.
Trowa nodded, then could only watch as Duo pushed the glass and bottle toward the woman that had been standing only a few feet away. The American leaned over the counter and spoke to the blonde, causing her to laugh before she walked away, rolling her eyes dramatically.
Duo led Trowa up the stairs, keeping an arm around his waist, helping to steady him as he staggered up the steps. Once they were seated at a table, the American sent him a cheeky grin. “You should consider yourself lucky. Most people have to reserve a table up here three months in advance.” Trowa raised an eyebrow in question, looking at all the empty tables. “This area is only open during a certain time of day. When you can do something all the time, it becomes normal, boring,” Duo explained carefully. “When you only open it some of the time, it becomes exclusive. Somewhere to go for special occasions, to do something they can't do on a whim. There's even a separate menu for people that eat their dinner up here. You would be amazed how much people would pay for the privilege to eat at the second floor of Maxwell's restaurant.
Trowa had to smile at that comment, “And yet, here I am with no reservation at all.”
Duo leaned back in his chair when Car appeared, a tray laden with food resting on her arm, a wine bottle and wine glasses held in the other hand. She expertly delivered her items and moved away from the table with a wink at her boss, slipping down the stairs without making a sound. Trowa's eyes fastened on the bottle of wine, the green going wide as he recognized the label as a very expensive red wine, one that he had seen in Quatre's wine cellar but had been told to never open. It had chafed at the time, being given orders like a wayward child, but he had shoved the aggravation aside, telling himself that he didn't know one wine from another.
“Duo, I can't drink this,” he stated, his voice flat, staring at the wine that usually cost over two thousand dollars a bottle.
Wide violet eyes studied him with a frown, “And why not?”
“Because it's expensive,” he blurted, cursing the fact that he couldn't hold his tongue when he drank. He vaguely hoped Duo wouldn't ask him any deep questions, for he would answer them without taking the time to think of the best answer. Not that he planned to lie, but some truths were not meant to be spoken without the brain being able to censor the mouth.
“You should be used to having expensive things since you live with Quatre,” was the retort. Trowa thought he heard a trace of bitterness in the Americans voice, but didn't understand the cause behind it. Before he could form a reply, Duo continued. “Besides, it's a special occasion, right? It's not every day that I get a former Gundam pilot in here, trying to drink himself into a stupor.”
Trowa nibbled on the appetizers on the table before him, trying to think of what he should say next. He took a cautious sip of the wine, pleasantly surprised by the smooth taste and the silky feel of it flowing across his tongue. He let the liquid roll in his mouth, savoring the difference between the fruity wine and the burning scotch. “You don't talk to any of the others?”
The braided man didn't answer for a long time, then shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive gesture. “I don't have any reason to. I haven't had anything to discuss with anyone since the fighting stopped. Everyone had their own lives to live, and I didn't want to bother anyone.”
“You disappeared,” Trowa was mortified. He cursed the alcohol in his system, unconsciously taking another sip of his wine in his nervousness. He couldn't stop his mouth from saying the things he had always wondered about. “After everything was over, Relena invited us all to her home. You never came. You just disappeared without saying goodbye to me- to us. Where did you go? Why didn't you say anything about leaving?”
Violet eyes were fixed on him, wide with surprise. “I really didn't think anyone would notice I wasn't there,” he whispered softly. “Heero had Relena, Wufei was with Sally, and you…you were with Quatre. There was no reason for me to be there, so I went back to L2 for a while and worked at the scrap yard with Hilde. It didn't take long to figure out I wasn't happy, so I came back to Earth and tried to decide what to do with my life. I opened my first restaurant on New Year's Day a year later.”
“Your first restaurant?”
There was a soft smile, “Yeah, my first. Took some of the money we had hacked from Oz and put it to good use. I have eleven now, all over the country.”
“And working on two more as we speak, plus another in the works in Europe,” Car added as she appeared, sliding a plate in front of each of them. “Need anything else, Boss?” she questioned Duo with another saucy wink.
“No, you minx. Close up as normal, just leave the lights on. I'll turn them off when I leave.”
She offered Trowa a jaunty little salute, then danced down the stairs, laughing like crazy all the way. Trowa watched her progress until she disappeared, “She's… interesting,” he noted, not really sure how to describe the vivacious redhead.
“She's a street rat,” Duo shrugged, cutting a piece off his steak. When he looked up, he must have seen Trowa's confusion. “She's an orphan that was living on the streets of L2. We knew each other a long time ago, and met up again while I was working with Hilde. When I decided to open the restaurant, I went back to find her and offered her a job, knowing that she would work as hard as me to get the place going. She's been with me ever since,” he explained. After a moment, he dropped his head, focusing on his plate, face turning red. “All of my employees are from L2.”
“How many is that in total?” Trowa was proud of the way the Duo had continued to help people from his home colony, and wished he could do something to help, but didn't know what. He was also disappointed and slightly jealous, realizing that Duo was involved with the woman.
“Around two-hundred, I guess,” Duo related in a small voice, his head nearly in his plate, blushing all the way to the tops of his ears.
Trowa had to fight the urge to drop his fork. He was unable to stop his jaw from dropping. “You have two-hundred employees that you transported here from L2? Who paid for that? What did you do once you got them here? How did you get them here in the first place?”
Violet eyes watched Trowa from behind a fringe of bangs. “I own an apartment building within five blocks of every restaurant that I have. When I bring someone here, they get the first two months of rent free, so they have time to decide if they want to stay here working for me, go back to the colony, or stay on Earth to do something else,” he focused on his own food, adding softly, “I have my own shuttle.”
“Who pays for their shots and check-ups?” Trowa knew from experience that any colonist coming to Earth for the first time had to go through an extensive check up and get any shots that they had missed. Any citizens from L2 were bound to be missing most, if not all, of their shots, and most were also likely missing citizenship papers. It would be a huge financial burden.
“I take on all responsibilities for the people I bring, for the first two months. All medical bills, housing, some clothes, and some food for the first few days, plus they also get an advance on their first paycheck, so they can get anything that I forgot, which doesn't usually happen, but most people feel better if they have a bit of cash on them.”
Trowa listened to Duo, making sure to eat while hearing everything that the other man had done for his fellow colonists. He was hoping the food would temper the alcohol he had imbibed, helping him control his mouth a little better. “How are you still in business if you are giving everything to these people?” Oops, guess the scotch was still flowing in his system, helped along by the wine just a bit.
Duo grinned at him, but whether it was from the question or his inability to control his tongue he didn't know. “Actually, we have a sort of contract,” he explained to his eating companion. “It's all verbal, but on L2 that's the only kind of contract anyone will take part in. If the person decides to stay, they pay back everything that I paid for when bringing them here, including the rent, clothes, food, shots, doctor visits, and any paper work that they didn't have. I don't keep up with the exact amount, honestly. I don't have to,” he said, seeing Trowa's eyebrow shoot up in shock. “Everybody keeps up with it themselves, and Car and David also keep track of it for me. I've even had times when someone would pay back more than I gave them, saying it's for the transport or some other reason. I argue, but L2-ers can be tricky when they want to do something. I've went home with money stuck in pockets with a note that said thanks when I never actually saw the person that wrote it.”
“How many people have left your employ after getting to Earth?”
“There have been six that didn't like working for me, so I helped them find other jobs stateside. I have three of those still living in my apartments in various cities. No one has ever gone back to the colony.”
“And how many haven't paid you back at all?” Trowa's natural pessimism was coming out.
Duo met his eyes, a small smile creasing his features. It was an expression that was happy at the same time it was sad. “Only one, and that's cause he was killed in a car accident.”
Both men were silent for a time, eating their meals. Trowa reflected on the amount of people that Duo had helped give a better life to, and the outstanding fact that they had all repaid the kindness they had been gifted with, even without being forced to. He knew that one thing most of the colonists of L2 had was pride. That pride wouldn't allow them to accept charity, but it would allow them to take a loan for a time, if it made a better life possible for them or their families.
Belatedly, he realized that even with all the shocking information he had just received, and the sudden appearance of the man he had been obsessed with for years, he was more relaxed than he had been in many months. Upon this discovery, he thought back to how he felt now compared to how he had felt in the past, shocking himself when he figured out that he felt more comfortable and relaxed than he had in several years. He didn't know if it was the atmosphere, the food, the alcohol, or the company of the man sitting across from him. It was possible, and likely, that his relaxed state was due to a combination of all factors.
He was just finishing his steamed vegetables when he asked his companion, “Did you think you would be so successful when you began all this?”
“Honestly, I thought I'd fall flat on my face after I managed to bring a few people from L2,” Duo told him with a chuckle. “I really don't know what was crazier, me opening a business without knowing what the hell I was doing, or the fact that almost everyone that works for me is a former street punk.”
“Almost? I thought all your employees were from L2?”
“My lawyer and accountant are grounders,” Duo groaned, using space slang for someone born and raised on earth.
Trowa threw his head back and began laughing, causing Duo to stare at him with an open mouth. “S-s-sorry,” Trowa panted, trying to control his mirth, but the look on Duo's face sent him off into fresh peals of laughter. “T-t-the w-way you s-s-said that, s-sounded l-l-like you wan-wanted to sp-space them or s-s-some-something!”
Duo finally grinned in understanding, leaning back and watching Trowa over his glass while he took a long sip of wine. “I guess I can see how that would be amusing. But if you ever meet them, you'll understand. You should do that more often, by the way.” When Trowa sent him a questioning look, Duo shrugged. “Laugh like that. You look amazing when you do.”
This time it was Trowa's turn to duck his head in embarrassment, and pleasure. A warm sensation spread through his body that he hadn't felt in a very long time. He eventually took up his own glass, taking a small sip of the alcohol, more in control of his actions. He was very aware that losing his inhibitions with this man at this time could be a disaster. “Did you ever think you would have the need for an accountant, let alone a lawyer?”
“Nope. Not unless I was being sued for something. I guess you're used to that kind of people, huh? Hanging around with Quatre and all.”
Trowa felt his smile fade as he shook his head. “We aren't together anymore, Duo.”
The braided man began to choke on the wine he had just drunk. After several minutes of coughing and pounding on his own chest, he blinked at the other man. “What happened? I thought you guys were totally into each other. Everyone said that you two were in love and all that. In all the pics I saw, you guys seemed happy.”
“Did we?” Trowa looked into his own glass, then across the room to look out the window, offering a view of the night sky over the tops of other buildings. “I guess Quatre did love me, but I didn't feel the same way about him. He always said that it was okay, and for a long time we were happy together. I guess he started to resent that I couldn't love him. A few months ago he asked me to leave. It was hurting us both for me to stay when I couldn't love him. He told me that it was time to move on and find someone that could make him truly happy.” Trowa let out a disdainful snort, “What I didn't realize at the time was that he had already moved on. He was just waiting for me to get out of the way so he could move forward in his new relationship.”
“Who is it?”
“Zechs Merquise, Milliardo Peacecraft, whatever the hell name he's going by now,” even he could hear the bitterness in his own voice.
“I never could stand that uppity bastard,” Duo opined, a glint in his eyes promising pain for the older man if they ever met again. The American leaned across the table, placing his hand over one of Trowa's in a show of support and comfort. Trowa reveled in the touch, staring at the slender hand, feeling calluses on the fingers that showed a lifetime of hard work. “Why weren't you able to feel the same way toward Quatre? I know you were happy with him for a while. What changed it?”
“I was in love with someone else, and Quatre knew that. I think he was hoping I would change my mind.”
“Would you change your mind? Could you really change the way you felt to make someone else happy?” Duo asked softly, almost whispering, his fingers absently brushing the back of Trowa's hand before removing his own.
The banged man stared at his own hand, already missing the slight contact. “No,” he replied, almost as quietly. “I couldn't change how I felt. I wouldn't want to.”
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