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gw500.Title: Quatre's plan
Warnings: unbeta'd,
Pairing/Characters: Trowa, Quatre,and fussing maguanacs 3x4
Rating: PG-13
A/N: This fic is written in the Requisition's universe, the links to previous parts are here, you do not have to read any of the previous stories to understand this one.
Trowa woke on an unfamiliar bed, he remained still and kept his breathing slow and measured listening to the people in the room. He could hear a low toned conversation in Arabic catching both his name and Quatre’s. Listening closely he picked out Rashid’s and Abdul’s voices and he relaxed marginally trying to sort out his memories, nearly certain that the fanatically loyal men would only have brought him here on Quatre’s orders. He had been to
Trowa opened his eyes rolling off the bed gracefully on to his feet, ever the natural acrobat. Abdul jumped slightly but Rashid simply bowed his head slightly “You are awake Master Trowa.” He gestured at a suit hanging from back of the door “Master Quatre asked that you wear this and join him in the dining room.”
Trowa narrowed his eyes at the bodyguards, servants, or whatever it was Quatre’s fanatical private army were now. “Why am I here?”
“Master Quatre wants you to be.” Rashid said simply as if it answered anything, Trowa supposed to the Maguanacs it did, What Quatre wants Quatre gets. Trowa could understand that, he thought on balance that he would probably agree to drug and kidnap someone for Quatre too. Some days he wondered if his fascination with the L4 pilot was entirely healthy but then Quatre would smile and what remained of his brain would take a trip south and he would forget to care.
Wordlessly Trowa slipped into the suit, noting in passing the fabric quality and cut, it fit as if it had been made for him, it probably had. A few words of Arabic passed between Abdul and Rashid and Trowa wished not for the first time that he had made a more concerted effort to learn the language (but that would mean admitting the Quatre obsession that everybody knew about anyway, so it remained one of only four languages he was not fluent in), he thought they had been speaking about kitchen fires.
Trowa had grown even taller since the war and stood a clear head above Abdul but was still dwarfed by the massive moving wall that was Rashid and the two Maguanacs looked comically mismatched as they followed Trowa out the door flanking him like guards. Stepping into the dining room was like stepping into one of the circus acts, Trowa smiled carefully to himself at the show. Quatre stood in the centre of the room covered from head to toe in what could only be flour whilst Maguanacs scurried from one corner to another carrying food, moving chairs, setting tables and wiping ineffectually at their crestfallen master’s clothes and hair. Trowa threw back his head and laughed bringing all activity to a screeching halt almost as if someone had pressed the pause button. Quatre looked up “Trowa,” his face lighting up before clouding with disappointment and embarrassment. Trowa who could never bear to see Quatre upset merely took a few steps to the centre of the room ruffled Quatre’s hair to shake out the flour and brushing him down with quick efficiency before offering him his arm “Quatre. Did you cook?”
Quatre Winner, former gundam pilot, multi-billionaire, CEO and master politician looked up and beamed as if he had never been prouder in his whole life.
