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Coming Out

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They had been together since after the war. It had been such a cliche, that the media had run with it. The tabloids had been the worst. Calling it the best love story since Romeo and Juliet, and a better love story than Twilight. It made Quatre laugh when he saw them. And he saw them all, daily. Part of his morning routine included coffee and breakfast, and the news. Things that pertained to WEI, and to Quatre’s personal life. The important things were highlighted by his assistant, and Quatre read them all. The more laughable ones he shared aloud with Trowa.


With how they lived, it was bound to happen. Trowa had been Quatre’s bodyguard for so long, they couldn’t recall. They always had backups and contingency plans for emergencies. Heero was constantly on call, because he’d gone free-lance after a long stint as head of security for Relena. He’d done well, but he’d grown tired of it. So he did whatever struck his fancy. Sometimes it was computer work for Preventers. Sometimes it was covering for Trowa when he was injured, or had larger threats to worry about.


If anyone would ask them how it happened, they’d all shrug and just say that it had happened. Nature had a funny way of making things fall into place like that.


Being involved with Quatre meant everyone was constantly looking. Always watching him to see him stumble, or fly. Heero was by his side this time, filling in for Trowa. Poor Trowa, who’d been shot in the shoulder last week, doing his job of protecting Quatre. He was off the pain killers, but the doctor had ordered him into a sling, and to rest for another week at least, to ensure proper healing. The last thing any of them wanted was Trowa to injure himself more.

It was a silly little gala thing. Mingling, mindless small talk. Press milling about and snapping pictures at every turn. Really, Quatre would blame it on himself the following morning. It was his fault. He’d taken a break from socializing with others, and was talking in a soft voice to Heero. He’d been close, their chests almost touching as they chatted. One of Quatre’s hands had hung by his side, and it had taken nothing more than a small surge of his arm for their fingers to brush and link together. Their brief moment was captured by a keen-eyed photographer, and splashed across the tabloids and the regular news outlets first thing in the morning.


It had been a rough morning. They’d called Heero a home wrecker. Called Quatre weak minded and easily spun by a shock of brown hair. Made Trowa a victim, since he was hurt and unable to police the blonde. It was hilarious, as far as Quatre was concerned, and he told them about it time and time again over breakfast. Neither man shared Quatre’s point of view. They didn’t like seeing his name smeared in the media, considering all that he did to better the lives of others.

Despite Heero and Trowa’s reservations, Quatre lapped it up, like a cat stalking a bird. He was playing the media now, using all the free press to further his own agenda. He was in the midst of promoting renewable fuel for inter-colony travel, as well as a partnership with Relena on a post-war effort to rebuild things on each of the colonies, to return them to pre-war glory.


Free press was the best press of all.


So, Quatre played them. Once Trowa was healed up, he took turns using them as pawns in a sense. The longer it went on, the less resistance that they put up to playing the media. Quatre knew what he was doing, and soon enough they were along for the ride. Everything they did was proper enough to be caught on camera, and nothing that went past PG rating. Quatre alternated which of them he had with him, and the media ate it up.


Like all things, the novelty eventually wore off. As much as Trowa and Heero tried to stick with it, Quatre could tell it was starting to take its toll on them both. They were all laying in bed one night, legs tangled together in a massive pile when he broached the subject.

“How would you guys feel about just telling the world? Then we wouldn’t have to hide it, and everyone would stop talking about us and calling me a two timing slut,” Quatre said, voice whisper quiet in the darkness.

“It would make it easier to go out in public,” Trowa offered, his head pillowed on Quatre’s shoulder, tipping it back to look the blonde in the eyes.

Heero was silent, his arm tightening reflexively around Quatre’s waist. He always took longer to process things like this. Especially when they had a huge impact on his own personal life, and now the lives of his two partners.

“What did you have in mind?” He finally asked after a long pause.

Quatre talked about his idea, telling them what he’d thought about. Like almost everything the blonde did, it was going to be in his time and on his terms, And really, he was surprised that no inspired reporter had come up with the story that he was a greedy bastard with two boyfriends. Granted, that was the truth behind it, but the media was choosing to ignore the slight possibility.


A few weeks later, and the opportunity presented itself. Quatre went over it again, and Heero and Trowa both agreed, more than happy to put an end to the shenanigans.

Quatre was fiddling with the cufflinks for his tuxedo, making them lay flat when Heero slunk into the room. He looked dashing in his own tux, his hair in that ever tousled mess that Quatre simply loved to run his hands through. Their eyes met in the mirror, and the blonde could see it in the slight crinkle of Heero’s forehead. Turning away from himself, Quatre crossed the room to Heero, his hand coming up to cup the other man’s cheek, expression soft.

“Hey. We don’t have to do this. If you’re unwilling, we don’t have to do this. It’s not all about me and what I want. If I’m doing something you don’t want to do, you need to tell me,” he rambled, his voice soft and unaccusing.

Heero’s face was showing more than he was saying. His eyes were looking down, like he was ashamed of feeling the way he was. Quatre hated to see the look on his face. He and Trowa had worked so hard to ensure it didn’t happen. Heero had been the one to come into their relationship, and they hadn’t wanted him to feel like the proverbial odd-man out. They’d done everything they could to show him that he was just as welcome in this.

“You want to do it though. It’s not fair to you,” Heero offered, knowing his words and tone sounded lame, even to himself.

“A relationship is about compromise. And communication. Even more so when there’s three people involved. Two is hard, three is almost impossible. You get a say in ‘us’ Heero. You’re part of this now,” Quatre offered up, smiling stupidly at Heero. Like his smile could ease everything and make it right.

“Quat’s used to getting his way. He almost enjoys it when he’s told no,” Trowa said from the doorway, looking just as handsome as ever in his own tux as he leant on the frame, almost a perfect match to Heero.

“If you tell me no, right now Heero, we won’t do it. We’ll simply go to the gala, me with two bodyguards at my side. People will take pictures and everyone in the universe will wonder how I got the two of you to be civil together for one event. Then, we’ll come home and do whatever we want, in the safety of our home.”

Trowa pushed off the door and came in, his hand drifting to the back of Heero’s neck to touch him and hold him, in their own alpha male way. “Think about it, and tell us before we get out of the limo. I know Quatre does fashionably late, but we’re pushing it at this point.”

“Always the voice of reason,” Quatre muttered under his breath.

Heero laughed, leaning his cheek into Quatre’s touch. He inhaled deeply, his entire body shuddering with the motion. “For you, Quatre. This time, for you, Though, I do demand repayment. Tonight,” he said slowly, eye flashing with heat for the briefest of moments before he schooled his expression into that trademark bodyguard look.

With a grin of his own, Quatre nodded and turned back to the mirror for one last look, making sure he looked as polished as ever, with not a hair out of place.


The limo ride was uneventful, and they didn’t talk much. Just sat close together, hands linked in a show of solidarity. It was crucial to Quatre that they made Heero feel important. He was new to this, and he needed the extra attention and devotion.

When the limo rolled to a stop and the driver got out, they all took a collective deep breath.

“Let’s do this,” Quatre said, climbing out first, his senses assaulted by cameras and questions; flashes going off as pictures were snapped from behind velvet ropes. He fixed his ‘press’ smile on and waited as Heero and Trowa climbed out of the limo as well, moving to flank him.

At the sight of both guards together, the questions came louder and faster, with some of them aimed directly at them. In true guard style, they said nothing and merely stood a pace behind Quatre, letting him direct the show. Instead of huge words, or some massive statement, Quatre merely backed up a step so he was directly in between Heero and Trowa and reached down to link their hands.

The press went wild, screaming questions and trying to get closer, forcing security to push them back into their designated spots. His press smile melted away and he squeezed each of his partner’s hands in turn and began to walk up the steps, cameras still going off. He’d had some witty quip to throw out about two guards being better than one, but he’d decided that he didn’t need it. Seeing his face, lit up like a child on Christmas, between two men whom he clearly loved told the entire world more than mere words would.