When We Were Young 10 (conversion)
10 Nov 2007 01:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaigou[converted from other journal, once I realized it's not archived anywhere permanently]
fandom: gundam w
rating: PG-13 (mild language)
warnings: sulky!Trowa
pairing: implied 3/4
Dedicated to The Other Duo, who is utterly blameless for this, but hey. Couples sometimes argue about their friends...and their friends' cooking.
------
Quatre took a second look at the invitation, frowned, and flipped it over, back again, and gave Trowa a suspicious look. Trowa sat on the other end of the sofa, ankle hooked comfortably over his knee as he read the latest mystery novel from his favorite author; his glasses had slid down his nose and he pushed them up with an absent gesture. Quatre picked up the invitation for Cathy and looked it over. Then he picked up the one for Wufei, and there, clearly printed were the words feel free to bring your favorite dish to share. Normally he wouldn't have considered potluck, but Relena had insisted it would be a charming way around the problem that any housewarming gifts anyone could afford were ones he and Trowa probably already had. Granted, most of their belongings were still in boxes around the condo--one a quarter the size of Quatre's previous residence, at that. They hadn't been able to locate the box with the kitchen utensils, but he and Mary were determined to find the forks before the party.
He was getting distracted by the aggravation of living with boxes. Quatre jerked himself back to the matter at hand, and considered the invitation carefully before turning on the sofa. He stretched out one leg, and poked Trowa in the thigh, then again when Trowa only mumbled something and turned the page. Frowning, Quatre did it a third time.
"I said, what?" Trowa didn't look up.
"The invitations." Quatre held up a handful. "Why are they different?"
"Is this a trick question?" Trowa turned another page.
"Put the book down, for a moment. Please. I understand you don't want your sister bringing soup--" Quatre managed a pained smile, trying for diplomacy-- "but I don't understand why Duo's invitation is also missing the suggestion. It's not like Heero won't mention it to him." After all, Heero and Trowa were cut from the same cloth. They thought SPAM and K-rations, if served by candlelight, made for a suitably romantic evening, which meant naturally--or at least hopefully--Heero would request Duo's assistance. Quatre's inner-Wufei irrepressibly pointed out that it said something about Cathy's soup if neither of those men would eat it except on pain of death.
"He won't."
"Hunh?" Quatre blinked. "Won't what?"
"Heero won't mention it. I told him not to."
"What?" Quatre dropped the invites on the table by the sofa, and placed his other foot on Trowa's thigh, digging in with his toes. All he got for the effort was Trowa's hand, landing on his feet and rubbing gently. Trowa turned the next page in the book, and Quatre considered tossing the book out the window. "Why did you tell Heero to tell Duo not to bring food? You realize this might mean we get Heero's cooking?"
"We won't. He's going to get Relena to cook his dish, in return for helping her choose a motorcycle."
"She's going to--" Quatre's mind caught up with that one. "Relena is buying a motorcycle?"
Trowa nodded; he hadn't looked up once, and he spoke in a bland tone, as if not really paying attention. "Dorothy got a lowrider last month, and apparently Relena's been eyeing the latest Beemers ever since."
"She's..." Quatre digested that, then narrowed his eyes at Trowa, annoyed at the misdirection. "Stop distracting me! Duo's a great cook. He's made half the dishes in the cookbook we got him."
"It's the other half I'm worried about."
"What? Don't be ridiculous. And if you tell me you're certain he's going to poison you, I'll kick you. That one time was completely a mistake. He apologized!"
"He was laughing the whole time, too." Now Trowa sounded distinctly grumpy. His eyes had stopped moving; he wasn't reading. Instead, he was just glaring at the defenseless novel.
"Well, it was rather amusing..." Quatre reflected that no one had expected Trowa to eat the second pie all by himself, but... He frowned, seeing Trowa's glare modulate into a definite sulk. "Oh, come on, it's been four years."
"One word," Trowa said, flatly. "Haggis." He closed the book with a snap.
The room was silent for a moment.
Trowa glowered at the fireplace; Quatre blinked at Trowa, baffled.
"Uhm. Haggis," Quatre finally replied. "Okay. So?"
Trowa twitched his head to get his bangs out of his face long enough to fix Quatre with a disgusted look. "Do you realize what's in haggis?"
Quatre considered that. He'd never even heard of it before, and he had to shrug in defeat.
"A sheep gut, for starters."
"You eat pork intestines."
"And liver. There's liver in haggis."
"You eat tripe."
"It's boiled liver and onions, with oatmeal," Trowa recited.
"I've seen you eat SPAM," Quatre challenged. "plain."
"Then you put that into a sheep's stomach, sew it up, and boil the stomach and everything in it," Trowa continued, implacable.
"You ate your sister's cooking through the entire war, and for two years afterwards," Quatre shot back.
"And it's boiled for five hours."
Quatre blinked. "Well."
"I rest my case." Trowa opened his book again.
"That does sound rather unappetizing."
Trowa nodded, settled his glasses more firmly on his nose, and went back to reading.
There was no point in squashing the diplomatic response. It was automatic, anyway. "But honestly, how can you know if you hate something, if you've never even tried it?"
Trowa just grunted.
"If he does bring it, and I don't believe that he will..." Quatre poked Trowa in the thigh again. "Then we have a little bit, and if you don't like it, just push it around on the plate."
"I'm not five, Quatre." A muscle flickered in Trowa's jaw.
"You're acting like it. You've always eaten bizarre things. Why not this?"
Trowa mumbled something; when Quatre prodded him, he said, a bit louder, "it has oatmeal in it."
Quatre shrugged, then caught the gesture as the words sunk in. "You don't like oatmeal?"
Yes, that was definitely a sulk.
"Then you don't have to eat it. I'm sure he wouldn't mind." Quatre groaned to himself for the soothing words even as he knew it to be a bald-faced lie. He didn't even want to picture the dynamics of the evening, if Trowa refused point-blank to eat Duo's offering; it was the same dynamic every time the two knocked heads together. Trowa's skeptical glance was sign he knew the truth as well, and Quatre could only offer a weak smile. Irritated at the entire conversation, Quatre slid down on the sofa, keeping his feet against Trowa's legs and pushing enough to bump Trowa solidly. "One of these days I'm going to figure out why you dislike Duo so much. I mean, the two of you are so much alike!"
"No, we are not." Trowa slammed the book shut. "He's always got to be the center of attention."
Says the former clown and stage-hog who was in at least four different acts nightly at the circus, Quatre noted, but refrained from saying that one out loud. Fighting words, certainly.
"Whatever he's thinking, he never shows it."
Quatre nodded, attempting to look compassionately agreeable with the man Duo had once called the king of poker faces. Maybe later he could call up Wufei, get a sympathetic ear. Maybe he'd go down to the Preventer's range and shoot sixteen rounds. Maybe he'd do it with Wufei -- there was an idea. Wufei would understand.
"He drives too fast."
So far, three for three, Quatre observed.
"He's way too possessive of Heero. Whenever he and I hang out, Duo goes overboard with suspicion."
Like Trowa had never thrown a fit about Quatre 'sleeping' with Duo. With pajamas on. At age fifteen. No, not Trowa. Quatre could feel a hysterical giggle rising up in his throat, and he squashed it with what he considered to be admirable maturity.
"And he seems to think he understands machines, but he's a horrible mechanic." Trowa opened his book up again, as if that settled that.
Okay, four out of five. "That would definitely rate as a crime against humanity," Quatre replied, as neutrally as possible.
Trowa nodded, firmly, then frowned, giving Quatre a suspicious sideways look.
Quatre smiled, as innocently as possible. "I'm agreeing with you." He got a grunt for his pains, and sighed. "But that's as far as I'm agreeing. If Duo wants to bring haggis, he can, and if you don't want to eat it, you don't have to. And if you so much as ask even once during the party if you can punch him, it's the sofa. For a week."
Another grunt, and the sulk returned.
"AUGH!" Quatre leapt up from the sofa, arms over his head, startling Trowa. "I'm going to take a shower," he announced, "before I shove all those invitations down your throat, damn it! It's been seven years, and so what if he wanted to punch you during the war, I have it on good authority that you punched him first!"
Trowa's frown became a touch smug, and he made a point of turning the page in his book, as if settling back into the story, now that the conversation was finished.
Quatre made another disgusted inarticulate cry, and left the living room, shaking his head at Trowa's obstinacy. In the bedroom he tore off his shirt, and sat down to pull off his socks before pausing, gaze falling on the phone. Curious, he opened a line and dialed Heero's number. Two rings, and Heero answered, looking a bit frazzled.
"Winner," Heero said, curtly.
"Is it true Duo's making haggis?" Quatre went straight to the heart of it. Heero never wanted anything less.
"That's what he tells me."
"Are you the one who told him Trowa hates oatmeal?"
"He does?" Heero suddenly looked puzzled. "I thought he hated liver."
"No, he--" Quatre groaned. "Never mind. I see what's going on."
Heero nodded; clearly it was already forgotten. He reached to hang up the phone.
"Wait, one other thing--is Relena really getting a motorcycle?"
"She says so." Heero held up several glossy pamphlets. "We have it narrowed down to these three." He snorted. "She just wants it in blue."
"Women," Quatre said, consolingly.
"Almost as bad as haggis," Heero replied, lips curling just a bit, and then he cut the connection.
fandom: gundam w
rating: PG-13 (mild language)
warnings: sulky!Trowa
pairing: implied 3/4
Dedicated to The Other Duo, who is utterly blameless for this, but hey. Couples sometimes argue about their friends...and their friends' cooking.
------
Quatre took a second look at the invitation, frowned, and flipped it over, back again, and gave Trowa a suspicious look. Trowa sat on the other end of the sofa, ankle hooked comfortably over his knee as he read the latest mystery novel from his favorite author; his glasses had slid down his nose and he pushed them up with an absent gesture. Quatre picked up the invitation for Cathy and looked it over. Then he picked up the one for Wufei, and there, clearly printed were the words feel free to bring your favorite dish to share. Normally he wouldn't have considered potluck, but Relena had insisted it would be a charming way around the problem that any housewarming gifts anyone could afford were ones he and Trowa probably already had. Granted, most of their belongings were still in boxes around the condo--one a quarter the size of Quatre's previous residence, at that. They hadn't been able to locate the box with the kitchen utensils, but he and Mary were determined to find the forks before the party.
He was getting distracted by the aggravation of living with boxes. Quatre jerked himself back to the matter at hand, and considered the invitation carefully before turning on the sofa. He stretched out one leg, and poked Trowa in the thigh, then again when Trowa only mumbled something and turned the page. Frowning, Quatre did it a third time.
"I said, what?" Trowa didn't look up.
"The invitations." Quatre held up a handful. "Why are they different?"
"Is this a trick question?" Trowa turned another page.
"Put the book down, for a moment. Please. I understand you don't want your sister bringing soup--" Quatre managed a pained smile, trying for diplomacy-- "but I don't understand why Duo's invitation is also missing the suggestion. It's not like Heero won't mention it to him." After all, Heero and Trowa were cut from the same cloth. They thought SPAM and K-rations, if served by candlelight, made for a suitably romantic evening, which meant naturally--or at least hopefully--Heero would request Duo's assistance. Quatre's inner-Wufei irrepressibly pointed out that it said something about Cathy's soup if neither of those men would eat it except on pain of death.
"He won't."
"Hunh?" Quatre blinked. "Won't what?"
"Heero won't mention it. I told him not to."
"What?" Quatre dropped the invites on the table by the sofa, and placed his other foot on Trowa's thigh, digging in with his toes. All he got for the effort was Trowa's hand, landing on his feet and rubbing gently. Trowa turned the next page in the book, and Quatre considered tossing the book out the window. "Why did you tell Heero to tell Duo not to bring food? You realize this might mean we get Heero's cooking?"
"We won't. He's going to get Relena to cook his dish, in return for helping her choose a motorcycle."
"She's going to--" Quatre's mind caught up with that one. "Relena is buying a motorcycle?"
Trowa nodded; he hadn't looked up once, and he spoke in a bland tone, as if not really paying attention. "Dorothy got a lowrider last month, and apparently Relena's been eyeing the latest Beemers ever since."
"She's..." Quatre digested that, then narrowed his eyes at Trowa, annoyed at the misdirection. "Stop distracting me! Duo's a great cook. He's made half the dishes in the cookbook we got him."
"It's the other half I'm worried about."
"What? Don't be ridiculous. And if you tell me you're certain he's going to poison you, I'll kick you. That one time was completely a mistake. He apologized!"
"He was laughing the whole time, too." Now Trowa sounded distinctly grumpy. His eyes had stopped moving; he wasn't reading. Instead, he was just glaring at the defenseless novel.
"Well, it was rather amusing..." Quatre reflected that no one had expected Trowa to eat the second pie all by himself, but... He frowned, seeing Trowa's glare modulate into a definite sulk. "Oh, come on, it's been four years."
"One word," Trowa said, flatly. "Haggis." He closed the book with a snap.
The room was silent for a moment.
Trowa glowered at the fireplace; Quatre blinked at Trowa, baffled.
"Uhm. Haggis," Quatre finally replied. "Okay. So?"
Trowa twitched his head to get his bangs out of his face long enough to fix Quatre with a disgusted look. "Do you realize what's in haggis?"
Quatre considered that. He'd never even heard of it before, and he had to shrug in defeat.
"A sheep gut, for starters."
"You eat pork intestines."
"And liver. There's liver in haggis."
"You eat tripe."
"It's boiled liver and onions, with oatmeal," Trowa recited.
"I've seen you eat SPAM," Quatre challenged. "plain."
"Then you put that into a sheep's stomach, sew it up, and boil the stomach and everything in it," Trowa continued, implacable.
"You ate your sister's cooking through the entire war, and for two years afterwards," Quatre shot back.
"And it's boiled for five hours."
Quatre blinked. "Well."
"I rest my case." Trowa opened his book again.
"That does sound rather unappetizing."
Trowa nodded, settled his glasses more firmly on his nose, and went back to reading.
There was no point in squashing the diplomatic response. It was automatic, anyway. "But honestly, how can you know if you hate something, if you've never even tried it?"
Trowa just grunted.
"If he does bring it, and I don't believe that he will..." Quatre poked Trowa in the thigh again. "Then we have a little bit, and if you don't like it, just push it around on the plate."
"I'm not five, Quatre." A muscle flickered in Trowa's jaw.
"You're acting like it. You've always eaten bizarre things. Why not this?"
Trowa mumbled something; when Quatre prodded him, he said, a bit louder, "it has oatmeal in it."
Quatre shrugged, then caught the gesture as the words sunk in. "You don't like oatmeal?"
Yes, that was definitely a sulk.
"Then you don't have to eat it. I'm sure he wouldn't mind." Quatre groaned to himself for the soothing words even as he knew it to be a bald-faced lie. He didn't even want to picture the dynamics of the evening, if Trowa refused point-blank to eat Duo's offering; it was the same dynamic every time the two knocked heads together. Trowa's skeptical glance was sign he knew the truth as well, and Quatre could only offer a weak smile. Irritated at the entire conversation, Quatre slid down on the sofa, keeping his feet against Trowa's legs and pushing enough to bump Trowa solidly. "One of these days I'm going to figure out why you dislike Duo so much. I mean, the two of you are so much alike!"
"No, we are not." Trowa slammed the book shut. "He's always got to be the center of attention."
Says the former clown and stage-hog who was in at least four different acts nightly at the circus, Quatre noted, but refrained from saying that one out loud. Fighting words, certainly.
"Whatever he's thinking, he never shows it."
Quatre nodded, attempting to look compassionately agreeable with the man Duo had once called the king of poker faces. Maybe later he could call up Wufei, get a sympathetic ear. Maybe he'd go down to the Preventer's range and shoot sixteen rounds. Maybe he'd do it with Wufei -- there was an idea. Wufei would understand.
"He drives too fast."
So far, three for three, Quatre observed.
"He's way too possessive of Heero. Whenever he and I hang out, Duo goes overboard with suspicion."
Like Trowa had never thrown a fit about Quatre 'sleeping' with Duo. With pajamas on. At age fifteen. No, not Trowa. Quatre could feel a hysterical giggle rising up in his throat, and he squashed it with what he considered to be admirable maturity.
"And he seems to think he understands machines, but he's a horrible mechanic." Trowa opened his book up again, as if that settled that.
Okay, four out of five. "That would definitely rate as a crime against humanity," Quatre replied, as neutrally as possible.
Trowa nodded, firmly, then frowned, giving Quatre a suspicious sideways look.
Quatre smiled, as innocently as possible. "I'm agreeing with you." He got a grunt for his pains, and sighed. "But that's as far as I'm agreeing. If Duo wants to bring haggis, he can, and if you don't want to eat it, you don't have to. And if you so much as ask even once during the party if you can punch him, it's the sofa. For a week."
Another grunt, and the sulk returned.
"AUGH!" Quatre leapt up from the sofa, arms over his head, startling Trowa. "I'm going to take a shower," he announced, "before I shove all those invitations down your throat, damn it! It's been seven years, and so what if he wanted to punch you during the war, I have it on good authority that you punched him first!"
Trowa's frown became a touch smug, and he made a point of turning the page in his book, as if settling back into the story, now that the conversation was finished.
Quatre made another disgusted inarticulate cry, and left the living room, shaking his head at Trowa's obstinacy. In the bedroom he tore off his shirt, and sat down to pull off his socks before pausing, gaze falling on the phone. Curious, he opened a line and dialed Heero's number. Two rings, and Heero answered, looking a bit frazzled.
"Winner," Heero said, curtly.
"Is it true Duo's making haggis?" Quatre went straight to the heart of it. Heero never wanted anything less.
"That's what he tells me."
"Are you the one who told him Trowa hates oatmeal?"
"He does?" Heero suddenly looked puzzled. "I thought he hated liver."
"No, he--" Quatre groaned. "Never mind. I see what's going on."
Heero nodded; clearly it was already forgotten. He reached to hang up the phone.
"Wait, one other thing--is Relena really getting a motorcycle?"
"She says so." Heero held up several glossy pamphlets. "We have it narrowed down to these three." He snorted. "She just wants it in blue."
"Women," Quatre said, consolingly.
"Almost as bad as haggis," Heero replied, lips curling just a bit, and then he cut the connection.
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no subject
Date: 10 Nov 2007 08:59 pm (UTC)BTW - you might want to post a reminder for the kink meme on WK again. It seems things have fallen off, although I know this is a really busy time of year. Of course, pron is a very good stress reliever.
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Date: 15 Nov 2007 05:56 pm (UTC)Most of my stuff's on GW, and anything post-Tyr-retirement is here, now.