You and Me



The rings sat side by side in the window of the jewelry shop, waiting for their owners to realize they were there and pick them up. Oh, all the rings waited, but these two were special items, the two-tone gold latticework reminescent of an earlier, happier time. They'd been sitting in the window for a very long time now, taken down once a week and dusted, polished when needed, and kept beautiful and bright. They were waiting for the perfect owners.
It was Trowa who spotted them, his keen eyes skimming briefly over the window at first, then stopping to stare. Pink and yellow gold, entwined in a rather masculine latticework. He hadn't thought pink could look remotely masculine until he'd met Quatre. The stray thought brought a tiny smile out onto the normally-impassive face, and he frowned briefly at the rings. Somehow, they reminded him of his relationship with Quatre, of how he wanted it to be when all was said and done. The war was over, had been over for almost two months now. He'd thought, briefly, that when the war was over, their relationship would be over, too. But Quatre had surprised him with the invitation to remain together.
He'd cried, that night. The gesture, and subsequent tears, had surprised him, too. Quatre, sweet, kind, loving Quatre, had taken it all in stride, murmuring soothing promises to stay always, to never leave him behind. That night had truly marked the beginning of hope for him. Now, as he stared at the rings, he saw himself and Quatre, souls entwined forever as well as the gold. That one image made up his mind for him, and before he'd realized what he was doing, he'd walked into the store.


You and me together will be
Forever, you'll see.
We two can be good company,
You and me.

*Does he know how important this night is to me?* Quatre mused as he stared at the wrapped package in his hands. *Do I dare to give it to him?* It was times like these that Quatre knew how painfully bare his knowledge of Trowa's past was. Their anniversary and Christmas, those were the only two times he really dared to give Trowa gifts. Well, other than 'just because.' But the 'just because' excuse was wearing thin.
*He's my soul, my life, and I don't even know when his birthday is,* Quatre sighed again, setting the flute aside for a Christmas present and wishing, just once, that he had a day that was all Trowa's. *We could just pick a day. *I* could just pick a day. It wouldn't have to be official,* he reasoned. *But . . . that's part of the fun, having it be official. And just picking doesn't lend it the . . . well, the weight a true birthday would have. There's something very heavy about becoming a new soul in a world full of young and old souls. And no matter what the others say, it matters to me.*
That decided, the flute lay forlornly on it's small, hidden shelf, bound in a black carry-case and tucked inside a gaily-wrapped box. And Quatre's heart sighed in sadness. *I'm a sap. We all know it. A romantic, pathetic sap who wishes that Trowa put the same stock in these pointless little days that I do. Not that he's ever called them pointless.* Suddenly frustrated with himself, Quatre forced down the feelings of wistful hope that someday Trowa would do something to show him that the pilot of HeavyArms held their anniversary in the same high regard that Quatre did.


Yes, together we two.
Together, that's you
Forever with me.

Dinner was a quiet affair, the two of them sitting lost in their own thoughts and each other's features, only speaking here or there to ask for a dish. Quatre wondered briefly if he would _ever_ grow tired of gazing at Trowa. Trowa's thoughts were wrapped up in the small box in his pocket. Surprisingly, either Quatre hadn't noticed the slight bulge, or he'd ascribed it to a much different source. *Probably a different source,* Trowa smirked inwardly, emerald eyes flickering over Quatre's soft eyes and gentle smile. He'd already decided to give the blond boy the gift at dessert. But he was a little curious as to what Quatre's reaction would be.
Finally, dinner was over, and Trowa was about to get his wish. In a few moments, he'd know exactly what Quatre thought of his anniversary gift. But now that the moment was here, he was more nervous than he'd been the entire war. His life didn't matter. This did. This wasn't just his life, this was his happiness. He rose, walking with unconscious grace toward the other boy. A few steps, and he reached into his pocket, setting the small box on the table before Quatre before returning to his seat and waiting.
Quatre Raberba Winner, whose legendary negotiating talents gave him the reputation for never being surprised, had been caught flat-footed, and now stared at the box as though he didn't quite comprehend its black velvet existence. "Well," Trowa finally said gently, softly. "Open it."

We'll always be good company,
You and me.
Yes together we'll be.

Trembling hands reached out, taking the hinged box and opening it slowly. The gold glittered in the light, it's luster finally freed from the dark recesses of the box. Quatre gasped, barely managing to hold onto the box before his eyes moved back up to Trowa's. He stared at the pilot of HeavyArms, stunned. "Trowa, does this mean what I think it means?"
"If by that, you mean are we engaged, then yes, if you accept it."
The words goaded him to grab the ring, desperate suddenly to get it on his fingers, to prove to Trowa that he wanted this as much as the taller pilot obviously did. The ring danced through his fingers, falling from the fumbling grasp to the floor with a soft chime of metal on hardwood. Quatre swallowed, staring at it blankly, unable to move. It was Trowa who rose silently, padding over to the shining circle and picking it up. It was Trowa who fell to one knee, reaching out toward Quatre. It was Trowa who took Quatre's left hand, sliding the ring into place over the proper finger. It was Trowa who then drew Quatre to him, lips locking in a silent, grateful kiss, dessert forgotten.
With one scoop, Trowa had Quatre in his arms, and was heading for their bedroom. They spent the next several hours celebrating the new engagement, touching and tasting each other. In the end, overheated and exhausted, Quatre lay gratefully in Trowa's arms. "You, my love," he started, gazing up at two emerald eyes, one just peeking out from under the sweeping bangs. "You are my very soul. I love you with all my heart, and I want us to be together forever."
"Yes, angel. Forever and always."

You and me together will be
Forever, you'll see.
We'll always be good company,
You and me.
Just wait and see . . .

And in small scrollwork on the very edge of the ring, the writing so tiny it was almost indecipherable, the words repeated Trowa's thoughts. "Together. Forever and always."




Gundam Wing


















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