"Best in Show"

Written By: Kaeru Shisho

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Gundam Wing or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story.

Rating: R

Warnings: AU, male/male pairings, language

Pairings: 3x4

Summary: Quatre is far from home, drained by work, and his dog handlers are dropping out. He's becoming an emotional mess. How will he survive the dog show?

"Best in Show "

Chapter Four

Trowa

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The next morning, Trowa took Alfie out for his exercise. There was no use wasting his time in a war of wills with a "wired" terrier, and a brisk walk helped ease his own tension. They stayed within the confines of the hotel, rather than risk another mud debacle; the groomers, Trowa was sure, would be fully booked today. He carefully avoided passing other handlers or owners doing the same thing. It wasn't tough. Alfie liked the challenge of the stairwell and no one else seemed to, the elevator being the preferred choice. They were on their fourth time climbing up and down ten flights, when Trowa's timer buzzed.

"Time to go back, Alfie."

"Ruff!"

"Back" for Alfie meant to his crate, which wasn't as bad as it sounded. His crate wasn't just a containment unit. Alfie felt very safe and secure in his "private den" and he dove in and flopped down.

"Groomed, fed, watered, and exercised: you're all ready for exhibition," Trowa told the dog kindly. "All ready for your time in the spotlight." There was no reply. "Okay, well, I'll be back for you in an hour."

Trowa had time to grab a snack and change clothes, but he preferred resting with his feet up on the suite's couch and reading his emails. He couldn't concentrate, though. A few words into the text and his mind would go adrift, afloat on a cloud of euphoria. If he could do this handler thing, then his name would be out there. Treize would owe him and he'd promised to help him start a new line of business, although being a handler wasn't exactly what Trowa wanted most to do. He wanted something bigger. He wanted to start an animal obedience and training facility. At least, that's where his thinking had been taking him.

His current thinking was taking him down another path, one that led him into a sunlit garden with cherry blossoms and a golden-haired boy with kisses sweeter than cherry blossoms! Sweeter than dreams of Khushrenada, too, if he could entice his golden sunlight, cherry blossom beauty to leave home and give up his dreams to become a part of Trowa's. Bing! Fantasy dissolves into reality. Time to go.

He sprinted to Alfie's room with all his pent-up energy, in spite of having taken Alfie on a long walk in the morning. It was all nerves. What he didn't want to do was convey "stressful situation" to the dog, so once in Alfie's room he released the dog from his crate and played with him, doing a few tricks, distracting them both.

"Where's your tack box?" Trowa asked, looking around.

"Ruff!" Alfie snatched the familiar container from the table where Quatre had left it and dragged it to his handler.

"Good boy." Trowa removed the show lead from where it was neatly coiled and tucked away in the box and clipped it on. "Nice stuff." Not a clunky leash, the lead was made from fine-quality, thin, blue leather.

Quatre would look terrific in blue leather.

God. Oh, God. Stop that!

He looped the other end around his wrist, willing himself to concentrate. "Let's go."

Fumbling around with the ID card and show number he wore, he took a good look at the lanyard around his neck. Woven from supple blue and white leather strands, it represented more of the high quality stuff he was coming to associate with Quatre Raberba Winner's taste, which led him to think about Quatre, who had had given it to him the night before, who wanted to see him after the events were over, who wanted to have fun? Tour Sanc? Is that what he meant? How fun would it be to be walking hand in hand with Quatre? Or leading him on a leash all dressed in leather. Getting to know him… touching that smooth skin on his neck and kissing his way over the shoulders, discovering where he was sensitive…

"Shit," Trowa said under his breath. Stop dreaming!

With his acute hearing, Alfie picked up the stifled curse and looked up as if to say, "That better not be directed at me!"

Trowa explained, since it appeared that the dog felt an explanation was due him, "I should be thinking about the show, not your owner. But I can't help it. He likes me, I think. I'm not sure how much, considering how short a time we have here and that he's paying me to do all this, but he did say he wanted to see me again. That wasn't all wishful thinking on my part, was it? What do you think?"

Alfie snorted and shook his head as if to say, "You are so stupid."

"Well, it's not easy for humans, you know. I can't just sniff his ass and give him a lick—much as I wouldn't mind." This time Trowa smacked the side of his head to stop that train of thought from distracting him further off course.

They had reached the staging area, which was more of a long hall for the handlers and dogs to wait for their marching orders. Other handlers were already brushing fur, adding unnecessary, to Trowa's mind, last minute touches. Fussing. Trowa knelt to talk to Alfie, distract him from the event, the nearness of other dogs, and calm him. Trowa had his ways, his special ways to get animals to pay attention without physical interaction. Hand movements, whispered words, and clicking sounds combined to do magic for him. This worked in the circus, and hopefully Alfie would continue to respond well,showing his best alert, animated expression while standing in the breed ring being judged. If everything went according to design. Even with Duo's coaching and his own best effort, there were loads of things that could go wrong.

He was still kneeling with his back was turned so he didn't see what hit him. His brain logged "lunging dog paws" on either side of his backbone; he heard a few gasps from people around him, just before his natural reactions took over. Anyone else would have been knocked flat out to the ground. He rolled forward, executing a nimble, smooth-flowing foreword tumble to a graceful stand. This so excited Alfie that he leaped into Trowa's astonished arms and licked his chin.

Trowa ignored the round of applause around him, smiling down into the dog's face. "I finally impressed you, didn't I?"

He lithely glided to the floor, folding his legs under him and tucking Alfie into a tight grip to his chest. Alfie was only slightly agitated and calmed more with Trowa's mumbled words and head scratches. At first. Thinking he had his charge under control, Trowa looked around to find out what had hit him, and saw a monstrously large Airedale terrier straining on a lead, and a young woman with long, blonde hair laboring to keep it from wrenching her arm. He recognized her from the dinner party the night before. Cat… something. He'd forgotten her name. She had friends in high places, that was for sure.

"I'm calling for help!" someone called out.

A nearby, charming, pale grey Cairn terrier with charcoal ears and nose started up a strident barking, turning into a spitfire of attitude and setting off a discordance of barking from her supporting pack of champion pets.

"You should apologize to that man!" someone else cried out.

"Rrrruff!" Alfie pitched in. Rising in intensity and volume, growls erupted from the angry little dog and Trowa worried all hell was about to break out unless somebody acted. Him, naturally.

Trowa pinned his attention on the over-sized mongrel of an Airedale and ordered, "Down! Sit!"

"I don't need help!" the blond cried out, even though it was obvious she did. Until this point her dog had been running the show.

At Trowa's command, though, the Airedale froze in place. She didn't actually sit, but she stood very still, ears erect and jaws shut. An improvement.

The woman made her excuses for having let her Airedale run Trowa down, delivered in a lengthy tirade, which boiled down to: "Airedales exhibit some herding characteristics".

"Hey! Quiet down," demanded a young woman on entering the hall. On second glance, "Is everything okay?" and on third, finding Trowa on the ground, "Do I need to call security?"

"Not necessary. Who are you?" Trowa asked.

"I'm a ring steward. You new here or something?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Okay, well I'm the judge's assistant and I am tasked with coordinating the logistics of getting you all and your dogs into and out of the rings efficiently. You can ask me questions and call me Hilde." Hilde directed her answer to him, as he sat on the floor with Alfie in his lap, but while talking she continued to scan the hall.

"He didn't do anything. It was that girl!" a few folks told her.

"Oh yeah?" Hilde's gaze located and settled on the offensive blonde with the big Airedale. "Catalonia! You don't belong here. Get out!"

Trowa started when he heard the hander's name. Dorothy Catalonia. Right. One of the two "cats" at the dinner table. "Quat" Winner being the other one. The thought brought a smile to his lips. Then it occurred to him that the ring steward should be referring to the girl by her ID number at this point, not by name—he knew that much. That's why they wore numbers. Anonymity. He looked around and spotted other exhibitors wearing a number printed on badge, some on armbands and others, like his, dangling on cords. Each entered dog's reference number was in the judge's book and the catalog, and was the only identification that the judge was allowed access to before and during the competition. Management was to use the numbers for identification so the dogs and handlers were anonymous and not linked to an owner. Now that he noticed, the Catalonia woman wasn't wearing a badge anywhere on her body.

"I have my handler's permit to be here-" Dorothy insisted.

Hilde took it and scanned the first page, then the second. "This is for a Dachshund. You know Relena's pup was disqualified in her breed. And I don't know what that oversized bitch (the Airedale) is doing here, but you both must go. Now leave the area."

Trowa noticed the forked eyebrows when they twitched. Mr. Khushrenada was the only other person he knew who had eyebrows like that. Were they related? Probably, that would explain why this girl was allowed to be here at all. She wasn't particularly wonderful with the dog she was currently fighting with for control.

"I can 'show' but not be judged. It says so right here in the rule book!" the bad-mannered blonde thrust a pamphlet under the shorter girl's nose.

Hilde read the page opened to her then grinned. "Get up on that scale."

"It's for dogs!"

"It's for you now. Get on." She took the measurement. "Now, hold that animal of yours."

Alfie internalized his growl, but kept his eyes glued to the Airedale.

"I don't see the point—"

"You will. Or you can just leave."

Dorothy strained to lift dog, while Hilde jotted down the measurement.

"I can't do this!" Dorothy wailed and dropped her dog.

"Okay get off and keep your dog under control. I mean it!" Hilde snapped. "Hold on… Doing the math here… HA! Your permit's only good for dogs within the size conformation limits."

"It's an Airedale," the blonde said. "They can be big."

"66 pounds is the limit," Hilde said in a clipped speech and with a twang that reminded Trowa of Duo a little, "And this dog is 115 pounds." She drew herself up to her greatest height, which was shorter than the other girl. "Disqualifying it. I have the authority to deny you entry to the ring, unless you can make it back here in… five minutes with the Dachshund, and then it is only to gain experience, not for judging."

"I refuse to!" the girl screeched. "I have the right!" She'd been shouting, putting all her frustration and pride into a burning contempt for what she considered to be a lesser being. She riveted her eyes on Trowa. "I am far more qualified than that… clown!"

"Shut up or I call security and I mean it." Hilde waved her cell in the air to prove it. "And shut up! You're upsetting the dogs." Hilde leaned closer and Trowa barely heard her low voice, "Dorothy, c'mon. I don't know why you're pulling this crazy stunt and I don't have time to get into it. Five minutes and then we are programed to start."

"Trey-zee will hear about this!" The rude handler bit off, and the she and her boisterous cur left in a huff, the dog tugging at her lead, fighting her all the way.

Trowa thanked Hilde, who shrugged back and said, "I don't get what she's got against clowns!' which made Trowa laugh aloud and relax muscles he hadn't known he'd tensed.

And then Alfie, who had simmered to a low growl, shot off his lap, barking and acting as if he would tear the living daylights out of the Airedale. "Alfie! Sit!" Trowa ordered him. Fuck Khushrenada and all his new-age ideas. Male and female dogs shouldn't be in the same room together!

"Hey! Watchit, babe!" came Duo's voice, moving into the line-up.

He wasn't talking to Alfie. Apparently Dorothy had veered purposefully into Duo's path. He had Merquise's little Maltese in a carrier, which he swung behind his back, putting himself between the girl, her dog and Zechs' beloved Millefleur.

Alfie went nearly mad, leaping at the Airedale with all his lesser might.

"More trash! They'll let anything into this show!" she sneered.

"What is your problem?" Duo bluntly asked the rude girl.

Trowa put two and two together and figured Alfie was protecting the tiny dog from Dorothy's brute of a mutt. He could understand that and almost let him have at it. Almost. He wouldn't, of course, let any dogs fight. Not here, not under his command, not ever. He voiced a series of clipped commands and both the Airedale and Alfie backed away from Duo and each other. Mostly Alfie, but to a lesser degree the bigger dog reluctantly cooperated.

Having figured out what was irking Alfie, Trowa steered him around back of Duo where the dog could see that the Maltese was safe. "It took me awhile to get what your dilemma was," Trowa told him. "And I understand saving the girl can sometimes take precedence over obeying the boss."

"Yip! Ruff!" Alfie barked, as if to say. "You're not so dumb for a human."

Trowa smiled down at him, knowing he had an audience. "I am relieved to think he had the character to protect the Maltese from the bigger dog rather than just be overcome by the chaos, but what timing!"

But Dorothy wasn't done giving Duo a piece of her mind yet. "One more thing, you tell Zechsy-boy that he should have listened to dear Lucy. They should have entered as a brace, like before."

Trowa was about to ask what a "brace" was when one of the other handlers, reading from the brochure, explained it to the people around him: "When two dogs of the same breed and exact same ownership are shown together as a pair, it is called a "brace". They do it to display the consistency in their breeding program and not to win points toward a championship."

"You tell him yourself, lady," Duo said to her retreating back. "Geez whaata nutcase. Just what we need, huh? It's not as if we ain't got enough stress already, right?"

Folks around him agreed and they smiled and relaxed. He was warm and friendly had that effect on others. It reminded Trowa of himself and how he worked with animals. He caught Duo's eyes, letting a ghost of a smile touch his lips, and nodded. Duo gave him a thumbs up sign of confidence. Trowa picked up his tense little ball of ire. Alfie gave his chin another lick. Off to a super start.

Treize Khushrenada stood at the podium to make his announcement, clearly enjoying this task, if Trowa read the relaxed manner and wide smile correctly, and he knew he did. The man was in his element being the center of attention, speaking to the rapt audience, commanding everyone's attention.

"Just get on with it," Trowa muttered to himself.

"Good day, ladies and gentlemen, dog owners, trainers, handlers, and enthusiasts all! We are here for the All-Breed Show for terriers. Our judge will be Lady Une, a dog fancier and champion judge of acclaim, as most of you know. She shall evaluate the entries as to how closely each dog conforms to its breed's written standard of perfection. After first, second and third places have been awarded, I hope all our exhibitors will gather in show room… let's see… number 54… to answer questions spectators may have about their breed or their breeding program.

"The terrier is the last of our champion all-breed shows. This evening we will have the final, the Best In Show competition. Yes, the BIS is the coveted award given to the ONE dog who, at the end of an all-breed dog show, has successfully defeated ALL other dogs of all breeds entered that day - by being judged to be the dog who - on that day, is considered to be the most closely conforming to the breed's written standard of excellence."

Trowa listened because he recognized the voice and he had nothing else to do. He wanted to get over this. It wasn't like stunning an audience with his acrobatic skill or daring or pure guts. That he could do. He knew what he was doing under the big top, but he was a whole lot less confident here. Generally nerve-less, here he felt his nerves jangling.

Back in the hall where the handlers and dogs were waiting, Hilda, the ring steward, called their attention. "You'll be entering in reverse numerical order, like a count down," she smiled.

Trowa was number three; Duo was two, the last to show today since number one had been scratched at some point. Saving the best, for last, then. He nearly laughed but it wasn't funny.

And then he was being shepherded toward the opening where one by one all the dogs entered the ring, not in any particular breed or size order just the entry number. The judge asked the first exhibitor to lead all the exhibitors around the ring, so they circled once before coming to a stop. He could see the first dogs forming a line standing calmly at their handlers' feet as his number was called.

"Number three!"

"We're up," he told Alfie and together crossed the threshold into the ring.

Once again his nerves were giving him fits and his mind blanked out. Alfie, stepped out with jaunty surety; Trowa strode Zombie-like. Night of the living dead walk. What was he to do? Where was he to stand, walk, what the fuck was he doing here? He felt panic start to take over his brain. Soon there would be no room for logical thought!

"Number two, our final entry for the terrier category."

Number two, Duo! And that triggered something in him and Trowa remembered Duo's advice, his words coming back to him, guiding his movements.

"Claim your inner performer and flash your stuff."

He loosened his gait and gave Alfie a bit more space, relaxing.

"Always make sure that you walk with the dog closest to the judge, you know, don't put yourself between Alfie and the judge or the judge won't be able to see him well."

He smiled thinking he'd automatically done that- or Alfie had. Alfie was in his glory prancing like a sharp little show dog should, keeping his trot gait going true to breed and all that. Watching him and concentrating on not falling on his face, Trowa forgot about the judge studying the entries, making her first assessment of the dogs in the terrier class.

Each dog was walked over to a table and lifted up and onto the top. Trowa watched the varying ways each handler enticed their dog to stand in position for the judge to look them over. Conformation wasn't something Trowa had any control over. Alfie either had the structure and temperament to conform to his breed's standards, or not.

And… he was wrong about that.

Apparently, irrespective of his fine bone structure, Alfie could go out of form while taking advantage of his elevated location and strain to see around Trowa to get a glimpse of Millefleur! Trowa knew he must be "stacked properly", according to Duo. God, what an image that made! He nudged one of the back legs and corrected the curl of his tail. He got obstinate cooperation, as if Alfie was telling him, "Yeah, yeah, I've been doing this far longer than you have, buddy. Now bug off!"

Thankfully, Alfie didn't seem bothered by Lady Une's intimate contact next, although Trowa wondered how close the judge was to having him nip her fingers when she ran them over his front teeth. He could feel the tension building in the dog. But then he looked in the direction Alfie was looking. Duo and tiny Millefleur. Keeping Alfie distracted so he wouldn't try to make contact with his girlfriend had just become his biggest concern, he discovered.

Or second.

Lady Une, the judge stepped close to him with further instructions. "Please move Alfie now. Walk him in a simple triangle form over there— just so I can see his back, front and side."

Trowa went through the motions, but Alfie was a bit too eager to return to his spot in line with the rest of the exhibitors. Trowa had to work all his tricks to keep him from paying Millefleur an unscheduled visit, but he was done at last. Trowa felt he'd done the best he could do. He felt good. Now he could relax a little. Maybe. If it were possible.

Alfie stood at attention. Maybe he did love posing? Trowa relaxed a notch more and watched Duo enter the ring. Tiny Snuffleface, Millefleur, trotted at his heals, both keeping perfect pace with one another. Her button eyes and black nose surrounded by a halo of white fluff… the little pink tongue… she looked like an animated plush toy and the audience loved her.

Duo moon-walked so as not to outpace her, but, Trowa decided, he must have imagined that. The judge indubitably would have frowned on such frivolity. The thought made him smile. Duo was masterful at this task. He undoubtedly left swarms of swooning females (and males) wherever he went, but here in the arena he seemed to have the ability to fade away, letting Millefleur charm the audience. Duo had this presence, though. No way was anyone better than Duo Maxwell.

While he stood with Alfie awaiting the judge's next instructions, he ventured a good look around the room. There was Zechs, that hair like a beacon in the darkness. He didn't spot Quatre, which disappointed him, but was not surprising since most of the seating was unlit. The spotlights were on the dogs and to a lesser extent on him. Like in the circus but better- without the possible life-ending trauma of the high wire. He could handle it. Even revel in it. Like Duo. Like Millefleur. And like Alfie.

Yeah, he could do this.

Quatre

_______________________________

Quatre sat in gloomy silence. Treize Khushrenada was giving his opening speech. The show unfolding before his eyes, but he hadn't listened to or seen a bit of it. He knew he should be excited and thinking about Alfie and be supportive of Trowa for doing so much for him, but he couldn't. It just smothered him with more guilt, guilt and a confusion of feelings. Quatre was an emotional mess and had no one to turn to, not even Alfie to hold and to talk over his ideas and console himself. Not that his beloved dog would help him unknot the thread of his convoluted thoughts. Undoubtedly he was overwrought and overreacting, but knowing that didn't help.

The shapelessness of his doubt was worse than it certainly would have been if he'd just told Trowa how he felt about him. What if Trowa wanted to get to know him better, too? Maybe then Quatre could plan his future, take the risks he was contemplating, leave his comfortable home, his steady if not grueling job, and attempt a fresh start here in Sanc.

With Trowa, his mind supplied. But that was ridiculous! They had only just met and here he was ready to start something… special… with a near stranger?!

The flaw, if he reduced everything to just one big weak point, came from not knowing if Trowa wanted anything further to do with him after the job ended. "Come for a walk;" "Meet me after;" "Have some fun!" What had Trowa agreed to do? As his struggles with his indecision intensified, the more stubbornly it resisted and further down, down, it dragged his mood. He was afraid of failing and of change in general- that was the problem. He always had been. The brother-in-law he detested had recognized that flaw and let him know clearly what he thought about it: "There's a lot of Quit in in your brother, Alisha." He'd looked Quatre in the eye when he'd said it. Quatre had been twelve. He hadn't had a chance at life yet.

As Quatre discovered himself step by step, he didn't like what he found. He was so unhappy! Like right now, he knew he should be there, down with Trowa and Alfie, when the show was over, but he was afraid he'd burst out into tears and with all those people around.

"Rashid, I have to… get out of here."

"Now, sir?"

"Yes! Now, or I'll… explode! No, don't get up. Please stay here and watch. Go down to Trowa when it's over."

"Where will you be? Alfie will expect to see you; so will Mr. Barton," the older man added in a low voice.

"I don't know. Outside."

He made it out to the lobby when he noticed two figures on an intercept path. There was always somebody trying to stop him from doing what he wanted! He tried using a knot of chattering dog enthusiasts as a shield.

"Excuse me. We'd like to speak to you for a moment," said an unfamiliar voice.

Despite his attempt at avoidance, two men in uniforms blocked his way. A patch over the breast pockets read "SECURITY". Quatre felt it was reasonable to surmise that these were security agents of Khushrenada's. This lasted about a heartbeat, and then confusion and terror settled in.

What had he done!

Where he grew up absolutely no good came from a confrontation with soldier of fortune types, which was one reason why he had travelled with a bodyguard this first time away from home. The military and police were restrained by laws and, he assumed, they must be in a civilized place like Sanc. He didn't actually know what authority private security patrols had in Sanc or in this building at this show, but, according to his active imagination, these men were paid to be here, and, therefore, were mercenaries with limitless power.

He dared to look over the one who had spoken to him. He wished he hadn't. The man wasn't very tall, but seemed to loom over him with his angry looking glower, hair falling helter-skelter over his face, partially hiding dark eyebrows drawn into a frown over a pair of shockingly blue eyes, which otherwise were faintly Asian. Quatre hadn't the nerve to glance over at the other one.

Maybe he wasn't supposed to leave the arena?

"I just needed some fresh air!" he cried out in his defense.

His outburst was met by silence. He peeked through his own bangs to see what new trouble he'd brought on upon himself. Mr. Glowering Face gave his partner a hooded look, as if he were signaling a silent communication.

The partner sighed, sounding as if he were tapping all his resources to be civil. "This will only take a minute. We just wanted to know if there have been any further incidents."

Quatre met the partner's eyes, then wished he hadn't done that either. This one was even shorter, shorter than him, he estimated, but his body language made him as intimidating as Glowering Face. He was clearly Asian, a sullen face with dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail, rather sensual lips, currently pressed into a tight line, and eyes glittering black, chips of fine night-sky intensity. Both were likely some kind of Kung-Fu masters. Or Ninjas.

He was a fast runner and considered how far he'd get before Mr. Glowering Face and Mr. Sullen Face would take him down- for surely they would. Like hounds chasing the quick, brown fox. He was doomed.

Wait…

"Did you say Incidents? W-what incidents do you mean?" Quatre asked.

"You are Quatre Winner, owner of a dog named Alfie, whose first two handlers were injured?" the Sullen Face one demanded.

Introductions! Quatre knew how to swing those. With a hand out in friendship he said, "Yes, I am Quatre Raberba Winner. Nice to meet you, Mr.-?"

Mr. Glowering Face shook off his gloomy silence and was first to grip his hand. "I am Heero Yuy and this is Wufei Chang. We are investigating both incidents—"

"Investigating?" Quatre gasped. He was no dummy. "You mean you don't believe Mr. Tousand and Miss Moore had accidents?"

"One is an accident—possibly- but two and involving the same owner? No. A coincidence like that is highly unlikely," Mr. Yuy replied.

"The ring steward, Miss Hilde Schbeiker, reported an irregularity prior to the current competitors entering the arena," the security guard called Chang spelled out. "You have no information?"

"Something happened? Is Trowa okay? Did someone hurt him? Alfie?!" Quatre was both angry and worried now.

Yuy reached out, possibly to stop him from running back into the arena, and gave him a reassuring flicker of a smile. "They were unharmed," he said in a mild tone.

"It's unusual for the owner not to be watching his dog's performance," Chang noted accusingly. He shook his head with a disapproving tch-tch.

"Is it?" Quatre snapped and turned on him. "How many dog shows have you attended? Not as many as I have I bet! I can get it substantiated if you don't believe me, but quite often the owners leave; at least on the L4 colony it is permitted. Some don't even go to the shows! The tension can be… too much!" Quatre exploded, leaving Mr. Chang stunned to silence, and then focused on Mr. Yuy, from whom he felt some empathy.

"Now, tell me. Was Trowa attacked in anyway before the show? I must know."

"There was an unauthorized dog brought backstage and it caused a commotion," Mr. Yuy said. "No one was hurt, but it was reported that your handler and another handler were the objects of the confrontation."

"Poor Trowa! That's just not fair. It's his first time doing this and he's really just doing me the biggest favor." For a moment, Quatre considered going back in, but he waited to find out what more was expected of him.

Mr. Chang made a scornful noise. "If you have nothing to tell us," he said straightening his back and slitting his eyes suspiciously, "you can go. We need to move on with our investigation."

"I'm not withholding information. I really don't understand why this is happening. You'll let me know what you find out?" Quatre asked.

"You'll have to consult with Mr. Khushrenada," Mr. Chang said, not very cordially.

"I'll contact you," Mr. Yuy said, this time with a smile that lasted a fraction of a second longer than the first.

More worries! Quatre wondered why he and his dog and his handlers were being picked on, and the more he thought about it, the more resentful he felt. He had to get away from it all so he could think rationally. He quick-stepped along, lengthening his stride as he exited the building, his mind clearing now that the voices and emotions of all those people had shifted away and thinned out. As if a suffocating veil had been lifted from his spirit.

_________________________________________________________

Trowa

The woman's voice rang out loud and clear throughout the arena: "Will the following dogs come into the ring!"

Ten names were called, a little less than half the participants, and among them was the spunky grey Cairn who'd been ready to take on the errant Airedale, the teeny, tiny, Millefleur, and then he heard Alfie's name called. Alfie! That's us!

Trowa led the lively dog into the ring, where they were asked to circle again. When they passed the judge, Alfie lifted his chin a little extra, really tapping into his champion heritage and putting some swagger into his gait. The strain though! Trowa felt as if he'd been running a marathon and was relieved when they stopped and lined up again. It was almost over.

Duo and Millefleur passed by them, glowing in the limelight. What a poised-perfect show dog she was! Her owner must be proud, he thought. Duo with the tiny Maltese sashaying beside him kept the pace regal. As Duo walked back into the lineup, his advice once again came to mind: "Have Alfie looking his best before the final decision is made. Alert and focused."

"This is it, Alfie," he told his charge, who snorted in response to the superfluous comment.

Lady Une strode to and fro, passing each dog again. She stopped and began her selections for a closer look, starting with the Cairn, "Will you please bring your entry over here."

Quickly Lady Une selected another to "make the cut", including Millefleur. In total, she "pulled out" five dogs. To Trowa's amazement, Alfie was one of the five.

Alfie seemed to think it was his turn to greet the tiny Maltese, but with a few choice commands and Duo's discouraging looks, Trowa kept him in line. When would this be over?!

When the judge is satisfied with the placing, naturally, came the intuitive the answer. And that must be about now as he spotted Hilde the ring steward appearing from the hall carrying the prize cards.

Lady Une read each one. "Third prize goes to… entry number 3, the Irish Terrier, Alfie!"

Stunned, Trowa leaned forward and took the card imprinted with a giant "Third Place." When he looked, Duo was grinning ear to ear, and mouthing "Way to go!"

"Second prize goes to… entry number 8, the Cairn Terrier, Princess Hachi."

"And the winner of the Best in Terrier breed award goes to… entry number 2, the Maltese Terrier, Millefleur! You will be moving on to the Best in Show Competition next."

Hearing the other dog's name, Alfie barked his approval. Duo laughed at him and shook his head. "Dream on," he murmured in Trowa's hearing range.

"Thank you everyone for participating today," Lady Une said. "We are asking that all the entries, even if you are not placed, gather in conference room 54. We know you would all like to talk here, but we are asking that you all leave promptly. We need to set up for the Best in Show which begins here in this room in two hours."

When he didn't see Quatre as expected in the winner's circle, Trowa scooped Alfie into his arms and let the press of the crowd herd him out of the arena and into the conference room. He pushed his way to Duo, not easy since he was surrounded by so many admirers, but Alfie's growls may have opened a path.

"You haven't seen Quatre, have you?" he asked when he finally had closed the final few inches.

"He's not with you? No, man. The way he gushes over Alf-baby, I'da thought he'd have been here already. Hey, if you wanna go look for him, go on. If anyone asks for you, I'll take care of it. Master of Misdirection they call me," Duo crowed.

"Who calls you that?"

"Those that know, heh, heh. Go on—Hey! There's that secretary of his!"

"Yeah, if anyone knows anything, it's him. Thanks!" Trowa once again pushed his way across the room, fans filling in behind him as he left a path to Duo Maxwell.

Rashid was heading his way at about the same speed. Their paths converged in the hall still surging with people and dogs pushing , barking, and chattering.

"Where's Quatre-?"

"Mr. Quatre is —." Although his voice was masked by the barking of dozens of excited dogs, the man was tall, easy to see as he pointed to the lobby exit. "—Alfie-."

Trowa struggled through the throng, carrying Alfie in his arms and came to a halt an arm's-width apart from Rashid. "Hey, Alfie. Good boy." He fed the animal a few treats then held him up. Up into the air rose Alfie chomping on his treats. Trowa passed him over a couple heads and into Rashid's waiting hands.

"Mr. Barton! A moment of your time!"

Trowa cast a glance back over his shoulder. Two security guards. The chumps he knew Khushrenada used. "Not now," he said and ran faster, melting into the crowd. His dash out of the building went unimpeded. But where was Quatre? Where would he go?

The answer came on the wind—the delicate floral perfume of the gardens.

Trowa found him stretched out full length in the damp grass under a cherry tree. The sun broke through the clouds turning dew drops into sparkling diamonds. Then a breeze stirred the tree and it rained pale pink cherry blossoms, blanketing the sleeping young man.

So beautiful.

"Hey, is there room for me there?"

Quatre's eyes flew open, looking mildly alarmed until he focused on Trowa's face.

"Oh! Was I asleep?"

"Yeah. You looked so comfortable I wondered if I could join you?"

Quatre patted the grass. "Please."

Rather than a graceful glide, Trowa beached himself on the petal pile sending flowers flying around them and making Quatre giggle.

"So, to summarize, we came in third place in the terrier class. Duo and Snuffleface were first and then went on to take best in show. Sorry I couldn't have done better for you."

"Really?" Quatre looked delighted by the news. "I think you were wonderful! What you did for me was wonderful!" Quatre cried out, throwing his arms around him.

"Thanks," Trowa murmured in a gush of pleasure the threat of rain could not dampen. "You're not disappointed?"

"Not at all! I'm so glad you agreed to step in with no notice, not knowing Alfie or me or what to do. I was about to leave. Alfie would have missed out if you hadn't been so brave to give it a try."

"It was nothing…"

"It was everything!"

"If you say so," Trowa said. To have Quatre's trust meant more to him than he'd have guessed. His heart unlocked, and he didn't try to conceal his blaze of passion. Quatre glowed. It seemed like Quatre could read how he felt.

"I say so." Quatre looked smug with his win.

"Now that that's settled. Why didn't you stay to watch us?" Trowa wanted to know.

"It's complicated," Quatre said uneasily.

"What isn't?"

"I wanted to, but, I needed to get away and think with nothing interfering with my own thoughts, and, well, I have trouble being around crowds, basically."

"Me, too," Trowa commiserated. "I prefer animals to people in general. Not you, of course," he added in a rush. "I, uh, like being near you."

Quatre smiled and his cheeks pinked. "I like it too—you being here now… with me." He sounded relieved to have said that.

"But?" Trowa prompted him.

Quatre closed his eyes. "What I meant was that I really can't be around lots of people."

"Okay. I won't make you come watch me at the circus. Promise."

Quatre chuckled. "You know what I dream of?"

Trowa shook his head. He couldn't help smiling when Quatre looked at him like that, bright blue eyes glinting with amusement. "Baskets of puppies?" he guessed playing along.

Quatre sobered, and Trowa knew he was being serious now. "You know those television commercials- do you watch TV? I don't know if this will make sense—"

"I, ah, don't have a TV," Trowa confessed, "but go on. Try me."

"There's a cell phone commercial which shows a map covered with, painted with color, all over, except for a blob a bit off center. That's where there's no coverage. That is where I want to go. I want to live there, where I can no longer be reached by work or anyone."

"I get it, but maybe you don't need to become a hermit-"

"I know! But. You'll think I'm crazy if I tell you."

"No crazier than I am," Trowa said, smiling sympathetically.

"I doubt it, but I may as well get this over with and just tell you. I feel people's… auras, for lack of a better word. And too many of them…" Quatre hesitated over finding another word to describe what he couldn't explain, "overwhelm me."

"So, you're faking composure most of the time?" Trowa asked.

Quatre nodded. "It's not so difficult at home. But when there are so many with emotions running…high, I simply put myself into emotional lockdown and run."

"Sounds like a smart idea to me. Nothing crazy about self-preservation."

Trowa knew he'd said the right thing when Quatre smiled.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. So-?"

"So, in spite of my weirdness or because of it, I've decided to quit my job and not go back to my colony. I'd stay here. I'll find something to do with all my money… start some kind of business."

"A quiet one like a book store," Trowa suggested.

"Something like that, but not that. Just… without swarms of people around." And with the soft, velvety lilt from his home colony, Quatre added, "Animals would be lovely."

Trowa searched his face for a clue of where this was heading and the earnest blue eyes met his. "I suit you okay?" he croaked out through his tightening throat.

Quatre's pretty blue eyes darkened and Trowa's mouth went Sahara dry.

Quatre's lips parted and he whispered, "There's just one thing missing."

Trowa nodded, unable to speak.

"I'm hoping… it will all be worth it if… Will you be my friend?" Quatre's voice was plaintive.

"Yes," Trowa said huskily. "We're friends already."

"Good friends?"

God, he sounded so in need of assurance and love. Oh yeah. Trowa could read that look all right. He leaned close and brushed his lips over Quatre's. "Very good friends."

"Ummm… Yes."

Trowa kissed him again, making it last longer, touching the fine silky hair before drawing back. "There. Done." Trowa waited until those blue eyes were open again before closing in for another light kiss. "Not done with you. Done with that worry. The friend thing."

"Umm…" came the contented sound from Quatre.

Seeing as he shouldn't count on intelligent contributions from the blond cuddling into his arms meant Trowa had to lead the conversation—that or carry him back to his room and… oh God… "That leaves the life-changing thing."

"Time for a change," Quatre murmured.

"Right. You know, I've been arranging a life change myself. Um, I was invited here by Mr. Khushrenada as a brand of favor you shouldn't have to know exists."

A little frown creased the delicate brows. "Oh, but I know exactly what you mean. I know how many business deals go down. So, what do you need from him?"

Trowa doubted this gentle soul knew just how depraved men could be. "I've been trying to talk him into loaning me some startup money and he wanted to see what I do—with dog training. I can work with all kinds of animals and help owners with problems. I still owe him some… favors… which he'll want to collect before-"

"Forget that! I can do it!"

Visions of his sweet Quatre in the hands of another man, any man, flooded his mind. Trowa lurched in place. "Quatre! No!" he shouted in an imperious tone saved for disobedient animals. "Promise me you'll never do anything-!"

"Anything rash? Oh, Trowa, you misunderstood me. I wasn't talking about doing anyone any favors, silly." A winsome grin spread across his face. "What I meant is that I can loan you money. I consider myself to be an emerging entrepreneur."

Clouds scudded low over the Sanc skyline and the wind was chill. Cherry blossoms fell, floating down and landing in the golden hair and on the flushed cheeks. One caught in pale eyelashes and Trowa brushed it away.

"We should try us out first," Trowa said, suddenly wise.

"Do you have a week? Here. In Sanc. We should figure out something in a week."

Oh God yeah…

Trowa might have melted into an adoring puddle under that tree, if a shadow hadn't darkened his vision and a voice startled his attention away from the object of his affection.

"Excuse me. We'd like to speak to you for a moment," said a voice.

Before he could growl some form of "go away", Quatre piped up, "Oh, hello!" He waved too.

Trowa looked ready to rip their arms off if they took one step closer.

"Trowa," Quatre said full of cheer and "all is goodness and light", "these are the security guards looking into the circumstances behind my losing two handlers to injuries. They don't believe they were both accidents."

"I know these two chumps. Yuy and Chang. They work for Khushrenada," Trowa said. He stood and got in the face of Wufei Chang. "You're always jumping to conclusions. Sometimes coincidences are just that."

"Not this time, Barton," Chang said with a cultivated sneer.

Weighted with heavy meaning, Heero Yuy intoned, "We have news."

"Don't tell me," Trowa stopped him, "Let me guess… you're finally getting married?"

Wufei blustered difficult to understand rubbish and blushed deeply as he attempted to hide his left hand.

"I already noticed the new ring," Trowa said, further inviting trouble.

The emotional diffuser jumped to action. "Oh, look!" Quatre climbed to his feet, blossoms fluttering from his clothes like pink butterflies. "It's Duo and Mr. Merquise! See? Trowa look! They're coming this way!"

"Yeah. More fun. Say if you don't have enough lost hair bows to track down-"

Wufei held up a hand. "Do NOT mention lost hair bows. It is a real thing. A horror. Tracing the source of a truly real crime has been—" he cast about for the word.

"—Exhilarating," Heero said, completing the other man's sentence with an adoring smile.

"Yeah, well, we got this covered," Trowa said. As much as he'd enjoyed antagonizing the agents, Trowa wanted them all to go away so he could continue flirting with Quatre. Would he ever be able to get back to where they'd left off?

"Listen," Heero said looking truly remorseful for invading the couple's together time . "I'm sorry to interrupt, but we solved the case and you wanted to know."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Yuy, and congratulations on your engagement." Quatre smiled at him then Wufei, who looked as if he wanted to someplace, any place other than where he was. "You didn't tell me you were a friend of Trowa's."

"That's because they aren't—" The rest of what Trowa was going to say was lost to the Duo-Zechs presence: a combination of love, beauty and extraordinariness.

"Hey-O everybody! Man, what a beautiful day, right? What are those trees? Are they real? Whoa, Quat! Hey, Tro' baby, how goes it? Didja hear? Word has it that a couple of hot dudes solved the mystery of the hobbled handlers, heh, heh."

"Hi, Mr. Maxwell," Quatre cried out in his friendly manner. "Everyone just arrived at the same time. I don't know anything."

"How are you?"

Trowa greeted Zechs Merquise. "Fine enough. Doing all right. Congratulations on the win. Millefleur is a fine dog-."

Zechs held up a hand. "Thank you."

"Attractive garden." Trowa said. The staccato small talk was a kind of time-keeping until Zechs came to the point.

"Yes. We like it."

"Pretty."

"It is… but I've had enough of this fiasco."

Trowa followed Zechs' line of sight and spied Lady Une, the show's judge stepping with determination their way. Behind her and almost in step was Rashid with Alfie on his leash.

"Me, too. What's the big deal?"

Zechs sighed deeply. "My sister…"

"Relena," Duo filled in, "It wasn't her fault at all, Zechs."

"No, but she refused to drop her dog's handler after the last… incident."

"What do you mean?" Quatre asked. "Trowa, do you understand what he's talking about?"

"Only slightly more than you," Trowa said, then summarized what he recalled. "This nutcase, Dorothy something, and her mutt pushed into the waiting room right before the terrier show began. She tried messing with me, but Alfie's a champ. Then she was up against this tough cookie named Hilde, do was in charge of getting us organized. Hilde threw her out and on the way she had a run-in with Duo."

"You didn't tell me about that," Zechs muttered to Duo, who shrugged "no biggie". "Dorothy is employed by my sister and is her dog's handler. She is very… committed."

"You mean she should be committed," Trowa said. He turned on Heero, who was standing closest. "Did you know she was a lunatic?"

"We were aware of her extreme tendencies," Heero replied.

"Which is what led us to her. She revealed her plans, with no little help from me," Wufei said smugly, "plans to disrupt the show, remove all the competition. You see, Mr. Winner, she thought your dog was the sure champion. Without your trusted handlers, you'd have no chance."

"But Duo-!" Quatre insisted.

"Yes, Duo, er, Mr. Maxwell. I was getting to that part of the story. Once Miss Lucrezia Noin's Maltese and Miss Darlian's Dachshund were out of the running, Miss Catalonia decided that she had only you and Fido —"

"Alfie!" Quatre corrected.

"Yes, of course. Alfie. Once you were eliminated from the competition, then she felt Mr. Merquise, and Mr. Maxwell, had a sure path to winning. Not as satisfying a victory as it would have been had she won for Miss Darlian, but close. That was her feeling, naturally, not mine," Wufei Chang cleared his throat and stood erect. "I feel it's all ridiculous."

"We agree on something," Trowa said. "Here comes her ladyship, the judge. Steel yourself against her charms." Because she had none, he left it to everyone in the cluster to get the joke.

Once again the essential details were sorted out, repeated and expanded upon before Lady Une contributed something new.

"It's a matter of misplaced loyalties," Lady Une concluded. "Miss Catalonia will be held liable for the hospital bills. Do you want to have charges brought?"

"As long as Mr. Merquise thinks she's learned her lesson, and won't try something like this again then I'm satisfied." Quatre said. "I wouldn't want to let my father's lawyers get involved and make trouble for Mr. Khushrenada and… everyone."

"I'll see to it she fitted for a muzzle," Zechs said.

"He means the Airedale, right Zechs?" Duo hinted.

"Do I?" Zechs smiled. "If you say so." He gave Quatre all his attention. "I am grateful for your understanding and willingness to keep this entire incident quiet."

"If that's what you want," Quatre said.

"Good. At last, I can relax and enjoy the show without other things on my mind...like what kind of trouble Relena and her friend were getting into. Now, I'd like to return to the show with two gorgeous accessories on my arms, not just one."

"He means his dog and his dog's award," Duo said, laughing.

Zechs shook Quatre's hand. "Come visit any time." When he let go, he took Duo's hand.

"I'd like that, thank you," Quatre said, politely. "If you would leave me your address… number?"

"Hey Quat," Duo leaned into him so that their shoulders touched and in a very low voice he told him, "He's the prince of Sanc, in ab·sen·tia. He lives in an apartment on the palace grounds. But don't bother him. Just give me a call. You've got my number." He winked at Quatre's surprised expression. "I didn't think you knew." And then he said loudly, "See ya around!"

"Yes, we must be getting back to the final competition. Oh! What was that?!" Lady Une cried out, reaching down at her foot.

Alfie nipped Une on her heel, as if to say, "That's for putting your nasty hands on me, lady!"

Trowa reached down for the leash. "Where did you come from? Sorry, Lady Une. I guess that was his way of saying that if Treize hosts a dog show again, do the regular thing and separate the female dogs from the male."

Heero and Wufei took their leaves, parting from Trowa and Quatre, and, at a little distance, Rashid holding Alfie.

Quatre smiled. "I'm glad that's all settled, aren't you?"

"Sure." All he could feel was Quatre's hand gripping his own. All he could see was Quatre's face lighting up with joy.

"Let's go pack, Trowa. Rashid can go home. We'll take Alfie and see Sanc!"

"As long as you handle your family and Rashid, I'll handle Alfie."

"That sounds fair." And Quatre sounded delighted at the aspect.

Rashid saved him some of the trouble by figuring out what he should do on his own. "Master Quatre. Are you planning to take your holiday now?"

"Yes, I am and Trowa's coming along. We have an invitation to visit Duo and Zechs—Oh! Did you know Mr. Merquise is a prince of Sanc?"

"Prince Milliardo Peacecraft, in absentia. I believe you'll be guaranteed an enlightening experience. So that is settled."

"Almost," Quatre said. "To be clear, I will stay and keep Alfie. You may go home."

"I see," Rashid was grinning now. "On the off chance your father asks about your return plans, what would like me to tell him?"

"The truth. You don't know. I didn't tell you, because I have no idea how long I will remain. Don't worry, Rashid. I'll call father tonight and tell him I am here to find myself. You won't have to tell him I quit the business. That's my responsibility."

Trowa had moved back to give the pair some privacy. He could tell how close they were, more a father and son than employee/employer relationship. As much a Trowa wanted Quatre to "find himself" and become self-reliant, secretly, he wanted to be the one Quatre leaned on—a little, for a little bit anyway. When their conversation appeared to be winding down, he stepped to Quatre's side.

"Ah, Master Barton, good timing. I was just about to tell Master Quatre how much I shall miss him, but be assured that I shall wish you both the very best."

"I'll miss you too. I'll call!" Quatre promised, eyes welling with tears.

"I'll expect he'll be begging you to come visit," Trowa put in. He wasn't all that sure he could replace the irreplaceable secretary.

"And I would be pleased to join you," Rashid said leaning in to add, "Just not too soon. I have my own holiday planned." He embraced his younger charge one last time then said his final goodbyes and strode away toward the hotel.

"You okay?" Trowa asked. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

Quatre nodded. "Saying goodbye is hard, isn't it? But I have much to look forward to and can't wait to get started!"

"Good. What would you like to do first? We don't have to leave the hotel immediately. We can extend our reservations here and be tourists for a couple days." Trowa caught himself from suggesting they just keep one of their rooms and never leave the hotel, but thought better of it. One step at a time. He didn't want to blew this by pushing too hard.

"That sounds perfect."

"Okay, so what first?"

"Let's put Alfie away and watch Duo win the Best in Show!"

The End.

 

 

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