"Heartbreak Café"

Written By: The Plotting Housewife

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit.

Rating: NC 17

Warnings: Angst, Drama, Fluff, Smut, Threesome - M/M/M, Polyamory, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Rimming, Top/Bottom Dynamics, implied infidelity, Breakup, Disability

Pairings: 5x2, 5x2x4, 3x4, 3xMidi Une

Summary: After Trowa breaks his heart, Quatre leaves his life behind to open a coffee shop called the Heartbreak Café. Just when he finally begins to pick up the shattered pieces of his life, his two newest customers arrive to usurp the delicate balance.

" Heartbreak Café"

Chapter 2: Hit and Run

Thursday morning found Quatre flat on his back in bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples, knew it was going to hurt like a bitch when he got up. He idly contemplated never getting up again. Just resigning himself to the life of a vegetable. Which was tempting, until he realized that he didn't really want to spend the rest of his life languishing in his own waste.

He was slightly encouraged that his depression wasn't so bad off that he no longer cared where he went to the bathroom. That was good, right? He licked his lips, wincing at the dryness of his mouth and blinked eyes that felt like sandpaper. He easily recognized the symptoms of dehydration, but just didn't have the energy to move yet.

What energy he hadn't expelled running his father's company, he'd put into Trowa. Six fucking years worth of it...down the toilet. Did Trowa care? Was he hurting, too? Or was he glad? Glad to finally be rid of the life he'd resented. Quatre knew it hadn't been easy for him. This kind of life wasn't for the faint of heart, that was for sure. But he was certain that their love for each other would overcome those odds. Where had it all gone wrong? When had some old childhood friend become more important that he was?

He bitterly envisioned the happiness on Cathy's face when Trowa returned to the circus and informed her that he and Quatre were no more. Could envision her pretending to be sad for them and failing miserably. He could imagine Trowa introducing her to this Miidi girl and could imagine Cathy just falling in love with her. Maybe even making plans for their upcoming wedding. Giddily thinking about venues and flowers and the pitter-patter of little feet.

His stomach twisted and he rolled over, puking into the waste basket beside the bed. Not much came up, but what did stunk of brandy and he groaned between heaving, his esophagus on fire from the burn of regurgitated stomach acid. A thin film of sweat broke out on his forehead and he wiped it away with a shaky hand, rolling onto his back when the sickening wrench of his stomach subsided.

He'd never met Miidi. For the longest time, he simply hadn't known Trowa was talking to her in secret. The betrayed trust hurt enough, but to find out that she had managed to worm her way in between them stuck like a rusty knife in his chest.

Did she care that she was a homewrecker? Did she feel guilty about ruining their relationship? Or was she vindicated, satisfied with her accomplishment? Having never met her, it was easy to imagine her as some villainous Jezebel who spent her time weaseling her way between committed couples and running off with the partner of her choice.

But he knew he couldn't really put the blame on her. At least not all of it. No, this was Trowa's doing. He'd seen an opportunity for a way out and he'd taken it. Maybe he'd been in love with her and not Quatre all along. It would certainly explain his distance, his preoccupation during the past year. Quatre felt he should have addressed it much sooner. Thought he had, though his attempts to engage Trowa in discussion were unsuccessful.

Now, he was going to have to spend God knew how long listening to the media gleefully report the 'shocking'news about how Quatre Winner had been dumped by his blue-collar boyfriend. The speculation was going to be imaginative, creative. The juicier, the better. All of the possible scenarios they could come up with would be discussed in intricate detail, having no regard for the human beings who lived through it. Quatre had never been a person in the eyes of the public. Neither had Trowa.

He felt drained, empty. He lifted a hand, heavy with fatigue and rubbed at sore eyes. He wondered what he was going to do now. He hadn't slept a wink all night, having done much the same as what he was doing now. He was expected at work in...he glanced at his clock...two hours. He dragged a hand over his face, feeling the beginnings of stubble on his cheeks and sighed tiredly, thinking about the amount of energy it would take to get out of this bed, the bed he'd shared with Trowa, and walk to the bathroom, to shave and shower. The amount of energy it would take to walk into that office and pretend the rug hadn't just been swept out from beneath his feet. That his life hadn't just been turned onto its head.

It was energy he simply didn't possess at the moment. He rolled onto his side and swiped his phone off the bedside table, pressing the speed dial for his secretary. He tipped the phone against his ear and counted the rings until she picked up.

"Aiesa. Yes. Hi. Listen, I'm not feeling well. Cancel my appointments for the day please. Yes. Yes, I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks. Bye."

He hung up and tossed the phone behind him, not caring where it landed. He tucked his hands beneath the pillow and curled his legs up towards his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible. He felt gutted. So damned gutted. It didn't seem like anything would be right ever again. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind of thoughts, hoping to be able to finally drift off, even if only for a few minutes.

He did sleep though it was restless. His dreams were disjointed, achingly despondent. Visions of Trowa at the other end of a field full of sunflowers, his back to Quatre. Every time Quatre reached him, he would try to place a hand on his love's shoulder, only to have Trowa disappear on him and reappear at the other end of the field. He never turned around, never spoke to him, there was only the stiff silence of his broad back. And no matter what Quatre did, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get Trowa to face him.

He woke up in a cold sweat, tears dripping down over his temple and soaking his pillow. He sniffled around a stuffy nose and rolled over, wiping his face on his sleeve. He hadn't bothered to change out of his work clothes, collapsing onto the bed when exhaustion took precedence. He stared at the empty side of the bed, imagining Trowa laying there beside him. Those sleepy green eyes peering at him in the morning sunlight, shining with all the love Quatre craved to see again. The love he hadn't seen in over a year.

He furiously scrubbed at his face and sat up, a little too quickly. He steadied himself by placing his hands flat on the mattress and waited for the lightheadedness to fade. Then he swung his legs over the side and stood up, padding to bathroom. He relieved his bladder and washed his hands, gazing at his pallid face in the mirror. His eyes were glassy, bloodshot, exhausted. He flipped open the door of the medicine cabinet with a heavy sigh and fished out a bottle of aspirin. He popped two pills and chased them down with a glass of water. He could hear his phone ringing and chose to ignore it, not caring if it was the President of the Earth Sphere herself. Whoever it was could go fuck themselves.

He shambled into the kitchen, turned on the coffee pot, and peered into the fridge, looking for anything that might appear edible, but his stomach was not in the mood. He slammed the door and went back for the coffee. It would have to do for now.

The phone rang again and he let it go to voicemail. He sat at the counter and sipped his coffee, wondering how he was going to be able to spin this. The public would find out. They would devour the scoop like rabid animals, like an all-you-can-eat shrimp buffet on a Saturday night. It would be on the cover of every tabloid, featured at the checkout lines of every grocery store, consumed by every housewife and busybody on L4. It left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

Or maybe that was the excess brandy he'd drowned himself in last night. You might want to get your liver checked, champ. You gave Johnny Cash a run for his money.

Of course, he could always say he'd kicked Trowa out. The media would take his word over Trowa's. He dismissed that idea before it had a chance to fester and grow. He'd never been disingenuous before, he wasn't going to start now.

At any rate, he had to be back in the office tomorrow. His secretary would inevitably ask how Trowa was. What could he say? Ask his girlfriend? I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you? Nothing came to mind that sounded the least bit appropriate.

The phone rang again and he dropped his head onto the counter with a groan, then pulled his fatigued body off the stool, dragging it over to the wall where the ringing nuisance hung on its mount. He contemplated smashing it onto the floor, but decided that probably wasn't the best idea. He yanked the receiver off the cradle and hit the 'talk'button.

"What?!"

"Well, aren't you chipper this morning."

He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. "Hello, Adila."

"What's going on with you? Why so snappy?"

He snorted and picked at his nails. "It's a long story."

"Well, you've got time to tell me all about it during our lunch date."

"Oh, shit!"

"You forgot."

"I'm sorry, sis. I did."

"Typical."

"I have a good reason this time."

"Why? What happened?"

"Can we - I don't know...do this another time?"He really didn't want to leave the house.

"Why? So you can mope around in your pajamas all day?"

Yes. "No,"he said, a touch defensively.

"Aren't you working today?"

He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and poured himself another cup of coffee. "Took the day off."

"Well, this must be serious. What could be so bad that my favorite baby brother actually called off work?"

He tipped his head back, a loaded sigh whistling past his lips. What the hell. She's going to find out anyway. "Trowa left."

"Well, he'll be back soon. Right?"

"No, Adila. He left."

It was quiet for a few minutes and Quatre could almost hear the cogs in her brain squeaking as they turned. He propped his hand on his hip and waited for her to connect the dots.

"He what?!"

There it is. "Yeah. Last night."

"For what - why?!"

"He said something about not being able to deal with it anymore, or...I don't know."He idly peeled a hangnail away from his cuticle to distract from the rising anguish that filled his chest cavity. He swallowed around the swelling lump and blinked the tears away, clearing his throat. Don't fucking cry. "I think he left me for a woman."

"That sonofa - oh, sweetheart! Are you okay?"

"No."

"Well, we'll talk more about this at lunch -"

"Oh, Adila, I really don't want to -"

"Shut up and meet me at Rosita's like we planned. Twelve sharp."

"Adila -"

The line clicked before he could finish protesting and he glared at the phone, absurdly hoping Adila would sense it. He turned it off and stuck it back on the cradle. Adila was nothing if not hard-headed, even more stubborn than he was. She was also the only one out of all his twenty nine sisters he could ever really talk to, though Iria might have also been a friend and confidant if she'd survived beyond the war. Adila was the only one who accepted his sexual orientation without reservation, without condition. It was bittersweet knowing she was the only one in his family he could count on, but he was grateful for her presence.

Unfortunately, now he had to clean himself up and actually go out in public which he dreaded. Adila would never take no for an answer. He leaned over the counter and propped his chin on his hand, gazing out the window without actually seeing anything. They met once a month for lunch and Rosita's was Trowa's favorite L4 restaurant.

For some reason, that hit him hard. The painful reality that Trowa was gone, dropping onto him like the curtain closing at the end of a performance. This era of his life over, just like that. That's all, folks. Show's over. He dipped his head, resting his forehead on his arm and tried not to cry, but the dam had already sprung a leak. The fissure cracked even more and the tears dripped onto the countertop as he began to lose control.

What are you holding it back for, you idiot? Who are you trying to hide your pain from? Yourself? Let it go.

He choked, a whimper escaping from between trembling lips. One last valiant effort to quell the impending breakdown and then the last of his defenses crumbled away. He collapsed under the onslaught, knees buckling and he slid down the cabinets until his ass hit the tiled floor. He curled his legs beneath him, hid his face in his hands and unleashed the tsunami of emotions.

He sat for a long time after that, sniffling and wiping the stray tear here and there until he felt strong enough to stand again. He struggled to his feet and splashed cold water onto his face. His nose was clogged, his eyes raw, but the water was soothing. He patted himself dry with a paper towel and left for the bathroom to clean up and attempt to look more together than he felt.

He shaved quickly then jumped into the shower, not even bothering with a wank. He couldn't have gotten it up if his life depended on it. He wondered if he'd ever get another erection again and glanced down at his flaccid cock with a strange sense of moroseness. This is it. I am a eunich. Thanks for the ride, little guy. It's been fun, but the ship has sailed.

He decided he'd officially lost his mind when he suddenly doubled over in a fit of hysterical laughter. He placed a hand flat on the wall to steady himself as his body shook with mirth. It took a few minutes for the residual giggles to subside, but he eventually straightened up and managed to finish his shower without any further lapses of sanity.

Unfortunately, he lost it again when he opened the closet door to find something to wear, his eyes taking in the empty side, the hangers looking forlorn without Trowa's clothing attached to them. He took deep breaths through his nose, forcefully pushing down the wave of agony and yanked a shirt and pair of pants out with more violence than was necessary.

Now, the question was, would he be able to get through a lunch in public without losing his shit?

***

Rosita's Italian Cuisine was a popular hotspot on L4. Their food was spectacular, authentic. Unfortunately, that meant noon on a Thursday saw the place with the ever-present line out the door. If Quatre could be optimistic about who he was, he could be thankful that his name got him an immediate table. Normally, he didn't like to do that, but today he didn't much care about taking cutsies.

Adila greeted him solemnly, taking him into her arms and holding on tight. She held him much longer than she usually did and he was grateful for the embrace, the shoulder to lean on. He briefly buried his face into the soft material of her sweater and employed iron will to keep his emotions in check. It wouldn't do to have him break down in front of all these people.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie."

"Thanks."

He followed behind her as the host ushered them to their table. The place was loud, filled to the brim with noisy patrons on their lunch hour. He ignored the turning heads and glances in his direction as he walked to the table and sat down across from his sister, unfolding his napkin across his lap.

Adila's eyes were shiny, shimmering with worry. "How're you doing?"

"I've been better."

"So what happened?"

Quatre patiently waited for the waiter to pour the ice water into their glasses and ask for the drink orders. "I just came home last night and he was already packed to go. I asked him why and he said he just couldn't deal with it anymore -"

"Deal with what?"

"My life, I guess. My...public persona, my stress, my hours...who knows?"He took a sip of water to cool his throat and stared down at his place mat.

"But you said you think he left you for a woman. Is it that same one as before? Mirdy?"

He nodded. "Miidi. Yeah. I mentioned that and he denied it only a little at first, but then he didn't deny it and...I know he just doesn't want to tell me."He dropped his head into his hand. "I'm so stupid."

"Oh, sweetie. You're not -"

"I am! I thought that...whatever it was between them was all over. Thought they were no longer talking to each other, but...I just knew that was what it was. I guess I just didn't want to see it."

"That's understandable."

"I tried, Adila. I tried so hard to make him happy. Why couldn't I make him happy?"He choked a little, then glanced around, quickly schooling his features at the inquisitive glances that were sent his way. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, that's the long and the short of it. Six years pissed down the toilet. End of."

"I'm sorry, honey. I wish there was something I could do."Her eyes gleamed mischievously. "You want me to beat him up?"

Quatre snorted. "It's tempting, but no."He leaned back when their drinks arrived and thanked the waiter. He dutifully ordered his meal even though he wasn't hungry and waited for him to walk away before he leaned forward again. "The thing is...Trowa was the only thing that made me happy."

Adila pressed a hand against her chest, looking mock-offended. "What? I don't make you happy?"

He laughed softly. "Besides you. I've hated my job for years. Trowa...he was the only thing that got me through it. I don't know what I'm going to do now."

Adila gave him a sharp look over the rim of her wine glass. "You know I've been telling you to find a new career path."

"Adila,"he rubbed his forehead, not thrilled to be opening this can of worms. "Do we have to have this conversation again? You know I can't do that."

"Why not?"

He turned incredulous eyes on her. "Why not? Because I have responsibilities and duties to uphold -"

"Oh, duties schmooties."She waved her hand. "Let Marisa have it. She's been trying to wrench the company out from under you for years."

Quatre winced at the mention of their second oldest sister. That much was true. Marisa had been trying to wrestle it from him ever since he took control of it eight years ago, even going as far as attempting to seize it through court. "But isn't that like letting her win?"

She shot him a derisive look and set down her wine glass. "Does it feel like losing?"

He realized it didn't. He hated his job. Hated his position. But, still..."What would I do then, though?"

"What do you want to do?"

He shrugged, at a loss. "I don't know."

"Well, think about it. You'll have the time and plenty of money to live off of until you figure it out."

"But...I just feel like I'm giving up."

"You're not giving up, Quatre. You're giving yourself what you need. What you've needed for a long time. Let Marisa have WEI and do what makesyou happy."

He was surprised to find the suggestion increasingly tempting the more he thought about it. He nodded and stirred his drink. "I'll think about it."

She held up her hands. "That's all I ask. You know I'll support you whatever you choose to do."

There was still another pressing matter. "The media, though..."

She scoffed. "Who gives a shit what those assholes think?"

He shot her a wry grin and raised his glass to his mouth. "It's easy to say that when you're not the one making the headlines."

"Do you honestly think even if I was that I would care?"

No, actually in Adila's case, she probably wouldn't. She didn't care what anyone thought of her. She did her thing and she did it with her convictions firmly in place. He admired her that. "I wish I could be more like you."

"You can be. Look, I know it won't be easy, but...you are strong, you are smart, and you deserve happiness. Don't let anyone, not even Trowa, take that away from you."

He smiled at her. "I'm so lucky to have you."

"Damn right you are. But, seriously. I'm glad you're actually thinking this over instead of just dismissing me this time. I think it's something you need to do."

The prospect really was tempting and he found himself actually a little cheered. The ability to live his own life, the way he wanted to. He was surprised to find his appetite even came back a little and ate his chicken and pasta with an enthusiasm he hadn't expected. When the meal was over, she gave him another hug and kissed his cheek.

"I have to go back to work, but I want you to call me if you need me. You have my direct number and you can call me at home anytime. Even if you need to cry at three o'clock in the morning."

He laughed and hugged her tightly. "Thanks, Adila."

She patted his cheek affectionately. "I love you, kiddo. I'm here for you."

"I know. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just be happy. That's all I need from you."

He nodded, suddenly overcome with emotion again. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and thanked his lucky stars for Adila. He didn't know what he would have done without her.

They parted ways outside the restaurant and he felt a little lighter as he walked down the sidewalk, actually lifting his head a little to take in the sunshine. It felt amazingly good.

But, could he really leave WEI? Was it as easy as Adila made it out to be? To just sluff off his responsibilities to the company felt wrong. Maybe it was because he'd been conditioned to believe that was his purpose since he could walk. It was ingrained in his psyche. Part of his DNA.

And what could he possibly do? His first thought was teaching. A professor, or maybe teach music. Or maybe he could go out of his comfort zone and be a stuntman, or something. He laughed a little at the visual his mind produced. No, perhaps not. That would be more Duo, or Trowa's thing. What did he enjoy? What else was he good at? Come on, Quat. Give that gray matter between your ears a little workout.

The rich smell of java wafted across his nose as he passed by a coffee shop and he stopped short, doing a double take. It was a cute place. A nice, classy little storefront. Trendy, with pots of flowers and little wrought iron tables with blue umbrellas set about on a brick patio. He chewed his lip, considering. Maybe he could open a coffee shop? He loved coffees, teas. He was good at running a business, had extensive experience at it. It actually sounded kind of fun. Maybe he could find a place on Earth, by the beach somewhere. People always loved coffee. For some, it was even a necessity. The idea quickly grew on him and his mouth curled up into a smile. Oh hell yeah. This is definitely doable.

He wondered if the media would leave him alone after that. Let him be a private citizen, a nobody. It sounded wonderful. The prospect of not having every second of his life broadcast for all the world to see, to judge. He grudgingly admitted he could see the draw for Trowa. It was a draw for him, too. Sweet anonymity. He wasn't foolish enough to think that would actually happen for him. Not with his name. Not with his face. But maybe it would be reduced to bearable levels. That he could deal with.

But then, of course, he would have to sign WEI over to his sister. He knew she would do well at the helm. She was sharp, shrewd, a born leader. She already ran a successful Fortune 500 company which she'd launched from the ground up. Her vision was to merge the two together to create a multi-trillion dollar conglomerate. Their father would probably roll over in his grave. And that was all the more incentive.

He chuckled and fished his ringing phone out of his pocket, glancing down at the ID readout. His stomach plummeted when Trowa's name appeared. Had he changed his mind? Did he want to come back? Did he realize Quatre was the only one for him? His heart pounded at the possibilities as he pressed the phone against his ear, cringing a little at the tremble in his voice.

"Hello?"

"Quatre. It's me. Trowa."

"Yes, I know that. I'm not stupid."

There was a pause. "Right. Sorry. Listen, I just wanted to know when would be a good time to come get the rest of my stuff."

Quatre squashed down the heavy disappointment and breathed hard through his nose, trying not to let it be audible in his voice. He glanced down the street, checking for oncoming cars as he stepped off the curb. He kept his tone curt, short. "Whenever. I don't really care."

"Quat, I really am sorry about all this. Sometimes it's just -"

Quatre didn't hear the rest over the blare of horns and the screech of tires. He glanced up, having only enough to time to think, Oh, shit. This is going to hurt, before the taxi slammed into him. His vision darkened. His awareness shrunk down into a pinpoint, detaching itself from reality. He was disoriented when he was thrown on top of the hood of the car, then he rolled back off as the vehicle abruptly stopped. He hit the ground, numb from the neck down, coming to rest on his back. He felt a peace unlike anything he'd ever experienced before, oddly removed from the situation as he stared up through the artificial atmosphere of the colony. Some barely cognizant area of his brain informed him he was going into shock before it faded and became irrelevant. Faces appeared above him, hovering in his line of limited sight, their expressions filled with horror.

I can't feel anything. Is it really that bad?

He could vaguely hear shouting and the screech of more tires. Some of the faces above him contorting with anger as they pointed and hollered at someone he couldn't see. With his last shreds of coherence, he surmised that the driver must have taken off.

He blinked unfocused eyes as his head was gently lifted, then laid back down on something soft, someone's jacket perhaps. Another man slid his red windbreaker off and covered Quatre's torso with it. Through the unnerving ringing in his ears, he could hear voices telling him not to try to move, or speak. Could hear them shouting at others not to move him. A woman leaned down over him, her deeply lined face stony and grim.

"Just hang on, Mr. Winner. I'm a nurse and I'll look after you until the ambulance gets here. You're going into shock so we just need to keep you warm and calm until the paramedics can stabilize you enough to get you to the hospital."

His lips parted as he tried to speak, wanting to tell her so many things. I don't want to die. I hope Adila isn't coming over here. She'll be late for work. Tell Trowa I love him and I forgive him. I was going to open a coffee shop, you know. His lips were sticky, his mouth filled with a thick liquid. Through his muted senses he picked up the copper flavor, realizing it was blood and figured he likely had internal bleeding. He blinked increasingly heavy eyelids, desperately trying to keep them open, and was dismayed when his vision blurred and went black. No! I don't want to die! Please!

The woman, the nurse's voice sounded far away and his dimming awareness reached out for it, clinging to it like a lifeline. "Don't try to talk, okay? Just stay still. If you have a spinal injury, we have to keep you immobilized so we don't cause anymore damage."

He could hear the sirens in the distance through his disjointed hearing, but now they sounded more like his alarm clock to his fading consciousness. Trowa, would you get that? The alarm's going off.

Oh, God. I'm dying. This is it. I'm not going to wake up again. Not this time.

This morning, last night, he might have welcomed that, but now? Now he wanted to live.  

His eyes drifted closed, his last fleeting thought was that Trowa had probably heard the accident.

~ * ~

Chapter 3

Back to The Plotting Housewife's Page

Back to GW Authors Index.