A/N: This has been in my head for years. I'm sorry it isn't an update to any of my WIPs but… it's a challenge to get back in the heads of characters who I haven't lived with in a while. For now, all I can do is try to write - but rest assured that I am looking over my old work and making notes and preparing to update. Eventually. I'm sorry I can't promise more.

Also… I never took a writing/composition/literature course in college (long story why not) so… I'm making this up as I go. I make up a LOT of things as I go, but I've never really felt that guilty about it until now...

Warnings: Language, angst, violence, sex

Pairings: I'll give you two guess. No, three guesses.

What May Come

Chapter One

Knowledge is power and ignorance is fatal.

The captain of the mercenary group Trowa Barton had been raised by had said that to him once, not long after they first met, and the words had stuck with Trowa for the rest of his life.

They had only been reinforced, time and time again, over the years. The fatality of ignorance had been a lesson crystallized when that same captain and the entire band of mercenaries had been wiped out due to Trowa's ignorance and his blind trust in someone who had given him a gift. From that day on, Trowa had worked his hardest to eliminate his ignorance in all things and had learned to use knowledge as a weapon.

It had taken a bit longer to learn that Trowa himself wasn't powerful - only the knowledge he could attain - and that no matter how much he knew he would never be powerful enough to control his own life. Still, knowledge allowed him to learn the weaknesses of his enemies, to manipulate those around him and to survive.

He had filled his brain with military tactics, history, geography, math, physics and enough psychology to be able to survive the mindfuckery of being an undercover agent.

But now, as Trowa sat in Freshman Composition I, he realized that everything he had learned in his entire life, would have very little impact on his future.

At nineteen he was a year or two older than most of the other freshmen in the class and his background as a Gundam pilot, a mercenary and a circus performer meant that he had literally nothing in common with the sixty fresh-faced men and women around him. Even the scholarship that allowed him to attend the prestigious Amaris University set him apart. The Post-War Rehabilitation Program was open to all former soldiers, on all sides of the conflict, but Trowa, who had been a minor during the conflict, didn't qualify for the funds. Instead, the only way he could afford to attend University was through a scholarship fund set up by Quatre Winner.

He had resented it at first, when Quatre sent him the message and the off-hand, less than subtle suggestion that Trowa apply for funds so that he could make something out of his life instead of staying with the circus. Quatre had made it sound as if being a circus performer was only the smallest step up from being homeless, and Trowa supposed that, to Quatre, that's all it was. Trowa had been in the middle of composing a cold, churlish response to the offer when Catharine happened upon him and forced him to really think about this opportunity.

The circus, Catharine assured him, would always be his home and his family - but did Trowa want to focus his entire existence on that? Or did he want something else?

He had taken months to consider her questions. He had never liked to make rash, unformed decisions, and now that the wars had ended and he rarely found himself in the position of making split second decisions he took even more time to consider every option, to look at the questions from every angle.

In the end, he had decided to use the money and enroll at Amaris University - despite, or in reality because Quatre had suggested Trowa attend the Winner endowed Hikmah College in L4 - on the moon. He still wasn't sure what he wanted to do, what he hoped to learn, but as soon as he had set foot in a classroom he had felt a coil of anticipation.

Knowledge is power. The Earthsphere had changed in the last five years. Trowa had started off as a pawn, all those years ago, pushed along by the tides of power and conflict, and in the end he had been pivotal in ending the conflicts that had so long plagued humanity. Now, however, he was a pawn yet again - he didn't know how things would turn out for humanity, much less for himself. Going to university, sitting in classes and learning things that had nothing to do with weapons or war - it was a chance for Trowa to finally gain the kind of knowledge that would give him power over his own life.

He still wasn't completely sure how Freshman Composition I would aid in that quest - but for now, as he settled back in his chair and looked over the syllabus while the Prof lectured, it felt damned good to be able to relax his guard and learn just for the sake of learning.

Even after nearly two years of peace, Trowa still found it difficult to enter a room without immediately checking for escape routes. He still distrusted strangers - well, people in general - and found himself assessing everyone around him for potential threats. He didn't know if those things would ever change, or if he was destined to forever be an outsider.

Catharine was right that the circus was his home and his family - but everyone there knew him as Trowa, the Gundam pilot, the murderer, the orphan kid who had saved them and woke up in the middle of the night screaming.

It was good to be away from all of that, to have a chance at an actual fresh start - where no one knew him and where he was free to learn who he was as much as he could.

He hadn't bothered to declare a major during the registration period and had instead signed up for an array of general education courses - composition, history, astronomy, calculus and a music theory class to appease Quatre, who had not so subtly mailed Trowa a flute before he even left the circus to move into his dormitory on the former Lunar Base.

Amaris University was one of the oldest colonial universities, and had been on the moon for more than one hundred and fifty years. When the wars ended the University had simply swallowed up the old military installations, turning them into new dormitories and laboratories for the engineering and science programs.

The sense of deja vu Trowa had felt as he settled into his new quarters had been unsettling - he had walked the halls before, albeit it in the uniform of an OZ officer - and he had had to fight against it to retain his equilibrium.

Even now, as he sat in the composition class, he struggled to remain focused on the Prof and forced himself to not think about the fact that this lecture hall had once been a briefing room.

He looked around at the other students. He envied their ability to doodle freely on their notebooks in disinterest as the Prof droned on. None of them woke up screaming in the night as they clawed back to reality in a desperate bid for freedom from the past.

None of them turned a corner in the halls and found their heart pounding in anticipation when the shoes of their classmates clattered against the steel floor.

None of them -

Trowa's brain abruptly lost its ability to function.

Three rows ahead of him sat a student with shoulder length brown hair pulled back in a loose pony tail. He was dressed in all black and as he turned his head to the side his face was in profile - full lips, strong jaw, high cheeks, wild bangs and intensely blue eyes.

Trowa forced himself to breathe.

No.

It wasn't possible.

But when the class ended five minutes later the black clad man rose to his feet, stretched, and turned towards the back of the room. His lips were turned upwards in a grin that could have been friendly if his dark gaze didn't hint at a dark and twisted view of the world. As soon as that gaze landed on Trowa the grin froze in place.

Trowa swallowed hard and returned Duo Maxwell's glare.

The room emptied completely before either man managed to react.

"What are you doing here?" Trowa finally asked.

Duo's brow slowly knit into a frown. He stared at Trowa for a long moment more before answering and then he shrugged. The grin returned in full force.

"Learning how to compose freshmen, obviously."

Trowa merely glared.

"Well, learning how to compose one freshman, I suppose," Duo amended.

"You cut your hair."

Duo's lips twitched and he reached a hand back to feel the short ponytail at the nape of his neck.

"Can't get anything past you, can I?" Duo quipped.

Trowa realized that Duo was as furious to see Trowa as Trowa was to see him.

They certainly hadn't been close during the wars, but at the end Trowa had felt no animosity towards Duo, though he wasn't sure he could say the same for Duo's feelings towards him considering their interactions over the years. Still, Trowa hadn't counted on having to ever see Duo again. Or any of the Gundam pilots - except Quatre, whom Trowa simply couldn't ever escape.

He didn't want this reminder of his past - he had specifically chosen Amaris because it was far from Quatre - and it boggled his mind to consider the odds of this chance encounter. There were fifty thousand students at Amaris - how the hell had he ended up in a course with Duo?

"Those damn placement tests," Duo muttered, his brain clearly on the same path.

Trowa nodded in agreement.

He had always thought Duo was intelligent - whatever other opinions he harbored about the Deathscythe pilot aside, Duo had to be a damn genius to know as much as he did about piloting, physics, math and weapons systems despite having never attended school or having any formal education at all.

Of course they would test into the same class.

"What science class are you in?" He asked in sudden panic.

Duo's lips twitched.

"Chemistry. You?"

Trowa couldn't stop his sigh of relief.

"Astronomy."

"Astronomy?" Duo echoed and sneered. "Really pushing yourself with that one, aren't you?"

"Because chemistry is going to be such a challenge for the guy who learned how to make bombs out of toothpaste," Trowa snapped in response.

Duo shrugged, completely unembarrassed.

"Are you in Calculus?"

Duo snorted.

"No. Discrete Mathematics - Jesus, are you planning on sleeping through everything?"

In all honesty, Trowa had picked easy math and science offerings - he wasn't sure what exactly he wanted to study at university, but he knew it was nothing in either of those fields. He had had enough of those as a soldier.

Duo sighed.

"Look - I… I don't know. I hoped I'd never see you again and I'm sorry we're both here but I'm sure as hell not leaving and I've never known you to back down from a fight unless you gained a tactical advantage so… what are we going to do about this?"

Trowa took a long moment to consider the options.

He could ignore Duo - if they only had one class together it didn't seem like it would be that much of a challenge; he could pick up where they had last left off - uneasy comrades who could only trust each other to do what was best for humanity; or -

"Want to start over?" Duo suggested, once again seeming to read Trowa's mind.

"I don't know," Trowa said honestly, surprising both of them.

Duo nodded in agreement.

"It's too bad you're so damn hard to ignore," Duo muttered, "because I'd really prefer to just pretend you didn't exist."

Trowa snorted.

"I'm hard to ignore? What the hell are you talking about?"

Duo opened his mouth to say something and then shook his head.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter."

They stared at each other for a long, tense moment.

"I… well, I could use some backup if you don't mind," Duo said eventually.

Trowa frowned.

"What are you talking about?"

"The caf. It used to be the hangar where Deathscythe was parked."

It took a moment for that to sink in.

He had thought that he was going to have problems fighting off the memories and flashbacks that being on the former Lunar Base brought on - how in the hell was Duo managing to stay sane? He had nearly died on this base - several times over - and now he had chosen to live here for the next four years?

Trowa realized this was Duo's offer of peace - he was clearly admitting a weakness and offering Trowa the upper hand. Trowa could exploit this weakness or he could protect it.

He gathered his books and papers and shoved them into the rucksack he had carried for years, first for ammunition when he was with the mercs, later for tools as a mechanic, then with supplies as a teenaged terrorist, and now, finally, he was using it as a backpack.

"The RA on my floor already warned me that the food is practically toxic," Trowa said.

Duo visibly relaxed.

"Yeah well - it can't be worse than the rations we had during the first war, yanno? Remember that shit they loaded the cockpits with when we took off for earth?" Duo made a face and Trowa nodded in empathetic agreement.

"Tasted like they were coated in rocket fuel," Trowa murmured.

"God, that's exactly what they tasted like," Duo agreed.

They walked towards the door and there was an awkward moment as both of them waited for the other to leave first.

Duo regarded him with an amused expression before finally giving in and stepping through first.

As they walked towards the caf Trowa couldn't help but notice that most of the students they passed gave them a wide berth.

Even dressed as civilians and unarmed the two of them were intimidating enough that everyone instinctively avoided them.

Duo looked over at him, clearly noticing the same thing, and shook his head.

"If only they knew how much I want to curl up into a ball and cry in a corner," Duo muttered and instantly stopped walking as soon as the words were out of his mouth. His face froze in an expression of horror and supreme embarrassment. He had clearly not meant to say that out loud.

Trowa swallowed hard. He fought back his first instinct, to say something cutting and keep Duo in a weak, off balanced position. It would be easier - he had certainly done it often enough during the wars, to Duo and nearly everyone he had ever met - but it didn't feel right anymore.

"Every time I hear someone walking in heels I feel like I'm going to look up and see Une," he confessed.

Duo looked at him uneasily. His face was still incredibly pale but he nodded slowly, accepting Trowa's offering.

"I'm surprised you haven't pissed yourself," Duo muttered and started walking again.

Trowa felt his lips twitch.

"I content myself with a few tears every now and then instead," Trowa responded, letting his words sting just a little instead of cutting deep.

Duo snorted.

"As if you even know how to cry," Duo retorted.

"I might learn, if the food is as bad as they say it is," Trowa assured him.

They reached the entrance to the caf and both stopped short of the wide doorway.

The opening at one end of the hangar had previously been secured with a magnetic field, allowing armored suits and shuttles to come and go while preserving atmospheric integrity, but it now space was kept out with the aid of plexiglass, making the opening one giant window that offered a spectacular view of the Lunar colony and the dark, glittering blackness of space beyond.

Years ago the hangar had swarmed with activity as technicians and soldiers prepared for war. Now, however, the hangar was filled with the near deafening chatter of thousands of teenagers.

"When I was with the mercs, we always used a buddy system to sweep minefields," Trowa found himself saying when, five minutes later, neither he nor Duo had managed to step inside.

Duo looked at him with a question in his eyes.

Trowa had never shared his past with anyone - certainly not with the pilot he knew the least - but that wasn't why Duo was looking at him like that now.

"We always took turns scouting ahead and following each other's footsteps. It was the only way to make it through safely."

Duo seemed to understand.

He drew in a deep breath.

"Guess I'll take point on this one?" Duo offered and stepped into the caf.

Trowa followed closely behind.

-o-

TBC