A/N 1: The GW universe does not belong to me, and I make no monetary profit from writing.

A/N 2: This is a (slightly belated) story for Dyna Dee's birthday. Surprise (as promisedMany thanks to Kaeru Shisho for editing and enthusiasm and the fluffhead comment...

Third Time's the Charm (Sort of):

So, you know there's this old saying that if you happen to bump into someone three times in the one day, that person's going to be important in your life?

I've kind of edited that a little bit. To wit, if you happen to see the same person five times over a six-week period, that person is going to be important to you. Even if he doesn't know it yet.

Or hasn't even noticed you.

The first time I saw this guy, we were both at the farmers' market, and, yeah, I thought he was hot, but totally unavailable, since he was bracketed on one side by a tall, brown-haired guy, and on the other by a grumpy-looking bulldog. Very cute though. Looking like some sort of gay lifestyle advertisement; hot couple with designer dog buying organic apples. (Except for the clothes this guy was wearing. Oh, godawful, truly.)

Nice, but not on the market. (Heh)

Move on, Duo.

Time number two. Blur. (Popular new gay nightclub in Sanq City. Bit too much of a pick-up joint, but that kinda comes with the territory.) Saturday night, a month ago.

Bad news: accompanied by the tall guy he'd been with at the market.

Good news: tall guy apparently wasn't the boyfriend after all, since tall guy was all but having sex with some blond on the dance floor.

Bad news number the second: just as I was finishing my drink and psyching myself up to go over and say something slinky, someone got there before me. A very nice someone as well: a Chinese guy with with gorgeous dark eyes. (Badly dressed, though. And yeah, I'm shallow like that; I always notice clothes. I can't help it. I used to be do modelling.) Normally, to be honest, a niggly little detail like another guy mightn't have stopped me from at least trying. But this one..I dunno. There was a definite air of sadness about him, and something very touching in the way the other guy – my personal guy – was leaning and talking to him.

Right. Fast forward to the next week. For the record, despite what my friend Hilde says, I was / am totally not stalking this guy. I just happened to be at the farmers' market. I go there all the time. It just happened to be at around the same time that I'd seen him there previously. Pure coincidence. Truly. And I hung around for a bit longer than usual because I was going around the craft stalls to find a birthday present for Hilde. Because I'm an organised person who likes to get these things a month or two in advance.

So, anyway, there he was. Eventually. Score! Except – anti-score! He had the Chinese guy in tow, plus the cutest little puppy. A pug, maybe. One of those squashy-faced little dogs anyway.

They looked good together; well, no, actually, they would have looked good if someone (i.e. me) had given both of them a hardcore sartorial makeover and dressed them in something that was remotely fashionable and flattering. As it was, they were both cute enough that they could almost get away with what they were wearing. They were clearly very close...except, not in a couple-y sort of way. Not like two guys who were really together together.

Just good friends, I thought, watching them a bit wistfully.

After that, I started asking around a bit. I'm a writer; research is what I do. (Actually, that's not really true. I make stuff up, most of the time) But it turned out my friend Devon knew the tall guy, Trowa, I'd seem him with the first time. If you think that's a coincidence, it's not really. Sanq City's not that big a place; the gay scene is even smaller, and this Trowa guy was apparently on a mission to sleep his way through all of it. He'd been with Devon anyway, a couple of times; enough for Dev to have got a handle on who his friends were.

The Chinese guy – Wufei – wasn't a boyfriend either; I'd been right about that. But apparently they were best friends, and Wufei was just out of a bad break up.

My guy (I wish) was called Heero. He had some sort of brainy-financial job in a bank, and he was into fencing and horse-riding and outdoorsy stuff. Liked animals but didn't have a pet. Didn't have a boyfriend either. Definitely gay, but didn't seem to be into relationships.

Fourth sighting: ten days ago. Little cafe in town. Omens were all in my favour. I was wearing my absolute favourite suit since I'd just done an interview and he – for once – was alone, but he was coming out the door and I was going in, and just as I was willing our eyes to meet, a gang of noisy teenage girls pushed in past us, and one of them recognised me from that damn reality show, and then they were all clamouring for selfies and then Heero was gone.

Moment lost for ever.

Until now. (Bookshop. Department of massive textbooks devoted to numbers.) Me passing by, en route to the Fiction section, just to admire my new book. A wee bit sad, I know, but even after four years and three books, I still can't quite believe I'm a published author, albeit a very accidental one. I started keeping a diary a few years ago, at my therapist's suggestion, and to be honest, my life at that point was a bit boring, so I started spicing it up. Lots of sex and murders and gorgeous clothes, in assorted capital cities around the world. I submitted it to a publisher partly as a bit of a joke, but I knew loads of people in the magazine industry and one of them offered to show my manuscript to a friend of hers who worked in publishing. At that point, I was running out of money and needed to find some way to make a living, after finding out that my ex (ex-boyfriend, ex-agent, ex-everything really) had frittered away whatever money he hadn't swindled me out of.

So, there I was. And Heero Yuy, eyes buried in some hefty tone, not looking at me.

Go on, Duo. Do something!

Damn. Why couldn't he have browsing books I knew something about? I could have gone over and recommended something, or asked a remotely intelligent question about the book he was reading.

Anyway. Can't have everything.

Work it, Maxwell.

'Excuse me,' I murmur, all breathy, accidentally-on-purpose brushing against his arm as I reach up to take down the first book on the shelf beside him. I am wearing my most winsome, charming smile, head tilted slightly towards him, the tip of my tongue prepared to sneak out and tease my upper lip. The patented Maxwell seduction technique.

It doesn't work. He moves a step aside, but doesn't take his eyes off the book. Not even a flicker of a glance in my direction. Damnit! I'm on the point of asking him if he can reach a book on the next shelf for me – OK, we're about the same height, but desperate times and all that – when he moves off.

Oh, piffle.

I take off in very casual hot pursuit, but he's not going far, just to sit on one of the couches. OK, he looks pretty settled.

Time for Plan B!

Since I was about sixteen, everyone's told me that my ass is my best feature. (Which is kinda sad if you think about it too much, as it doesn't say a whole lot about the rest of me.) Still, maybe there's something in it, since it's been displayed on cinema screens and billboards and magazine covers, advertising everything from swimwear to Armani, and once some kind of furniture polish. (I know, I never really got that either.) Anyway, you have to work with what you've got.

So I sashay over, heading for the opposite couch. Just as I'm passing Heero – oops! I drop my keys, and make a big deal out of bending over to pick them up. For the record, I am wearing extremely well-fitted designer jeans. Just saying.

It's not the first time I've pulled off this little stunt. It never fails! I have a great ass, as mentioned previously, and am wearing the perfect outfit for it. The jeans, which cost a fortune, and were worth every cent, and a snazzy little sweater that rides up perfectly when I bend over.

Except Heero, as far as I can see, never even looks up.

Gah!

I sidle off, taking refuge behind a shelf of romance novels, a strategic place to keep an eye on him, and pull out my phone to send a quick text to my friend Hilde.

The cookie is in the jar.

Wtf duo?

Nuts! Does the girl never listen to anything I tell her? Keeping an eye on Heero, who seems pretty well ensconced where he is for the moment, I call her.

'It's our code,' I hiss. 'For whenever I see Heero. I told you.' Actually, I realise suddenly, maybe that conversation only happened in my head.

'Are you on drugs again?' she asks bluntly.

'No! It's the guy! The one I told you about. Heero. You know.'

'Oh. The guy you've been stalking for weeks.'

'I haven't been stalking him,' I protest. 'We just keep happening to be in the same places. It's fate.'

'Duo. You are totally stalking him.'

'Maybe a little bit stalking,' I admit. 'So. We're in that big bookshop near City Hall, and I'm trying to get his attention, and he keeps looking at some stupid book.'

'Well, that is what people normally do in bookshops,' she says, very dryly. 'Normal people.'

'Ha ha,' I echo. 'Seriously, Hils. What am I going to do? He's by himself for about the first time ever; this is my chance to dazzle him, and he's not even looking at me.'

'Jeez, Duo,' she drawls. 'I don't talking to him? That's what most people do. It's not like you've never picked up a guy before. I mean I've been out with you; you normally just have to stand there and you have guys climbing over each other to get to you.'

'Yeah, yeah, I know.' I pull my braid over one shoulder and glare it at. Usually, it's a good way to catch people's attention. Why fail me now? 'This guy seems to have some of natural immunity though. What should I say?'

'Oh, for God's sake,' she huffs impatiently. 'Maxwell, you're a supposedly intelligent adult. Just – I dunno – ask him if he wants to go get a coffee or something.'

'That's it? That's your brilliant advice?'

'Look. You know he's gay; you're pretty sure he's single, right? You're cute, you're funny, you've got great clothes; you're totally insane but he probably won't notice that right off; just go and say hi and ask him if he's not doing anything, would he like to go and have a coffee with you. No biggie.'

'I guess,' I mutter, and hear her sigh.

'I don't get why you're so hung up on this Heero. You've picked up plenty of other guys.'

'Hey!'

'You know what I mean. Anyway, gotta go. Good luck. Go get him!'

'Yeah, thanks.' I slide my phone back in my pocket. Pish. Well, that was a waste of ten minutes of my life that I'm never going to get back. Talk to him. Yeah, right. To be honest, I don't know why I'm being so shy around Heero. I'm not shy, not really. Or at least, I'm very good at covering it. I normally don't have a problem approaching anyone. Except, while I've been not-stalking him, I've sort of got to know him. He's not just some random hot guy in club.

I like him.

I mean, I like what I know about him, which admittedly isn't a lot.

He seems like a decent, intelligent person. I like the fact that he's got two best friends whom he's apparently known for ever. Actually, I envy him that. He seems like a really good friend, from what I've seen. And I like his friends.

Well. To be honest, I'm a little on the fence about Trowa. He's a bit too much of a love-em-and-leave-em type, maybe. Granted, he's a vet who volunteers at an animal shelter in his free time, and apparently brings strays home to save them from being put down, and obviously kindness to animals is good, but I don't think he's quite so kind to the humans of the species. Apparently, he had his heart broken years back, when the guy he'd been with for years actually died, and now he doesn't do relationships. Just lots of sex.

Wufei, though. I think I could be friends with him. I don't know why. Maybe just because we've both been through bad break-ups. Bad relationships.

Anyway.

OK, time for plan C. My default plan for every situation, pretty much. I ask myself, what would Gil do? Gil is one of the two heroes in my books. He's a former model-turned-photographer and he's sort of based on me. OK, he's totally based on me, except he's way smarter and he tends to stumble over a lot of dead bodies (some very badly dismembered) on his assignments, which so far has never happened to me. (The first body he ever found was based on Solo, my evil ex. He was very badly dismembered. I was going through a bad patch.)

And he's got a boyfriend, even though it took him two books and seven corpses to hook up with Connor, who's a private detective.

What would Gil do? Of course, he'd go and talk to the hot guy. Proposition him. In the first book, before he met Connor, he was a bit of a slut.

Right.

Time to man up. Heero won't sit on that couch for ever. Although, if he wants to read that entire book, he'll be there for a month at least. Maybe there's no rush.

I pick up a novel as cover, so if my nerve fails, I can pretend that I'm just going to sit down and have a read. It's got a nice cover, actually. Some blonde girl in a flimsy dress wrapped around a half-naked Viking. Life's so unfair. Women get to have all these barely-covered Vikings and Scottish Highland warriors to drool over. (Which is stupid, really. Like guys in Northern Europe would go around without lots of warm clothes) My books got abstract covers, because my publisher says most people won't buy books with two guys making out. (Except in Germany, apparently. The Germans don't mind.)

OK. Enough time wasting. I tuck the book under my arm and off I go.

'Um.' Except, that little spurt of energy and courage over, I end up standing in front of him, like an idiot. My right hand doesn't know whether to fiddle with my braid or fidget with my left sleeve. 'Um. Hi.'

Finally, finally, he looks up. Wowsies, his eyes are blue! He looks, if I had to honestly pick an emotion, just a tad irritated.

'Hi,' I repeat. Duo Maxwell, master of sparkling and scintillating repartee, take a bow. 'Ah, wouldyouliketogetacoffewithme?'

He blinks and I repeat it, a bit more slowly. 'Or, you know, tea? Or hot chocolate? Or something cold, like a smoothie? A fresh juice? And I'm going to stop talking now. But, you know, if you wanted, we could go for a drink. Or something. I'd pay. You wouldn't have to. Unless you really wanted.'

'Me?'

I swear to God, he actually looks behind him as if I might be talking to someone else.

'Ah. Yes?'

'Why?'

'Because...it's a hot day?' I hazard. Which is a lie. It's barely April, and it's cold out. Oh, why do natural disasters never come along when you need them? 'And...maybe ... you might be thirsty? Reading that book? It looks sort of dry. Although I'm sure it's really interesting,' I add hastily, not wanting him to think I'm being critical of his reading material.

He actually smiles then, and I swear, I go all squirmy. It's not even much of a smile, just a tiny, tiny quirk of his upper lip, right side, but I have a very optimistic personality.

And then he nods and stands up. Oh, God. I never thought he'd say yes. What to do now? There's a Starbucks in the basement here but it's not exactly special date-place material. My brain freezes for a second, and then I suddenly know just where to take him.

There's not a lot of conversation on the way; well, there's is, but it's all one-sided. Me babbling away, and Heero tossing me odd little glances, as if checking that I'm really ... real, I guess. It's sort of sweet.

Anyway, I haven't scared him away yet, and let's face it, at this point, the only way for me to go is up. All I have to do is string an intelligible sentence together, and I'll have surpassed myself. We get to Martha's Cafe after about five minutes. I haven't shut up, and he hasn't said a single word. He's smiled once or twice though.

We're lucky enough to snag a window table, and I stop talking for a second, letting him read his menu. I'm totally charmed when he orders hot chocolate with marshmallows. Somehow, I didn't think he'd go for something so frivolous. I order the same, and a plate of cookies to share.

'Or would you rather have cake?' I ask, watching the waitress walk away. 'We could get cake. They do an amazing blueberry cheesecake here. Or a coffee slice?'

'No cake, thank you.' He leans forward, fixing me with those amazing eyes. 'Why did you ask me here?'

'Why did you accept?' I shoot back as a cunning riposte. (I love that word. It always sounds like the flourish of a fencing foil. It's a swash-buckling word)

'All right.' There's a sharp edge in his voice, echoed by the scrape of chair-legs as he pushes back from the table, about to stand.

'No! Wait, please!' I say quickly, too panicked for anything but sheer honesty. 'I asked you because, oh fizz it, listen, I'm not a stalker or anything, and I know you haven't noticed me, but I've seen you around a few times in the last month. We were in the same club a couple of weeks ago, and I go to the market on Sunday sometimes, and I saw you there and I thought you looked...nice.'

'Nice?' he echoes back incredulously, staring at me.

Oh, pish. Tosh. I'm a writer; I make my living with words. And that's the best I can come up with.

'No, you're not nice! I mean, wait, you are obviously, I'm sure you are, but I just thought you were...' Oh, hell on a hot plate. I cannot think of a single appropriate adjective. Instead, I lean over and kiss him, and that's that, really.

Goodbye, cruel world. Hello, Heero Yuy's mouth, and crystalline-blue eyes, and oh, hello, hand snaking around the back of my neck, holding me very firmly in place.

'I did notice you,' he says softly, when he finally lets me go.

I just grin at him like a double-headed loon, the world all afloat with marshmallow rainbows and gold-dusted candyfloss clouds.

Oh.

Oh. The marshmallows are real, suddenly, as our waitress plonks a tray on to our table, and beams at me. Uh oh. I know that look. Rumbled.

She ignores poor Heero totally; I get a handful of folded napkins, and a little chocolate stirrer, and easily twice as many marshmallows. I also get the inevitable pen thrust in front of my nose, and a request for my autograph.

'Sure, ' I take the pen, and glance at her name badge. 'To Clarissa, right?'

'No, to Tony, please. He's my brother, and he's, oh my God, like your biggest fan. He's got your books and that poster, that black-and-white one in the Armani suit, and he just loves you. And I know he's my brother and everything, but he's a really great guy, and it'd be like his dream to go out with you sometime.'

Oh, fizzle. I don't need this now. I quickly pen a message to 'Tony' and hand pen and paper back. Solo, and a couple of guys I'd been with after, had loved it when I got recognized in the street, loved it when they saw pictures of me displayed to the whole universe. Celebrities-by-association. I can tell that Heero's the sort who'd hate it. And probably isn't too keen on sitting there watching me getting set up on a date.

'That's really sweet. But um, I'm not really available,' I say, determinedly not looking anywhere near Heero.

'He's not remotely available,' Heero chips in, and they glare at each other for a minute, before she drops her eyes and stalks off. Oh. He's the possessive type then, quite clearly. Even though he doesn't technically possess me yet. Or doesn't realise it. That's different. Solo was pretty much the anti-possessive type. He'd throw me at anyone if he thought he might get something out of it, although he did then throw hissy fits if he thought after that I'd seemed too keen, enjoyed it too much.

'I'm so sorry about that,' I say quickly, scooping marshmallows into his cup from mine and handing it over.

He nods a thank you. 'Are you...some sort of celebrity then?' He says in the sort of distasteful tone that he might use for serial kitten-killer.

Fiddle. Every other guy in the world has fantasies about hooking up with celebs and I meet the one person who apparently finds it a total turn-off.

'No! God, no. I just used to do a bit of modelling, ages ago, nearly six years now, and then last year I did this TV show and...'

'You were on television?'

'Oh, it was just this silly reality thing. You wouldn't have seen it. But my agent thought it would be good publicity for the latest book. I'm a writer,' I put in, before he gets a chance to ask. 'Detective stories, but with two guys who're a couple so, well, oodles of sex.'

'I've never met a model before,' he says, and it's hard for me to tell whether that's a good or bad thing for him. Actually, no. It's pretty clear he doesn't like it much. Most people go all gushy and gooey. Not Heero. 'Did you like it?'

'Well, some of it. I liked the travelling,' I qualify, 'and I met some great people.' Also, lots who weren't so great, but I don't say that. 'And I got lots of free clothes.'

I leave it there. I don't tell him about the other stuff; the drugs and the eating disorder and the abusive ex. (In my defense, I was only seventeen when I met Solo, after a lifetime of foster homes and cardboard boxes in the subway, of always being alone. I would have done anything to make him love me, to make him stay. I did, more or less.)

I will tell him all that. Just not today, when we're in a yellow-painted coffee shop that smells of chocolate chip cookies. When the world is smiling at us.

'And you're famous?' he presses. 'People know who you are. I don't even know your name,' he adds wonderingly.

'Duo. Duo Maxwell.' Shaking hands seems a bit mad at this stage, having done the tongue-shaking pretty thoroughly, so I settle for a silly little wave across the table, and then that seems even crazier. 'And no, I'm nowhere near famous, honestly. I mean, I maybe was, for about thirty seconds five years ago when I did this big Armani campaign.'

That had been pretty much the highlight of my career, such as it was. Two weeks in Italy, staying in super-swish hotels, wearing the most divine clothes ever, and having an actual assistant to tend to my every whim. And Solo'd been over the moon, thinking this was it. That we'd hit the big time, finally.

Except it hadn't really happened. To be brutally honest, my whole modelling career had been a bit of a fluky miracle. A total flash in the pan. I wasn't tall enough; I wasn't classically handsome; my colouring was all wrong for an industry that generally went for very blond or very dark. I'd just happened to hit a wave of demand for something a bit different, a step away from the cookie-cutter good looks that graced most glossy magazine covers. It had helped that most people, from the CEOs and designers at the top of the food chain, had liked me, liked working with me. Liked that I was larky and undemanding and easygoing and never complained. I got a lot of repeat business.

Probably hadn't hurt that Solo, especially in the beginning, had essentially pimped me out to people

he thought might be well-placed to give my career a boost. (People, plural, on one awful, awful occasion.)

Heero gives me another of those uncertain glances, as if I'm some sort of exotic alien life form that's popped up on his plate. He's still siting down, but it doesn't look like it'd take much for him to bolt. Rats. He hadn't seemed like the sort of guy who'd be into all that wannabee celebrity stuff, so maybe he's just writing me off as this shallow model guy who's not remotely his type. And, oh, I want to be.

'I never said,' he says eventually, after a long pause when I'm honestly starting to think he's going to leave and write this whole thing off as a surreal adventure. 'My name's Heero.'

'I know.' I say it without thinking and then clap my hand over my mouth. Oh, fizz it, Duo, you fluffhead.

'Is this... more of that not stalking you mentioned?' he asks steadily, carefully enunciating every word. He is holding his cup with one hand, the knuckles showing white, and it suddenly hits me that he's as nervous as I am. He's just way better at hiding it.

'No, no! I, um, it's just my friend Devon sort of knows a friend of yours. Trowa, right?' I say it as airily as I possibly can, as if it was just a little snippet that had happened to come up in conversation. Not like I'd spent days calling everyone I knew to try to find out who exactly he was.

He gives me a slightly wary nod at that, and then we both stop talking for a minute, gathering thoughts and sipping hot chocolate. Heero carefully selects the biggest of the cookies and slides it over to me.

He's kind, I think dimly. I hadn't quite put it into words before, but I'd seen it. I'd watched him with his poor, heart-broken friend, so focused on just listening to him, and hadn't been able to help wondering what it would have felt like to have had someone like that in my corner, after Solo. I'd seen him holding that tiny little pup, like it was the most precious thing in the universe, laughing as it tried to nip his fingers.

'I have a dog.' I say out of the blue, and take out my phone, showing him a photo. 'Smoky. He's an Australian Shepherd. A blue merle.'

'He's lovely.'

'Yeah.' After Hilde, he's the person/living creature I love most in the universe. 'He's amazing. Lots of fun. Tonnes of energy too. You like dogs, right? We could maybe go for a walk or something, the two of us. Three, with Smoky. Would you like that?'

It's a fairly relaxed suggestion, and he starts to settle back into his seat properly. I think the whole modelling-been-on-TV thing sort of threw him for a loop. But now I'm apparently just a guy with a dog, who's spilling cookie crumbs all over himself.

'Great,' I enthuse. 'Heero, can I ask you one question? I told you why I asked you for a drink. Why did you say yes?'

I did notice you.

That was what he'd said, very quietly, after the kiss. The diamond-spangled, cloud-flavoured kiss. (God, I wanted him to kiss me again.) And yeah, I'm kinda sorta fishing for compliments here. But I've found out quite a few things about Mr. Heero Yuy over the past few weeks. Enough to know that he's not into the clubbing scene, doesn't seem to be into dating, and that even if he was into the whole dating thing, I'm highly unlikely to be the sort he'd go for. That he'd want some educated intellectual like Wufei. Quiet and a bit reserved; the sort of person who'd fit harmoniously into his no-doubt orderly, organised life.

Nothing like me.

If I'd asked him to dance, to buy me a drink, to take me outside and fuck me against a wall, that night in the club, I doubt if he would have given me a second glance, except to make it one of those glares, and run off as fast as he could. But here we were in a cosy little tea-room, with daffodils on the table and patchwork cushions on the chair.

We'd kissed.

He put one hand on the table, palm up, and I slid mine into it, not quite letting myself breathe as he folded his fingers around mine.

'I said yes,' he says slowly, as if he's either thinking it through, or else he's a bit nervous about saying it, 'because you are the most dazzling person I've ever met. And because I really wanted to kiss you.'

'And you did.'

'Hn.'

'I might let you do it again, sometime,' I tease gently. 'Maybe.'

'Only maybe?' he teases back. 'I'm a statistician.' (Gulp. I have no idea what that is.) 'I'm not sure if I like those odds.'

'Definitely then,' I say in a rush. 'Is that better?'

'Better, yes.' He's still holding my left hand, very gently, the pad of his thumb brushing little caresses against my wrist. It's sweet. Intimate.

'Is this all right, Duo?' he asks, the first time he's said my name.

I'm not quite sure what he means. The touching in public, just the touching, the fact that we seem to be having some sort of unspoken connection, but I nod to all of it, with him stroking me like he's touching a butterfly wing, a daydream, a cloud.

No one's ever done that before; OK, maybe as a little bit of foreplay, but only as a prelude to getting down to business properly. Heero looks like he's happy just touching that little square of skin, and I have to resist the urge to tug my sleeve down further, because people either freak out when they see the scars, or start asking questions.

There are sunbeams filtering through the lace curtains on the window beside us, landing happily on the table, and one playing in Heero's dark hair. He's gorgeous, I think dizzily. I have a pretty addictive personality, and I'm already addicted to the feel of his fingers on my wrist, just that one tiny point of contact. That rare little smile. I really want to see him smile properly, to make him laugh. He's gorgeous, and kind, and smart, and he thinks I'm dazzling. (Yeah, I'm preening a bit over that, running it over in my head.) Even the waitress in the corner, who keeps shooting us – well, Heero – filthy looks can't spoil this.

Then he gives me a sudden grin; an expression I haven't seen yet. 'You've actually been quiet for nearly five minutes. Are you all right?'

'Yes! Fine! Oh, do you want me to say something? I could say stuff.'

That does make him laugh; a surprisingly throaty, rich chuckle. Oh. I want him to do that again. Ideally when naked. He tries to pull his hand back, but I'm stronger than people think and I close my fingers around his. No way am I letting him go any time soon. That gets another laugh, and he reaches up with his other hand, brushing one loose strand of hair behind my ear, and then slides down to cup my chin, tilting my head back slightly to look at him. Another laugh, slightly different this time, when I slide my tongue out and swipe it against one finger.

'Duo.'

There's a note in his voice that gets my full attention, and I look at him uncertainly, not sure if he's admonishing me for doing that in public, although it sort of pales beside that the fact that we've already kissed, and we've been holding hands for however long.

'Don't do that here. Please. I only – have so much self-control.'

'Oh!' I say, delighted with myself. Lift off! OK, not that it wasn't pretty damn obvious that he was attracted, but – it's still nice to have verbal confirmation. 'Oopsies. Sorry,' I murmur, beaming at him. Heero, haloed by sunbeams, smiling.

'No, you're not.'

'No, I'm not,' I grin, all mischievous-minxy. 'Not remotely. So, am I having a bad effect on your self-control?'

'You know very well that you are.'

'Yep!'

Our lovely little moment is interrupted by the evil hell-waitress, who chooses that very second to come stamping over and clatter our empty cups onto her tray.

'Shall we go?' Heero asks, and I nod, letting him pull me to my feet. 'Where now?'

I just shrug. I don't really care where we go.

'Lunch first?' he suggests. 'And then maybe we could get your dog and take a walk on the beach? Would you like that?'

'And, ah, maybe dinner later?' I press, just wanting to know that I'll be getting to spend the day with him.

'Dinner, hm, yes,' he says a little distractedly. We're outside by then, blinking in the bright sunlight, hands still linked, and then he kisses me again.