Chapter Text
The dawn of Thanksgiving morning in the historical town of Salem, Massachusetts was frigid, but unusually peaceful. Frost clung to every nook and cranny, covering resting vehicles, creeping along the edges of oak and maple-paned windows, and encompassing every blade of grass. The tiny ice crystals sparkled in the growing light of the rising sun that lit the sky in breathtaking hues of orange, pink, and red.
Dead leaves were scattered all around the countryside and surrounding forest. A few still clung stubbornly to the mostly barren trees that were interspersed with weeping, age-old spruces. In their looming shadows, squirrels, chipmunks, and other vermin scurried along the landscape, gathering up the acorns for their suppers, and twigs and leaves to insulate their nests. And right on cue, the first of the early birds roused and began to serenade the start of a new day.
Situated among a large clearing was an expansive estate. Its architecture reflected that of the many beautiful homes and businesses that were common for the rich classical ambiance of the northeastern seaboard. The five hundred year old Dutch colonial home was beautifully restored to its near original state. White, clapboard siding decorated the exterior, accented with stone and cedar shake.
The home's wraparound porch was adorned with hand-carved eaves. Ivy was wound around the white pillars and lattice work, giving it a romantic effect during the spring and summer months. Ornate, hand-crafted benches and rocking chairs were strategically placed here and there along the porch's expanse. Gneiss stone steps lead up to a set of lovingly restored antique front doors, originally carved from local oak trees. Lead pane glass accented the doors and provided a glimpse into the warmly lit, inviting foyer.
The property was simply, but tastefully landscaped with flora and fauna native to the area. The garden beds that hosted expansive rows of hydrangea, and various species of roses and lilies which bloomed in bright, colorful shades of blue, yellow, pink, white, and red during the summer were now dormant until spring. Small pines, holly, and other evergreens now took their turn in the spotlight.
Inside the home, fluttering about the traditionally decorated, but updated with the latest technology, kitchen, Quatre Raberba Winner set about cleaning and preparing for the large Thanksgiving feast that would take place that evening. He had sent the estate's staff home the day before with a generous salary bonus to spend the holiday with their own families. They would return to work the following Monday.
Humming obscure holiday tunes to himself, he cheerfully wiped Duo's fingerprints off the stainless steel surface of the refrigerator and checked his watch. The guys would hopefully succeed in bringing back a nice, plump turkey within the next couple hours.
Entertaining himself with the memory of this morning's antics, he proceeded to the walk-in pantry located next to the fridge to gather various ingredients for the many dishes that would be concocted on this day. Whipped potatoes and homemade gravy, rosemary seasoned bread stuffing, cranberries, collard greens, sourdough knots, candied yams, pumpkin pie, sweet potato pie, mincemeat pie, bread pudding, roasted asparagus with almonds, and of course the pièce de résistance, the turkey. Overkill? Maybe. But this was a special occasion. It was the first time they were all gathered together, in peacetime, for the sheer enjoyment of it. And Quatre was going to make sure everyone had a memorable time.
He’d been so happy when he found out all of his closest friends would be coming to the estate to spend the holiday with him and Trowa. It would be noisy and chaotic at times, but he wouldn't have it any other way.
His partner and best friends had already set off to snag a bird that would become the centerpiece of their Thanksgiving table. Quatre wasn't sure who he should be more worried about, the birds, or his friends. The morning had started off with the usual shenanigans that often accompanied them when the five of them spent any significant time together. Off the clock, that is. And when they had a mission, well…Gundam pilots never did anything half-assed.
***
Trowa's alarm went off at promptly four thirty. Normally, Quatre would have groaned, rolled over, and shoved a pillow over his head, but this was no ordinary morning. This was the day he’d been looking forward to for weeks. He propelled himself out of bed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, leaving a rumpled and fondly smiling Trowa in the wake of his exuberantly flung sheets and blankets. Trowa extracted himself from the bed at a more leisurely pace and padded to the adjoining bathroom, his blue flannel sleep pants low on his narrow hips.
With no shirt, his broad shoulders and muscular back were on full display, the light from the moon outside the window casting a bluish glow to his skin. Despite leaving the circus a few years ago, Trowa successfully maintained the strong, sinewy body he’d developed from years of acrobatics and hand-to-hand combat. He drove to the beach every morning at low tide and ran five miles along the sprawling sandy ocean side as the sun rose above the Atlantic's horizon. He retained his powerful physique with the hard, manual labor of carpentry, chopping trees, and splitting firewood.
Quatre would shamelessly watch through the window of their utility room as Trowa, shirtless and sweaty, repeatedly brought the heavy ax down onto every log and then lugged the firewood either to the shed behind the house, or to his truck where he would take it into town and distribute it to the various businesses that sold it to the local residents and the seasonal visitors. Quatre would then jump his bones the moment he stepped in through the back door despite his protests that he was in dire need of a shower. Quatre liked him that way and the sex was always deliciously rough. Rugged and heady. The pheromones, the streaks of dirt on golden skin, the flush of Trowa’s skin from the increased blood flow and endorphins driving him into a frenzy.
As Trowa stepped into the bathroom to pee and shower, he glanced knowingly over his shoulder and smirked at Quatre who had stopped to admire the sight of his husband. Quatre ceased his mental ravishing of Trowa’s godlike body and briefly met smug green eyes, blushing and smiling when he realized he was busted. Trowa winked at him and proceeded into the bathroom, though he made a show of hooking his thumbs into his waistband and swinging his hips from left to right, followed by a smoldering look as he closed the door with excruciating slowness.
Quatre's eyes narrowed, thoughts of exacting revenge later that evening simmering in his mind. Two could play that game.
He was surprised to find the kitchen already brightly lit when he got there. Wufei had beaten him to making the tea and a large pot of coffee was also brewing, filling the room with the aromatic scent of Arabic gahwa. Wufei, who’d learned to brew the Middle Eastern coffee specifically for Quatre’s visits, was seated on a stool at the counter sipping hot Earl Grey and pointedly ignoring the groaning American slumped over beside him. Duo's head was flat against the counter top. His long hair still unbraided and tousled from sleep. He was moaning about the ungodly hour Heero had insisted they wake up at and declaring that no amount of high priced coffee could justify this inhumane treatment.
The focus of Duo's chagrin was seated at the small kitchen table located in the nook that offset the kitchen, his laptop opened in front of him. He was meticulously going over the Thanksgiving “itinerary”, jotting down notes and prioritizing each task. Duo guffawed when he'd looked over Heero's shoulder the night before to see that he had indeed crafted a finely detailed schedule of the day's events. Each of them assigned specific duties, when to do them, and how much time they were given to complete them. Heero's hand had shot out, planted itself against Duo's face, never breaking his focus from his computer screen, and shoved him away. Duo then rolled his eyes and shuffled out of the room, grumbling about mission-obsessed perfect soldiers with an uncanny knack of sucking the fun out of even the most joyous of occasions. He may have also said something about Heero needing to get laid.
"Good morning, guys," Quatre chirped as he stepped into the kitchen, his fuzzy slippers scuffling along the ceramic tile.
A collective grunt was the only response, but Duo did manage to turn his head to the side, peering through mussed bangs and bleary eyes at the inexplicably chipper blond. "Quat, kindly tell our dear friends here that waking us up at four thirty in the morning is cruel and unusual punishment."
"Shut up, Maxwell", Wufei growled through clenched teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, the sigh of a man at the end of his rope, whistling past his lips. "You've been complaining non stop for the last twenty minutes."
"But this is my vacation,” Duo whined, hunching over as if he were in physical pain. “I don't know what you do on your vacations, Chang. That is, if you even take any, but when I take a vacation, that means sleeping until noon, followed by some leisurely time in the john, if you know what I'm sayin'. Then, a lovely greasy breakfast for lunch, five hours of the sports channel, gorging myself on nachos and beer, and finally, a little nookie with the ol’ ball and chain,” he leered, waggling his brows at Wufei who’d turned a sickly shade of green.
"For your information, Maxwell, I do take vacations, but they do not include the partaking of gluttony, sloth, perversion, or disgusting bathroom habits."
Duo offered him a look of faux sympathy. "Then you have yet to live, my friend."
Wufei tipped his nose up and sniffed. "I have lived quite precariously, if I do say so myself."
Duo propped his cheek up on one hand, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Damn, Chang, but you're sexy when you use big words."
Wufei scowled and picked up his tea. "I'm going to go get ready. I trust you'll summon me when I'm needed, Yuy?"
Heero replied with a distracted grunt and went back to his typing.
"Right.” With a final glare in Duo's direction, Wufei strode out of the kitchen towards the stairwell, nodding an amicable greeting to Trowa as they passed each other.
Trowa entered the kitchen just as Quatre was in the process of gently scolding Duo about giving Wufei a hard time, though it wasn’t very effective considering they were both laughing. The blond was standing at the stove, preparing two cuppas for himself and Trowa while Duo made grabby hands at the coffee pot just out of his reach, but making no real effort to get off his ass and pour himself some.
Trowa pecked his husband on the cheek and glowered when the braided man cooed at them. He reached over Quatre’s head and opened the cupboard, pulling out a mug and filling it with rich, black coffee. Then he stood in front of Duo with the mug in hand. When Duo reached for it, with an added flair of melodrama, he pulled the mug back, just out of his reach. Duo uttered a soft growl and Trowa offered the mug again and again pulled it back just before he could grab it.
"Damn it, Barton! Don't make me kill you!"
Trowa smiled charmingly and handed it over. Duo greedily took it and slurped noisily, murmuring rather perverse sounds of pleasure.
"Q-babe, have I told you lately how much I love having such a disgustingly rich best friend who can afford all the finest things in life?"
"Er…yeah, Duo. I think you have. About seventeen times since you got here yesterday, if my memory serves."
"Good." Duo nodded solemnly as if Quatre knowing that was a serious matter.
Trowa flicked him in the side of the head on his way over to the table where Heero was sitting, picking up the paper the other man swiped off the porch when he'd first come downstairs, and lowering himself into the chair across from him. He absently stared at the corporate insignia engraved on the laptop’s lid and sipped his tea. He and Heero always had an intimate understanding of each other and could spend numerous hours in companionable silence together. Something the more extroverted Quatre and Duo could never relate to, or handle without getting apprehensive.
"Jesus, Yuy! How long is this itinerary of yours?" Duo had swung around on his stool and was staring at the man who’d been tapping away on his keyboard in a rapidly steady rhythm for the better part of ten minutes.
"Long enough to keep you from driving everyone crazy, I hope."
Duo scoffed and spun back around with a muttered, "Touché."
"Shouldn't you be getting ready, too?" Heero finally looked up from his screen with questioning eyes.
Duo patted his belly. "I need food first. A man's gotta eat if you're going to be working us to the bone, y'know?"
"I'm on it." Quatre unhooked two skillets from the hanging pot rack suspended above the kitchen’s island and swung open the fridge door to fetch eggs and bacon.
"Quality guy you got yourself there, Tro," Duo said, jerking a thumb in Quatre's direction.
"I know."
"Oh shush, you two." Quatre’s face was a fetching shade of pink, but the corners of his mouth curled up just enough to display how flattered he was.
"Are we heading for the shed?" Heero was closing his laptop, much to Duo's relief. Just how much work was he planning on heaping on them?
"Yeah, if you're ready."
"I am."
They got up simultaneously, equally smooth and graceful, and then pushed their chairs in. Heero went to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup while Trowa headed for the utility room to get their coats. Bundled warmly, they headed out the back door to gather the items needed for their turkey hunt.
Duo ticked his fingers against his forehead in a salute, then slid off the stool and meandered over to Quatre, watching over the blond’s shoulder as he fried up a big pan of scrambled eggs and…
"Ugh, turkey bacon, Q? Really?" Quatre glanced at him sideways, but declined to comment, turning the bacon over, strip by strip. Duo shook his head.
"I love you, bro, but this no-pork habit of yours is bad for my digestion."
Quatre smirked. "Duo, you are bad for your digestion."
"That hurt, Winner."
He chuckled and pointed towards the now abandoned kitchen table. "Hey, make yourself useful and go set the table."
Duo pretended to be put out, slouching his shoulders and groaning as if he’d just been asked to perform some gruelling task. "Putting me to work already, I see." With a dramatic sigh, he crossed the kitchen to gather plates, glasses, and silver from the hutch and went about setting a table for five.
"Okay, I'm done."
Quatre surveyed Duo's work, grinning at the added spokesmodel gestures, and nodded, satisfied. "Okay, go get dressed and I'll have breakfast ready in a few minutes. You have a big job to do today."
Cheered by the prospect of hunting wild turkeys in the great outdoors, Duo bounded up the stairs, two at a time, up to the guest room he was currently staying in. Quatre winced as the loud slam of his door echoed throughout the house and let out an exasperated sigh that ruffled the fringe of his hair.
“Twenty four years old and he still hasn’t learned not to slam doors.”