Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Cat's Paw ❯ Chapter Fifteen: And Behind Curtain Two Is... ( Chapter 15 )

Thank you to mama-sama (wow! You're quick on the draw!), new moon, makya, tiger shinigami, white destiny, ace, shadow-kat, si-poo, and hakumei. ^_^

Cat's Paw 15

By the time I hear Heero's approach, I have had such an ample time to stew in my own anger that my emotions couldn't be more sensitive if I had been pulverizing them with a meat tenderizer for the past hour. The very name fills me with such feelings of enmity and hatred I wouldn't be surprised if fire came shooting out of my eyes, searing anything within range until it's more brittle than a Cheezit.

Heero. The name is so loathsome and vile that it should be used to describe things like underarm odor and those hair balls that clog up the sink.

Heero. A word so grating and abrasive it could wear a hole through titanium alloy.

Heero. A person so inhuman he should donate his carcass to the US Bureau of Wildlife for scientific research.

"Heero, you're making remarkable progress!" An encouraging male voice drifts into the room over the usual hospital din.

Oh, good. Maybe they'll be sending him home to his father soon. I hope they forget to punch air holes in his shipping crate.

But he can't depart before I teach him a well-deserved lesson. Inconsiderate brat with no sanctity for the privacy of others. It's a good thing I met Quatre first, or I would have thought all rich kids were gibbering, disgraceful, depraved morons liberally sprinkled with apathy. Nuttier than a peanut butter cup and more obnoxious than the bad breath that follows one's consumption.

Heero makes his grand entrance on a pair of aluminum crutches, hopping along with all the grace of a jack-in-the-box. Vinnie, Bethany's assistant, is hovering at his elbow, the words "Just in Case" practically tattooed on his forehead. Heero quite obviously doesn't need any help, but that doesn't stir the mustached man from post. I wonder what Bethany has threatened to do if any harm comes to her patient. Judging from Vinnie's expression, probably something involving amputated body parts and boiling olive oil. Not exactly your traditional Italian dinner at the Olive Garden.

Heero pauses when he sees Quatre's prone form in his bed and I emerge from the darkened bathroom, stepping into the light with what I hope is a flair of the dramatic, but suspect is merely a healthy sense of the ridiculous. The impression is not helped by the bright yellow backpack slung across my shoulder, looking much like a jaundiced leech. Unfortunately, it was all I could come up with on such short notice. Nurse Wendy's dubious taste aside, it is serving its God-given purpose and isn't that all we can ask of anything?

"Hall, now," I order in a low voice when Heero notices me. I must have sounded quite impressive indeed, for he hesitates, nods, and actually exits the room. Vinnie follows at his heels, clinging to his ass like a hemorrhoid. I meet them in the hallway, gently shut the door behind me, and point at them both in turn. "You, report back to the queen of the harpies. You, follow me." Then I stalk down the hall with all the authority I can muster while wearing a banana bag and trailing an overloaded IV stand with a squeaky wheel. After a pause, I hear a pair of crutches begin to thump after me.

Good. The plan is working. Welcome to my web, said the spider to the fly.

God, why am I so lame?

I enter the lounge where Barton and I had our little chat earlier and reclaim my armchair. I am thus able to face the doorway and glare with intimidation when my fabulous roommate arrives. He pauses just outside the room, balanced on his two crutches and looking inebriated with indignity. I glare impatiently until he sets his jaw and hobbles under the doorframe.

"Shut the door and sit," I snap in a tone of voice that I hope leaves no room for argument. Apparently it is indeed objection-proof for he does as I instructed. When he is parked on the sofa and his crutches are safely laid on the floor, I clear my throat and begin my speech.

"We," I say in a falsely friendly voice that sounds much like Martha Stewart's, "aren't leaving this room until we get a few things straight. You have been treating a number of people around here very badly, myself all of them." Well, that was a coherent way to begin. "There are things that need to be explained and apologies that need to be extended. And I think a good place to begin would be here."

I unzip what I have mentally dubbed the Safety Dance Bag and remove my black pouch. Heero's eyes widen almost imperceptibly and he fidgets ever so slightly as I lay it on the coffee table.

"I found this in your bed, with its contents scattered across the sheets. Despite all of my brain's efforts, I couldn't come up with one valid explanation as to how it got there. I would be most ingratiated, oh benevolent one, if you would enlighten me as to how it managed to migrate from my possession to yours."

He doesn't answer and chooses instead to fiddle with the buttons on his pajama top. I resist the urge to lay claim to his crutches and beat him like a pinata. Instead I dip into the bag once more. I think I deserve a reward for my personal restraint. Something along the lines of being given permission to dismember the person of my choice. After laying down drop cloths and putting on goggles, of course. There are safety regulations to adhere to in today's world!

"Don't feel like sharing, huh? Well, maybe you'd feel more comfortable talking about this." I draw out a spiral bound notebook and lay it next to the bag.

Heero twitches. "Where did you get that?"

"It's amazing what one can find in those lockable bureau drawers," I muse. "I wonder what else was in there? Let's find out." Feeling rather proud of my newfound skill at lock-picking, I delve into the Safety Dance Bag once more. "Hmm. A wallet. And oh! Look at this! A Palm Pilot. Well, aren't we just the well-supplied little school boy."

"How did you get those?" he breathes.

I grin arrogantly. "They really need to invest in some better locks, man. Or at least keep better track of their paper clips."

He makes a snatch for his possessions, but I smack his fingers away. "Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast. After all, fair is fair. You taught me that. Everything has to be even, right Heero? I call you Perry Duck, you make me think I'm insane? You got through my things, I go through yours?"

"You looked at them?"

"Well, I hardly went through all the bother of securing them for my health, roomie," I announce airily. Actually, I hadn't looked through them. Just the notebook. And that was just a bunch of complicated math equations and rough sketches for what looked like circuits of some kind. It just reeked of AP physics. Opening it had hardly been akin to what Heero had done to me and had only whet my anger.

"And what do you think?" he asks, looking either desperate or furious. It's hard to tell with him.

"I think you have some explaining to do," I say firmly, leaving my answer ambiguous.

He puffs air out of his nose and looks like he wishes he could slaughter me where I sit and take a run for it. I dare him to try. I am so filled with angry energy, I could take on Oscar De La Hoya one handed and walk away triumphant! Half-blind, maybe. Missing teeth, perhaps. But triumphant nonetheless!

Heero caves in less than half the time I thought it would take. Swell. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get back to my regularly scheduled programming. "Remember when I told you about Dr J?" he asks heavily, his voice creaking like a rusty hinge or Drippy's wheel.

"Sure. You only talk about him the way some people talk about Jesus."

"That-" he points to the notebook "-is his. I'm just holding it for him until... he has somewhere safe to put it." He glares. "No one was supposed to see it."

"What, is he hoping for a Nobel Prize, or something?" I snort. "Never mind. Now what about this?" I pick up the Palm Pilot and flip open the cover, managing to turn it on. The screen darkens and a password prompt appears on the tiny screen. I blink. Password?

Heero grabs it from my hand and shuts the cover.

"That is his, as well." He shoves the tiny device into the breast pocket of his pajama shirt.

I grunt. This isn't going well. How am I supposed to exact revenge upon my roommate if all of my blackmail fodder belongs to someone else? "And I suppose this is his, too?" I fish the wallet off the table and rub my thumb across the smooth leather. Somehow I doubt it belongs to the enigmatic Dr J. I just can't picture a genius scientist wandering around with a billfold that has an eagle imprinted on it. Especially one that bears the initials "H.Y."

The wallet is so stuffed full of crap, it's bulging quite impressively. If Heero were to keep it in his back pocket, he would probably look crooked while sitting down. It's that thick. I wonder if he has a permanent indent in his left butt cheek.

"So you haven't opened it yet?"

"Thought it would be something we could share," I shrug. "A real bonding experience. Let's see..." I open the brown leather billfold and begin poking around. Heero tenses, but doesn't spring for my throat. So far so good. "Hmm. Business card. Business card. Business card. Business card." I chuck them down onto the table as I pull them out. "Business card. Business card. Business card."

Jeez. Does he use his wallet as a Rolodex?

"Business card. Business card. Business card. Business card.... What the hell, Heero? You a paper klepto or something?"

"Some people keep movie stubs in their wallets."

"Yeah, and they're twelve and female." I pull about five more business cards out of the various little pockets. I pause to examine them. "Ralph DeTri. Ralph's Lawn Services." I snicker. "Making sure the lawn gets enough fertilizer for Daddy's taste, Heero?"

His face goes all closed and ugly. I freeze, unsure of what I've said that offended him so majorly. Is mentioning yard work some kind of social faux pas in the land-o-billionaires? Is overseeing the landscaping schedule something to be ashamed of? Or maybe it was just the mention of his father. Barton did say they don't really get along. Heck, for all I know an argument over the proper grooming of the shrubbery could be what caused Heero to run away! Maybe Daddy Warbucks wanted the bushes cut in a octagonal configuration and the disobedient son was all for a whimsical, sculpted mermaid. I picture Heero arguing with an aristocratic man in the center of a sprawling garden. The father is dressed in a velvet dressing coat and leather slippers. He's smoking a pipe and has the Wall Street Journal tucked under his arm. Heero is gesticulating wildly, holding a landscaping map, obviously frustrated and POed. Edward Scissorhands is standing off to the side, looking uneasy, awaiting instructions. Pablo the pool boy is close at hand, wearing a tangerine Speedo and sipping a Long Island iced tea. He offers Edward a taste and Daddy Warbucks pats his son on the head. Heero flushes, throws the map into a nearby fountain, and strides away, flipping his father off over his shoulder. Pablo looks horrified and Edward begins to wiggle his scissors nervously, accidentally mutilating a prize winning rose bush. Daddy Warbucks puffs on his pipe and mutters under his breath about "infernal offspring."

I bring myself back to the real world with a shake of my head. Now that was strange, even for me. I might be just a teensy bit more stressed than I thought.

Caribbean. Hot tub. Massage. Hot chocolate. Sunshine.

Focus, Duo. Focus!

I halfway expect to find that Heero really has stalked off during my little trip to Neverland. However, he remains perched stiffly on the sofa. Feeling like I might very well be holding my life in my hands, I gently place the last of the business cards with their little friends and offer him a smile.

"I think that's all of them," I inform him. "What else ya got?"

Not much. A battered library card, a driver's license, and a blood donor card, all with the name Heero Yuy printed boldly across their fronts. Not exactly compelling stuff. However, the military ID certainly catches my eye.

"Camp Dover Military Training Academy?" I read off the card, raising my eyebrow. "What is this, some kind of reform school?"

He dips his head, looking uncomfortable. "Yes. It's also where I live."

"Live? Is it a year round school?"

"Only if you have no place else to go."

"No place to go? But what about your father's house?"

"I'm... not welcome there. He's never been around much."

I change my future career goals once more. Perhaps I'll be a dentist. Talking to Heero I am becoming wonderfully adept at pulling teeth. "Never? Just how long have you been living at this place?"

"Since I was five."

"WHAT?!"

"I told you. My father didn't have time for me."

"So he just pawned you off to some military school?"

"Obviously."

Holy shit. No wonder he hates his father. No wonder he runs away so often. He's almost as much an orphan as I am!

"Wow, dude," I apologize, tucking all the business cards and whatnot back into their respective homes. "I'm really sorry. That sucks ass." I fork the wallet over into his waiting hands. "I wouldn't have brought it up if I'd known."

He looks at me oddly. "I wouldn't have looked if I'd known, either. It was just kind of... there. I didn't know what it was."

"Looked...? Oh! Oh..." The bag. Am I still mad about that? I want to be. I should be. I deserve to be. But I'm not. "Hey, don't worry about it. Just don't do it again, okay? Ask or something, next time. Well, not next time, but. Aw, you know what I mean."

He smiles. An actual smile. A real smile, not one of those forced ones he gives the doctors. Not a creepy one he uses when he wants to intimidate me. It's an honest smile. A warm smile. An intimate smile. I have absolutely no idea what I've done to put it there. All I did was act like a moron and I do that on a regular basis. What was it about today that made it special?

This is certainly not planning out the way I thought it would. I'd imagined a possible fist fight and defiantly the exchange of some rather derogatory references to mothers and barnyard animals. Instead we're sharing a Kodak moment.

I don't know what our secret is, but we should box it and send it to the UN.

-end chapter 15-

Zooie: OH MY GOD. I SEE THE END.