Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Cat's Paw ❯ Chapter Sixteen: A twelvestory crisis with a magnificent vestibule ( Chapter 16 )

Thank you Mama-sama (first again!), Shinigami, Ace, Dyna (more like how I wish I thought), Rouge Mage, White Destiny, Ashuri chan, scarlettrose, oOkimOo, Forever Duo's Girl/Tara Saturn, Kiki neko, Tiger Shinigami, Amalthea, Cha Shinimegami (nope. no yaoi. sorry...), Si-poo, Empress Videl (so was or wasn't it spiked?), Tokyo Rose, and Kokoro no Yami (thanks for Satchi! She's pretty useful. Makes great sesame chicken, too.).

Cat's Paw 16

So things went somewhat back to normal after that, or at least as normal as they ever get in my demented little world. We returned to our room to find Quatre gone and a note on my bed, telling me he'd keep in touch but wouldn't be around for a bit for understandable reasons. Although the circumstances left a lot to be desired, at least they meant he could catch up on some much needed rest. On that strain, I myself crashed and slept for about 24 hours straight, worn out from the fever and excitement of the past couple of days. I had a number of odd dreams, one involving Pez dispensers and talking dinosaurs, but nothing I remembered with any amount of clarity.

When I awoke at long last, I was greeted with a shy smile and an offer to play some Scrabble. Startled by the sudden voluntary companionship, I had accepted. We'd settled facing one another on my bed, with Heero's leg propped up on a chair and the board in between us. The game had evolved into a kind of spill-all bonding session. Heero'd gotten the story behind the black bag and its contents and he'd confessed his habit of collecting business cards with puns on them. Like the lawn care one run from Ralph DeTri, pronounced "de-tree."

Then we began to validate our mutual dislike for Bethany.

"I thought you liked her, man! You perk right up the second she walks into the room."

"I love the exercise, not her, that bulbous grotesquery!" he smirks, borrowing one of my favorite phrases. Then he proceeds to score 30 points in one turn, managing to use a Q on a double word score. Dammit. This isn't right. I actually have to try against him. My mind isn't used to this kind of exertion! We're barely half done and my intellect is already wheezing like an asthmatic ant doing some heavy lifting.

"She is grotesque, isn't she? Her breath smells like Satan's behind," I muse, my attention consumed almost completely by my lackluster letters. They are showing absolutely no enthusiasm for this game and are making no effort at all to obtain victory. Well, I firmly believe you should never take crap from inanimate objects. All they need is a little pep talk. Come on, guys! Show some life! Where's your ambition? Don't you want to be part of something great, something polysyllabic? Don't you want your names written on the roster amongst the Objects Who Do Things?

Apparently not. I sigh and spell out the word, "cat."

"What do you plan to do if she shows up and tries to make you do some exercises?" Heero asks, studying the board. His fingers are resting near the edge of his cast and I think I catch a couple of aborted attempts at scratching. He's not nearly so tough as he likes to pretend.

"Tell her to go in the corner and fornicate herself." I draw two letters from the bag. Ohh, look. A U and a U. [1] How useful.

"You would not." He contradicts my boasting, adding "alyze" to the end of "cat," making a nice tidy score for himself. How apt. There are many things I would like to catalyze at present, my mental synapses ranking at the top of the list.

"I did, once," I absently say, trying to come up with a word that can be created with AUUUBWR and is longer than three letters. I know! I'll solve this problem using my four hyper-intelligent brains!

Brain one: My bologna has a first name. It's O-S-C-A-R.

Brain two: Why is Kansas pronounced "can-siss" and Arkansas pronounced "ark-can-saw" if they both have the word Kansas in them?

Brain three: I'm cold!

Brain four: Where's the beef?

Oookay. Maybe not. I guess I'll just have to rely on good ole Mr. Unpredictability. Surprisingly, he never fails to come through, unlike his friend, Mr. Reliability, whose track record is not so hot. Sometimes I wonder if they just switched name tags to see if anyone would notice the difference.

"How did she react?"

"Ehh? Oh, Bethany. Actually, I don't know. She left the room and refused to see me for a week." She'd even managed to maintain her professional dignity and refrained from slugging me. I'd eventually extended a well-deserved apology. I know when I've been a jerk and that was defiantly one such occasion. "I can't say I missed her while she was gone, though. No one who's human can handle that beast."

"I don't have a problem handling her."

"Then you're not human. Now stop talking! You're distracting me."

"Like that's difficult," Heero mumbles, but he does shut up.

"Azur"I spell out after a moment, using the Z already on the board.

"What's that mean?" Heero asks.

"It's a real word," I defend the fruit of my labor. This is my brainchild. Please refrain from squashing it. It has traveled long and hard to arrive at this junction and do you know how draining intercontinental travel is these days? Why, visa approval alone takes months. "It's French."

"So is eating snails, cruelty to frogs, and urinating in the street, but that doesn't mean you can use it in Scrabble." [2]

"Come on, Heero! Cut me some slack! You're whipping my ass!"

He practically preens and straightens his back ever-so-slightly. His arrogance is about as subtle as a rhinoceros horn up the rear. His entire posture just screams "here sits a man of true Scrabble greatness." Either that or "here are my genitals. Please kick them." I know which one I would prefer.

"I'll make you a deal," he offers slyly.

"What?" I ask with the utmost suspicion.

"I'll let you use 'azur' if you tell me why you hate Bethany so much."

"How come you get to bend the rules but I don't?"

"I'm winning."

"Can't you be lenient?"

"Lenient is a dirty word." That has to be the military school talking.

"Lenient isn't a dirty word. Crevice is a dirty word, but lenient isn't."

"Can't you just answer the question?"

"Alright, alright! It's a deal. I hate Bethany because the first thing she ever said to me was, 'Your name is Duo? Do you have multiple personalities or just hate to be alone?'."

He snorts. "How very... mature of you."

"Yeah, and it's so mature for a thirty-five year old to mock her patient?"

"You have a point."

"Totally. So, azur. Double word, twenty-six points. Score!!"

"Why are you named Duo? It's strange."

What is with this fascination with my name? I've endured it my entire life and must say, I do not understand it at all. I've met people named Merry Blue Byrd and Prince Edward and even Penny Nicholls. Why the heck is my name so intriguing?! I'm not the one named after spare change! "None of your business. Why are you named something weird like Heero? Your dad watch a lot of 'Hogan's Heroes' or something?"

And the floodgates open. The camel's back breaks. The self-sacrificing Dutchman removes his finger from the hole in the dike. The emotions spew forth and the bear straps on his helmet and revs his motorcycle, speeding hastily away into the sunset. Houston, we have lift-off.

Heero does his best surly interpretation and believe me when I say it is definitely a performance worthy of the Academy. His cheek ticks and his eyebrow twitches. His jaw clenches, his neck muscles strain, his brow furrows, and even his hair seems to become hackled. He has all the charisma of an Immaculate Conception between Abraham Lincoln and William DaFoe. I am... disturbed and rather alarmed. Even the Scrabble tiles quake in fear.

There is an ancient Greek legend about a seemingly ordinary container that encased all the evils of the world. When opened, it released those horrors into the world at large. How insightful those Greeks were! They were right about everything sans the name. They called it "Pandora's Box," when, in actuality, it should have been named, "Heero's Eyes."

"I'm sorry, man," I offer, trying to look unobtrusive and contrite. This is yet another occasion where I know I've been a schmuck and need to apologize. I mentally scribble the situation down on an index card and file it in my brain so I can be sure to avoid making this mistake in the future. I even cross-reference it for good measure. "I've always had this problem with crossing lines. Got yelled at a lot in Kindergarten art class and all." Well aware of the danger I am flirting with, I reach over and pat his hand, half expecting to draw back a bloody stump. The physical contact serves to jar Heero out of whatever not-nice place he's festering in.

"Stop." He jerks his hand away and frowns. "Don't apologize. I'm not mad at you."

Well, there's a relief.

"I just can't... I have this memory, but..." He stares earnestly forward, the frown permanently ingrained on his face. "I just can't remember..."

"Hey, whatever," I chuckle. "Don't worry about it. I was just being my normal, stupid self. I'm not as smart as I look and, hey. I look liked a half-wit to begin with! I mean, practically everything goes over my head. I'm thinking of moving to Jamaica and becoming a limbo dancer."

"Duo, stop. It's...I just...I don't know why I'm called Heero," he forces out. "But I don't think it's my real name. I remember being called something else once."

Having learned absolutely nothing from my past mistakes, my mental filing cabinet having been swallowed in its entirety by the black hole that is my mind, I say the first thing that pops into my head. Fortunately for me, it's halfway intelligent. "Maybe your dad changed your name when he enrolled you in school. So you wouldn't be connected to him or something."

He looks at me oddly. "Wouldn't be connected?"

"Yeah. Your dad's pretty important, right? Maybe he didn't want anyone to know you two were related. Give people leverage and all that. Kidnapping, ransoms, threats, the whole nine yards. Maybe he thought if he changed your name it would keep you safe and... and... why are you looking at me like that, Heero?"

"What do you know about my father?"

"N-not much. Just that he's pretty important and high profile and..." My voice sputters to a halt, effectively killed by the look in Heero's eyes.

"And?" he asks menacingly.

"And... the kind of person people would blackmail," I finish weakly. "Did I say something wrong again, man?"

Did I say a halfway intelligent comment? I meant a completely boneheaded slip of the tongue.

This is a crisis. A large crisis. In fact, it's a twelve-story crisis with a magnificent vestibule, carpeting throughout, 24-hour room service, and an enormous sign on the roof, saying "This Is a Large Crisis."

Oh, shit. Heero doesn't know I know about his father.

Oh, shit. He thinks I thought he was dumped in military school by his adoptive uncle, not a fancy, schmancy billionaire.

Oh, shit. He looks like he might hit me. I need to come up with a cunning plan quickly! Unfortunately, right now I wouldn't recognize a cunning plan if it painted itself turquoise and perched naked on top of a harpsichord singing 'Cunning plans are here again'.

Well, there's always the Farm Stand Stratagem. Make like vegetables. Lie like broccoli. But dare I risk the tell-tale cow-face? [3]

Come on, brain! I mentally kick myself, trying to switch gears from "panic" to "defend." Why does my mouth always desert me just when I need it most?

"How did you find out about my father?" Heero asks, leaning forward with a very not-good glint in his eyes.

"Um. How did I find out? Barton! Barton told me. He didn't want to, but... but Barton told me. And, hey!" I force a chuckle. "He told me Lowe is still alive. He's just at another hospital. That's good news, right? ..... Right?"

"That fucking bastard," Heero spits, his face going very ugly. He clenches his fists and... growls. That's the only word to describe it. He fucking growled, just like a wild lion that's cornered and facing the Barnum and Baily ringmaster. Except I don't have a circus and most certainly have left my whip in my other pajamas. Heero begins muttering to himself in a guttural voice, staring off into space with an savage look in his eye. I try to keep still so he doesn't gore me out of sheer reflex. "So they already fucking know. Fuck. Fuck. So what the fuck are they doing? Do they think I'll lead them to him? What the fuck? What the hell else did he tell you?" The last is directed to me in a much louder tone of voice. I flinch and...

And my mouth springs in action! "Fuck off! I don't have to tell you anything," I glare, my courage bolstered by the return of my mouthiness. "Get the hell off my bed!"

I find myself suddenly flat on my back with Heero's forearm pressed rather uncomfortably against my throat. My ears are ringing, probably because I slammed my head against the headboard on the way down, and Drippy has descended to new levels in my chest, due mainly to the way Heero's leaning against him. "What did he tell you?" he demands icily, his face inches above mine.

"Fuck off!" I attempt to throw him off of me, but that's about as successful as trying to make peace in the Middle East.

"Did you tell him about the goddamn notebook?" he exacts, pressing his arm more firmly into my windpipe. Breathing becomes a fond memory. "Did you fucking tell him about Dr J? The Palm Pilot? The business cards? What the fuck does he know?"

I gasp, unable to answer even if I had wanted to -which I sure as hell don't. I need to do something, quick! The words 'I have a cunning plan' rapidly march towards me with ill-deserved confidence. They leap up and down energetically until I grope frantically for a weapon. My hand flails against the bedside table and I feel my way up to its top. My fingers encounter a half-full cup of water. That'll do.

Getting as firm a grip on it as I can, I attempt to slam it into Heero's brow. My aim is a bit off and I only manage to smash it into his ear. That is adequate, however, to startle him enough that I can shove him down onto the floor. He lands with a thud and a slight groan. Bet that hurt his poor little leg. Too effing bad. Gulping air, I take a precious second to disconnect Drippy from my chest and then throw myself off the opposite side of bed from where Screw Yuy is lying.

If Bethany chose to show up at this moment, I would kiss her feet, sneaker clogs and all, and thank her for the privilege.

Where is the call box? Where is the call box? Where is the call box? I can barely breath, let alone holler for help. Where is the call box? I stagger to my feet and frantically rip Heero's bed apart looking for it. No time. No time to look. Where is it?!

My search ends abruptly when a hand clamps down onto my ankle and yanks me off the bed. My head connects rather sharply with the floor. Everything gets fuzzy and disjointed. I'm aware of what's going on around me, but can't quite participate. A boy in a bubble. Bubble boy. Bubbley bubble. Bubba. Bubba Gump Shrimp Company. Lieutenant Dan! New legs!

"Won't let you take him! I'll die first. But not before I kill you. You hear me? You fucking pawn. Don't you see what they're using you for? Don't you see what's happening? You're nothing but a cat's paw. A tool!" A section of my mind notes that Heero is once more doing his best to strangle the bajeezes out of me. Is that the only trick he has up his sleeve? Silly Heero. Tricks are for kids.

"I'll kill you. Kill you," he mutters over and over again, shaking in rage. He's sitting on me, I notice. That's funny. No one's ever sat on me before. But then, no one's ever strangled me before either. I wish I could remember the date. It's a day of firsts. My First Date, by Duo Maxwell. I could mark it on the calendar.

My consciousness is becoming bored with the strangulation process, which takes a rather long time. Sighing, it decides to close up shop for a little bit. It hangs a "back in five minutes" sign in the window, locks the door, and saunters off to get a Slurpee, leaving Heero to do whatever he wishes with the Bubble Boy in the erstwhile.

Just before it wanders completely out of sight, it hears a crash in the distance. It looks back, interest momentarily piqued, but decides it's much more interested in taking a break than investigating the noise. Whistling, it continues on its merry way and a great weight is lifted off its chest as it goes.

-end chapter sixteen-

Footnotes

[1] Despite conventional grammar rules which state that vowels should be preceded by "an," it seems that the letter U is a special exception. It gets "a" instead. Don't ask me why. Maybe because it just sounds better?

[2] No offense meant... just a little more fun with stereotypes.

[3] Reference to chapter 10, in which he says:"Every time I try (to lie), I get this look on my face that resembles a cross between a cow who's been hit one too many times with the ole cattle prod and a US senator who's just been accused of bonking the intern."

Zooie-notes

O_O This is the first action scene I ever wrote. Sorry if it was bad.

Zooie: What are you doing?

Muse: *holding roll of gift paper* You said you wanted to wrap things up....

Zooie: *cradling head in hands* I knew I should have given it a rest before continuing. Now it's up and gone insane. There's a phrase to describe this situation...

Muse: *smiles helpfully* I think it rhymes with "clucking bell."

Zooie: That'll do...