Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Issues of a Mad Man ❯ Part Two ( Chapter 2 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Duo and Quatre reunite...but for good?
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Psychological / Supernatural | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.20.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 7.6K | Visits: 188 | Status: Completed
Duo and Quatre reunite...but for good?
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Psychological / Supernatural | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.20.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 7.6K | Visits: 188 | Status: Completed
Issues of a Mad Man (Part 2)
The phone was ringing when Quatre came home after work the next night. Weary and exhausted, he threw off his shoulder bag and hurried to answer, noting that the condo was dark and silent. His father must not be home yet. The phone was located on an end table in the living room, so he grabbed that, answering with a breathless, “Hello?”
“I did it all for you, Quatre. The rapes, the murders, the pain...it was all for you. You–”
Quatre quickly hung up, and blinked.
The phone call was disturbing yes, but it was nothing new. For years, this same male caller had called him, speaking along the same lines, blaming him for something he had no idea of doing. Always the promises, the heavy breathing, the declarations of love and torture...his father had to change the number several times, and this man still called. Groaning as he realized that this number had to be scrapped as well, he replaced the phone on the receiver, and moved to take off his jacket and look for something to eat.
Working at a fast food joint always killed the appetite, but some peanut butter sounded fantastic.
He kicked off his shoes and hurried into the kitchen. A note in his own handwriting reminded him to keep away from the sweets and the grease. Did peanut butter have grease? It couldn’t be that dangerous...he opened the fridge, took out a Sprite, then searched the cupboards for the peanut butter. The large jar, extra chunky, was finally located. He took that out, grabbed a spoon, and walked into the living room. The two level condo was comfortably warm, but very dark. All the blinds were closed, and the curtains shut tight. His father didn’t like that his high profile status made him vulnerable to opponents and their clients. The fact that he often took high profile cases left him and his son vulnerable to hate by the opposition, and he’d taken some security in a secured building with an unlisted name and number.
Quatre didn’t think about that sort of thing–frankly, it wasn’t on his list of concerns. He sat on the couch and turned on the tv, looking for something entertaining as he opened the jar with one hand. Digging out a spoonful, he stopped the surfing to watch MTV. The phone rang again, and he glanced at it from the corner of his eye. He felt a little creepy about the last phone call, but–it could be his father. Swallowing what he could, he reached over to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Quatre...sorry to bother you at this hour...”
Quatre froze, glancing at the clock. It was nearly eleven, and Chang Wufei sounded very tired and exasperated. And if he was receiving a call from Chang...who was Heero’s parole officer...damn it.
He sighed, his spoon dipping into the peanut butter. “I’m really sorry, Officer Chang. What happened?”
“Nothing entirely awful. But he’s sitting here in cell block five, muttering to himself.”
“I’ll come get him, all right?”
“He nearly knocked Sam’s head from his shoulders. I think he’s been drinking. Which is a violation of his parole...I won’t take it down this time, but the next time the boys pick him up and he’s drunk, I’ll have to do something.”
“I’m really sorry, Officer. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes. I promise.” Quatre quickly hung up so that he wouldn’t hear more of Chang’s annoyed rambling, and set his things aside. Writing out a quick note to his father, explaining that he met some friends for a late movie (on a Thursday night, but his father trusted him whole-heartedly in such efforts), he grabbed his bag and hurried out the door.
Chang had always called him whenever Heero was in trouble–Heero, for some odd reason, had listed him as a ‘relative’. As Chang got to know Quatre, he realized that Quatre was not family at all, but a seventeen-year old babysitter for the often hostile Yuy. But it seemed to work. One upset frown from the kid seemed to work wonders on the twenty-two year old parolee. Heero often grumbled that he wouldn’t do ‘this’ again, and off to the streets he went after Quatre paid his bail. How the kid managed to do so was beyond Chang–he knew of his father, and knew of his father’s determination in keeping Quatre from Heero, but since there was no court order issuing Yuy to stay away from Quatre, Chang could not do a thing about it.
And the bail was taken without question or concern–bail was bail, as far as they were concerned.
As Quatre raced to the bus stop, he wondered what Heero had done now. He just saw him last night–how much trouble could Heero have gotten into since then?
110101010101100
The jail was too bright, and the occupants there offered their opinions on their confinement and on his appearance. He ignored the comments that came from behind bars, and focused on the lone occupant in cell block five. Heero sat there on the bench, staring at the wall, and judging from the smell, he had been drinking.
Quatre sighed as he leaned against the bars, forehead pressed against the cool metal. “Heero...what happened? I thought you were doing really well...”
Heero made no motion to answer–just tilted his head to give him a frown that suggested no other comment. Quatre frowned back at him, then moved away from the bars when a loud buzzer rang. The door slid open, and Heero took his time to get up from the bench. He walked over, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. He gave Quatre an expectant look; Quatre shook his head.
“Let’s go, Heero. I’m sure things will be better when we get out of here.”
Walking outside on the sidewalk, heading away from the police station, Heero inhaled gratefully at a cigarette Quatre provided for him. The blond stared up at the older boy with something close to admiration. How was it that despite being slightly drunk, wearing dirty, ragged clothing and smoking a repulsive cancerstick that Heero remained attractive and entirely the picture of manly goodness? When he walked, a brisk pace that had Quatre hurrying just to keep up, he projected a sense of purpose and focus. His shoulders were set and drawn back, and his face was masked with a constant scowl that looked menacing.
Quatre shifted his shoulder bag and stared at his shoes as they walked. He wanted to ask what had happened, but he knew Heero would never tell. He never did. Conversation seemed pointless right now, especially when it was apparent that Heero didn’t want to talk. He usually didn’t, but with Quatre’s prodding, he was opening up gruffly with limited amounts of words and descriptions. Quatre felt too weary to pry right now–last night’s events and today’s work had left him a little slow and weary as he walked. He stumbled when he didn’t pick his feet up high enough, and Heero’s arm snapped out, catching his arm and setting him straight before he could even utter a surprised sound.
“Thanks,” he said gratefully, but Heero grunted some reply and continued walking. Quatre stared after him in silence, then hurried after him. Looking up at the face of his worship, he could see the dark shadows that rimmed his unusual blues, and the awakening creases that formed from constant smoking.
But he had to note with some jealousy that Heero’s skin was without any blemishes. Touching his own spotted chin, he winced and ducked his head, sure that everyone on the street pitied him for his losing war against acne.
At a stoplight, waiting for the Walk signal to appear, Heero finished his cigarette and lit another. Quatre winced again, and coughed as the exhaled smoke drifted against him. This silence was getting to him. So he swallowed and said: “I got another one of those phone calls, again. Father’s going to be so angry that he has to change the number again.”
Heero grunted and stared up at the dark rain clouds above them. Thunder rumbled, and Quatre shifted from one foot to the other. His shoes were wearing thin–his feet were hurting.
“I wish that person would just...do something. I mean, making phone calls constantly isn’t very productive. It only made me annoyed rather than made me scared. And tracing’s never worked–either the police are really incompetent, or he’s really smart. I wish I knew why he focuses on me. I’m not anything special, nor have I done anything to piss anyone off. I just wish I knew who he was...”
The light changed, and Heero glanced both ways before nodding forward. They walked across the street, and Quatre waited for some sort of input from the other. When none came, he looked at Heero expectantly. But Heero focused on his cigarette, handling it delicately, more interested in the burning stick than on Quatre’s conversation.
Swallowing, Quatre let the subject drop. His hands found their way into his pockets–he had forty-three cents to use for this week. He wouldn’t be paid until next Wednesday. Ah, well. It wasn’t as if he needed money constantly, but if his father asked him on what he spent his check on, he knew he couldn’t lie. The reason for his spent check would surely make Mr. Winner angry that he was still seeing Heero, and Quatre didn’t want to start another argument with him over Heero.
He felt tired just thinking about his father’s anger at this situation. He looked at his watch, seeing that it was after twelve thirty. He had school tomorrow, and he’d agreed to take over another person’s shift, so he was working over ten hours tomorrow. At least the next day was Saturday, and he really didn’t have any plans, except to work that evening. He rubbed his tired eyes, and looked at Heero again.
No ‘thank you’, no apology, no indication that he appreciated what Quatre had done for him. This sent a floozy of feeling through Quatre, rendering him fully incompetent in that he’d never gain Heero’s attention. He could care and give all he wanted, but Heero would never say anything about it. Quatre had admitted to himself that he couldn’t expect Heero to change his personality just for him, but to grant him one moment of appreciation or thanks would really help him out.
He stopped in mid -step, watching and waiting for Heero to realize that he wasn’t walking with him anymore. When the other continued walking and smoking, taking note of his surroundings and never acknowledging that Quatre wasn’t there, the blond sighed, shoulders drooping.
“I’m heading home, Heero!” he called to the other’s back. Clutching the strap of his bag, he added softly, “Good night. Hope you sleep well...”
He watched Heero walk further and further away from him, and sighed again. Feeling a little sorry for himself, he crossed the street and made his way to the nearest bus stop. He hoped his father wasn’t waiting up for him. He really didn’t want to explain this one to him.
110101010101100
Duo stared with hypnotized wonder at the clothes that flopped about in the dryer. His arms crossed, his feet crossed–the Laundromat was empty save for him. He was tired and worn, mainly from the fact that the DustBunnies were acting up last night. Catherine was ranting and raving, and Trowa had come home with blood stained shoes.
“He was a fighter,” he’d said by way of answering Duo’s silent question.
And now he was washing away the evidence of his brother’s crimes, and was bored doing it. He shifted in the hard seat, and looked at his cuff watch. He’d taken his medication for tonight, and he wasn’t worried about missing his timely requirements in that area. Having HIV was a hassle; in the event that should he want to share his life with someone that they’d have to understand he wasn’t going to be there for very long. He was a living stopwatch that was currently being saved by medication that slowed the virus’s progress, and he knew that there wasn’t that many people on the earth that could stand back and take him as is rather than accepting him as damaged goods.
Trowa seemed to understand that. Trowa was the only one that didn’t see him as damaged goods. Duo really wasn’t sure what the older man thought of him as, but it had to be good. On a faintly eerie note, he knew Trowa could kill him, and could do so easily. But why hasn’t he?
That question was beginning to plague him, rendering him utterly confounded as he stared at the dryer. What use was he to Trowa? Not that he was complaining, because he’d do anything for Trowa without question, but this one was really bothering him. Something was coming–he could feel it. It was in his bones, and it was in the air.
His brother was up to something, and there was a reason why he wasn’t telling Duo.
110101010101100
Heero tilted his head up to the rain, closing his eyes against the falling droplets. His skin felt flushed and bothered as he stood out in the rain, ignoring the sounds of the city around him. Still feeling the effects of the liquor he’d consumed, he was swaying slightly and swallowing hard to keep it from coming back up. He’d heard Quatre express his concerns about the stalker, and had heard him try hard to engage him into conversation–but Heero was having none of it. It wasn’t as if he were trying to be rude; but he began to wonder lately if the boy was feeling more toward him than was actually there.
He could feel it whenever Quatre looked up at him, his teen features searching his for any sign of something else. And frankly, Heero was scared. He could never see Quatre that way–he was always the little seven year old that hid behind the tree when they first met; the little boy that whimpered when bit by a lizard; the little boy that tried to defend his friend against his older brother, and getting beat up in the process. Heero couldn’t see Quatre any other way–to him, Quatre was always going to be seven years old.
He didn’t know how to touch this particular subject, having never encountered such things before.
Every time the teen came over and set himself on cleaning the filth that was Heero’s life, Heero could do nothing but sit there and grumble about the mess he created with his cleaning. He couldn’t see the boy in a romantic manner. Come to think of it, he couldn’t really think of anyone in that manner. Sure, he’d had his share of sex with the opposite members of gender, but those were bar fucks; random faces in random places.
He didn’t have any hate toward those that preferred their own gender, but he definitely felt a little uncomfortable when he realized he was the subject of someone’s like. For Quatre to feel that way about him was also more than mind-boggling–they were complete opposites, with a six year age difference between them. There would be nothing in common with them both. It must be the teenage hormones that had the boy all wacky.
He’ll grow out of it, Heero supposed.
He put out his cigarette, rubbing the toe of his steel-toe boots against the smoldering end. Then he turned to enter his apartment building when something caught his eye. A person had been watching him, standing at the edge of a nearby alley, and had stepped out of view when he’d turned. All of Heero’s instincts flared to life with a knowledge that something wrong was clear in this picture. That person, whomever it was, was looking at him. Why?
Heero moved in that direction, then broke into a run when he heard the other person running. Yup. Whoever it was was guilty already. Huffing and puffing, cursing the damage constant smoking had done on his lungs, Heero ran through the alley, catching sight of a tall figure that kept a fair pace ahead of him. When that person moved out of view, Heero slowed, breathing heavily. He had to hock up a loogy to clear his lungs, but as he did so, he caught sight of furry little creatures that hissed at his appearance.
Startled, Heero glanced around himself, at the shadows that seemed to inch closer to him. He realized at once that there were little creatures surrounding him, hissing and squealing angrily. Teeth flashed; mouths opened. His instincts told him to run.
So run he did.
“Huff...huff...hack!...huff...huff...hack! hack! huff!...”
The little things went running after him, and before he could reach the open mouth of the alley, there were suddenly many little things jumping onto him. Each one had the weight of a man, and had the strength of three. Their little bodies pulled him into the shadows, and teeth gnashed into his clothing.
Heero felt himself crushed under their weight, and he groped for a way out. Furry, smelly little bodies that were easily the size of his forearms swarmed over him, their teeth digging into his clothes. Their strength alone threatened to crush him. But suddenly, because he knew he could, he was on his feet and swinging his arms about. Furry bodies flew here and there with surprised squeaks. His feet stomped down on those unfortunate enough to be caught, their bodies flattening and smushing underneath the force.
How...?
The ones he flung hit the walls of the alley and splattered like eggs. Goop slid down to the dirty shadows. More creatures appeared, in a swarm of movement and smell. His eyes grew wide for a moment, and he took off running, running off into the other end of the alley as the mouth was suddenly blocked off by more of the things.
“Huff...huff...hack! hack!...huff...huff...huff...hack!...huff...”
He had to stop smoking. Look at what it was doing to his lungs...
The furry things were all over him again. What the fuck were they? Where the hell were they coming from? And more importantly, since each one weighed as much as a man, and there were so many of them...where was he getting this strength to kill them? To defeat them so easily?
These were questions that were unable to be thought over and pondered as he flung them about, stomping and crushing. Bodies splattered and goop dripped–they weren’t exactly lifelike, he had to admit. They were more like...furry eggs. They splattered instantly when he applied a lot of force in his punches and kicks. His clothing was tattered at the shoulders and knees–but his strength felt tireless. He could punch and kick for hours! Where was this strength coming from?
He looked up, panting and hacking, and saw the man. His eyes widened again. This man...he was not much older than he, but he was familiar...so familiar...
“Heero Yuy. You defeated my DustBunnies...there hasn’t been a man that has been able to do such things,” the man said, his voice quiet and cold.
Heero spit, noticing that the creatures were retreating.
The hell? He thought, looking at them as they sank, quite embarrassed, into the surrounding shadows. He looked back at the man, who was dressed in casual clothing–a turtleneck, jeans, and plain gray shoes. He was so plain in casual wear that Heero wouldn’t remember it in the morning. But the man’s features were striking, and so very familiar.
“Seeing as they have nothing of an effect on you, I have to ask,” he continued, his arms crossing over his chest. “What are you?”
Heero gave him a bewildered expression, wiping his mouth. He may have been drinking a little tonight, but that certainly didn’t account for this weird dream. Was he still at the jail, waiting for Quatre to come get him? Or was this actually real?
“It’s real,” the man answered with an exasperated tone, giving him a frown.
Huh?
“You’re talking out loud, Heero. I’ve heard you since ‘He’ll grow out of it’. Listen, Heero...I would really appreciate it if you don’t continue with this bodyguard business...I’m sure you won’t mind. I thought I would put you out of the way, but you’ve outmanned my minions...I’m quite disappointed in that.”
“What are you talking about?” Heero asked, truly confused as he stared in unblinking confusion.
The man sighed.
Trowa Maxwell. The teenager. The one that had beat on Quatre so badly that Heero had to interfere. Duo’s older brother. The hell–?
Heero’s eyes widened once more as he realized he knew this man. But...but...how...? why...?
“You’re talking out loud again, Heero. And it’s ‘Barton’, now. Not Maxwell. That name died when those people died. And I didn’t beat on him that badly–just kicked his ass around a little. I’m surprised you still remember that. But you would, wouldn’t you?”
Heero glanced cautiously around him, at the creatures that were lingering around, stalking his every move. His clothing was annoying him in its rips and tears...he looked back at Trowa, who looked mildly irritated as he stared at Heero in a way the Asian could only describe as...cold.
He swallowed, finally catching his breath. Damn. He really has to stop smoking.
“Yes, it’s a really nasty habit. Now, about Quatre...I would ask that you kindly stay away from him. He’s part of my plan. I would really appreciate it if you weren’t around him.”
Heero narrowed his eyes, recalling Quatre’s concerns about a stalker. Could it be that Trowa was the one stalking him? Making those phone calls?
“Why? What do you want from him?” he asked cautiously.
“Nothing of your interest. Just...unfinished business. Well, I’m going to go. Just listen to me, Heero, and leave the boy alone. He’s mine.”
“Hey–! WAIT!” Heero shouted as Trowa stepped back, merging with the shadows within the alley. The creatures faded away as well, their customary hisses fading as traffic sounds suddenly emerged once more. Glancing around him in confusion, Heero blinked rapidly, wondering if what had just happened was real. It...it felt real. It seemed real...
But there was a tinge to it that made it wholly unbelievable! Creatures? Trowa? Plans? How in the hell did Quatre fit into all of this?
Confused, Heero looked down at his tattered shirt, and tried adjusting things back into place. He needed band-aids. And an explanation.
110101010101100
At school Monday morning, Duo looked away from the counselor that had assigned him his school locker and shown him around, and stared at the various students that were lingering in the hall after the bell had rang. He’d arrived late–he’d forgotten that he was going to start school today, and had to skip breakfast to even make it at this time. But the counselor had been understanding and kind, and had taken the time and effort to show him around after assigning his classes to him.
She had just finished giving him the combination of his locker and walked off when he turned his attention to the other students. They were all dressed in warm clothing and hurrying to their various classes, but he was looking for the Looks. The ones that told him they knew his secret, that his brother was a serial killer. This sensation plagued him with every school he went to, and it followed him to the stores and various places he went to.
He put away his backpack, taking only a spiral notebook with him and a pen. Then, class schedule in hand, he walked off to his first class. He had taken some effort in his appearance, today. He was wearing a pair of baggy blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and his favorite ADIDAS shoes. His braid was neat and tidy, his med bracelet in place, and he knew he smelled nice. His cologne had been applied lightly to his clothing, and he was quite upbeat about starting this year.
Walking into his first class, the teacher stopped talking, and looked at him curiously. Duo glanced at the students within the class, noting the blank stares in his direction, and waited for the teacher to read the note he had been given by the counselor.
“All right. Class, this is Duo Maxwell. You can take that extra seat in back, next to Winner. He’ll share his book with you and help you out if you need it.”
“‘K,” Duo muttered as he headed toward the back of the class. The name had sounded familiar...someone he knew? Or just a common name?
Duo stared at the boy that looked at him with an expression of recognizance. But Duo was confused–he did not know this blue-haired, gothic/punk kid, and he certainly would remember seeing him. He sat in the desk next to him, tossing his notebook on top of the desk.
“Hey,” he greeted casually. “Name’s Duo.”
“I know. Wow, I never thought I’d see you again, Duo!”
“Er...you know me?”
“Yes! Duo, I’m Quatre. Quatre Winner...remember? You moved to my neighborhood when we were seven years old!”
Duo felt his eyes widen, and something slammed to a stop in his chest. At one corner of his mind, someone was shouting, “This is the reason why Trowa moved here! He’s the reason!”
And another was saying, “What the fuck...?”
He took in the dingy blue hair; the two hoops and one stud in each ear; the thickly lined eyes; the pimples; the black clothing. And, somewhere beneath it all, he saw the seven year old that saw and talked to ghosts, and hated when Duo ‘ate’ him as Yoshi on SuperSmash Bros.
“Oh my fucking God,” he whispered, leaning forward. “Dude! I never even recognized you under all that!”
“I know,” Quatre said, with an air of embarrassment. He slumped in his chair, the clear patches of his skin turning into an embarrassed flush. “I...wanted a change.”
Duo looked at him with a skeptical eye, lifting an eyebrow. He took in the black shorts that extended over knobby knees; the ratty Converses; the Metallica tee; the watch and the worn shoulder strap bag that had bore many bad weather days and conditions. He then looked at the eyes–they were still large and bright, still innocent and friendly, if not shy. He could barely believe that it was Quatre. He suddenly felt cold and numb at the same time.
Did Trowa plan this...?
Was this the bad thing he sensed?
“You look really good, Duo,” Quatre said, keeping his voice low as the teacher lectured. His smile was friendly and hesitant. “Did you just move here?”
Duo took a moment to recover from his shock, then nodded, sweeping his bangs from his face. Now that he was over the shock of seeing his former friend, he sort of pitied the guy. Despite his friendliness and obvious kindness, Quatre looked meek and pathetic in a way of teenage outcasts. He was the kind that sat by himself in the cafeteria, or hid away in the back of the class, ignored by peers and teachers alike.
“Yeah, actually...I just took a couple of weeks to get settled before enrolling...”
Duo wasn’t sure if he should mention Trowa. He wasn’t sure what Quatre knew, if he could still communicate with ghosts–suddenly, Duo’s heart was racing furiously, his blood shooting through his veins forcefully. His breath was short–was Trowa in trouble?
“...but here I am. Uh...I didn’t know you lived out here...”
“After that summer, father pulled his business from there and established himself here. We lived out here for over seven years...I’m the only one left living with him.”
Duo nodded, unsure of what to say next. It was certainly an awkward moment–his brain went blank. He looked at his notebook, and tried to gather his thoughts. While he was angry at Trowa for pulling this, he was also fearful for his brother’s safety. Somehow, beyond it all, Quatre had the power to bring Trowa down. And Duo was once again placed in the middle, having to decide.
He grimaced, opening his notebook, and hid his face within to avoid any other questions.
110101010101100
Duo was caught in a rock and a hard place–he so desperately wanted to yell at Trowa, to curse him for hiding this ‘small’ detail when they moved here. Trowa had obviously wanted to come to this particular city for Quatre, for his ‘revenge’–and for Duo to once again place himself between the two, knowing that Quatre was going to ask about Trowa...? He was upset and didn’t feel so well when lunchtime came around. Because he didn’t have the same classes as Quatre, he hadn’t seen him after that first class. But he knew the boy was going to hunt him down to talk–it would be just like him to do so. And Duo couldn’t avoid him forever, so he wasn’t going to try.
He would just do and say what he could when and what Quatre asked.
After he’d taken his tray and found a place to sit, he picked at his food, waiting for the blond–no, blue haired boy to find him. Duo wasn’t going to take the effort to do so. He was stuck in a predicament that was difficult to deal with. His first day of school had just been stamped with the word ‘Sucky’ on top.
Since that summer, Duo had also been unable to see ghosts. He’d shared that talent with Quatre, but he was never able to hear them. Quatre had been able to see and talk to them, but had been glad that Duo could also see them. Apparently, his father had told him that what he knew about ghosts was rubbish; that his ‘invisible friends’ were just that, and he shouldn’t be making up stories.
This all invoked the memory of That Day they’d parted, screaming at each other. Quatre was trying to tell him that his ghost friend, Maria, had just told him Trowa had been the one to murder their parents. Before a set of police and Quatre’s father, Duo had screamed that he was a liar, and that he made up stories. Of course, Mr. Winner had been infuriated and embarrassed, and the cops had questioned the small boy’s words. Everything had gone in Duo’s and Trowa’s favor–Quatre was not believed.
From that day on, Duo had not seen any more ghosts. He often wondered why, and he wondered now if Quatre retained that talent. If so, would the blond know that he still lived with Trowa? That Trowa moved to this city for him?
Duo wasn’t going to pretend to not know that Quatre was the reason why Trowa was here in this particular city. He wasn’t going to make excuses. He knew. And if he did, did Quatre?
Duo was terrified of this, terrified for his brother as Quatre did come over to sit with him, his tray stocked with a sandwich, a vegetable packet, and some milk. Duo glanced at him with a hesitant smile, his eyes darting about, looking for the ghosts. Everyone in this cafeteria was alive and well–no dead persons here.
Quatre smiled at him, opening his milk.
“It’s really good to see you again,” he said before drinking. “I never thought I’d see you again. How have you been?”
“...Good. Real good.” He won’t mention Trowa unless Quatre did. He’d stall for as long as he possibly could. “And you?”
“I’m okay. Things could be better. How is your health?”
“I’m quite healthy, thanks. Everything’s in working order and a-ok. What’s with the...?” Duo indicated his own clothing, signaling that he wanted Quatre to talk about his reasoning for his appearance. Anything to keep him from asking about Trowa.
Quatre looked down at himself, then flushed and shifted with embarrassment. “Oh, I–I saw this man dressed in a...in a similar manner, and I thought I could see myself in the same way, so...so I began dressing like this. It’s actually quite comfortable and I prefer it...”
Duo touched his own eyes as he stared at the lined lids and mascara coated lashes. The dark color made the blue/green of Quatre’s eyes stand out, almost taking away the attention from his pimples. “And this...?”
“Oh...um, he was wearing this, too.”
“Where were you, in a gay bar, or something?”
“Uh...no. I saw him on the sidewalk. I–I really didn’t like the way I looked back then–I mean, I don’t know, but I didn’t want to look that way, and just...” Quatre trailed off with a shrug, looking at his tray. With an obvious air of nervousness, he fiddled with the food on his tray.
Duo watched this show of nervousness, and had to smile. It was his childhood friend, all right. In a way, that was extremely comforting. They had been very good friends, and they had adventures together. Unfortunately, things had to change. He wasn’t sure whether to curse it or welcome it. He looked down at his own tray, picking at the steaming plate of vegetables and turkey.
“Oh, and Heero lives here, too!” Quatre added, looking up at him, constantly shifting and moving in his seat. Duo glanced at him, wondering if he’d always been so active. He also wondered if Quatre still drew. But he blinked as he fully realized what Quatre was saying.
“Heero? That...that big kid Heero?” Then Duo flushed with some embarrassment at the term. “I mean, of course he’s, ah, older...”
“Yes. He’s lived here for awhile, now. Practically since I moved here. Um, he lives by himself. He’s...ah... quite different from when we knew him together.”
“Huh,” Duo said with wonder, picking at his food. He glanced around the cafeteria, noting the curious stares from the other kids, and catching several innuendoes that were meant for the possibility of him and Quatre being a couple of sorts. He looked back at his friend, frowning as he took in the bowed head and the slumped shoulders.
He so desperately wanted to ask if he still saw ghosts–! But that would only bring up Trowa...and he was quite sure Quatre was thinking of Trowa right now...Duo’s heart raced with panicked fear once more, and he was too nervous to eat. He swallowed hard, wondering if this friendship was going to pick up where it left off, or would it change into something different?
110101010101100
After school, Quatre didn’t wait around to see if he would see Duo again–he had a couple of shifts to work today. So he swung his bag over his shoulder and hurried off, hoping he could catch the bus. He was looking at this Duo situation with a mixture of feelings–he remembered their times together, and the thing with Trowa–but for some reason, he couldn’t remember why he was wary of Trowa. It had been so long ago...ten years ago, actually, and he couldn’t remember his seven-year-old reasonings in why he should be cautious around them. He didn’t have his ghost friends to remind him why, either...
Things that had happened back then had faded into the back recesses of his mind, and no amount of pondering over them could draw them out. It was as if there were a heavy door between himself and the memory. He didn’t want to ask Duo, either–it would be embarrassing, and Duo probably wouldn’t even remember, anyway. They were seven-years-old, for Pete’s sake.
As he raced to the bus stop, he realized that it was just pulling away.
“Oh, crap,” he muttered, slowing to a stop as he watched his bus rumble down the street. Now he had to wait ten minutes for the next one, and that was going to be a cut in his first shift. He looked at his watch again, sighing as he then continued toward the bus bench.
Suddenly, a rusty Camaro slammed to a stop beside him, and he looked at Heero in surprise. He hadn’t expected the older man to show up! How convenient!
He hurried around to the passenger side, because Heero was facing the wrong end of the street in his effort to pick him up. Several cars honked in protest as they flew by, and he maneuvered his way back to the right end of the street, his car coughing with misuse and damage.
“Thanks, Heero!” Quatre said gratefully, setting his bag down between his feet. Looking around himself, he tried not to wince at the cigarette smell and tried to ignore the clink of empty bottles in the back seat. “You’re a real life-saver, you know that?”
Heero grunted a reply that he didn’t understand, but he looked out the window, happy that he’d make it to work on time. How Heero managed to know this was eerie, but extremely helpful. He looked back at the older man, smiling gratefully. Brushing blue tinged bangs from his face, he said, “Guess what, Heero? Duo’s attending my school, now. Do you remember Duo?”
Heero looked at him sharply, blinking. He had to slam to a stop to avoid taking a red light, and Quatre, without his seat belt, hit the dash board with his palms. He quickly tugged on his seatbelt, heart racing with panic.
“Duo?” Heero repeated.
“Yes. Do you remember him? The one with the long hair?”
“Trowa’s younger brother...”
“Uh...I think so. I mean...they were adopted, so...I...I don’t know if they’re still together,” Quatre replied, giving a confused expression. He felt a little tingle of unease throughout his system as Trowa was mentioned. Why did he feel so uneasy whenever he thought of Trowa? He wished he was able to remember.
Heero clutched the steering wheel, cigarette dangling from his lower lip. Sucking it back into his mouth with a thoughtful scowl, he then mumbled, “The psycho...”
Quatre picked at one of his hoops with a frown. “Yeah...yeah I guess so...”
Heero looked at him, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel with impatience. Quatre frowned again and waved his hand before him to dispel the smoke that drifted his way. Then he opened the window a crack, sure that when he reached his work, he was going to smell like an ashtray.
Then, along those thoughts, he remembered the phrase, “Tastes like an ashtray”, and looked at Heero in silent contemplation. Would kissing him be like kissing an ashtray? He would imagine so, with all those cigs that were in that man’s mouth from morning to night. But his lips always looked so...hard and firm-pressed, making Quatre wonder if they would soften and relent if he tried kissing him. Outside, Heero was so hard and so tough, that it made the blond wonder how soft inside Heero really was.
Of course, these thoughts made him flush with embarrassment, and he turned his attention to his shoes. Heero had given them to him, and he’d worn them ever since. They were practically as soft as socks, and the rubber hung onto the shoe merely by chance and super-glue. He didn’t want to get rid of them because it was the only material gift Heero had given him.
And it was only because he thought they were his size, and were tucked under piles of trash, and Quatre had found them and wasn’t going to throw them away because they were brand-new...so, Heero didn’t give them to him exactly, but...the thought was still the same.
“Trowa’s dangerous,” Heero said, breaking him out of his thoughts. Quatre looked up with a start, clutching his seatbelt. “You need to stay away from him.”
“I...I wonder why...? I mean, I know he was angry as a teen, but...is he still the same way, I wonder...?”
“Just stay away from him. Being friends with Duo won’t help.”
“I can’t just stop being friends to Duo, Heero,” Quatre said with a touch of exasperation. “He was my best friend.”
“Just stay away from them!”
Quatre winced at the growl, and drew close to the door. He stared at Heero in thought, then shrugged. “I don’t know if I can, Heero...I mean...Duo was my friend. I can’t just ignore him because of his brother...”
“Then what’s the point in watching out for you if you won’t even abide by what I say?”
Quatre looked up again, blinking in confusion. “‘Watching out for me’...what? Heero...?”
“I can’t do my job if you’re putting yourself in situations you shouldn’t.”
“I don’t...understand...”
“Just stay away from them!”
The brakes locked up as the rusty car slammed to a stop before the burger joint. Quatre realized the seat belt did not work as he had to catch himself from slamming against the door. He looked at Heero in confused panic, then grabbed his bag as he opened the door and let himself out.
“Thanks for giving me...”
The car sped off, cutting off another vehicle in its merge into another lane.
“...a ride...”
Quatre sighed, shoulders slumping as he realized he wasn’t going to be acknowledged. He looked back at the joint, then back at the car that was taking a sharp turn at a red light. Heero’s words confused him, and he felt a little bewildered as he turned and walked toward the fast food place. Well...he’d think about things later. He had to change and ready himself for over ten hours of work tonight. He slipped through the doorway of the restaurant, shyly greeting his manager as he went to change.
From the overcrowded trash can outside, an extra large cup shifted and tilted, small feet emerging from the open bottom. Rabbit ears poked up from strategically placed holes from the top. As the creature inside the cup giggled, the trash can tipped over, spilling out its contents. Other cups walking about in the same picture giggled and hissed.
From where he was standing, Trowa looked at his minions in disgust. One cup moved to close to its master, and Trowa stomped down on it, splattering the creature within. The others scattered with more giggles. He returned his attention to the restaurant, where Quatre worked, and chuckled lightly to himself. Where was Quatre’s hero now? Leaving him alone and vulnerable, easy to catch by the powerful Predator?
He watched the restaurant, and planned an opportunity to carry out his plans...
The phone was ringing when Quatre came home after work the next night. Weary and exhausted, he threw off his shoulder bag and hurried to answer, noting that the condo was dark and silent. His father must not be home yet. The phone was located on an end table in the living room, so he grabbed that, answering with a breathless, “Hello?”
“I did it all for you, Quatre. The rapes, the murders, the pain...it was all for you. You–”
Quatre quickly hung up, and blinked.
The phone call was disturbing yes, but it was nothing new. For years, this same male caller had called him, speaking along the same lines, blaming him for something he had no idea of doing. Always the promises, the heavy breathing, the declarations of love and torture...his father had to change the number several times, and this man still called. Groaning as he realized that this number had to be scrapped as well, he replaced the phone on the receiver, and moved to take off his jacket and look for something to eat.
Working at a fast food joint always killed the appetite, but some peanut butter sounded fantastic.
He kicked off his shoes and hurried into the kitchen. A note in his own handwriting reminded him to keep away from the sweets and the grease. Did peanut butter have grease? It couldn’t be that dangerous...he opened the fridge, took out a Sprite, then searched the cupboards for the peanut butter. The large jar, extra chunky, was finally located. He took that out, grabbed a spoon, and walked into the living room. The two level condo was comfortably warm, but very dark. All the blinds were closed, and the curtains shut tight. His father didn’t like that his high profile status made him vulnerable to opponents and their clients. The fact that he often took high profile cases left him and his son vulnerable to hate by the opposition, and he’d taken some security in a secured building with an unlisted name and number.
Quatre didn’t think about that sort of thing–frankly, it wasn’t on his list of concerns. He sat on the couch and turned on the tv, looking for something entertaining as he opened the jar with one hand. Digging out a spoonful, he stopped the surfing to watch MTV. The phone rang again, and he glanced at it from the corner of his eye. He felt a little creepy about the last phone call, but–it could be his father. Swallowing what he could, he reached over to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Quatre...sorry to bother you at this hour...”
Quatre froze, glancing at the clock. It was nearly eleven, and Chang Wufei sounded very tired and exasperated. And if he was receiving a call from Chang...who was Heero’s parole officer...damn it.
He sighed, his spoon dipping into the peanut butter. “I’m really sorry, Officer Chang. What happened?”
“Nothing entirely awful. But he’s sitting here in cell block five, muttering to himself.”
“I’ll come get him, all right?”
“He nearly knocked Sam’s head from his shoulders. I think he’s been drinking. Which is a violation of his parole...I won’t take it down this time, but the next time the boys pick him up and he’s drunk, I’ll have to do something.”
“I’m really sorry, Officer. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes. I promise.” Quatre quickly hung up so that he wouldn’t hear more of Chang’s annoyed rambling, and set his things aside. Writing out a quick note to his father, explaining that he met some friends for a late movie (on a Thursday night, but his father trusted him whole-heartedly in such efforts), he grabbed his bag and hurried out the door.
Chang had always called him whenever Heero was in trouble–Heero, for some odd reason, had listed him as a ‘relative’. As Chang got to know Quatre, he realized that Quatre was not family at all, but a seventeen-year old babysitter for the often hostile Yuy. But it seemed to work. One upset frown from the kid seemed to work wonders on the twenty-two year old parolee. Heero often grumbled that he wouldn’t do ‘this’ again, and off to the streets he went after Quatre paid his bail. How the kid managed to do so was beyond Chang–he knew of his father, and knew of his father’s determination in keeping Quatre from Heero, but since there was no court order issuing Yuy to stay away from Quatre, Chang could not do a thing about it.
And the bail was taken without question or concern–bail was bail, as far as they were concerned.
As Quatre raced to the bus stop, he wondered what Heero had done now. He just saw him last night–how much trouble could Heero have gotten into since then?
110101010101100
The jail was too bright, and the occupants there offered their opinions on their confinement and on his appearance. He ignored the comments that came from behind bars, and focused on the lone occupant in cell block five. Heero sat there on the bench, staring at the wall, and judging from the smell, he had been drinking.
Quatre sighed as he leaned against the bars, forehead pressed against the cool metal. “Heero...what happened? I thought you were doing really well...”
Heero made no motion to answer–just tilted his head to give him a frown that suggested no other comment. Quatre frowned back at him, then moved away from the bars when a loud buzzer rang. The door slid open, and Heero took his time to get up from the bench. He walked over, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. He gave Quatre an expectant look; Quatre shook his head.
“Let’s go, Heero. I’m sure things will be better when we get out of here.”
Walking outside on the sidewalk, heading away from the police station, Heero inhaled gratefully at a cigarette Quatre provided for him. The blond stared up at the older boy with something close to admiration. How was it that despite being slightly drunk, wearing dirty, ragged clothing and smoking a repulsive cancerstick that Heero remained attractive and entirely the picture of manly goodness? When he walked, a brisk pace that had Quatre hurrying just to keep up, he projected a sense of purpose and focus. His shoulders were set and drawn back, and his face was masked with a constant scowl that looked menacing.
Quatre shifted his shoulder bag and stared at his shoes as they walked. He wanted to ask what had happened, but he knew Heero would never tell. He never did. Conversation seemed pointless right now, especially when it was apparent that Heero didn’t want to talk. He usually didn’t, but with Quatre’s prodding, he was opening up gruffly with limited amounts of words and descriptions. Quatre felt too weary to pry right now–last night’s events and today’s work had left him a little slow and weary as he walked. He stumbled when he didn’t pick his feet up high enough, and Heero’s arm snapped out, catching his arm and setting him straight before he could even utter a surprised sound.
“Thanks,” he said gratefully, but Heero grunted some reply and continued walking. Quatre stared after him in silence, then hurried after him. Looking up at the face of his worship, he could see the dark shadows that rimmed his unusual blues, and the awakening creases that formed from constant smoking.
But he had to note with some jealousy that Heero’s skin was without any blemishes. Touching his own spotted chin, he winced and ducked his head, sure that everyone on the street pitied him for his losing war against acne.
At a stoplight, waiting for the Walk signal to appear, Heero finished his cigarette and lit another. Quatre winced again, and coughed as the exhaled smoke drifted against him. This silence was getting to him. So he swallowed and said: “I got another one of those phone calls, again. Father’s going to be so angry that he has to change the number again.”
Heero grunted and stared up at the dark rain clouds above them. Thunder rumbled, and Quatre shifted from one foot to the other. His shoes were wearing thin–his feet were hurting.
“I wish that person would just...do something. I mean, making phone calls constantly isn’t very productive. It only made me annoyed rather than made me scared. And tracing’s never worked–either the police are really incompetent, or he’s really smart. I wish I knew why he focuses on me. I’m not anything special, nor have I done anything to piss anyone off. I just wish I knew who he was...”
The light changed, and Heero glanced both ways before nodding forward. They walked across the street, and Quatre waited for some sort of input from the other. When none came, he looked at Heero expectantly. But Heero focused on his cigarette, handling it delicately, more interested in the burning stick than on Quatre’s conversation.
Swallowing, Quatre let the subject drop. His hands found their way into his pockets–he had forty-three cents to use for this week. He wouldn’t be paid until next Wednesday. Ah, well. It wasn’t as if he needed money constantly, but if his father asked him on what he spent his check on, he knew he couldn’t lie. The reason for his spent check would surely make Mr. Winner angry that he was still seeing Heero, and Quatre didn’t want to start another argument with him over Heero.
He felt tired just thinking about his father’s anger at this situation. He looked at his watch, seeing that it was after twelve thirty. He had school tomorrow, and he’d agreed to take over another person’s shift, so he was working over ten hours tomorrow. At least the next day was Saturday, and he really didn’t have any plans, except to work that evening. He rubbed his tired eyes, and looked at Heero again.
No ‘thank you’, no apology, no indication that he appreciated what Quatre had done for him. This sent a floozy of feeling through Quatre, rendering him fully incompetent in that he’d never gain Heero’s attention. He could care and give all he wanted, but Heero would never say anything about it. Quatre had admitted to himself that he couldn’t expect Heero to change his personality just for him, but to grant him one moment of appreciation or thanks would really help him out.
He stopped in mid -step, watching and waiting for Heero to realize that he wasn’t walking with him anymore. When the other continued walking and smoking, taking note of his surroundings and never acknowledging that Quatre wasn’t there, the blond sighed, shoulders drooping.
“I’m heading home, Heero!” he called to the other’s back. Clutching the strap of his bag, he added softly, “Good night. Hope you sleep well...”
He watched Heero walk further and further away from him, and sighed again. Feeling a little sorry for himself, he crossed the street and made his way to the nearest bus stop. He hoped his father wasn’t waiting up for him. He really didn’t want to explain this one to him.
110101010101100
Duo stared with hypnotized wonder at the clothes that flopped about in the dryer. His arms crossed, his feet crossed–the Laundromat was empty save for him. He was tired and worn, mainly from the fact that the DustBunnies were acting up last night. Catherine was ranting and raving, and Trowa had come home with blood stained shoes.
“He was a fighter,” he’d said by way of answering Duo’s silent question.
And now he was washing away the evidence of his brother’s crimes, and was bored doing it. He shifted in the hard seat, and looked at his cuff watch. He’d taken his medication for tonight, and he wasn’t worried about missing his timely requirements in that area. Having HIV was a hassle; in the event that should he want to share his life with someone that they’d have to understand he wasn’t going to be there for very long. He was a living stopwatch that was currently being saved by medication that slowed the virus’s progress, and he knew that there wasn’t that many people on the earth that could stand back and take him as is rather than accepting him as damaged goods.
Trowa seemed to understand that. Trowa was the only one that didn’t see him as damaged goods. Duo really wasn’t sure what the older man thought of him as, but it had to be good. On a faintly eerie note, he knew Trowa could kill him, and could do so easily. But why hasn’t he?
That question was beginning to plague him, rendering him utterly confounded as he stared at the dryer. What use was he to Trowa? Not that he was complaining, because he’d do anything for Trowa without question, but this one was really bothering him. Something was coming–he could feel it. It was in his bones, and it was in the air.
His brother was up to something, and there was a reason why he wasn’t telling Duo.
110101010101100
Heero tilted his head up to the rain, closing his eyes against the falling droplets. His skin felt flushed and bothered as he stood out in the rain, ignoring the sounds of the city around him. Still feeling the effects of the liquor he’d consumed, he was swaying slightly and swallowing hard to keep it from coming back up. He’d heard Quatre express his concerns about the stalker, and had heard him try hard to engage him into conversation–but Heero was having none of it. It wasn’t as if he were trying to be rude; but he began to wonder lately if the boy was feeling more toward him than was actually there.
He could feel it whenever Quatre looked up at him, his teen features searching his for any sign of something else. And frankly, Heero was scared. He could never see Quatre that way–he was always the little seven year old that hid behind the tree when they first met; the little boy that whimpered when bit by a lizard; the little boy that tried to defend his friend against his older brother, and getting beat up in the process. Heero couldn’t see Quatre any other way–to him, Quatre was always going to be seven years old.
He didn’t know how to touch this particular subject, having never encountered such things before.
Every time the teen came over and set himself on cleaning the filth that was Heero’s life, Heero could do nothing but sit there and grumble about the mess he created with his cleaning. He couldn’t see the boy in a romantic manner. Come to think of it, he couldn’t really think of anyone in that manner. Sure, he’d had his share of sex with the opposite members of gender, but those were bar fucks; random faces in random places.
He didn’t have any hate toward those that preferred their own gender, but he definitely felt a little uncomfortable when he realized he was the subject of someone’s like. For Quatre to feel that way about him was also more than mind-boggling–they were complete opposites, with a six year age difference between them. There would be nothing in common with them both. It must be the teenage hormones that had the boy all wacky.
He’ll grow out of it, Heero supposed.
He put out his cigarette, rubbing the toe of his steel-toe boots against the smoldering end. Then he turned to enter his apartment building when something caught his eye. A person had been watching him, standing at the edge of a nearby alley, and had stepped out of view when he’d turned. All of Heero’s instincts flared to life with a knowledge that something wrong was clear in this picture. That person, whomever it was, was looking at him. Why?
Heero moved in that direction, then broke into a run when he heard the other person running. Yup. Whoever it was was guilty already. Huffing and puffing, cursing the damage constant smoking had done on his lungs, Heero ran through the alley, catching sight of a tall figure that kept a fair pace ahead of him. When that person moved out of view, Heero slowed, breathing heavily. He had to hock up a loogy to clear his lungs, but as he did so, he caught sight of furry little creatures that hissed at his appearance.
Startled, Heero glanced around himself, at the shadows that seemed to inch closer to him. He realized at once that there were little creatures surrounding him, hissing and squealing angrily. Teeth flashed; mouths opened. His instincts told him to run.
So run he did.
“Huff...huff...hack!...huff...huff...hack! hack! huff!...”
The little things went running after him, and before he could reach the open mouth of the alley, there were suddenly many little things jumping onto him. Each one had the weight of a man, and had the strength of three. Their little bodies pulled him into the shadows, and teeth gnashed into his clothing.
Heero felt himself crushed under their weight, and he groped for a way out. Furry, smelly little bodies that were easily the size of his forearms swarmed over him, their teeth digging into his clothes. Their strength alone threatened to crush him. But suddenly, because he knew he could, he was on his feet and swinging his arms about. Furry bodies flew here and there with surprised squeaks. His feet stomped down on those unfortunate enough to be caught, their bodies flattening and smushing underneath the force.
How...?
The ones he flung hit the walls of the alley and splattered like eggs. Goop slid down to the dirty shadows. More creatures appeared, in a swarm of movement and smell. His eyes grew wide for a moment, and he took off running, running off into the other end of the alley as the mouth was suddenly blocked off by more of the things.
“Huff...huff...hack! hack!...huff...huff...huff...hack!...huff...”
He had to stop smoking. Look at what it was doing to his lungs...
The furry things were all over him again. What the fuck were they? Where the hell were they coming from? And more importantly, since each one weighed as much as a man, and there were so many of them...where was he getting this strength to kill them? To defeat them so easily?
These were questions that were unable to be thought over and pondered as he flung them about, stomping and crushing. Bodies splattered and goop dripped–they weren’t exactly lifelike, he had to admit. They were more like...furry eggs. They splattered instantly when he applied a lot of force in his punches and kicks. His clothing was tattered at the shoulders and knees–but his strength felt tireless. He could punch and kick for hours! Where was this strength coming from?
He looked up, panting and hacking, and saw the man. His eyes widened again. This man...he was not much older than he, but he was familiar...so familiar...
“Heero Yuy. You defeated my DustBunnies...there hasn’t been a man that has been able to do such things,” the man said, his voice quiet and cold.
Heero spit, noticing that the creatures were retreating.
The hell? He thought, looking at them as they sank, quite embarrassed, into the surrounding shadows. He looked back at the man, who was dressed in casual clothing–a turtleneck, jeans, and plain gray shoes. He was so plain in casual wear that Heero wouldn’t remember it in the morning. But the man’s features were striking, and so very familiar.
“Seeing as they have nothing of an effect on you, I have to ask,” he continued, his arms crossing over his chest. “What are you?”
Heero gave him a bewildered expression, wiping his mouth. He may have been drinking a little tonight, but that certainly didn’t account for this weird dream. Was he still at the jail, waiting for Quatre to come get him? Or was this actually real?
“It’s real,” the man answered with an exasperated tone, giving him a frown.
Huh?
“You’re talking out loud, Heero. I’ve heard you since ‘He’ll grow out of it’. Listen, Heero...I would really appreciate it if you don’t continue with this bodyguard business...I’m sure you won’t mind. I thought I would put you out of the way, but you’ve outmanned my minions...I’m quite disappointed in that.”
“What are you talking about?” Heero asked, truly confused as he stared in unblinking confusion.
The man sighed.
Trowa Maxwell. The teenager. The one that had beat on Quatre so badly that Heero had to interfere. Duo’s older brother. The hell–?
Heero’s eyes widened once more as he realized he knew this man. But...but...how...? why...?
“You’re talking out loud again, Heero. And it’s ‘Barton’, now. Not Maxwell. That name died when those people died. And I didn’t beat on him that badly–just kicked his ass around a little. I’m surprised you still remember that. But you would, wouldn’t you?”
Heero glanced cautiously around him, at the creatures that were lingering around, stalking his every move. His clothing was annoying him in its rips and tears...he looked back at Trowa, who looked mildly irritated as he stared at Heero in a way the Asian could only describe as...cold.
He swallowed, finally catching his breath. Damn. He really has to stop smoking.
“Yes, it’s a really nasty habit. Now, about Quatre...I would ask that you kindly stay away from him. He’s part of my plan. I would really appreciate it if you weren’t around him.”
Heero narrowed his eyes, recalling Quatre’s concerns about a stalker. Could it be that Trowa was the one stalking him? Making those phone calls?
“Why? What do you want from him?” he asked cautiously.
“Nothing of your interest. Just...unfinished business. Well, I’m going to go. Just listen to me, Heero, and leave the boy alone. He’s mine.”
“Hey–! WAIT!” Heero shouted as Trowa stepped back, merging with the shadows within the alley. The creatures faded away as well, their customary hisses fading as traffic sounds suddenly emerged once more. Glancing around him in confusion, Heero blinked rapidly, wondering if what had just happened was real. It...it felt real. It seemed real...
But there was a tinge to it that made it wholly unbelievable! Creatures? Trowa? Plans? How in the hell did Quatre fit into all of this?
Confused, Heero looked down at his tattered shirt, and tried adjusting things back into place. He needed band-aids. And an explanation.
110101010101100
At school Monday morning, Duo looked away from the counselor that had assigned him his school locker and shown him around, and stared at the various students that were lingering in the hall after the bell had rang. He’d arrived late–he’d forgotten that he was going to start school today, and had to skip breakfast to even make it at this time. But the counselor had been understanding and kind, and had taken the time and effort to show him around after assigning his classes to him.
She had just finished giving him the combination of his locker and walked off when he turned his attention to the other students. They were all dressed in warm clothing and hurrying to their various classes, but he was looking for the Looks. The ones that told him they knew his secret, that his brother was a serial killer. This sensation plagued him with every school he went to, and it followed him to the stores and various places he went to.
He put away his backpack, taking only a spiral notebook with him and a pen. Then, class schedule in hand, he walked off to his first class. He had taken some effort in his appearance, today. He was wearing a pair of baggy blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and his favorite ADIDAS shoes. His braid was neat and tidy, his med bracelet in place, and he knew he smelled nice. His cologne had been applied lightly to his clothing, and he was quite upbeat about starting this year.
Walking into his first class, the teacher stopped talking, and looked at him curiously. Duo glanced at the students within the class, noting the blank stares in his direction, and waited for the teacher to read the note he had been given by the counselor.
“All right. Class, this is Duo Maxwell. You can take that extra seat in back, next to Winner. He’ll share his book with you and help you out if you need it.”
“‘K,” Duo muttered as he headed toward the back of the class. The name had sounded familiar...someone he knew? Or just a common name?
Duo stared at the boy that looked at him with an expression of recognizance. But Duo was confused–he did not know this blue-haired, gothic/punk kid, and he certainly would remember seeing him. He sat in the desk next to him, tossing his notebook on top of the desk.
“Hey,” he greeted casually. “Name’s Duo.”
“I know. Wow, I never thought I’d see you again, Duo!”
“Er...you know me?”
“Yes! Duo, I’m Quatre. Quatre Winner...remember? You moved to my neighborhood when we were seven years old!”
Duo felt his eyes widen, and something slammed to a stop in his chest. At one corner of his mind, someone was shouting, “This is the reason why Trowa moved here! He’s the reason!”
And another was saying, “What the fuck...?”
He took in the dingy blue hair; the two hoops and one stud in each ear; the thickly lined eyes; the pimples; the black clothing. And, somewhere beneath it all, he saw the seven year old that saw and talked to ghosts, and hated when Duo ‘ate’ him as Yoshi on SuperSmash Bros.
“Oh my fucking God,” he whispered, leaning forward. “Dude! I never even recognized you under all that!”
“I know,” Quatre said, with an air of embarrassment. He slumped in his chair, the clear patches of his skin turning into an embarrassed flush. “I...wanted a change.”
Duo looked at him with a skeptical eye, lifting an eyebrow. He took in the black shorts that extended over knobby knees; the ratty Converses; the Metallica tee; the watch and the worn shoulder strap bag that had bore many bad weather days and conditions. He then looked at the eyes–they were still large and bright, still innocent and friendly, if not shy. He could barely believe that it was Quatre. He suddenly felt cold and numb at the same time.
Did Trowa plan this...?
Was this the bad thing he sensed?
“You look really good, Duo,” Quatre said, keeping his voice low as the teacher lectured. His smile was friendly and hesitant. “Did you just move here?”
Duo took a moment to recover from his shock, then nodded, sweeping his bangs from his face. Now that he was over the shock of seeing his former friend, he sort of pitied the guy. Despite his friendliness and obvious kindness, Quatre looked meek and pathetic in a way of teenage outcasts. He was the kind that sat by himself in the cafeteria, or hid away in the back of the class, ignored by peers and teachers alike.
“Yeah, actually...I just took a couple of weeks to get settled before enrolling...”
Duo wasn’t sure if he should mention Trowa. He wasn’t sure what Quatre knew, if he could still communicate with ghosts–suddenly, Duo’s heart was racing furiously, his blood shooting through his veins forcefully. His breath was short–was Trowa in trouble?
“...but here I am. Uh...I didn’t know you lived out here...”
“After that summer, father pulled his business from there and established himself here. We lived out here for over seven years...I’m the only one left living with him.”
Duo nodded, unsure of what to say next. It was certainly an awkward moment–his brain went blank. He looked at his notebook, and tried to gather his thoughts. While he was angry at Trowa for pulling this, he was also fearful for his brother’s safety. Somehow, beyond it all, Quatre had the power to bring Trowa down. And Duo was once again placed in the middle, having to decide.
He grimaced, opening his notebook, and hid his face within to avoid any other questions.
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Duo was caught in a rock and a hard place–he so desperately wanted to yell at Trowa, to curse him for hiding this ‘small’ detail when they moved here. Trowa had obviously wanted to come to this particular city for Quatre, for his ‘revenge’–and for Duo to once again place himself between the two, knowing that Quatre was going to ask about Trowa...? He was upset and didn’t feel so well when lunchtime came around. Because he didn’t have the same classes as Quatre, he hadn’t seen him after that first class. But he knew the boy was going to hunt him down to talk–it would be just like him to do so. And Duo couldn’t avoid him forever, so he wasn’t going to try.
He would just do and say what he could when and what Quatre asked.
After he’d taken his tray and found a place to sit, he picked at his food, waiting for the blond–no, blue haired boy to find him. Duo wasn’t going to take the effort to do so. He was stuck in a predicament that was difficult to deal with. His first day of school had just been stamped with the word ‘Sucky’ on top.
Since that summer, Duo had also been unable to see ghosts. He’d shared that talent with Quatre, but he was never able to hear them. Quatre had been able to see and talk to them, but had been glad that Duo could also see them. Apparently, his father had told him that what he knew about ghosts was rubbish; that his ‘invisible friends’ were just that, and he shouldn’t be making up stories.
This all invoked the memory of That Day they’d parted, screaming at each other. Quatre was trying to tell him that his ghost friend, Maria, had just told him Trowa had been the one to murder their parents. Before a set of police and Quatre’s father, Duo had screamed that he was a liar, and that he made up stories. Of course, Mr. Winner had been infuriated and embarrassed, and the cops had questioned the small boy’s words. Everything had gone in Duo’s and Trowa’s favor–Quatre was not believed.
From that day on, Duo had not seen any more ghosts. He often wondered why, and he wondered now if Quatre retained that talent. If so, would the blond know that he still lived with Trowa? That Trowa moved to this city for him?
Duo wasn’t going to pretend to not know that Quatre was the reason why Trowa was here in this particular city. He wasn’t going to make excuses. He knew. And if he did, did Quatre?
Duo was terrified of this, terrified for his brother as Quatre did come over to sit with him, his tray stocked with a sandwich, a vegetable packet, and some milk. Duo glanced at him with a hesitant smile, his eyes darting about, looking for the ghosts. Everyone in this cafeteria was alive and well–no dead persons here.
Quatre smiled at him, opening his milk.
“It’s really good to see you again,” he said before drinking. “I never thought I’d see you again. How have you been?”
“...Good. Real good.” He won’t mention Trowa unless Quatre did. He’d stall for as long as he possibly could. “And you?”
“I’m okay. Things could be better. How is your health?”
“I’m quite healthy, thanks. Everything’s in working order and a-ok. What’s with the...?” Duo indicated his own clothing, signaling that he wanted Quatre to talk about his reasoning for his appearance. Anything to keep him from asking about Trowa.
Quatre looked down at himself, then flushed and shifted with embarrassment. “Oh, I–I saw this man dressed in a...in a similar manner, and I thought I could see myself in the same way, so...so I began dressing like this. It’s actually quite comfortable and I prefer it...”
Duo touched his own eyes as he stared at the lined lids and mascara coated lashes. The dark color made the blue/green of Quatre’s eyes stand out, almost taking away the attention from his pimples. “And this...?”
“Oh...um, he was wearing this, too.”
“Where were you, in a gay bar, or something?”
“Uh...no. I saw him on the sidewalk. I–I really didn’t like the way I looked back then–I mean, I don’t know, but I didn’t want to look that way, and just...” Quatre trailed off with a shrug, looking at his tray. With an obvious air of nervousness, he fiddled with the food on his tray.
Duo watched this show of nervousness, and had to smile. It was his childhood friend, all right. In a way, that was extremely comforting. They had been very good friends, and they had adventures together. Unfortunately, things had to change. He wasn’t sure whether to curse it or welcome it. He looked down at his own tray, picking at the steaming plate of vegetables and turkey.
“Oh, and Heero lives here, too!” Quatre added, looking up at him, constantly shifting and moving in his seat. Duo glanced at him, wondering if he’d always been so active. He also wondered if Quatre still drew. But he blinked as he fully realized what Quatre was saying.
“Heero? That...that big kid Heero?” Then Duo flushed with some embarrassment at the term. “I mean, of course he’s, ah, older...”
“Yes. He’s lived here for awhile, now. Practically since I moved here. Um, he lives by himself. He’s...ah... quite different from when we knew him together.”
“Huh,” Duo said with wonder, picking at his food. He glanced around the cafeteria, noting the curious stares from the other kids, and catching several innuendoes that were meant for the possibility of him and Quatre being a couple of sorts. He looked back at his friend, frowning as he took in the bowed head and the slumped shoulders.
He so desperately wanted to ask if he still saw ghosts–! But that would only bring up Trowa...and he was quite sure Quatre was thinking of Trowa right now...Duo’s heart raced with panicked fear once more, and he was too nervous to eat. He swallowed hard, wondering if this friendship was going to pick up where it left off, or would it change into something different?
110101010101100
After school, Quatre didn’t wait around to see if he would see Duo again–he had a couple of shifts to work today. So he swung his bag over his shoulder and hurried off, hoping he could catch the bus. He was looking at this Duo situation with a mixture of feelings–he remembered their times together, and the thing with Trowa–but for some reason, he couldn’t remember why he was wary of Trowa. It had been so long ago...ten years ago, actually, and he couldn’t remember his seven-year-old reasonings in why he should be cautious around them. He didn’t have his ghost friends to remind him why, either...
Things that had happened back then had faded into the back recesses of his mind, and no amount of pondering over them could draw them out. It was as if there were a heavy door between himself and the memory. He didn’t want to ask Duo, either–it would be embarrassing, and Duo probably wouldn’t even remember, anyway. They were seven-years-old, for Pete’s sake.
As he raced to the bus stop, he realized that it was just pulling away.
“Oh, crap,” he muttered, slowing to a stop as he watched his bus rumble down the street. Now he had to wait ten minutes for the next one, and that was going to be a cut in his first shift. He looked at his watch again, sighing as he then continued toward the bus bench.
Suddenly, a rusty Camaro slammed to a stop beside him, and he looked at Heero in surprise. He hadn’t expected the older man to show up! How convenient!
He hurried around to the passenger side, because Heero was facing the wrong end of the street in his effort to pick him up. Several cars honked in protest as they flew by, and he maneuvered his way back to the right end of the street, his car coughing with misuse and damage.
“Thanks, Heero!” Quatre said gratefully, setting his bag down between his feet. Looking around himself, he tried not to wince at the cigarette smell and tried to ignore the clink of empty bottles in the back seat. “You’re a real life-saver, you know that?”
Heero grunted a reply that he didn’t understand, but he looked out the window, happy that he’d make it to work on time. How Heero managed to know this was eerie, but extremely helpful. He looked back at the older man, smiling gratefully. Brushing blue tinged bangs from his face, he said, “Guess what, Heero? Duo’s attending my school, now. Do you remember Duo?”
Heero looked at him sharply, blinking. He had to slam to a stop to avoid taking a red light, and Quatre, without his seat belt, hit the dash board with his palms. He quickly tugged on his seatbelt, heart racing with panic.
“Duo?” Heero repeated.
“Yes. Do you remember him? The one with the long hair?”
“Trowa’s younger brother...”
“Uh...I think so. I mean...they were adopted, so...I...I don’t know if they’re still together,” Quatre replied, giving a confused expression. He felt a little tingle of unease throughout his system as Trowa was mentioned. Why did he feel so uneasy whenever he thought of Trowa? He wished he was able to remember.
Heero clutched the steering wheel, cigarette dangling from his lower lip. Sucking it back into his mouth with a thoughtful scowl, he then mumbled, “The psycho...”
Quatre picked at one of his hoops with a frown. “Yeah...yeah I guess so...”
Heero looked at him, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel with impatience. Quatre frowned again and waved his hand before him to dispel the smoke that drifted his way. Then he opened the window a crack, sure that when he reached his work, he was going to smell like an ashtray.
Then, along those thoughts, he remembered the phrase, “Tastes like an ashtray”, and looked at Heero in silent contemplation. Would kissing him be like kissing an ashtray? He would imagine so, with all those cigs that were in that man’s mouth from morning to night. But his lips always looked so...hard and firm-pressed, making Quatre wonder if they would soften and relent if he tried kissing him. Outside, Heero was so hard and so tough, that it made the blond wonder how soft inside Heero really was.
Of course, these thoughts made him flush with embarrassment, and he turned his attention to his shoes. Heero had given them to him, and he’d worn them ever since. They were practically as soft as socks, and the rubber hung onto the shoe merely by chance and super-glue. He didn’t want to get rid of them because it was the only material gift Heero had given him.
And it was only because he thought they were his size, and were tucked under piles of trash, and Quatre had found them and wasn’t going to throw them away because they were brand-new...so, Heero didn’t give them to him exactly, but...the thought was still the same.
“Trowa’s dangerous,” Heero said, breaking him out of his thoughts. Quatre looked up with a start, clutching his seatbelt. “You need to stay away from him.”
“I...I wonder why...? I mean, I know he was angry as a teen, but...is he still the same way, I wonder...?”
“Just stay away from him. Being friends with Duo won’t help.”
“I can’t just stop being friends to Duo, Heero,” Quatre said with a touch of exasperation. “He was my best friend.”
“Just stay away from them!”
Quatre winced at the growl, and drew close to the door. He stared at Heero in thought, then shrugged. “I don’t know if I can, Heero...I mean...Duo was my friend. I can’t just ignore him because of his brother...”
“Then what’s the point in watching out for you if you won’t even abide by what I say?”
Quatre looked up again, blinking in confusion. “‘Watching out for me’...what? Heero...?”
“I can’t do my job if you’re putting yourself in situations you shouldn’t.”
“I don’t...understand...”
“Just stay away from them!”
The brakes locked up as the rusty car slammed to a stop before the burger joint. Quatre realized the seat belt did not work as he had to catch himself from slamming against the door. He looked at Heero in confused panic, then grabbed his bag as he opened the door and let himself out.
“Thanks for giving me...”
The car sped off, cutting off another vehicle in its merge into another lane.
“...a ride...”
Quatre sighed, shoulders slumping as he realized he wasn’t going to be acknowledged. He looked back at the joint, then back at the car that was taking a sharp turn at a red light. Heero’s words confused him, and he felt a little bewildered as he turned and walked toward the fast food place. Well...he’d think about things later. He had to change and ready himself for over ten hours of work tonight. He slipped through the doorway of the restaurant, shyly greeting his manager as he went to change.
From the overcrowded trash can outside, an extra large cup shifted and tilted, small feet emerging from the open bottom. Rabbit ears poked up from strategically placed holes from the top. As the creature inside the cup giggled, the trash can tipped over, spilling out its contents. Other cups walking about in the same picture giggled and hissed.
From where he was standing, Trowa looked at his minions in disgust. One cup moved to close to its master, and Trowa stomped down on it, splattering the creature within. The others scattered with more giggles. He returned his attention to the restaurant, where Quatre worked, and chuckled lightly to himself. Where was Quatre’s hero now? Leaving him alone and vulnerable, easy to catch by the powerful Predator?
He watched the restaurant, and planned an opportunity to carry out his plans...