Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Issues of a Mad Man ❯ Part Three ( Chapter 3 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Manga-Chick 
"Heero...you defeated my Dust Bunnies..."
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Psychological / Supernatural | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.20.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 6.5K | Visits: 230 | Status: Completed
"Heero...you defeated my Dust Bunnies..."
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Psychological / Supernatural | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.20.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 6.5K | Visits: 230 | Status: Completed
Issues of a Mad Man (Part Three)
Heero took a deep inhale of his cigarette, his eyes still wide as he stared at the television. The faded black and white fizzled as the rain dropped, and his couch reeked of alcohol.
What had just happened back there? He thought, his cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth. Those things...those furry things...what were they? And why...? Why was Trowa there, being all...megalomaniacal? All...evil?
Something just didn’t fit in this picture. Something didn’t fit at all, and he had no idea of what to make about it all. He stared at the fuzzy picture in his television set, and wondered what the hell was going on. Trowa had mentioned staying away from Quatre–of course, this triggered something deep inside of Heero, something protective and cautious. Of course Trowa wanted the boy–but for what reason? What reason did he have that made him want the boy in such ways? To do mean and evil things to him, based on some sick childhood fantasy? Or was this some sort of man has a crush on a boy sort of thing, and was simply telling him to get the fuck away because he was jealous?
Heero couldn’t figure it out. He did not know Trowa. He knew only what Quatre had told him, and that hadn’t been very productive. All he knew was that Trowa was Duo’s adopted older brother, and the guy had problems. Other than that, he had no idea how old the guy was, what his nationality was, his favorite color...Trowa Barton was a stranger, and somehow, he fit in the picture. But his overall evil didn’t.
Heero found himself caught in the middle of some fantastical game that wasn’t very realistic, nor very clear. And the deal with those fuzzies? How did he ever get the strength to fight them? They had been all stronger than a single man, weighing as much–yet, he dealt with them as if they had been nothing. Their weight had been nothing when he began flinging them off. They had died with as much impact an egg had against a brick wall. Trowa had mentioned that they were DustBunnies...
“What the fuck is going on?” he whispered, digging out another cigarette, and lighting that one from the end of the one he was still smoking. Crushing out the first, he inhaled the second, glancing up at the wall clock. In two hours, Quatre’s shift ended. He should be there–just in case. In case things turned even more screwier, and he was suddenly seeing the teen’s picture in tomorrow’s paper, the headlines declaring how he’d been found, murdered.
This, of course, had his hands trembling with a velocity that had him clueless. Cigarette dangling from his lips, he stared down at his shaking fingers. He lifted an arm, and pictured one of Quatre’s class pictures set in the middle of the newspaper, his lips curled in a self-conscious curve that was neither a smile or a frown, but a miscalculated movement. The headline would read: “Boy, 17, Found Dead In Alleyway of Work”. Or something along those lines.
His stomach made a uncharacteristic lurch that had him coughing smoke, his cigarette flying from his lips. Okay. Okay, so he would miss the boy. But in the end...would it be for good? This bond he had with Quatre–would it be severed, rendering him free? But...he had feelings for him, right? He noticed when Quatre wasn’t around, or if he saw the teen in the throes of self-conscious mopiness. He noticed when the boy spoke to him, and made a note of the subject, but...
Heero was confused. Confused and bewildered, and he didn’t know what to do. He pulled his legs onto the couch, sprawling out onto his back so that he stared up at the water stained ceiling. Drawing a hand over his forehead, so that his messy hair was propped away from his face, he pondered his future.
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Duo raced home, his braid whipping along behind him. Seeing that Quatre was gone after school, preventing him from talking further with him, Duo felt himself panic. He just knew that Trowa was going to go after him. His reasons were always his own–Trowa never shared them with him. But why Quatre? Duo felt so horribly torn that he was involved in this situation. He loved and cared for his brother–and on the other hand, he cared for his former friend, with whom he shared a valuable friendship. To have to choose–! To be older and to know the actual depth of his feelings was something utterly stressful.
As a child, his love for Trowa was simple and uncomplicated. But as he grew older, became more aware of things, things were different. He wanted to stop Trowa, but at the same time, administer whatever help the older man needed. Not that he’d help Trowa kill Quatre, but...but in whatever way he could. But if it really came down to it, if Trowa was really so desperate...would Duo find himself in a situation in which he had to choose all over again?
He lowered his head, cursing as he ran. Trowa didn’t carry a cellphone on him–that was not an option. He didn’t want to be traced or have the phone give his presence away when he was working. Duo wasn’t sure how to get into contact with him. Racing into their apartment, out of breath, Duo glanced over the contents of their apartment, and was startled to see that Catherine was left standing on the coffee table.
Finally! She declared, her blank Spider-Man face looking at him pointedly. Some company!
“What are you doing here?” Duo asked, clearly confused. Trowa never left home without his Voice of Insanity–which was what he’d dubbed her.
Trowa was a little uppity about our plans, she said on a sigh. That SM face continued to stare at him, blank and devoid of life, but her childish voice rang clear as day within Duo’s mind. That had been something that bothered him–was Catherine really a voice that ran through his and Trowa’s minds, or was she simply a voice that no one else could hear?
He didn’t want to hear what I had to say about things...which reminds me, Duo...have you met with your friend, today? Trowa was so sure that you’d go to the very same school with him...oh, and some guy left you a message on the machine.
Duo stared at her with some uncertainty, then crossed the living room to depress the answering machine activation button. Sure enough, the manager of the burger joint he’d applied to wanted him to come to an interview tomorrow night at six. He erased the message, then frowned as he turned toward Catherine. The pez dispenser was still facing the door, and he really had issues with handling the thing...he crossed the floor to the single green couch, flopping onto it with a tired sigh. Rubbing his face, bangs becoming disrupted, he looked at Catherine again.
“What plans?” he asked.
I can’t see you, dear.
“I don’t wanna move you. You creep me out. You know that.”
Duo, I am appalled that you think such things! Turn me around!
“No,” Duo muttered, rubbing his eyes.
Fine. I’ll do it myself.
He snorted, rolling his eyes as he removed his hands. But he stilled when he saw that Catherine was now facing him. How...?
Now, she started, her SM face pointed at him. Listen to me. Trowa left me behind, actually, to talk some sense into you. I’m sure that by now you figured out why Trowa moved to this particular gloomy place... frankly, I don’t care for the rain, but it does romantic wonders for the place, don’t you think? Anyway, I’m pretty sure you’re feeling upset and betrayed by the fact that Trowa moved here for him...you know who ‘him’ is, right?
Duo nodded, recovering from his shock of her movement.
He is the face of the Predator...the very same face that Trowa despises with all his being...his mission is clear, Duo, and he is not to be stopped. Sensing that the Predator will forever be elusive to us, he has chosen the next best thing...
Duo stared at her with a confounded expression. He’d never heard Trowa’s reasoning for wanting Quatre, and for Catherine to spill such information made him wonder. Quatre? The face of Trowa’s...Predator?
“It doesn’t make sense,” he heard himself whisper.
No...it wouldn’t, but to Trowa and I, it does. When one can’t find the actual thing, one will settle for a substitute. And that boy is the closest to Trowa’s substitute as possible. And this is where you come into the picture, Duo! Isn’t this fun?
Duo blinked, his hair slowly falling back into place over his forehead and eyes. Did he just hear...?
We want you to lure him in...draw him into a sense of security so that Trowa could strike–
“No.”
–and–what ? What did you just say?
“I said no. No, I won’t help him. Not this time. Not...not with this. Quatre...he...he was my best friend, Catherine. I can’t help my brother plot to kill him! That’s just insane! That’s not right!”
Duo! Calm yourself! I can’t stand it when people start shouting! Makes them all crazy-like.
“And, really, did Trowa know this person? This...this Predator?”
No. He didn’t. Which is why we’re focusing in on Quatre, Duo-honey.
“Then why is he striking at someone he knows, and why doesn’t he focus on someone he doesn’t?” Duo asked in a rush of breath.
Catherine stared at him in silence. The apartment, with its thin walls, admitted the sounds from the life of the city outside. Something was dripping in the kitchen. One of their neighbors was blasting rock music.
And Catherine continued to stare, her SM face unblinking or moving. Duo found himself growing squeamish as he shifted in his seat, looking at her with an expression of uncertainty. Just as he was going to speak, Catherine launched herself at him. He shouted out loud at the fact that she was able to move on her own. How was she able to move on her own?
The pez dispenser landed on him, but with much panicked effort, Duo batted her off his sweater, watching her sail onto the other end of the couch. He propped himself on the armrest of his end, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with disbelief. When she spoke, her voice was muffled by the cushions.
Why do you think he works, idiot? Of course he would take those that resemble the looks of his Predator, but the main one is him! Is that boy! He wants that boy specifically to justify his actions, for giving a message to the world! Of course he’d take random idiots that look like him! When he gets to the actual person, it’s a whole different ballgame!
“This is insane,” Duo muttered to himself, getting up from the couch. “This doesn’t make sense, Catherine. I don’t understand...I know...I won’t do it. I won’t be involved with this one.”
You’re already involved, Duo. Why do you think Trowa kept you all this time?
Duo stared at her, unblinking. To actually hear the words...
He shook his head, and moved away from the couch. Heading over to the phone, and grabbed the phone book, and began looking for Quatre’s number. When that didn’t yield anything, he called information. But in the end, as he set the phone down, he realized that Catherine was right.
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That night, around two a.m., Quatre stumbled from the back door of the fast food eatery, and hurried toward the bus stop. He was tired, felt terribly greasy from the food, and he knew he reeked of countless tomatoes, onions and ketchup. The city was quiet at this time of night, and it was threatening to rain again. He pulled on his jacket over his uniform, yawning as he shuffled his way toward the bus stop. There were multiple shadows and questionable people out at night, but he was too tired to really concentrate on them. As far as he was concerned, people weren’t interested in him at all. Acne did that to people–the sight of ugliness kept him safe, and the sight of punk/goth made others look away with disgust. In all the time that he’d been here, he hadn’t had a single person come up to him with interest, and felt cursed and blessed with that knowledge.
Ugly people never get attacked, he thought with some security as he plopped down on the bus bench. He took out his cellphone, dialed his home number, and let it ring once. Hanging up, he knew that his father had interpreted the signal as he was coming home. He put the phone away, and leaned against the back of the bench, sighing with exhaustion. At least he’d have extra money come to him for taking over the guy’s shift. That was a plus. And they were paid weekly, so he felt good about next Wednesday.
Looking up, he wondered how long he had to wait for this bus, and jiggled his knee. The visor that he wore helped out with the drizzle, keeping it from hitting his eyes as he looked down the street for any possible sight of the bus. He couldn’t wait to get home, have some peanut butter, and hit the couch. He would be too tired to drag himself upstairs to his bedroom, and he commonly slept on the couch, anyway.
He wondered if he’d remembered to write down his homework assignments, and thus, he began thinking about Duo. He sighed, hanging his head, fiddling with his dry fingers. Seeing Duo Maxwell had been nothing short of surprising. And he’d grown into such a beautiful teen...that hair of his, always unkept and dirty when he was a child, had been glossy and thick. His baby fat was obviously less than most teens, making his facial features stand out. He had large violet eyes that were framed with thick lashes, a straight nose that was both thin and perfect, and lips that looked easy to curl into a smile. And absolutely no blemishes...
Quatre had seen the way his classmates had looked at Duo, their eyes alight with curiosity and interest; some with disgust and unease. The boy’s very presence had caused a stir, and it seemed as if Duo didn’t care. If put in that position, where he was accepted and liked for what he looked like, Quatre was sure he wouldn’t have any problems at all.
As it were, to have acne and to dress the way he did was enough to keep him from being accepted. And this shyness problem of his...well...that was a whole other issue. He was sure that if he forced himself out more, forced himself to speak and interact with others, he wouldn’t have problems. But he just couldn’t because he was just...afraid...
Someone giggled nearby, and it made him snap up from his weariness as he realized all the hairs on the back of his neck and arms were rising. He looked over the bench, staring into the darkness as he heard the shuffle of movement from the shadows nearby. Something with glass tinkled, and more giggling ensued.
Why did that sound so familiar...?
He rose from the bench to investigate. It couldn’t be children at this time of night...he ventured toward the shadows that came in from an empty lot, with a broken wooden fence enclosing it from the world. Ducking, he tried peering into the sad brush that grew here and there within the lot, and heard movement from his right. He lifted his head, removing his visor so that he could see better. There. Something furry...a rabbit? Well, wasn’t that rare–?
He looked away when a car screeched to a stop behind him. Surprised to see that it was Heero, he forgot about the rabbit and hurried over with a bright smile on his face.
“Hi!” he said through the window, then opened the door to get in. He felt so happy that the man was here, that he’d obviously thought of him...!
Heero looked beyond him, out the window on his end, then looked back at him. His eyes were rimmed with darkness, so Quatre wondered if he’d even slept. “Did you talk to anyone?”
“Huh? No,” Quatre answered, giving him a questioning expression. He settled in the seat with his bag over his lap, his visor askew. Straightening that, he shook his head.
Heero nodded with firm resolve, and peeled out of there. “You shouldn’t be out by yourself. Your father should be here to make sure you’re getting home all right.”
Quatre flushed with pleasure in that Heero thought so protectively of him. He didn’t know what to say. His fingers clutched his bag tightly, and it took all he had to keep from beaming over at the older one with a grateful yet lovesick puppy look. He didn’t want Heero to get the wrong idea...
Sputtering out with, “O-oh, he worries, but it’s really no hassle. I mean, the bus stop is just right there, and–”
“Your father’s an imbecile if he thinks you’ll be okay with all these strange people around,” Heero muttered, lighting another cigarette. “There’s not many out there that will turn down the chance to bother some kid on the chance that he’s got money or some valuable electronic in his bag. You need to be careful out there.”
“I am, Heero, really! It’s fine! And this is only a one time thing, because Harrison–”
“I don’t want to hear it. Just make sure your father is here the next time you decide to work late, got it?”
“Y-yes, Heero,” Quatre said, flashing him another pleased smile, that flush still present on his cheeks. He cares! Was all he thought.
Heero just wondered how close Trowa had tried to get to him, frowning at the thought. When they reached Quatre’s condo nearly thirty minutes later, the boy got out of the car, and shouted his appreciation. Without a reply, Heero was driving off into the night. Quatre watched the Camaro take a wrong turn down a one-way street, and sighed when he heard indignant horns moments later. He turned and began walking toward his condo, reaching up to scratch his scalp.
Five minutes later, he had thrown his things on the couch, and had a jar of peanut butter in one hand. He peeked in on his father, who was asleep, snoring loudly. Quatre chewed as quietly as he could as he turned away from his bedroom, double-checking the Easy Wipe calender in the hall. They were placed strategically throughout the place so that his father could have no excuse to back out from an appointment. He walked into the hall bathroom, and set the jar aside, needing to pee very badly. He caught his reflection in the mirror, grimacing at the sight of his pimples. Frantically, he took off the cap to an overnight formula, and began dotting that all over his more angry spots. Then, washing his hands, he moved to the toilet.
When he opened the lid, he paused, staring into the water with an expression of hesitation.
Wow, father left a funny looking turd, he thought, blinking as the thing in the water shifted. He didn’t even make a sound as furry things attacked him from their various spots all over the bathroom, dragging him onto the floor. Giggling, one of the DustBunnies shut off the light and politely closed the lid as they trailed out from the bathroom.
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Heero gave a low sigh as the bus he took to work ambled into view. He had just parked his car and sat down at the bus bench when he heard the familiar growl of its engine. When it paused for him, he climbed on. Yawning, he took a seat in the middle, and settled as the bus began its drive. Staring out the window, Heero reflected on the near miss Trowa had with Quatre. He was sure he’d arrived in time, since Quatre seemed the same as usual. The teen was much too chirpy for early morning hours, though, and just the thought of him smiling in the car was enough to make Heero scowl. Who, in their right human mind, smiled at two a.m.??
“Long day?”
He jerked himself from his thoughts as he looked up at the bus driver, whose face was masked by the cap that he wore. The mirror was even adjusted so that Heero could not see his face from his angle. Unsure if he were speaking to him, Heero glanced around, but saw that he was the only occupant of the bus. He didn’t bother to answer, to keep from encouraging the lonely bastard from talking to him. He returned his attention to the window.
“Heading home for the night?”
Heero continued to ignore him, looking out the window. He itched for a cigarette, his fingers twitching in anticipation. He really needed to stop. He thought of the Nicorette pieces that were stashed all over. Some were outdated, but, hell–if they produced the wanted results, who was he to complain?
He heard the bus driver chuckle. When Heero glanced in his direction, he felt that there was something about that man that had him suddenly cautious. He glanced out the window once more, to see them passing by a loaded bus stop, people staring after them in surprise. And the bus gave a sudden lurch to the left, taking a turn much too sharp. He was flung to the floor with a surprised shout.
Rising, Heero looked at the driver, seeing that he’d left his seat, and was standing at the mouth of the aisle.
“Damn you, Yuy! Damn you and your interference with what destiny has to be!” the driver was shouting, shaking his fist. It was Trowa, dressed as the driver. He’d hijacked the city bus just to yell at him.
There was something entirely comical about the entire thing–but Heero could not find strength to laugh.
“Psychotic windbag! Stop this bus! You’re insane!” Heero shouted back, his voice gruff with cigarettes and determination. He felt his ire rise as he stared at Trowa in outraged shock.
“Insane? Insane? Was I insane when I first walked on, or when I killed the real driver and stuffed him in a mail box?”
“Rabbit pedophile fucker!”
“No need to get so graphic, Heero, sheesh.”
The bus swerved again, forcing him to catch onto a seat just to hold his balance. When he looked back at the other man, who was clutching the hand bar as the bus swerved away from its lane, he saw him giving the driver’s seat an angry glance.
What the hell? He thought in panic, grabbing a hold of one of the seats as the bus swerved madly before righting itself, taking over its previous lane. And the gas was floored, with giggling coming from the driver’s seat. What he didn’t know was that four of the DustBunnies were taking control of the bus, with two fighting over the steering wheel, and two working the gas pedal.
Trowa looked over at Heero, clutching the hand bar.
“Well, this time I won’t carry out my plans,” he said, his voice monotonous and cold. It was as if he were merely discussing something that made him upset, such as finding out that the last can of Pepsi had been taken, and a substitute had to be instituted.
Heero then frowned again as DustBunnies appeared suddenly; they filled the floor, seats, and some parts of the ceiling. They hissed at him, all of them displaying their teeth, all of them eager to rip into him. Eyeing them warily, Heero held onto his seat with a tight grip. Then he shot Trowa an exasperated expression. How was he going to explain this one to his manager and his parole officer?
In that instant, the DustBunnies attacked him, and he found himself punching and kicking just to get the things off. Meanwhile, Trowa began his villainistic dialogue once more.
“But you can count on the next time being successful. You can’t be there all the time to stop me. What are you, a superhero following stupid idealism to my villainy? Isn’t that a little cliche?”
Heero managed to fling five of the furry things off of him, and growled, “You’ll be stopped. Whether it’s by me, or by the law.”
“Oh. I’m trembling. Can’t you see me?” Trowa replied, looking as indifferent as he had before. His voice hadn’t even changed to match the content of his words.
Heero frowned at the creatures that suddenly swelled in number around him. The bus suddenly swerved again, sending all of them against the left side. Many DustBunny bodies slammed into the windows, Heero hit the seat behind him, Trowa fumbled to the floor; the ‘drivers’ giggled and laughed insanely as one gripped the wheel within his teeth, and hung off the right side, sending the bus across two lanes and into a hilly road that was lined with small trees and brush.
The ones on the gas pedal pressed forward, giggling as the bus smashed through trees and brush, and finally slammed to a stop, sending everyone flying forward. Trowa cursed as he found himself smashing through the windshield, followed by his minions. The ones at the steering wheel were crushed as the airbag deployed, smashing them against the seat. The ones at the gas pedal giggled and escaped as the bus flattened down on its left side.
The impact with the terrain didn’t even faze Trowa. Somehow, he was invincible to pain. He spat out dirt and fur as he rose from the ground, glaring at the DustBunnies that had lived through the impact. Many were splattered all around him. He turned, glaring at the crashed bus that lay at an angle against the hill, sirens sounding off in the distance. He cursed again, and sank into the shadows, his minions following with giggles that faded into the night.
Inside the bus, Heero recovered from impact, with an intensity that seemed wrong. Shouldn’t he feel some sort of pain and injury from that crash? All he knew was, if he were caught, Chang would have him jailed. And there was no way he could explain this one to the cops...
Hauling ass to the broken windshield, he was up and out of the bus within a blink of an eye. He then began running toward work, to get as far away from the crash as possible.
“Huff...huff...hack! hack!...huff...huff...huff...hack!...huff...”
He really had to stop smoking...
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The radio was on when Trowa finally stumbled into his home two hours later. Catherine was placed at the edge of the coffee table, her Spider-Man face pointing in his direction. Trowa stared down at her, his clothing tattered and bloodied in certain areas. But he didn’t feel any pain. That was an odd thing...
Catherine took her time to speak, and the DustBunnies filed into their apartment, immediately filling up any available area.
Well...don’t you look a sight?
“Shut. Up.”
How was your mission?
“Unsuccessful. I’ll have to wait for Heero to be..disposed of. Or try and get him arrested. Whichever comes first....”
Ooh...take me with you.
Trowa obediently picked her up, and headed toward his bedroom. Duo was there, lying on his bed, snoring loudly. With a scowl, Trowa turned on a bedside lamp, and lifted a leg. With a smooth thrust, he kicked Duo off his bed. The teen fell to the floor with a surprised shout, reappearing moments later with a frazzled expression. As he studied his older brother, Trowa heard him breathe a sigh of relief. But for whom?
I tried talking to him, Trowa. But he won’t listen to me, Catherine complained. I feel old and inept. Completely incapable of spreading my word to those that’ll listen. I think he needs his ears boxed, or something...
“Trowa,” Duo began, sitting on his knees and leaning on the bed with his elbows, “this thing with Quatre... can’t he be left alone? I mean...he’s...I don’t like the idea of you using him that way!”
Trowa lifted an eyebrow, looking over at him as he stripped off his ruined shirt, and pulled on a plain gray shirt. He didn’t feel tired; so he wasn’t going to sleep. He glanced at the clock, realizing that he had to be at work by eight. He looked back at Duo.
“And what makes your decision so monumental to me?” he asked smoothly, taking on the persona of a licensed doctor. He even made his face serene, so that it seemed as if he cared.
Duo worried his bottom lip. He recognized that tone. Fiddling with Blanket, he said, “Just knowing that you wanna kill Quatre makes me feel...really...really bad about it. And I don’t want to be part of it. Catherine told me you want to use me for that aspect, but I can’t. I just...can’t...”
“It’s not your decision, Duo. It’s mine. And it’s none of your business. And Catherine shouldn’t be opening her big mouth to people that should not be knowing my plans!” Trowa ended with a pointed expression at the pez dispenser. Catherine whistled as she faced the wall. Trowa scowled, taking off a shoe, and flinging it in her direction.
At the sight of the dispenser flying onto the floor with an indignant screech, Duo looked at his brother with some concern. “Where did you get all beat up at? I mean...that’s weird. It looked like you got into a fight...”
Trowa flicked him a glance, narrowing his eyes. Changing out of his ruined jeans and into a pair of lounge pants, he decided the subject was closed. He didn’t want Duo knowing anything more. He left the bedroom, wide awake and ill at ease as he flicked on the television set.
Duo followed him, with all the similar expression of a lost puppy. He sat down beside Trowa on the couch, the older man looking at his bare feet with something akin to dissatisfaction. Duo got up from the couch, and rummaged through various drawers in the kitchen for the clippers. When he found them, he sat down on the floor at Trowa’s feet, and began the task of trimming the even lengths. They weren’t even long, but Duo knew, without asking, what the other one wanted.
He glanced up at his older brother, seeing that Trowa was suddenly focused on the television set. Duo sighed quietly–he wouldn’t be getting anything more out of him, and as for those wounds...well, it wasn’t his place to ask. Trowa would take care of them himself and would say nothing about them. He was surprised that he’d said what he did in the bedroom. He must have been really worked over on something.
He could hear Catherine’s indignant screeches from the bedroom, but he ignored the dispenser. Because it was just him and his brother, and these moments were more precious than most.
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Taking a shower two hours later, Trowa closed his eyes and ducked underneath the spray. It felt good to have the heat on his body, and he ignored the sound of the DustBunnies as they converged into the bathroom through the slit underneath the door. It was odd–despite their rotund size and their length, they were able to get through the thinnest of spaces. They squeaked and giggled happily as they took over the toilet, the sink, the medicine cabinet, the towel cabinet...Trowa ignored them as several found themselves at his feet, being soaked by the hot water.
As they squealed and danced in indignation, Trowa thought about what he’d failed to accomplish tonight. Quatre had been right there...another inch over, and Trowa would have been able to reach out and touch his blue tinged hair. But then that Heero had to show up...he was going to be a nuisance in the future, Trowa just knew it. But why would Heero Yuy make such an effort?
He sure grew up since Trowa last seen him–the first and last time he’d seen Heero was that day he, as a twelve year old, whapped him with a stick for kicking Quatre around. He’d been so defiant...standing up to an older person.
He did so now, annoying Trowa with his ability to show up at the worst times, to keep him from acquiring the last aspect of his plans. With a list that extended longer than his right arm, Trowa had many kills and tortures that left favorable memory.
All of his victims had been light haired and blue eyed...all of them male...all of them resembling the Predator, but then not. They were ugly, they were pretty, they were tall, short, fat, and skinny. The Predator had been tall–his shoulders broad–his face handsome and attractive–his hair long and falling past his waist...Quatre was none of these descriptions, but he was the only one that Trowa hadn’t yet acquired, and, for some reason, he was more important than the actual Predator himself.
He thought that it could be the fact that his hate for the boy had stemmed from their childhood–the boy had been happy and carefree, innocent and profoundly childlike...Trowa could remember sitting on his front porch, watching the boy play with Duo or by himself, looking eternally cute and lovely...and he hated the little boy for being that way. For being too innocent. For being too young.
Feeling that hatred now, he opened his eyes, staring blankly at the wall. Yes...yes, while the Predator had been tall and masculine, preying on his victims with an arrogance that made him tremble with rage even now, Quatre was short and pathetic, still eternally childlike and innocent.
He never found out who the Predator was...research on the victims he’d left dead had yielded no results. But...a year after That Summer, the killings stopped suddenly. As if the killer had moved, or...had met with unfortunate circumstance that was not related to Trowa.
If he died, that would be truly unfair. The Predator needed his own brand of torture, just to know what it felt like. Trowa would be very angry if, by some chance, the man had changed his tune or just died in some accident. And, of course, he’d transfer his anger to the boy.
He washed his hair, and finished up with his shower. The DustBunnies moved fluidly around his feet, keeping him from stumbling over them, and assisted him in various things. One handed him a towel, another readied a razor and his favorite shaving cream. Others handed out his clothing in order of wear, with one fumbling with pants first, then underwear. This one was quickly eaten by its peers. No mistakes were made for their master...
After he was dressed, Trowa adjusted a towel over his shoulders, and shaved quickly, the DustBunnies taking up almost every available inch in his bathroom. Yet, they were not in his way.
Several of them squeezed in, squeaking loudly. One of them climbed up onto the counter, speaking in a hushed whisper. Trowa cut his cheek in surprise, looking at the thing with disbelief. The DustBunny nodded furiously, rabbit ears bobbing.
Trowa dabbed on some toilet paper over the cut, and emerged from the bathroom. With a pained grimace, he looked up at the clock. He would not make it if he visited his new victim before work. He would get all distracted with his work...with a frustrated sigh, he gave the order to have his victim released, to be captured another day.
There was a cry of outrage and surprise from his minions, especially from the one on the counter. It danced in anger, squeaking furiously over the actions it had to take to carry out his beloved master’s plans.
“I’m truly sorry...but if I had known earlier...but I thank you for your efforts. You are much too kind and are far too intelligent to be stupid,” Trowa said fondly. This DustBunny took this praise very highly, and grew a little bigger.
Shutting the door behind him, Trowa dressed for work, ready to put in an honest eight hours of work at Bank S.
Heero took a deep inhale of his cigarette, his eyes still wide as he stared at the television. The faded black and white fizzled as the rain dropped, and his couch reeked of alcohol.
What had just happened back there? He thought, his cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth. Those things...those furry things...what were they? And why...? Why was Trowa there, being all...megalomaniacal? All...evil?
Something just didn’t fit in this picture. Something didn’t fit at all, and he had no idea of what to make about it all. He stared at the fuzzy picture in his television set, and wondered what the hell was going on. Trowa had mentioned staying away from Quatre–of course, this triggered something deep inside of Heero, something protective and cautious. Of course Trowa wanted the boy–but for what reason? What reason did he have that made him want the boy in such ways? To do mean and evil things to him, based on some sick childhood fantasy? Or was this some sort of man has a crush on a boy sort of thing, and was simply telling him to get the fuck away because he was jealous?
Heero couldn’t figure it out. He did not know Trowa. He knew only what Quatre had told him, and that hadn’t been very productive. All he knew was that Trowa was Duo’s adopted older brother, and the guy had problems. Other than that, he had no idea how old the guy was, what his nationality was, his favorite color...Trowa Barton was a stranger, and somehow, he fit in the picture. But his overall evil didn’t.
Heero found himself caught in the middle of some fantastical game that wasn’t very realistic, nor very clear. And the deal with those fuzzies? How did he ever get the strength to fight them? They had been all stronger than a single man, weighing as much–yet, he dealt with them as if they had been nothing. Their weight had been nothing when he began flinging them off. They had died with as much impact an egg had against a brick wall. Trowa had mentioned that they were DustBunnies...
“What the fuck is going on?” he whispered, digging out another cigarette, and lighting that one from the end of the one he was still smoking. Crushing out the first, he inhaled the second, glancing up at the wall clock. In two hours, Quatre’s shift ended. He should be there–just in case. In case things turned even more screwier, and he was suddenly seeing the teen’s picture in tomorrow’s paper, the headlines declaring how he’d been found, murdered.
This, of course, had his hands trembling with a velocity that had him clueless. Cigarette dangling from his lips, he stared down at his shaking fingers. He lifted an arm, and pictured one of Quatre’s class pictures set in the middle of the newspaper, his lips curled in a self-conscious curve that was neither a smile or a frown, but a miscalculated movement. The headline would read: “Boy, 17, Found Dead In Alleyway of Work”. Or something along those lines.
His stomach made a uncharacteristic lurch that had him coughing smoke, his cigarette flying from his lips. Okay. Okay, so he would miss the boy. But in the end...would it be for good? This bond he had with Quatre–would it be severed, rendering him free? But...he had feelings for him, right? He noticed when Quatre wasn’t around, or if he saw the teen in the throes of self-conscious mopiness. He noticed when the boy spoke to him, and made a note of the subject, but...
Heero was confused. Confused and bewildered, and he didn’t know what to do. He pulled his legs onto the couch, sprawling out onto his back so that he stared up at the water stained ceiling. Drawing a hand over his forehead, so that his messy hair was propped away from his face, he pondered his future.
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Duo raced home, his braid whipping along behind him. Seeing that Quatre was gone after school, preventing him from talking further with him, Duo felt himself panic. He just knew that Trowa was going to go after him. His reasons were always his own–Trowa never shared them with him. But why Quatre? Duo felt so horribly torn that he was involved in this situation. He loved and cared for his brother–and on the other hand, he cared for his former friend, with whom he shared a valuable friendship. To have to choose–! To be older and to know the actual depth of his feelings was something utterly stressful.
As a child, his love for Trowa was simple and uncomplicated. But as he grew older, became more aware of things, things were different. He wanted to stop Trowa, but at the same time, administer whatever help the older man needed. Not that he’d help Trowa kill Quatre, but...but in whatever way he could. But if it really came down to it, if Trowa was really so desperate...would Duo find himself in a situation in which he had to choose all over again?
He lowered his head, cursing as he ran. Trowa didn’t carry a cellphone on him–that was not an option. He didn’t want to be traced or have the phone give his presence away when he was working. Duo wasn’t sure how to get into contact with him. Racing into their apartment, out of breath, Duo glanced over the contents of their apartment, and was startled to see that Catherine was left standing on the coffee table.
Finally! She declared, her blank Spider-Man face looking at him pointedly. Some company!
“What are you doing here?” Duo asked, clearly confused. Trowa never left home without his Voice of Insanity–which was what he’d dubbed her.
Trowa was a little uppity about our plans, she said on a sigh. That SM face continued to stare at him, blank and devoid of life, but her childish voice rang clear as day within Duo’s mind. That had been something that bothered him–was Catherine really a voice that ran through his and Trowa’s minds, or was she simply a voice that no one else could hear?
He didn’t want to hear what I had to say about things...which reminds me, Duo...have you met with your friend, today? Trowa was so sure that you’d go to the very same school with him...oh, and some guy left you a message on the machine.
Duo stared at her with some uncertainty, then crossed the living room to depress the answering machine activation button. Sure enough, the manager of the burger joint he’d applied to wanted him to come to an interview tomorrow night at six. He erased the message, then frowned as he turned toward Catherine. The pez dispenser was still facing the door, and he really had issues with handling the thing...he crossed the floor to the single green couch, flopping onto it with a tired sigh. Rubbing his face, bangs becoming disrupted, he looked at Catherine again.
“What plans?” he asked.
I can’t see you, dear.
“I don’t wanna move you. You creep me out. You know that.”
Duo, I am appalled that you think such things! Turn me around!
“No,” Duo muttered, rubbing his eyes.
Fine. I’ll do it myself.
He snorted, rolling his eyes as he removed his hands. But he stilled when he saw that Catherine was now facing him. How...?
Now, she started, her SM face pointed at him. Listen to me. Trowa left me behind, actually, to talk some sense into you. I’m sure that by now you figured out why Trowa moved to this particular gloomy place... frankly, I don’t care for the rain, but it does romantic wonders for the place, don’t you think? Anyway, I’m pretty sure you’re feeling upset and betrayed by the fact that Trowa moved here for him...you know who ‘him’ is, right?
Duo nodded, recovering from his shock of her movement.
He is the face of the Predator...the very same face that Trowa despises with all his being...his mission is clear, Duo, and he is not to be stopped. Sensing that the Predator will forever be elusive to us, he has chosen the next best thing...
Duo stared at her with a confounded expression. He’d never heard Trowa’s reasoning for wanting Quatre, and for Catherine to spill such information made him wonder. Quatre? The face of Trowa’s...Predator?
“It doesn’t make sense,” he heard himself whisper.
No...it wouldn’t, but to Trowa and I, it does. When one can’t find the actual thing, one will settle for a substitute. And that boy is the closest to Trowa’s substitute as possible. And this is where you come into the picture, Duo! Isn’t this fun?
Duo blinked, his hair slowly falling back into place over his forehead and eyes. Did he just hear...?
We want you to lure him in...draw him into a sense of security so that Trowa could strike–
“No.”
–and–what ? What did you just say?
“I said no. No, I won’t help him. Not this time. Not...not with this. Quatre...he...he was my best friend, Catherine. I can’t help my brother plot to kill him! That’s just insane! That’s not right!”
Duo! Calm yourself! I can’t stand it when people start shouting! Makes them all crazy-like.
“And, really, did Trowa know this person? This...this Predator?”
No. He didn’t. Which is why we’re focusing in on Quatre, Duo-honey.
“Then why is he striking at someone he knows, and why doesn’t he focus on someone he doesn’t?” Duo asked in a rush of breath.
Catherine stared at him in silence. The apartment, with its thin walls, admitted the sounds from the life of the city outside. Something was dripping in the kitchen. One of their neighbors was blasting rock music.
And Catherine continued to stare, her SM face unblinking or moving. Duo found himself growing squeamish as he shifted in his seat, looking at her with an expression of uncertainty. Just as he was going to speak, Catherine launched herself at him. He shouted out loud at the fact that she was able to move on her own. How was she able to move on her own?
The pez dispenser landed on him, but with much panicked effort, Duo batted her off his sweater, watching her sail onto the other end of the couch. He propped himself on the armrest of his end, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with disbelief. When she spoke, her voice was muffled by the cushions.
Why do you think he works, idiot? Of course he would take those that resemble the looks of his Predator, but the main one is him! Is that boy! He wants that boy specifically to justify his actions, for giving a message to the world! Of course he’d take random idiots that look like him! When he gets to the actual person, it’s a whole different ballgame!
“This is insane,” Duo muttered to himself, getting up from the couch. “This doesn’t make sense, Catherine. I don’t understand...I know...I won’t do it. I won’t be involved with this one.”
You’re already involved, Duo. Why do you think Trowa kept you all this time?
Duo stared at her, unblinking. To actually hear the words...
He shook his head, and moved away from the couch. Heading over to the phone, and grabbed the phone book, and began looking for Quatre’s number. When that didn’t yield anything, he called information. But in the end, as he set the phone down, he realized that Catherine was right.
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That night, around two a.m., Quatre stumbled from the back door of the fast food eatery, and hurried toward the bus stop. He was tired, felt terribly greasy from the food, and he knew he reeked of countless tomatoes, onions and ketchup. The city was quiet at this time of night, and it was threatening to rain again. He pulled on his jacket over his uniform, yawning as he shuffled his way toward the bus stop. There were multiple shadows and questionable people out at night, but he was too tired to really concentrate on them. As far as he was concerned, people weren’t interested in him at all. Acne did that to people–the sight of ugliness kept him safe, and the sight of punk/goth made others look away with disgust. In all the time that he’d been here, he hadn’t had a single person come up to him with interest, and felt cursed and blessed with that knowledge.
Ugly people never get attacked, he thought with some security as he plopped down on the bus bench. He took out his cellphone, dialed his home number, and let it ring once. Hanging up, he knew that his father had interpreted the signal as he was coming home. He put the phone away, and leaned against the back of the bench, sighing with exhaustion. At least he’d have extra money come to him for taking over the guy’s shift. That was a plus. And they were paid weekly, so he felt good about next Wednesday.
Looking up, he wondered how long he had to wait for this bus, and jiggled his knee. The visor that he wore helped out with the drizzle, keeping it from hitting his eyes as he looked down the street for any possible sight of the bus. He couldn’t wait to get home, have some peanut butter, and hit the couch. He would be too tired to drag himself upstairs to his bedroom, and he commonly slept on the couch, anyway.
He wondered if he’d remembered to write down his homework assignments, and thus, he began thinking about Duo. He sighed, hanging his head, fiddling with his dry fingers. Seeing Duo Maxwell had been nothing short of surprising. And he’d grown into such a beautiful teen...that hair of his, always unkept and dirty when he was a child, had been glossy and thick. His baby fat was obviously less than most teens, making his facial features stand out. He had large violet eyes that were framed with thick lashes, a straight nose that was both thin and perfect, and lips that looked easy to curl into a smile. And absolutely no blemishes...
Quatre had seen the way his classmates had looked at Duo, their eyes alight with curiosity and interest; some with disgust and unease. The boy’s very presence had caused a stir, and it seemed as if Duo didn’t care. If put in that position, where he was accepted and liked for what he looked like, Quatre was sure he wouldn’t have any problems at all.
As it were, to have acne and to dress the way he did was enough to keep him from being accepted. And this shyness problem of his...well...that was a whole other issue. He was sure that if he forced himself out more, forced himself to speak and interact with others, he wouldn’t have problems. But he just couldn’t because he was just...afraid...
Someone giggled nearby, and it made him snap up from his weariness as he realized all the hairs on the back of his neck and arms were rising. He looked over the bench, staring into the darkness as he heard the shuffle of movement from the shadows nearby. Something with glass tinkled, and more giggling ensued.
Why did that sound so familiar...?
He rose from the bench to investigate. It couldn’t be children at this time of night...he ventured toward the shadows that came in from an empty lot, with a broken wooden fence enclosing it from the world. Ducking, he tried peering into the sad brush that grew here and there within the lot, and heard movement from his right. He lifted his head, removing his visor so that he could see better. There. Something furry...a rabbit? Well, wasn’t that rare–?
He looked away when a car screeched to a stop behind him. Surprised to see that it was Heero, he forgot about the rabbit and hurried over with a bright smile on his face.
“Hi!” he said through the window, then opened the door to get in. He felt so happy that the man was here, that he’d obviously thought of him...!
Heero looked beyond him, out the window on his end, then looked back at him. His eyes were rimmed with darkness, so Quatre wondered if he’d even slept. “Did you talk to anyone?”
“Huh? No,” Quatre answered, giving him a questioning expression. He settled in the seat with his bag over his lap, his visor askew. Straightening that, he shook his head.
Heero nodded with firm resolve, and peeled out of there. “You shouldn’t be out by yourself. Your father should be here to make sure you’re getting home all right.”
Quatre flushed with pleasure in that Heero thought so protectively of him. He didn’t know what to say. His fingers clutched his bag tightly, and it took all he had to keep from beaming over at the older one with a grateful yet lovesick puppy look. He didn’t want Heero to get the wrong idea...
Sputtering out with, “O-oh, he worries, but it’s really no hassle. I mean, the bus stop is just right there, and–”
“Your father’s an imbecile if he thinks you’ll be okay with all these strange people around,” Heero muttered, lighting another cigarette. “There’s not many out there that will turn down the chance to bother some kid on the chance that he’s got money or some valuable electronic in his bag. You need to be careful out there.”
“I am, Heero, really! It’s fine! And this is only a one time thing, because Harrison–”
“I don’t want to hear it. Just make sure your father is here the next time you decide to work late, got it?”
“Y-yes, Heero,” Quatre said, flashing him another pleased smile, that flush still present on his cheeks. He cares! Was all he thought.
Heero just wondered how close Trowa had tried to get to him, frowning at the thought. When they reached Quatre’s condo nearly thirty minutes later, the boy got out of the car, and shouted his appreciation. Without a reply, Heero was driving off into the night. Quatre watched the Camaro take a wrong turn down a one-way street, and sighed when he heard indignant horns moments later. He turned and began walking toward his condo, reaching up to scratch his scalp.
Five minutes later, he had thrown his things on the couch, and had a jar of peanut butter in one hand. He peeked in on his father, who was asleep, snoring loudly. Quatre chewed as quietly as he could as he turned away from his bedroom, double-checking the Easy Wipe calender in the hall. They were placed strategically throughout the place so that his father could have no excuse to back out from an appointment. He walked into the hall bathroom, and set the jar aside, needing to pee very badly. He caught his reflection in the mirror, grimacing at the sight of his pimples. Frantically, he took off the cap to an overnight formula, and began dotting that all over his more angry spots. Then, washing his hands, he moved to the toilet.
When he opened the lid, he paused, staring into the water with an expression of hesitation.
Wow, father left a funny looking turd, he thought, blinking as the thing in the water shifted. He didn’t even make a sound as furry things attacked him from their various spots all over the bathroom, dragging him onto the floor. Giggling, one of the DustBunnies shut off the light and politely closed the lid as they trailed out from the bathroom.
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Heero gave a low sigh as the bus he took to work ambled into view. He had just parked his car and sat down at the bus bench when he heard the familiar growl of its engine. When it paused for him, he climbed on. Yawning, he took a seat in the middle, and settled as the bus began its drive. Staring out the window, Heero reflected on the near miss Trowa had with Quatre. He was sure he’d arrived in time, since Quatre seemed the same as usual. The teen was much too chirpy for early morning hours, though, and just the thought of him smiling in the car was enough to make Heero scowl. Who, in their right human mind, smiled at two a.m.??
“Long day?”
He jerked himself from his thoughts as he looked up at the bus driver, whose face was masked by the cap that he wore. The mirror was even adjusted so that Heero could not see his face from his angle. Unsure if he were speaking to him, Heero glanced around, but saw that he was the only occupant of the bus. He didn’t bother to answer, to keep from encouraging the lonely bastard from talking to him. He returned his attention to the window.
“Heading home for the night?”
Heero continued to ignore him, looking out the window. He itched for a cigarette, his fingers twitching in anticipation. He really needed to stop. He thought of the Nicorette pieces that were stashed all over. Some were outdated, but, hell–if they produced the wanted results, who was he to complain?
He heard the bus driver chuckle. When Heero glanced in his direction, he felt that there was something about that man that had him suddenly cautious. He glanced out the window once more, to see them passing by a loaded bus stop, people staring after them in surprise. And the bus gave a sudden lurch to the left, taking a turn much too sharp. He was flung to the floor with a surprised shout.
Rising, Heero looked at the driver, seeing that he’d left his seat, and was standing at the mouth of the aisle.
“Damn you, Yuy! Damn you and your interference with what destiny has to be!” the driver was shouting, shaking his fist. It was Trowa, dressed as the driver. He’d hijacked the city bus just to yell at him.
There was something entirely comical about the entire thing–but Heero could not find strength to laugh.
“Psychotic windbag! Stop this bus! You’re insane!” Heero shouted back, his voice gruff with cigarettes and determination. He felt his ire rise as he stared at Trowa in outraged shock.
“Insane? Insane? Was I insane when I first walked on, or when I killed the real driver and stuffed him in a mail box?”
“Rabbit pedophile fucker!”
“No need to get so graphic, Heero, sheesh.”
The bus swerved again, forcing him to catch onto a seat just to hold his balance. When he looked back at the other man, who was clutching the hand bar as the bus swerved away from its lane, he saw him giving the driver’s seat an angry glance.
What the hell? He thought in panic, grabbing a hold of one of the seats as the bus swerved madly before righting itself, taking over its previous lane. And the gas was floored, with giggling coming from the driver’s seat. What he didn’t know was that four of the DustBunnies were taking control of the bus, with two fighting over the steering wheel, and two working the gas pedal.
Trowa looked over at Heero, clutching the hand bar.
“Well, this time I won’t carry out my plans,” he said, his voice monotonous and cold. It was as if he were merely discussing something that made him upset, such as finding out that the last can of Pepsi had been taken, and a substitute had to be instituted.
Heero then frowned again as DustBunnies appeared suddenly; they filled the floor, seats, and some parts of the ceiling. They hissed at him, all of them displaying their teeth, all of them eager to rip into him. Eyeing them warily, Heero held onto his seat with a tight grip. Then he shot Trowa an exasperated expression. How was he going to explain this one to his manager and his parole officer?
In that instant, the DustBunnies attacked him, and he found himself punching and kicking just to get the things off. Meanwhile, Trowa began his villainistic dialogue once more.
“But you can count on the next time being successful. You can’t be there all the time to stop me. What are you, a superhero following stupid idealism to my villainy? Isn’t that a little cliche?”
Heero managed to fling five of the furry things off of him, and growled, “You’ll be stopped. Whether it’s by me, or by the law.”
“Oh. I’m trembling. Can’t you see me?” Trowa replied, looking as indifferent as he had before. His voice hadn’t even changed to match the content of his words.
Heero frowned at the creatures that suddenly swelled in number around him. The bus suddenly swerved again, sending all of them against the left side. Many DustBunny bodies slammed into the windows, Heero hit the seat behind him, Trowa fumbled to the floor; the ‘drivers’ giggled and laughed insanely as one gripped the wheel within his teeth, and hung off the right side, sending the bus across two lanes and into a hilly road that was lined with small trees and brush.
The ones on the gas pedal pressed forward, giggling as the bus smashed through trees and brush, and finally slammed to a stop, sending everyone flying forward. Trowa cursed as he found himself smashing through the windshield, followed by his minions. The ones at the steering wheel were crushed as the airbag deployed, smashing them against the seat. The ones at the gas pedal giggled and escaped as the bus flattened down on its left side.
The impact with the terrain didn’t even faze Trowa. Somehow, he was invincible to pain. He spat out dirt and fur as he rose from the ground, glaring at the DustBunnies that had lived through the impact. Many were splattered all around him. He turned, glaring at the crashed bus that lay at an angle against the hill, sirens sounding off in the distance. He cursed again, and sank into the shadows, his minions following with giggles that faded into the night.
Inside the bus, Heero recovered from impact, with an intensity that seemed wrong. Shouldn’t he feel some sort of pain and injury from that crash? All he knew was, if he were caught, Chang would have him jailed. And there was no way he could explain this one to the cops...
Hauling ass to the broken windshield, he was up and out of the bus within a blink of an eye. He then began running toward work, to get as far away from the crash as possible.
“Huff...huff...hack! hack!...huff...huff...huff...hack!...huff...”
He really had to stop smoking...
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The radio was on when Trowa finally stumbled into his home two hours later. Catherine was placed at the edge of the coffee table, her Spider-Man face pointing in his direction. Trowa stared down at her, his clothing tattered and bloodied in certain areas. But he didn’t feel any pain. That was an odd thing...
Catherine took her time to speak, and the DustBunnies filed into their apartment, immediately filling up any available area.
Well...don’t you look a sight?
“Shut. Up.”
How was your mission?
“Unsuccessful. I’ll have to wait for Heero to be..disposed of. Or try and get him arrested. Whichever comes first....”
Ooh...take me with you.
Trowa obediently picked her up, and headed toward his bedroom. Duo was there, lying on his bed, snoring loudly. With a scowl, Trowa turned on a bedside lamp, and lifted a leg. With a smooth thrust, he kicked Duo off his bed. The teen fell to the floor with a surprised shout, reappearing moments later with a frazzled expression. As he studied his older brother, Trowa heard him breathe a sigh of relief. But for whom?
I tried talking to him, Trowa. But he won’t listen to me, Catherine complained. I feel old and inept. Completely incapable of spreading my word to those that’ll listen. I think he needs his ears boxed, or something...
“Trowa,” Duo began, sitting on his knees and leaning on the bed with his elbows, “this thing with Quatre... can’t he be left alone? I mean...he’s...I don’t like the idea of you using him that way!”
Trowa lifted an eyebrow, looking over at him as he stripped off his ruined shirt, and pulled on a plain gray shirt. He didn’t feel tired; so he wasn’t going to sleep. He glanced at the clock, realizing that he had to be at work by eight. He looked back at Duo.
“And what makes your decision so monumental to me?” he asked smoothly, taking on the persona of a licensed doctor. He even made his face serene, so that it seemed as if he cared.
Duo worried his bottom lip. He recognized that tone. Fiddling with Blanket, he said, “Just knowing that you wanna kill Quatre makes me feel...really...really bad about it. And I don’t want to be part of it. Catherine told me you want to use me for that aspect, but I can’t. I just...can’t...”
“It’s not your decision, Duo. It’s mine. And it’s none of your business. And Catherine shouldn’t be opening her big mouth to people that should not be knowing my plans!” Trowa ended with a pointed expression at the pez dispenser. Catherine whistled as she faced the wall. Trowa scowled, taking off a shoe, and flinging it in her direction.
At the sight of the dispenser flying onto the floor with an indignant screech, Duo looked at his brother with some concern. “Where did you get all beat up at? I mean...that’s weird. It looked like you got into a fight...”
Trowa flicked him a glance, narrowing his eyes. Changing out of his ruined jeans and into a pair of lounge pants, he decided the subject was closed. He didn’t want Duo knowing anything more. He left the bedroom, wide awake and ill at ease as he flicked on the television set.
Duo followed him, with all the similar expression of a lost puppy. He sat down beside Trowa on the couch, the older man looking at his bare feet with something akin to dissatisfaction. Duo got up from the couch, and rummaged through various drawers in the kitchen for the clippers. When he found them, he sat down on the floor at Trowa’s feet, and began the task of trimming the even lengths. They weren’t even long, but Duo knew, without asking, what the other one wanted.
He glanced up at his older brother, seeing that Trowa was suddenly focused on the television set. Duo sighed quietly–he wouldn’t be getting anything more out of him, and as for those wounds...well, it wasn’t his place to ask. Trowa would take care of them himself and would say nothing about them. He was surprised that he’d said what he did in the bedroom. He must have been really worked over on something.
He could hear Catherine’s indignant screeches from the bedroom, but he ignored the dispenser. Because it was just him and his brother, and these moments were more precious than most.
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Taking a shower two hours later, Trowa closed his eyes and ducked underneath the spray. It felt good to have the heat on his body, and he ignored the sound of the DustBunnies as they converged into the bathroom through the slit underneath the door. It was odd–despite their rotund size and their length, they were able to get through the thinnest of spaces. They squeaked and giggled happily as they took over the toilet, the sink, the medicine cabinet, the towel cabinet...Trowa ignored them as several found themselves at his feet, being soaked by the hot water.
As they squealed and danced in indignation, Trowa thought about what he’d failed to accomplish tonight. Quatre had been right there...another inch over, and Trowa would have been able to reach out and touch his blue tinged hair. But then that Heero had to show up...he was going to be a nuisance in the future, Trowa just knew it. But why would Heero Yuy make such an effort?
He sure grew up since Trowa last seen him–the first and last time he’d seen Heero was that day he, as a twelve year old, whapped him with a stick for kicking Quatre around. He’d been so defiant...standing up to an older person.
He did so now, annoying Trowa with his ability to show up at the worst times, to keep him from acquiring the last aspect of his plans. With a list that extended longer than his right arm, Trowa had many kills and tortures that left favorable memory.
All of his victims had been light haired and blue eyed...all of them male...all of them resembling the Predator, but then not. They were ugly, they were pretty, they were tall, short, fat, and skinny. The Predator had been tall–his shoulders broad–his face handsome and attractive–his hair long and falling past his waist...Quatre was none of these descriptions, but he was the only one that Trowa hadn’t yet acquired, and, for some reason, he was more important than the actual Predator himself.
He thought that it could be the fact that his hate for the boy had stemmed from their childhood–the boy had been happy and carefree, innocent and profoundly childlike...Trowa could remember sitting on his front porch, watching the boy play with Duo or by himself, looking eternally cute and lovely...and he hated the little boy for being that way. For being too innocent. For being too young.
Feeling that hatred now, he opened his eyes, staring blankly at the wall. Yes...yes, while the Predator had been tall and masculine, preying on his victims with an arrogance that made him tremble with rage even now, Quatre was short and pathetic, still eternally childlike and innocent.
He never found out who the Predator was...research on the victims he’d left dead had yielded no results. But...a year after That Summer, the killings stopped suddenly. As if the killer had moved, or...had met with unfortunate circumstance that was not related to Trowa.
If he died, that would be truly unfair. The Predator needed his own brand of torture, just to know what it felt like. Trowa would be very angry if, by some chance, the man had changed his tune or just died in some accident. And, of course, he’d transfer his anger to the boy.
He washed his hair, and finished up with his shower. The DustBunnies moved fluidly around his feet, keeping him from stumbling over them, and assisted him in various things. One handed him a towel, another readied a razor and his favorite shaving cream. Others handed out his clothing in order of wear, with one fumbling with pants first, then underwear. This one was quickly eaten by its peers. No mistakes were made for their master...
After he was dressed, Trowa adjusted a towel over his shoulders, and shaved quickly, the DustBunnies taking up almost every available inch in his bathroom. Yet, they were not in his way.
Several of them squeezed in, squeaking loudly. One of them climbed up onto the counter, speaking in a hushed whisper. Trowa cut his cheek in surprise, looking at the thing with disbelief. The DustBunny nodded furiously, rabbit ears bobbing.
Trowa dabbed on some toilet paper over the cut, and emerged from the bathroom. With a pained grimace, he looked up at the clock. He would not make it if he visited his new victim before work. He would get all distracted with his work...with a frustrated sigh, he gave the order to have his victim released, to be captured another day.
There was a cry of outrage and surprise from his minions, especially from the one on the counter. It danced in anger, squeaking furiously over the actions it had to take to carry out his beloved master’s plans.
“I’m truly sorry...but if I had known earlier...but I thank you for your efforts. You are much too kind and are far too intelligent to be stupid,” Trowa said fondly. This DustBunny took this praise very highly, and grew a little bigger.
Shutting the door behind him, Trowa dressed for work, ready to put in an honest eight hours of work at Bank S.