Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Post Up...And One! ❯ My Own Worst Enemy ( Chapter 4 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

A/N: Soooo many apologies! It has (finally hit me) come to my attention that I hadn't loaded the rest of the written chapters for this story onto this site! Rereading the story just to know where I needed to load made me laugh---I can't help it. (snicker) I had a great sense of humor and fun back in the day...le sigh...I'll revise the chapters and load them up to the chapt where I (very sadly and unfortunately) left off. Please forgive me, all those that emailed me to ask for the rest of the chapters and for your praise on this insanity of Gundam Wing AU. It is because of all those people that I, ah, remember to upload. So THANK THEM BEFORE YOU GO TO BED! Heh. Rawr.

A/N2: Oh yeah, before I forget: I know this sounds super retarded, but I also completed two stories that are set in the future (think nearly two decades) of this storyline (with a few things adjusted here and there for Original Fiction...re: no GW characters present) that focuses mainly on 'Felicia's' son and his adventures. Heh. Just thought I'd whore out those stories with this one. (feels sneaky and devious)


Chapter Four:
“My Own Worst Enemy” Lit


The next day, Quatre was nervously pacing his living room floor. He had bought a few pieces of furniture and bits and slips of decorative houseware, but he had yet to remove them from their boxes and slip covers. As it were, it seemed as if he were in some sort of furniture warehouse without the price tags. He just hadn’t had time to fix things up the way that he wanted them. He withdrew his cell from his pocket, and flopped into the plastic covering that stretched over his dark blue couch, and flipped through the numbers. A glance at his watch told him that Jake should be arriving in twenty minutes, so he had time to bullshit. He found Trowa’s name and number, and hesitated as he chewed at his thumb nail.

Nearly eight months ago, he finally got rid of the cell phone Trowa had bought for him before heading out to Spain that one fateful year. Mainly because he’d forgotten the significance behind the phone, and was just entirely used to having one...Trowa had taken care of the phone bill, and hadn’t said anything in deference of the phone, so Quatre basically used it because it was a free phone. But Lana, a woman through and through and thinking of such things, had finally demanded that he return the phone based on good conscience. He’d protested of course, but Lana was going to have none of that.

So, in reluctance, feeling as if a part of his soul was being ripped away, he’d express-mailed the cell back to Trowa, and bemoaned the lack of connection he had with his friends. He’d planned on getting another, but Dost had come through with this one. This Sidekick, made infamous by a certain blond socialite, was programmed automatically with Dost-friendly numbers, his friends’ numbers, his family and emergency contact numbers...it was also capable of connecting to the Internet, text messaging, photos, blah, blah, blah. He figured he didn’t need all of that–he just wanted to talk to his friends. Why couldn’t there be a phone that was just capable of that? Why did everything have to be so damn fancy?

He stared at Trowa’s name on the window, highlighted in blue. All he had to do was activate the call, and he’d be connected to the guy’s cell.

Chewing absently at the flick of nail that he’d pulled up, he stared at Trowa’s name, and wondered if he would be doing the right thing.

Then he shrugged and activated the number. It wasn’t a big deal...Sylvia shouldn’t have to worry. After all, they knew each other before she came around. They had a longer history. She could take it however she wanted, but it would be the wrong reasons. Quatre was just going to say ‘hi’, nothing more. It wasn’t as if he were looking for a convenient fuck...but...he wouldn’t say ‘no’ if that ever came up–

“Leave a message,” came Trowa’s monotone demand, and Quatre rolled his eyes, hearing the beep on the other end.

“Hey, it’s me,” he began, removing his thumb from his mouth. “Just wondering what you’re doing...so, I got this apartment. On Longley and Patriot...uh, called Mountain Shadow...um...number 1126, behind the laundry...thingie. So...I was just calling and...uh...you know, wanting to see what you’re doing...and I’m kinda rambling right now, cuz I don’t know what to say...but, ah, I hope your...um, girlfriend isn’t going to get mad, but I was just wondering if you wanted to meet up sometime. You know? Just to...ah, talk. So, anyway, uh, my number’s–because I got a new number, and a new phone–my number’s 53-670-3245-21567. Really long number, huh? You know, because there’s so many freakin’ people out here, and–shit, I’m still rambling. Anyway, call me, all right? Or drop by. Whatever. I’m going to get my driver’s license today–and I’m AWARE that it’s kinda late, but–”

Quatre then groaned as the answering service cut his rambling short, and he deactivated the call. Shaking his head in annoyance at himself, he tossed his phone aside. It landed on the stretched plastic covering his couch, and slipped to the floor. He slouched his shoulders, and hoped that he didn’t sound desperate, or sad, or pathetically dopey in that long message he left. Trowa was probably going to hear it, roll his eyes, and mutter about retarded messages, but...

He rose from the plastic covering of his couch, and glared at the things that were left in his living room. He should really put together his entertainment center, take out his tv from its box...put everything away, but he didn’t rightly feel like it. He glanced over at his kitchen, noting that there were things still sitting outside the cupboards, that the sink was dripping continuously because he hadn’t shut it off completely. He frowned at the single spiderplant that was sitting on the floor, looking nervously wilted due to lack of sunlight and water. How was he supposed to take care of that?

He began chewing on his thumbnail again, and bent to poke at the wilting tendrils. Should he leave it outside one of his neighbor’s doors, and hope it found a good home? Or chance it and leave it here? Should he give it a name?

He chuckled to himself, lifting the plant from the floor. He held it at arm’s length, and stared at the plant with some affection. Really, this was a declaration of his independence! He was living in a city far away from the place he used to call home...from any known family members...he had a job that paid entirely too well, he had a car that he used to envy from rapper’s videos...his own apartment...he was going to be paying his own bills...attending school...this spiderplant was a confirming point of his new independence! How could he give it away?

“Your name is George!” he declared, shaking the plant triumphantly. “You are the reason why I can keep beer in my fridge at all times! You are the reason why I can leave pizza out on the counter all night and pick at it in the morning! You are the reason why I have not yet unpacked my new things! You are also the reason why I choose to have people do things for me! Ha! Ha! Carry on, George...carry on.”

He set the plant back down on the floor, and stared down at it with his hands on his hips. He glanced at his watch again, and decided that he had enough time to hole himself up in the bathroom. He walked down the single step into the kitchen, then walked out past the dining room, and into his bedroom. There his suitcases were, many of them opened, but none completely unpacked. His clothes were laying around in a frenzied mess; all over his bed (lacking bedsheets, of which were lying–still in their packages–at the foot of his bed), where his dresser was (empty), and his shoes were laying in cataclysmic mess in the closet area. He walked into the bathroom, which was just as messy. Kicking aside his clothes and some shoes that he nearly killed himself over, he looked at himself in the full length mirror. He was wearing a pair of cargo shorts, a plain white tee, and his favorite Ginobili’s...all in all, he thought he looked casual and comfortable. But what if he met his soulmate at the DMV, and they didn’t like what he was wearing, so they didn’t bother with talking to him?

He threw his head back and laughed. That was something a girl would think. He lifted an arm and sniffed experimentally, then winced, reaching for his anti-perspirant. After that was through, he looked at his cologne bottles. He really missed the scents that Trowa had given him...he couldn’t find them when he moved back to Laramie. Come to think of it, he wasn’t even sure if he’d even had them when he left. But he’d acquired a couple of new scents, and used his favorite. He spritzed that on, then checked his jaw line for any stubble. Satisfied that he was still clean shaven, he grinned at his reflection, then checked his teeth. He really needed to see the dentist...his back teeth were killing him. He pulled away from the mirror and glared suspiciously at his toothbrush, wondering, on that note, if he’d even brushed his teeth. Quickly, he picked up his toothbrush and brushed his teeth, wincing as he messed with his hair.

After all that was done, he jumped in place, wondering if he should use the toilet before he left. Glaring at the toilet bowl, which was surrounded by cleaning materials and multiple bottles of Kaboom!, he wondered if Felicia had bought them in mind with him cleaning it, or with her cleaning it. He should really look into maid services...

At the bell, he checked his reflection again, adjusted his shorts so that they fit just below his waist, and checked his teeth again. Then he froze, staring at himself with an aghast expression.

“What the hell am I doing?” he whispered to himself, before slapping the light off and racing out from the bedroom. He stumbled over a stool that came with his table set, barely caught himself from slamming into one of the kitchen counters, and tripped over the single step leading into the living room. He flung himself at the door, and opened it.

Jake glanced at him, then walked into his living room, snorting at the mess. “You didn’t unpack, yet?”

“No...I haven’t had time!” Quatre frowned, clinging to his doorknob as Jake perused the plastic covered couch, chair and coffee table. The older male nudged George with his shoe.

“That’s George.”

“You...named...your...plant?”

“Yeah.”

Jake gave him a long look, complete with a raised eyebrow, then shook his head as he looked at the couch. “You’re such a girl, Winner.”

“You know you want it.”

“This is a big place,” Jake then said, nodding his head in approval as he examined the television set (still in its box), and the soon-to-be-fixed entertainment center. He nudged two Target bags of movies, boxed ‘Family Guy’ sets slipping out from the top. “Kinda odd shaped. You have to walk through the kitchen to get out there?”

“Yeah...there’s the dining room thing, then that hall leads to the master bedroom and bathroom. You don’t want to go there, though. I’m rather infamous for my mess.”

“I’m sure...Well, let’s go. I need to pick up my son at seven.”

“We have plenty of time!”

“You studied, right? Did Passage give you the manual?”

“Uh...no.”

Jake gave him an exasperated expression. “Then how the hell are you going to pass your test?”

“...my good looks?”

Jake rolled his eyes, and shoved at him. “Let’s go. I’ll give you a crash course on the way there.”

#20#20#20#20#20#20#20

Trowa pulled his phone away from his ear, and studied the text message that accompanied Quatre’s voice message. He felt a little odd, like he was sneaking around Sylvia’s back just to hear Quatre’s message on his cell. He replayed the message, lifting the phone to his ear, and listening to the fumbling words that had emerged from his ex. His voice was different, Trowa decided, frowning. Deeper...edged with uncertainty and nervousness. Why? Why would Quatre be nervous around him? Sure, they talked, but it was a rare occurrence due to different things.

He listened to the rambling message, trying to determine meanings from the casual words. ‘Longley and Patriot’...? That was on the South Side of town...near Stanton, come to think of it. It was on the outer ridges of the ritzier part of the South Side, a sort of middle and upper class mesh. ‘Mountain Shadow’...he’d heard about those apartments. They were mainly college-aged dwellers, and the rent was obscene.

He pulled his phone away once more, and stared with some determination at the wall ahead of him. He had locked himself in the master bathroom, away from Sylvia’s mysterious womanly moods...which seemed to have grown worse over the past week, and he seriously needed to escape. He’d come into the bathroom on the pretense of taking a bath, but he hadn’t even bothered with running the water quite yet.

It was a lazy Sunday, and while they had plans for dinner that night, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to go. He was sure that he could make the hour and a half drive to Quatre’s apartment, and be back before eleven tonight. It wasn’t as if they were going to do anything– just talk. What was wrong with that? And if Sylvia felt so insecure...well...there was no harm in her coming along, right?

But then again, he didn’t want her there. Mainly because she would...drag down the entire situation. She would want to leave when things warmed up once more between them (as friends, not acquaintances), and he’d be more worried about what she wanted than trying to focus in on Quatre’s words and stories.

He really wanted to see him again. It had been far too long! What was the harm in wanting see one’s ex?

#20#20#20#20#20#20#20

Felicia was curled up on the love seat, her feet in the air when she heard the buzz of her ringer. Max was away at work, and Yoshida was off on another drug binge, so she was basically all on her own. Putting the movie on pause, she raced for the intercom, and activated the lock. She didn’t bother with security purposes–she didn’t have that many enemies, and if she did...well, having one come up to her apartment to do a Vivica/Uma scene with her would sure beat a slow Sunday afternoon. She opened her door, and raced back into the living room to resume watching her movie. She sat there, one ear on the hall and one ear on the movie, and sipped at her Pepsi. She heard the manly grumbles and complaints, followed by someone being shoved into the apartment. The door slammed, and she resettled into her seat.

“I’m in here!” she called lazily, not bothering with getting up. She was dressed in her pj’s, which was really a long nightgown with spaghetti straps. She hadn’t bothered with showering and throwing on makeup quite yet. But this didn’t seem to bother people, and she wasn’t about to impress her male friends. Fuck that.
She lowered the volume on the holoset and looked over the back of the loveseat to see Quatre and Jake walking in. They were dressed in casual shorts and tees, and looked highly annoyed with the hot weather outside. She was a little surprised to see them hanging out together, automatically wincing at the thought of Michael running about, terrorizing everyone. She was also surprised to realize that he wasn’t with them, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yay!” she squealed. “My two favorite non-boyfriends!”

“Where’s Max?” Quatre asked curiously as he took his seat on the armrest of a chair. He glanced around the apartment, taking in the cleanliness and for the fact that it was very simply furnished. Felicia had always been a neat freak He sniffed the air, and just because the moment called for it, reached out and flicked one of Jake’s pecs. The older boy gave him a snarl, rubbing absently at his chest.

“Work...what are ya’ll doing?” Felicia asked curiously, lazily twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

“I got my fuckin’ driver’s license! I’m legal!”

“FINALLY! Drive me around, sucka...”

“You’re still in your pjs!”

“So? It’s Sunday...I’ll just slap on a bra, throw on some sandals, and we can go.”

“I’m not going to be seen with you like that!”

Jake glanced around the living room, then frowned down at her, shifting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He then removed his sunglasses quickly, as to not appear as if he were some sort of pervert. Quatre looked at what was playing on the holoset, and his mouth fell open, his eyes widening with surprise as he viewed the contents.

“You’ve been like this all day?” Jake asked her curiously, carefully tucking his sunglasses away. They were his favorite wrap-around frames, with a silver tint and reflective lenses, so no one could see him looking at things directly. He could subtly check out the chicks without looking too obvious about things. Unfortunately, these types of glasses were popular with the surfers, motocross racers and snowboarders, so he got bothered a lot when he revealed that he did none of these things.

“When does he go to work?”

“He works the afternoon shift. Turn on the radio. I like to listen to his voice an’ clean the place. Crappy ass music, though. I can’t believe I’m shackin’ with someone that likes fuckin’ Timberlake, Nina Sky, an’ Beyonce.”

“I don’t like that shit.”

“You’re into 50, right?”

“Yeah...stuff like that.”

“Ya’ll got his driver’s license?”

“Yeah...took a while. Practically had to beat it into him.”

“Appropriate choice of words, sir! View my entertainment apparatus!”

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Jake cried, covering his eyes.

“Well, I don’t think that’s Jesus, and that sure ain’t Christ...I think their names are Todd and Christopher.”

“PASSAGE! What the fuck are you doin’, watchin’ this shit?”

“Hey, I’m a lonely gal on a Sunday afternoon...plus I found it in Max’s stash, an’ am pissed that he’s holding out the good stuff on me.”

“Y’know, he’s gonna leave you for a guy...” Jake said cautiously, lowering his hands, and frowning in concern at her. “Then what are you going to say?”

“So? It’ll be cool. Least it ain’t some chick that I gotta compare myself to. None big deal,” she replied, folding her arms behind her head and grinning.

Jake snorted, and glanced at the holographic figures going at it. No wonder Quatre was watching the thing with such a pleased expression. Jake rolled his eyes, and rose from the couch, moving over to the windows. “What’s this? The seventh floor?”

“Dude...it’s the fifteenth. The hell? Don’t you look at the floor numbers on the elevator?”

“I wasn’t paying attention. Asshole here was gagging on something...”

Felicia’s eyes widened significantly, and she rose from the chair, looking from one to the other. Jake realized what he said and winced.

“NO! No, I meant, some old fart let out a bad one, and he–never mind.”

“Ohmygod...Jake...the truth FINALLY comes out...”

“SHUT UP.”

Felicia laughed, and resettled into her seat. Lazily, she reached out with one foot to kick at Quatre’s knee. “So? You gonna drive me around? I’ll let ya in my ride for five dollars.”

“Go away. I’m watching this.”

“Man...all you fuckin’ males are fuckin’ horny as hell. Who wants somethin’ to drink? I think I got tap water.”

“Fuck you.”

Felicia laughed again and rose from the couch. She hurried into the kitchen on her tip toes, singing the theme song from ‘Barney’.

Jake looked back at Quatre, and tossed a pillow in his direction. “You gay ass freak.”

“Get off this. Watch and learn, Trip. You might need to know what to do one day...”

“Fuck you!”

“I know. Watch and learn. You’ll please me better.”

“Winner–!”

Felici a hurried back in, and held out a couple of bottled Pepsis. They both took the ones offered, and she resettled into her seat, tucking her feet beneath her. “So, what are you two gonna do now?”

“He owes me dinner,” Jake answered, belching in pleased satisfaction.

“Your first date? Remember, don’t eat pasta...stains the clothes.”

“Passage–!”

“Wwhh haaattt?”

“When’s Max coming back?” Quatre asked her, bending down to absently pull at the thick leg hairs that covered Jake’s left leg. The older male yelped, and slammed his elbow into his back, making Quatre wince.

“His shift ends at five-thirty. He’s usually here by seven, though, cuz he tapes stuff an’ shit like that afterward. Why? I can arrange to be ‘away’ an’ you can do some relief–ow!” She removed a throw pillow from her face, and laughed. “Okay, you can stay, too, Jake! Max might be into that...”

“No, I was just wondering. You guys want to go out and eat?” Quatre asked, shifting to sit onto the couch rather than the armrest. Something was digging in his lower back, so he reached behind him to withdraw a magazine, the latest issue of ‘Maxim’. He started flipping through that with interest.

“OKAY–! Oh...no, no, I can’t,” Felicia said with a frustrated face. “T-1000 will be here, soon, an’ I don’t wanna repeat of last time.”

“Who?” both guys asked in confusion.

“Max’s mom.”

“I wanna check this bitch out,” Jake said, grinning. He settled himself onto the couch as well, Quatre reaching over to give him a dead leg.

“NO! You guys have to be gone by then! If the Hound from Hell sees ya’ll, she’ll be all murder on my delicate ass!” Felicia exclaimed. She took on the facial features of Janice and cackled in imitation of her voice, “‘Ya’ll got boys here? Where the hell is Max? Does Max know they’re here? What are ya’ll doing, having a fucking orgy?’ Well...at least ya’ll are white. She likes white guys...”

“She doesn’t like you because you aren’t white?” Quatre asked her curiously, frowning down at her.

“DUDE! I told you THAT! She don’t like me cuz I ain’t white or black! She’s all up on my ass about it! Fuckin’, talkin’ about me bein’ a fuckin’ apple an’ shit! GOD!”

Quatre winced at the city accent that strengthened with her emotions, and glanced over at Jake. Jake lifted an eyebrow, and reached over to tug on her hair, laughing about something she said.

“So...we can’t stay?”

“No. In fact, they should be here around the time Max comes back.”

“What time is it?” Quatre asked Jake, who lifted his watch and said the time. Felicia, raising an eyebrow, glanced at the watch that Quatre wore, and studied the blond intently. “Almost six thirty?”

“I’ve got to pick up Mike by seven...they’re just down the road,” Jake said, looking at him. Quatre reached out to tug sharply on his earring, and Jake shoved his hand away.

“They still live in the old folks’ home?” Felicia asked, staring hard at Quatre.

“In Kansas Building no.9,” Jake said, frowning at her. “Yeah, the old folks’ retirement place. They’re barely fifty.”

“Maybe ya’ll find a sugar granddaddy there, Quat,” Felicia said, craning her neck to look at the blond. Quatre gave her a disgusted frown. “Old people love ya young bucks. That’s why Viagra was made.”

“Fuck off, tramp.”

“Don’t you think you should be getting ready, Passage? If they’re coming?”

“Has anyone ever told you how motherish you sound?” Felicia complained, fast-forwarding through the cheesy foreplay.

“Yeah,” Quatre chimed in, elbowing Jake. “Loosen up. Sound your age.”

“I’m gonna go get showered up. Quat, c’mere. I need to talk to you,” Felicia commanded, rolling off the chair and yanking at Quatre’s cargo shorts. In order to keep them on, Quatre clutched his waistband and heaved himself off the couch, following after her.

“NO HANKIE PANKIE!” Jake bellowed after them. “You’re MARRIED, PASSAGE!”

She rolled her eyes as she led Quatre into the master bedroom, revealing a very neat and orderly room that was a far cry from his. He gave a low whistle at the king-sized bed that was fitted into a roomy alcove, and the neat, Egyptian sheets that were pulled tightly across the giant mattress. There were three windows that surrounded the alcove, all of them fitted with gauzy, dark maroon curtains that fluttered with the slight current of air conditioned air. There was a massive egg-shell white dresser to his left, which was fitted with a tall jewelry stand, a full length mirror, and a vanity table that looked very familiar.

The closet was shut tight, but he was willing to bet that it was a walk-in. The room smelled of fresh mint and lavender, and he inhaled deeply. Felicia jerked open a drawer to her dresser, and hissed in his direction, “What’s goin’ on?”

“Huh?”

“You’re acting all...funny...”

“What? ‘Funny’? How?”

“I dunno, Quat. You’re acting all...my female intuition’s alertin’ me to somethin’ suspicious.”

“Will you stop talking shit and speak clearly?”

Felicia pulled out some matching Victoria’s Secret underwear, and waved her thong about. Quatre winced.

“You’re all...like...crushing,” she fumbled, frowning at her cream colored underwear. “Like...I don’t know. You’re just acting different. Didja meet someone recently?”

Quatre stared at her curiously, and shook his head. He hadn’t had time to meet anybody. “No. I’m acting funny? Like how?”

“I dunno. I really want to say somethin’, like I have an idea, but...I think...I need to watch you s’more, just to be sure,” she decided, opening another drawer and withdrawing a light, fluttery shirt, pairing it with her bra. She narrowed her eyes in his direction.

Quatre shrugged, unsure of what she was talking about. He spotted something interesting, and veered away when she opened the closet, and walked in to find a skirt. He lowered himself to the floor by the bed, and pulled out a wooden box. It was hand-made, with blue butterflies and flowers on the top. Opening it, he revealed condoms, lube, flavored underwear, and some naughty movies. His face flushed, but he sneaked a glance in his friend’s direction, and took a few of the condoms. He was too embarrassed to buy his own. He also took the unopened tube of candy flavored lube, a little annoyed that there wasn’t any regular, non-smelling kind. He put the box back and slipped his items into his pockets, grinning naughtily.

Felicia walked out from the closet, and frowned at him thoughtfully. Quatre thought he was busted, but she suddenly gave a wild start, as if jolted by electricity. She dropped her clothes and launched herself at him.

Giving an awkward wail as he lost his footing, falling back first onto the bed, Quatre had time to keep himself from falling to the floor as she squealed, “You have a crush on him!”

“W-what?”

“Passage! Winner!”

She settled herself on his chest, bouncing up and down in glee. “You came to your senses! I knew you would! No wonder you were actin’ all funny!”

“Hey, Passage!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Quatre cried, trying to keep himself from sliding off the bed, his heels pressing into the floor. He had to reach out and grip one of the posts to steady himself, and Felicia wasn’t helping any, settling her weight more firmly on his chest and gripping his ribs with her thighs. He promptly lost his breath, shoving himself back onto the bed, in a sturdier position.

“I tried to set you up, motherfucker! And you completely rejected the idea!” she growled, gripping his shirt. “And, yet, here you are! Mooning all over him like some fuckin’ school girl!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Quatre wheezed, feeling his face redden with his efforts. “GET OFF!”

“PASSAGE!”

“You like Jake, don’t you?” Felicia whispered, grinning widely, and bouncing once more.

Quatre’s face reddened not from the efforts he was making in trying to get her off of him, but from the implication her words were taking. Sure, he thought the guy was attractive–hell, hot even–but that was no reason for him to behave in such a way. Besides, Jake was absolutely straight, and would most likely elbow drop him from Felicia’s balcony.

“NO!”

“You DO! You act funny around him! In the past ten minutes since ya’ll been here, you been glancing at him every little while, an’ totally FLIRTING with him! You’ve been so TOUCHY with him! You were like that with Trowa!”

“WHAT? NO WAY! YOU’RE OUT OF YOUR MIND!”

“C’mon, GIVE it to me, damn you! GIVE IT UP! GIVE ME THE TRUTH!” she roared maniacally, bouncing once more on his chest. He gurgled and groped for a way from underneath her.

“NO! NEVER! You LIE!” he wailed, kicking helplessly.

“GIVE IT UP, WINNER! YOU KNOW YOU WANT IT!”

“NOOOOOO!”

“Ahem...&# 8221;

Both of them froze, and looked over at the doorway, where Janice was staring at them with a sort of maniacal rage customarily reserved for serial killers. Jake was standing there as well, trying to hide his snickers with a cough. Janice looked from Quatre to Felicia, then back again. Felicia’s eyes widened, and she looked down at her nightgown, which was riding up around her hips, revealing her legs, and for the fact that Quatre had his hands on her hips, trying to push her off.

“I don’t believe this,” Janice whispered, her hand moving up to her hip. Then she strode into the bedroom, waving a finger about. Her voice grew louder with each word. “Uh-uh! UH-UH! You little TRAMP!”

“Mrs. Sheridan, you don’t understand–” Jake tried as the two scrambled away from each other, all red faced and completely mortified by the implication being made.

“You little WHORE! How DARE you? How DARE YOU DO THIS?” Janice cried, gesturing at Quatre, who was trying to slink away, wholly embarrassed.

Felicia looked like she wanted to cry, but the shaking of her shoulders gave another idea. Jake bopped Quatre across the head, and shoved him out from the bedroom, trying to maneuver his smile into something serious.

“Taking on some boy while my son is working his ass off for you? How DARE you? Uh-uh, uh-uh!”

“Mrs. Sheridan, it’s not what you think–!” Felicia sputtered, but couldn’t hold back a cackle of amusement as she hunched over. This only infuriated Janice, the woman gathering up a deep breath, shoulders rising fiercely. “That dude is gay! He ain’t into females!”

“Then what the hell were you doing with him on the bed you share with my son?” Janice cried, voice rising a few octaves.

“It wasn’t what you think, man!”

“Mrs. Sheridan, there wasn’t anything going on,” Jake intervened, the woman whipping around to glare at him. “It’s all just a misunderstanding, see? Those two were always–”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Uh...I’m a friend of Pas–er, Felicia’s. My name’s Jake Trip, an’, uh–”

“I don’t fucking CARE who the hell you ARE! All I care about right now, is what my boy is going to think, knowin’ that his GIRLFRIEND was on top of another man!” Janice shrieked furiously, fists raised.

Felicia slipped into a crouch, and hid her laughter behind her hands, trying to resist the urge to mention that Max wouldn’t have minded; he would have complained that he didn’t get the same chance.

“Get out! GET OUT!”

“THIS IS MY APARTMENT, JANICE!” Felicia roared angrily, rising to her feet. “You have no right to throw out MY guests!”

“Look at you! You’re still in your fucking nightclothes! You little dirty tramp!” Janice gasped, hand on her chest.

Felicia rolled her eyes, and walked around her, pushing at Jake.

“Uh-uh! You get back here, Miss Thang!”

“I’ll talk to you guys later, all right?” Felicia said on a chuckle.

Bob was standing nearby, his mouth wide open and his face clearly displaying his horror at the gay porn that was occurring on the holoset. Quatre was trying to stifle his laughter at the man’s horrified expression, and when he and Felicia looked at each other, they burst out laughing hysterically.

She wrapped an arm around his neck, and pulled him close, hissing, “And I’m calling you later, you whore. You’re going to confess everything to me, or I’ll tell–!!”

“You talk shit, and I’ll kick your Goddamn ass!” he growled back, jerking on her hair.

Jake roughly separated them, shaking his head in annoyance as Janice stalked back out to confront Felicia. The two guys left the apartment, hearing Janice scream a little more about Felicia’s apparent whoring ways. Quatre burst out laughing, dragging himself away from the apartment.

“I was trying to tell you guys that they were here,” Jake said, slipping on his sunglasses.

“We didn’t hear you!”

“How could you not? I was yelling at you both!”

“She was yelling at me for something...”

“I swear to God...the both of you should be remitted to daycare one of these days,” Jake muttered, depressing the down button to the elevator.

Quatre laughed again, slapping the guy between the shoulder blades. ‘You’re just jealous, fucker.”

“Why would I be jealous? Stop fuckin’ hitting me, or I’ll kick your ass.”

“And like it.”

“Well, of course. I like beating on wimpy motherfuckers.”

“You just like the fact that you’re beating on me, you sadist.”

“STOP WITH THE HOMO BULLSHIT!”

Quatre laughed again, then cut himself off in mid-sound. He clamped his mouth shut, remembering what Felicia had been talking about before Janice. He stared up at Jake with something akin to horror, and when the older male looked at him curiously, his eyebrows furrowing, Quatre panicked, wanting to throw off the older guy’s suspicion. Willing to do anything, he quickly reached out, shoved Jake’s arm up into the air, and sniffed his armpit.

The elevator doors opened, Max walking out and stopping short as he saw Jake trying to stuff Quatre’s head into the nearby ashtray/trashcan. He blinked, unsure if he was seeing things as the two males wrestled. He cleared his throat, and the pair stopped fighting.

“What are you two doing here?” Max asked curiously, smiling at them both.

“Your parents are here,” Jake said curtly, reaching out to catch the elevator doors before they closed. Quatre brushed off the cigarettes and fast food wrappers from his head, and straightened his shirt, smiling at Max companionably. Max reached out and removed a butt from his shoulder, taking his time in removing his hand. “And they’re pissed.”

“What? Already?”

“Your mom’s mean, man.”

“Yeah, I know. But she can be really nice. She’s really smart.”

“But–hey!” Quatre protested as Jake left without him, the elevator doors closing and the elevator slowly moving toward the first floor. He turned back to Max with an annoyed expression. “And you’re bi? I mean, for real?”

“I could be.” Max grinned at him. Quatre stared at him awkwardly, and shuffled just so.

“I don’t think your dad likes your choice of movies.”

“Huh? My–DAMN it,” Max then cursed, turning away from him and running off. “She found my stash!”

Quatre shook his head in confusion, then pounded at the ‘down’ button next to the elevator. Chuckling, he leaned against the wall, waiting for the elevator once more. But he had to think–was she right? Did he have a crush on Jake?

#20#20#20#20#20#20#20

Trowa stared at the number of the apartment: 1126, Winner.

He shuffled uncomfortably on the front step, and listened for any telltale sounds that Quatre was inside. He hadn’t bothered calling–he thought he would just show up, preventing the blond from making any excuses that they couldn’t see each other. Well, he didn’t know why Quatre would want to, when it was apparent that he wanted to see Trowa as well...

But Trowa was just feeling nervous.

He lifted his hand and depressed the bell, shuffling uncomfortably once more. Today, he was wearing a pair of black pants that had various straps hanging off from the legs, his knee high combat boots, a tight black tee, and his usual array of cuffs and studded bracelets. Sylvia had taken off with a few girlfriends, and had warned him that she’d be home around eight-thirty. Well, it was nearly eight, and Trowa didn’t know what he was going to say to Quatre.

He frowned as he realized that no one was coming to the door, and rolled his eyes. Perhaps Quatre was taking a shit, and needed some time to wipe, flush, and run for the door. So he depressed the button again, and waited.

When he realized that no one was coming to the door, he sighed, and turned around, looking across the walkway. There were a few parties going on; men screaming, women laughing, music bumping, and he could smell the telltale scent of marijuana. He was a little relieved to feel that he lacked the urge to track that scent down to its source and indulge in a little, but was annoyed that Quatre wasn’t here.

He looked at the door again, then turned away, taking a side path from the single dwelling to a connecting sidewalk that would take him to the parking lot. It was getting dark, and it smelled like rain. He heard some men screaming at each other, both of them ready to rip each other’s arms off, and made his way into the parking lot. He had just gotten into his car when a kid ran past him, cackling madly. He looked vaguely familiar; a thin, gangly kid with dark hair and a demonic laugh. He was carrying a phone, and looking over his shoulder, shouting that he was going to throw the thing into the pool.

He started his car, lifting an eyebrow. He thought they didn’t have kids here.

Then another form shot past him, and he realized that it was Quatre, chasing after the kid, roaring with fury. He gripped his steering wheel, staring with some realization as the blond ran after the kid, who managed to slip through a narrow alley between the laundry building and another row of apartments. Quatre ran around the building, shouting and cursing in his usual raging way, disappearing around the corner.

That was him...it was very obvious. Trowa would recognize that voice, and that powerful way he ran. Sure, he was taller, filled out more in the shoulders and chest, but he still had that white shock of hair and that same raging way of his.

Trowa had to chuckle, inputting his destination back to his house. If the blond already had guests over, he wasn’t going to stay. He’d just come back later, when he could catch the guy alone.