Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Twelve ❯ Try Not To Breathe ( Chapter 3 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Chapter 3
"Try Not To Breathe"



Music notes and flashes of inkblots on staff paper were the first images that stalked Trowa's brain as he fell asleep, slowly blurring into a manic-paced, blinking montage of the day passed. Even in the haze of REM sleep, he thought vaguely to himself that it was strange; his normal dreams were cryptic, ambiguous, and Freudian to the point of near insanity. They were a mystery to even himself. Each was a collage of color, menial human actions like hands shuffling papers or shoes standing in line, thin dialogue, and symbolic slideshows of pictures he was sure he'd never seen before, but somehow had. He had never relieved things he'd done during the day in a dream before, as far as he remembered. It seemed strange. A muddy objection formed in his head, but he let it drop and decided to let the dream rage on however it would. It hadn't been a bad day, after all.

First, he saw the wooden door to Heero's bedroom door sleepily swing open and his disheveled brown hair creep by his line of vision, face slack and directed at the floor. In the dream, he turned and watched the Japanese man stagger down the stairs with his hands wringing complacently through the knots in his bangs. He began to mumble, but a jagged stream of flickering images cut it off. The dream skipped.

It cut to the kitchen, where he vaguely comprehended that he'd been sitting there, watching Heero journey down the staircase in reality early that morning, as the thick, soupy gray cast of a cloudy morning glowed throughout the house. In slow motion, he focused on Heero's Asian face as he blinked and nodded stoically. It seemed so infinitely important, but in the haze of his subconscious he couldn't decipher what the dull light in the Prussian eyes meant.

It cut again, this time to Quatre's profile from across the breakfast-swarmed table. A smile migrated across his face in what felt like an agonizingly beautiful hour. He slowly lipped something, optimistic expression lit by the light streaming in from the vista window behind him.

Heero halfheartedly offered a smile back, drawing the porcelain rim of a coffee cup away from his lip and slowly shaking his head. The dull look flashed again. He flickered his dark blue eyes away from both Quatre and Trowa as the dream sped up in choppy jumps. The pale skin color and brown and smidge of blue of Heero's face melted into another scene.

Quatre sat at the black baby grand, as mid-morning, grayish light slid over the top and spilled over the paper he had curled up in his lap. His old faded sweater hung loosely on him and pooled around his knees as he sat Indian style on the bench, poking the eraser end of a pencil into the hollow of his cheek to some unknown, faltering beat. Trowa remembered it.

Quatre had been too engulfed in the short-lived flame of inspiration, with brow furrowing and hand ravaging through the side of his hair every few seconds, to notice that Trowa was there at all, somewhere around 10 that morning. He stood staring directly into the faint glare cast onto his fiancé's face from the piano's surface, flickering his gaze away only to watch his fingers as they furiously penned. He wedged the folded notebook underneath his leg, scribbled nearly mat black with ideas, notes, and chord progressions he'd blustered up in his artistic spark. Fingers flew to the piano, seeking out keys, and his face was stale and calculating as they fell into place and softly rang the first note. Quatre blinked once or twice, analyzing the sound, then carefully tested the water by striking a chord... then another. E minor. G major. The blonde bit his lip, contemplating for a moment, then struck the same two chords again. He pounded a few more out, then repeated the whole thing with growing confidence.

Suddenly, a glow came across his face and he stormed straight through the atmospheric driving piano lilt, flourishing arpeggios with pounding precision. A full-blast grin now held his face and he kept going past the measures that he'd written originally, improvising brilliantly and smoothing through the rough, unsure parts. It was a moody, slightly dark but optimistic tune so thick with personality that it almost talked. Quatre lopsidedly blew a bang out of his eyes and quickly began to round the song out, fingers hammering and circling higher on the scale. He smiled brighter, practically glowing with happiness, but just as Trowa's ears recognized the final coda from that morning, the Arab boy abruptly stopped, fingers hovering maddeningly close to the black and cream keys. He blinked, expression becoming faint and unfocused, as he apparently went into deep thought with a brow furrowed over those bright blue-green eyes. He let his fingers rest on the keys aimlessly, letting out a flat 'oomph.'

Trowa's brain frowned. This wasn't right, he thought vaguely. The warm, contented feeling of his dream had spun around and become a confused blur, pressurizing around him. Quatre had finished that song! In real life, Trowa remembered Quatre ending and jerking around in surprise, blushing slightly, as he applauded loudly, the sound echoing through the music room. He always seemed to become incredibly modest whenever he was caught creating something and Trowa found it always damned cute when he turned a slight shade of red and tried to resist smiling.

He was disappointed deep in his gut he couldn't see that priceless expression again, but knew that dreams would distort themselves as they pleased... and after all, he was the one who was dreaming it... But he still had no clue what he was trying to symbolize with it or what his subconscious was trying to tell him.

Suddenly, Quatre's finger slammed down on the highest key out of the blue and he glared down at it, seemingly unpleased with the sound it made. He kept pressing it until the meek ping slowly turned into a furious ring that bled through Trowa's ears. He flinched, squinting his eyes shut in the dream, trying to block out tinny ringing in his ears.

The image of his fiancé faded into a slow blackout, but the obnoxious sound continued through out, pounding louder and louder into his ears as he realized he was out of the dream. Beside him, he heard Quatre mumble something in his sleep. Trowa shifted deeper into the warmth blanket as the warm skin beside him moved away suddenly and disrupted the blankets layered around him. He felt the fabric of Quatre's tank and boxers moving past him, brushing his nose and teasing him with the scent of violin rosin, and heard intermittent thuds on the floor and the sudden silencing of the alarm clock just beyond his ears. Sleepily, Trowa's brain began to frown again but couldn't pinpoint just what was upsetting him. Thank God that damned alarm clock was off, though.

Quatre settled back into the heap of thick cotton quilts, this time his arm snaking under the blanket and wrapping firmly around Trowa's neck and hunched shoulder and drawing him tight and burying his face into his mop of hair like usual. In the dark under the quilts, a sliver of an amused smile crossed the pilot's face, feeling the blonde perform the mandatory nose-rub into the top of his head and the sleepy lip smack. It was like clockwork... clock? Alarm clock? Suddenly, something clicked in his brain.

Trowa lifted his head, resentfully having to move Quatre as he was probably just falling asleep again. Trying to suppress the guilt pang, he blinked open his eyes, almost sore to do anything but relax, and said in a groggy morning voice, "Quatre?"

"...What?"

"...You didn't set the alarm, did you?"

The blonde's face remained still for a second below him, then the aqua eyes squinted open, confused from sleep. They blinked up at him, face still buried halfway into the pillow, and suddenly Trowa heard laughing. He whipped his head around, disheveled hair swinging from the motion, and managed to keep his eyes open despite the bright light stinging them. They sighted on a... person? Sitting only a few feet from him, Trowa was ruffled to see a brunette boy with long braided hair and a beaming American smile that he knew as-

"Duo?"

Quatre jerked awake beside him, offering an intelligent, "Mmnhha?"

Duo's face split further, if it was possible to get past the imp grin he already had. "Gotcha!"

The American wriggled up from his seat on the gold-lit wooden floor and quickly crawled over on his threadbare hands and knees over to his friends, only to be nearly toppled over by the blonde's enthusiastic arms clenched around his shoulders. He laughed in a bit of surprise, and then returned the fierce affection by clapping Quatre on the back and ruffling his already ratted hair from behind.

Trowa, plagued with equally ratty hair at the moment, sat Indian style just a few inches away from Quatre, a place Duo suspected he'd be spotted often, with the alarm clock in his hand and turning it over with a snort. Duo glanced over to him over Quatre's shoulder, a humorous smile crawling instantly across his face as Trowa only gave a small knowing smirk in return. He shifted his attention back to the lithe little blonde thrown around him as an arm squeezed around a rib that it shouldn't and he sucked in a breath, wincing. Trowa smiled broadly, snorting in amusement with a shake of his head.

"Ow." Duo gingerly gestured to where his bruised rib lay in his chest, as Quatre cocked his head up.

His friend cracked an apologetic smile. "Sorry!" he replied quickly, withdrawing the hug sheepishly.

"Good morning to you, too!" The American said as he straightened out, rubbing his right side and smiling at the slightly dazed expression Quatre had. He noticed that he looked like a yellow and peach dust bunny this morning-hair flopped in odd angles, the loose green tank top wrinkled and scrunched, and just looking very unprepared for sunlight of any kind. His round aqua-green eyes were wide in surprise and now very much awake.

"Duo! I-I-How are you? You look great!" The blonde said, scooting forward to study the changes in his friend's face.

He glanced down at his clothes, a bit broken in at the least, and tugged at the hem of his jacket and snorted good-humoredly. "I wouldn't say great necessarily, but yeah, I'm okay," he answered. He laughed again, his hand automatically running against the dense sectioned hair at the back of his head. "But thanks anyway for the flattery. You're making me out to be some kind of lady killer."

"When did you get here?" Quatre asked.

A sly, titled smile crossed his sun-freckled face and he causally shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Heero found me just this morning. Well, to be more precise, we ran into each other and I just about knocked out the poor guy's teeth out."

Trowa's face twisted up. "You did what to him?"

"Alright, alright," the American relented, palms up in the air jokingly. "I sort of dropped my sunglasses, picked them up, and then caught Heero's jaw with my skull when I stood up. Nothing big, though. He's survived bigger 'traumatizing' incidents than that." He laughed through a pearly grin.

Trowa smirked at him in response. "If had been anyone but you, he would have thrashed you to a pulp."

"Gee, that's reassuring," Duo shot back, glaring playfully with expressive violet eyes at his friend.

The blonde's gaze flickered off the side, shying off Duo's arm to the glimpse of braid swinging out. They widened slightly, blinking in disbelief, as he saw the coil of hair lounging beside Duo that could have passed as a small pet. "Your hair's gotten long..." he said observantly.

"Yeah, I know," the American said playfully as he pulled the appendage over his shoulder and wagged the frayed tail. "And even after two decades, it's still a bitch to wash."

Trowa conspiringly leaned back, shoulder brushing Quatre's back, and clapped his hands over his ears with a stony straight face, eliciting a laugh from Duo.

A smile snaked to his monotone surface as the blonde's face twisted up playfully, and he picked the long fingers off of his ears and let them drop. "It's okay, Mother," Quatre poked.

"I don't want you repeating any of those words," Trowa returned with his own flat humorous tone.

He turned and nudged his finger at his fiancé's nose as a playful returning jab. "You know what I think? I think you should take a nap if you're going to butt in on my conversations."

The unanticipated traces of sarcasm in Quatre's voice were betrayed by the wide smile on his face. Duo's gaze suddenly zeroed in on the glint of gold on silhouetted against Trowa's skin as the blonde responded with some buttery words that were filtered from his attention.

"Oh my god!" Duo interrupted, smacking his forehead. "I forgot to congratulate you guys on your engagement!"

"Oh..." Quatre looked confused as he whipped his head back to Duo, then the expression stilled and soon was filled with a thinly veiled blush. "Heero told you?"

The brown-haired boy shrugged innocently with a wiry smile. "That, and I could tell from the ring you're wearing..." He drifted off the sentence, arching his eyebrows obviously, then grinning at Quatre, who found it suddenly very difficult not to turn the exact shade of ripe watermelon. His expression suddenly softened from the usual loud, brash grin as he continued. "But seriously, congrats. I'm so incredibly happy for you guys."

"Well...thank you, Duo," Quatre responded, the red blooming all over

"No, no... actually, I should be thanking you. I've invested a lot into you guys, and it looks bad to gamble if you lose, you know?" The American flickered conspiring eyes to the silent one, whose face was as knowing as his own. Trowa shifted his attention to his legs and the baggy blue fabric over them then smiled to himself and rubbed his nose as Duo continued to explain away Quatre's clouded expression. The blonde glanced over his shoulder to his fiancé, who was still smiling thinly to himself, then shrugged the worn strap of Heero's old green tank back onto his shoulder and focused back on Duo.

"Like what?"

Duo chuckled, pursing his lips together in a broad smile, and anxiously hooked the loose bangs behind his ears. "Well, you see..." He gestured aimlessly with his right palm, and then smiled again at the oddity memories running through his mind, especially one of an almost frenetic, love-struck Trowa ending up at his dorm room door late into the night on Peacemillion. "Well, one night Trowa showed up at my door... at what? Three, four in the morning?"

Duo glanced to the Heavyarms pilot in reference. The once stoic green eyes were thick and layered with affection now as he met gazes with him. Trowa nodded, shrugging as well. "Something pathetic like that..."

"No, wait, it was 2:15! I remember, because that's the first thing I saw as Heero woke me up, those damned red numbers. And he beat me over the head with my own pillow, no less."

Trowa snorted, half-laughingly. "So Heero's REM cycles and PMS cycles have always been matching plagues... Doesn't surprise me."

"Tell me about it..." A pair of violet eyes rolled.

Quatre whined suddenly, driving a stake between the conversation, and drew his eyebrows together with confusion still misting through his brain. "Are you going to tell me about what happened, or do I have to guess at until I get it right?" He didn't even flinch as Trowa's arms snaked their way around his shoulders and he found the crook of the blonde's shoulder and neck to be suitable to rest his head in. His aqua-blue eyes remained riveted to Duo's face as his hand reached up and idly toyed with his fiancé's.

The smile was seething under his skin, Duo knew-that sappy little grin that he rarely let see the light of day anymore-but he let the lopsided, knowing grin slip into it's slot and replace it as he continued.

"So anyway, I'm having this really nice dream about having tea with John Lennon and Yoko Ono with a pumpkin growing under the table and the next thing I know, Heero's waking me up and giving me a concussion with the pillow and he points to the door. He says that Trowa wants to see me and I figured it must be important." Duo laughed, fingering stray hair behind his ear. "To wander in and disturb Heero's sleep after a stressful day takes a lot of either gut or desperation, so I took him back to the cafeteria and sat him down. It was nearly pitch black in there and I was going to ask if he wanted something to eat quick when he suddenly blurts out, 'I love Quatre.'"

As Duo titled his head back to recall the memory from the long dark hallways of his mind, in his peripheral vision he could see the blonde glancing curiously back at Trowa, whose face probably was still plastered with a slow, blissful smile.

"...Then I think I tripped on the table bench and hit my knee-I mean, it was that surprising.

"And Trowa... you looked like someone had just pulled a gun to your head and held you hostage for a few weeks straight on a caffeine blitz. You were really stirred up and I don't think you had slept at all that night."

"Three nights," the stoic one corrected, tightening the warm vice around Quatre's shoulders.

"Well, whatever, you looked like crap. Death warmed over." Duo's smile tinted with sympathy, bubbly contentment coming up in his stomach. He curled his knees up to his stomach, causally hooking his arms around his legs and holding them to his chest. "And I could tell that you really meant it-you know, that lady killer intuition. So, I sat you down and gave you a damn straight pep talk about getting up and doing something about it-"

"Which was much appreciated, but did you have to wink so much?" Trowa interrupted.

A mischievous grin bloomed on his face, lips cocking at an odd angle, and Duo leapt at the opportunity he saw waiting for him like a pile of fresh meat. "Oh come on, Trowa, you and I both know that you liked it," the American cooed, with the innuendo rolling off his lip under the mandatory eyebrow quirk.

The serious look split instantly into a roar of laughter as Trowa rolled his eyes and a smile harassed the corner of his lips. He looked over to the gold-lit far wall, burying his face in his hand and shaking his head. Quatre was laughing loudly, hair flopping wildly, and leaning heavily back into Trowa, with a red hybrid of amusement and blush across his face. He glanced backwards at his fiancé, clumsily pinning his lips together and trying not to laugh at Trowa's thinly veiled embarrassment. Finally, Trowa slumped his head over Quatre's bare shoulder and bury his face in it, trying to stifle the laughter at himself, which only made the other two laugh louder.

Fiercely curious, the scrappy little brown dog was suddenly in their midst, digging his nose through the ruffled edges of the quilts and turned optimistic little brown eyes up to his masters. Numskull trotted over toward Quatre's foot with the signature ticka-ticka of his nails on the wooden floor, nudging it gently and standing on his ankle to make him noticed. When his masters continued to laugh, he snorted unhappily and shifted his attention to Duo, turning confused liquid brown eyes to the new scent.

Duo smiled down on the pet, then scooped him up into his lap and instantly gave him a good rough scratch behind the ear. The dog instantly appreciated it; his free-hanging leg kicked against Duo's knee. As the American laughed at the wrenchingly cute gesture, a sudden string of words came from his stomach, announcing that his internal clock was once again fretting over a missed meal. After all, Duo didn't consider Barbie-plastic airplane peanuts in any food group.

He flinched at the sound of his own stomach growling, Numskull sniffing curiously at it, and then said, "Well..."

Quatre sat up, a mischievous grin plastered on his face, as he pushed Trowa back to impel himself forward, then carefully put a hand to his hair and flopped it back somewhat into place. At least so his part didn't resemble the state of West Virginia.

"Okay. First," the blonde said, glancing down at his ruffled pajamas, "some clothes, then breakfast."

The braided boy hoisted the tiny dog up into the air, fingers wrapped around his tiny ribcage. He looked Numskull in the eyes and asked, "Sound good?" When the disheveled little dog didn't bark and just stared up at him eagerly, Duo shrugged and said, "Heh. Why not?"



In the gloomy gray light, punctured by brave sentries of hazy orange overhead lights, Heero could only hear his shoes cuffing against the ground as he ran. He loped deeper into the maze of slopes and ramps lined by bulky cement pillars and partitions. Far off, over the silent masses of cars, he could see the warm morning light glowing around the fenced windows looking over the Rainy City. He paused, considered it for a moment, and caught a fraction of his breath, then spun around and stared into the orange and lime-green spotted dimness. His bearings suddenly came back to him; he remembered that he had parked in Montgomery A, 5th floor. Heero trotted around the cement barricade on the side of the ramp, then dug in and sprinted up the incline, his loosened black tie flopping annoyingly against his chest as he ran.

The instinct to run, to out race preying bad luck, only made him feel even more stupid. Foolish. It was damned idiotic of him to just leave it there, his most conflicted thoughts and psyche splattered out on canvas, when he knew that it could destroy his brittle esteem if any one saw besides Quatre, Trowa, or Relena. Painting his thoughts had been meant to be only a therapeutic activity, and then had grown into an addictive outlet that Heero wasn't sure he would have emotionally survived without. And now!-Now he was running scared!

He had the tempting urge to smack himself in the forehead, but his impulse was compromised when he suddenly caught a glimpse of blocky paint on the whitewashed cement block wall. He stopped with the soles of his feet coughing and scratching over the blacktop like brakes.

Montgomery A.

Heero flickered his eyes over the cars, spotted the familiar black Camero, and then jerked into motion again.

He weaved around one of his coworkers rickety red Gemini, then past an anonymous white, covered pickup, and finally was running up the driver side of his car. Its surface reflected the distant green and orange lights, making it seem like it was covered in Halloween-schemed Christmas lights or something. He quickly rummaged the key from his pocket, yanking it roughly out, and unlocked the door, swinging the door open.

The Japanese man produced a large white card from his shirt pocket and hastily let it fall cockeyed in the passenger seat on top of a pile of manila folders and papers. He clumsily sat down, nerves and fear and adrenaline raging, and flopped against the seat. Heero suddenly felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders and allowed himself to catch his breath. His body deserved it, for giving quite a performance compared to sitting on his ass for most of the day.

He'd run from the hospital three and a half blocks back to the station and where he'd planned to momentarily stick his head in, grab Duo's forgotten bag, and say sayonara, the police station insisted he stay for a second to get a happy wedding card, a second that really meant a few minutes or so. Ninety precious seconds he had to make up on the sprint to the parking ramp. As he sat, chest heaving mostly from pure rattling anxiety, he put his hand to his forehead and rubbed at the knot between his eyebrows. One last deep sigh brought him back to semi-normal nerves, and he quickly leaned out and snapped the door shut. Before he could even register he was doing it, the keys were in the ignition, the car purring, and his hand jerking the shift up to reverse.

The sleek black car wheeled out into the lane, then gunned forward to the ramp, taking a dangerously sharp turn for most, but commonplace for someone accustomed to killer G-forces and a ton of gundanium steel. Heero was in 'mission mode' until he veered the car around the bend at the bottom of the ramp. Then he breathed heavily out and numbly sensed his body going into the familiar driving pattern he'd taken every day. Turn, drive 20 yards, take a left...

Again, he put his hand up to the persistent knot, and suddenly was plagued by his own ironic humor. He thought to himself that the entire experience would make for good painting fodder. He snorted and smiled faintly to no one.

The cement partition was suddenly in front of him, covered with graffiti, and reminded him that he was almost out. His hands jerked and wrenched the steering wheel again, recovering from his distraction. As he turned the final corner, yellowish light flooded in from the doorway and he pulled up to the pay booth, he paid up quickly, rolling down his window and dumping the money into the faceless worker's expecting hand, and revved the engine as the yellow bar lifted. He sped out into the light, paused at the road, glanced mechanically down both sides, and was out roaring away in traffic two seconds later.

"Damn those pictures," he grumbled to the car, "...that was my paint money."



Duo watched his sock-covered toes stretch out from under his bangs, long legs curled up on the chair Indian style under him, and then flipped the hair out of his eyes and looked up to follow what Quatre was saying, positioned across the large rounded table from him. The blonde tilted his head as he continued talking, the bright light reflecting off the distant city glowing across the side of his face. Newly clad in his fuzzy gray sweater with red and black lining around the cuff and collar, he had stopped rubbing his cold fingers and withdrawn them into the sweater itself. As Duo's attention shifted back to Quatre, he could also hear the mundane white noise of eggs hissing in the pan and Trowa murmuring occasionally to the restless Numskull at his feet. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished dark brown wood and scratching at his ear, with a tiny smile.

"You know, Quatre, you guys really should have organized a double wedding," Duo commented, brushing the stray hairs behind his ear as innate habit. "That would have been great."

The blonde was lifting up his drink with orange pulp scattered over the glass as he nodded causally. "Yeah," he agreed after a sip, "but we'd be short a best man."

Duo's right eyebrow cocked up in the air, curious. "Who, me?"

"I don't see why not. You'd have your route down like a dream. Two weddings, only practice for one."

The range hissed loudly, flaring up from the other side of the kitchen as the cinnamon-haired man turned from the stove and smirked lightly at Duo. "We could always make you a bridesmaid if you have a complaint."

"And wear a tangerine taffeta dress? I'm sorry to say that I think I'm going to deny myself that privilege, but thank you anyway, Trowa," the American replied, sarcasm and humor dicing his deep voice. He snorted when Trowa shrugged, closing his eyes and turning to the spitting, half-done eggs. He turned back to face Quatre, who chuckled as well. "A black and white monkey suit sounds pretty damn good by now."

"We've still got to get you one, too." The blonde leaned forward and nudged the porcelain plate covered with donuts to Duo, blue eyes glancing up at him. "You hungry?"

The American was slackened back against the chair. "I'm sure Heero will want breakfast too, but hell," he commented with a shrug and slight of a smile, reaching forward and picking up the last raspberry jelly donut, "you snooze, you lose."

Trowa nudged idly at eggs cooking, yawning loudly and twisting his neck to side to stretch, and then set the fork down with a clatter on the counter. He was turning around and leaning against the counter when a curt little whine brought his attention down. Numskull clattered around on the wooden floor by his foot, eyes begging. Trowa flickered his green eyes back and forth from his fiancé to his friend, talking at the table, then smiled down at the brown puppy.

"Hm. One," he said softly to the dog. He knelt down and scooped him up, arm secured around his ribcage. "But only one."

Duo licked off the jelly leftovers on his lip and swallowed his food, glancing over to the stove where he saw the turtleneck-clad Trowa hoisting his dog up to the stove. He adjusted his hold on Numskull as his left arm reached for the fork on the counter and snipped off a piece of the over easy egg he was frying. With a smile and murmuring little sweet nothings to his pet, he let Numskull nip the piece off the fork with tail whipping almost violently. It elicited a big smile from the American as he leaned back, shifting his eyes to Quatre.

"Does he do that all the time?" A thumb jerked in the vague direction of the stove.

The Arab glanced over in the direction where Duo's hitchhiker thumb indicated, focused on the sight of his fiancé babying the dog and ruffling his thick brown fur. He shook his head with a smile. "Yeah. He's definitely Trowa's dog. He spoils him like a child."

"So he would be the ring bearer?" Duo asked, resting his cheek on his knuckles.

A smile beamed at him from across the table. "And his circus lion can be the flower girl."

The two indulged in a conspiratory laugh, leaving the oblivious, slack-faced Trowa confused by the laughter from the kitchen table he had a sense was somewhat aimed at him. The cinnamon haired man glanced to the small dog he held with a cockeyed ear flashing pink against the brown pelt, and then shrugged. He was just turning back to the over easy eggs, which were making unpromising spits and hisses on the pan, when the tiny dog's head suddenly jerked up, stared at the vista window past Quatre' head, and then went AWOL. Numskull whipped his little dog body out of Trowa's grip and landed on the wooden floor with a loud clatter of puppy claws, skidding this way and that and having a minor collision with the counter as he picked up speed and then blew out of the room, yapping like no body's business. Trowa simply shook his head, patting a few stray hairs into place on his head, and then rubbed at the scratches on his arm where Numskull had dug in.

Duo blinked, eyebrows furrowing at the odd sight that had just taken place, void of all explanation. He turned back to Quatre, the other two legs of the chair that he'd suspended in the air with his weight hitting the floor with a scuff. "...What was that about?"

The blonde smiled mischievously, a trait that scared Duo it was so eerily familiar of his own. Quatre nonchalantly pointed to the window and then stood up, clattering his empty glass on to his unfilled plate and heading to go get his food.

He paused, though, and said, "Someone's come home to claim his donuts. You'd better hurry up and get it out of your stomach, or he might get mad."

The American leaned over so that from his angle he could see the long winding, tree-swamped drive way and the black Camero, a pretty damn nice car at that, whirring up the path and whipping around to the side of the house and disappearing. Duo's eyes lit up instantly over an almost malicious grin, putting two and two together in a flash, and then he was quickly scooting out his chair with a loud screech of wood against wood and running out the kitchen archway in similar fashion as Numskull.

"What's he doing to Heero now?" Trowa mused to himself with a smile.

Without warning as the Latin boy turned back to the range, scratching at the back of his neck, a little pale blonde head popped up on his shoulder and Quatre's free arm was draped over the other, teasing little circles in the fabric of the green sweater. He grinned down at the entree his fiancé was frowning at; it now resembled more like a marshmallow left too long to the tongues of campfire than the breakfast he'd expected. "And what are you doing to my food?"

Trowa twisted his head and smiled, Quatre's hair brushing up against the side of his face. "Shut up," he said, kissing his fiancé gently on the temple.

The grin on the blonde's face grew. "Just give me my burnt food."



Heero stoned his face and once again balled up his nerves and tried to ignore them, taking a deep breath in the cold air and breathing out a misty cloud of steam as he sighed it back out. He turned slightly to the side so he could shut the passenger car door, and carefully thumbed the black fabric strap of Duo's tattered backpack that he was holding, looking down at the pocks and scars and fraying holes on it. It almost made him laugh; he recognized it as that old pack Heero had borrowed from one of the mechanics on Peacemillion and then had fallen into Duo's hands after he'd finally become fed up with his incessant prattle about this and that and tossed at him and told him to clean his guns if he was so bored. Then he remembered going back to typing.

Ha. He'd never asked for it back.

Faint remnants of a smile flickered across his face, then slipped out of sight as he shouldered the backpack on his right side and walked around the back of the car, shoes fwapping as they stepped in the slush lacing the tar. As he walked toward the door, he looked to the vista window and squinted slightly to see if anybody was in there.

A slight paranoia welled up inside his chest when he couldn't, thanks mostly to the yellow glare on the glass. It a sure sign that, with his damned luck, they were already displaying his paintings to Duo and scoffing at the pathetic nature of them. Probably pointing out the most microscopic flaws in the depth, color, perception, or anything else he could think of. Setting up his self-confidence to burn.

Heero suppressed the thought quickly at the sudden pang of pain in the back of his head, a dark little warning that he had been hoping he'd never hear from again. His nerves inflated in size again and his feet were scoffing on the tar as he dashed up to the door, making loud, almost panicked noises on the wooden porch floorboards. Heero shifted the ragged backpack further behind him, and nervously opened the door. Before his foot left the slushy porch, there were two tiny paws clawing at his pant leg and loud yips heralding his arrival. Numskull's tongue lolled out of his mouth in anticipation as the harsh, frantic expression on Heero's face softened and that intangible slight of smile returned to his face.

As the Japanese man dropped the backpack near the shoebox and leaned over, hand rolling over Numskull's matted brown fur and his disheveled chocolate brown hair hanging out in the air, he barely had the perception to notice that the closet door was opened a breath, just enough for fingertips to grip around it and a hint of life to glance through the space. An eye blinked, taking in the sight of Heero straightening out and smiling with a loud laugh as the little dog chewed at a piece of snow he'd logged in and then spit it out in distaste.

The eye blinked again, the expression changing to a blurry, riveted haze, before the fingers hastily withdrew from the closet door and all signs of life gelled into the black.

Simultaneously, Heero shrugged his coat off his right shoulder, let it swing off his other, and then instinctively reached for the brass coat closet doorknob. He watched Numskull skitter happily back into the kitchen, disappearing around the bend. It amazed even himself that such a little gesture made such a stir in his often-neglected emotion well. Deciding to sober up before he acted like a fool, Heero shook his hand briefly through his hair with his jacket draped over his elbow and then opened the closet.

Lightning-fast nerves reacted first, and before Heero had even turned around, the shadowy presence slipped out expertly and there was a hand across the Japanese man's eyes and an arm viced around his chest and holding down his arm.

Heero jerked, taken off-guard by the abrupt human contact and darkness that covered his vision, and his nerves exploded all over again. War memories and old paranoia shrieked in the back of his brain. He was bending his leg to give his unknown assailant a kick he wouldn't soon forget when...

"Guess who," a baritone voice cooed in his ear.

Heero remembered to exhale once he realized just whom the strange body warmth pressed against his back and the hand over his eyes belonged too. It came out unnaturally ragged and he took another one to steady himself. He sighed and responded tiredly, "Duo."

The free hand gently slapped his shoulder, with a snort of laughter. "Too easy. Next question."

Suddenly, Heero felt his friend's long, tousled bangs brushing against the back of his neck, an odd, flickering feeling itching at his skin. He shuddered, taking in a sharp little breath, and masked a token, "What?" over it.

The American continued assertively, not noticing the slight alteration in Heero's breathing pattern. Duo, still holding Heero captive easily by using his slight upper hand height-wise to his advantage, grinned over his shoulder and said, "Tell me the first place we're going and you'll escape a brutal interrogation session."

"I don't know about you," Heero flatly returned, "but I was headed for the kitchen." He reached up to pull his braided comrade's fingers off from over his eyes but as soon as they were pried free, Duo snapped them back down, drumming them idly over his cheekbone and nose.

"Un-uh," he protested boldly, "you aren't going to sashay out of this one, Yuy."

Heero sighed, his entire body heaving as his nerves finally grasped the concept that as long as Duo was here interrogating him, he couldn't be roaming the house and stumbling across a box filled with sensitive bits of himself. "Alright..." he gave in, letting his shoulders fall slack with the brunette American still draped over them.

Duo visibly tensed up, biting his lip with a keyed up grin. He even let his fingers drop and grant Heero the gift of his restored vision.

"...I'll have to waltz my way out, then," he stated, wryly.

Duo whimpered suddenly in his ear, wrenching his neck around so that his eyes could see his uncooperative captive's face. He puckered his lips adeptly, knowing how to skew in just enough pathetic dejection pout that would have either induced guilt or laughter in normal human beings, but barely scratched Heero's defenses. "Come on, Heero!" he said, frustration grating in the back of his voice. "Please? You don't even have to tell me straight out, you can torture me with inane little hints like good ole times."

The Japanese man glanced to the American one; his expressive face was cocked off to the side of his own like some second evil head, and Heero quickly closed his eyes to Duo and shrugged noncommittally. "Hn," sufficed him for the moment.

Duo's gaze darkened and one eyebrow furrowed deeper than the other. "Oh, get your skivvies in a bunch, would ya, Heero?" he joked in frustration.

Arms dropped, relinquishing blood flow to Heero's shoulder and his normal breathing pattern. Heero turned his head, taking in the scene of his best friend flustered at him. Duo stepped back, flipping the long, slinky braid of hair effortlessly over his tank-clad shoulder with a bothered flip of his head, and then prodded a finger accusingly in his direction.

"I'm going to be only one in the whole house without a clue as to where we're going. And, knowing me and my damned luck, I'll pack Bermuda shorts for a trip to Siberia, and, knowing you, Heero, you'll get a week's laughs out of it."

Heero nodded to himself, chocolate bangs bobbing. "Hm, yeah."

"You're impossible," Duo yielded finally, the harsh angle of his akimbo stance betrayed by the warm grin on his face. "But don't worry, I'll harass it out of you eventually."

The American sighed as he glanced down to the floor, considering nothing for a few seconds. He shifted his gaze back up to the motionless Heero, focused on the dark jacket still clenched in his friend's hand, and grinned in irony.

"Oh, hey," he said, "let me put that away for you."

He gripped the denim sleeve of Heero's jacket and the Japanese man quickly let him take it, remaining static and just observing the surprising gesture of courtesy. His brooding Prussian eyes traced the fluid movement of Duo's serpentine braid as he leaned into the closet, chatting humorously to himself as he hung it up, then shut the door. Bright, optimistic violet eyes turned back to him, over an angled smile.

"Sorry 'bout breakfast," the American said, grin slighting larger in size.

Heero stared at the amused expression with confusion smoldering up in his throat. He let one eye brown arch up over his stoic blue eye and slipped out a monotone, "What?"

A bare arm slung around Heero's shoulder, no longer antagonistic, and Duo egged him into walking along side him. "You like jelly donuts?" he asked, sparking the confusion larger in Heero's logical mind.

"...No..."

"Good," Duo said vaguely, the impish grin almost glinting in the Japanese man's eyes. The infection of happiness spread to the other, and Heero snorted, a minute tilt gracing his lips. He turned his eyes away to focus on the kitchen archway, sensing his comrade's gaze drilling into his cheek.

"Uh-uh! I saw that smile," the baritone voice ribbed in his ear. He brashly poked at his friend's cheekbone, the anxious, optimistic butterflies in his stomach fluttering on fractured wings at the hope he might get a reaction out of his stoic friend, preferably another smile...

And damn!-They were intoxicating. A reaction to the stimuli; an addictive sense that Duo could cause anything he wanted out of Heero. Of course, he'd never admit that unless he was dying a slow, agonizing poisoned death with friends hovering over his pathetic body... or completely wasted. The grin clenching his own face widened slightly, fed by the sudden images of a drunken Heero. If that bastard was even capable of getting drunk at all, that is, he bitterly reminded himself.

'I should find out.' The thought echoed through the hollow of his head.

"Come on, Heero," he said abruptly, his outward show roaring forward and taking control, "let's go eat, hm?"



Trowa engorged his eyes on the chocolate box scene laid out before him; it always seemed to stir up long lost memories, cramped in some forgotten alcove of his brain, that were buttery and vague. He loved staring endlessly at the blue skies floating above the spruces. He closed his green eyes, getting murky and tired as sleep clawed at his bones again, and his body was pining to dream again. Luckily, Quatre was pressed up beside him and doubled as a 24-hour available pillow, so the Latin boy stretched out on the chair facing the frosted kitchen window and curled up against the blonde's shoulder. His hands still were clenched around a smoldering full cappuccino cup, warmth oozing into his cold fingers.

Quatre smiled to himself, reaching out with his fork and spearing a bite of 'well-done' egg into his mouth while his round aqua-green eyes riveted to the thin newspaper print. His taste buds complained, but his jaw kept chewing. After all, it wasn't the first time that breakfast should have gone, burnt flakes and all, into the dog's bowl and he was used to it by now. The Arab wasn't going to critique Trowa's cooking résumé, when his own had an arson record attached to it.

His eyes were just scanning across the newest sniper article when a blur of color and bodies caught his attention. Quatre looked up, poking a leftover egg bit into his mouth with his fork, and absorbed the sight of the other two pilots standing in the archway, soaked by ginger-colored light.

The American's arm was jauntily thrown over Heero's shoulder and the eccentric Maxwell grin plastered across his heart-shaped, tanned face. "Look what I found in the gutter on the side of the road, Quat," he announced spiritedly, hand lifting off the Japanese man's shoulder to dishevel his hair further. Heero flinched, squeezing one of his eyes shut, and sighed with a tinge of laughter. He shook his head as the master of ceremonies of the house continued loudly. "It's your wedding present! Like it?"

"Hm." For the sake of humor, the blonde crackled the newspaper down in his lap and squinted at Heero, stroking his chin. "I don't know. Do you still have the receipt?"

Trowa's bass voice rang out flatly, but with an undeniable humorous edge. "Just rewrap it and give it to your sister for Ramadan. She'll never know the difference."

A warped smile darted in Trowa's direction from his fiancé, mostly from the irony that Ramadan was a fasting holiday.

"Morning, Heero. Morning, Duo." Trowa said, dodging the mischievous glances from his blue-eyed lover. When Quatre gave up on Trowa dropping an opportunity to razz him for his remark, he snorted, the warm breath clouding on the side of Trowa's face and ear, and said good morning as well.

"Did you two eat my cupcakes?" Heero suddenly shot back, his soldier eyes flitting over the suspicious crumbs scattered on the table. The arm resting on his shoulder twitched, and violet eyes seized on his agitated profile.

The braided boy smirked at him and asked, "Cupcakes?" with masculine eyebrows arching and an impish slur in his tone. Before his common sense could react and warn against it, his lips let out a razzing, "Sounds like kind of feminine food for the Indestructible Yuy."

Heero's Prussian eyes were goring angrily back into his own in an instant, flashing something dark and cramped in his pupils that made Duo flinch. He blinked through his ragged brown bangs and stepped away, hands flung almost comically in the air and eyes wide above an apologetic nervous grin. Inside his brain, the cells clashed for a sensible answer, but came up barren.

"Hey, I like cupcakes!" he sputtered out. When the most infamous terrorist of the last century glared back at him, he panicked again. "I do!"

A growl crouched at the back of Heero's throat, the sudden, choking defense mechanism taking over his expression and actions before he could react. The playful stab seemed cutting and hurtful in a way that Heero hadn't experienced before... and, coming from Duo, it really itched under his skin. But seeing the fright in his best friend's expression drove a pang of guilt into his heart, slowly combating the hurt and angry defense it installed. Heero didn't mean to hurt him. And the last objective he had in mind was to start a fight with Duo.

The fury edged off and Heero sighed deeply to himself. He tiredly focused on Duo's face, a blur of peach and brown and violet until his vision cleared.

Wait... It was blurry?

In a gravelly voice, Heero responded, "Sorry, Duo, I've been under a lot of stress lately."

Concerned violet eyes were focused on him and he could see Duo's lips shifting to make words, but Heero quickly devised a cut-off. "You know... with April in the hospital and all," he said, the words false and grating on his tongue. "It's just getting to me."

A few seconds tense twiddled away with both of them clumsily silent before the American shattered it with a nonchalant grin.

"Hey... No prob." The sudden impulse to clap Heero on the shoulder to cheer him up popped up in his throat and he vented it by hooking his hand behind his head and scratching his at his glossy hair, knowing it wasn't a good time. He turned his head and sustained eye contact fearlessly with his friend as he trotted toward the table, shrugging with a bright expression. "You just need breakfast, that's why."

The American leaned against the table and held up the crumb-covered plate optimistically. "Want a donut?"

Trowa's green eyes were glued to Heero's face, knowing just as well as his fiancé that he'd just witnessed a loud warning sign.

"No." Heero waved it off. "I'll get my own."

Duo's face soured a bit, confused, then he brushed it off with a shrug and sat down to talk to Trowa, glancing at the newspaper tossed on the table.

Heero was brushing his fingers through the bushy mass of chocolate brown bangs at his forehead as he looked down at the floor and was halfway to the refrigerator to get his habitual Hostess cupcake when a plate was shoved under his nose. Frozen chocolate scent jumped into his senses and Heero found himself confronted with two chilly, somewhat slumped cupcakes on a cream blue plate. He turned his head up to see a sympathetic blonde empath smiling at him.

Quatre offered the best warm look he could, sensing the pang of dark vulnerability from Heero. He understood how brittle his emotions could be. It brought him a scrap of happiness to see the Japanese man force a weak smile and take the plate, to know that he could be brought back from the edge of the abyss before it dug its teeth in and consumed him.

Suddenly, Heero lifted his head fully, Prussian eyes blank and fearful. "Quatre."

"What?"

"The paintings," he whispered quietly, eyes never leaving the lifeline that was currently Quatre's face. "Could you-"

"Of course, Heero." Quatre nodded happily, seeming to have found the fountain from where the fear had come from.

Quatre walked out of the kitchen languidly, in no big hurry, and disappeared around the corner, the sounds of his bare feet on the wooden floorboards echoing for a few seconds. Duo, who was currently taking another bite of the last brown glazed donut, cocked his head to the side and was confused.

Before he could inquire what the curt exit meant, Heero was sauntering back towards the table with a cup of cold reserve coffee. He sat down in the wooden chair next to Duo, facing him, so that brunettes populated the entire left side of the table. The American chewed the bit of sugary dough, anxiously pulling out a finger that he'd been licking impolitely, and was about to open his mouth before Heero interrupted.

"Sorry," Heero apologized again, giving the faint ghost of a smile on his lips and putting his plate down. "I really am. Didn't mean to frighten you." Although the tinge of fear still rang in the back of Duo's consciousness, grounded by brutal evidence of Heero's previous retaliations he'd experienced in the war, the apology drew a lopsided little smile out of him. The American shrugged his shoulders ambiguously, holding up the donut and waving it slightly.

"S'okay," he said, chewing another sugary bite and looking down at the fabric on his knee. Humor was creeping back into his tone as violet eyes flashed up to Prussian. "I would have knocked you flat if you'd dared to call my hair girlish."

The Japanese man felt a sigh of relief loosen the knotted veins and nerves throughout his body. Staring in to the warm expression of his friend, he knew that he was in amnesty from Duo. And hell, he was his best man and a prankster to boot, so conjuring little pranks and hoaxes for his big day for revenge would be easier than eating a piece of white and pink wedding cake. He wrapped his fingers around the porcelain and glanced to Trowa as he drank the cold, watery dark coffee. Prussian eyes ripped from his face though, disturbed by the fierce concern embedded in the Heavyarms pilot's face.

"Like you could," he muttered in Duo's direction deliberately, hoping to instill some nostalgic Shinigami wrath in the braided boy.

Duo's head lifted, lips smeared with obvious greasy sugar, and eyes wide in disbelief, engorged on his face.

Score.

"What?"

Duo's surprise slowly evaporated, a more sinister expression breeding in its absence. The American's eyes lit with a dark light, making some insignificant little muscle twitch in Heero's stomach in apprehension. Duo stared into his eyes, almost boring into his soul. Then he slapped the greasy donut onto the plate, half-eaten, and grinned as Heero flinched. "Is that a challenge?"

"No," Heero lied. Shinigami eyes flickered, softening for an instant. "...But it is getting kind of effeminate..."

Duo ripped out of his chair, the loud cacophony of wood scraping on wood, plates clattering, and shoes pounding filling the kitchen, and downed the laughing, blue-eyed Japanese to the floor, starting off the grappling blitz with a rough tousling of his hair.

Trowa glanced languidly down at the chaotic, feverish rolling pile of Gundam pilot and muttered a warning he was sure would just bounce off the testosterone-driven fighters' ears. "Don't break anything, okay? Yeah, roll away from the furniture... Good." He laughed and reached for Duo's sugary donut as the fight raged on.

The American nearly had his opponent's right arm pinned completely to the floor, sitting gingerly on his stomach, before military training instincts in Heero caused his left arm to shoot up and knock Duo off him. He collapsed to the floor with a yelp of laughing surprise, his long braid slapping the wooden panels like a whip. Heero crawled up onto his hands and knees before Shinigami recovered and was viciously tackling him again, slurring a threat to take him to Hell with him. He always was faster, Heero brooded with a tinge of jealousy in his mind, just as a mischievous jab in his shoulder caused him to grunt in pain and lose his balance.

Seizing the opportunity, the American's arms wrapped around his chest from the side and his knee pinioned down on Heero's own, knobby ones while the other supported his weight.

The whirl of fighting lulled for an instant, while Duo caught his breath, and Heero cocked his head up to stare at his opponent. The American's long, deep chestnut bangs were spooned in all directions across his forehead, in the air, and one even was lodged in his mouth, which he took the liberty of spitting out with a puff of air. His arms viced around his body, slackening only when he noticed that Heero was as winded as he was. Heero's heart almost skipped a beat, noticing the explosion of white teeth with mischievous intent just above him.

"If you're manly enough to mock my hair, I'm girly enough to hit you for it," he teased abstractly, the grin flashing over his face.

The Japanese pilot tried to move, but a sharp ache in his knee via Duo's own smothered the rebellion and Heero decided not to try again. The American victoriously snorted above him. "Still think it's girly?" With a toss of his head, Duo let the silky brown snake slide over his shoulder and pool at the side of Heero's face, mingling with the darker hair.

His eyebrows furrowed as a stray strand itched at his nose, and he jauntily blew it off his face. He stared up at Duo again. "Maybe," he answered ambiguously, stomach aching as he caged in a smile.

That eager glint in those violet eyes returned, just screaming, 'I love interrogations!' It made that smile seething in his stomach lose a bit of its confidence.

"I'll let you off easy if you tell me where the fuck your vacation is taking me," he cooed, tilting his head and letting the disheveled bangs swing somewhat back into place.

Heero rasped a deep breath upward with his chest heaving from adrenaline. His Prussian eyes focused on Duo's violet ones, then filled with more uncharacteristic humor as he hissed defiantly, "...Bring it."

Duo jerked in surprise, the whites of his eyes flashing, as a hundred and forty pounds of gritty pilot surged from under him and overthrew his authority. The Japanese man shifted his weight against the ribcage of his competitor, Duo's arm jerking back in surprise and snatching successfully at Heero's blue work shirt and knocking him over as well. Shinigami grinned and renewed the fight with equal vigor, throwing his tackling scheme to the wind. He decided that thinking was bullshit, and getting pinned meant defeat.

Trowa smirked and stared at the pile of bodies and the erratic whip that was Duo's hair as he was lashed about and did some lashing of his own. Both were smirking like fools. 'They're fighting even faster now,' he commented to himself with amusement. "Hey, Heero?"

Flashes of peach, sun-freckled skin, black fabric, and whipping brown hair rolled loudly on the floor with seemingly inexhaustible energy. From in the blur, he heard Heero respond, "What?"

"Did you contact Relena?" Trowa asked slowly, calmly, taking another bite from Duo's breakfast.

"No...I-Ah, hey!"

"Don't let your guard down," Duo snapped, voice edged with exertion. The American managed to wrench his arm out of Heero's flushed red hands and then kick out his left knee from under him.

Trowa snorted and smiled as the Japanese man barely escaped smacking his face firmly into the wooden floor and recovered, only to be knocked over again and be engaged in the trite rolling-about.

"Hnnhmuph!" he said intelligently as his face ground against the wood. Even as he was being thrashed playfully around, he continued to finish his answer. "No... I got her-umph!-publicist and he hung up on me!" Heero punctuated the last word by swiftly standing up and knocking over and pinning Duo beneath him.

"Hm. Too bad," Trowa said, casually picking up the newspaper and un-crinkling it. "We've got to call the others, too."

"A little busy here!" Heero said.

As thrilled as he was to have Heero on top of him, Duo's Shinigami nerves kicked in and his mind screamed at him not to pass the opportunity up. As Heero was talking, he turned his head slightly and the severe grip on Duo's arms slackened a microsecond, a blatant invitation to overpower him. The American's knee lifted into Heero's hipbone, his sore, slightly black-and-blue arm whipped free and finished the ensemble with a swift palm to his solar plexus, causing him to grunt in surprise and fall to the side. Staggering swiftly over to Heero on his hands and knees, Duo pounced on him, pinning him with impish zest. Luckily, one of Heero's hands had been lodged under his body as he fell on his back, so Duo only needed to snatch up one, force his weight onto his bruised shoulder via his arm, then straddle his stomach to conquer him.

Dazed Prussian eyes stared up at him, shocked, as he found his body bruised and immobile under Duo's weight.

"Tell me," Duo commanded between loud breaths, accentuating the words with raised eyebrows, "where we're going."

Before I lose control and take you to bed, Duo added discreetly in his mind.

Dumbstruck, the Wing pilot glanced his eyes up to Trowa, cheeks tinged red. When the other pilot only grinned at his expression and lack of options in this situation, he jerked his head back to face Duo. At first, his lips opened and shut mechanically, unable to get any words out, and finally he pinched them shut. Violet eyes searched his face expectantly as Heero gathered what moisture was left in his mouth to speak.

"Uh..."

An evil grin graced Duo's face as he lifted up the wrist he had viciously tweaked in his hand. He knew for a fact that Heero hated to strain his wrists, it intruded upon his typing ability, and was taking full, nearly malicious advantage of that. He twisted it slightly, counting down torturously.

"One... two... three..."

"Okay!" Heero shouted, in fear of his wrist. He let his head fall limply to the floor in defeat, the mocking, dreary white ceiling sneering in his eyes. "...We're going to Cancun."

Duo stared at him, slack-jawed. Like a drunkard who had just been told he had a village of lawn gnomes living in his stomach, he slowly dropped the captive wrist, and then exploded. He leaped off Heero's prone form and ran over to Trowa, laughing loudly, "No way! We're going to Cancun! Cancun !" and throwing his arms around the amused Trowa, who was watching Heero lie on the floor.

The American continued to thrash Trowa around by the shoulders in happiness, voicing his pleasure in rambling spurts of words that echoed through the shell of the entire house and even perked the attention of the squirrels scampering out in the slush outside. It definitely quirked a confused look out of Quatre, who stood in the archway after successfully changing the secret location of the paintings. He stared at the ecstatic Duo draping himself all over Trowa, then down at the fallen Wing pilot.

Heero dazedly stared up at the ceiling, his ego splattered like tragic blood stains all over his reputation. And Trowa snorted, sipping at Heero's coffee.

"Shit..." he said breathlessly. "He does like to interrogate."



In the neglected dusty darkness of the room, the faint glow of illumination streaming in like an invading light blitzkrieg was completely alien. Fingers appeared from past the wooden door and groped along the cold, painted wall until they happened upon the light switch and flicked it on. The bowl-shaped incandescent lights overhead sparked and buzzed to life, spitting warm, oddly cozy grayish light over the dark green surroundings, thrusting the concept of life onto the vacant room abruptly. As the wooden door swung open, the murmur of low male voices flooded in as well.

Duo's head swung in curiously, violet eyes soaking in the dark green room slowly, every corner and angle jumping at him as his new reality. His new room. The American paused in the doorway, numbly letting the wooden door swing open and tap against the wall, and licked his dry lips and stood frozen, taking in the sight, until the strap of his backpack chewed into his shoulder. He winced and slipped it off his shoulder, swinging it in his hand as he trotted down the two cement stairs leading down to the shag-carpeted floor. He let it drop gently to the floor and thoroughly tested the carpet by combing his bare toes through it.

The entire room was dark, emerald green, something suspiciously reminiscent of Trowa's eyes and if he hadn't known better, Duo would have gambled on Quatre having a say in the paint color. It was the remolded, room-incarnation of the garage, a souvenir of the previous owners he'd been told. The basic shape of it was a fat rectangle, with two closet doors on the far wall. In the far right corner, only a foot or so away, seemingly suctioned to the wall, was a large, black-blanketed twin sized bed, more than ample for Duo's lean body. Just off to the side was the automatic bedside table, scattered with bits of lint and wrinkled papers and even the dull plastic glint of old dusty CD cases.

In the far left corner, the American twitched in amazement at the sight of an old, coal-black wood burning stove squatting noiselessly, hatch swung open with the black and gray-etched ashes stirring as a slight wind tailed him into the room. Duo hummed to himself, titling his head to the side as he continued his survey of his new territory. There was even another curiosity to surprise him; a faded rubber tire swing hung from the ceiling on the other end of the room, near the window covered with blackout curtains where the garage door would have opened up. He stared, spiky bangs hanging in his eyes, and then shrugged, settling with the odd fact that it was there.

He smirked slightly to himself, finding the otherwise empty green room satisfactory... After a few homey personal touches, it'd be fine. Good, even maybe.

Sudden dark colored movement behind him caused his heart to speed and head whip around in alarm. Duo's long braid whipped forward over his shoulder, then unfurled like a brown silk snake down his chest as he paused and smiled. "Oh, hey Heero."

The Japanese man stood in the doorway, the starchy artificial light casting sharp shadow relief on his pale skin, and stared at Duo in the center of the pine green room, like some alien just washed up on shore. A sunny grin welcomed him. "Hi," he said, monotone seething in his voice. "Found your room, huh?"

"It's nice," Duo replied, finding no humor in his brain to spice up the mundane response. Normally, he would have pointed something interesting out in the room and asked his friend about it but Heero himself was the object of interest of the moment. On his shoulders was a simple black shirt, hugging to his biceps and lounging low around his neck. Changing out of his work clothes, he now had his accustomed, Levi blue jeans on, as if to drive a stake of psychosis into Duo just for fun, sucking his mouth dry of all moisture. Before he let something stupid roll off his lip, Duo jerked his eyes straight up to Heero's face to sober him up, although it was just as maddening. He flinched instantly.

Oh God. There was a bruise.

"Heero..."

Prussian eyes focused on the heart-shaped confusedly, noticed he was staring at his forehead, then he lifted his hand to his skin just to be sure it wasn't a just a zit or something. When he felt a tiny spark of pain, he realized it must have been where he'd caught Duo's elbow in the head. Minor bruise. He'd spotted it in the mirror as he changed clothes minutes previous. "It's nothing," he said.

Duo's face still rang with painful apology. "You sure? I mean, I didn't think I hurt you or anything. Damn it, I'm sorry..."

Heero split the thick atmosphere with a toned-down, Duo-esque grin. "We could have thrashed each other if we really wanted to. It's nothing," he stressed. The Japanese pilot tapped at the bruise. "See. Doesn't hurt."

"Hm." Duo's eyes flashed at him, a grin finally escaping him and covering the hurt. "You lie like crap, you know that, Yuy?"

"No," he lied.

"I feel guilty now, Heero!" he said intensely, violet eyes piercing as they followed Heero's movement. The other pilot trotted causally down the stairs with hands pocketed, coming closer to talk. He flinched suddenly as the American reached up tentatively and gingerly touched the small black-and-blue blemish on his forehead, just below his hairline. He remembered to breath suddenly. "How you going to cover that up for the wedding ceremony, huh? Foundation?"

Heero reached up and gripped his wrist, guiding his fingers away from the bruise and out of his bangs. "You'd love to make me say that I would."

"Hm, yeah," Duo said happily with a flush, although the gesture spiked a little dejection into his stomach. "Heero in makeup. Flawless blackmail." Even as the dazzling, unconquerable grin flashed on Duo's face, his eyes remained as rueful as ever. And Heero noticed.

"You can make it up to me if you call Wufei and break the news of your arrival," he proposed flatly, hands releasing Duo's warm skin to drop at his side. He watched the flickering emotions and thoughts running briefly past his friend's slightly dilated pupils like a forbidden slide show, and then a sly smirk grasped his face.

In a deep, mock-breathy voice, Duo cooed, "Could I... prank him?" He even punctuated the joke with a shy, curious finger to his lip.

This brought a smile to even Heero's stoic face and, with one eyebrow furrowing over his eye, he tilted his lips. Heero shrugged finally. "Fire at will," came the faint mutter, with a smile and a shake of his disheveled brown head. The green room filled with the dynamic sound of movement as Duo flung his ragged black backpack onto the bedspread, wrinkling it, whooped, then raced past Heero up the steps in bare feet.

"Point me to the phone. Chang's going down!"