May 24, 2001
Revised: August 9, 2001
whew! what a hiatus. o.0;
~Bianca
sweet all over
part seven
warnings: mild angst. sap. bad jokes.
pairings: 13x1, 6x2/2+6, 4x3, 5xM, D+R
"Who are you?" said Quatre, staring into his bathroom mirror. In a fit of romanticism, he'd stripped down to his boxers and turned out all the lights, depending on the scant designs of candle flames to cast illumination. He watched his tongue slip out to lick at his lips. "Who are you--"
"Quatre!" He jerked, nearly burning himself, as Iria poked her head into the bathroom. "Quatre, you've got a guest waiting in the front parlor. Make it quick, darling; we've got Family Game Night in half an hour, and Charlotta and I are going to beat your butt at Monopoly!" He rolled his eyes at her good humor.
"Who is it?" he asked. Iria smiled.
"You'll have to go and see for yourself, won't you?"
He flung the door to the parlor open, hoping that it was Trowa. He was sorely disappointed to find Wufei sitting, slightly damp, on the loveseat, looking acutely uncomfortable. "Hello," said Quatre. "What brings you here, Wufei?"
"What did you do to Trowa?" said Wufei. "He showed up at my doorstep a few hours ago."
"What did he say?" asked Quatre, his throat dry.
"That's the point. He didn't say anything." Wufei stared listlessly at the photos, lined up on the mantel. Quatre, Iria, maybe a few other sisters while they had still lived in the house; Quatre alone, looking obnoxiously cute in a sailor's outfit; Quatre and his father... "You've always had a big family," said Wufei. "Always been the center of attention. I doubt you even notice it."
Quatre said nothing, but sat across from Wufei on the ottoman that had once belonged to a gorgeous black leather chair, before Quatre brought home a stray tomcat and it tore the armrests to shreds.
"It's why Dorothy lets you work the counter, I guess. No one else acts like they belong there as well as you do."
"I wish you wouldn't insult me," said Quatre.
"I'm not insulting you," said Wufei. "I've just got suspicions about what's going on."
"Now you sound like Heero," said Quatre. "All paranoid. He always thinks there's some kind of conspiracy against him. Or," he said, "he used to."
Wufei shrugged.
"I'm sorry to hear you say that, Quatre."
They spent the next few minutes saying goodbye in that awkward way that men who are almost friends have. Conversation dried up into arid deserts, and then the Chinese boy turned himself back into the rain.
Quatre watched him go, saw the way the rain soaked his silk shirt, and wondered what he would ever do, or say, to make things better again. Then, he forced his lips into a smile and yelled, "Who's ready for Monopoly? I call the boot!"
"What did he say?" asked Trowa, his long thumbs twiddling nervously. Wufei had never noticed before how extraordinarily elongated the digits were, almost to the point of being grotesque.
In the living room, Meiran was watching the playoffs, occasionally swearing or throwing popcorn at the television, accompanied by cries of, "That's not a foul, you fool!" The kitchen seemed a haven from bad relationships.
"He wasn't ready to understand," said Wufei, hoping other boy would accept it. "There was nothing I could say to make him understand."
Trowa sagged in his chair, his eyes falling shut. "What should I do?" He spoke so lowly that Wufei wasn't sure he had even said anything. "Tell me, Wufei. You're married. Tell me what I need to do to keep him."
"COVER IVERSON, DAMMIT!"
"I don't know," said Wufei, staring into his hands as if they were sacred tenets.
"THE WING! HE'S SO OPEN, IT'S KILLING ME!"
"I don't know either." Trowa examined his fingernails. "This is really serious, Wufei. I've lost him."
"YOU IDIOTS!"
"That'll be fifteen forty seven," said Wufei, smiling as pleasantly as he could, considering he had a splitting headache from listening to Meiran shriek until midnight about the incompetence of those who were supposedly guarding Allen Iverson. You just can't stop The Answer, thought Wufei with no small amount of satisfaction. Over the customer's head, he saw Heero slink in, his head bowed.
"Finally," said Wufei. "I've been on duty since noon all by myself." Heero glared at him, saying nothing, but jerking the strings of his apron tight around his slender waist. He then stomped off to the kitchen to wash his hands.
"What's eating him?" asked the next customer, a well-dressed young man with gorgeous chocolate skin. Wufei shrugged.
"I don't know." He sighed. "What can I get for you today?"
"I'm not sure...I want something for a dinner party. I think truffles are too stuffy, though."
"Try the cherry cordials," said Wufei. "A guy came in a few days ago and bought five hundred dollars worth of them." Ah, Treize, thought Wufei, rolling his eyes as Heero slammed the cover of the milk powder on the counter, dumping heavy scoops of it into the mixing bowl. Where are you when he needs you?
"Damn cover," he muttered, slamming it back on as angrily as he taken it off. He scraped all the excess powder into the palm of his hand, saying, "Damn trash!" as he dumped it into the garbage. "Who does he think he is?" Heero had spent the entire night before playing video games and hacking into other people's computers, but for the first time, it succeeded only in making him feel like a loser.
"Heero," said Wufei, making sure Dorothy wasn't listening, "what's wrong?" He cringed at the insincerity of his own voice. It had always been Duo who had drawn Heero out of his self- imposed sulking moods; none of the others were any good. For a time, Quatre and Trowa had been sure that Heero had a crush on Duo, and that the feelings were reciprocated.
"Nothing," said Heero, but his eyes lingered on the door, as if hoping it would mysteriously open. Wufei took that as a cue to keep talking.
"Are you sure?" He winced as Heero karate-kicked the kitchen door open. "You seem...a bit..." He heard a pot clanging as it bounced to the floor, and a loud curse word floated serenely to him. "Angry," he finished. "Just wondering."
"No," said Heero, smoothing back his hair as he walked from the kitchen. He was covered in milk powder. "I'm fine."
"Just so you know," said Wufei, watching in amazement as the lid on the milk powder refused to open, "if you need to talk..." Heero threw the container to the floor and began to kick it repeatedly. "I'm here."
Heero paused.
"Thanks, Wufei."
With that, Heero marched back into the kitchen. Wufei sighed. All of his friends, so close to happiness, were screwing up their lives. Taking a quick look around, he reached into the lolly jar and began sucking on a red one.
Ah... At last, he wasn't the only one.
Meiran sighed. "Trowa Barton, you need to get out of bed and into the real world. She's a mean ol' hoss, and she don't wait for no one." She quickly stripped the covers from his shivering body, tossing them behind the couch.
"Don't wanna."
"That's not your decision. I'm leaving for work, and I want to know that you won't be sleeping your life away, thinking about that little s.o.b. of a blonde boyfriend you've got."
"He's not my boyfriend," came the reply from beneath a padded cushion.
"He _is_ your boyfriend," she corrected, "you just don't know it yet. You're close to being in college, Trowa Barton, and you've got to get your act together. Quatre Raberba Winner is not the be- all, end-all."
"I know that."
"Then why are you moping about like a scorned woman?" She poked an exposed inch of tanned flesh. "Go out, have fun." Trowa's bedraggled head lifted up, his eyes bleary. "You know," she said, setting down her purse to sit on the coffee table across from him, "the best revenge is Quatre seeing you having fun. You don't want him to pity you, do you?"
"No."
"Well then," said Meiran, "don't give him a reason to. Make him come _crawling_ back on his hands and knees, a broken man, a begging man--"
Trowa blinked as she began to foam at the mouth. In some ways, she and Wufei were a matched set.
"Meiran," he said. She froze, blushing.
"Sorry. Wufei's on shift at the chocolate store--"
"Shoppe," said Trowa.
"Whatever," said Meiran, waving her hand. "He's on duty with Heero; maybe you guys can go out after and go bowling or something. Male bonding. You know. Manly kinds of things. Maybe you can get drunk off your asses and have peeing contests."
"That's tacky," said Trowa, hints of a smile tugging at his face. "Real men wear pink and...and do Buns of Steel videos..." He paused, staring off into space. Meiran snapped her fingers in front of his nose, laughing as his eyes crossed.
"No more talking about Quatre, okay?"
end pt 7. o.0;
Bianca
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