10-Jul-2005
Title: Splendor Restored 4/13
Author: BadMomma
Warnings: AU, limey
Pairings: 1x2x1, some mention of 3x4, OCs
Rating: R for language and some sexual situations
Disclaimer: Own them, I do not.
Archived: GWA, ff.net, Under the Bridge
Feedback: Craved, greatly appreciated and always answered.
Dedication: To Klingonpoo. Cause if it ain't 1x2 she won't read it.
Notes: Thanks to Link for giving this a read through and some rather amusing feedback. Heero's POV. The "/ /" denote emphasis on a word. The "~~" denote a change of day.
Summary: A Renovations Consultant finds more than just old buildings of interest on his new job site when he gets tangled up with the resort's Program Director.
They're walking down the path that leads from the staff housing area very closely. Perhaps just a little too closely. I'm pretty sure that 'just friends' don't usually walk so close together that they constantly bump into each other. From what I've observed of other people, bumping into someone when you're walking next to them usually causes both people to be a little more careful. But not these two. They repeatedly bump hands, arms, shoulders and hips, as if it was normal, neither one seeming to make any effort to avoid it. It occurs to me again that despite his repeated use of the phrase, 'friends' might not be an adequate description of what they are.
When I'd seen them this morning at the departmental staff meeting, they had been standing at the beverage table in the back of the room. I did not have a chance to say hello, and since I arrived with Marquise, the meeting had immediately been called to order. In the process of grabbing a seat, I'd made eye contact with Duo and we'd exchanged quick nods of greeting. But the two of them chose seats at the back of the room and I, being Marquise's guest at the gathering, had no choice but to remain with him at the front. Not that I was necessarily convinced Duo would want to sit with me, but my mind was eager to suggest the idea as soon as I saw him.
I watched the pair in the back of the room throughout the course of the meeting as the different department heads and assistants delivered their reports. They had pulled their chairs close together and were discretely carrying on a conversation, occasionally making use of Duo's portfolio to view something they wanted to keep hidden, each taking turns to minutely nod or shake their heads over whatever was secretly on display in front of them.
Like most the other representatives in attendance, she seemed to listen with only half an ear throughout most of the meeting, only occasionally looking up from whatever had kept their interest. But that was not the case when he spoke. When it was Duo's turn to deliver his report, she had watched him closely. She had not paid as rapt attention to anyone else, not even her own department head. Her gaze on him was so intense and all encompassing, you would have thought he was delivering a wrenching dissertation on the future of humanity and not a status report of his preparations for the upcoming festival or announcing changes to the calendar of resort activities.
It was then that I began to suspect that she might be enamored with him.
When the meeting ended I had lingered, making appointments with several of the department chairs, which would keep me fairly busy for the next two weeks. Just as I was making a last note in my binder, I sensed their presence next me.
Duo introduced me to her - Hilde something or other - and explained that she was on the Events and Catering Staff, Lucrezia Noin's department. He told me that the two of them often worked closely to avoid conflicts when scheduling the resort facilities. He suggested it might be a good idea for him to attend my meeting with her and her boss to insure that his needs concerning the facilities they shared were met as well. I initially agreed without hesitation but then had to rethink it. What if Ms. Noin – 'Lucy, if you would, please' – did not appreciate my bringing another party in on her meeting?
I shared that thought out loud and it brought a burst of laughter from both of them. They practically had to hold each other up to keep from falling over. When they had recovered themselves enough to stand on their own again, Hilde asked about the date and time of my appointment with her department head. Stating that it was scheduled for 4:30PM on Thursday served no purpose other than to bring on another bout of hysterics.
Ms. Noin chose that moment to return and chided them both for their behavior. It wasn't long before I figured out why they'd thought the timing of my appointment was so funny. It seems the director of Events and Catering is a bit of a social butterfly and makes it a point to coerce any new blood, as they called it, into attending the staff's monthly Thursday afternoon Happy Hour. Apparently she makes it a habit to schedule appointments right before the Happy Hour so she can drag the unsuspecting newbies to the event.
With an embarrassed flush on her face, she managed to wring acceptance out of me before physically dragging Hilde off behind her. Before being hauled completely out of the room, Hilde turned and called back to Duo. She reminded him of their own appointment this Tuesday night at eight and instructed him to remember to bring his jammies. He would apparently be spending the night.
A sharp bark of laughter interrupts my thoughts and I realize that they've reached the point of parting. If their gestures are any indication, Hilde is heading indoors and Duo is heading toward the pool. They exchange a few words and a quick hug and he makes to walk off but she stops him before he gets too far. His expression goes from jovial to serious in about half a second. He tilts his head at her and appears to ask what it's about. After a moment of hesitation and a slight tousle of the head, she answers him.
Whatever she has said has shocked the hell out of him. His eyes grow comically wide and his mouth hangs open. He takes a step back and looks her over head to toe. His mouth snaps shut and then opens again. I clearly make out the one word he says to her. 'Really?' She nods once, very dramatically, and they hold eye contact.
What happens next reminds me of a scene from a comedy anime I'd seen once; where the one comedic character – who frequently appears with stars or hearts in their eyes – makes some incredulous announcement to their straight-man friend and long-time companion. The dialogue I hear in my head matches their reactions perfectly.
The exchange ends as expected, with much giggling and squealing on her part and a raucous laugh and bear hug from him. He literally picks her up off the floor with the hug and spins her around. From where I sit I can hear him saying 'Oh my God, Hil, that's great! I'm so happy!'
His happiness is infectious and I can't help but smile myself. I have no idea what this great thing is that she's just shared and I can't help the little thrill that goes through me at the thought that I get to witness such unabashed joy from him.
They break from their revelry and exchange a few quiet, serious words and one last hug before he starts to walk away again, shaking his head in afterthought. She watches him for a moment, almost beaming with her own joy, but when she begins to turn he calls back at her.
"Sure you wanna get married?"
She nods enthusiastically and he shrugs in response.
"OK then!" he says and shakes his head again before turning to walk away.
The thrill I'd experienced just moments ago turns into a black hole in my gut. Married? They're getting married? Did she just accept his proposal? God, my world has just turned on its axis again.
Granted I hardly know him and have even less right to lay claim to him, but in the week that I've been here I've come to realize just how attracted to him I am. Was it just my imagination and desire that was painting possibilities for an 'us' in my mind? Every time I've crossed paths with him, he's made it a point to come over and say hello with a lingering handshake or a casual touch to my arm or shoulder. And there have been other occasions, times when he has sought me out, requested my company, expressed his gratitude for my presence. Could it be that my own desire had blinded me to the fact that his behavior with me is the same as it is with everyone else? I wouldn't have thought so.
Not five days ago, Wednesday of last week, he came to my apartment dressed simply in shorts and a polo shirt. He'd brought more food than we'd agreed to and way more than both of us could eat in a week of breakfasts. He was so warm and friendly that he'd set me at ease with his teasingly casual nature.
What I'd thought would be a couple of hours of mostly business-like discussion huddled at the desk or drafting table had turned into many hours of easy conversation spread out over the whole of the apartment. We'd shared breakfast on the balcony. We'd talked while cleaning up both outside and in the kitchen. Then we'd sat on the couch and continued our conversation, weaving off and on the scheduled topic.
He'd stayed well into the early afternoon, mostly talking about the resort's history. When we moved to the drafting table so I could show him a few ideas I'd sketched out and some improvements I felt would be needed, he'd stood at my shoulder and commented freely. He would occasionally lean over or across me to point at things, share his thoughts or sketch out changes. Then he'd taken over the chair and centered himself at the drawing table, roughly illustrating for me the stages of the resort's growth over the years, from the layout of the original structures to what it was now. He gave me candid and thoughtful insight into its gradual expansion. Eventually, when I had to end our time together because of a conference call, he'd promised to return the following Wednesday, practically begging me to agree to make it a regular event between us.
I'd agreed without the slightest hesitation. I'd been so sure that it was a sign of his interest in more than just the project. No one had ever expressed the desire to spend that much time with me individually, not without wanting more from me than just my time. No one, that is, except Trowa. And yet there he was, offering to give up a chunk of his limited free time on the one day he had no work or school commitments. He seemed eager to give it up. To spend time with me.
And then there was last Saturday. What was originally supposed to be just a few afternoon hours watching a game with his friends turned into a full day of-- all sorts of things.
The day started rather unexpectedly with us helping his uncle move equipment and supplies from his house to his boat to accommodate a two week charter trip the old man had been hired for. Once done loading the boat, we headed back to the house to drop off the man's truck before heading to the local ale house.
The soccer game and lunch with a small group of friends segued into several rounds of pool and quite a few beers. As everyone was leaving, he suggested a quick stop in the mall adjacent to the pub to allow for some of the alcohol we'd consumed to burn off. Our 'quick' mall stop started with a visit to the video arcade for a little friendly competition. That was followed by a detour to the music store for his favorite group's new CD, the food court for an ice cream and a kiosk in the center of the mall for a new watch band.
It was an enjoyable way to spend an afternoon with a friend and, technically, there was nothing out of the ordinary about it. Except that I'd walked away from the day with an added sense of comfort and warmth at his part in it.
I admit that I'd been a little nervous about meeting his friends; I'm not exactly the best person in social settings and I often find myself feeling a bit out of my element. But Duo had helped ease me into their small circle. He never abandoned me to fend for myself with what amounted to perfect strangers. He worked hard to include me in their conversations, giving me back-story whenever some insider remark was made. He dropped hints, often in the form of teasing remarks, to give me insight into his friends.
But that wasn't the whole of it and it certainly wasn't what had surprised me the most, or what had led me to the confused state I was in now. He had also exhibited a physical closeness to me that had, on more than one occasion, garnered an odd look from one of his friends. It started innocently enough with the typical male shoulder-bump to emphasize some point of conversation. It extended to a possessiveness that included physically pushing one of his friends out of the chair next to me when we sat down to eat because I was 'his guest' and not theirs. He ate food off my plate, sipped at my beer when he ran out, and paid my tab in gratitude for my help that morning.
Then there was his behavior while we had played pool. Under the pretense of quietly discussing strategy, he'd hook an arm over my shoulder and lean in close to talk to me. Half the things he said were nonsense; the move was designed more to insinuate a strategy to our opponents than anything else. But then when everyone began switching partners to improve their chances of winning, he'd steadfastly refused to give me up, saying that I was his ace and they couldn't have me. There was also more of that incidental contact I'd been getting all week: a lingering pat on the shoulder, a push in the back when it was my turn, the high-fives when we did something right or our opponents something wrong, the one-armed neck hug when we won, a gentle elbow to the ribs when we lost, the rap of a cue against my leg to get my attention, and standing shoulder to shoulder for no reason at all.
If it had ended there, I might not have thought much of it. He had, after all, brought me into his circle of friends. It wasn't inconceivable that it was his way of making me feel a welcomed part of the group. It might also have been explained by the notion that in a way he was responsible for me; my place in this scheme was in direct relation to him. If he could show his friends that he was completely comfortable with me, they would be too. But it hadn't ended there. Our whirlwind tour of the mall had included much of the same behavior and so it was that I'd walked away from the experience with a certitude that there was more to it than met the eye.
"-uy? Excuse me, Mr. Yuy?"
I am brought out of my mental meandering by his friend – fiancée? – trying to catch my attention only to realize that I've been staring at the spot he last occupied.
"Miss--?"
"Schbeiker, but please just call me Hilde."
"Aa, Hilde. Please call me Heero. What can I do for you?"
"I was just wondering if you were done with that?" She points at my near empty plate. "I was just going through to the kitchens. I can take that with me if you're done. Can I get you something else? Dessert or coffee; an espresso maybe?"
"Oh no. Yes. I'm sorry, yes I'm done. No coffee or dessert, though, thank you."
"Alright, I'll just have someone bring you your check then. Have a nice afternoon!"
"Thanks. You too."
She's still fairly beaming with happiness from her announcement. Sure. 'A nice afternoon.' Maybe for her, but not for me. Not if what I suspect is true.
He's taken. Has been for a while apparently.
I never had a chance.
"I see your social life is as exciting as mine?"
I look up the denim clad legs that appear beside me to find Duo with a grin on his face.
"Apparently," I nod.
He smiles in return and then cocks his head to the side. "Are you stalking me or something?"
"No." I answer seriously. Though if I were completely honest, I'd have to admit he is partly responsible for my being here.
"You sure now? That's two days in a row you've run into me."
"Positive."
"So yesterday you just happened to be in the vicinity of the University 'cause you had to go to--?"
"The FedEx shop."
"Ah," he nods sagely, "to ship that all important midnight package?"
I smirk at him. "Yes." It was hardly midnight.
"And tonight here you are. In my bookstore. Sure you're not following me?"
I give him a blank look.
"It was a joke Heero." He pats me on the head like a little kid and leans against the low table opposite me. "You were supposed to say something like, 'I was here first'."
"I was." I knew it was a joke! Excuse me if my sense of humor is just a bit-- dry?
"OK, see now, that-- Oh never mind! Not real good with the witty repartee, are we?"
"Like the Hindenburg on its maiden voyage."
That elicits a hearty chuckle and he nods in approval. "See. That was a good comeback. There's hope for you yet, mister."
I lift an eyebrow in response and nothing else.
"Alright, alright. No more joking about jokes." He snickers at his own comment and then settles. "Hey, you drinking anything? They make really good coffee here. Have you tried it?"
"No."
"And would that be a no to the drinking or a no to the trying?"
Apparently he is a master of the witty repartee. "Neither" I answer motioning at the area surrounding me to indicate that I have nothing to drink.
A slight frown seizes his features and he hesitates. "Am I bothering you? 'Cause you can just tell me to go away. I won't be offended or anything. This place isn't so small I can't find something else to occupy my time."
"No!" I shake my head at how inane I can be around other people. Especially him. "Sorry, I'm just-- not much of a talker."
"OK, if you're sure?"
I nod and it seems to appease him.
"Mind if I sit?" He motions to the floor with his head and I nod acceptance.
"You know, you seemed to be doing just fine in the talking department yesterday. And this afternoon, too. Looked like you were having a good time, even."
I smile in remembrance, "I did." I had a great time. More so yesterday, when he spent the morning in my temporary home for the second week in a row, than at the happy hour today. But definitely on both occasions. "But that was-- different."
He settles next to me on the floor and checks out the cover of the book I was reading. "Yeah, how's that?" His tone and actions are nonchalant, but something in his eyes when he looks up at me belies that.
I struggle with how to word my answer while he peruses the other titles I've pulled off the shelves. How do I tell him that this time I have no pretense under which to keep him around. Despite knowing of his engagement, I find myself wanting to prolong the time I spend with him. I'd used the excuse of our need to share information about the resort on Wednesday morning, and this afternoon I'd managed to convince him he was the only person I knew personally at the event. Both had granted me a lengthy stay in his invigorating presence.
"That was business." I manage abruptly. It's the closest thing to the truth.
"Business, huh?" He scrunches his face up at that. "Jeez, you're not doing much for my ego here, buddy."
"Your ego?" I'm confused.
"Yeah, I was kinda hoping that part of the reason was that you liked hanging out with me. But if it was just 'business'--" He makes air quotes with his fingers and puts an exaggerated emphasis on the last word.
"I'm sorry. I didn't-- mean it like that. I-- I do enjoy your company."
He raises a disbelieving eyebrow to that and purses his lips.
"I'm just not good with social situations. It's easier for me if I approach those scenarios with-- a business mindset. This is my work, so my ability to communicate with people affects my success with regards to the project. If I don't cultivate-"
He bumps my shoulder with his and a low chuckle stops me in mid-sentence. "Heero, relax. We're not at a Carnegie class and there's no test tomorrow." He gives me another push before leaning back against the bookshelves behind us. "You sure I can't get you a coffee? It makes the experience all the nicer." He waves a hand around to indicate the store in general.
I shake my head slightly. "I just ate."
"Alright, but if you change your mind just let me know. My treat."
"Will do." I nod succinctly and turn back to the book in my lap.
He's already picked up one of the other books I'd taken down and peruses it for a few minutes in silence, propping it against his upraised thighs. I turn the page of the book in front of me, not really reading it any more, just keeping up the appearance. I'd pretty much decided not to purchase this one before he arrived and had intended to move on to the next one. Now eager to extend our time together, I need to stall and take my time with these books. I again feel comfortable and somewhat relaxed in his presence, despite the outward signs to the contrary.
"Take it you're doing research for the project?" he asks casually, flipping through the book he's picked up.
"Sort of."
"Having any luck with that one? Find anything interesting?"
"Not really."
"This one's got some nice pictures and scaled drawings. You look at it yet?"
"Not yet."
He hums an answer at me then suddenly snaps the book shut, holding it out to me.
"You always keep your answers to three words or less?"
There's a slight grin on his face when I look up that indicates he finds something, most likely me, amusing. I shunt what would have actually been my answer and reply, taking the book from him. "Mostly." I hope it's obvious that my answer was purposely short.
He snickers and his grin grows wider, shaking his head at me. "You're quite a character, Heero."
The book that had been on my lap disappears and he looks at the title one more time. "This book is a piece of crap, you know." He announces this while twisting around to put it back where it came from. "I think the idiot that wrote it has never been to any of the places he talks about. You can tell by the way he describes the stuff that he's never actually seen them up close. It's like someone went out and took the pictures for him and he's just making educated commentary based on that. He's too clinical. There's another book here that--" He's looking over the shelves intently. "Where the hell'd it go?" He pulls my shoulder forward to look at the books behind me. "It's really great. I love the way the auth- ah, here it is."
He takes back the book he'd handed me and replaces it with the one he's just found, tapping the book now in my lap. "This book kicks ass. Both the authors are clearly well versed in their fields. One of them's an architectural historian and the other is an artist or something. They have some really amazing pictures and--"
He stops abruptly and stares back at me. "What?"
"Nothing." I shake my head dumbly and try to control the stupid smile that wants to take residence on my face.
I hadn't been able to take my eyes off of him. I find his excitement and liveliness enthralling, but the scrutiny must have been too much for him. I don't know how he manages it, but every time he's near me I feel lighthearted, almost carefree. It occurs to me that I could easily spend hours just watching and listening to him.
"You're staring at me like I'm a lunatic."
"Not at all. I'm just listening."
"Hey!" He laughs and points a finger at me. "That was like -" he ticks something off on his fingers "- six words!"
We laugh some more and he continues to tease me until one of the store's employees comes into our section. I think her soft greeting of 'Gentlemen' is intended more to make us quiet down than anything else. She lingers for a few minutes longer and I feel myself slipping back into my more reserved manner. When she finally leaves our section, he leans against me and snickers, hissing quietly.
"You think she just came in here to make us shut up?"
"Definitely."
"And are we gonna let her do that to us?" The question is delivered with a hint of righteous indignation. I almost feel bad for giving my answer.
"Probably."
His shoulders slump and he pouts at me. "Aw damn it, back to square one again."
"Excuse me?"
"We're back to three words or less, Yuy. That is not what I had in mind."
That comment surprises me, I didn't realize-- "What did you have in mind?"
Before he can react, I hold up six fingers. Yes, I'd counted out my words as I formulated the longer answer. I really am capable of more than a few words at a time. Just not necessarily when I'm nervous. And he practically makes my hands sweat.
He snickers at my response and moves to get up, setting the books aside and thinking over what he's about to say. When he's decided he turns a bit to face me.
"You know, you're way too grumpy for someone our age. Don't be."
I frown. "Not grumpy. Serious." Why do people always say things like that to me? It's really not fair. I can't help it if I'm a little serious. I do have my reasons.
"OK maybe grumpy was a bad choice. Serious, then. Why don't we rewind a little? Try this from a different angle? You know, go for a lighter mood. Pretend I'm that roommate of yours or something."
"Duo, you're nothing like my roommate."
"Just work with me will ya'?."
He chuckles again, and I can only assume it's at my slightly puzzled look.
Finally he stands and walks a few feet away. He begins to straighten his shirt and pat down his pants. Once he's readjusted himself, his whole demeanor changes and he approaches me again.
"Hey Heero, what a surprise to see you here!" I think it comes out a little louder than he expected and we both look around nervously, expecting the young attendant to reappear. When she doesn't, he picks up where he left off, walking toward me and extending his hand. When I don't take it right away he extends it a bit more, mouthing 'shake it'. I nod dumbly and do as I'm told. "Isn't this a great little place?"
He looks at me expectantly, so I answer with a slight smile. "Yes."
A circular hand movement indicates that I should expand on that.
"It's very-- nice. Quiet."
Seemingly satisfied, he picks up the conversation, plopping down on the floor next to me again. "Yeah, I love these little mom and pop shops. They're much more appealing than those huge warehouse type places, don't you think? What do you like most about it?"
"It's-- quiet." He nods encouragingly. "Less-- busy." More nodding. "More conducive to reading." I must have hit an acceptable word count because he picks up the conversation again.
"Yeah. Cozy, you know? I think that's a good word for it. So how'd you find out about this place? It's usually just us locals that come here."
This one is easy. "I asked Maxine where the nearest bookstores were. She gave me directions for how to find this and the Borders."
His eyes widen slightly and I can't help smiling in response. I think I've impressed him greatly with my verbosity.
"Not bad, not bad. That was good. Did she mention I told her about this place?"
I nod once and he hums a response at me again.
"So, you really like it here?"
I shrug. "I guess. It is nicer than going to Borders."
"Yeah, I think so too. I absolutely love this place." He smiles wistfully, looking around a bit. He shrugs and pulls his knees up to his chest, putting his arms around his bent legs. "I've been coming here forever, since I was way little. It's like my second home."
An image pops into my head. I can almost imagine him as a boy, darting between the bookstands, climbing the ladders to reach something on a shelf out of his reach. I can vividly picture those amazing eyes, wide with wonder. I'm suddenly taken with the desire to know more about him; there's something about his expression that just begs askance.
"Have you always lived here?"
"Huh? Oh, uh, no." He shakes his head a little. "Actually I was born in Ohio. Lived there 'til I was like-- five or six." He leans back, fidgeting with the book in his lap, and I fail to recognize it for the evasion that it is.
Mentally, I'm still watching a child-Duo running about, when words tumble out of me without thought. "That's a long way to come. What possessed your family move so far?"
"They um-- they didn't, just me." He scratches his head and makes a strange face. "I came to live with my uncle."
"Oh." That answer kills my visions of a happy little cherub with wild, straw-brown hair running between the shelves. Damn, what the hell's that supposed to mean anyway? Did they send him away? Guess I shouldn't have asked. "Sorry."
It's his turn to shrug and he sets the book aside; his look becomes more serious than I've ever seen it before. "My parents died in a car accident when I was four. I lived in a group home for almost two years before they were able to track my uncle down. When he finally came for me, he brought me here. Lived here ever since."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to"
"No need to apologize, Heero. It's OK, really; I'm fine. I don't mind talking about it. It was a long time ago." He shrugs again and fiddles with the hem of his jeans.
I feel like a heel for bringing it up. Thinking of my parents is difficult for me too sometimes, even after so long. His apparent discomfort, despite his assertion to the contrary, moves me to reassure him the only way I can.
"I understand. I-- Me too."
He looks up at me, puzzled.
"I lost my parents when I was six. Well, almost six; it was right before my birthday."
"No way?"
I nod. "Helicopter accident in the Andes, near the border between Ecuador and Peru. I ended up with my uncle too."
He turns and leans back against the shelves again. Closing his eyes for a moment. I set my book down in my lap and stare straight ahead, leaning back next to him. For a few minutes, we're both lost in our thoughts.
"You know, you're the first person I've met, since I was at the home, who was my age and lost both their parents. Kinda weird, don't you think? Both of us orphans, and we both lived with our uncles." He's shaking his head when a thought occurs to him. "How old are you, Heero? I don't think anyone's actually said."
"I'll be twenty-five in a few months. You're, what, twenty-two?"
I see him shake his head out of the corner of my eye. "Twenty-three. Just turned."
Without really thinking about it, my mind computes the difference and it's a little disconcerting.
"Duo, you said you were four? Had you turned four?"
His head lolls to the side and he looks at me, thinking it through only for a moment. "Yeah. A couple of months before. Why?"
"I think-- our parents, yours and mine, I think--" I can see it in his eyes. He's doing the math and in that moment he realizes it.
"Nineteen years ago?"
I nod. "Memorial Day weekend."
His eyes widen. "Beginning of June." It's practically a whisper. "How weird!" He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it back out slowly. "Damn, Heero, I think we were meant to be friends. I think there's some cosmic force at work here that meant for us to meet." He's quiet for a moment and then chuckles. "Your uncle didn't happen to be your mom's stepbrother by any chance, did he?"
"No. Blood brother. A bit older than her, but definitely related."
He seems relieved and I don't quite understand why. For a few minutes, we silently digest that information.
I'm not sure that I believe in this cosmic force he claims brought us together, but I do feel a kind of bond with him. Maybe some part of me recognized that similar something in him and that's what had made me gravitate toward him.
He rolls his head to the side to look at me again and there's a quiet sadness in his gaze. "Do you remember them?"
I turn to him, nodding. "Pretty much, but it's a little blurry sometimes. You?" He shakes his head a little. "You were a few years younger than me," I offer. "They say kids don't really form hard memories of their own until they're about three or four. That's probably why."
"Yeah I guess." He shrugs, looking down and away. "Would've been nice though."
"Can you-- would you tell me about them? What you do remember."
He nods and the sadness recedes just a bit.
So he tells me abut his parents, Alex and Margaret, who'd been sweethearts since high school, marrying just two years after graduating from college. He remembers them mostly from pictures and the stories he's been told about them. He's sure, though, that some memories of his mother are his own. His father had been an engineer; his mother a substitute teacher. They had been young and beautiful. They had been responsible and concerned parents. They had been decent, church going people. They had loved music and dancing. They had been trying for a second child.
He tells me the story of how he got his name. How, trying to follow family traditions, his parents had toyed with various combinations of their own fathers' names. The story he's been told is that they'd tacked a paper to the refrigerator and written the three men's names in every conceivable combination. They struggled with the decision until Alex had finally had a brilliant idea while sleepily peering at the names in the middle the night. Rather than saddle their son with some stodgy old family name or risk offending anyone, he had proposed that they use each man's first initial as a way to honor them all. They agreed to use Demetrius after Alex's dad, Ulric after Margaret's late father and Oswald for the step father who had loved Margaret as his own. And so it was that Duo had come into being.
I took my turn and told him of my own parents, Asato and Grace. How they had met at the University while he was working on his Master's thesis and she was still an undergraduate. How my father had been a freelance journalist and my mother an amateur photographer. I shared with him that they had spent many years traveling and doing humanitarian work before deciding to settle down and have a child. How they had only ever intended to have one. And then, even after having me, how every year they'd take off for two months, before the summer break, to do what my uncle had always termed 'pathetic peace corping'. I explained that it had taken me years to understand my uncle's seeming anger toward their work, and how I'd realized that while his anger had been over their untimely deaths, he'd found it easier to blame their humanitarian activism.
Somehow, the conversation comes around to the book store again and I ask what draws him to it. He confesses to me that starting in middle school, he began coming here regularly to escape from reality. He proclaims himself to have been a veritable book nerd, lacking only the pocket protector. It is something that I highly doubt, but I humor him and ask what topics spiked his interest.
It turns out he has a rather eclectic taste in books, ranging from fantasy to sci-fi, thrillers, mysteries and mythology – none of which really surprise me. What does surprise me, though, are his other interests. He loves the Romantics, poetry, historical fiction and nonfiction, art, photography and architecture. When I tell him that my own interests run more toward specific authors rather than genres - Christie, Doyle, Renault, Herbert, Card, Dick and Crighton to name a few - he laughs and calls me a fiction snob. When I find myself justifying my love of adventure-filled fiction, it causes him to sober quickly. He manages to draw from me a very short version of what life was like with my uncle.
It is a tale of quiet, mostly solitary days spent laboring to improve both my mental and physical prowess. My uncle, who'd suffered a near crippling accident in his youth, believed that all able bodied young men should develop themselves to the full extent possible. To him this meant long hours spent exercising both mind and body. Though not entirely unkind, the man had been relentless in his expectations. Checking books out of the library had been my only true means of escape. I admit to Duo that it wasn't until late in my Junior year of high school that I'd actually been allowed to cultivate friendships and step out of my uncle's constant control. By then my personality had been chiseled in stone, and despite joining the soccer team, it wasn't until I'd met up with Trowa in college that I'd actually developed any lasting friendships.
I imagine he'd been saved from a fate similar to mine because his mother's older blood-brother lived in Europe somewhere, working for some sort of brain-trust, and hadn't been interested in taking responsibility for his estranged sister's young son. Duo's life with his step-uncle could not have been any more different than mine. Despite his self-proclaimed nerdiness, he'd been popular and active in school. He learned how to sail, dive and snorkel from his uncle. The summer before eighth grade was spent on a boat in the Caribbean. For almost two years, starting his junior year in high school, he had been part of a local modern-dance troupe. He'd held many part-time jobs from an early age – even working two jobs for short period of time – before settling in to work for the resort year round.
I learn that his uncle's work had often taken him away on extended leaves and as Duo grew older he became more and more self sufficient. He joked that he'd often felt like the adult in their relationship. While he had stayed home making sure things ran smoothly, his uncle had run off to play. He claims he was never truly lonely though. The two best friends he'd made when he first arrived in this city had always been nearby and he had repeatedly been welcomed into their homes when he'd been too young to stay on his own.
I imagine we could spend hours telling each other about our pasts, bonding in a way that has never been available to us. Neither of us has ever met anyone our own age who has shared our particular grief. It is liberating, in a sad sort of way, to talk of our pains and losses and have them truly understood. But it is not meant to be.
Too soon for my taste, the management announces that the store is closing and we have no choice but to leave.
Once outside I offer him a ride. He'd come by bicycle and it makes no sense for him to ride back on his own, in the dark, when we're both heading to the same place. We manage to get the bike settled in the back of the truck without much effort and ride back in near silence, listening only to the sound of the wind through the open windows and the road beneath the tires.
When we disembark from the ferry, we say our goodbyes. And he thanks me.
I think he almost says he'd had a good time, but stops in mid sentence. Instead he says it was nice talking to me and he thanks me again before riding off.
I return the gratitude. I understand.
End Part 4
(:./bm/splendor4)
