04-Mar-2001
Title: So, Mr Maxwell
Author: TB
Archive: yes please at GW Addiction (hello!)
Category: the committee is out on that. Feel free to decide for me, really.
Pairing: 3x4, 2
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: lime (to come), language (to come), and the ever-present angst
Notes: set after EW, with series and EW as cannon.
This is still unbetaed. Sorry. ^_^;
Feedback: feed me!
Disclaimers: The characters I use in this fiction are copyrighted. However, since I'm not writing for profit (there's a good laugh), please to not sue. I'm quite harmless.
Duo laughed over his shoulder as he preceded Trowa into his room. "You are sooo full of it, man," he added, in response to the mild jokes that had prompted his amusement. As the taller boy followed him in, Duo stripped out of his sweat-soaked running gear and made a beeline to the bathroom, already un-braiding his hair.
Trowa, knowing that Duo would only be a few minutes in the shower, removed his shirt and shoes, and absently checked their answering machine. Duo's many friends tended to monopolize the tape, but occasionally something important cropped up. However, the tape was conspicuously blank, and Trowa, with a shrug, threw himself onto the bed to wait for his turn with the refreshing spray.
A languid stretch discovered the envelop propped up against Duo's pillow. Trowa picked it up, glancing at the name scrawled across the front of the pristine white letter. No stamps, he mused. Someone had entered their apartment to drop this off.
Quatre, then. Duo had agreed that only the blonde pilot needed a key to their flat.
While Trowa debated opening the envelop, curious as to why Quatre would write to Duo, when the gentle Winner heir generally came by to see his long-distance lover-himself-Duo inadvertently solved the issue by appearing at the bathroom door, a bottle in one hand and his thigh-length hair dripping on the carpet. "We're out of shampoo," he said.
"Duo, would it kill you to wear a towel?"
"Why? You're the only one here."
"Are you done?" Trowa sat up. "This came for you."
"Mail? Cool." Duo dumped the empty bottle into their waste bin as he passed it, and came toward the bed, awkwardly twisting his hair up into a heavy knot. He flopped onto the mattress next to Trowa. "Read it for me," he suggested. "I'll just get it wet."
Trowa obeyed without argument, wanting to know what it said as much as Duo. He ripped open the envelop and slid out the heavy cream-coloured stationary, glancing over Quatre's familiar, florid handwriting with something like affection. He said, "Dearest Duo; I'm sorry. I really should be saying this to your face. This is so hard, though.. I hope you'll forgive me, but I didn't know what else to do. I made sure I'd miss you while you were out running, even, so I wouldn't have to explain. Never mind, enough about me-Duo, something amazing has happened. We wanted you to know right away. Duo-" Trowa's voice died out.
Duo waited expectantly. "What?" He propped his chin in his hand. "The little guy seems pretty upset. Wait, was he the one who broke the big salad bowl, is this him trying to apologise? Or was that you? Trowa? Trowa, what's he got to say?"
Trowa felt his throat close unexpectedly. "Duo," he whispered. He looked up. "Duo, they've found your parents."
The reaction he received was not at all what he'd expected. Duo blinked once, his expression peculiarly blank; then he said, with utter calm, "That's impossible."
"That's what it says, Duo."
"Then it's mistaken. My parents are dead." Duo sat up, and went back to the bathroom, coming back with a towel, which he rubbed vigorously over his lean body, drying off quickly.
Trowa, staring at him, was not sure how to proceed. He glanced down at the letter again. He asked, "Did you see them die?"
Duo's brisk movements halted, though his face stayed turned away. "No. I don't remember them."
"Then how do you know?"
"The same way I know Shinigami was just as alive as me. The same way I know when one of you guys are hurt. I just *know*."
There was a long silence. Trowa found himself crumpling the letter slightly in his fists; remorseful, he smoothed it out over his lap. The faint voice of the child he hadn't been for a long, long time whispered to him. What would he do if he suddenly found his kin? Parents, a real mother and father? Duo should be treasuring this moment, not fighting it. Who wouldn't relish the thought of being loved and sought after, no matter how long the absence had been?
He heard a soft sound, and looked up. Duo had sunk to the floor, and his hands were working through his tangled hair, pulling it down over his face to hide his eyes. The sound had come from him, from deep inside the shuddering chest. He was crying.
Trowa stayed on the bed, trying not to listen, as he knew he was supposed to do, and wondering.
"Duo," Quatre said, and held him tightly.
For a moment, Duo resisted; then he squeezed the other man, his arms slipping around the slender blonde's shoulders. "I'm not ready," he whispered, hating how small and alone he sounded.
Quatre pulled back after a moment. "They've been waiting for years, Duo."
"I know." Duo looked to Trowa for support. The taller pilot offered a tiny smile. With a deep breath, Duo looked back at Quatre. "What are they like?" he asked, with plaintive curiosity.
"They seem to be good people," Quatre replied immediately. "Young. There's your mother and father, and your aunt, and Curran, your brother. He's our age, I think. They're all short, too, just like you."
Duo laughed, but it was strained. Relena Peacecraft emerged from a door down the hallway, and flew to him. The Foreign Minister kissed Duo's cheek, and beamed up at him. "You must be so excited!" she whispered loudly. "Oh, hurry, Duo. They're just in here."
Looking as though he was steeling himself to walk into fire, Duo let the Peacecraft draw him up the hall.
Quatre dropped back, both to give Duo a little privacy, and to fall in with Trowa. When their arms brushed, he gave the tall man's hand a quick squeeze. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.
"I'm fine."
The blonde decided against pressing the question. "The paternity tests are ready," he murmured. "I hate to do it this way. What if it's all a hoax?"
"Then Duo will kill you," Trowa said.
They entered into a very strange scene. Relena Peacecraft had housed Duo's family since their discovery, treating them to the considerable resources of her beautiful home in Sanc. They looked as out of place in such luxury as Duo himself did. A group of four people stood nervously across the room from the Deathscythe pilot, who had found something interesting about the carpet under his feet to study. Relena, radiating satisfaction, was making introductions.
"Owen and Maureen Bridey," she said, "Maureen's sister, Angie Bridey, and Curran. Mr and Mrs Bridey, I'm so pleased to be able to reunite you with your son."
Owen Bridey cleared his throat. "You're the spitting image of your grandfather," he told Duo, huskily. "I knew you the first time I saw you."
Duo looked very alone suddenly. "Am I?" he muttered vaguely. "Bridey. Um. It's... nice... to meet you. Uh, I guess you know I call myself Duo Maxwell."
Smoothly, Relena interposed, "We'll leave you alone to get acquainted. Please make yourselves comfortable."
"Wait," Duo exclaimed. He turned red as several surprised gazes came to rest on him. "The-the paternity tests..."
Uneasily, Quatre shifted his feet behind the braided man. He would not have chosen this time to bring that up. "We can do it here," he replied. "It's very simple."
"I'd like that done, immediately, please." Duo returned to studying the carpet.
Owen Bridey dragged his eyes away from Duo, and refocused on Quatre. "If it will help make this transition easier, we'll do anything," he said gruffly.
"I'll go get the doctor," Quatre said, and edged out. Relena followed, and Trowa.
Maureen Bridey sidled forward hesitantly. She had thick auburn hair, and the same strong Irish accent as her husband. Her eyes were a stunning blue-violet. "We brought this for you," she told Duo, holding out a package. "I... I made it. I make things all the time. I started making this when we saw you on the television, and it took our breath away, seeing that face... " Her eyes filled with tears. "Och, here you go. Open it, please."
When Duo didn't move to take it, she held it out to him. "Please."
He did, slowly. As his long fingers plucked at the string tie, he asked, in a voice barely audible, "What was my name? Part of me always wondered."
Maureen cleared her throat. "Elija," she said. "Elija, after the prophet in the Good Book. Elija Merret Bridey."
Duo paused just before the wrapping would have revealed the contents of his gift. "It sounds so strange," he said, surprised.
"They're old names," Owen put in. "With old traditions. But good names, strong ones. Just like we knew you would be."
It was a knit sweater. Blue, with brown edging on the turtleneck collar and long sleeves. Duo's hands brushed over the soft weave of the yarn; then he turned blindly away and sank into a chair. "I thought you were dead," he accused, his voice thick with emotion. "I told myself every day that you were dead, and that was why you never came for me. Where were you? What went wrong?" His voice cracked. "Why didn't you want me?"
Owen gripped his wife's hand, and put the other on Duo's shoulder. "It wasn't like that," he explained gently. "Son, we-"
"Excuse me." Quatre knocked on the open door. "The doctor is here."
"This won't take but a moment," the doctor smiled impersonally. "There you go, entirely painless... "
Maureen Bridey smiled a watery smile and cupped her hand against Duo's cheek as the doctor announced that the results were clear as day, congratulations.
End Part 1
(:./erin/somrm1)
