06-Sep-2005
Splendor Restored 6/13+E
Author: BadMomma
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.
Notes: See Chapter 1
Special thanks to Link for proof reading and for making a few, newly incorporated, comments. :)
Warnings: AU (my first), limey
Warnings 2: (this chapter only) Very mild, joking reference to incest and drug addiction; neither of which, I realize, are humorous in and of themselves. The comments are made in jest, as often happens in everyday conversation, and are not meant to offend.
Sorry for the long delay in getting this one out. The remaining chapters should come quicker than these last few did.
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.
I'm about to give up and just leave the CD by the door when it swings open rather violently. Duo squints out at me from inside the dark apartment and it takes him a moment to figure out who I am.
"Heero?" He reaches out, grabbing my shirt sleeve, and hauls me inside before slamming the door shut. Heaving a sigh of relief and closing his eyes, he leans against the door.
It makes me smile. He does. I never quite know what to expect from him so it keeps me on my toes, but it is not in any way stressful. It's enjoyable, amusing. This easy friendship we've fallen into amazes me, too. Sometimes it feels like I've known him all my life.
He hasn't moved or opened his eyes yet. Maybe this was not the best time to visit. I lightly poke him in the shoulder and he flops loosely, groaning in response.
"You look tired, Duo. Go back to bed. I just came by to drop off that CD I promised you. Give me a call later, when you're awake, and I'll tell you what all I put on it. I'll just leave it here somewhere for you."
I step away from the door as I look for a good place to put the CD, taking in all the little details about his home. I've never actually been in his apartment and if I was pressed to pick one word to describe it, it'd have to be 'quaint'. Not quaint in a country kitchen sense, because the place has a very masculine feel, but quaint in a warm, clean, lived in, comfortable-looking sense. The walls are painted a medium-dark khaki color, trims all done in a whitish color, though it's hard to tell exactly with the current lack of lighting. The furniture is an odd, but not clashing, mix of medium to dark woods, all clean lines and angles. To the left is the living room area. There's a modern, comfortable looking sofa with several throw pillows scattered across it, an entertainment system and a few small tables arranged loosely. To the right, there's a desk in the corner, where his computer is situated, and next to that is a high breakfast bar, similar to the one in my own temporary apartment, beyond which is the kitchen.
Having noticed a pile consisting of mail, keys and cell phone lying on the bar, I head there. It's probably the best place to leave the CD; he's bound to find it there later. As I reach it, I hear him push off from the door and head my way.
"Stay. Sit. Coffee." He shuffles past me, neatly avoiding my outstretched arm which was intended to stop him. He pushes lightly at my hand, waving at one of the high stools. "Up now. Won't sleep again. Stay." With his eyes barely open, he artfully manages to skirt the edge of the bar. I'm amazed he hasn't run into anything.
"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."
"S'okay." He waves distractedly over his shoulder, making a bee-line for the fridge and pulling out a bag of coffee. "Look 'round. Get com'fy. Jus' gonna se'this t'brew and go'th bathroom." He punches on the light over the stove, recoiling slightly, but moves unerringly to the coffee machine on the counter.
I watch him quietly. His eyes are like slits, as if it would take too much effort to open them completely, and he's moving like a movie zombie -- dragging his feet in an odd shuffle. I'd feel more comfortable if he was more awake and leading me in conversation, but I guess it can't be helped. I had pretty much guessed he was not a morning person, but I don't think I've ever seen him this close to having gotten out of bed. Looking around the apartment again in an attempt to distract myself, something catches my eye.
On the wall beside his desk there's a collage of sorts. There are photographs mounted on what looks to be Mylar from this distance. Peeking out from behind the pictures there appear to be some dark, swirling lines. I can't quite tell if they form a pattern because of all the pictures. Nor can I clearly see any of the pictures.
"Make y'self at home. Snoop at will. Gonna -" he waves his hand around his head "face... teeth. Coffee soon. Lights if you wan'em." He waves at the ceiling, disappearing from sight around the corner into what must be the area of his bedroom and bathroom.
As soon as he's gone I get up and go over to the collection of pictures. There are somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred photos. He clearly stands out in a few of them but with barely any light it's hard to see. Turning on the desk lamp, I look the pictures over again quickly, trying to spot all the ones he's in. It is then that I realize he's in almost all of them. The more I look, the more I concentrate, the more I notice that for the most part the farther from the center you get, the older he is.
Most are of small groups of friends, him with one or two other people. I see his uncle with him in quite a few. There are also several where it's just him and two other boys -- probably the best friends he told me about at the bookstore. There are a few where I recognize Hilde among the subjects. There are even some that are of groups of children -- some obviously class or team pictures, but some not -- and it takes only a slight effort on my part to single him out.
A sudden tightness in my chest makes me stop and think. Amidst the almost overwhelming excitement that comes with the realization that this is an archive of his life, is the pain of realizing that I could never have -- or do -- something like this. Sure there are pictures of me from when I was a baby, a toddler, even as a young boy from before my parents died. And I have scores of those annual, obligatory, posed school pictures; but there are none like the majority of what's on display in front of me. These are pictures of a person, a real human being, with friends and memories and anecdotes. Each of these pictures likely has a story to go with it, each taken during or after a memorable event. Each one would likely bring a smile or a laugh from Duo to accompany the story.
And what do I have to compare to it? Nothing. Soulless stills of me in a school uniform, frowning at a camera. I had no friends to speak of prior to attending college. I joined no teams or clubs until my senior year of high school. I had no hobbies, no 'gang' to hang out or go to parties with. Truthfully, if it wasn't for Trowa, and later Quatre and Wufei, I probably wouldn't have much of an adult life either.
I look at these pictures, these moments, these stories, and wonder what I have to offer to the person whose vibrant life is so obviously on display.
I'm still looking the pictures over, making guesses at what they depict, when the level of light in the room increases. His clear voice calls me back from my imaginings.
"In case you're wondering, no, I do not suffer from a monstrous ego." I hear him chuckle quietly to himself even as he pulls a pair of mugs down from a cabinet. "It started as a project for my English class senior year and everybody liked it so much I decided to keep adding to it."
When I finally turn to look, he's at the breakfast bar with a t-shirt flung over his left shoulder setting out cream and sugar. "Coffee's almost done." He smiles up at me as he moves to slip the shirt on.
More's the pity, he is one hell of an attractive man, but I guess it is common courtesy to be fully clothed when in company after all. I grunt an accepting response as he begins to turn back to the coffee machine and catch a glimpse of his back.
"Jesus Duo, what happened to your back?" He's still standing there, half naked -- with only one arm in the sleeve of the shirt -- and all I can see is a horrible mess of scraping and bruising beginning just below his right shoulder-blade and continuing down past the waistband of his shorts.
He turns his head to look over his shoulder, as if he doesn't already know what's there. "Aw man! I didn't tell you? I fell off my bike."
"You fell off your bike?" I approach the counter, keeping it between us. If I get too close, I'll want to touch, to soothe, to comfort. No. Staying on this side of the counter would be best.
" ...believe that? The motherfucker just drove away like he didn't even know he'd clipped me. I'm lucky I didn't crack my head open on the pavement!" He finally shrugs the shirt on fully, stretching and rotating his shoulders with a loud hiss.
All I can do is lean on the counter and stare at his back in shock.
He turns to me with the coffee pot in hand and grins. "Don't worry. I've had worse." He pours out a cup for me, adding just a touch of cream and sugar, and hands it over before pouring himself one. "Just been a while since I've taken a spill like that. I think I really screwed up the front wheel, too. Probably have to replace it."
My eyes are still staring blindly at where his back was. The image burned on my retinas. Before I know it, he's rounded the bar heading for the desk.
"So. You like it?"
I turn at the comment and he's hesitantly smiling back at me.
"Uh, yeah. It's cool." I pick up my mug and head over. "Must have taken a long time to put it all together."
"Oh it's been years in the making." His voice sounds falsely serious and I hazard a glance at him. He's smiling slightly, eyes racing over all the pictures, much like I'd been doing just moments ago. "That there is my life in a nutshell. Sort'a."
"So if I study this closely enough, I'll know the real Duo Maxwell?"
He nods once, shooting me a sideways grin, but quickly belies the statement by the slight arch of an eyebrow.
"Really? No secrets hiding elsewhere?"
His grin widens and he turns just his eyes to me. "Everybody's got secrets, Heero, the question is: Can you discover them even when they're in plain sight?"
We both look back at the collage, but now I wonder what might be on display that I may not immediately see the full meaning of. It's a challenge of sorts; he's laid down the proverbial gauntlet. I like challenges. And I think he sees the truth of it on my face.
I arch my own eyebrow at him. "So there are mysteries to be uncovered here."
"The Good Book says 'Seek and ye shall find'. Give it your best shot, Yuy."
So I do. I start with the obvious, pointing to pictures of what must be his parents and grandparents, his two best friends. As I watch him, making the occasional encouraging sound to keep him talking, he does exactly what I had hoped for earlier. He begins sharing with me the stories that go with the pictures. He introduces me to his two best friends, Horatio and Antonio, pointing them out in many of the pictures I'd already noticed them in.
I point to what turns out to be a picture from that summer spent on the boat with his uncle; the soccer team from his middle school days; several pictures from Halloweens over the years; one from a performance by the dance troupe.
He tries to get me to talk about my own experiences, suggesting that it's hardly fair that he should be sharing when I'm not. When I laughingly brush him off by explaining that my uncle was a bore and I did nothing but read, study and exercise throughout most my school breaks, he huffs a disbelieving breath opining that I am 'one sad little man'. I don't think he realizes just how true that statement is.
Hoping to firmly get us off the subject of me, I point to one of the group pictures I'd noticed earlier where he looks very young. He tells me that it's from his time at the orphanage/group home. The picture taken during a field day about six months before he left. He lingers on that one for a moment, huffing out a half laugh and saying something I don't quite hear.
"What did you say?"
"Solo." He points to one of two older boys in the picture. "He left a little after this picture was taken. They transferred the older kids out of this place when they turned twelve. I... " He huffs out another half laugh, "I thought he was so cool. Must've driven him crazy the way I was always trying to follow him around, but he never said anything. Always treated me like I thought a big brother should." He laughs, takes a sip of his coffee and turns a sheepish grin at me. "Oh, to be young and stupid!"
"Why do you say that?"
"See the t-shirts? They all say Solo's Scavengers -- he was our team Captain that year. I found out later his name was actually Solomon. He was something else, let me tell you. And we were so proud of ourselves that day; we were the only team that actually had a name. Everyone else was 'the blue team' or 'the red team', but we were announced as Solo's Scavengers for every event."
"That doesn't sound stupid; sounds like you did have something to be proud of. It also sounds like he was a nice guy, especially to make such an effort to be nice to the younger kids."
"Yeah but that's just it. He really wasn't that nice a guy." He sits on the edge of the desk, sipping his coffee and watching me watch him.
I am reminded, with something of a start, the odd but amusing habit he has of sticking his tongue out slightly when taking a drink from those covered paper cups all hot drinks are sold in, almost caressing the little hole in the plastic lid. I'd noticed it on our last trip to the bookstore and it's just struck me that he does it even when there's no lid. I don't think I quite control the slight shock as my memory provides brief images of all the other times I've seen him do it.
He catches my reaction, but apparently misreads it, assuming that I'm reacting to his comment about Solo. He waves a hand to forestall any judgment on my part and further explains his previous statement. "He was never mean to me or anything like that, but he wasn't exactly a 'good kid', if you know what I mean."
If I'm lucky, this may turn out to be one of Duo Maxwell's secrets. I pull the chair from under the desk and sit in it. It seems there's a little bit more story to this one picture and at this point I'll welcome any distraction that keeps my thoughts away from that wet, pink muscle.
"I'm not sure I follow," I prompt.
"Well." He shrugs, looking away. "The kids there weren't all orphans. I mean, I was and there were a few others. But some of them -- like Solo -- had been ... removed from their homes. There was one kid who, I heard, had been left there by his mom. Apparently the family was homeless and the mom didn't want the kid to have to live on the streets in a cardboard box and shit."
"Oh. That's... horrible. To have to think like that."
"Yeah. Even worse to live it." The deadness in his voice startles me. When I flick a glance at him, he's staring at the picture intently.
"I can imagine." It's the only thing I can think to say as I too look back at the picture.
He was a cute kid. And he's standing in front of Solo looking as cock-sure as the older boy, hands fisted at his hips and flashing a toothy grin. In this picture, his hair is just brushing his shoulders. He looks like I'd imagined him running amuck in the bookstore. The thought makes me start to smile but the deadness in his voice stops me.
"Trust me, Heero. You don't want to."
Realizing that he's staring back at me, I turn and for a moment I see that same deadness in his eyes. But th disappears quickly, replaced by something I have trouble identifying. He looks almost feral, a little wild. Wicked perhaps. I frown a questioning glance at him.
"I was... a feisty little bugger, Heero, even before my parents died. But after? Let's just say it took me a while to... settle down."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I hated the kids they made me room with. One of them was the poster child for burgeoning bullies and I was a little on the short and skinny side. I put up with that bastard's shit for two months before I made my first escape attempt."
"You ran away?"
He laughs quietly. "Oh yeah! Three times."
He continues to snicker, shaking his head. After flicking a quick glance at the picture again, he turns more fully toward me, dangling his legs off the edge of the desk, and gets serious.
"I was a real hell-raiser for a while there. The first attempt lasted a whole... " he tilts his head and scrunches his face up, apparently trying to remember the details, "twelve hours I'd guess. The next time, it took them... " he scratches his head, "probably a good day and a half to find me. I faked a stomach ache in the morning and slipped out right after second period started on a Friday."
His gaze flicks back to me, but mostly he's been staring into middle-space. Memories will make you do that.
"What happened? How did... "
"Hmm? Oh, I got hungry and got caught trying to steal some food. Before I knew it, I was in the back of a social worker's car on my way 'home'." He shakes his head and huffs out a breath.
"They put me in counseling after that. Eventually I told them why I hated my roommate and they brought him in. Made us both go to a kind of mediation-slash-group-therapy thing. It pissed him off big time. Before then he'd just tried to intimidate me, but after they dragged him into counseling he stepped up the bully tactics."
He stops to think about something, suddenly barking out a laugh.
"You know, I can't even remember the asshole's name. What a jerk!"
He shakes his upper body like a wet dog before continuing. "The catalyst for escape attempt number three, was Jerk Boy deciding to really rough me up. After dinner one night, he started pushing me around and hitting me. I don't know why but he never bothered with the other two kids in our room; it was like they just didn't exist.
"Anyhow when he started in on me I tried to defend myself, but he got me down on the floor and landed a solid hit to my gut. I puked. Right there, all over me and the floor and him. He kicked me while scrambling to get away from it and then left me there on the floor. I have no idea where he went or how long he was gone. But as soon as I could breath again, I was up and out of there. I didn't even so much as change my shirt. I just grabbed my school bag, crammed as much stuff into it as I could and took off. Do you know I actually remember thinking I had to make sure to get socks and underwear? And the other two bastards? Didn't even turn over in their beds to see what the commotion was.
"No matter though," he shrugs, "I was out'ta there. Ran as far and as fast as I could. I had some insane idea that if I could get back to my house, my parents' house, that I'd be fine. It was no fun, but I was gone for four days that time. I got all lost to hell and everything but did eventually end up in a residential neighborhood. Guess somebody must've noticed the dirty, derelict kid walking around in their nice clean neighborhood and called the authorities. And then it was back into the backseat of a social worker's car and back to the home. First thing the next morning, I was called into the office to see the counselor. That's when I met him." He motions with his head back toward the picture.
"Solo?"
"Yeah. A cop brought him in -- Truant Officer most likely. He wasn't handcuffed or anything, just escorted. Made quite an impression on me, too; the guy was big -- the cop -- like a football player; had a deep rumbling voice. 'Have a seat' the cop tells him and since there were only three of those connected-chair things in the office; he sat at the far end from me. I just kept staring between him and the cop until he finally noticed me.
"He moved over to the center seat and I must've looked scared because he told me not to worry that he wouldn't hurt me. Then he said he thought I was a little too young to be getting into big enough trouble to be in the director's office, so what was I doing there."
The short pause in his story causes me to prompt him again. He's shaking his head, but there's a slight smile on his face. "What'd you tell him?"
"What I always do: the truth. I might've made it a habit to run away or hide from the things that scared me, but I never lied. I very proudly told him I'd run away three times. Do you know he laughed at me? The bastard actually laughed out loud! Told me I was obviously not very good at it if they'd caught me three times in a row. We were talking for a little and all the while he kept giving me pointers on how to do it better the next time. Can you believe that? I'm some 6 year old runt and this kid I've never met before's giving me pointers on how not to get caught!"
Not sure just what to say to that I grunt in response.
"Right. So as the cop goes in to talk to the Director, she tells Solo not to move and then says to me that I'm next. Once she and the cop close the door, I realize we probably don't have much time left so I turn to him and say 'My name's Duo' and I stick my hand out to him -- like to shake hands. After a minute of looking at me funny he takes what I'm offering and says, 'Well see, that there's your problem, kid. Me, I'm solo. All the time.' And of course, young and impressionable moron that I was, I thought he meant his name was Solo. So from then on, whenever I saw him, that's what I called him."
He laughs and I can't help but laugh too. Despite the less than pleasant aspects of the story there is a certain amount of humor to it. We spend the next few minutes arguing over whether 'Solo' had meant to offer him a form of solidarity by way of shortening his own name or if he'd just been playing head games with a juvenile delinquent in the making. In the end we agree to disagree, but I don't really think he harbors any ill will toward Solo. Even as we argue, it's clear to me that he has fond memories of this older kid who had acted very much like a big brother and protector toward him.
By the end of the Solo discussion we've pretty much finished off our coffee and I offer to make up another round.
As he hands me his cup he says, "One secret revealed; not bad for a first cup of coffee. Which one do you want to know about next?"
Encouraged by his attitude, I stand and eye the collage for just a moment, wondering which picture's story I want next. After careful consideration, I tap one and leave him chuckling softly.
"Figured you'd get around to that one."
"I sense another mystery about to unfold," I toss at him without looking back.
As I round the corner to the bar I catch him striking a rather dramatic pose; his head tilted back with a ridiculously overacted sneer on his face. "Do I look particularly mysterious in that one?"
"Hardly," I snort. "You look like you have a serious case of gas."
He laughs heartily before launching into an explanation.
As I pour out more coffee, he tells me about his senior year Homecoming dance. The one he and Antonio hadn't planned on attending, despite their other best friend's nomination to the court. But at the last minute, Horatio -- the nominee in question -- changed their minds for them. He set them both up with his then-girlfriend's best friends. The problem had been that the two girls had absolutely nothing in common with him and his friend. He claims that had the photographer not insisted they stand behind their dates, each boy with a hand on their dates' shoulders, the picture would have shown Horatio and his girlfriend in the middle with him and Antonio on one side of the couple and their dates on the other. He even offered to hunt up other pictures of that night as proof that they had spent the evening in a definite boys-on-one-side girls-on-the-other configuration.
When I'm back at his side, I take a closer look at the picture. In it, Horatio and his girlfriend are the only ones that look even remotely pleased at the contact, her hand having risen to twine fingers with his at her shoulder. Antonio, whose fingertips are barely touching the girl seated in front of him, is not looking directly at the camera. He's looking slightly off center, as if trying to see the other boys out of the corner of his eyes. Duo, whose date sits between the two other girls, is slouched slightly, his hand wadded into a loose fist at the very corner of his date's shoulder.
I take full advantage of the rare opportunity to tease him. "Hmm. I'll need to make note of that: Duo Maxwell makes a disappointing date."
His eyebrows draw together questioningly for just a moment before he sniffs disdainfully at me and sips his coffee in mock anger.
"I can be an extremely undisappointing date when I have the occasion to be, thank you very much."
He pretends to be affronted by my comment, but I can tell he knows I was kidding.
We go through a few more cups of coffee as I continue pointing at photographs and he continues to share anecdotes. At one point, I mumble something about how amazing I find it all and he asks what I mean. I tell him that, no matter how hard I tried, I'd never be able to even come close to putting something like this collage together.
When he presses for an explanation, I have to tell him that I don't have anything remotely resembling 'a life' before college. I didn't have a best friend who could set me up with his girlfriend's girlfriend so we could go to Homecoming together. I point out several of the pictures that he's told me stories about and give him what proof I can that I have no stories that could relate to any of these events.
"So you never dressed up for Halloween? Not even when you were little?"
"When I was little, sure," I admit, "but after my parents died; I never did it again. My uncle didn't see the point in it."
"That really is pretty fucking sad, Heero."
I can't help the bit of anger and bitterness that creeps out of me and before I can control it, I answer. "Yes, especially when compared to you, I'd say I'm 'pretty damned pathetic'."
"I didn't say you were pathetic; I said it was sad. There's a difference, you know!"
I toss a small glare in his direction. "Semantics, Duo."
"I'm always up for some antics, Heero!" He gives me a light kick in the shin and grins evilly at me.
I roll my eyes and he laughs at me.
"Yes, but remember, in your own words, I am 'a sad little man'."
"Come on, Heero, I just meant that it was sad -- as in depressing -- that you never did any of these things. Not that I thought you were pathetic for not having done any of it. It's not like you had much choice in the matter!"
"Yes, but even after I was out from under my uncle's sphere of influence I still didn't do much with myself. Trust me, on the social end of things, I'm pretty pathetic."
"Oh come off it, now you're just being melodramatic. You have close friends. I've heard you talk about them."
"Honestly Duo, I didn't have any friends in high school or in college except for my roommate. Hell, if it weren't for Trowa I never would have met Quatre or Wufei, and they're pretty much the only friends I do have."
"Aside from me." He cocks his head as if to imply that it goes without saying.
"Right, aside from you. But you're a relatively new development."
I smirk and he returns it with one of his own.
I don't think I'm getting across just how different we are. It's not that I want him to feel sorry for me; it's just that he probably can't understand what it's like for me. He's so friendly, so easy to talk to, so dead sexy, so... popular for lack of a better word, it must be very easy for him to make friends.
An idea occurs to me. "Humor me here. I have what? Three friends?" When he opens his mouth to object, I hold up a hand to forestall the argument and quickly amend my statement. "Sorry, four friends. Close or otherwise."
"Alright."
"And you? What do you have? I know of two very close friends," I point to a picture of him with Horatio and Antonio. "Then there's Gibson -- whom you went to school and are still friends with; Miss Noin -- you can't tease someone the way you tease her and not be friends; The Girls -- who practically worship the ground you walk on; the guys we played pool with at the Ale House, and last -- but most definitely not least -- there's Hilde. That's a good fifteen to twenty people that you're regularly friendly with. And that's not counting all the other people you work with and the ones I don't know about."
"Yeah, but I live in a relatively small town" he counters "and that increases the chances that the people you went to high school with will be around for a while; so that accounts for Gibson and the guys from the Ale House. And some of them I still go to school with. The Girls are like grandmothers, so I don't think it quite counts the same way. And Noin and Hilde are coworkers. So really that only leaves me with Horatio, Tonio and you."
I give him a blank face at that second to last statement. "I would bet copious amounts of money that Hilde is more than just a coworker."
"Alright fine, I'll give you that one. Even so, she's more of a pain in the ass big sister than a friend. But then what? By my count that makes us even."
"Hilde is like an annoying sibling?" In light of what I overheard not so long ago, I'm having a seriously hard time with this assessment!
"Oh yeah! You don't know her, man; she's like a major pain in my ass."
He tips his mug in an attempt to get the dregs of his presumably ice cold coffee and practically chokes on it when I blurt out: "Into incest are we?"
"What!?!" He puts the mug down and slowly turns to face me.
"Nothing," I grumble with just a hint of... anger maybe? I don't understand why he's being so circumspect about this and if I'm honest with myself his evasiveness is bugging me. "So she's like a sister to you. Not necessarily someone you'll have a relationship with until 'death do you part'?"
"Dude, it is too fucking early in the morning to be thinking about that." He closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly.
"To be thinking about death?"
His head shoots up and he levels a frown at me. "Naw man, about being stuck with Hilde until my dying day!"
"Duo!"
"What? Look, even though she is a voluntarily acquired family member, I guess you are kind of stuck with family until you die -- or they die for that matter. But honestly, Heero, some days she makes me wish I was the harbinger of death. Better yet, the angel of death himself, ready, and more than willing, to smite her and put her out of my misery."
I am thoroughly confused, and maybe a little shocked at his opinion of her. It's not like I'm really all that keen on his marrying her, but shouldn't he at least be a little more enthused about it? He had appeared to be the other day, had something happened since then?
"That's not a very nice thing to say about the girl you're eventually going to marry," I counter softly, hoping that he'll tell me what's going on.
"Marry?" His tone of voice is subdued and he looks puzzled. "Why would you... think that? It's not like that between us. We are not getting married."
It takes me a little time to process what he's said and I just stare at him as it sinks in. But it makes no sense? I distinctly heard him.
"Duo you proposed to her. I... I overheard you, the other day. I was on the patio, having lunch, and I overheard you. You said: 'Sure you wanna get married?' and she nodded. Then there was woohoo-ing and hugging, and an 'I'm so happy' in there. too. You two were practically going supernova. I do have an almost eidetic memory, you know."
"A what?"
"An eidetic memory. I can pretty much recall any conversation I've heard when I set my mind to it."
"OK, fine, Mr. Photographic Hearing... "
"Actually, that'd be more like 'phono'graphic."
"Whatever, Mr. Total Recall! Problem is that just because you remember precisely what she or I said does not mean that you understood what we were talking about."
"So what were you talking about, if not marriage?"
"Actually we were, technically, talking about marriage but the truth is - " He scratches his head, giving me a shaky grin and mumbling quickly "and this would officially put me one up on you, but I don't think we're really counting anymore - that she's engaged to a good friend of mine from high school."
His face has gone from shaky grin to all-out mega-watt smile. And growing. Of course I think the size of the smile is directly proportionate to the amount of time I sit here with my jaw dropped open.
"Shocked, much?" He hops off the side of the desk, pulling the empty coffee cup from my hands. "If you were that curious, why didn't you just ask, Heero?"
"I don't know." I do actually, I know exactly why: I was jealous in some dark corner of my of soul, and afraid of making a fool of myself if I broached the subject. "I guess... I had just chalked it up to... inevitability." I'm still having a little trouble coming to grips with this new development. He's not marrying Hilde!
His voice comes to me quietly in the next moment, almost as if he hadn't meant for me to hear him. "Happy?"
I can feel myself smiling. Oh yes. Very happy.
"Damn! What'd she do to rub you the wrong way? Usually takes more than a month for her to thoroughly wear on someone's senses."
Much clearer now, his question snaps me out of my placid stupor. "What?" I look up to find Duo standing right in front of me.
"You were grinning like a loon, Yuy. She must've done something downright evil to piss you off so quickly."
"N-No. God no! I... I hardly know her, actually." Horror dawns on me at the thought that I'd so carelessly failed to control my reaction to the news. What must he be thinking? I look back up to find him leaning against the desk, smiling a silly smile.
"It's alright." He pats me on the head like a little kid. "She can be pretty scary even if she's not trying. And I know this is going to sound like I'm contradicting myself, but she's really not all that bad. A pain in the ass, but not all bad."
"I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I... "
I spend the next two minutes stumbling out apologies and attempting to cover my totally inappropriate reaction to his anti-marital announcement. I don't know half of what's coming out of my mouth. And it's his bark of laughter that finally puts an end to my rambling.
He ruffles my hair again, grinning. "You're babbling, dude. Nothing to apologize for. Though God only knows what was going through your head, 'cause I can't imagine the news of my eternal bachelorhood would be cause for such happiness. And hey... "
I manage to keep the 'Don't be so sure about that' to a mental and not a verbal. I do not, however, manage to stop the mental leaps at the reasons behind why he might never get married.
"... so if you're interested, I can pretty much guarantee it."
Damn it, I missed something again. "What?"
He looks at me with the most incredulous _expression. "Snap to, Heero! You seem to be loosing the thread of conversation here. I said that if you're worried about finding a replacement in case your roommate moves, I can pretty much guarantee my eternal bachelorhood, but we might need to negotiate on relocation. I kind of like it here."
I... Don't think, don't rationalize, don't speculate. "OK." No stray thoughts allowed.
"OK? OK what? You'll... " he waves his hand around.
No stray thoughts. "I'll take it under advisement."
"Aaaalrighty then." He takes a step away, eyeing me warily. "You gonna be OK by yourself for a few minutes there?"
"I'm fine, Duo. Going somewhere?"
"Gotta pee again. Coffee does that to me."
I shake my head, waving him off. "Have fun."
He laughs, moving away quickly. "Fun would take a little longer than a few minutes, Heero."
"And peeing shouldn't take a few, Duo." I retort.
"Touche!" He stops just before turning into the hallway. "Hey, you got any plans for this afternoon?"
"Not really. Got something in mind?"
He gives me a tight nod, holding a finger up, asking me to wait. "Be right back," he says and disappears around the corner.
Some days, I think this man will be the death of me. He has the uncanny ability to pull me completely out of my center of controlled calm and throw me into unmitigated chaos. His verbal parries, his quick wit, and his unfailing ability to switch mental tracks -- regardless of the topic -- always have me struggling to keep up. Thinking in a clear and orderly progression while in his presence is nearly impossible. It is frustrating and yet oddly satisfying. Tiring and invigorating. He's like a head rush. And the worst thing is that I love every minute of it.
I haven't figured out what compels me to be with him before he returns, dressed and raring to go, but I really don't think it matters. He needs a ride into town to run some errands: to drop his bike off at the repair shop, to return movies he'd rented, and to pick up the truck from his uncle's house.
In return for my chauffeuring him around, he offers to buy me dinner from a place that has 'great sushi for really cheap'. When I mention that the words 'great', 'cheap' and 'sushi' should probably not be spoken in the same sentence, he jokes about my lacking a sense of adventure. He continues to razz me about it for the whole time it takes to get out of the apartment, down the stairs and to where I'd left my assigned golf cart parked earlier. On the way to the ferry, I finally get a full accounting of the incident with the bicycle. That allows me to razz him in return for the length of the ferry ride, all 150 seconds of it. By the time we're ensconced in my rental car, we've switched conversational tracks two more times and are discussing the upcoming festival at the resort.
As I pull onto the main road heading into town, I am reminded of a line from the movie The Princess Bride: 'Truly he has a dizzying intellect'. Without even weighing the possible outcomes, I tell him. It does not surprise me at all when, instead of taking offense, he not only laughs, but feeds me the next line, 'Wait 'til I get going', and then proceeds to joke that if I'm feeling dizzy we might be better off with him driving.
It brings me back to my earlier thoughts of how much I enjoy his company. I wonder sometimes if what I feel is what it means to be smitten. I do so enjoy being with him. I crave him like no one and nothing before and I'm struck by another one of those damned stray thoughts:
My name is Heero Yuy; I am an addict. And Duo Maxwell is my fix.
End Part 6
(:./bm/splendor6)
