"Remade and Remodeled "

Written By: Artemis

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and its characters are copyright to Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency, and associated parties. I make no money with this fic.

Rating: NC 17

Warnings: Alternate reality, hurt/comfort, angst

Pairings: 6x2

Summary: The challenge of an outlandish bet brings unforeseen consequences

"Remade and Remodeled "

"Was the bicycle delivered?" Zechs asked, turning his head to the other side as the masseur worked the muscles in his shoulders.

"Yes, this morning at 10:45 a.m.," Noin confirmed, looking over her notepad as she stood at the head of the massage table.

Several times a week, Zechs's executive suite was turned into a spa. Incense was burned, soothing, new age music was piped in through hidden speakers, and a large, Swedish masseur named Otto set up his table and rubbed Zechs down.

"How was it received?" Zechs asked, cringing as a particularly tight muscle was worked.

"Reluctantly," Noin said, crossing the word bicycle off her list.

"But accepted?"

"Yes. The delivery man confirmed the bike was taken inside Duo Maxwell's apartment."

Zechs grinned. "Good."

It had been eighteen hours since he had let Duo leave his home. He was playing it cool. He was playing it as a man in control. And yet, deep down, Zechs knew this situation was anything but in his control. For eighteen miserable hours he had held back, letting the clock tick down, but why? If Maxwell was his prey—no, his diamond in the rough—then he should be getting to know him in order to calculate the best trajectory to stardom.

He had high hopes for the gift. His gut feeling was that Duo would feel, yet again, beholden to him. The bicycle was his ticket inside the young man's apartment, and hopefully into his life—at least for the coming three weeks.

"Angela Barat called again," Noin said, interrupting his thoughts.

The masseur's hands were now working their way up his calves to his thighs, easing their way under the towel around his middle. He would need a long lunch and a willing ass after this.

"Who?" Zechs asked, lifting his head to look down at the masseur's progress. "Easy, Otto," he said, raising an eyebrow.

The man grunted and brought his hands back down to Zechs's right knee. The one he had injured playing football as a teenager.

"She's the girl you took to Treize's party the other night," Noin answered, trying to keep this quasi meeting on track.

"Oh, right." Zechs lay his head back down on his folded arms. Why was he fucking that girl? He knew he could do better—Duo Maxwell had more spunk and a prettier face than that one—but there was just something easy about Angela. And he needed easy right now.

"Send her a bouquet of lilacs," he said with a resigned sigh. "And arrange for her to meet me for a private lunch at the Ritz."

"Lilacs? Isn't that your flower of choice when you're about to break it off?"

Zechs raised his head again, annoyed by the reminder. "Make it a freesia nose gay then... anything but roses."

Noin jotted the demand down in shorthand. "Anything else?"

"What about that novelist... Ivana?"

Smack. The masseur's freshly oiled hands were working Zechs's broad back now.

"She hasn't returned your call," Noin said, flipping through her notepad for any notes on the subject.

"Hmm. I thought she was anxious for me to review her book tour itinerary."

Noin shrugged.

"Take her name off the list," Zechs said, sounding very much the executioner. People waited for him, not the other way around.

Zechs was incredible when he was on your side landing prestigious gigs, knowing the right time to debut a new look, or make a surprise visit to a hometown. Against you, Zechs wasn't exactly ruthless, but his passivity was known to stall careers permanently.

"What if she calls?" Noin asked, frowning. It was never pretty when OZ dropped a client.

"Hang up," Zechs said, matter-of-factly. He groaned then, enjoying the mix of pleasure and pain a good massage could bring.

"I'll make those lunch arrangements now," she said, turning on her heel.

"Before you go. What's the word on Duo Maxwell?"

"He's at work.”

He knew she disliked it when he kept things from her. She was probably wondering right now if Duo Maxwell was a new love interest, and if so, why wasn't he telling her? He had always made her intimately aware of his dalliances. But this was no dalliance, and he didn't feel up to explaining.

"His shift ends at eight o'clock."

Noin's voice was tight as though she had wanted to hold back that bit of information. He smiled up at her, "Thanks, Noin," and rested his head again.

Tonight his patience to get to know Duo Maxwell would end.

+ + +

The denim jacket was thrown with an angry jerk of his arm as he came into his apartment. It landed in a corner with a thump, probably to be forgotten for several days. The store's manager had been a real dick all day. Hovering about, watching Duo's every move. What was he trying to prove? And what was all the "I'm watching you, Maxwell," shit anyway?

"I miss one lousy day of work and the guy is all over me," Duo huffed as he went into the kitchenette. "What a bastard."

Sure he had only gotten the job because of his probation officer. No one in their right mind would hire a shoplifter as a stock boy, but Woodman's had, and it was all because of Lieutenant Po. She was convinced he could make something of himself, though how he would ever do that working for a discount grocer he hadn't the foggiest. Still he had kept his sticky fingers to himself. He didn't want to disappoint Lt. Po, and there were way too many people watching him at Woodman's. That problem hadn't existed at Merquise's place. They were practically begging him to take something. And he had happily obliged.

He reached into the cupboard and pulled out a can of Chef Boy-R-Dee Ravioli's. He would eat them right out of the can, unheated, while he worked. With this kind of emotional energy, Duo was psyched to accomplish great things tonight.

He stumbled back out into the living room with his dinner and glanced at the shiny new bike that had been delivered that morning. On principle he hadn't rode it to work. There was nothing wrong with his bike, sure it was old and had a few scrapes, but it rode just fine. And besides, had he taken the new one to work, it would have been stolen in the first five minutes it was left chained to the bike rack. What had that Merquise guy been thinking anyway?

"Loser," Duo said, shoving a spoonful of ravioli's in his mouth.

What was it about guys with money? They all thought they could buy off the world. But why exactly was Merquise trying to buy him off? Just because of that stupid accident the other night? You'd think the guy had been the one to run him over. That much Duo knew wasn't true. Things were coming back to him. He had been in a hurry, needing to get to the junkyard before it closed and then it had started raining. It never failed. Anytime he had stuff to lug it always rained. In his rush, he had pushed through the crowd on the corner with all their damn umbrellas and the next thing he knew he was picking himself off the pavement.

Somehow Merquise figured into that scenario. Yeah, he could kind of remember a guy asking him if he was okay. Duo had wished he had said, “I was just hit by a car, how do you think I’m doing?” Maybe he had said that, he still wasn’t clear on the whole thing.

He turned to his work area—a large drop cloth spread out under an amalgamation of stripped engine parts, springs and sprockets, and painted wood fragments. He had begun assembling his masterpiece weeks ago and then got sidetracked with another idea. That’s where the sheet metal came in. He didn’t know why, but the image of a long, flat piece of steel kept working its way into his thoughts. Now the silver sheet lay at the edge of the drop cloth. He didn’t have a clue how to incorporate it into his current project, or even that he should, but it was enough that it was here. He would worry about its use later. Right now, he had a sculpture to finish.

Flicking the radio on, he grabbed his tool kit and began pinching and twisting metal parts together, making the form take shape and grow before his eyes. It would soon be taller than him and that made him smile. There was something titillating about standing next to something large, something looming over him, about to devour him…

Knock, knock, knock.

He looked up from his work to the door, his brow scrunching. Who the hell was bothering him now? He set down the needle nose pliers and plodded across the room to the door, sighing as he closed one eye to look through the peephole. An eyeful of chest was all he saw.

"Who is it?" he asked, quickly running through the list of possibilities. Damn, he hoped he wasn't late on his rent and the landlord had sent some gorilla to collect.

"It's Zechs Merquise."

Duo swallowed hard. What was he doing here?

He opened the door, but left the chain on, giving him just a few inches to view his visitor, but making it clear he wasn't in a welcoming mood. "I'm kind of busy," Duo said, as his eyes drifted up the length of the man. Damn, he was tall, and impeccably dressed in a honey brown suit, beige shirt, and brown leather shoes.

"I apologize for the interruption," Zechs said, smoothly. "But I rather hoped we might chat."

"Chat?" Duo asked with a snort. Did all rich guys talk like this?

"Yes, converse, talk, have a discourse, whatever you would like to call it," Zechs said, a hint of frustration working its way into his tone. Zechs took a breath and tried again. "How do you like the bike?"

Duo's eyes widened. "It's a beauty," he said, glancing back over his shoulder. "But I can't keep it. I mean, I only accepted it 'cause that delivery guy wouldn't leave without me taking it."

"Then you don't like it?"

"I like it all right, but I can't keep it. I don't know why you gave it to me."

"I said I would buy you a new one."

Duo shook his head. "I don't remember that, besides it's not like you're the one who hit me the other night. And my bike's just fine, really."

+ + +

The door was not opening. Duo was not giving in and letting him in. Zechs began to calculate how much force it would take to kick it in. But that was absurd. He had never resorted to violence before. He was a master manipulator, a prince at getting his way. Surely he could outmaneuver this punk kid.

"If that's how you feel, then I'll just take the bike back," Zechs said, suppressing the urge to smile at his own cunning.

Duo blinked up at him. "Oh. Yeah, you should take it back." With a last look he closed the door, slid off the chain and re-opened the door. "Come on in," he said, stepping back to allow the man entry.

Zechs strode into the apartment triumphant, but quickly squashed the attitude when he took in his surroundings. These were meager living quarters. The tiny abode held little more than a few pieces of used, cheaply made furniture, a lamp topped by a lopsided shade, several posters tacked to the walls, an open can of ravioli's, and a skyward lump of found objects. And Duo was dressed rather shabbily in blue jeans, an old t-shirt and tennis shoes.

Zechs cocked his head. "Is this what you were working on when I arrived?" He stepped closer to the bizarre creation.

"Yeah, that's Apollo... or Hercules. I haven't decided which." Duo seemed embarrassed at having someone examine his unfinished work.

"You're an artist?" Zechs asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked inquisitively between the conglomeration and Duo.

"I don't know about that. I'm just goofing around."

"And do you 'goof' around often? I mean, are there others like this one?" Zechs’s pulse raced with the discovery. Say, yes, Duo. Tell me you've got a dozen just like this and my problems are solved.

"Uh, yeah, I've done other pieces, but they're just for me. I don't show them to anyone."

"But you would show them to me, wouldn't you?" Zechs asked, lowering his voice to a sultry range and looking Duo straight in the eye.

The boy gulped. Zechs could see the indecision in his eyes. Yes, he had never shared these before, but something told Zechs that was about to change.

"Okay," Duo said, shaking his head. "But they're really not meant to be seen by anyone, but me."

"Then I'll be all the more appreciative."

He followed Duo into a room that passed for a bedroom because of the mattress on the floor, but only reaffirmed the near squalor in which Duo was living. But that observation aside, Zechs's eyes widened at the more important fact—the room was filled with sculptures. Like trees guarding a wood nymph the creations stood about the room, a forest of three-dimensional art which no doubt watched over their creator as he slumbered. What an image it conjured.

"They're wonderful," Zechs said, truly meaning it. The pieces were fanciful and yet powerful in their freedom and unconventional form. Duo's hidden treasure had at last been uncovered. Zechs now had something with which to work. He would remake Duo into an art sensation!

"I use found objects," Duo explained as he walked among his work. "Sometimes I have to buy parts, but I try not to. It's just a hobby, really."

Zechs could see his embarrassment and the nervousness in the way the boy's eyes kept glancing up at him and then quickly looking away. He was finding Duo charming in his feral naiveté. That blend of man and child that never failed to fascinate him.

"I guess you must think I'm crazy making these."

"Not at all," Zechs said, reaching his hand out to touch what looked like a winged creature. "It takes a great talent to create something as lovely and as free as these art pieces." He looked at Duo again and smiled. "I'm honored you would share this with me."

Duo looked down at the floor, obviously not accustomed to compliments. When he looked up again, spying at Zechs through his bangs, Duo's eyes lit. "Would you like one?"

"You would give me one of your creations?"

"As a thank you... yes," Duo said with a nod.

"I don't think I can accept." Zechs felt oddly uncomfortable with this offering.

"Please, Zechs."

Zechs raised an eyebrow at the use of his name. It sounded so personal when Duo said it, as though...

"Thank you," Zechs said, appraising Duo more carefully now. There was a gentle, talented young man under that gruff exterior, and it warmed Zechs to have found him. "That's very kind of you."

"You can have your pick of the litter," Duo said with a smile.

Zechs chuckled. "All right." He looked around, nodding to the angel he had touched. "Would it be all right if I chose this one?"

"That'd be my choice, too," Duo said, walking over and putting his arm around the piece. The abstract angel stood just four feet tall and was made of copper, wire mesh, an industrial sized coil, and glass pebbles found on the beach.

"You're certain it's okay?" Zechs asked, noticing the beaming pride in Duo's eyes.

The young man nodded. "Yep. She's been holding out for Mr. Right for months now," Duo said and then laughed awkwardly.

"I understand. You want the best home for her."

With the gift given and received, they looked at one another in silence. It had been a spontaneous transaction, an almost intimate exchange, and now there seemed to be a lack in direction. Neither man maneuvering or posturing for position, just standing here in a simple bedroom among gods and banshees and faceless forms, the humans more out of place than their soulless counterparts.

"Her name is Eve," Duo blurted out.

"Eve? From the Garden of Eden?"

"No," Duo chuckled. "Eve because I worked on her in the evenings. On my way home I would say, I've got a date with Eve."

Zechs smiled, touched by the admission. "And you're sure you’d like me to take her?"

"Yeah. I know where she's going and who's taking her, so it's okay. She deserves better than to be cooped up in this room all day."

"I'm glad you feel that way," Zechs said, still a little surprised by the responsibility he was being given. "I'll try to make her happy."

That promise simply but sincerely made was a contract that Zechs intended to keep, if for no other reason than to expunge the uncharacteristic twinge of guilt he was feeling. Duo was not a client, paying him to mastermind his next career move. Duo was a pawn in a game—a pawn whose next move Zechs was already strategizing.

Together they carried Eve down the stairs to Zechs's car, gently placing her on her side in the back seat of the black Mercedes convertible.

"I guess this is it." Duo patted her head affectionately.

Zechs frowned. This hardly seemed the same boy who had barked at him the night of the accident.

"Why not postpone your goodbyes?" Zechs asked, leaning against the car. "I was about to get some dinner. Would you care to join me?"

Duo looked up at him with perhaps a hint of suspicion. "Uh, thanks, but I want to get back to Apollo." His hand went to his forehead then, gingerly touching the bandage under his bangs. "And I've got a bit of a headache tonight."

Zechs swallowed a laugh. He hadn't heard the "I've got a headache" line in years.

"That's unfortunate. I'm not familiar with this neighborhood and I'd like to try some local fare." There was a shift toward interest on Duo's face, but Zechs could see he still wasn't biting. "And it'd give us a chance to get to know each other better… for Eve's sake." Zechs watched with satisfaction as Duo looked to his creation and then back to him.

"That doesn't sound so bad. But only if you don't mind cheap."

"You have somewhere in mind?" Zechs asked, with a growing smile. For the moment, he would let Duo lead.

"If you like burgers, I know the best joint in town—Tommy’s Tamales."

"For hamburgers?"

"Yeah, his tamales are nothing compared to his burgers. He's totally famous for them."

"Well, then... lead on."

"I'll just grab my jacket," Duo said, and darted back inside the building.

 

~ * ~

Chapter 6

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