|
"Convincing Heero"Written By: Hemlock Inyx Disclaimer: This chick does not own any of the
Gundam Wing characters because they belong to Bandai and Sunrise.
I am borrowing them for this fict and will return them
in good (if somewhat sticky) condition. I also don't own Nora Robert's
Convincing Alex, on which this fict is heavily based (well more like
a fusion/translation). This fict is written out of love and not for
profit, don't sue. Thanks and enjoy! Rating: NC 17 Warnings: AU Romance/Cop Drama, Cross-dressing/drag,
humor, romance, some OOC-ness, language, and murder- not main characters.
Pairings: 1x2, 4xC for added interest. More pairings
to come. Summary: Heero is a cop, Duo is a cross-dressing man who writes for a daytime soap opera. The pair meet when Duo is arrested doing 'research' for the soapie.
" Convincing Heero" Chapter 2 "My wife went nuts." Quatre Winner munched on his cherry Danish while Heero swung in and out of downtown traffic. "She's a big fan of that soap, you know? Tapes it every day when she's in school." "Terrific." Heero had been doing his best to forget his little encounter with the soap queen, but his partner wasn't cooperating. "Catherine figures it was just like meeting a celebrity." "You don't find many celebrities turning tricks." "Come on, Heero." Quatre washed down the Danish with heavily sugared coffee. "She wasn't, really. You said so yourself, or the charges wouldn't have been dropped." "He was stupid," Heero said between his teeth. "Carrying a damn water pistol in that suitcase of his. I guess he figured if a john got rough, he'd blat him between the eyes and that would be that." Quatre started to comment on how it might feel to get a blat of ammonia in the eyes, but didn't think his partner wanted to hear it. "Well, Catherine was impressed, and we got some fresh juice out of Dorothy, so we didn't waste our time." "Winner, you'd better get used to wasting time. Yuy's rule number four." Heero spotted the building he was looking for and double-parked. He was already out of the car and across the sidewalk before Quatre found the NYPD sign and stuck it in the window. "We sure as hell could be wasting it here with this Domingo." "Dorothy said--" "Dorothy said what we wanted to hear so we'd spring her," Heero told him. His cop's eyes were already studying the building, noting windows, fire escapes, roof. "Maybe she gave us the straight shot on Domingo, and maybe she pulled it out of a hat. We'll see." The place was in good repair. No graffiti, no broken glass or debris. Lower-middle-income, Heero surmised. Established families, mostly blue-collar. He pulled open the heavy entrance door, then scanned the names above the line of mailboxes. "J. Domingo. 212." Heero pushed the buzzer for 110, waited, then hit 305. The answering buzz released the inner door. "People are so careless," he commented. He could feel Quatre's nerves shimmering as they climbed the stairs, but he could tell he was holding it together. He'd damn well better hold it together, Heero thought as he gestured Quatre into position, then knocked on the door of 212. He knocked a second time before he heard the cursing answer. When the door opened a crack, Heero braced his body against it to keep it that way. "How's it going, Jesus?" "What the hell do you want?" He fit Dorothy's description, Heero noted. Right down to the natty Clark Gable moustache and the gold incisor."Conversation, Jesus. Just a little conversation.'' "I don't talk to nobody at this hour." When he tried to shove the door to, Heero merely leaned on it and flipped open his badge. "You don't want to be rude, do you? Why don't you ask us in?" Swearing in Spanish, Jesus Domingo cracked the door a little wider. "You got a warrant?" "I can get one, if you want more than conversation. I can take you down for questioning, get the paperwork and do the job before your shyster lawyer can tap-dance you out. Want a team of badges in here, Jesus?" "I haven't done nothing." He stepped back from the door, a small man with wiry muscles who was wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts. "Nobody said you did. Did I say he did, Winner?" Enjoying himself, Quatre stepped in behind Heero. "Nope." The building might be lower-middle-class, but Domingo's apartment was a small high-tech palace. State-of-the-art stereo equipment, Heero noted. A big-screen TV with some very classy video toys. The wall of tapes ran mostly to the X-rated. "Nice place," Heero commented. "You sure know how to make your unemployment check stretch." "I got a good head for figures." Domingo plucked up a pack of cigarettes from a table, lighted one. "So?" "So, let's talk about Angie Horowitz." Domingo blew out smoke and scratched at the hair on his chest. "Never heard of her." "Funny, we got word you were one of her regulars, and her main supplier." "You got the wrong word." "Maybe you don't recognize the name." Heero reached into his inside jacket pocket, and his fingers brushed over his leather shoulder harness as he pulled out a manila envelope. "Why don't you take a look?" He stuck the police shot under Domingo's nose and watched his olive complexion go a sickly gray. "Look familiar?" "Man." Domingo's fingers shook as he brought his cigarette to his lips. "Problem?" Heero glanced down at the photo himself. There hadn't been much left of Angie for the camera. "Oh, hey, sorry about that, Jesus. Winner, didn't I tell you not to put the dead shot in?" Quatre shrugged, feigning casualness. He was thinking he was glad he didn't have to look at it again himself."Guess I made a mistake." "Yeah." All the while he spoke, Heero held the photo where Domingo could see it. "Guy's a rookie," he explained. "Always screwing up. You know. Poor little Angie sure got sliced, didn't she? Coroner said the guy put about forty holes in her. You can see most of them. Poor Winner here took one look and lost his breakfast. I keep telling him not to eat those damned greasy Danishes before we go check out a stiff, but like I said..." Heero grinned to himself as Domingo made a dash for the bathroom. "That was cold, Yuy," Quatre said, grinning. "Yeah, I'm that kind of guy." "And I didn't throw up my breakfast." "You wanted to." The sounds coming from the bathroom were as unpleasant as they get. Heero tapped on the door. "Hey, Jesus, you okay, man? I'm really sorry about that." He passed the photo and envelope to Quatre. "Tell you what, let me get you some nice cold water, okay?" The answer was a muffled retch that Heero figured anyone could take for assent. He moved into the kitchen and opened the freezer. The two kilos were exactly where Dorothy had said he'd find them. He took one out just as Domingo rushed in. "You got no warrant. You got no right." "I was getting you some ice." Heero turned the frozen cocaine over in his hands. "This doesn't look like a TV dinner to me. What do you think, Winner?" By leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, Quatre blocked the doorway. "Not the kind my mother used to make." "You son of a bitch." Domingo wiped his mouth with a clenched fist. "You violated my civil rights. I'll be out before you can blink." "Could be." Taking an evidence bag out of his pocket, Heero slipped both kilos inside. "Winner, why don't you read our friend his rights while he's getting dressed? And, Jesus, try some mouthwash." * * * * * * * "Yuy," the desk sergeant called out when Heero came up from seeing Domingo into a cell. "You got company." Heero glanced over toward his desk, seeing that several cops were huddled around it. There was quite a bit of laughter overriding the usual squad room noise. Curiosity had him moving forward even before he saw the legs. Legs he recognized. They were crossed at the knee and covered almost modestly in a canary-yellow skirt. He recognized the rest of 'her', too, though the tough little body was clad in a multihued striped blazer and a scoop-necked blouse the same color as the skirt. Half a dozen slim columns of gold danced at his ears as he laughed. He looked better, sexier, Heero was forced to admit, with his mouth unpainted, and those big violet eyes subtly smudged with color. His hair was artfully tousled, a rich, deep chestnut that made him think of a statue his brother had carved for him. "So I told the mayor we'd try to work it in, and we'd love for him to come on the show and do a Cameo." Duo shifted on the desk and spotted Heero. He was frowning at him, his thumbs tucked into the pockets of a leather bomber jacket. "Officer Yuy." "Maxwell." He inclined his head, then swept his gaze over his fellow officers. "The boss comes in and finds you here, I might have to tell him how you didn't have enough work and volunteered to take some of mine." "Just entertaining your guest, Yuy." But the use of the squad room's nickname for their captain had the men drifting reluctantly away. "What can I do for you?" "Well, I--" "You're sitting on a homicide," he told him. "Oh." He scooted off the desk. Without the stilettos, Duo was half a head shorter than him. Heero discovered he preferred it that way. "Sorry. I came by to thank you for straightening things out for me." "That's what they pay me for. Straightening things out." He'd been certain Duo would rave a bit, about being tossed into a cell, but he was smiling, friendly as a kindergarten teacher. Though he couldn't recall ever having a teacher who looked like him. Or smelled like her…him. Heero frowned, he really didn't know how to classify Duo Maxwell. "Regardless, I appreciate it. My producer's very tolerant, but if it had gone much further, she would have been annoyed." "Annoyed?" Heero repeated. He stripped off his jacket and tossed it onto his chair. "She'd have been annoyed to find out that one of her writers was out soliciting johns down at Twenty-second and Eleventh Avenue." "Researching," Duo corrected, unoffended. "Traci--that's my producer--she gets these headaches. I gave her a whopper when I went on a job with a cat burglar" "With a..." He let his words trail off and eased down on the spot on the desk Duo had just vacated. "I don't think you want to tell me about that." "Actually, he was a former cat burglar. Fascinating guy. I just had him show me how he'd break into my apartment." He frowned a little, remembering. "I guess he was a little rusty. The alarm--" "Don't." Heero held up a hand. He was beginning to feel a headache coming on himself. "That's old news, anyway." Duo waved it away with a cheerful gesture of his hands. "Do you have a first name, or do I just call you Officer?" "It's Detective." "Your first name is Detective?" "No, my rank." He let out a sigh. "Heero." "Heero. That's nice." Duo ran a fingertip over the strap of his harness. He wasn't being provocative; he wanted to know what it felt like. Once he knew Heero better, he was sure, he'd talk him into letting him try it on. "Well, Heero, I was wondering if you'd let me use you." He'd been a cop for more than five years, and until this moment he hadn't thought anything could surprise him. But it took him three seconds to close his mouth. "I beg your pardon?" "It's just that you're so perfect." Duo stepped closer. He really wanted to get a better look at Heero's weapon--without being obvious about it. 'She' smelled like sunshine and sex. As he drew it in, Heero thought that combination would baffle any man. "I'm perfect?" "Absolutely." Duo looked straight into his eyes and smiled. His gaze was frank and assessing. He was studying him, the way a woman might study a dress in a showroom window. "You're exactly what I've been looking for." His eyes were pure violet. No hint of green or blue. There was a small dimple near his mouth. Only one. Nothing about that odd, sexy face was balanced. "What you're looking for?" "I know you're busy, but I'd try not to take up too much of your time. An hour now and then." "An hour?" Heero caught himself echoing him, and shook himself loose. "Listen, I appreciate--" "You're not married, are you?" "Married? No, but--" "That makes it simpler. It just came to me last night when I was getting into bed." God. He'd learned to appreciate women and yes, from time to time even dated. He'd even gone so far as to tempt the odd sexual experiment in college. But how was he supposed to deal a man who looked better than any woman he had ever seen? And he thought of himself as being able to handle just about anything. But with this Duo Maxwell, all bets were off. "Is this heavy?" Duo asked, fiddling with his harness. "You get used to it. It's just there." His smile warmed, making Heero think of sunlight again. "Perfect," Duo murmured. "I'd be willing to compensate you for your time, and your expertise." "You'd be--" Heero wasn't certain if he was insulted or embarrassed. "Hold on, princess." "Just think about it," Duo said quickly. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I have this problem with Matthew." A brand-new emotion snuck in under his guard, and it was as green as Domingo's face had been earlier. "Matthew? Who the hell is Matthew?" "We call him Storm, actually. Lieutenant Storm Warfield, Millbrook PD." Now he definitely had a headache. Heero rubbed his fingers against his temple. "Millbrook?" "The fictional town of Millbrook, where the show's set. It's supposed to be somewhere in the Midwest. Storm's a cop. Personally, his life's a mess, but professionally, he's focused and intense and occasionally ruthless. In this new story line I'm working on, I want to concentrate on his police work, the routine, the frustrations." "Wait." He'd always been quick, but it was taking him a minute to change gears. "You want me to help you with a story line?" "Exactly. If you could just tell me how you think, how you go about solving a case, working with the system or around it. TV cops have to work around the system quite a bit, you know. It plays better than by-the-book." He swore under his breath and rubbed his hands over his face. Damn it, his palms were sweaty. "You're a real case, Maxwell." "You don't have to decide right now." Duo was also persistent. And he wondered if Heero had a spare gun strapped to his calf. One of those sexy-looking little chrome jobs. He'd seen that ploy in several movies. Still, he thought if he asked him that, he'd lose his edge. "I'm having a thing tonight." As he spoke, Duo dug into his huge bag for his notebook. "Eight o'clock until whenever. Bring a friend, if you like. Your partner, too. He seemed very sweet." "He's adorable." "Yeah." He ripped off the page and handed it to him. "I'd really like you to stop by." Heero took the sheet, not bothering to remind him he already had his address. "Why?" "Why not?" Duo beamed at him again. Before he could list the reasons, he heard his name called. "Heero." Heero. Duo was already enchanted with the sound as he rolled the name over in his head. Different, exotic. Sexy. He was certain it suited him much more than the casual Hero. Duo studied the woman bearing down on them. This wasn't one who'd be lost in a crowd, he mused. She was stunning, totally self-assured and very pregnant. Beside Duo, Heero pushed off the desk and sighed. "Noin." "A moment of your time, Detective," Noin said, flipping a glance over Duo before pinning Heero with a cold stare. "To reacquaint you with civil rights." "Your sister?" Duo surmised, beaming at both of them. Heero sent him a considering frown. "How did you know that?" "I'm really good with faces. Same bone structure, similar coloring, same mouth. You have to be brother and sister, or first cousins." "Guilty," Noin admitted. Though she would have liked to know what Heero was doing with the sharp-eyed beauty, she wasn't about to be swayed from her duties as a public defender. "Jesus Domingo, Heero. Illegal search and seizure." "Hn." Heero crossed his arms and leaned back against the desk. "You had a search warrant?" "Didn't need one. He invited us in." "And invited you to poke through his belongings, I suppose." "Nope." Heero grinned while Duo watched them bounce the verbal ball as though they were champion tennis players. "Jesus got sick. I offered to get him some water. He didn't object. I opened the freezer to get the poor guy some ice, and there it was. Two kilos. It'll all be in my report. "That's lame, Heero. You'll never get a conviction.'' "Maybe. Maybe not. Talk to the DA." "I intend to." Noin shifted her briefcase and began to rub her belly in circular motions to soothe the baby, who seemed to be doing aerobics in her womb. "You had no probable cause." "Sit down." "I don't want to sit down." "The baby does." He yanked over a chair and all but shoved her into it. "When are you going to knock this off?" It did feel better to sit. Indescribably better. But she wasn't about to admit it. "The baby's not due for two months. I have plenty of time. We were discussing..." "Luc." He laid a hand on her cheek, very gently. A shouted curse wouldn't have stopped her, but the small gesture did. "Don't make me worry about you." "I'm perfectly fine." "You shouldn't be here." "I'm having a baby. It's not contagious. Now, about Domingo." Heero gave a brief, pithy opinion on what could be done with Domingo. "Talk to the DA," he repeated. "Sitting down." "She looks pretty strong to me," Duo commented. Two pair of eyes turned to him, one furious, the other thoughtful. "Thank you. The men in my life are coddlers," Noin explained. "Sweet, but annoying." "Merquise should take better care of you," Heero insisted. "I don't need Zechs to take care of me. And the fact is, between him and Relena, I'm barely allowed to brush my own teeth." She held out a hand to Duo. "Since my brother is too rude to introduce me, I'm Lucrezia Merquise, but everyone calls me Noin." "Duo Maxwell. You're a lawyer?" "That's right. I work for the public defender's office." "Really?" Duo's thoughts began to perk. "What's it like to--" Heero held up a hand. "Don't get hi-… her started. She'll pick your brain clean before you know she's had her fingers in it. Look, Maxwell--" he turned to Duo, determined not to be charmed by his easy smile "-- we're a little busy here." "Of course you are. I'm sorry." Obligingly he swung his huge purse onto his shoulder. "We'll talk tonight. Nice to meet you, Noin." "Same here." Noin ran her tongue over her teeth, and both she and Heero watched Duo weave his way out of the squad room. "Well, that was rude." "It's the only way to handle her. Believe me." "Hmm... She seems like an interesting woman. How did you meet her?" "Interesting woman, hn…and don't ask." Heero sat back down on his desk, irked that the scent of sunshine and sex still lingered in the air. * * * * * * * "I can't believe we're doing this." Catherine, Quatre's pretty wife of eight months, was all but hopping out of her party shoes. "Wait until I tell everyone in the teachers' lounge where I spent the evening." "Take it easy, honey." Quatre tugged at the tie she'd insisted he wear. "It's just a party." "Just a party?" As the elevator rode up, she fussed with her reddish hair. "I don't know about you two, but it isn't every day I get to eat canapés with celebrities.'' Ominously silent, Heero stayed hunched in his leather jacket. He didn't know what the hell he was doing here. His first mistake had been mentioning the invitation to Quatre. No matter how insouciant Quatre pretended to be, he'd been bursting at the seams when he called his wife. Heero had been swept along in their enthusiasm. But he wasn't going to stay. Catherine's sense of decorum might have insisted that she and Quatre couldn't attend without him, but he'd already decided just how he'd play it. He'd go in, maybe have a beer and a couple of crackers. Then he'd slip out again. He'd be damned if he'd spend this rare free evening playing soap-opera groupie. "Oh, my" was all Catherine could say when the elevator doors opened. The walls of the private foyer were splashed with a mural of the city. Times Square, Rockefeller Center, Harlem, Little Italy, Broadway. People seemed to be rushing along the walls, just as they did the streets below. It was as if the man who lived here didn't want to miss one moment of the action. The wide door to the main apartment was open, and music, laughter and conversation were pouring out, along with the scents of hot food and burning candies. "Oh, my," Catherine said again, dragging her husband along as she stepped inside. From behind them, Heero scanned the room. It was huge, and it was packed with people. Draped in silk or cotton, clad in business suits and lush gowns, they stood elbow to elbow on the hardwood floor, lounged hip to hip on the sapphire cushions of the enormous circular conversation pit, sat knee to knee on the steps of a bronze circular staircase that led to an open loft where still more people leaned against a railing decked with naked cherubs. Two huge windows let the lights of the city in. More partygoers sat on the pillow-plumped window seats, balancing plates and glasses on their laps. Paintings were scattered over the ivory-toned walls. Vivid, frenetic modem art, mind-bending surrealism. There was enough color to make his head swim. Yet, through the crowd and the dashing tones, he saw Duo. Dancing seductively with a distinguished-looking Asian man in a gray pinstriped suit. He wore an excuse for a dress, the color of crushed purple grapes. He wondered, irritated, if Duo owned anything that covered those legs-or any masculine clothing for that matter. This number certainly didn't fit the bill. Nor did it cover much territory at all, the way it dipped to the waist in the back, skimmed above mid-thigh and left his shoulders bare, but for skinny, glittery straps. Multihued gemstones fell in a rope from his earlobes to those nicely sloped shoulders. His feet were bare. He looked, Heero thought as his stomach muscles twisted themselves into nasty knots, outrageously alluring. "Oh, Lord, there's Jade. Oh, and Storm and Vicki. Dr. Carstairs, too." Catherine's fingers dug into her husband's arm. "It's Amelia." "Who?" "'Secret Sins,' dummy." She gave Quatre a playful punch. "The whole cast's here." "That's not all." Because he remembered in time he was supposed to be jaded, Quatre stopped himself from pointing and inclined his head. "That's Chang Wufei dancing with our hostess. The W. Chang of Dragon Industries. The Fortune 500's darling. The mayor's over in that comer, talking with Hannah Loy, the grand old lady of Broadway." His excitement began to hum in his voice as he continued to scan the room. "Man, there are enough luminaries in this room to light every borough in New York." But Heero hadn't noticed. Furthermore, he didn't give a damn. His attention was focused on Duo. He'd stopped dancing, and had leaned up to whisper something in his partner's ear that made him laugh before he kissed him. Smack on the lips. Duo kissed him back, too, his hands lightly intimate at his waist, before he turned and spotted the new arrivals. He waved, made his excuses, then scooted and dodged his way through the crowd toward them. "You made it." Duo gave both Heero and Quatre a friendly peck on the cheek before holding out both hands to Catherine. "Nice to meet you." "My wife, Catherine, this is Duo Maxwell." "Thanks for asking us." Catherine caught herself starting to stutter, as she had the first time she faced a classroom of ten-year-olds. She flushed. "My pleasure." Duo gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. "Let's get you something to eat and drink." He gestured toward a long table by the wall. Instead of the useless finger food and fancy, unrecognizable dishes Heero had expected, it was laden with big pots of spaghetti, mountains of garlic bread, and generous trays of antipasti. "It's Italian night," Duo explained, grabbing a plate and heaping it high. "There's plenty of wine and beer, and a full bar." He handed the plate to Catherine and began to dish up another. "The desserts are on the other side of the room. They're unbelievable." As he passed Quatre a plate, he noticed the gleam in Catherine's eyes. "Would you like to meet some of the cast?" "Oh, I..." The hell with sophistication. "Yes. I'd love it." "Great. Excuse us. Help yourself, Heero." "This is really something," Quatre said over a mouthful of spaghetti. "Something," Heero agreed. Deciding to make the best of it, he fixed himself a plate. He wasn't going to stay. But the food was great. In any case, he didn't have anything else to do. It didn't hurt to hang around and rub elbows with the fast and famous while he was helping himself to a good hot meal. It certainly made a change from his daily routine of wading through misery and bitterness. After washing down spaghetti with some good red wine, he found himself a spot on a window seat where he could sit back and watch the show. Duo dropped down beside him, clinked his glass against his. "Best seat in the house." "Some house." "Yeah, I like it. I'll show you the rest later, if you want." He broke off a tiny piece of the pastry on Heero's plate and sampled it. "Great stuff." "Yeah. You got a little…here." Before his good sense could take over, he rubbed a bit of the rich cream from his lip. Watching him, he licked it from the pad of his thumb. And tasted Duo. "It's not bad." For a moment Duo wondered if the circuits in his brain had crossed. Something certainly had sent out a spark. He managed a small sound of agreement as he flicked his tongue to the corner of his mouth. And tasted Heero. "Your, ah, partner's wife. Catherine." Small talk, any talk, had always come easily to him. Duo wasn't sure why he was laboring now. "What about her?" "Who? Oh, right. Catherine. She's nice. I can't imagine what it would be like to teach fifth-graders." "I'm sure you'll ask her." "I already did." At ease again, Duo smiled at him. Something about that sarcastic edge to Heero's voice made him relax and enjoy. "Come on, Heero. We may be in different professions, but both of them require a certain amount of curiosity about human nature. Aren't you sitting here right now wondering about all of these people, and what they're doing at my party?" "Not as much as I'm wondering what I'm doing at your party." He swirled the wine in his glass before sipping. When Heero drank, his eyes stayed on him. Watchful. Duo liked that. He liked that very much, the way Heero could sit so still, energy humming from every pore, while he watched. While he waited. Duo was willing to admit that one of his biggest failings was being unable to wait for anything. "You were curious," he told him. "Some." His skirt hitched up another inch when he curled his legs up on the seat. "I'd be happy to tell you whatever you want to know, in exchange for your help. You see that guy over there, the gorgeous one with the blonde hanging on his biceps?" Heero scanned, homed in. "Yeah. I wouldn't say he was gorgeous." "You're not a woman. That's my detective, Storm Warfield, the black sheep of the snooty, disgustingly rich Warfield clan, the rebel, the volatile brother of the long-suffering Elana Warfield Stafford Carstairs. He's recently pulled himself out of the destructive affair with the wicked, wily Vicki. The blonde crawling up his chest. They're an item off-camera, but on, Storm is madly in love with the tragedy-prone and ethereal Jade, who is, of course, torn between her feelings for him and her misplaced loyalty to the maniacally clever and dastardly Brock Carstairs--half brother to Elana's stalwart husband Dr. Maxwell Carstairs. Max was once married to Jade's formerly conniving but now repentant sister, Flame, who was killed in a Peruvian earthquake soon after the birth of her son--who may or may not he her husband's child. Naturally, the body was never recovered." "Either I've had too much wine, or you're making me dizzy." Duo smiled and gave him a companionable pat on the thigh that sent his blood pressure soaring. "It's really not that complicated, once you know the players. But I want you for Storm." Heero sent the actor a considering look. "I don't think he's my type." "Your professional expertise, Detective. I need an informal technical advisor. My producer would be happy to compensate you for your time--particularly since we've been number one in the ratings for the past nine months." Someone called his name, and Duo sent a quick wave. "Looks like it's going to start to thin out. Listen, can you hang around until I've finished playing hostess?" He popped up and was gone before he could answer. After a moment, Heero set the rest of the dessert aside and rose. If he was going to see the party through, he might as well enjoy himself. As he saw to the rest of his guests, Duo kept an eye on him. Once Heero decided to relax, he noted, he made the most of it. It didn't surprise him that he knew how to flirt, or that several women in the room made a point of wandering in his direction. Not even Hilde--no pushover in the men department--was unaffected. "So, that's the one who busted you?" Hilde asked him, popping a plump olive into her mouth. "What do you think?" Hilde chewed, savored, swallowed. "Yum-yum." With a laugh, Duo chose a wedge of cheese. "I assume that's a comment on the man, not my buffet." "You bet. And the best part is, he's not an actor." "Still sore?" Duo murmured. Hilde shrugged, but her gaze cut over to Steven Marshall, alias Brock Carstairs. "I never give him, or his weenie little brain, a thought. No sensible woman would spend her life competing with an actor's ego for attention." "Sense has nothing to do with it." Hilde looked away, because it hurt, more than she could hear to admit, to watch Steven while he was so busy ignoring her. "This from the queen of the bungled relationships." "I don't bungle them, I enjoy them." "I hasten to remind you that two of your former fiancés are in this room." "It's a big party. Besides, I wasn't engaged to Wufei." "He gave you a ring with a rock the size of a Buick." "A token of his esteem," Duo said blithely. "I never agreed to marry him. And Trowa and I..." He waved to Trowa Barton, esteemed playwright. "We were only engaged for a few months. We both agreed Middie was perfect for him and parted the closest of friends." "It was the first time I'd heard of a woman being best man at her former fiancé's wedding," Hilde admitted."I don't know how you do it. You don't angst over men, and they never toss blame your way when things fall apart." "Because I end up being a pal." Duo's lips curved. For the briefest of moments, there was something wistful in the smile. "Not always a position a person craves, but it seems to suit me." "Going to be pals with the cop?" Once again Duo found himself searching the remaining guests for Heero. He found him, dancing slow and close with a sultry brunette. "It would help if he'd bring himself to like me a little. I think it's going to take some work." "I've never known you to fail. I've got to go. See you Monday." "Okay." Duo was astute enough to glance over in Steven's direction as Hilde left. He was also clear-sighted enough to see the expression of misery in his eyes as he watched Hilde walk to the elevator. People were much too hard on themselves, he thought with a sigh. Love, he was certain, was a complicated and painful process only if you wanted it to be. And he should know, Duo mused as he took another sip of wine. He had slipped painlessly in and out of love for years. As he set the glass aside, Heero caught his eye. There was a quick, surprising tremor around his heart. But it was gone quickly as someone swept him up into a dance.
~ * ~ |
