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" Better Than Fine "Written By: Presser DISCLAIMER: This fanfiction is not written for profit. The author claims no ownership of the characters. Pairing: 1x2 Rating: PG Spoilers: The story refers to the final events of the series. Warnings: Post-series AU, light romance Summary: What do you do with a broken heart that never found the courage to say "I love you?"
Duo struggles to find the courage to confess to Heero, but before he can, Heero vanishes, leaving only a cryptic note that explains nothing. Weeks later, Duo finds a letter taped to his shower curtain. Who broke into his apartment to leave it? Why? Does this have anything to do with Heero's disappearance?
Better Than Fine answers these questions with
a surprise twist that will leave your pulse racing and warm your heart. "Better Than Fine " 5 Duo heard nothing, saw nothing, and felt nothing on the bus, not even the bone-rattling jolt when oncoming traffic prevented the driver from veering around the horrid pothole on Seventeenth Street. He was lost in the task of sorting through the reasons for the strange appearance of a letter taped to his shower curtain. Who does that? And why? Duo frowned. No point in trying to figure that out now. All I can say is Trowa better show up tonight with an armor-plated suit on, 'cause he's gonna have a really pissed Gundam pilot at his table who'll -- Duo broke into a big grin. I could call him. He frowned again. But he won't answer. Why would he, after breaking into my apartment and -- and -- Duo scowled and snorted loudly. Something touched his shoulder. Duo turned to see a bony, wrinkled hand sticking out of a bright pink sleeve. He followed it to the concerned face of an elderly lady with Sunrise Senior Center stitched across the pocket of her smock in scripty letters. "You okay, mister?" she said. "Um..." Duo said, then stopped. Every face on the bus was turned toward him. What the devil is the matter with -- Then it hit him. Arguments with Heero always ended with Duo pouting, then claiming he wasn't pouting, and finally Heero saying, "You couldn't hide your thoughts from a brick wall, Duo. Your face is a 50,000-watt station broadcasting, 'Here's how I feel.'" Heero's arm was sore for a week from the bashing Duo gave him for that one. He blushed deeply. Damn it. I've been acting out a soap opera in front of everyone on the bus for the last ten minutes. The driver ground to a halt at the curb. Duo jerked his head forward in time to see the doors starting to close on his stop. "Hold on! Hold on!" he yelled as he scrambled out of his seat. * "Glad to see you're on the ball today," Derek said as Duo breezed past his office. "Shows initiative." Duo forced a smile and saluted. "Don't worry, I'll be ready." When he was beyond Derek's office window he made the face that went with accidentally swallowing his toothpaste. He was still wearing it when he rounded the corner to his own office and almost ran into Betty. "Bad latte this morning?" "How about no latte this morning?" Betty smiled sweetly, but Duo knew that he had hidden nothing from Derek's Senior Administrative Assistant. I do ten times more, but do I have a title? Bet your ass I don't. Betty was nominally in charge of scheduling Derek's meetings but spent most of her time inserting her opinions into every corner of the Theodore Rossi Foundation offices. "Don't you worry, hon. I got Derek his fav." "I'm sure he appreciates that," Duo said, ignoring the non sequitur. And why would I care? Duo turned toward his office but froze when Betty whisper-hissed at him. He looked over his shoulder. Betty was crooking her finger in front of a face that said, "Want to know a secret?" Duo stifled a sigh and followed her to her desk. "Want to know a secret?" Somehow Duo held back an eye roll without spraining his ocular muscles. "Yeah?" "C'mere," Betty said, motioning him forward with little waves of her fingers as she took her seat. She crouched low to her desk. Duo bent down to be eye to eye with her. "I know where to go for Derek's fav-o-rite" -- she stretched out each syllable --"breakfast rolls." "Yeah?" "He loves the chocolate-glazed cronuts at Wally's." Duo raised his eyebrows. "You know, it's over on Heller Street." Duo waited, but Betty said nothing else. She nodded briskly with the delight of a child sharing the location of candy-for-life tickets on sale for a dime. Duo straightened slowly and mouthed, "Wow." Betty screwed up her face into a smile that said, "You don't have to thank me" as she whispered, "Now you know what to do next time, right?" Duo said, "Thanks for the tip" and turned to his office. Just as he crossed the threshold, Betty spoke in her business voice, which was more peeved, 1890s schoolmarm than office manager. "Now don't be late for the meeting. Derek's counting on you to have it together, especially for Dr. Styverson." Duo stumbled and his backpack swung forward. He lurched three steps to his desk and planted his hands on it to keep from falling. He pulled his backpack the rest of the way off and left it on his desk, then went to hang his coat on the hook on the back of the door, practicing the look he was saving for Betty when the day looks really could kill finally came. * Duo blew a noisy breath as he zipped up his backpack, glad the long day was finally over. As he left his office Betty waved furiously at him, but he waved back and sped up, deliberately mistaking her "come here" signal for an end-of-the-day goodbye. "See you tomorrow," he called over his shoulder. But I'd love it if I didn't. Derek's more subtle hand motion diverted Duo from his charge to the front door. He turned into his boss's office and stood quietly in front of his desk as Derek picked up a letter, leaned back in his chair, and swiveled away from Duo. Duo gritted his teeth. Please don't tell me to take a seat. I don't have the strength to translate any more Execubabble today. Derek turned his chair to face him. "Take a seat." Duo did but sat forward and kept his backpack on his lap. "About the meeting this morning. I just wanted to say...." Vivaldi's "Winter" from The Four Seasons sprang from Derek's phone. That's his appointment ringtone. Please let it be somewhere he has to be soon. Derek tapped the Home button and swiped down from the top of his lock screen to see notifications. "Right," he said absently, "right. Okay then." He stared at his screen until it went dark, then put it on his desk. Duo cleared his throat. Derek looked up. "Oh, right." Derek's eyebrows came together, and he tilted his head like a curious puppy. "About the meeting?" Duo prompted. "Yes," Derek said, "yes. The meeting." Must look relaxed, must look relaxed. Duo gave him a tight smile. "I just wanted to say," Derek said, drawing out his words, "that you were beautiful this morning." Duo parted his lips. "You interfaced with me perfectly." Derek leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Showed how well-oiled our machinery here at TRF is, and that's why Dr. Styverson was impressed with how substantively TRF can re-conceptualize leveraged strategies that produce actionable tactics designed to boost consumer -- I mean donor -- confidence in the, uh, the...." Good god, he's been writing Corporate Bullshitese for so long it's become his primary language. Duo chimed in with "The mission?" -- a phrase that almost always fit whatever point Derek was trying to make. Derek smiled and pointed a finger at Duo with the minimum amount of motion. "Exactly. You may just catch on yet." Duo smiled faintly. * Ten minutes later Duo was out the door and down the TRF steps to hit the sidewalk jogging. Derek had kept him frightfully busy after their morning meeting. His never-varying ritual after landing a contract began with gathering the troops and saying to the new customer, "When a client says yes, we say 'Yes, Sir!'" This was always followed by a promise to "whiteboard a deep-content strut work to expedite the first-layer catalyst for change" presented in the meeting. Duo found it incredible that Derek -- anyone, for that matter -- could utter such words with a straight face, but Dr. Richard Styverson, founder of Clean Rivers for our Children, bought it just the way every TRF client did. Even more amazing was that Derek used the exact same phrase with every single one of them. Duo had his own thoughts about whether the role he played in Derek's presentations as the simpler-thinking assistant was more for his boss's personal amusement than to make him look good to the client, but as usual, the third part of Derek's post-success ritual left him no time to contemplate such things. Once Styverson was out the door, Derek turned around and announced to the office, "We just closed a contract. And you know what that means, don't you? We're now officially three months behind." He gave each person within eye-dagger distance his best commander-in-chief stare, then double-clapped his hands. The only thing he left out this time was saying, "Let's hop to it!" After the first contract Duo had helped him land, Derek took him into his office and explained in painful detail what each part of his ritual meant -- something Duo had trouble comprehending. Not the ritual, but the fact Derek thought he wouldn't understand otherwise. The man has serious issues. So Duo had hopped to it, sometimes doing things just to look busy. Breaks were hard to come by, and when there was time for one, Betty the Body -- short for busybody as well has her trim, shapely figure, even at thirty-something -- was watching. Duo was too polite to have ever spoken his nickname for her out loud, but there was something in Betty's eyes that made Duo think she had read his thoughts and counted his opinion of her as two-and-a-half strikes against him. Now the day was over, thank god, and Duo was rushing from Derek's drawn-out, backhanded compliments to make his dinner meeting with Trowa. Once he was on the bus, he knew he'd be on time, barring any unforeseen traffic mishaps. He turned his thoughts to the letter again. Okay. Sometime last night someone entered my apartment and left without disturbing a single thing except for taping an envelope to my shower curtain. Inside was a formal dinner invitation from Trowa -- too formal in fact. He never treats me or anyone else like that. He's as casual as they come with his friends. The bus rocked to the side as it braked for a freshly red traffic light. Duo glanced out the window with a jerk of his head, remembering how being lost in his thoughts almost made him miss his stop that morning. He sighed with relief. The light turned green, the bus moved. Duo pulled the letter from his backpack and read it again. You're invited to a private dinner with He turned the sheet over, then back again. The evening clouds parted, and rays from the setting sun hit the paper, bringing out the texture. Duo ran his thumb over it, then, on impulse, held it up to the light. Silly. I'm looking for hidden messages like I'm in a spy story. Duo frowned. Hm. What else is there? There's no header, so it's a second sheet of stationary. He turned the letter over again. Now bathed in sunlight, he could see faint indentations. He held it up to the window once more. These match the letters. He flipped the sheet again. This wasn't printed, it was typed. Why would Trowa do that? Duo's frown deepened. The bus lumbered up the entrance ramp to the freeway that led to the inner city. Duo put the letter in his backpack, sat back, and folded his arms. Am I making too much of this? Hell no, he decided, I am not. The letter itself is odd -- well, more like out of character -- but the way it was delivered is definitely way more than suspicious. Duo snorted. Okay, no more clues from the letter to be had, and I can't see any good coming from picking apart theories on how someone broke into my home. That leaves who and why. As the bus left the freeway for the final leg of his trip, Duo ticked off possibilities. The only reason Trowa -- if it is Trowa -- would do something like this is either to prank me or throw me off the scent of some surprise he has planned. My birthday's months away. So's the anniversary of the end of the war. Duo cocked his head to the side with a look of consternation. No holidays coming up... We don't celebrate first times like fighting together... It's not anyone else's birthday or anniversary either.... The gold-mirrored windows of the Bank of America building glimmered in the remains of the evening sky as the bus passed it. Geez! Duo yanked the cord to signal for a stop. He got off the buss three blocks away from his destination. His phone said he had eleven minutes. Now I gotta hustle to make it. As Duo headed toward his destination, wind rattled crushed coffee cups and fast-food wrappers in the gutters, but he didn't notice. His mind was still tumbling with theories that fell short of plausibility one after another. Heero would know what to do. That thought slowed Duo's pace as sadness hit him. Another gust slid a sheet of newsprint over his shoes and he kicked at it, watching it drift into a recessed, narrow doorway, shadowy under the darkening sky. The window was grimy under its protective steel mesh, but Duo made out the words Affordable Dentistry, Dr. Daniel P. Sutherland, DDS. He suddenly remembered how seedy the neighborhood was. He glanced up. The Bank of America windows still shone, but now with fluorescent lighting from the inside. One more block and I'll have some answers. Either that or Trowa will have a really sore jaw after I punch him out. Duo crossed the street against the light and sped up. More trash from the gutter blew in front of him and he kicked at it without breaking stride. A hand shot out of a dark alley, grabbed Duo's backpack, and yanked hard. Duo stumbled, yelling "What the hell?" as he tried to get his balance. Whoever was attached to the hand kept him from turning around. "I don't know what the fuck you want," Duo snarled, "but you just picked on the wrong --" A hand covered Duo's mouth, and an arm went around his chest. Damn, he's strong was the only thought that came as his attacker dragged him into the alley on his heels. tbc... |
