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"While You Were Sleeping "Written By: Prynesque Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they
are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission
and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if
you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get
your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and
if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down
and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid). Rating: R Warnings: Yaoi/slash, romance, sap? OOC (this
is an AU – I think it’s a given), some swearing, lime/lemon,
alternating POV, possible Australian-isms. Pairings: 1x2 Summary: Duo, a lonely railway ticket booth operator,
is infatuated with Wufei, a complete stranger, who buys a token from
his booth each evening. One night, Wufei is knocked onto the tracks
and winds up in a coma. A mistake at the hospital sees Duo mistaken
for his boyfriend and a tangled web of lies is woven as Duo is pulled
further and further into the life of Wufei’s welcoming family.
To make matters worse, Duo discovers that he is beginning to fall
in love with Wufei’s enigmatic step-brother, Heero. This fic is based on the movie While You Were Sleeping (starring Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman) and I don’t own it either. It’s a fairly loose basis – namely because I haven’t seen the movie for years – and there will be movie plot mixed with my own kooky ideas. Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is
that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even
care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me – just
so long as I get to hear from you. "While You Were Sleeping " Chapter Three: It’s only as I’m stomping wearily up the stairs to my flat that I realise just how out of line I was with Heero. I mean, who am I to suddenly start wailing about what Wufei would expect? I don’t even know the guy! I may enthuse all I like about who I think he is, that he’s nice and kind and generous and gives to charity… actually, now I think about it I did see him give his change to that Amnesty International woman a couple of months back… hmm, must remember to tell Hilde. Sorry, where was I? Oh right, despite my imaginative supposings, I don’t actually know Wufei at all. Damn, I think that’s what Hilde’s been trying to get at for the past year or so. And suddenly I’m feeling very dejected. Heero’s voice rings uncomfortably loud in my mind… Wufei liked his life to be ordered and proper. He would never have gone out with someone as… unpredictable as you… those were his words, his accusations. What if he’s right? I’ve spent the better part of a year being in love with Wufei. What if I’m not his type, what if he would never love me back… what if I’ve gotten this close to my dream only to have it hopelessly dashed forever? What would I do if I couldn’t even dream anymore? Too many what ifs… I feel like I’m drowning in them. I enter my flat with my head bowed and suddenly drowning in that cheap bottle of whiskey on top of the fridge seems an infinitely better option. Surprisingly, Attila seems to respond to my considerable lack of cheer and is almost polite about demanding his dinner… well, as polite as a cat that makes Machiavelli look tame can be. Then as I’m collapsing in a heap on the sofa, clutching my bottle to my chest as though it’s my oldest and dearest friend, he leaps up beside me and actually deigns to sit there. He waits for me to adjust to this rarity and then stretches out, allowing his back to press against the line of my thigh. It’s warm and strangely comforting, something I never thought I’d ever say about this cat. I am emboldened by Attila’s unusual display of sensitivity. “What if Heero’s right? What if I’m not his type?” I question again; hearing it said aloud just makes it sound so much worse. Attila doesn’t answer but his nose does twitch in a rather adorable fashion. I take that as an encouragement and let my finger brush across the soft, warm fur of his plump underbelly. He growls in warning. Right… not quite up for that level of comforting pet-owner bonding yet. I discreetly remove my hand to a safe distance and take a swig from the bottle. The liquor burns uncomfortably down my throat and then sits hot and heavy in the pit of my stomach. I’m not really much of a drinker, I realise blearily, probably because I don’t do it very often. Hopelessly lightweight, Hilde’s Alex once called me. I was suitably outraged at the time, though that was marginally undermined by the fact that I was having distinct difficultly maintaining the ability to stand. Wufei’s face swims blurrily before my eyes, only its not the pale blank face lying in that hospital bed, it’s the Wufei I remember… strong and charismatic as he smiles at me through the glass ticket booth window. I smile back but then suddenly that beautiful face is changing, seamlessly transforming; sleek black hair turns brown and wild, dark eyes turn blue. Those eyes pierce through me, so very blue… amazingly strong for a mere memory. Heero. And far from drowning out that deep, slightly husky voice, the whiskey seems to be making it worse, louder, harsher… He would never have gone out with someone as… unpredictable as you. Unpredictable? I’ve never thought of myself that way. Maybe I am… after all, lying about being a comatose guy’s boyfriend is a rather unpredictable thing to do. I reach for the bottle again, momentarily mesmerized by the light playing on the amber liquid. But I can still see those eyes and hear that voice. Damn, this whiskey is just depressing me even further. I pause to glare at the bottle in the hope that it will realise its error and apologise. It doesn’t so I take another burning swig… and then another. I don’t remember falling asleep but the next thing I know, I’m crawling back into a muddled consciousness, my back stiff from the couch, my mouth parched and tasting like God only knows what, and my teeth fuzzy. A moment later I become painfully aware of the pounding in my head; it sounds distinctly like the timpani section of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra may have taken up residency there. I roll over as best as I can, groaning hoarsely. My chest comes into contact with a warm, furry object which leaps away a moment later, spitting fiercely and yowling about personal space and overstepped boundaries. I ignore Attila and struggle into an upright position. The timpanists are going full-tilt now, beating the Hell out of their drums and my skull. The near-empty bottle winks smugly at me and I push it away with my toe, scowling at it for seducing me into its depths. Now I remember why drinking something I only do occasionally. Uttering a brief promise to never do it ever again, I lurch in the direction of the bathroom. My body seems torn between throwing up and falling over. When it finally seems clear that neither is going to imminently occur, I pour myself into the shower which has chosen this morning to produce nothing but cold water. The startling shock of cold is not wholly unwelcome. I finally emerge, cold, bedraggled and looking distinctly like a drowned rat, but my head is slightly clearer, enough for me to consider stumbling into some clothes. Hilde calls just as I’m starting to feel more like myself and less like I’ve just been hit by a rather vindictive semi-trailer. “Jeez, Duo, you sound rough!” Hilde declares in that annoyingly chirpy way of hers which suggests that she spend a pleasurably alcohol-free evening with Alex and probably got laid. I throw her a scathing mental curse for having a functional relationship with a flesh and blood man rather than a bottle of whiskey. “I take it the truth didn’t go down so well?” Her words permeate my brain slowly. Truth? What truth? Oh, right… that truth. I figure I can either tell Hilde and have her yell at me or say nothing and hope she moves on to a much nicer topic, possibly involving flowers and fluffy bunnies. I take the latter option and there is a long, pregnant pause and then she sighs. “You didn’t tell them, did you?” Right, so bunnies are out. “Um… technically, no… I guess I didn’t,” I mumble into the phone. I wait for the ear-splitting ‘Duo!’ and she doesn’t disappoint. “What were you thinking? We agreed that you had to tell them the truth, remember?” She clicks her tongue loudly, something she always does when she’s ticked off. I wince. I never knew a mere click could sound so disappointed. There is a low rumble in the background that is presumably Alex asking what’s going on. “Duo’s being an idiot!” Hilde declares to him, not bothering to cover the receiver. “Oh, right,” comes Alex’s muffled voice. Then, “Hi, Duo,” he says, so close to the phone now that he’s probably resting his chin on Hilde’s shoulder. Hilde clicks her tongue again and tells him to sod off. He laughs and he does so without complaint. I must admit, she has him well-trained. “I can’t believe you, Duo! Are you at least going to tell me why?” she asks. “I didn’t plan on it!” I retort hotly. “It’s just that… when I got there Sally was really upset and then she said that she was really glad that I was there… that I made her feel more connected to Wufei…” I trail off and Hilde is surprisingly silent. “Oh God, Hilde, you should have heard her! I just couldn’t tell her, I couldn’t…” I sit heavily without checking that the sofa is actually behind me. I hit the arm rest with a jarring bump and then slide sideways to flop pathetically across the cushions. Hilde sighs and when she speaks again it’s with less anger and more sympathy. “OK, OK… God, what a mess. I have no idea how you’re going to get out of this now.” She pauses and I can just imagine her chewing her lip; she does that when she’s confused or lost. “I know; me neither,” I mumble, sniffing rather pathetically. “Well, at least that explains the whiskey bottle,” she says a moment later; there is a hint of amusement in her voice. I think that’s the end of the yelling. That’s what I love about Hilde… she can go from hot and bothered to calmly amused within seconds. “Whiskey bottle?” I ask dumbly. “Yeah, the one you spent the night with?” “I didn’t!” I try to protest. “Oh, come on, Duo! You can’t lie to me… I know you far too well,” she tells me, and of course, she’s right. “Oh, fine… but it came on to me,” I say. This draws a laugh from her. “Yeah, well you always did attract weirdoes. At least, Scottish is vaguely sexy.” I peer at the bottle on the coffee table, trying to decipher the label. “Actually, this one’s Japanese…” I trail of abruptly, suddenly thinking something completely different and wondering where the Hell that came from. God, those blue eyes are back… “I mean, it’s from Japan. But… I bought it at the shop.” Evidently my brain and my mouth are working at odds and there is a confused pause on Hilde’s end as well. “Are you OK, Duo?” “I think I’m going crazy,” I confess to her, knowing that she’ll probably just laugh. She does. “Oh, Duo, babe… you went crazy years ago,” are her comforting words of wisdom. I don’t bother to thank her and she rambles on. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. Alex and I are supposed to be going shopping… gotta get a Christmas present for his mother. What does one buy for the devil anyway?” There is a spluttering sound in the background which is either Alex crying out in righteous indignation or laughing. “God, what ever possessed me to say yes about that whole ‘meeting the parents’ thing?” Hilde continues. “I’ve never been good at that.” There is a thud which I think is Hilde banging her head against the table. I cut her off before she can start wailing about the inherent evilness of mothers-in-law and her own impending doom; it’s a conversation we’ve had many a time before and is usually the precursor to a very messy break-up (most probably because of Hilde’s insistency on referring to each respective mother-in-law as ‘the devil’). I sincerely hope she gets it right this time as I’m rather fond of Alex and happy-in-love Hilde is always more fun that depressed-kill-me-now-I’ll-never-get-married Hilde. “You’ll be fine,” I tell her, secretly pleased that we’ve moved on from my woes to hers. “Yeah, I will, won’t I?” she replies, sounding completely unconvinced. “Just keep your mouth shut and stay in your room the entire time,” I say before I can stop myself. There is a long silence then, “Yeah, that’s not a bad idea.” “Goodbye, Hilde.” She sniffs. “Yeah, alright, goodbye. And no more doing naughty things with anything from Japan!” I’m left with the beeping of her disconnection and another rather disturbing mental image. I think the timpanis might be back.
I disembark from the bus, shivering as the cold hits me. The snow has subsided but the wind is bitter, howling and relentless. It swirls down the narrow Chicago streets, whistling like a lost wolf. I’m chilled to the bone within minutes of stepping off the bus. Even my toes, firmly tucked inside three pairs of socks and a pair of scuffed boots, can’t escape the frostbite. As I shuffle up the long hospital driveway, my puffing breaths visible in the clear, crisp air, it occurs to me that the only logical explanation for venturing out in this weather is that I must be a masochist. It’s not a very comforting thought and I trudge slightly quicker, the hot, welcoming heat of the hospital waiting room beckoning me forwards. A rather stern-looking matron catches me off-guard just as I am entering. “Can I help you?” she asks; her dark, tiny eyes leave me with the impression that I would rather bleed to death on the ER floor than voluntarily ask for her help. “I’m just here… um… visiting a friend,” I mumble, staring at the white lino tiles beneath my feet, half-afraid that she’ll spot me for the fraud I am and send me packing. Her beetle-black eyes bore into the top of my head but before she can speak again I am rescued by a plump vision in regulation blue hospital scrubs. “Oh, hello Duo!” Nurse Jones enthuses. Even though my last meeting with her resulted in the web of lies that I’m currently entangled in, I’m relieved to see her. Though, I confess I never thought my knight in shining armour would actually be a round nurse wearing a hat that looks distinctly like a giant blue condom. I edge cautiously around the redoubtable Matron, avoiding eye-contact. Her steely gaze follows me down the corridor. “Wufei’s doing OK, I think. He was fine when I saw him last night. Well, not fine because obviously he’s still in a coma… but I haven’t had a chance to look in on him today… I’m on surgical rotation this afternoon,” Nurse Jones chirps, scuttling along beside me. She plucks at her unattractive blue garments morosely and then picks up the chatter again. Her voice is oddly soothing as we walk through the maze of white corridors. She leaves me just as we’re rounding the final corner. “Gotta run… I’m due in OR in ten minutes. You take care of yourself, Duo… and don’t worry; we’re taking good care of Wufei.” I nod but she’s already turned away. Her rather impressive bottom wobbles cheerily as she trots away. When I edge Wufei’s door open, the first thing I see is Quatre. He’s sitting serenely by the bed, a pink highlighter tucked behind one ear; the tip of his tongue is slightly poked out, caught between his teeth. He’s pouring over what looks like a rather dense document; only halfway through reading the title, I’m confused and bored. I feel a spark of pity. It’s Sunday afternoon and the poor guy’s working. Not to mention the whole best-friend-being-in-a-coma thing. He looks up as I enter, a wide smile breaking across his face. “Duo! It’s nice to see you again,” he says and then, when I hover in the doorway, continues, “Come in and sit down.” He pulls up a chair and pats it good-naturedly. The movement dislodges the highlighter from behind his ear; it lands in his lap, hitting the file with a dull thump. “I’m glad you’re here. You can save me from this hideous press release.” He smiles that beautiful smile again and those round aqua eyes of his twinkle, crinkling at the corners. I smile and mumble a thank you to my shoes as I sit myself down. “Any change?” I ask, leaning closer to peer anxiously at Wufei’s still figure. I fancy he’s a bit paler today and I frown. Reflexively, I tentatively reach out and smooth down Wufei’s blanket. My hands linger slightly as they brush against Wufei’s cool fingers, clasped on top of the white sheets. I catch the look on Quatre’s face as I sit back again, sweet and sympathetic. “No, no change,” he tells me. He folds his file away, tucking it into his bag and dropping the highlighter in after it. “Sally was in earlier, when I arrived. She treated me to a long complicated spiel of diagnoses that I didn’t understand a word of, but I gathered that he’s still stable.” I manage a chuckle. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t understand a thing she says,” I confess. Quatre laughs; it’s a warm, inclusive sound. “Yes, my sister Iria is like that as well. She tends to forget that not everyone has swallowed a medical encyclopedia.” He leans forwards conspiratorially. “It must be a doctor thing.” “Must be,” I agree. “Unless it’s just us.” Quatre pretends to consider this. “Perhaps. But I prefer thinking that it’s them.” We both laugh at that and I find myself instantly drawn to Quatre; he’s warm and friendly without being overwhelming. He catches me staring at him and I blush, faking yawn to try and hide it. He cocks his head to the side and surveys me. “Are you all right? You look a bit… tired,” he tells me and I’m sure that’s a polite way of saying I look like shit. A couple of hours sleep on a lumpy couch after more than half a bottle of whiskey will do that to a man. “Yeah, I’m fine. Had a bit of a rough night,” I confess, slightly sheepish. “I can understand that,” he says, nodding knowingly. “I find it horrible whenever Trowa goes away for work and I have to sleep in that bed all by myself. It just doesn’t feel right without him beside me,” he says, misinterpreting me. He pats my arms companionably and I find myself comforted anyway. “Yeah,” I say, rather unintelligently. “I’m sure Wufei’s thinking the same thing,” Quatre continues, smiling. And maybe he’s right. Although I sincerely doubt Wufei’s thinking it about me. We lapse into a comfortable silence and I find myself smiling because Quatre’s hand is still resting on my arm, his warm seeping into me even through my many layers of clothes. Eventually, Quatre stirs. He lifts his arms up over his head, cracking his back as he stretches. I wince automatically at the sound. “Sorry,” Quatre apologises. “Wufei hates it when I do that too.” He smiles at the memory and then stands, smoothing down the creases in his pants. “I think I need a bit of a walk. I’ve been sitting in that chair all morning and my back feels like it has aged about thirty years. Terribly un-ergonomic.” He pauses to cast it a reproachful look. “I’ll come with you,” I say suddenly. Quatre seems a bit surprised by my offer. I think he proposed the walk in order to give me some time alone with Wufei, and I suppose I should be grateful for that but… “I mean, unless you’d rather be alone,” I mumble awkwardly to the floor. “No, I’d love some company… if you’re sure.” Quatre casts a brief glance in Wufei’s direction. “Yeah. I just… sitting here with him like this… it’s just…” I want to say awkward or lonely or depressing but I can’t get the words out. “… hard,” Quatre finishes for me and I nod, grateful for his understanding. “Well, come on then, he’ll be alright without us, I’m sure. Trowa should be here soon, anyway.” He pulls on his jacket; it’s one of those expensive, heavy woollen coats and it fits him like it was tailor-made. Looking at the rest of Quatre’s clothing, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. He holds the door open for me and then follows me out into the corridor. “So, you’ve been here all morning?” I ask, trying to strike up a conversation as we wander back through the hospital. Quatre smiles, buttoning up his coat. “Yes. I volunteered to take the morning shift. Trowa will come this afternoon and Heero will be here for the evening. Sally, unfortunately, is working all day.” “Shift?” “Yes.” Quatre pauses to secure his scarf. “It was Heero’s idea,” he says a moment later, turning those big, aqua eyes on me. “He said that we should try and organize it so that there is someone here with Wufei for as much of the time as possible. So that when he wakes up, he isn’t alone.” I am heartened by his use of the word ‘when’ instead of ‘if’ but I confess aloud that I have difficulty trying to imagine Heero making such a sensitive suggestion. I flush as soon as the words leave my mouth. “But, of course, I don’t really know him,” I mumble, aware that Heero is one of Quatre’s best friends and that I probably just put my foot in it. But Quatre just laughs. “Well, Heero is quite a complex character. I’ve known him for over fifteen years and sometimes I still feel like I don’t completely know him. He’s never really felt comfortable in himself, I don’t think, though he hides well behind that confident, unapproachable mask of his. But beneath all that, he’s got a heart of gold. I just wish he’d find someone that was able to bring that out in him…” We pause just before the entrance doors. “I worry about him and Sally both, sometimes. They seem to think that they can make it through this life without having someone to share it with…” He trails off and then looks over at me. Suddenly he slips his arm through mine; I feel a little tingle of happiness at his friendly gesture. “But we know better, don’t we? We know how important love is… and I’m sure there is a Trowa or a Wufei out there for each of them.” We share a smile, but behind mine is a slight pang of self-pity. Quatre doesn’t register it, though, and huddling together, we step over the threshold together. The wind hits us and we shiver as one. “By Allah, it’s freezing out here. We must be mad,” Quatre laughs, the sound whisked away by the wind. “We’ll just have to walk very fast,” he chuckles. We’re just nearing the sidewalk when Quatre says, “I’m glad you decided to come with me. This gives me an opportunity to grill you for all the information about you that Wufei neglected to mention.” “I’m sure you’ll find I’m completely uninteresting,” I tell him. “Nonsense! If there is one thing I know about Wufei, it’s that he has very good taste.” I blush automatically and Quatre grins. “ I mean it. After all, he and Trowa were together for a while,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Really?” I ask. I try to recall my memory of Trowa… oddly styled chestnut hair and green eyes, I think. And I then I frown. No, he’s too tall. Wufei needs someone shorter… like me. Quatre nods, oblivious to my height-related conclusions. “When they were in college. Though I don’t think it was very serious. More experimentation than anything else, I think.” He laughs and I find myself joining in. “Don’t you find that a bit… I don’t know, weird? Knowing that they were… you know?” I ask. He tilts his head up towards me as he answers. “Not really. The idea of them together is almost laughable. Neither of them is anything remotely like what the other needs. Besides, I know that Trowa loves me and now Wufei has you.” A sickly sensation that feels horribly like guilt churns in my stomach. We walk briskly and just as we’re rounding the corner, the imposing, towering Winner Inc. building comes into view. It stands at the heart of the CBD, casting its impressive shadow across the city centre. There is a tiny jolt of recognition in my brain. Winner… where have I heard that? I think I catch a slightly hardening of Quatre’s smile and then I remember, a question already formulating in my mind. “I don’t suppose you’re one of those Winners, are you?” “I was,” he says, his arm tensing slightly against mine. “I was disinherited when I was 22.” “Why?” I ask, wondering whether I should be probing or not. “According to my father, Trowa wasn’t a suitable choice of partner for the scion of the Winner family.” Quatre’s tone is purposely light but I sense a residual underlying hint of bitterness. “Ouch,” I wince. “Quite.” He sighs and slowly his arm relaxes in mine. “But I suppose it was only a matter of time, really. My father and I never really saw eye to eye on anything. I don’t think I ever really measured up to his image of what a son should be and he certainly never fulfilled my expectations of the perfect father either.” He pauses and I try to think of something compassionate to say. In the end, all I can come up with is a rather pathetic, “Sorry.” “Oh, don’t be. It was a rather agreeable split in the end, I suppose. It certainly could have been worse. Besides, I’ve got Trowa and my sister, Iria… not to mention Heero and Wufei and Sally… and now, you. I’m not doing too badly after all.” I glow internally at being included; I can almost feel the stupid goofy smile on my face. He smiles somewhat reflectively and then turns back to me, aqua eyes gleaming. “Fancy a coffee?” he asks, indicating the café across the road. I grin. “I’d love one.” As soon as we step inside, the warm air gushing from the air-conditioning vents washes over us, slowly thawing our frozen limbs. We sigh simultaneously in relief. We sit by the window, overlooking the near empty street. Quatre pulls his macchiato closer, idly stirring it with a spoon. “So, tell me… any sordid family splits in your back-story?” he asks me, lifting the spoon to his lips, his pink tongue flicking out across the silver surface. “Um… no… not really. I grew up in a Catholic orphanage. Not much room for anything sordid when you’re surrounded by priests and nuns… not that I didn’t try.” I laugh but he looks slightly stung. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he says, looking adorably distraught. I’m used to this reaction. Most people feel the need to feel guilty when they hear I’m an orphan. In their minds, growing up in an orphanage is intrinsically linked with having the worst childhood imaginable… a complete misassumption that usually it irritates the shit out of me. But Quatre is reassuringly genuine in his sympathy and I can’t bring myself to snap at him. “It’s fine. It’s not something I’m touchy about, anyway,” I try to allay his guilt. “Right, good.” There is a slightly awkward pause as he sips at his coffee and then, “Why don’t we leave off talking about family altogether and move onto something nice and safe?” “Good idea. So… how ’bout this weather?” I ask, grinning into my coffee. He throws his napkin at me. “I said nice and safe not dull as ditchwater.” And then we’re both laughing and I suddenly feel like I’ve known Quatre for years. His easy-going warmth is infectious and I’m drawn to it. He reminds me a bit of Hilde, though they are nothing alike. I think it’s more about who I am when I’m with them than any similarity between the two. When the laughter dies away, Quatre is staring at me intently. I can almost feel those eyes raking through my thoughts. It’s a rather unnerving feeling and I’m suddenly very conscious of the fact that my nose is probably still red and running from the cold and my hair disastrously windswept. “You know what?” he asks abruptly. “I think I like you, Duo Maxwell.” And we both grin, but deep inside that guilt is churning again. I push it away and it slowly fades. I don’t know whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.
I nod and then watch as he disappears into the distance. The snow is starting again, tiny soft flakes trickling down from over-head. His boots leave gentle imprints in the gathering white on the footpath. When I reach Wufei’s room for the second time, it’s Trowa occupying the chair by his bed. Half his face is masked by that long streak of chestnut hair nad his single visible eye is trained on a book in his lap. I can’t quite make out the title on the cover. He snaps it shut, startling me. The Heart’s Passion, I read. The title is red and glossy, embossed over a picture of a windswept heroine with a rather large chest and a ruggedly handsome man that I think is supposed to be a naval captain. He follows my gaze and I think I catch the barest hint of a blush; it’s gone before I can be sure. “Trashy, I know,” he says with a tiny half-smile. “But my sister Catherine swears by them and well… they are rather good for those times when your brain is really not up for much more than heaving bosoms and quivering members.” He lapses into silence and then a moment later, “Though, for the record, I’ll have you know that I’ve just finished reading Bob Ellis’ 202 Arguments Against Economic Rationalism.” I laugh. “And I’m sure it was very thrilling.” I hover in the doorway, slightly nervous. Having heard Quatre talk about him, I almost feel like I know Trowa as well. I have to remind myself that this is the first time we’ve spoken. He seems to sense my discomfort and pats the seat beside him like Quatre did. I flop into it heavily. My companion casts me a sideways glance. “Would you like some time alone?” he asks, much more direct in his offer than Quatre had been. “No, please stay. I’d like the company,” I say. “As you wish.” He taps the book in his lap. “I confess I’m rather glad of the distraction. One can only take so much hetero porn without feeling like scratching one’s eyes out.” I glance at the teary heroine and her brave beau. “I’m sure you could find one where it’s the cute but naïve deckhand who falls for the dashing captain.” Trowa laughs; it’s low, a deep rumble more than anything else. “I suppose I could. But more than half this book is already dedicated to Captain Von Hugo’s tumescent manhood, think how much worse it would be if there were two men involved.” I stifle a snicker. “Tumescent manhood?” “Indeed,” Trowa replies in mock seriousness. “The author is either well-versed in smutty euphemisms or has a very large thesaurus.” I laugh again, smiling to myself at our rather bizarre opening conversation. I’ve never spoken to this man before and all of a sudden we’re talking about tumescent manhoods and quivering members. “Do you always talk about tacky romance novels with strangers?” I ask. “Ah, but you’re not a stranger, are you?” he responds, arching one delicate chestnut eyebrow in my direction. “I’m not?” “No,” he says, enigmatically. He sets said tacky romance novel down on the table beside Wufei’s bed. “There is something you should know about this family, Duo. We have an infinite ability to adopt…” He pauses and just when I think he’s done, he speaks again. “I think we may just have adopted you.” There’s a funny sensation in my chest that I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. “But you don’t even know me.” “And sometimes that doesn’t matter,” he replies mysteriously. He casts me an indecipherable look that seems to be saying a hundred times more than his few words. I frown. “I suppose. But I bet you wouldn’t be saying that if I was a crazed axe-murderer.” I stop abruptly; that cuts a little to close to the bone… well, not the axe-murderer bit, but I’ve definitely got the crazed in spades. Trowa catches my blush but doesn’t call me on it. “Don’t think about it too hard,” he advises. “Just let yourself be swept up by it all.” I get the feeling that there is more to that sentence that Trowa has simply chosen not to say. I cast him a sideways look and suddenly I’m burning with curiosity. Quatre’s words from earlier come back to me. “Quatre said something about you and Wufei being together once…” I mumble. “Hmmm? Oh yes, I suppose we were. Although ‘together’ seems a mite sophisticated for our fumbling whatever-it-was.” Inexplicably I feel a sudden stab of what feels horribly like jealousy. I try to remind myself that I have no right to be jealous because I have no legitimate on Wufei. But the little ball of green envy deep inside me is selectively deaf. I glance across at Wufei’s motionless body, trying not to imagine him and Trowa together doing together-kinds of things. Of course, when you’re trying not to think of something, invariably your brain seems to decide that it’s the only subject in the world that could possibly be thought about at that moment. But thankfully, in my mind, the image of them together just seems wrong, like two pieces of a puzzle that just don’t fit together. I wonder if that’s because now that I’ve talked with Quatre, I can only think of Trowa as belonging with him, or if subconsciously I can still only ever imagine Wufei with me. When Trowa finally speaks again, his voice catches me by surprise. “We were room mates for about three months, I think, before we even spoke a word to each other. He was driven and I was just introverted.” He smiles a tiny half-smile, thinking about something that I’m not privy to. “But then we bonded over a mutual passion for the truth.” “The truth?” The words escape before I can stop them. I think my voice is slightly squeaky and I wonder if he notices. “Yes. I sought the truth through my photography and he sought it in justice and the law.” He smiles, slightly sad, at Wufei. “We stumbled through a few months of something that pretended to be a relationship and then we both realised that we were completely ill-matched and much better off as friends.” The coil of jealousy wrapped around my stomach ebbs away. I feel sheepish in its wake. “And then, of course, I met Quatre and… well, that was it for me.” He pauses in reflection. “Took Quatre slightly longer, though.” “How long?” “About two years.” He catches my eye and smiles. I grin, trying to imagine this strong, commanding man pining away while perceptive little Quatre stood in oblivion. “That must have been hard,” I mumble, thinking of my own situation… pining away in a ticket booth, up against the unknowingly oblivious Wufei. He fixes me with a steady look. “Yes and no. I always knew that he would come around. I was content to wait patiently.” My fingers creep unconsciously across Wufei blanket, finally coming to rest just above his ankle. I can feel his warmth beneath the covers. I can feel that Trowa’s watching me but I don’t move to return his gaze. I suppose I can wait, I think to myself. Trowa did and now he and Quatre are so in love that even I can feel it and I don’t even really know them. Trouble is, patience has never really been my strong point. I sit back in my chair. “Quatre told me to tell you that he’d take care of dinner,” I say, breaking the silence. “Ah, good. I hope he takes care of it using the phone and the take-out menu for that Indian place down the road,” Trowa replies, studying his fingernails. I laugh again, secretly hoping that Trowa is right about this whole adoption business. I spent 17 years in an orphanage waiting to be adopted by a nice, welcoming family and now, at nearly 30, it finally arrives. Hmm, maybe I’m not as bad at that whole ‘patient waiting’ thing as I thought.
The workings of the Chicago Transit Authority as seen from the point of view of a lowly ticket booth operator is probably one of the most boring topics of conversation ever known to man, but Trowa doesn’t seem to mind. He jokes that as long as there are no quivering members involved, he’ll be happy and is content to sit back and listens as I waffle on about Hilde, the indomitably awful Marge, how the heating in the booths doesn’t work properly, and the inherent evilness of my customers (with one obvious exception). Occasionally he makes the odd remark, in that deep, inscrutable voice of his, and there is even the odd laugh. I like the sound, I realise, and more than that, I like knowing that I was the one who brought it out of him. I go out of my way to be as amusing as I can. His laugh is refreshingly genuine like Quatre’s. Deep down, I wonder if this is what it must be like to be Quatre; to have this man’s complete attention, to hear him laugh just for you. And even further down, I hope that this is what it would be like with Wufei. I whisper my goodbyes Wufei and leave Trowa to his quivering members just as sky is beginning to grow dark. The horizon turns a dusky purple colour that fades to a deep grey; there are no stars out tonight, just a blanket of darkness, heavy with impending snow. I am trudging down the crispy sidewalk to the bus stop when I hear my name, carried on the wind. I know the voice, though I don’t think I’ve heard him say my name before. I hesitate, wondering if I could get away with just hurrying away in pretend ignorance. But then I hear the sound of feet approaching, jogging down the footpath towards me. “Duo!” he calls out again. I stop suddenly and turn around and suddenly he’s much closer than I’d anticipated. He crashes into me, blue eyes widening in shock as I fall backwards. His hands wrap around me before I make contact with the icy ground, pulling me up against him. His arms are deceptively strong and I can feel the beat of his heart against my own chest. His breath ghosts across my face, soft and warm. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he removes himself to a slightly distance. His jaw is clenched and for a moment I think he’s going to yell at me again. For long seconds we just stare at each other. His hair is slightly damp, I notice, and I wonder why. He’s wearing a leather jacket over a thick dark blue woolen pullover. It matches his eyes, a rather abstract part of my brain comments. There is a rather odd-looking scarf around his neck. It’s long and as red as the traffic lights I can see winking in the distance. It’s cute, the abstract part of my brain comments again. A car horn blares further down the road and that seems to break the daze between us. “Sorry, are you alright?” he asks belatedly. I’d forgotten about the near-accident and then, realizing that he’s waiting for an answer, I nod shortly. Why does it feel like his hands are still on me? Heero clears his throat again and then starts to speak. “Look, Duo, I just…” he stops abruptly and I think his cheeks have gone slightly pink. Or maybe that’s just the cold. One gloved hand curls around the end of his scarf, fiddling with the tassels in what seems like a very un-Heero gesture. He tries again. “I want to apologise for last night,” he says and now it’s my eyes that are widening. “My behaviour was… unacceptable. You were right, Wufei would expect us to make an effort to get along and… he would have considered my words to you highly dishonourable. I’m sorry.” There is a long pause in which I am completely lost for words. The expression on Heero’s face is unnervingly genuine. “No, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sure this is very hard for you… he’s your brother and I’m just this interloper. You have enough to deal with without me being a jerk as well,” I say, my thoughts coming out in something of a jumbled mess. He smiles suddenly and the difference in his face is remarkable. I recall Quatre’s words… confident and unapproachable, hiding a heart of gold. And for the first time, I believe that. “You’re not an interloper…” he says quietly. “You’ve as much right to be here as I do, as Sally has told me in no uncertain terms at least twice. It was just a shock, I guess.” He stops again and swallows. He seems to know what he wants to say, but is having difficulty getting it out. “He never mentioned you. It hurts that he didn’t trust me enough to tell me.” Those words are so soft I almost miss them and he looks deeply embarrassed as soon as they’ve left his mouth. “I’m sorry for taking that out on you,” he concludes. His eyes are fixed on the dirty sidewalk. “It’s fine. We’re all stressed,” I say aloud, but inside I’m screaming. The guilt is back and the expression on Heero’s face is just making it worse. “Shall we start again?” Heero asks out of the blue, looking up again and meeting my gaze. And inexplicably, I’m grinning. “Yeah, I’d like that,” I reply. The guilt is still there but now it’s been joined by a strange warmth in my chest. He tugs off one expensive-looking leather glove, revealing long, tapered fingers. He holds the hand out to me. It hangs in the air between us, waiting. I pull my own glove off, a hideous orange mitten that Hilde left at my flat one evening and never reclaimed (with good reason). Our hands touch, fingers gently sliding across warm skin, palm meeting palm. His hand is slightly rough, not the smoothness I was expecting. I wonder vaguely what it is he does for a living, feeling an odd tingle beneath my skin that I’m sure is just from the calluses on the pads of his fingers. “Heero Yuy.” I smile. “Duo Maxwell.” The handshake seems to stretch on for hours. It’s almost as though the entire world has slowed down around us. I blink and for a moment, it’s Wufei standing in front of me, holding my hand. But when I blink again, Heero is back, gazing at me with cool blue eyes. “It’s nice to meet you.” “You too.” Our hands untwine and I shove mine roughly back into my ugly mitten. Disappointingly, the faux alpaca wool lining is no where near as warm as the feeling of Heero’s palm against mine. “I should go and relieve Trowa. I’m sure he’s wondering where I am,” Heero says rather aimlessly. “Yeah, me too. My bus will be here soon.” I nod and then he nods but neither of us makes any attempt to move. I laugh suddenly at our predicament. “This is stupid. I’m going to go. I’ll see you later, Heero.” He laughs as well. Not a like loud hoot like Hilde, or meaningful chortle like Quatre, or even an enigmatic chuckle like Trowa… just a warm burst of low, rumbling noise. “I’m sure you will. Goodnight, Duo. I’m… I’m glad we got this sorted,” he replies, nodding again. I grin and simultaneously we both turn away, gently parting. As I walk down towards my bus stop, I try and resist the urge to turn back. My willpower fails me just as I reach the curb and I glance back, trying to look subtle. Heero is just about to start up the driveway to the hospital, his body slightly turned back towards me. Deep blue eyes meet mine. We both smile nervously and again we turn away. The bus pulls up in a flurry of cold wind and slushy snow. I board slowly, my orange, mitted hands fumbling with my ticket. I sit back in my seat as the bus speeds away down the street. I’m still smiling. ~ * ~
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