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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 Four: Monday morning dawns with arctic temperatures and a weighty dose of reluctance. The weekend off has spoiled me and having to haul myself to work at six in the morning seems infinitely worse than it usually is. I huddle under my doona in the vain hope that the outside world will bugger off and let me get back to sleeping. Attila takes a flying leap and lands on my bed with a heavy thump. He claws unrepentantly at my ankle, pointedly reminding me of the outside world’s existence and, more importantly, his rumbling stomach. I crawl pathetically out from my cocoon of covers and grumpily begin my day. With such an inauspicious beginning, I have the horrible feeling that it’s only going to get worse. It does, of course. The bad karma that I somehow managed to accrue without even realizing it, dictates that it must. After all, the chances of my name and ‘a lucky break’ co-existing in the same sentence are about the same as me winning the lotto when I don’t even have a ticket. Fucking freezing doesn’t even begin to describe the conditions I’m forced to work with. Within seconds of emerging from my front door, all feeling in my nose has vanished and I’m beginning to suspect that it may have fallen off entirely. The stinging numbness in my fingers tells me that they’re probably going to be the next things to jump ship. I consult my watch, a beaten-up old thing that an ex-boyfriend of Hilde’s left at her place and I pilfered. The narrow hands wink smugly at me. I’m late. It’s no surprise really, as I’m late for everything. It’s just one of the horrible certainties in this life – like death and taxes and the Republican Party – that will always be there, hanging over me like a black cloud regardless of how much I wish it would just disappear into a black hole for all eternity. It’s a problem that has plagued me most of my life. It used to drive the nuns at the orphanage crazy which, I seem to remember, gave it something of an appeal. It’s not that I go out of my way to be late, it’s just that time seems to run away from me. One minute it’s five in the morning and I’m dragging myself out of bed as per Attila’s insistent orders, and the next thing I know, 45 minutes have passed in which I’ve achieved nothing and I’m left with a mere fifteen minutes to get dressed, brush my hair, have breakfast and walk to work. I swear it does it on purpose… time, that is. I refuse to think that it’s me. I much prefer to blame my mental image of Grandfather Time, who looks disturbingly like an evangelical preacher I once saw on cable and tends to wear brightly coloured shirts covered in clocks in varying shades of ugly. Hilde has long since gotten used to my lateness. It used to irritate the shit out of her but she gradually learned to accept it and now, sensibly, turns up at least half an hour late every time we meet and thus ensuring that she’ll only have a short wait. Even our boss is unusually tolerant of it. I think he just can’t be bothered telling me off for it any more. That kind of blasé attitude is something we at the Chicago Transit Authority are prestigiously proud of and go out of our way to maintain. Only Marge, winner of the CTA’s Employee of the Month a record number of times, feels the need to be an exception to that rule. She lives under the permanent delusion that winning Employee of the Month is on par with winning the Nobel Prize for Peace. And she seems to take my lateness as a personal affront. That alone is enough to make me care even less about it. I confess sometimes I do actually do it on purpose, just to see whether I can make her explode from pent-up outrage. But this morning is not one of those mornings for the simple reason that it’s far to fucking cold for dawdling. I hurry down the deserted streets as fast as my frozen legs will carry me. As much as I detest my work, it’s gotta be warmer in that little glass booth than it is out here in the wind and snow. A highly polished SUV with thick chunky wheels and sparkling silver hub-cabs starts up further down the street and pulls out from the curb just as I’m passing. The wheels flail wildly for a moment on the icy road before it exits with a loud squeal. A good foot of snow is churned up in its wake and dumped un-ceremonially in my direction. Shaking the snow out of my hair, I glare at the retreating vehicle. “Rich fucking bastards… think they own the fucking street… stupid poncy SUV, look at me, look at me! I’ll look at you in a minute, arsehole!” I mutter to myself as I walk. The crazy drunk who usually accosts me at this time to tell me that the apocalypse is coming and will be broadcast on Fox gives me a wide berth. This day just keeps getting better and better… I’m being snubbed by the local nutcase – my pathetic-ness has just reached a whole new level. Finally the subway station looms into view and I stumble into my booth just as my watch ticks past 6:15, a mere quarter of an hour late. That’s good going for me, but of course, Marge still feels the need to glare in my direction. Over the top of her coffee mug (a hideous blue thing bearing the CTA emblem), she fixes me with what she assumes is a withering look. Unfortunately for her, the effect is ruined midway through when her left eye twitches erratically, leaving her looking rather deranged. On my other side, Hilde mimics her… well, it’s either an impersonation of Marge or an accurate depiction of a Hippo having a heart-attack whilst trying to remove a pole from its arse. Either way, it works for the situation. Marge ignores her, pursing thin lips together painfully tight; she’s learnt from previous experience that Hilde is far more likely to win a fight between them, verbal or otherwise. It’s a shame… those confrontations were highly amusing and a good way to pass an otherwise dull half hour. Marge turns away to note my lateness and Hilde’s inappropriate behaviour in a formal written complaint (she has a stack of complaint forms by her elbow at all times for this very purpose). Our supervisor probably has a whole filing cabinet full of them, but that doesn’t seem to stop her. I think she just needs to do something to make her life seem worthwhile. And hey, if I can help her in that endeavour… well, that’s my good deed for the day done. Hilde makes a vulgar gesture at her back which makes me laugh. I’m feeling slightly more optimistic about the day now, not quite enough to make up for the horrors of the morning thus far, but it’s a start. I slide the window of my booth open and flick on the radio. The sound of Bob Geldof and the Boomtown Rats fills the air as they croon about just how much they don’t like Mondays. I smile. Very appropriate. By the time the morning rush-hour is in full swing, my good humour is nearly completely spent and the glass is looking distinctly half-empty, if indeed there is anything in it at all. I don’t even have Wufei’s evening appearance to look forward to… the day just seems to stretch endlessly out before me. Not bothering to remove my pout, I take turns in being obtuse and rude towards my customers… their glares are almost enough to put the smile back on my face. Petty, I know, but I’d like to see you try to work this job without having to resort to antisocial behaviour just to make it through the day. Our lunch break rolls around eventually (though not nearly as quickly as I’d like it to), and Hilde and I scuttle out of our booths like rats from a sinking ship. Who knew a glass box could be so suffocating? After six hours of being in there, listening to people whinge about the cost of public transport and the state of the subways, the walls start closing in on you and whacking your head against the nearest hard surface seems like the only solution. You know, it’s a wonder I’ve lasted so long in this job, really. I know I’d do just about anything to work somewhere else and I’m fairly sure every other ticket booth operator in the city feels the same way. Well, OK, not Marge, of course…but then, she seems to think that working for the CTA is a badge of honour and would probably live in her booth if she could. Sitting on a bench on Platform 6, Hilde and I have a good ten minute bitch about this, secure in the knowledge that Marge is probably muttering similar things to herself about us. “So did you go to the hospital yesterday?” Hilde casually slips the question in amongst the anti-Marge comments. “Yes,” I tell her reluctantly. I stare at my half-eaten tuna sandwich, wondering what it would take to successfully change the subject. “And?” She waits expectantly. “Come on, you can’t deprive me of the details now. At the rate you’re going, this is gonna to turn out to be better than Passions.” I refrain from commenting on her appalling taste in TV. “It was fine. Nice. Quatre was there when I arrived, we had coffee together, chatted about life and the universe… I spent the afternoon with Trowa in Wufei’s room and then had a brief conversation with Heero before I came home,” I say hastily in one breath. Hilde blinks. “OK, wait, go back. Who’s who? And what happened to what’s-her-face from the other day?” “Sally? She wasn’t there. I think she had to work. She’s a doctor,” I add, for the sake of the general background picture. Hilde nods and I continue. “Quatre is one of Wufei’s friends. They were at high school together… He’s a Winner, one of the Winner Inc. Winners, but he was disowned by his father for being gay. Trowa is Quatre’s partner. He was Wufei’s roommate at college and they had a short-lived affair. He likes to read porny hetero romance novels in his spare time.” “You speak like you actually know these people,” Hilde mutters. “I do. I’m getting to know them.” “You’re getting in over your head,” she retorts, one eyebrow raised at me. “OK and what about this hero fellow?” “It’s Heero,” I tell her, stressing the pronunciation. Her raised eyebrow disappears into her hair line but she doesn’t comment. “And he’s Wufei’s step-brother. He’s… well, actually I don’t really know much about him at all. We had a minor, sort of… argument thing the night before last, but we’ve sorted it all out now.” “And minor, sort of argument thing?” “Yeah, he didn’t believe me. Said I wasn’t Wufei’s type.” “And you didn’t think to say ‘oh, yes, you’re probably right and besides, we aren’t actually dating anyway’?” The sarcasm is practically dripping from her lips and I cringe. “Well, yeah I did think about it…” I trail off and then hurriedly continue. “But I couldn’t because Heero… he’s got this glare that just roots you to the spot and…” “OK, OK.” Hilde holds her hands up in defeat. “Just promise me one thing, babe?” I meet her gaze. She’s looking unnervingly sincere. “What?” “When all of this is over… I get to tell you ‘I told you so’ to my heart’s content.” Sincerity gives way to mischievous humour. I lean across the gap between us. “Owww!” she exclaims when my hands makes sharp contact with her thigh. “Watch it! You keep that up and you’re gonna lose the only ally you’ve got!” I harrumph at her. “An ally who doesn’t support me in my hour of need isn’t much of an ally,” I pout. “Your ‘hour of need’? Please, you’re committing fraud, not bleeding to death!” is the acerbic retort. I crumple at that and she looks suitably abashed. “OK, OK, I’m sorry. Please feel free to whine to me about all your fraud-related problems.” She grins at my sharp look and slings one arm around my shoulder. “Oh Duo, for reasons that can only attest to my insanity, I love you.” She kisses my cheek in a hard, impetuous fashion. “Come on, let’s go. Marge is tapping her watch at us.” I perk up. “She is? Great! That must mean there’s time for us to grab a coffee.” Hilde laughs and Marge glares and I just try to keep my wandering thoughts away from Wufei and Heero and the rest of my fraud-related problems.
I run into Sally while I’m waiting for the lift. She’s wearing a long white coat beneath her jacket and I think she might have come straight from work as well. “Hello, Duo,” she says in a tired voice. There is an awkward pause and then she gives me a brief but warm hug. “It’s nice to see you again.” I’m floored by the sincerity in her tone. “Yeah, you too.” I cast about for a conversation starter. “Just come from work?” I finally settle on. “Yes, I’ve had a horrible day. Two major car accidents and a shooting… and that was just the first hour.” She shakes her head sadly. “It’s days like these that make me wish I’d gone into General Practice instead of the ER.” I give her my best commiserating smile as the elevator doors glide shut behind us. “What about you?” she asks as the lift takes off with a slightly jolt. “Oh, I spent ten hours in a glass booth taking shit from obnoxious commuters,” I tell her wishing it was an exaggeration. “I work in a ticket booth,” I add for the sake of explanation. “Well… it’s nice to know that I’m not the only one with a job that’s all fun, fun, fun!” She casts me a slightly bitter smile. Her shoulders suddenly look very narrow, far too narrow to be carrying whatever burdens she has taken on. We shuffle backwards to make room in the lift for a man in a wheelchair. He has a broken leg, which juts out in its white plaster looking horribly awkward. He is accompanied by his rather irate-looking wife who is berating him for his lousy timing. “A broken-leg?” she squawks, flapping her arms about and narrowly missing clocking Sally in the face. “Of all the times! Could you be any more selfish, John, huh?” “I didn’t break it on purpose,” John mumbles softly, staring balefully at his plaster cast. “Oh please! You’ve been trying to get out of visiting my mother for months! I hope you’re happy now!” John mutters something that no one catches and heaves a hollow sigh. Sally and I excuse ourselves politely when we reach Wufei’s floor. The doors glide shut again with a gentle ding. We exchange a look. “Well, I’ll say this for hospitals, they’re a lot more entertaining that a GP’s office,” is Sally’s only comment. The smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The sheets on Wufei’s bed have been changed. Stark white has been replaced by soft sea green. It’s the first thing I notice. And then I feel guilty and busy myself looking everywhere but at that pale green linen. Trowa is seated in the far corner. His long, lean legs stretch out in front of him, crossed at the ankle and his hands are folded in his lap, resting on top of a worn-looking newspaper. He looks serene, like a silent marble statue, all grace and smooth, handsome lines. His gaze is fixed on a random spot on the far wall. He doesn’t notice us until the door bangs shut, jolting him out of his meditative daze. He smiles at us. It’s a tired smile. I wonder how long he’s been here; how long he’s been sitting with the shadow of Wufei. He draws his legs in, allowing Sally to bustle past him to Wufei’s bedside. Wufei lies there, un-moving beneath those pale, watery sheets. His skin has taken on a slightly unhealthy-looking grey tinge, the look of someone who has seen not enough sunlight. Before he looked like he was sleeping, still and peaceful. Now it’s clear that he’s not, that I couldn’t wake him with a gentle shake or a tender kiss. He’s in a coma. The word seems to sink into me for the first time and I shiver. I think Sally sees it as well. She doesn’t shiver but her shoulders tense slightly, a reflexive, anxious movement. She fusses about the room in an endearing but slightly nagging fashion. She changes the water in a vase of ostentatious-looking flowers that I suspect are from Wufei’s work and smoothes his blankets until they are taut across his motionless body. She checks his chart and his various beeping machines and taps authoritatively at his saline drip. She needs to keep moving, needs to be useful, needs to feel like she’s doing something to help. She can’t bear to sit by and resign Wufei to his almost lifeless fate. Trowa and I exchange a look. I’m not entirely sure what those green eyes are trying to tell me but I feel slightly calmer. Finally Sally sinks into the nearest chair with a sign of resignation. Her right hand trembles against the cool plastic arm rest. She stares at it for a moment and when the tremors don’t abate, she sits on it, clenching her other hand into a fist. I try to think of something reassuring to say to her. I remember the way she melted into Heero when he arrived on that first night; the way his mere presence lifted some of the weight off those quivering shoulders; the way his reassurance seeped into her… and into me. I find myself wishing he was here. Trowa takes her clenched fist in his hand. Slowly it uncurls and their fingers twine together. I smile but in my pockets my own hands feel strangely empty. I wish someone would hold my hand, would squeeze it gently and let me know that everything will be alright. “I keep expecting that he’ll be awake when I get here.” Sally’s voice is sad but even. “The doctor part of me knows that all we can do it wait, but the other part… the other part cries out that waiting isn’t good enough.” Her voice shakes slightly at the end and her grip on Trowa’s hand is so tight that his fingers are starting to turn purple. He doesn’t make any move to disengage himself though. I sidle up to Wufei. My hands linger just above his skin. I want to reach out and touch his hands, to twine our fingers together like Sally and Trowa. But inside me, there is the nagging sensation that I can’t, that those hands aren’t mine to hold. Instead I settle for smoothing a stray lock of pitch black hair back off his forehead. My fingertips brush against the curve of his eyebrow. His skin is warm, not cold and deathly still like it looks. I breathe again in relief. When I look up Sally and Trowa are watching me. I feel suddenly very naked under their gaze. But then Sally’s eyes smile and I feel better than I have all day. Heero and Quatre arrive together just as the nursing staff is changing rotation. Their cheeks are flushed pink from the cold outside and there are still glistening, white snowflakes in Heero’s thick, dark hair. They are both wearing suits, clean, executive lines of deep blue and grey. They look professional in the sort of way that I would never be able to pull off, even if I had the threads to match. Still, I notice that while Quatre looks like he was born in his suit, Heero looks slightly uncomfortable, like he still hasn’t worked out whether he outfit is him or not. Quatre kisses Sally’s cheek and then sits himself on Trowa’s lap, in an affectionate and unconsciously possessive fashion. Trowa winds one long arm around Quatre’s waist, pulling him closer, the palm of his hand snug against Quatre’s stomach. His other hand remains linked with Sally’s. Heero closes the door behind them and moves across the room. His black leather shoes click on the tiled floor. He draws up behind Sally and rests his hands on her shoulders. She smiles to herself and I catch the visible relief. On the other side of the room, I’m depressingly removed. They look so comfortable together. A proper family. Suddenly I feel more alone that I have for a long time. I linger by Wufei’s bedside, too afraid to join their circle. It’s Quatre that finally nods to me, a subtle jerk of his head but an unmistakable invitation. I stand next to Heero and behind Trowa, gazing at Wufei over that head of chestnut hair. After a brief moment, Heero shifts subtly to the side so that his shoulder is pressed against mine. The warmth of his body seeps into me through the soft, expensive material of his suit. I smile and feel the same relief that settled over Sally just moments earlier. It’s an almost perfect moment, and so, of course, it doesn’t last. Out of the blue, the door bangs open with surprising force, shattering the quiet calm. A tall, suave man with red-brown hair and deep eyes appears around the door frame. “Good-evening. I’m sorry to disturb you like this,” he murmurs, hovering in the doorway. His voice is deep and smooth and his smile is nothing but brilliant white teeth. “No, it’s fine, Treize. Do come in.” Sally’s tone is polite but not particularly welcoming. She unlinks her hand from Trowa’s and waves the stranger into the room. He glides across the room to the spot where I was standing mere minutes before. He reaches one hand out, as if he’s going to touch Wufei, but then seems to think better of it. The hand falls back to his side with effortless grace. “I think you know everyone,” Sally says and then remembers me. “Oh, this is Wufei’s boyfriend, Duo,” she adds. The glow that I once felt at hearing that is starting to wear off. Treize turns that winning smile on me. “Ah, yes… I suspected there might be a boyfriend,” he says. The glow is positively gone now. His tone is playful but the twinkle is missing from his eyes. “I’m Treize Krushrenada… Wufei’s lawyer.” The lawyer’s lawyer. I return the smile and shake his hand. He reminds me of a shark. “I’m sorry to barge in on you all but I’m afraid there are some legal matters I need to discuss with you and Heero, Sally.” Treize ignores the rest of us. The ‘in private’ is a given. “Oh, go ahead,” Sally responds. “We’re all family here.” I fancy there is a slight tightness to her voice. “Very well,” he gives a tiny bow, which is both mocking and patronizing. I sense Heero frown beside me. “I’m the executor of Wufei’s will…” Treize begins in that cool lawyer’s voice of his. “He’s not dead!” Heero’s voice is cold and low; it carries a warning. Treize waves it off with a smile. “Of course not, but the matter of Medical Power of Attorney is applicable to the current situation.” Treize’s act slips momentarily but then the gracious charm is back. “Wufei made it expressly clear that he wished a ‘Do Not Resuscitate’ order to take effect should his condition deteriorate…” Sally cuts him off, in doctor mode. “The tests have confirmed high brain activity levels. At the moment there is everything to suggest that he will wake up. A DNR is not relevant just yet.” Treize’s charming smile tightens. “Of course, but it is my duty to ensure that you are fully aware of his wishes should his condition deteriorate.” “I’m not sure this is the place to be discussing this,” Quatre intervenes diplomatically. Treize turns his gaze on Quatre. I get the distinct impression that he thinks very little of Wufei’s familial group, of emotional rather than legal relationships. “Very well. Heero, if you could come and see me at my offices at your earliest convenience, we can discuss the matter then.” Heero’s head snaps up. “Why me?” “Because Wufei clearly stated that he wanted you to have Medical Power of Attorney,” is the smooth, condescending response. “It should be Sally. She’s his cousin… a blood-relative,” Heero replies. He has removed his hands from Sally’s shoulders. They are clenched into fists at his side; I can feel his knuckles against my thigh. “Be that as it may, but he stated that it was be you.” There is a long moment in which Heero and Treize just stare at each other. There is something in their eyes, a flash of communication. I’m reminded of two stags, circling each other. I tense, waiting for the moment when their antlers crash together in the violent surge for domination. “That’s fine, Treize. Thank you for coming,” Sally breaks in, rising to her feet and extending a hand to Treize. This meeting is clearly over. Beside me, the tension seeps out of Heero. “You’re welcome, Sally. I wish you all the best,” he says, shaking her hand. I don’t miss Sally wiping her hand on her white coat and neither does Treize. He smiles one last time and then he’s gone. His cologne lingers in the air for many long minutes after. Sally sits down again with a heavy sigh. She smiles up at Heero and he returns it, though I fancy it’s slightly forced. “You know, I’ve never liked Treize Khrushrenada,” Trowa comments idly, twining his long fingers through Quatre’s. “No, me neither,” Sally confirms. “He was always such a smarmy wanker.” She sneers at the spot where he was just standing. “I wonder what Wufei ever saw in him,” Quatre ponders, leaning back against Trowa’s shoulder. I feel my own shoulders tense. Treize’s cologne fills my nostrils, mingling with a tiny stab of jealousy. “Thankfully his taste has improved since those early days,” Quatre concludes, smiling at me. Trowa cocks his head one side. “What about me?” Quatre laughs and even Sally manages a chuckle. “You were always exceptional.” Quatre placates him with a gentle kiss. They bicker in that affectionate, teasing way that many couples have, with the odd interjection from Sally. I think I’m the only one who notices when Heero quietly slips out of the room. I find him outside the hospital cafeteria. He’s sitting on a low bench, hunched forwards, his head in his hands. His tie is undone, hanging limp and loose around his neck. I’m not sure what’s bothering him or how I can make it better, but I know, just from looking at the defeated slump of his shoulders and the shuttered look in his eyes, that I want to try. I slide gently onto the bench beside him. I perch there for an awkward moment, waiting, I think, for him to tell me that he wants to be alone. When he doesn’t, I settle back. My thigh rests gently against his. He doesn’t look up when I sit. In fact, it’s several long moments before he stirs. Eventually he sits back, allowing his head to fall against the wall behind him. His hair is even messier than usual, tousled by nervous hands carding through those thick locks, and his eyes are closed, eyelashes gently resting against smooth bronze skin. I wait and eventually he speaks. “He should have picked Sally,” he says quietly. “She’s a doctor… they share blood. Wufei would have been better off putting his life in her hands.” I feel a stab of sympathy. There is something akin to defeat in his voice and I find myself wanting to hug him. Instead, I tentatively reach out and rest my hand on his thigh. His eyes fly open and he stares at me for a moment. I can’t quite work out the look he gives me. Finally, he attempts a smile. I return it in what I hope is a reassuring way. His smile widens slightly and I feel a corresponding glow of gratification. There is a long moment of silence. “I’m not sure I could do it,” Heero says eventually. His confession is soft and low and I almost miss his words. “I’m not sure I could make that decision.” The defeat is gone, now he just sounds… broken. It suddenly occurs to me that Quatre and Trowa have each other for support, that Sally has Heero to lean on… but who comforts the comforter? Who holds his hand and tells him that everything will be OK. I’m reminded of empty hands in pockets. “Wufei obviously picked you for a reason. He trusts you…” My voice is slightly croaky and I break off, trying to work out what it is I’m attempting to say. I want to say something comforting, something that will make Heero smile and make the tension leave him… something that will make him feel the way Sally felt when he arrived… the way I felt… “Wufei likes to be in control, doesn’t he?” I take a punt based on what I’ve uncovered from the others about him. I’m gratified when Heero nods. “He likes to be in control of his life… and I guess it makes sense that he would want to be in control of his death as well. He chose you because he trusts you with his life, to hold it in your hands and to put his wishes first… to know him and to honour him.” I pause, wondering if I’m saying the right thing. “He wants it to be you.” For a long moment, Heero doesn’t respond, he just stares at me, an indecipherable look in his eyes. Eventually he reaches out and lays his hand on top of mine. Calloused fingers brush against the back of my hand, warm and solid and comforting. “Thank you, Duo,” he says, bowing his head slightly. I grin, feeling a sudden glow inside me. “You’re welcome, Heero.” We stay there like that for many long minutes, sitting side-by-side on the cold, hard plastic bench. I lean gently against him, resting our shoulders together. He takes my weight with a funny little smile. “You know… if you’d told me on Friday that we’d be sitting here like this today… I would have laughed. I was so determined to hate you.” I laugh. “But you don’t, right?” I’m fairly sure that waver in my voice is nervousness. Heero chuckles. “No, I don’t.” He casts me a sideways glance. “I’ve never liked any of Wufei’s previous lovers,” he says after a moment. “I didn’t even like Trowa until after he and Wufei stopped doing whatever it was they were doing.” There is a slight frown between his eyebrows. “And Khrushrenada was a definite low point… But I think I like you.” A warm glow envelops me, starting in my hand, still covered by Heero’s, and winding its way through my whole body. I think I might be blushing. “I still stand by the fact that you’re not Wufei’s type.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “But maybe that’s what Wufei needs.” He pauses and I try to hold onto my glow instead of the guilt that is beginning to seep in. “When this is all over, I’ll get him a beer and ask.” When this is all over, you’ll hate me and the question won’t even be relevant… I nearly say it; it lingers on my tongue. I bite it back and feel the acrid, metallic taste of blood. “Come on, we should get back before Sally sends out a search party,” Heero says after a moment. I nod, somewhat reluctant. I don’t think I’d mind if we just sat here together for the rest of the night. Heero releases my hand. It tingles slightly even after I’ve stuffed it back into my pocket. “I think I might just head home. S’been a long day,” I mumble to the floor. Now that our moment is over, I feel a little bit awkward. “Oh right, of course.” Heero almost sounds… disappointed. “Well, I’ll see you later, then.” “Yeah, later. Say goodbye to the others for me?” I ask, not meeting his gaze. “Of course.” We hover for a moment and then I turn away. Heero catches my arm, tugging back. I finally look up. That indescribable, iridescent blue stares back at me. “I just... I’m not very good with emotions and… yeah, thanks.” He clears his throat uncomfortably and nods. “Yeah, you’re welcome.” And then I laugh. “God, could we be anymore inarticulate?” He laughs as well and those blue eyes deepen almost imperceptibly. “Probably… we shouldn’t tempt fate,” he says with mock seriousness. I grin. “Bye, Heero.” “Bye,” is the gentle response. And this time when I turn away, he doesn’t pull me back. I try not to feel disappointed.
I’m halfway down the driveway when I voice calls
out my name. I whirl around. For some ridiculous reason, I’m
expecting it to be Heero. When she reaches me, she needs a moment to catch her breath. I shuffle from foot to foot in cold, waiting for her to speak. “Here,” she manages eventually, holding the bag out to me. “These are Wufei’s things. He had the bag with him when he was brought in and I just added his personal effects. We’ve kept his clothes for when… for when he wakes up.” She slips the bag into my hand, smiling a dimpled smile. “That dark-haired man with the blue eyes suggested I give them to you,” she adds. I duck my head, inexplicably embarrassed. “Thanks, Nurse Jones,” I mumble, though really, I think the thanks are meant for Heero. “Oh, please… call me Sylvia.” “Sylvia,” I repeat with a nod and she beams. “Great. I gotta get back inside before the matron misses me. I’ll see you round, Duo.” And then she’s gone, wobbling away back up the drive. I stare at the bag in my hands, wondering what to do with it. Slowly, I peer inside. The first thing I see is a wallet, soft brown leather with dark stitching and a faded embossed C in the corner. I draw it out and flick it open. I feel strangely voyeuristic and for a moment I swear it burns in my hand. I close it again, without looking, and drop it back into the bag. There is a watch as well. I recognize it; I’ve seen it many times before, curled around the smooth bronze of Wufei’s wrist. I let one finger graze over the polished silver surface. It jangles against a set of assorted keys. There is a newspaper as well. Friday’s copy of the Times, folded and waiting to be read on the subway journey home. The last item is a can. I flip it over to read the label. I know it at once. The cheerful green writing and the winking cartoon fish… cat food. I frown, puzzled. And then… shit, Wufei has a cat. I wonder if anyone has been feeding it and then I remember… I should go… er… got to feed the cat and all… that’s what I said when I left on Friday night. I was talking about Attila, but now I recognize the nod of comprehension Sally gave me. I reach for the wallet again and when it flips open I dive straight in for Wufei’s driver’s license. His handsome, smiling face momentarily distracts me. I tear my eyes away and focus on the address. I memorise it quickly and before I know it, I’ve hailed a cab. The driver pulls into the curb beside an elegant, 19th century block of town houses. “This is?” he asks in his rough accent. I nod, even though I’m not sure. I pay him with the little money left in my wallet. I wince. It’ll have to be a lean week, I think. I wait until the cab has disappeared in a cloud of exhaust fumes before I mount the graceful, carved steps. I glance at the row of buzzers. There, written in neat, straight script, is Chang, W – no. 5. I take a deep, shuddering breath and select the biggest, oldest looking key. It slides effortlessly into the lock and clicks with the merest flick of my wrist. The Entrance Hall is elegantly furnished, with a high, arched ceiling and a tall, winding, polished staircase at the centre. It snakes upwards and I shakily ascend feeling so out of place that I’m surprised someone hasn’t popped out of the expensive-looking wall paneling to eject me. No. 5 looms before me. For several long moments I just stand in the corridor with my hand on the brass door handle. Eventually a little strength returns to me and I work my way through the remaining keys until the lock finally clicks and the door swings open. It’s dark inside and the faint scent of some musky incense still lingers in the air. The door bangs shut just as I reach for the nearest light switch. I wince when the room is flooded with light and then I gasp. The room is so overwhelmingly Wufei. He is reflected in every surface. It’s almost like being inside his mind. The room is black and white in theme. Pristine white carpet contrast with smart, sophisticated, black suede couches. I reach out one finger and run it along the soft leather. I imagine Wufei reclining here, stretching those long legs out. The dining room table beyond is smooth dark wood and in the centre, a creamy vase stands tall and elegant. But the flowers have died, and dried petals are strewn across the polished surface of the table. It’s the long, far left wall that catch my attention. The paint is a simple white, but hung at regular intervals, neat and exact, are glossy black and white photos. Instinctively, I move towards them, drawn there by something I can’t identify. A yowl stops me in my place. The owner of the cry appears in the doorway. She is beautiful, lean and elegant; her fur is soft and white, with smoky smudges of black around her eyes and on the tips of her paws and ears and tail. Siamese. Her nose twitches slightly and she cocks her head to the side as she surveys the intruder. She looks beyond me for Wufei and I swear she looks confused when he doesn’t appear. Eventually she trots forwards. The little bell around her neck jingles merrily in the silence of the flat. She winds her way through my legs, purring a deep low purr that goes straight to my heart. I’m surprised when she allows me to pick her up. She curls into my embrace in a way that Attila never would. Butting at my chin with the top of her head, she stares balefully at me with deep blue eyes. I start a little and then smile. I’m getting used to blue eyes. The shiny silver disk on her collar identifies her. I read the name twice and then regard her. Yes, she looks like a Natuku. “Come on, girl. Let’s get you some food.” She mews in agreement and rubs her cheek against my shoulder. I let my gaze linger, just one last time on the photos and promise to come back to them. Wufei’s kitchen is all shiny metal and clean efficient lines. I try not to think of my own pathetic excuse for a kitchen with its cracked tiles, warped cupboards and humming second-hand appliances. One of the low cupboards is open. A large packet of dried cat food has been dragged out, the contents strewn across the polished wood floor. I smile at Natuku and she purrs proudly in response. I wonder if Attila would have the sense to do that if I suddenly didn’t come home for three days. Probably not; I’m sure he’d just slink outside and find a little old lady to devour. I scoop the food back into its packet. Natuku butts at my fingers as I work intimating that she’d be rather interested in something else if I would be so kind as to fulfill her request. I rumple her delicate fur in response and she stalks away to sit grumpily on the end of the kitchen bench. I soon as I’ve got the tin in hands, though, she’s back, mewing and rubbing her lean body against me. She fairly demolishes the glistening wet food. Within moments she’s done and she looks up at me with a pleading expression. When it becomes clear that I’m not going to feed her again, she wanders away. I follow and we end up in what must be Wufei’s bedroom. My gaze falls on the large bed with its neat black and white covers. I can imagine Wufei lying there, golden skin against the contrasting colours. I blush when my thoughts take a slightly less appropriate turn. Natuku curls up on Wufei’s pillow and begins to wash herself. I turn away to give her a little privacy. Temptation takes me and I wander over to the wardrobe. Rows of neat suits and more casual items hang there. They smell like Wufei; I press my nose to the soft material and sigh. Suddenly I feel like the worst kind of pervert. I slam the wardrobe door shut again. Natuku looks up, mid-lick, at the sound and I take the hint. Back in the living room, I sidle up to Wufei’s photos. I wonder if I should be doing this. It’s his home… an extension of him and this feel awfully like a betrayal. I wouldn’t want someone poking around in my apartment, rifling through my things, pouring over the very private details of my life. But I can’t help myself. Always when it comes to Wufei, I have no self-control. I run my gaze briefly down the line and realise that it’s the story of his life, played out in black and white photography. There are just six in total, but I sense that each one represents a moment from Wufei’s life that he considers worth remembering. I start with the first picture, closest to the TV. It shows a stern looking man with Wufei’s nose and lips. He is standing beside a gentle-looking woman who bears softly waving hair and eyes that I’ve seen every evening for a year. In her arms is a baby with a puzzled look on his infant face and a tuft of dark hair. Mother and child are staring at each other, and one, tiny baby hand is curling upwards to clutch at a lose strand of his mother’s hair. Only the father is staring at the camera. I look into those still eyes and I see pride. The next photo is of Wufei and his father and a gangly-looking girl that I suddenly realise is Sally. They are outside and a slight wind must have been blowing because Sally’s hair is swirling around her head in a tousled haze. Wufei looks about seven, and his features are starting to grow into the smooth angular lines I recognize. He is sitting atop his father’s shoulders, hands buried in his father’s thick dark hair. Sally is beside her uncle, clutching at his hand, almost dragging him along. They all look uncharacteristically open and relaxed; I don’t think any of them realised the photo was being taken. I move on to the next picture. It’s a wedding scene. Wufei’s father stands before the ornate wooden doors of a church. A thirteen year old Wufei stands at his father’s side, staring resolutely at the camera, a hint of a smile on his adolescent face. Sally is just behind him, wearing a curved smile and a simple white dress. She looks to be in her late teens; she has that confident, self-awareness that many young adults have. Her smile is directed at her uncle and his hand is resting gently on her narrow shoulders. The bride is a soft, almost ethereal-looking woman with a contented smile and deep, intense eyes that I realise I’ve seen before. The boy at her side is, of course, Heero. He is the only one not smiling but there is a satisfied air to his stance. I peer close and realise that his pinky finger is linked with his mother’s. Sweet is the first word that comes to mind and I smile a secret smile. Quatre features in the next photo and he looks virtually the same as he does now. His face is, perhaps, a little rounder but those twinkling eyes are very familiar and although the monochrome of the picture has coloured his hair a soft grey, I can vividly picture the natural blonde glow. He is standing between Heero and Wufei and it must be their senior prom because they are all wearing tuxedos and an attempted air of sophistication. Sally and a tall blonde woman are just visible in the background. Slightly out of focus, they appear to be giggling. I wonder if that has anything to do with the long-suffering look on Heero’s face. Next is Graduation Day. Several years have passed and the black and white faces that stare back at me are almost identical to their present day incarnations. It’s a group photo with Wufei and Trowa at the centre. The sharp black of their caps and gowns contrasts with the sun that is clearly shining. Trowa has one arm draped around Quatre’s shoulders in casual possession and they are smiling at each other. I fancy there is just the slightest hint of a blush on Quatre’s pale cheeks. Behind them are the tall blonde woman from the graduation photo and a shorter woman with wild curls and cheeky smile. On the otherside, just behind Wufei are Sally and Heero, their heads gently bent together as they smile at the camera. The last photo is easily the most beautiful. The relaxed nature of its subjects is palpable as is the depth of emotion between them. Unaware of the photographer’s presence, three faces laugh together, their easy smiles captured flawlessly. It’s winter and soft, dull flecks of white indicate that it’s snowing. Sally has her head on Wufei’s shoulder and she is laughing into the thick, woollen scarf around his neck, her eyes closed and her mouth wide. Wufei and Heero are gazing at each other over her head, their faces cracked in smiles, and an air of bemusement in their eyes. I stare at this photo for the longest… at the curve of Wufei’s smile, the soft lines of Sally’s laugh, and the deepness of Heero’s eyes. The phone jolts me out of my daze. It rings shrilly twice and then the answering machine clicks on. Wufei’s deep, velvety voice fills the room. “You’ve reached Chang Wufei. Leave a message after the tone.” I smile because it’s just so adorably blunt. Natuku suddenly appears in the doorway at the sound of her master’s voice. She twitches her nose, confused when she doesn’t see him. My smile fades when the caller responds. “Wufei it’s me…” says a man with a deep, sophisticated upper-class New England accent. “You haven’t returned any of my calls so… clearly you weren’t serious about wanting to talk.” There is a long pause and then, “Goodbye, Wufei,” concludes the voice with depressing finality. The harsh beep of the machine ends the call. I stand in Wufei’s sitting room for several minutes, feeling distinctly like I’ve heard something I shouldn’t have. This must be the elusive boyfriend that more than one person has hinted at. Only now… well, now it sounds like it’s over. I feel guilty; it gnaws away inside me. But that doesn’t stop me from pressing the play button on the recorder. The first message, the automated voice tells me, is from Friday night. I start at the time… Wufei and I were probably lying on the train tracks while this message was being left. “Wufei, it’s me,” the voice begins. “Look, something came up at work. I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you. Call me when you get in.” I remember the anger on Wufei’s face when he bought his token that night and suddenly realise the cause. When the second message begins, I fancy the voice sounds a little worried. “It’s me again. You didn’t return my call.” There is a confused paused and then, “I have to fly to California tonight for a week or so… Call me on my cell phone.” Another pause. “Please.” Yet another pause before the caller finally hangs up. That was Saturday night. The third was recorded last night. There is distinct frustration in the smooth voice now. “It’s me… again. Look, you were the one who wanted to talk… if you still want…” It cuts off with an angry sigh. “Just call me, Wufei.” I slump with shame as the most recent message plays again. I can hear the sadness now… goodbye, Wufei… My stomach churns violently, bitter, acidic guilt rising in my throat. For a moment I think I’m going to be sick. I’m halfway towards the bathroom before the sensation subsides. I wonder who Wufei’s mysterious caller is. He doesn’t know about Wufei, about the pale green sheets and the grey lifelessness that hangs in the air around him. He doesn’t know how final that goodbye could be. I don’t have a name and there is no way I can contact him and in a way I’m relieved. It’s disappointing to realise how glad I am that I don’t have to make the decision about whether to call him or not. I feel horrible because deep down inside, I don’t know whether I would… whether I would have the strength to give up my dream and Wufei’s family to this collected, polished man. That aristocratic voice echoes in my head. I can almost picture the face that goes with it. He probably has the refinement of European royalty, stylish and poised and undeniably handsome. And long hair, he’ll have long hair. And suddenly I’m seeing a pattern… this unknown, sophisticate… the charming Treize Khrushrenada… even Trowa has that calm, steady elegance. This is what Heero meant when he said I wasn’t Wufei’s type. It’s so glaringly obvious. Of course, he wouldn’t go for someone like me… God, look at me! And suddenly it’s all too much… guilt, self-pity and anger that I don’t even know the cause of, they swirl around inside me, making my head pound, my stomach twist and my heart ache. I need to get out. I can’t stay here any longer. The shadows of Wufei and his mysterious lover surround me, angry and upset and mocking. Natuku yowls in undignified protest when I nearly bowl her over in my haste. My hand finds the light switch, plunging the room back into darkness and the door bangs shut behind me. I run… in fact, I don’t stop running until I reach the familiar flat with its familiar white balcony railing, faded tinsel wound around it. When I knock, a tall red-haired man with a cheerful smile and hazy grey eyes appears. “Hey Duo!” Alex says and then the tone turns to concern. “Are you alright?” My eyes are watering, which must just be from the cold I tell myself stubbornly. I don’t answer because I’m not entirely sure I trust myself. “Come on in,” he says gently, grabbing me by the elbow and steering me inside out of the cold. The heat from the vents hits me at once and I feel an almost instant sense of relief. Hilde appears in the doorway wearing a faded pink apron and an oven mitt in the shape of a lobster. “Hey, Duo babe…” she breaks off when she sees the look on my face. She and Alex engage in some sort of silent communication over my head and then slowly he divests me of my coat and steers me towards the couch. “Timmy hasn’t fallen in the well again, has he?” Hilde attempts a tentative joke, referring to our earlier conversation. “Something like that,” I croak. “I just needed to see a friendly face.” With not an ‘I told you so’ in sight, she gives me a tight, impassioned hug. “I’ve got just the thing to make you feel better,” she says with a grin. At the sight of that smile I automatically feel a bit better. She just has that effect, Hilde. I cling to her for just a little bit long. God, how I love this woman. When I finally release her, she brushes my fringe back and gently strokes my damp braid. “I’m making yams,” she says with a nod and disappears back into the kitchen. I manage a laugh. “Yams?” I ask, looking up at Alex. He gives a wry smile and rakes long fingers through his curly red hair. “Don’t ask,” he replies, shaking his head. “You just sit there and relax and I’ll get you a beer.” And so I do. The heat seeps into me, chasing away the cold and the pain and the voice from the answering machine. I clench my hand into a fist and when I release it, I swear it almost feels like the sensation of Heero’s warmth is still there. I cling to it, trying desperately to reign in the tears that threaten to fall. I’m hopelessly tangled in a web of my own making… and for the life of me, I have no idea how I’ll get out of it now. ~ * ~ |
