|
"Third Time's the Charm (Sort of)"Written By: Waterlilylf Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. All rights
remain with Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. No profit being
made here. Rating: R Warnings: Romance, humor Pairings: 1x2 Summary: Duo discovers that meeting people - one person in particular - is so much easier in his head than in real life. Especially as that one other person seems determined not to notice him, whatever he does...
"Third Time's the Charm (Sort of)"
Chapter 3 - 12 Weeks (and Counting): 'Come on, Duo,' Hilde says impatiently, from outside the fitting room. 'Stop admiring how pretty you are and come out and show me.' 'Coming.' I'm not, in point of fact, admiring myself. I'm drooling over the shirt I have on. It's a thing of utter, sublime beauty; silk in such a deep, luscious plum shade that I'm seriously tempted to stroke or even lick myself. (Hopefully, Heero will feel the same when he sees me. Ideally, he'll act on it.) 'Well?' I step outside and the two assistants start gushing over me, which I totally ignore. I've worked in a clothes shop myself, which is why I know never to believe anything I'm told by someone who's getting commission out of what I buy. Hilde gives me a nod of approval. 'Oh. That's very you. You have to get it, definitely. What about the lilac one?' 'I wasn't crazy about it,' I say honestly, and immediately both assistants leap into action, faces falling at the thought of losing a lucrative sale, claiming that the thing practically conferred super powers. It was certainly super-expensive, even by my extravagant standards. 'He's just said he doesn't want it,' my best friend says briskly. 'Didn't you hear him?' (Hilde very rarely feels constrained by the need to be polite.) 'Right. Is that it, Duo? Brunch?' 'Just let me get changed. Two seconds.' Actually, there is one other thing I need to do before we leave. On the way to the till, I snag a pale blue Ralph Lauren shirt I'd noticed earlier. Hilde gives me a questioning glance. 'That's not a colour you usually go for. And don't you want to try it on first?' 'It's not for me,' I hand my credit card over to one of the assistants, both of whom are smiling radiantly at me again. (The blue shirt is exorbitantly priced.) 'I wanted to get something nice for Heero. He's been spending a lot of time helping me with my new book. He's more or less made up the whole plot.' It's also Phase One in my masterplan of getting him some half-decent clothes to wear, since I've given up the idea of burning everything he currently owns. I couldn't think of a way to make that look like an accident, short of setting his lovely house on fire. Instead, I'll slowly replace all the hideous synthetic monstrosities by stealth. And today also happens to be our twelve-week anniversary. 'Oh, Heero.' Her mouth twists sourly. 'Of course. I suppose that's the reason I've hardly seen you in the last month. It was bad enough when you were just stalking him And yeah, sure, you've been writing with him. Not anything else.' 'Be fair, Hils,' I say reasonably, accepting the shiny, stiff carrier bags and smiling at the assistant who gives them to me. After all, it's not his fault that he presumably needs to make money somehow. 'I have been working; you know what I'm like when I'm starting a new book, I just lock myself away and write.' True, the only difference is that this time I've been locking Heero away with me for a lot of the time. He's always saying research is important, so he can't really complain if I need him to go over a lot of stuff very thoroughly. And to try out the sex scenes with me. Purely for the sake of realism. 'Plus, you've been away for the past couple of weeks anyway.' (She's a fashion photographer and travels a lot.) 'Yeah, whatever,' she mutters. Shizzle. I like Heero's friends, and most of them seem to like me; unfortunately, she and Heero haven't taken to each other at all. Heero hasn't actually said anything, but it's pretty obvious. Hilde's been a lot more vocal. (We didn't talk for a couple of days after she'd called him an emotionally-crippled workaholic. She did apologise.) Neither of us says much until we're sitting down in the restaurant Hilde's chosen, fiddling with menus and water glasses and parmesan bread sticks. It wouldn't actually kill her to make a bit of an effort, I think glumly. Heero's an amazing person; he's my boyfriend; I'm crazy about him. She could at least try to get to know him a little bit, instead of making faces every time I mention him. Over the soup, I ask her about the shows she'd been covering in Paris, and some mutual friends, and she lets me see some pictures of droolably gorgeous clothes. 'Oh, that reminds me. I have a proposition for you.' 'Aw, that's sweet,' I grin at her. 'And if I were straight and single, I'd totally be interested.' 'Don't be such a fluffhead, Duo.' She leans over and raps my knuckles with her breadknife. 'It's a modelling job.' 'I'm too old, Hils. You know that.' It's my stock answer. She rolls her eyes so dramatically I start to feel dizzy. 'You're only twenty-five. That's not old.' 'Yeah, but I'm totally washed up and I was never that great to begin with.' 'God, you're an idiot sometimes. Everyone who ever worked with you adored you, you know that perfectly well. The only fucking reason you didn't make it big-time was that asshole, Solo, and you know that as well. Armani would have totally offered you a contract if he hadn't kept screwing them around, changing the conditions, demanding more money. You know all that.' 'Yeah, whatever. It's over, anyway. And you know that.' 'Just think about it, Duo, please. The guy is an amazing Czech designer I did a show with last month. He wants someone to be the face of his new collection, and he doesn't just want some generic handsome guy. He's seen pictures of you and he's totally in love. I swear, you are going to go crazy over his clothes. They're totally you; a little bit quirky and different. Sort of old-style military with a little bit of steampunk. Just look, OK?' She shoves her phone in my face, and for a second I'm almost tempted because the clothes are gorgeous. And I know they'd look sensational on me. I'm immediately in lust with the item in the first shot; a midnight-blue jacket, and they just get better. I want to buy almost everything, and not just for myself; I can totally see Heero in most of them. 'Well?' She challenges, looking smug. 'Fantabulous clothes, absolutely. But I'm not interested in modelling them. Thanks for thinking of me, though.' I smile at the waiter, who's hovering to refill my water glass. 'It's him, isn't it?' Hilde demands.. I blink at her. 'Who's what? The waiter?' 'Your new boyfriend,' she says scathingly. 'You don't think he'd want you to do something like this.' 'Hillie, it's got nothing to do with how he feels. (Well. Sort of true. He would hate it, I know that.) Come on, hon. I haven't done any serious modelling work for years; I quit way before I knew Heero even existed.' 'You've done a few jobs since then,' she mutters. 'Yeah, for friends a couple of times, or when I really needed the money.' I prop my chin in one hand and gaze at her across the table. I know she means well, that she just wants me to be happy. But I also know that she wants things to go back to the way they used to be, the two of us working together in the same jobs, going out, even though she must know, deep-down, that it's never going to happen. 'I like the way my life is now, honest. I love writing. And I know you don't get Heero, but he's important to me. Really important.' 'You're right, I don't get him,' she agrees, and then holds off while we get our main courses, and the waiter goes thought the ritual of shaking black pepper and parmesan on our pasta dishes. 'I don't understand what you see in the guy,' she states. 'I just can't see you with some nine-to-five office guy.' 'He's not like that!' For one thing, he'd be utterly appalled at anyone suggesting that he wasn't in his office until nine. Or left at the indecently early hour of five. He's more of a five-to-nine guy, really. She shrugs. 'Whatever. He's not remotely your type, that's all. ' 'And what's my type, exactly?' I wonder bitterly. 'Someone like Solo? Someone who'll beat me up when he's pissed with me?' 'Don't, Duo,' she begs. 'You know I didn't mean that. I just think you deserve someone who's fun. Someone who's more outgoing.' 'I happen to think that Heero is fun,' I glare at her. There's not much I can claim about him being outgoing without lying through my teeth. My boyfriend's not the most sociable person in the universe, to put it very, very mildly; he sometimes claims that in an ideal world he'd live on a desert island, with just me and his laptop for company. (I think it's sweet that he'd choose he'd bring me along. Even if I'd hate it.) We still manage to get on perfectly well, the two of us. Or would, if people would stop interfering. 'You're such opposites. I mean, he took you on a date to a museum. A museum?' she sniffs. 'Seriously? When have you ever been somewhere like that?' 'I've been to the Louvre.' 'Yeah, so has everyone,' she says dismissively. 'Well, it wasn't really a date date, just some of his friends going out together, and he asked me along. And it was fun, actually.' Much more interesting than I'd expected, to be honest. 'He's your rebound guy.' 'No, actually he's not. My rebound guy was that Italian actor, and that was over a year ago.' 'Oh, Bruno, yeah. He was gorgeous. And so much fun! I never got why you two broke up.' 'Possibly his cocaine habit,' I suggest dryly. 'And the fact that he wanted me to take it as well. The point is, I've done the rebound thing. And I haven't exactly been celibate since.' 'Whatever. None of those guys meant anything to you. Duo, seriously, I'm worried about you. You've finally got your life back after that bastard Solo, and the first thing you do is jump into bed with someone just like him.' 'Heero is nothing like him.' I let my fork fall with a clatter, glaring at her. 'He's an older guy who's got definite controlling tendencies. And that's apart from the whole possessive thing.' 'He's only a couple of years older,' I say feebly. Heero, in total honesty, is a bit of a control freak, but that's his way of dealing with the universe. I get it. We both just have different coping mechanisms. The possessive thing is a bit different, and we've had a couple of moderately blazing rows about that, but Hilde doesn't need any more ammunition against him 'And you've met him for all of ten minutes or so. You don't know anything about him!' 'I saw the way he looked at any guy who dared to look in your approximate direction. Plus, the whole thing is happening way too fast; you've only known him a couple of months and you're practically living with him. And you always seem to end up doing whatever he wants. For God's sake, when was the last time you were out clubbing? You used to go out all the time, now you don't seem to do anything but hang out with Heero. Does he ever do anything that you want to do?' 'Of course he does,' I snap, and realise just how defensive I'm sounding. 'Look, Hils. It's not like the way you're putting it. He stays over at my place sometimes, and we do all sorts of stuff together. He even came shopping with me last week.' That's the truth, even if he spent most of the time doing something on his tablet, apart from looking up occasionally to see what I was trying on. He'd even claimed he had enough clothes when I tried pressing him to try something on for himself. (I do sometimes wonder if we have anything in common, I really do. How can anyone ever have enough clothes? It's a total oxymoron.) 'And we're going to a club tonight.' Ahem, that is only sort of true. He is taking me to what sounds like a very nice French restaurant for our anniversary dinner, and I'd mentioned that my friend Scott had given me tickets for a new club that was opening, and he hadn't totally rejected the idea, so maybe we are. 'Whatever you say.' She doesn't sound remotely convinced. 'I just don't want you to get hurt, Duo. OK?' 'Yeah.' Her eyes are cast down at her empty plate, and she's making a massive effort not to look at my left arm. I know this, because I'm expending the exact same effort not to touch it. She'd was the one who'd found me, after the most ridiculous suicide attempt in the history of mankind. She never entirely believes that I hadn't actually meant it; that I'd just had this crazy idea of making myself sick enough to be admitted to hospital, so Solo would hear about it. Would come back. Thankfully, I'd come to what remained of my senses in time to throw up most of the tablets and whiskey I'd taken, but not 'til I'd tried to saw a chunk out of my wrist, fortunately managing to somehow miss the artery. 'He's nothing like Solo,' I say finally. 'Hils, he's not. He cooks for me.' (It's about the most drastic difference I can think of, offhand, given that Solo had nagged me to throw up if I'd even looked sideways at a carbohydrate.) 'He plays music for me on his piano. (Not the only thing he does for me on his piano, but she doesn't need to know that. Heero's way more adventurous than I'd originally thought.) He reads to me. (Naked, sometimes, in bed. Very hard to concentrate. No pun intended.) He likes me teasing him. (Verbally and in other ways.) He's - just really great. Honest.' I'm smiling by the time I finish saying - and thinking - all that, and her face does soften a little bit. She even promises to make more of an effort. After I drop Hilde at her studio, I head back home. I have all kinds of plans - emails to write, a chapter to edit, a list of questions to prepare for Heero about the hierarchal structure in an investment bank - but I can't focus on anything. Deep-down, and I wouldn't ever have admitted it to her, I can't help being just a bit unsettled by some of the things that my BFF has said. I end up staring at my computer screen for nearly two hours. I'm not so besotted with Heero that I can't see he has faults. There's the controlling thing, although to be honest, he's never remotely tried forcing me to do anything, and I'm quite good at working around him anyway. I'm very good at getting my own way when I really want to. In any case, I'm extremely easygoing and ridiculously indecisive: it's just as well that one of us is good at taking charge sometimes or we'd never get around to doing anything. I can live with most of his quirks; the obsessive punctuality and the fact that he's a bit OCD is other ways, and inhumanly tidy, and he seems able to put up with me being the total opposite. OK, he's not perfect. Who is? I'm definitely not. He always has my favourite foods in his kitchen; even if I just mention a mild liking for something, it magically appears the next time I visit. (And yes, OK, I know just he orders it over the net and has it delivered with his own groceries, but still. He remembers.) He cooks my favourite things. Even better, he lets me loose to play in his magic, glorious kitchen. Heero is a perfectly competent cook, and I think the logic of following a recipe appeals to him, but he doesn't really enjoy it, whereas I love experimenting with different ingredients and flavours. He has never, not once, tried pressuring me into taking alcohol or drugs or trying out some kinky sex thing. He's spent hours going over the plot of my new book with me, ironing out all sort of little details. He adores my hair. He lets me watch anything I want on his TV. (Mostly. He flatly refuses to watch reality makeover shows, even though he might find them educational) He gets up in the middle of the night to take Smokey out (even when it's raining). He can turn me into melted-chocolate goo with just a touch or a look. He has never hurt me. I trust him, absolutely. Thinking of Heero, I pull out my phone and look at the text he'd sent that morning. Thank you for the wake up call. Much appreciated. HY. It's a typical Heero-text; dry and formal and totally impersonal. If Hilde got to see it, I can just see her doing her patented eye roll. The thing is, I can also imagine Heero tapping it out, with that sly little smile he gets sometimes, at a private joke. For the record, the wake up call he mentions has nothing whatsoever to do with clocks or alarms. Let's just say I sent him off to work having given him a nice little anniversary gift in bed. Off to work almost ten minutes later than usual, which makes it my second-best attempt to date, although not even close to my personal record, which had involved me taking him breakfast in bed, and a lot of whipped cream and maple syrup that never made it anywhere near the pancakes. He'd ended up calling in sick for the first time ever, and we'd spent the day in bed. He's nothing like Solo. There's that unexpected sentimental streak for one thing, wanting to do something special for our anniversary. Solo and I had never bothered about anything like that. I don't even know what we would have celebrated. The first time we met? Hardly a romantic occasion to remember. He'd paid me to suck him off in the alley behind a club; a place I'd hung around whenever I needed money badly enough. The first 'modelling' job he'd found for me? Yeah, right, I think bitterly. It hadn't been modelling at all, but a part in a porn movie. (It's one of the very few things I haven't told Heero.) I'd been fifteen, but able to pass for a bit younger; young enough to appeal to a very specific target market. I'd cried, after, because it had been so awful, and Solo had sworn blind that he'd never make me do anything like that again. (Not true, as it turned out). The first time he hit me? Nope, not a whole to celebrate in any of that. 'Come on,' I say to Smokey, jumping up. 'Let's go out for a bit. Clear our heads.' When we get back from a run around the harbour, I'm setting out my clothes for the evening, and faffing around a bit when Heero rings, and I immediately know something's wrong because he never calls just for a casual chat. 'Hi! What's up?' 'I'm afraid I have some issues at work. Would you mind if we went out a little later than we'd planned?' 'No, that's fine,' I say, just happy he's not cancelling. For a self-avowed workaholic, he's really good at sticking to any plans we've made together. On the few occasions he's pulled out, there's been a major problem at his work. (Once something Wufei-related, but that doesn't really count.) 'What is it; the Tokyo Stock Exchange?' I can't help laughing at the almost tangible feel of his surprise, all the way down the line and across town. 'You see, I do listen to the stuff you tell me!' Well, mostly. I always try to take an interest in his job, but sometimes it's really boring, and I just sort of zone out and gaze at him adoringly. He's very cute when he geeks out talking about numbers. At least, I do more or less know what he actually does now. Some sort of currency speculation that I'm pretty clueless about, except it involves predicting what currencies are going to rise or fall in value. (I think). To be honest, I try not to think too much about it because my brain freezes up if I start to consider the amounts of money involved. I don't know how he can sleep at night, especially as he's also on some sort of focus group at the National Bank, which makes decisions about the valuation of the Sanque Crown. I mean, that's the official currency of an actual country, and my boyfriend gets to contribute his opinion on what happens to it. I wouldn't sleep a wink, but Heero just laughs and says it's based on statistical programmes, not his personal feelings. 'I can call the restaurant if you'd like, and push back our booking?' I offer. 'What time would suit you; half eightish? How about I meet you there? I can just walk from home, and it'll save you having to collect me.' 'Perfect,' he says gratefully, and then we just listen to each other breathing for a minute. He's not much good at talking on the phone, but he does quite like us being silent together, knowing I'm there. 'Duo, there's one other thing. Do you think you could do me a huge favour?' 'Absolutely! What is it?' (Please, please say you want me to take you shopping!) 'Well, it's for Trowa really. He's having a bit of an emergency at work, and...' 'Wait, what sort of an emergency?' 'He's performing a Caesarian on a lioness.' 'Oh. That's - that's definitely an emergency,' I say a bit weakly. I can't quite believe that I know someone who does stuff like that. 'He doesn't want me to help, does he?' Heero laughs. 'No, that part's fine. But he always goes home in the afternoon for a bit to feed the animals. He asked me to do it, but I can't leave the office. Would you mind? He lives really close to your apartment, and I'll call the concierge to tell him to expect you.' 'Can't the concierge just go and feed them himself?' 'He's scared of Florence.' 'Well, so am I scared of Florence. What if she chews my leg off?' Heero laughs again, and then seems to be cop on that I'm being totally serious. 'She'll be fine, Duo. She's met you a few times by now. I wouldn't ask you to go if I thought she'd have a problem with you. And it should only take about two minutes; you just need to put some food down for the dogs and check they're OK.' 'Wait, dogs plural? What dogs? Has he got, like, a whole pack of Florences?' 'Just the one, and a tiny little Yorkshire terrier called Victoria, who's very sweet, and he's looking after Shen while Wufei's in New York?' 'He's in New York?' I echo. 'You never said.' 'Didn't I?' I can hear the teeniest shade of edginess creeping into his voice. This is hands-down the longest phone conversation we've ever had, and I bet he's dying to get back to work. 'It's just for a few days. He's giving a series of lectures at the Met.' 'Oh, right.' Of course he is. Because God knows that Heero doesn't know anyone with a half-way normal job. Anyway, I have to go to Trowa's now. I don't think it would kill Florence to miss a meal, but I don't want to think of a little Yorkie being hungry, and especially not Wufei's adorable puppy. It's a bit pathetic, but I just want Wufei to like me, and I don't think he really does. Because he was so nice to me the first time we met, I thought we'd end up as friends, but it's never really happened. He's always perfectly friendly, but in a reserved, impersonal sort of way. Still, maybe if I save his beloved dog from starvation, or death-by-savage-bulldog (or Yorkie-nibbling) he'll decide I'm a good person after all. 'Right, fine. I'll go and feed them.' 'Are you sure? You don't have to, if you'd really rather not. I'm sure Trowa could get someone else, or it's not as if they're going to starve in the next hour or two.' 'No, it's fine. I'll do it. Do I need to let them out too? Is there a garden?' 'There's a terrace, but the door's usually open so they can go in and out whenever they want. You just need to check their water bowls, and put down some food. The containers are in the kitchen cupboard under the sink. I'll text you the address. I'd better go. I'll let you know if I'm going to be any later than we'd planned, OK? And thanks.' 'No probs, cookie,' I blow him a kiss down the phone. 'See you later. Now, off you go! Make enough money to pay for dinner tonight.' 'Yes, sir,' he murmurs dryly, and I burst out laughing. 'Duo, I really do have to go.' 'I know.' We breathe quietly at each other for another minute or so, and then I blow him a kiss, and he really does hang up. I just hold the phone in my hand for a minute longer, smiling, and then slide into my pocket and head out.
~ * ~ |
