Semlls Like Teen Spirit
by Link Worshiper

(x) X (x)

Game 41
While My Guitar Gently Weeps

(x) X (x)

When Duo’s mind registered wakefulness the next morning, his body was more than reluctant to follow. Though the young sun was beaming merrily into the room, dying the blackness of Duo’s closed-eye vision an annoying tint of bright pinkish-red, Duo’s heavy eyelids refused to open, and his body felt too heavy to move. Snuggling deeper into the soft mattress beneath his body, he smiled into the downy pillow his face was drowning in and reveled in his lethargic, sated state.

On most normal days, Duo would have spent these reluctant, morning moments trying to figure out what he’d done the day before, namely in the time slot right before he went to sleep. But for the first time in forever, Duo didn’t have to search high and low for the memory, as recollections from the night’s activity, from prom to Heero’s bed, shone at the front of his mind. Just thinking about it made him shiver and smile even wider.

He heard the soft strains of what seemed to be Catherine’s radio, still playing softly down the hall. Enjoying the pleasant guitar chords, Duo rolled over onto his back, half expecting to collide with Heero’s strong body somewhere along the way, and actually surprised when he found his back sinking back into the mattress. Smile quickly flopping upside-down, Duo’s eyes snapped open as he lay in the warm patch of blanket that Heero had obviously just been occupying, staring blankly up at the white ceiling. At once, a million worst-case-scenarios started playing through Duo’s head, most of them having to do with Heero waking up and leaping out of bed in disgust at who was cuddled up with him and what he’d done the night before.

“Anything for you.
Turn my castles blue;
Turn my bones to sand,
Just to see you.
I’ll give you anything.
I’ll give you anything....”

The continuing sound of Heero’s quiet, husky singing penetrated Duo’s spiraling thoughts, slapping the braided teen back to reality. Hauling himself upright in the bed, creased and wrinkled bed sheets tossed over his lower body, Duo let out a very loud sigh of relief when he saw that Heero was still in the room. The Japanese lacrosse player was sprawled lazily over the arms of his desk chair as he strummed his guitar’s worn strings with practiced ease. Clad only in a pair of loose, plaid pajama bottoms, Heero was truly a pleasant sight for the eyes, especially first thing in the morning.

“Jackie O with the top down, open.
All the words to what’s unspoken.
I’ll put together everything that’s broken,
Just to see you.
I’ll give you anything.”

Shaking his head, his braid bouncing back and forth like a snake, Duo said, “Man, Heero, I just can’t get over how the hell talented you are.” He perched one elbow on his knee and rested his cheek atop his closed fist, adding with a sigh, “You’re so good at so many things, sometimes I even forget what they all are. Hell, I forgot you played a six-string so damn well....” He chuckled softly to himself, relishing the irony of Heero’s entire existence, between his social status and his mutation, his artistic gifts and his hidden charm: everything. “But just look at you,” Duo finished, shaking his head once more, eyes never once leaving Heero.

Heero’s eyes were dim with some kind of hazy, early morning sleepiness as his lips parted in one of those tiny, private smiles he reserved only for Duo. “Well look at you, too. I always forget just how beautiful you are until I see you,” he answered, still manipulating the song’s tune on the strings beneath his fingers as if it were second nature. His lazy smile became more of a wicked grin as he added, “But that’s the only thing I ever forget. My mind’s eye simply doesn’t do you justice.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Heero Yuy,” Duo rejoined with a smirk.

“Flattery will get you everywhere... and then some,” Heero was quick to bounce back. Cocking his head slightly, Heero considered Duo for a moment, and then said, “For instance, I usually never am one to cook a big breakfast, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

Before he had a chance to control it, Duo was blushing a deep red. “Really? You’d do that for--hey!” He mock-pouted at Heero as the Japanese lacrosse player smugly stood up and set his guitar carefully into its black case, which lay by the chair’s legs.

“Score one for Heero Yuy, and it’s only nine in the morning,” Heero grinned as he snapped his fingers, using his telekinesis to flip the golden buckles of the guitar case closed. Then, with a small, shooing motion of one hand, he sent the case scooting itself to its usual place against the wall.

Duo straightened, his back like a flagpole as he gaped, “It’s nine in the morning on a Saturday and I’m awake!?” He slapped his cheeks and cried, “Holy God, the world is going to end at this rate!”

“Score for you,” Heero snorted with a roll of his eyes. He was in the process of beckoning another pair of pajama bottoms and a tee-shirt for Duo out of one of his drawers. It seemed that now that the cat was out of the bag, Heero wasn’t going to waste any effort trying to stuff it back in there; no use crying over spilt milk, so to speak. Besides, the only true fear that Heero had of flaunting his mutation around Duo was that Duo would start to file him away as just another one of his usual company. The last thing Heero wanted around Duo was become just an ordinary acquaintance, though if last night was any measurement, he somehow doubted his fears would have much ground.

“Well, I guess now that I’m up, I’m up. No use whining about it,” Duo sighed, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand to get the morning gunk out of it. Then he reached for the clothes Heero had produced for him and started to put them on.

“About time too,” Heero threw in. “I was beginning to think I needed to kiss you in order for you to wake up.”

Head lost somewhere inside the red tee-shirt, braid flopping out over the collar as he tried to get it on, Duo’s muffled voice called, “Not that I would have minded! Jeez, where’s your common sense, Yuy!?”

Heero rolled his eyes again, chiding, “Is there ever a time your mind is not on sex?”

“Kissing is not sex!” Duo snapped as his head popped out of the proper opening in the shirt. “And my mind is not constantly on it! I’m just... easily aroused, okay? And come on, what guy isn’t in a state of perpetual horniness?” His face was tinged slightly pink, and the way his eyebrows were fused over his nose certainly made him look cute.

Heero just raised his eyebrows and wordlessly went through the motions of putting on the shirt he’d summoned up from the drawer for himself.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, you,” Duo jibbed with an offhanded laugh. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that sex is just friction,” he went on, “which in a way, equates with kissing... the friction, that is. But that’s only something your mind would come up with!”

The quizzical look on Heero’s face just intensified, which was enough to communicate his thoughts without a single word.

“Well, you would have thought it up, if I’d let you,” Duo stuck his tongue out as he tossed off the blankets to pull on the dark blue pajama bottoms. His small pout spread into a grin when he saw Heero’s Prussian eyes dart down to his bare hips and legs the moment he’d uncovered himself. “Oh, so who’s horny now?” he asked, adding himself another point on the mental scoreboard. Deciding to be annoying, Duo made a show of his long legs as he slowly pulled the pajama pants up, the sultry look in his eyes never wavering from Heero’s.

Heero, meanwhile, was having trouble remembering to breathe.

When Duo was through dressing, he stood up and sauntered over to the tall mirror that hung on the back of the closed door, frowning at his reflection. He patted the top of his head, trying to flatten the wispy locks of hair that had loosened during the night, but still found his appearance disconcerting when he was finished. Furrowing his brow, he put a hand on each hip and glared at the red tee-shirt that clung to his long frame and the pajama bottoms that billowed around his ankles. Then he realized what it was. Turning around, he said, “Jesus, Heero, I look like a damn prep!”

“So do I,” Heero replied with a shrug as he stood up, pushing his chair back into its spot beneath the desk. “It’s not a big deal, Duo. It’s not like anyone’s going to see you like that, except maybe Trowa,” he went on, walking towards Duo so they were standing toe-to-toe. “Besides,” he added in a low whisper, leaning close, “I think you look wonderful, even if you just did roll out of bed.”

Duo’s shoulders drooped. “It’s the principle of the matter, ‘Ro,” he sighed, though it was hard to pursue the topic with Heero hovering so close. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his cynicism kicked in, figuring that Heero had probably planned it. He was about to ask about that breakfast Heero kept promising, when his lips were suddenly incapacitated by a heated kiss, which he was more than happy to engage in.

“Do you like crepes?” Heero whispered softly against Duo’s lips when he pulled away. He had the longhaired mechanic backed up against the door, his hands planted firmly on either side of him to keep him in place.

Not that Duo had any mind to break free anyway.

(x) X (x)

The tall woman pushed a stray lock of long, blond hair behind one ear, sighed, and tied her white apron around her slim waist. She hated getting up so early on the weekend, but her job demanded the early hours, and there was little she could do about it. Quickly smoothing her long, black skirt and patting the small, lacy cap on her head, she picked up the silver tray waiting on the kitchen counter and steeled a large smile on her face. Balancing the tray and the teacups and kettle perched upon it, she tucked the morning paper under one arm and walked towards the small morning room where her employer was waiting.

The morning room was a small alcove near the back of the house with tall windows and slim French doors. The furniture was made of wicker and cushioned with light blue cushions. Her employer lounged in the small love seat by the coffee table, awaiting his morning tea and the paper.

“Good morning, Mr. Winner,” the lady said, setting the tea tray down on the coffee table and laying the paper beside it.

“Good morning, Allie,” the millionaire answered, though his voice was bored and he spoke merely out of practice, not courtesy. He blindly reached for the paper, while Allie went about pouring Winner the first cup of tea, adding a lump of sugar and a squeeze of lemon, just the way he liked it.

Winner unfurled the newspaper and gave it a crack, opening it to the middle to read the business section, completely missing the front page.

Meanwhile, Allie had finished pouring the tea, and was in the process of handing the cup and saucer to her employer, when she caught sight of the headline adorning the front page. A startled gasp echoed from her throat when she saw the large picture and read the bold lettering, the cup falling from her lifeless fingers and landing with a splintering crash on the tile floor.

Snapping the paper back, Winner glared over the pages at Allie. “What?” he demanded, his eyes flicking down at the broken cup on the floor and the huge puddle of steaming tea it was lying in.

With a swallow, Allie pointed to the paper and murmured almost unintelligibly, “The front page, Sir.”

“What about the front page?” Winner grumbled irately, moodily folding the paper back to its original state and holding it in front of his face as he read the headline.

From her position slightly to the side of the love seat, Allie could make out the many emotions flickering across her Master’s face as he read the words: anger, sadness, contempt, and a variety of other such things. “Sir?” she squeaked softly, hoping that she wouldn’t end up being the target of one of Mr. Winner’s mood swings.

Once he had read the entire article silently to himself, Winner frowned at the paper, crumpling it slightly between his large fingers. Then his face scrunched up in anger and he threw the paper aside, the thin, printed pages fluttering lazily to the floor as he yelled, “Preposterous! It’s all lies!”

Allie swallowed again and took a step back, glancing down at the paper. Slowly, she moved to pick it up, cracking the pages in her hands as she tried to offer it back to Winner. “Here, Sir,” she said in as calm a voice as she could muster.

“Take that away!” he ordered, not even turning to look at her as he batted the paper away with the back of his hand.

“But Sir, it’s your--”

“I don’t care. Take it away,” Winner repeated, cutting her off. “And find someone to clean that up!” he added, gesturing towards the broken tea cup as Allie started to back away.

Allie opened her mouth to speak again, but quickly swallowed her words when she saw the look on Winner’s face, an expression that seemed torn between two things: the world and family. “Yes, Sir,” she mumbled as she scurried away, her eyes focusing on the black and white picture of Quatre that adorned the front page, beneath the words ‘Rampaging Mutant Killer Captured!’. The subtitle added the final blow, reading ‘Are mutants really more dangerous than we previously believed?’.

Shaking her head sadly, she continued on to the kitchen without even looking back at Mr. Winner. It was probably a good thing she didn’t, because Winner probably would have never forgiven her if she’d caught sight of the tears that had started to trickle down the side of his face.

(x) X (x)

“Keep ‘em coming, ‘Ro!” Duo said, waving his fork at Heero, who was standing in front of the stove and folding a newly fried crepe over on itself, ready to be served.

Turning the pan and dropping the hot crepe onto a plate, Heero absently sprinkled it with sugar as his other hand reached for the bowl of batter and lumped another dollop of the thick, beige liquid onto the hot skillet with a spoon. Using that same hand to tilt the crepe pan this way and that to spread the batter thinly across the bottom of the skillet, Heero picked up the plate and absently thrust it behind him in Duo’s general direction. The plate whizzed out of his hand and shot across the kitchen, settling in front of Duo. As Heero summoned Duo’s empty plate back to his waiting hand, Heero said, “Well, it’s nice to know you like my cooking so much.”

“I like everything you do,” Duo said, already stuffing his face full with the thin pancake, not even bothering to wait for it to cool off.

Heero threw an ambiguous look over his shoulder. “Is that so?”

Pausing to wipe the thin coat of sugar that shone on his bottom lip, Duo swiped his index finger across it and sucked on it suggestively. “Damn straight I do,” he whispered.

“Ecchi,” Heero said to himself with a roll of his eyes.

“Not that you’re complaining.”

“Right.”

Duo laughed and Heero smiled to himself as he flipped the crepe onto its other side, deciding that this one would be his. He figured if he didn’t start conserving batter now, all of the food would be victim to Duo’s bottomless pit of a stomach, and there would be nothing left to feed the rest of the house. Which brought Heero to another thought: where the hell was Trowa?

As if on cue, the sound of the front door opening echoed throughout the house, causing both Heero and Duo to snap their heads up attentively. Trowa’s voice called from the foyer, resonating throughout the house. “Hello? Hello, is anyone here? Heero?”

“We’re in the kitchen, Tro!” Duo shouted, saving Heero the trouble of having to raise his voice. Not having to speak as much was another benefit to having Duo as his constant companion. Though it often didn’t show, Heero usually got choked when it came to speaking to other people, and even when he kept his outward features cool and collected, he was sweating bullets inside. He supposed feeling comfortable to say whatever he wanted without any fear was a good mark as to who his friends truly were.

“Trowa, would you like anything to....” Heero started to ask as he emptied the finished crepe onto the plate and turned around to face his brother. But when he saw the disheveled look Trowa sported, the sunken, tired green eyes rimmed in darkness and the messy hair and clothes, he quickly forgot all about the food. Somehow, Heero doubted that Trowa’s appearance was due to an out-of-control party.

“Trowa, what the hell happened to you?” Duo demanded to know, taking the words right out of Heero’s half-open mouth. “And where’s Quatre!?”

Trowa, still dressed in the tuxedo he’d worn to the prom the night before, slowly dragged himself to the stool beside the one Duo was perched on and climbed on, leaning heavily on the high countertop. Despite his formal clothes, he looked a wreck, his tie missing and his shirt dirty with some unknown reddish-brown stain. Even the black of his pants and jacket was marred by a thin coating of dust and grime, like he’d been out in the gutter all night. “Have you read the morning paper yet?” was all he asked.

“No....” Duo narrowed his eyes, looking at Trowa oddly. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

“Don’t read it,” Trowa said, pulling at the skin beneath his eyes with a downward swipe across his cheeks with his hands. “Everything is warped and wrong.”

“Trowa, where were you all night?” Heero demanded softly, turning off the stove and walking quickly over to the island in the middle of the kitchen. Planting his hands firmly on the countertop, he leaned across it and stared Trowa directly in the eye with a glare that would have killed a lesser person.

“At the hospital. Wufei is still there,” Trowa said, still rubbing his face. “And I just came from the police station, but they wouldn’t let me see him. They had to physically kick me out.” Then he sighed and buried his face in his hands, his cinnamon bangs sticking out between his fingers. A strangled sob was muffled against the palms of Trowa’s hands.

Duo tentatively reached out to pat Trowa on the back, but nervously drew his hand away, as if deciding that the touch really wouldn’t do much more than make Trowa think he was pitying him. Not to mention there were many things he wanted to ask Trowa, but he somehow gathered that this wasn’t the best time.

Meanwhile, Heero stared at his brother with grim, calculating eyes, until he finally spoke. “Who wouldn’t they let you see at the police station?” he asked flatly, obviously not having the same qualms about asking questions that Duo did.

Trowa parted two fingers and peered at Heero through them for a long time before he actually answered the question. “Quatre,” he said simply.

“What!?” Duo’s hand came flying down upon the counter, slamming it so hard that his fork and knife jumped up into the air at least an inch. Grabbing Trowa by the shoulder, he spun the drooping goalie to face him and shook him wildly as he attacked with a barrage of frantic questions. “Why’s Q with the coppers!? Is he hurt? Is that why you were at the hospital? Did he do something!? I thought I told you to take care of him, Trowa! I thought you were going to make sure he never got hurt! Shows me for trusting a stupid jock,” he growled, not even thinking about the fact that Heero was also a member of that same social circle.

Trowa finally met Duo’s eyes, his own widening when he saw the tears forming there. He knew that Quatre was one of Duo’s best friends, and he understood the feeling wholly. “Do you think,” he asked softly, “that I’m not upset about this either?”

Duo’s lips just curled into an unhappy shape as he fought to keep from getting too upset.

Taking it as his cue to speak, Heero asked the inevitable question: “Trowa, what happened last night?”

Eyes scrunched in tired frustration, Trowa clawed at his long bangs as he mulled over the question. “Last night,” he began, not meeting either Heero’s or Duo’s face, “Quatre....” He trailed off with a small grunt, digging his elbows into the hard counter top and burying his eyes into the heels of his hands. “Heero, you remember last year when you... you know....”

Heero’s head turned slightly as Trowa spoke, his midnight blue eyes growing slightly large and never leaving his brother’s crumpled form. “Yes...” he said in a slightly wary tone. He could not say he particularly liked where this story seemed to be heading.

“The same thing happened to Quatre last night,” Trowa said, his hands rubbing nervously at his face again, though they still hid his eyes.

Heero’s face froze, and Duo’s face distorted with confusion. “Excuse me?” Heero said, his eyes sparking with an odd, unnamed emotion.

Hands falling away from his face, Trowa looked up and nailed Heero in place with a very solemn expression. “I said, his mutation went haywire, that he went Zero, like you did,” he clarified, though both he and Heero knew damn well what he had been talking about the first time Trowa had said it.

Trowa’s stare bore straight through Heero, not an easy task to accomplish, and Heero narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Trowa, while Duo’s large, violet ones darted back and forth between the two of them in confusion. “That’s ridiculous,” Heero finally decided after thinking about it during the few moments of awkward silence. “There have only been two other reported cases of a Zero level shift outside of the lab in the past decade, and even then, those cases weren’t totally exempt from some form of experimentation. There is no physical way that Quatre could have had a Zero attack.”

“Believe it, Heero, because it happened,” Trowa rejoined. “Besides,” he added, “you don’t know what kind of medical history Quatre has. For all you know, he spent his entire childhood in the lab!” Trowa realized only after he’d spoken that he’d just crossed a line he really should not have.

The glint in Heero’s eyes suddenly caught fire and roared into a giant blaze. “One does not spend their childhood as a test rat and end up as cheerful and... and cute as Quatre Winner!” he snapped irately, pounding one fist into the countertop so hard, it cracked one of the inlaid tiles.

“Look, you want to know what happened last night? You want to know why Quatre’s with the cops and why Meilan is lying in the hospital with a concussion? I’ll tell you!” Trowa shouted, becoming impatient. “He fucking murdered Solo in cold blood last night, okay? Murdered. Not responsible for the death of, but outright killed him, Heero. The episode Quatre had last night made yours seem like mere child’s play.”

When Trowa mentioned Solo, Duo’s entire body turned to ice, and his face became white as a sheet. Despite the warm weather, a wild shiver ran down Duo’s spine as he whispered, “What happened to Solo, Trowa?”

Turning his emerald eyes towards Duo, and he answered quietly, simply, “He’s dead.”

“Dead?” Duo hissed incredulously, not believing the words no matter how many times he kept hearing them. “I don’t believe it,” he declared with a firm nod of his head. “There’s no way you can just kill a guy like Solo. You can’t kill him. Solo just doesn’t die.”
“But he is dead,” Trowa pressed. “It was bad enough we found Solo in the act of trying to rape Relena. But when he attacked Meilan, Quatre snapped, slaughtered him with his own knife.”

Duo was still shaking his head negatively, refusing to believe it. It was something that his mind just could not comprehend. All his childhood, Solo had been that larger-than-life figure who loomed above all the little ones and took care of them. Solo was the one who knew everything about everything and how to cheat even Death. If Duo had a dime for every time Solo averted getting killed or caught, he would have been a rich man by now. Scummy rat or not, Solo would always be like a big brother to Duo, that big brother who could never fall down. It was impossible; Solo lived forever.

“Duo, Solo is dead!” Trowa repeated, his hands falling way from his face and shooting forward to grab Duo by the shoulders. “Dead, as in gone forever. Not coming back!” He shook Duo hard, even as the longhaired boy was still shaking his head no. “Ever!”

The volume of Trowa’s voice managed to ease Duo’s short bout of denial, and the braided mechanic just sat silently on the stool, staring past Trowa as he mulled over the reality of the situation. Though the more he pondered it, he couldn’t quite decide if the concept of Solo being dead or Quatre being the one who killed him was harder to grasp.

“And what did you say happened to Meilan?” Heero went on, remembering that Trowa had mentioned something concerning the Chinese girl earlier. How could he and Duo have had such an amazing, beautiful night together, while just a few streets away, some of his closest friends had experienced hell? It was a strange and surreal idea to think about.

A long, sad sigh fell from Trowa’s lips. “She’s in the hospital,” he said simply, not sure if elaborating was such a good idea. He wasn’t quite sure if they would take the news of Meilan’s concussion as good or bad news, depending on how they viewed it; on the one hand, her state was precarious and upsetting, but on the other, at least she wasn’t dead.

“Why?” Heero’s voice was curt and to the point, as he usually tended to be when he was especially worried or worked up. Though Heero employed a surprisingly diverse range of defense mechanisms when it came to hiding his feelings, Duo was pretty sure Heero’s militaristic approach to gleaning information in times like these was a combination of pure instinct and nervous reaction.

“Because she was thrown across the room into a mirror,” Trowa responded gravely, electing to only give answers as the appropriate questions were asked. It saved him the trouble of having to gauge their reactions and saved them from being assaulted with too much bad information at one time. He was not so dumb as to be oblivious as to why Duo would be with Heero so early in the morning. Clearing his throat, he clarified, “That’s to say, she banged her head really hard when she hit the floor. On top of that, she’s got a lot of cuts and bruises all over. She’s been out all night.”

“Is it really that bad?” Duo squeaked, not even bothering to hid the fear in his voice. Solo’s death was one thing, but if they lost Meilan, someone who had grown very close to him in a very short amount of time, Duo wasn’t quite sure what he would do. And then there was Wufei....

Trowa’s hands fell from Duo’s shoulders and he balled them on top of his thighs. Staring down at them, he offered a tiny shrug and said, “They haven’t really said much yet. It’s a waiting game now.”

Heero took his turn to ask, “Wufei is there with her?”

“Yes.”

Duo listened to this with an unreadable expression on his face. Part of him was proudly declaring that he was strong enough to endure this, that no matter what happened, he would be able to handle it. But on the other hand, another part of him was crying out in pain, screaming for Meilan to wake up and for Quatre to be safe. The silent yell was filled with terror and regret, a heavy feeling that Duo never wished to feel ever again. These were his friends, and they were in trouble; there was no room for his silly punk ideals or his oversized ego here.

And then there was Wufei. Trowa, and Heero as well, for the record. At one point in his life, Duo would have been found standing on a soapbox, preaching about how people like them were the bane of human existence, about how they were cold people who lived on the upper crust of society and sniffed at everyone else. But here was Wufei, glued to the bedside of his girlfriend, not even knowing if she’d live or die. Simple as it sounded, it was so extremely human, it almost brought tears to his eyes. On a tangent, he found himself wondering if he were ever lying in a hospital like that, would Heero be at his bedside? Would Trowa be there like that for Quatre?

His voice almost like an echo, Duo compounded all these thoughts into a few words and said, “Maybe we should go visit them.”

“Who? Meilan or Quatre?” Trowa asked, turning to glance at Duo.

“Both, if we can,” said Duo softly, who was busy staring at his fumbling hands. “I feel bad that all this happened and me ‘n’ Heero weren’t there to do anything about it.”

Heero’s mouth, which was already a straight line of hard emotion, dropped at the corners. Briskly walking around the island so he was standing beside Duo, he grabbed the longhaired teen by the collar and brought them nose-to-nose as he said in a firm tone, “Don’t ever sit around and blame yourself for things you had no control over. How were we to know that something like this would happen? How are we ever to know?”

Duo swallowed and averted Heero’s intense glare, knowing deep down to his core that what Heero said was the truth. “We should still be there for them,” he mumbled softly.

“I know we should,” Heero answered, letting go of Duo’s collar and moving his hands to rest on Duo’s shoulders. Gently pulling him off his stool, Heero wrapped his arms around Duo’s neck and nestled his cheek in the crook of Duo’s neck. “But don’t sit there like you’re the negligent hero. You don’t always have to be the one to save everybody, Duo.”

“Neither do you,” Duo whispered back, his hands coming up to rest on Heero’s well-muscled back.

Sitting back and watching the tender scene, Trowa felt himself warm over as a smile shaped his lips. The two of them were so strangely right for each other. It was their differences that drew them together, and their similarities that held them there. It was their imperfection that made them perfect. He quietly waited for them to finish before he said, “Well, I don’t know if they’ll let us see Quatre, but I’m sure we can drop in on Wufei and Meilan.”

“Why can’t we see Q!?” Duo demanded, almost clocking Heero in the nose with a flailing fist. He would be damned if he wasn’t allowed to see his best friend during a time that was sure to prove troublesome and especially after what had happened the night before. Quatre was sure to be in a state of shock and very frightened.

“Because they won’t let us,” Trowa said with a hint of anger in his voice. “I argued with some lazy, doughnut-chomping cop for over an hour this morning and I still wasn’t allowed to see him. I somehow doubt that position has changed any.”

Duo crossed his arms, and Heero could have sworn he heard him mutter under his breath, “See if I have anything to do with that.”

Somehow, Heero wasn’t quite sure if that was a good thing or not. For his part, Heero found himself a little jealous at all the attention Trowa and Quatre were sucking from his Duo at the current moment. This was supposed to be their private morning, alone, and here came trouble, ready to knock everything out of shape. Life just wasn’t fair.

“Heero, what’s wrong?” Trowa piped up, noticing the deeply thoughtful look marring his brother’s face.

Jarred from his thoughts, Heero bristled slightly and answered crisply, “What isn’t wrong?”

Trowa merely offered a weak smile and dropped his emerald gaze to his hands as they twiddled about in his lap. Heero was right about everything being wrong. Worse still was the way it seemed to have crept out of nowhere, attacking when things seemed to be perfect.

Meanwhile, Duo was pulling nervously at his braid, threatening to unravel the whole thing with his twitching, twisting fingers. “They’re all going to end up okay, though,” he was telling himself as his large purple eyes darted around the kitchen, settling on Heero’s calm face every now and then for reassurance. “Right?” he added meekly.

Trowa looked up to flash an echo of his tentative unsure smile, while Heero simply blinked impassively and kept his thoughts to himself.

“Because,” Duo went on, his eyebrows dropping over his crinkled nose, “if not, we’re going to make it be okay. I swear to God, if anything happens to Q....”

“Duo! Stop getting carried away!” Heero said suddenly, the word rising from his throat like a sudden gale. Raking his slim fingers through his tousled, thick spikes of burnt-umber hair. Thinking aloud, he reasoned logically, “Look, nothing can happen that would permanently do Quatre any harm before there’s a trial or anything. This is not something little, and they’re not going to make a decision behind closed doors.”

“They did for you. It was such an in-and-out case, it almost never happened,” Trowa said with a tiny snort. He peered up at his brother from beneath long, cinnamon-spiced bangs. “Besides, you know how a lot of people are about mutants. If anything, Quatre will turn into a scapegoat for all those potential anti-mutant laws the right-wingers are trying to get passed.”

Though there were hints of truth to what Trowa said, Heero found it to be flawed logic. “But I’m a mutant, and hardly anything came of it.”

Duo, who was quick to latch onto any glimmer of hope, found himself shaking his head enthusiastically. “Yeah, and Q’s dad is really rich and important. He’s bound to get out of it okay!”

Trowa met them with an even, saddened expression dampening his green eyes. “Because Quatre and his father are on such good terms with each other,” he said with a quick roll of his eyes, the sarcasm in his voice more than a little apparent. Pointing at Heero, he went on, “Considering that, and the fact that Quatre doesn’t have the school obsessively backing him in the name of sports, I wouldn’t bet so much on it.”

“No need to be such an optimist, Tro,” Duo sneered, spinning around on his stool so his back was facing Trowa completely. This left Heero with a complete, unmasked view of the absolute despair tugging at Duo’s features. This little news report of Trowa’s had managed to completely change the entire attitude of the morning. The cheerful, playful youth that had woken up in Heero’s bed only hours before was nowhere to be found, replaced with a sullen, despondent young man.

“No need to be such a cynic, either,” Trowa bit back with a snarl that seemed very out-of-character for him.

It took a very nasty glare from Heero, aimed at both Trowa and Duo, to bring their escalating moods down to a less-hostile level. Setting his shoulders, Heero took control of the situation with the militaristic skills he used to run the lacrosse team. “Fighting about it isn’t going to change something that’s already happened,” he said, his eyes still glittering with that stern stare of his. “All we can do is mend what we have.”

Trowa sighed heavily, knowing that Heero was correct.

Drooping, Duo crossed his arms and eyed Heero carefully. Despite his closed posture, Heero could see the sadness wavering in his eyes. “Heero?” he whispered softly, snagging the Japanese boy’s attention almost immediately. “I’d... I’d like to go see them,” he said in that same hushed voice. “I’d like to see what Tro’s talking about.”

With two quick steps, Heero was beside Duo. He placed a hand on each of his shoulders and sought his eyes. Fingers gently swirling upon Duo’s shoulders in a relaxing massage, Heero said just as quietly, “Me too, Duo.” Then his hands slipped down Duo’s sides and wrapped around him, pulling the braided mechanic into a fierce hug. Head resting on Duo’s shoulder, Heero pressed his cheek against his lover’s and comforted him as best he could with soft whispers and warm touches.

Rubbing his damp eyes, Trowa watched them with a nostalgic smile.

(x) X (x)

a/n: Anyone who’s been to my site in the past week or so knows that it’s been on the funky side lately. That is because I’ve just switched my web hosting service and I’ve got a while bunch of paths to fix because of that. So I’m sorry if you visit and find yourself stumbling upon dead links and any other weird mumbo-jumbo. I hope to make all that go away soon. And if you’ve been writing for the new contest, keep it up! I can’t wait to see submissions!

On another note, I have another happy birthday note for today! Guess! Give up? Happy birthday to Flea, one of the best bass players ever! He plays that thing like it’s a freaking guitar and it’s awesome. Next time you listen to the RHCP, crank up your bass and appreciate the wonder that is Flea!

As for the song credits, the insert song is Anything by Third Eye Blind, and the chappy title is the title of one of my absolute favourite Beatles songs.