Smells Like Teen Spirit
by Shannon the Twisted Link Worshiper

(x) X (x)

Game 6
Are You Experienced?


(x) X (x)

“Huh, I guess she’s not there,” Trowa said, peering through the glass door into the semi-dark surf shop. He straightened and shrugged apologetically at Quatre and said, “Too bad she can’t let us in. Meilan’s shop is really cool.”

As promised, he and Quatre had met up at Gifford’s around eleven to take a leisurely stroll down the boardwalk, stopping every now and then to check out various shops on their way to their eventual destination of a certain pizza place a bit further down the way. At the moment, they were standing on the small wooden porch of a little surf shop that belonged to a friend of Trowa’s. A large brightly decorated wooden sign fixed to the guardrail of the porch proclaimed ‘Nataku’s Board Shop—Surf, Skate, Etc.’, a finely painted Chinese dragon coiling around the edge of the round billboard. A similar design with the shop’s name was stenciled onto the glass in the front door and upon the display window, behind which lay a white short board with red fins and the logo for a surf company called Hawaiian Island Creations emblazoned near the nose.

“That’s okay,” Quatre replied cheerfully, taking a seat on the wooden bench that sat in front of the display window. “You can show me next time.”

Trowa grinned at the thought that there would be a next time and sat down beside Quatre, watching the ocean as it lazily curled upon itself upon the slick wet beach sand. The rushing sound of the crashing waves and the hoot of the swooping seagulls as they tried to fight the harsh breeze filled their ears, creating a serene sense of peace and contentment. “So do you like it?”

“What?” Quatre wondered, unsure as to what Trowa was referring.

“The beach,” he clarified, gesturing to the scene that lay sprawled out beyond the boardwalk. “Do you like living here? Or do you think that there’s more than just this?”

“Oh, I see,” Quatre smiled, understanding the question now. He launched right into an answer, eager to start a conversation with Trowa. Their time together had so far proven that Trowa was an adequate conversationalist and could delve deep into a vast array of topics. “Well,” he began, “I’ve lived here for just about as long as I can remember. We moved over here from the Mediterranean when I was a baby and my eldest sister, Iria, was just five. The rest of my sisters were born around here.” He sighed, hoping to God he did not come off as too nostalgic. “I guess I’ve grown pretty attached to this place to say the least. I mean, this is the only home I’ve ever really been familiar with and it’s where all my friends live. And I think I’m pretty much happy here… for now anyway.”

“What do you mean by that?” Trowa asked, intrigued by Quatre’s stories. He really liked listening to the Winner boy talk for a change of pace in the usual dull lineup. He was cheerful and easy-going and always ready to flash that adorable smile even when he was down. The only other person Trowa could really think of that he enjoyed talking to as much was probably Heero, though even Trowa, his one and closest friend, sometimes tired of having to work so hard to get words out of the stoic Japanese boy. Trowa had figured out a long time ago that there was some trick, some kind of key to unlocking Heero’s mind that he did not wield with enough dexterity to elicit Heero’s private self whenever he chose. When Trowa had come to that conclusion, he also realized that there was probably an entire world of thoughts and secrets that his friend had never mentioned to him, even in their deepest and most heartfelt conversations. Often, he wondered what kind of person it would take to understand his operating system well enough to delve into that hidden conscience and unearth the real Heero Yuy.

“Well, this is a great place, I think. I’ve had an okay childhood here with many good memories and friends but… well, I just can’t help but think that there is so much more than just this pretty little town by the sea. I always wanted to grow up and go places, see and do things no one’s ever done before, things that will make a difference in the world and touch lives, you know? I just… I just don’t know if I’ll ever really get the chance to.” Quatre turned and flashed a smile at Trowa, his mouth open as if he were going to keep on speaking, though no words came. His large aquamarine eyes, the same jaded colour of the ocean before them, swirled with some unseen emotion as he debated with himself as to whether or not he should throw on the last piece of information in his mind. But another quick glance at Trowa found his companion wearing an expectant expression on his face, as if he were waiting for more, proved excuse enough to keep talking, so he did.

“See, it’s like this: since I’m the family’s only son, my dad wants me to go to college to learn about business so I can take over his corporation when he dies.” Quatre explained, his voice somewhat mournful and somewhat bitter. “I guess that’s all well and good, but I mean, my oldest sister, Iria, has gone to college already and she likes business. I’d just let her take care of it if I was my father, but he likes to stick to the old ways. He insists that the oldest son—or in my case, only son—takes over the family business when he goes, whether or not that son is the golden boy every father dreams about, which apparently I’m not.” Quatre let out an agitated sigh to tack off his little tirade against his father’s stubbornness. “I… I just can’t help but think… that there’s something else that’s calling me….”

He left it at that and did not elaborate as the specific ‘something’ that suggested that Iria should take over his father’s corporation and send him on other pursuits was a rather powerful, almost brutal sensation that his Sense stirred up inside whenever the issue was brought up. The first time he had mentioned it to his father was when Iria had just graduated from college with degrees in both business and management. And as icing on the cake, she even had a couple of undergraduates in engineering and machines, which was the corporation’s specialty. Quatre had thought it had sounded like a good idea to him and he knew it would be the sort of thing that Iria would love to do. Hell, even his mother seemed to think it was an attractive proposition.

But his father was absolutely resolute in his position that his son had to be the one to follow in his stead, that it was his duty to his father. Then again, Mr. Winner was not much fonder of Iria than he was of Quatre. They were his two ‘freak children’. Not knowing any better at the time, Quatre had insisted that it was wrong for him to do so, that times were changing and that Iria was meant for the position, not him. And when questioned by his father as to why he felt this way, Quatre had been honest and quick to say that it was his Sense that told him so and that it was rarely ever wrong. That had been what had sent his father into a rage; he was disgusted by the mutated attributes of his son and eldest daughter, which was why he had insisted that the rest of the family’s children be test-tube babies, hoping to get another boy who could take Quatre’s place. But after twenty-nine tries, while all perfectly normal human beings, he had been gifted with only more daughters, forcing him to ‘settle with what he had’, or so he had phrased it. Quatre’s Sense and Iria’s precognitive ability to see things before they happened became taboo in the Winner household and were kept hushed and secret, any ‘sightings’ so to speak punishable however their father saw fit.

After that whole incident, Quatre kept his opinions to himself, Iria and a few select friends such as Duo, Dorothy and company. Having to suppress the one thing Quatre had ever thought made him special was so hard for him. Despite the love showered upon him by his mother and sisters, particularly Iria, he felt hurt and rejected that his father hated this beautiful gift of his son’s simply because he did not fully understand.

“I guess I catch ya,” Trowa nodded, his demeanor serious though he seemed to have placed a careful twinge of optimism in his voice in an effort to cheer Quatre, who was obviously feeling glum at the notion of his father. “I mean, my dad wants me to be a big lax star one day and play professionally. You know, bring even more glory to the”—he made air quotes with his index and middle fingers—“great name of Barton.”

Quatre laughed heartily at that, covering his mouth with both hands as if to push the sounds back down his throat. Not only had Trowa’s tone and gesture been extremely amusing in a very dry sort of way, but he could totally sympathize with Trowa’s sarcasm towards his prestigious family title. Though he had never really thought about it before, it finally occurred to Quatre that Trowa was one of the Barton family, one of the oldest and most respected clans on the West Coast. They won their fame and fortune generations ago with the creation and success of Project Meteor, a smalltime rocket industry responsible for the development of a new sort of jet-propulsion plasma engine that had become a general standard in the designs for modern spacecraft. Since then Project Meteor, now known worldwide as The Barton Foundation, had grown beyond a couple of scientists with the Barton gene and had spawned into a multimillion dollar corporation that produced a vast majority of the parts, both revolutionary and old, used for aviation and space travel. The fact that the Barton family was based mostly in this town had actually been one of the big excuses that the Winner tribe had migrated all the way over from the Mediterranean. The Barton Foundation and Winner Enterprises, which dealt vastly in the design of many of the crafts Barton supplied parts for, often worked hand in hand together. Trowa’s family was obviously set for many years to come, leaving the offspring room to experiment with more creative pursuits in their futures.

Quatre’s sisters were all in a similar position of freedom, just as long as all the old family expectations for them to marry well and whatnot were upheld. He wished that his father were not so locked onto this idea of him being the one to head Winner Enterprises. Quatre always told himself the only way he would ever work for his family’s business would be if he became directly involved with production and testing. Running the business itself was just of no interest to him. That and, if he could help it, he would give just about anything to get away from Winner Enterprises and start a fresh career doing something he really loved.

“And well,” Trowa started up again about his father, as if on an afterthought, “that would be cool; there’s nothing more I would rather do with my life, actually. I mean, I really, really love the game and all, but sometimes it’s annoying hearing my dad go on and on about how it’s the only thing I’d be good for and that it’s all that’s worth doing. I mean, he’s not home too much because of his job and all, but whenever he is, it’s all he can ever talk about and it drives me out of my mind. If it weren’t for the fact that it’s something that I really want for myself, well”—he chuckled dryly here—“let’s just say I might have killed my old man a while back.”

“You don’t really mean that, do you?” Quatre asked with wide eyes. As much as he found his own father at fault for, he would never even dream of spilling the blood of another, especially the blood that ran through his own veins.

“It’s just that he makes it seem like I couldn’t do anything else if I wanted to.” Trowa explained with a bitter snort. After a heavy pause, he soon smiled again, something he seemed to do a lot when he was talking to Quatre and said; “Sometimes I think of just giving up on lax to spite my old man but… well…. I tried it once, you see, and even though I was doing okay, my mind just kept wandering back to the game. I had to play, no ifs, ands or buts.” He shrugged and returned his gaze to the ocean, slouching in a relaxed position on the bench, carefully leaning his back against the glass window behind them. “I guess it’s just in my blood.”

“Ah, I see,” Quatre answered, his smile returning once again. He just knew he had been right about Trowa, right from the second he had noticed him on drums that one day. Not only did he completely shatter the jock mold, despite the fact he was indeed extremely fond of lacrosse, but he was also one of the most wonderful people Quatre ever had the pleasure of meeting. He was always insightful and kind, even if he was a little rough around the edges. Yes, Quatre decided to himself with a solid nod of his head as he mulled it over, Duo was most certainly wrong about Trowa, never mind what he says! He’s very intelligent, even if he is a little on the quiet side. Quatre’s mind did a little skip to another thought that he found was rather closely related to that one. Does that mean he might have been wrong about Heero too? I would not be surprised….

“Yo, dude, whatcha thinking about there?” Trowa called, leaning over to pass his hand back and forth in front of Quatre’s vacant expression. Quatre quickly startled from his thoughts with a hasty apology and turned to give Trowa his full attention. Trowa laughed at his reaction, “Man, I was beginning to think you’d died or something! What’s weighing you down there?” He tentatively reached over to pat Quatre lightly on the back as he added, “If you’re still mulling over your dad and all that shit, please don’t. It’ll work itself out one day.”

With a tiny grin of appreciation at Trowa’s sympathy, Quatre chose to let Trowa know exactly where his mind was. Trowa would probably be the best person to ask about Heero anyway. “So what about Heero? What’s his story? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like him before.”

“What do you mean?” Trowa arched a confused brow, that pang of doubt stabbing his chest again when Quatre brought Heero’s name up. “Why’re you so curious? He’s just… Heero….”

“I dunno,” Quatre shrugged idly in response. “He’s interesting, the one person I’ve ever met that I just don’t… get, you know? You don’t have to be real specific if you don’t want to. Like, what do his parents want out of him and all? I’m just curious is all.” Quatre conveniently forgot to mention that Heero was the one person he did not seem to be able to use his Sense on at will. As previously noticed the night before, it seemed that Heero could just turn his aura off at will, only to have it spontaneously flicker out of his control when his mind became to preoccupied with other things to worry about stifling it. Once again, Quatre wondered why Heero would feel a need to do this and shuddered as the idea that he really could not project himself into the world returned to his mind.

“I guess,” Trowa started off warily, trying to wrench that knife of doubt and jealousy out of his heart. Tossing said emotions aside, Trowa shook it off, deciding he was being paranoid and silly. “Well,” he started afresh, a pensive look crossing his face as he turned more towards Quatre, rubbing his chin with his index finger in thought, “I can’t say that I exactly ‘get’ him either. And I couldn’t tell you what his parents want for him because I’ve never met them.”

Quatre was shocked and the wide-eyed expression on his face most certainly showed it. “Trowa!” he exclaimed, “I thought you and he were best friends! How could you have never met his parents?”

“We are but….” Trowa trailed off, suddenly finding something very interesting on the porch roof gently sloping downward overhead.

“But…?” Quatre prompted.

“…I don’t think he’s ever met them either,” Trowa sighed dejectedly and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared out at the ever-changing ocean. “Heero is… different from most kids,” he said, his voice heavy and almost sad sounding, as if he were reading from the record of a rather melancholy memory. “He just kind of… showed up one day during the summer between ninth and tenth grade. He’s been hanging around ever since.” He took a quick look back over his shoulder at Quatre, who looked like he was about to say something about this extremely intriguing and somewhat surprising personal fact about Heero’s origins. Trowa seemed to be able to know exactly what was on the tip of Quatre’s tongue and went right on answering the unspoken question. “Don’t ask me where he came from. I wouldn’t know.” He paused for a second and returned his sad green eyes to the sea, adding, “I doubt he knows either….”

“That’s so… that’s so sad,” Quatre said, his Sense flying off the handle as waves of despondency crashed off Trowa’s skin with more fervor than those of the ocean before them. “… I wonder what kinds of things he’s seen in his past to make him so forsaken he can’t even talk to his best friend,” Quatre said, his heart clamping almost painfully as his own compassion at the story mingled with that of Trowa. Nevertheless, it felt good to finally get that card out on the table; the thought had been plaguing him relentlessly ever since he had first been caught in that icy stare of Heero’s.

“He never says anything,” Trowa answered solemnly. “And even if I ask, all he says is that it’s not important or none of my business. Either it’s really not that important or his past isn’t something he wants to talk about. But like I said, sometimes I think that it’s just that he can’t remember. I think he feels it’s weak not to know much more about yourself than a few vague memories that don’t seem to really mean anything when you look back on them.”
Trowa’s words were somewhat disturbing to Quatre, especially with the added insight his Sense gave to the whole situation, though Trowa was not aware of that last aspect. Maybe one day he would tell him; one day when he had really figured things out, starting with the mysterious Heero and going on to how he felt about Trowa right down to understanding what made Duo the Duo he had come to know.

Suddenly a dark shadow rocketed up from the boardwalk, popping up over the rail of the porch in such a quick and unexpected motion that both Quatre and Trowa physically jumped a couple inches off the bench, instantly breaking the somber mood that had settled between them.

“Just what in the name of Allah do you think you’re doing, Duo Maxwell!?” Quatre panted hoarsely, still clutching his chest as he tried to regulate his shocked breathing. “You nearly scared the life out of me!”

Duo was standing on the lowest rung of the porch rail, gripping the flat wooden banister with both hands as he leaned over it to look right into Quatre’s eyes, his jaw set in such a way that it was hard for Quatre to discern what his mood was. Even though Quatre could feel the confused hubbub of chaotic emotions surging around the braided mechanic’s body, they whipped about in such fierce indistinguishable waves that they blanketed each other and made it impossible for Quatre’s Sense to dissect.

“So-o-o here you are, Quatre Rabarba Winner!” Duo scoffed in a tone that started to set alarms off in Quatre’s head. He unconsciously started to press himself against the display window behind him. “Been wondering what happened to you.”

“Now you look here, Duo,” Trowa started in a harsh tone, sitting foreword on the bench a little. “Just where do you come off—”

“Can it, Barton!” Duo silenced him, throwing an irritated snap of his fingers and his thumb together at him, illustrating a clamped mouth. It was the only thing that denoted that Duo knew that Trowa was even there, for he had not once even turned to look at him in the slightest, even as he was telling him to be quiet.

“Uh, Duo,” Quatre began sheepishly, holding up a finger like he was trying to meekly raise a point. “I really think we….”

He trailed off as Duo took in a heavy breath of air that involved the swelling of his entire body as he raised himself a little higher over the rail, leaning in further towards Quatre. Just when the blonde boy was sure Duo was going to bite his head off, literally this time, he found himself set up for a surprise as Duo blurted out, all the menacing traces about him gone in a flash. “Hey, look Q, I’m really sorry and I won’t yell at you again ever, I promise.” He held two fingers up in a scout’s honour salute beside the jet of chestnut hair that fell over his right temple.

“I… You… Uh… What?” Quatre was flabbergasted. He decided he would take Noin and the rest out for a really nice meal later that week. Heaven knew that they must have done quite a bit of negotiating to bring something like this on so soon, from Duo Maxwell, no less!

“But that still doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind!” Duo huffed as if to reassure Quatre that this battle was far from over. He turned to glare darkly at Trowa, whose face was a rather apprehensive expression of confused disdain.

Quatre sighed and shook his head, a smile slowly spreading across his lips. Well, I’ll still take them out for dinner anyway, he decided to himself. It’s a step in the right direction.
Suddenly the corners of Duo’s mouth dropped from a straight line to a heavy arch, his bold eyebrows dipping into an angry ‘V’ over his pert elfish nose as he noticed something beyond Trowa. He let out a tiny growl from the back of his throat as he hopped up onto the banister, crouching atop the flat rail like a cat and he frowning darkly at the boardwalk as a lone figure turned off the wooden walkway to climb up the rickety sea-worn steps to Nataku’s porch.

Quatre and Trowa both followed the line of Duo’s vision to see who had gotten him so riled, each quietly noting to himself that doing so really was not necessary to know. Just as Quatre leaned forward a bit so he could see beyond Trowa, the small slender form of Heero Yuy emerged on the top step, a cardboard storage box tucked under one arm, a set of jangling keys looped around one finger. He lingered briefly in front of the surf shop’s locked front door and offered a curt nod of greeting to Trowa and, presumably, Quatre, his eyes flicking for one nervous second at the dark feline coiled up on the porch’s railing. Quatre tried hard to conceal the visible flinch that rattled his body as Heero’s elusive aura flared up around him as their eyes met for a second, the sparks between the two practically visible as they clashed.

The rattle of keys turning in the lock and the heavy sound of the doorjamb being drawn back brought the tension to a halt just as it was beginning to reach its peak. Heero pulled his keys out of the narrow slot, dropped them into the crate under his arm, gave one more nod in Trowa’s direction and disappeared into the surf shop, slamming the door behind him. The faint click of the doorjamb being turned from the inside could faintly be heard by the trio on the porch as Heero locked the door after himself.

“And just what was he doing here?” Duo snapped at Trowa in an accusing tone, as if he expected the cinnamon haired youth to be able to explain each and every move his friend made at all hours of the day.

Trowa shrugged and answered in as brief a tone as possible, a little miffed at Duo’s obvious disregard for him. “Heero helps Meilan around the shop, doing inventory and heavy-lifting and such.”

“He works in a board shop?” Duo questioned skeptically, one eyebrow arched high over a large plum coloured eye. “Didn’t think him the type….” He glared sharply at Quatre as he finished off harshly, “at all.”

“Well people surprise you every day,” Quatre retorted in a similar tone, crossing his arms. “Maybe if you took the time to know him you wouldn’t be so hard on him. Maybe he’s got just as much a reason to be the way he is—just as much as you do, Duo Maxwell!”

“I guess,” Duo shrugged, settling down in a much more comfortable position on the rail, on leg dangling on either side of the wooden barrier, his hands pressed firmly on the board between his thighs for extra support so he would not slip and fall. “That’s still no excuse to be so damn mean all the time!”

“You’re too critical of people, that’s your problem,” Quatre commented snidely as he sulked a little. He supposed that even if Duo was willing to put up with his friendship with Trowa, he was still a bit annoyed that Duo was being so damn protective. I mean, I suppose it’s nice that he’s such a good friend, Quatre thought to himself, his brows knitting together pensively. But really, I wish he wouldn’t go dissecting every person in the world until he finds some excuse not to let me hang out with them just because he’s paranoid. What a news-flash it’ll be when someone points out some flaw with him.

Duo’s voice suddenly penetrated his inner mumbling, jolting Quatre into an alert position on the bench. “Well anyway, I hate to drag you off from your hot date, Q,” Duo was saying as he hopped down onto the porch with a thump, leaning back on the rail, “but your big sis came wandering around looking for you. She was saying something about one of your cousins getting engaged and dinner or something. Anyway, I told her that I’d go hunting for you and drag you on home so….”

Quatre threw a nervous look over at Trowa, upset that he would have to go off so abruptly. Even if the rest of his family was willing to conform into the old traditions of the Winner family, Quatre was not about to shaft one of his cousins on such a happy day. He liked to think that whenever one of his female relations got married, even if her fiancée was of the required well-born breed, that she at least found something worthwhile in her soon-to-be-husband that went beyond simply material possessions.

“It’s fine. I understand,” Trowa answered the unspoken question with a slight shrug. “It’s your family. No big deal.”

Quatre’s face shot from apprehensive to relieved and thankful in less than half a heartbeat. “I’m sorry,” he said anyway, even though he knew that there was nothing for him to be sorry about. “Things like this are always coming up at the last second with my family. It’s so big, I swear there’s an anniversary or a birthday or two or three for every day of the year!”

Trowa laughed at the comment and made a little shooing motion with his hand as if to illustrate that they best get going. “Well make sure to invite me to the next party you throw for one of those anniversaries, okay?” he joked amiably as Duo started to drag Quatre by the wrist down the steps towards the boardwalk.

“Of course!” Quatre called back over his shoulder, meaning full well to keep the promise whether Trowa or his family liked it or not. He could always do with someone other than Iria or Duo to keep him company at those huge shindigs. He really hated big to-dos, especially when he had to go them alone. “See you at school, Trowa!” He waved his arm back and forth in a huge arc, Duo still tugging him away from the board shop.

“Aw hush it, Q,” Duo hissed under his breath as they got further from Nataku’s, giving Quatre’s arm a rough tug. “Your yelling is splitting my eardrums!”

“THIS BETTER!?” Quatre shouted purposely into Duo’s ear, raising his voice a couple decibels louder than it had been when he had been calling his good-byes to Trowa.

“Don’t you try and look mad, Duo Maxwell,” Quatre said in a flatly as he wrested his hand from Duo’s and jogged a little to keep pace with his friend’s long-legged strides. “I can see you trying to hide that grin of yours!”

Duo was indeed trying hard to stifle a laugh at Quatre’s reaction to his prior irritated request. It had just been so un-Quatre and so perfectly timed that even Duo had to applaud its humourous qualities. He had to admit that Quatre was getting better at cracking a good laugh or two, finally starting to crawl out of the timid rich boy’s shell he had been hiding away in for so long. Proof of that also came in the growing rebelliousness in Quatre towards his father and simply accepting whatever he lay down as law. Duo chalked it up to the fact that Quatre finally had other people who he could relate to other than just his older sister, fine woman though she might be.

“So Duo, you pulling any big jobs right now?” Quatre suddenly asked out of the blue, stirring conversation between the two as they headed down the boardwalk towards the street that Duo’s alley branched off of. “Or is Deathscythe the only thing you got on your plate right now?”

“There’s a big race coming up in two weeks and Deathscythe’s gotta be tough,” Duo answered, folding his arms behind his head, braid swishing like a feline’s tail behind his back as he walked. His large indigo hued irises darted sideways at Quatre as he went on. “It’s against White Fang and their precious Tallgeese. I’m not gonna lose to them.”

White Fang was the big juvenile punk gang in town, headed by a teenaged street rat by the name of Solo. Duo had actually run around with White Fang for a few years when the church orphanage he had been staying at shut down and left him homeless and hungry yet again. It had been a comfortable change back to what he had always been used to, even if he no longer had his old fellow mutant friend from his childhood gang, who had somehow managed to get adopted for good before the old orphanage went down the tubes. At least, that is what Duo had always assumed; he was just sent back by another rejecting family to find that his friend was no longer there, presumably taken in by some family who was hopefully accepting of his mutant traits. Since then, he had never seen hide nor tail of his first and probably most treasured friend and could only hope that he had found a way to do well for himself.

In any case, Duo had found solace in the gang’s leader, Solo, who had taken Duo under his wing as a sort of protégé apprentice-type companion. Even though Solo was considerably older than Duo was, they had grown to be fairly close-knit friends and Solo constantly talked about how he knew that Duo would someday make a wonderful successor to him as chief of the gang. Even though this gang also carried its fair share of kids who were bigoted against mutants, Duo’s tight affinity with Solo kept him pretty much safe from any torment like what he suffered in his old gang. Solo even affectionately called Duo the ‘Little Monster’. And Duo probably would still be hanging out with the White Fang boys if one little incident, a curse disguised as a blessing, had not interrupted the smooth harmony with which everything operated amongst the gang.

A couple years back, when Duo had been about fourteen, a virus swept all down the West coast. Just about everyone with any amount of money was able to either move away or afford the vaccine that protected against the pestilent disease before it became a real threat. Unfortunately, that meant that for kids like Duo, Solo and the rest of White Fang, obtaining such precautions were out of the question legally. A lot of the White Fang members either died or aborted the gang to hitchhike their way to a safer town far away. But Duo, determined to be loyal to the gang and to Solo, the closest thing to family he had ever had, took the risk of stealing a bottle of the vaccine from the local hospital for the few gang members who were left. Of course, with Duo’s luck, luck that Duo had ever since deemed as the Devil’s Luck, by the time he was able to get a bottle of the stuff, it was too late to be a true salvation to the suffering gang. All the vaccine could do at that point was stop the spreading of the disease and prevent any further damage to the infected boys. Solo and the six gang members who were left, though still alive, were horribly scarred by the painful boils that came with the disease. Yet somehow, Duo had managed to make it through this epidemic without showing even the slightest sign of infection, despite all the close contact he had with the highly contagious virus. It was not a personal surprise to Duo as wounds and sicknesses he had endured in the past had healed almost instantly, like some kind of magic. The knitting of little flesh wounds like that had never been a cause for too much trouble in the past as it was something that no one (except for Solo) seemed to notice as they were little sweet nothings that did not affect the gang as a whole. But surviving something like that plague, which had wiped out a good portion of White Fang and left the remaining kids terribly weak and physically marred, was a cause for jealousy and dudgeon.

Solo, whose face was particularly scarred and disfigured from the incident, became especially resentful towards Duo, angry and jealous that the Little Monster stayed beautiful and clean when all he usually ever did was run and hide. All of them started jeering Duo and calling him a freak, forcing poor adolescent Duo to make a getaway from White Fang. Even after so many years, despite the addition of many new members, those blemishes were still painful and left the remainder of original White Fang somewhat crippled, made up for only in their doubled attitude and acrimony. Solo and Duo had been at each other’s throats ever since, Duo upset at such a betrayal whilst Solo led his followers in a purely self-motivated umbrage against not only Duo, but also any mutant they could get their hands on. A lot of mutant hate crimes had been at the hands of Solo and White Fang, fueled solely by the fact that the rest of the gang was cursed to bear the faces of monsters for the rest of their lives while the ones they saw as the ‘true beasts’ were able to go on without a second thought about it.

It had been around then when Duo realized that he truly was alone in the world and that if he was going to get anywhere, he was going to have to hack it on his own. This newfound drive resulted in his enrollment at Romefeller High and the beginnings of his garage, affectionately dubbed Maxwell’s Little Shop of Horrors, whose sole purpose was to keep Duo’s pride and joy, Deathscythe, in top form. The more drag races Duo triumphed over White Fang in added more to his personal sense of pride, proving to both parties that he did not need them to function anymore. Duo had figured out the hard way that even those who you consider your friends could turn out to be your worst enemies, adding to Duo’s mistrust of non-mutants. Even Noin, who he considered one of his best friends, was constantly on Duo’s radar, just in case.

“Duo, don’t you think you’re just a little obsessed with always beating White Fang out?” Quatre asked, resting a hand on each hip in an effort to be stern. Even though he had heard Duo’s story about Solo many a time, he could not help but feel that Duo would be best to just leave that whole world behind him. His Sense twisted in odd contortions whenever Duo had a scrape with Solo and did back flips every time Duo raced, even though he knew that Duo was an expert driver, probably the best in town. Maybe he was worrying too much, but his Sense had a nasty habit of making even the most minute of emotions seem tenfold what they would to an ordinary person. “They’re dangerous kids, you know, and they hate you personally!”

“Shut up, Q! You wouldn’t understand! Solo is dead to me now! That’s not really the point anymore, now is it?” Duo snapped, suddenly angry and defensive. Whenever Quatre tried to sway Duo from his ambitious head-to-head collisions with Solo, Duo would get worked up and go ranting. “It’s not just a personal thing anymore!” he argued, fighting hard not to spontaneously disperse into a cloud of particles, as he was prone to do whenever he was overly riled. Even still, there was a slight waver in his definition, atoms whizzing away from his central being in an effort to separate, held close only by the force of Duo’s struggling willpower. “They go smashing on just about every mutant kid in town. I’m not about to just sit back and let them when it’s my fault that they’re so damn horrible in the first place! Solo used to not even care about that kind of shit; now it rules his life!”

“Duo, you couldn’t have helped what happened. The more you worry about what happened years ago, the more alive Solo will be,” Quatre consoled his friend, reaching out to grab Duo’s hand just as it was about to fly away into a ripple of clouded particles, holding him fast and solid. “You tried to help and they didn’t appreciate it, that’s all. And just about every kid who’s familiar with the racing circuit knows that you and Deathscythe are still the fastest, faster than Solo and Tallgeese.”

“This is a very legit point,” Duo murmured thoughtfully, calming down for a moment and focusing on the warmth of Quatre’s hand wrapped around his own as an anchor to keep him grounded in one piece before he got carried away. “We are the fastest!” He suddenly got a look on his face that reminded Quatre of a giddy five-year-old as he whipped about on his booted heel and flashed a peace sign, long braid sailing around like a whip behind him.

“…So you don’t think you might have time to do some extra work, do you?” Quatre rounded back to his initial point quietly, knowing that the key to getting his way with this next request would be careful wording and feeding Duo’s enormous ego as much as possible—yet without being obvious.

“What kind of extra work?” Duo asked, folding his arms behind his head again as he resumed his former pace, chipper at the thought of his lovely deuce coup and the kick-ass modifications Noin, Hilde and he had done her up with over the years.

“Uh, well, earlier today at Gifford’s, Trowa asked me—hey, hey, just hear me out first!” Quatre yanked Duo’s hand again, this time putting a little muscle behind it and managing to twist Duo’s arm painfully in its socket as he came screeching to a halt. He breathed heavily and started over. “Trowa asked me if I’d ask you to do some work on his brother’s car ‘cause he figures it’s about time their family gets more than one moving vehicle. It’s a kind of old thing and there aren’t any big shops in town that service cars that date before the past fifty years or so. And since I told him how good you are with machines, well….”

“Wait, wait,” Duo said, waving his hand in a signal for Quatre to slow up for a second.

“You want me to help your boyfriend’s bro—”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever,” Duo scoffed with a roll of his eyes before picking up again. “Your boyfriend’s brother’s car just like that, when I’m not even particularly fond of said boyfriend—”

“You just aren’t fond of his best friend and he’s not my boyfriend!” Quatre practically squealed, his face a bright shade of pink that contrasted highly with the brilliant mandarin orange highlights the sunset was painting across his cheeks. “…at least not now…” he whispered quietly to himself, though Duo scooped up an earful of his murmuring with an almost sadistic smirk.

“…And you expect me to do this out of the goodness of my heart,” Duo finished, crossing his arms over his chest finally, “and for no money at all! Tch, you must think I’m running some cheap business or something there, Q.”

“Who said you wouldn’t be paid?” Quatre asked with a sincere look of confusion dotting his angelic features.

“If you’re going to slip some cash into my ass pocket just to get me to bang around with your main squeeze’s car, then forget it!” Duo responded with an accusatory gleam ringing in his voice. “I don’t care how well off you are Q; I refuse to take your money!”

“See, there you go again, jumping to conclusions,” Quatre also crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to mimic Duo’s tough-guy posture. “Trowa intends to fully pay you for your work and reimburse you for any parts you might need so no stealing.”

Duo frowned and looked away, spitting a small wad of white saliva off to the side. “I still don’t wanna waste my time junking up Mr. Future-Brother-In-Law’s car just ‘cause your boy’s too lazy to drive him around. I mean, come on! This town’s not that big!”

Quatre decided it was time to whip out the big guns. “It’s a Mini Cooper,” he said flatly as Duo started to walk off down the boardwalk. He went in for the kill. “Red too, with white stripes. A turbo would do nicely on a hot little job like that, don’t you think, Mr. Ratchet and Clank?”

Duo froze in mid-step, one foot levitating a couple inches off the wooded planks that made up the walkway beneath them. He slowly lowered it back to the ground and turned around, a new look of interest gleaming in his eyes. While Minis were not exactly the speediest creatures on the road, they sure were sexy little beasts and with the right adjustments and tweaks, they could ride like thunder. They stopped producing the line of cars years before Duo had even been born and they were only available used and through vintage dealers, making them a rather obscure and delightful sight, despite the raging popularity they once possessed. He had only actually physically seen three or four in his whole life and the chance to actually modify one had only been a dream. But now, well, it almost made him forget just whom Trowa was and who his best friend happened to be.

“I take it you’ve had a change of heart,” Quatre said in that same flat deadpan tone, a victorious smirk befitting of any Winner tugging at the corners of his lips, knowing that Duo had snapped at the bait and swallowed it hook, line and sinker.

“We-e-ell,” Duo said with shifty eyes to the right and left as he scratched the back of his head as if he were still debating making a big exception for Quatre. “I guess I could take a little look-see. No promises it’ll be the next Deathscythe, mind, but I suppose I could make it putter along well enough….”

“Aw, just shut it and just admit that you’re practically drooling over the chance to work on a Mini,” Quatre rolled his eyes and started to walk onwards, a very accentuated spring in his step as he moved. He glanced over his shoulder at the gaping Duo standing behind him and winked. “It doesn’t take any particular skill to figure you out, Duo, no matter how much you insist that there’s another misunderstood person hidden underneath all that bad-ass skin of yours. Even a complete idiot without my Sense can tell that you’re something other than what you try to make yourself out to be.”

“Is it really?” Duo practically whined as he caught up with Quatre in two great leaping strides. “I don’t want my life an open book, Q.”

“Oh it’s open alright,” Quatre nodded his head vigourously to strengthen his point. He stopped bobbing his head and filled in, his voice suddenly much more serious than it had been before. “It’s just reading the hieroglyphics you keep your life recorded in. You wear every facet of your person right there for the world to see; the hard part is just deciphering it.”

“Don’t worry on it,” Duo scoffed with a downward swoop of his hand as he threw his other arm around Quatre’s shoulders. “Not even I have me figured out, so I’m just there with the rest of the club, see?”

“You’re a real card there, Duo,” Quatre laughed as they turned down Duo’s street. “A real card….”

(x) X (x)

<A/N> I’m soooo happy that you guys are getting really into this story! I never expected it to be such a bang! In any case, please keep reading and reviewing; it’ll get you chappies faster! By the way, much as I love just hearing the one little word of praise, if you can spare the time, I’d really like to know details about what you thought. It’s always food for thought on things that have yet to be written... that are far, far, ahead of here! *laughs evilly and waves later chapters* Lookie what I have, hehe!

PS: Chapter title is a Jimi Hendrix song, of course! I really do need to get a life, I think.

PPS: Schools should all be burned... *growls at school* Bastards... they’re driving me crazy!

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