( Chapter 12 )
Duo woke up.
For
the first few moments, as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes and blinked them into
focus, he couldn't work out why he felt headachy and still tired. His eyes and
throat were sore, his nose felt raw... and then he remembered.
*Oh,
hell,* he thought, collapsing back onto the futon. *I did... I
told him... oh, hell. Everything. I cried on his shoulder like a baby. I
can't believe I did that! He's gotta think I'm such a loser. Weak. 'Fei
hates weakness...*
*How am I going to face
him?*
----------
Wufei almost tiptoed around the apartment as
he finished yesterday's dishes and tidied up; half his attention was turned
towards the bedroom, watching and listening for the first signs of Duo waking
up.
*He didn't have anything to eat last night,* he finally
thought, tossing the dishcloth onto the bench. *It's almost ten o'clock; I
have to get some sort of breakfast into him, and he needs to take his medicine.
Time to get him up...*
"Duo?" he said softly, pulling the door open.
"Are you awake?"
There was no answer. The covers had been pulled into a
heap on top of the futon, with Duo (presumably) curled up underneath. This was
confirmed when Wufei got a little closer and saw one sock-clad foot poking out
from the pile.
"Duo? Come on, time to wake up..." Kneeling by the tangle,
Wufei carefully pulled the blankets away. As he'd thought, Duo was curled up
into a tight ball, clutching his braid. From under his fringe of hair, one
slightly bloodshot eye peered up and then blinked shut.
"Time for
breakfast," Wufei said, resisting the urge to reach out and stroke his
fingertips gently over the bruise on Duo's jaw, just now starting to turn green
and brown at the edges. "Would you like it in bed, or out at the table? Your
choice."
Duo didn't reply, but his eyes opened and he sat up,
disentangling his legs from the blankets. He kept his head down, watching what
he was doing, carefully not looking at the other boy.
*...We're
back to not speaking, I see,* Wufei thought with a twinge of regret. *I
suppose it's only to be expected; I think he bared everything to me last
night, and no-one likes to be left that vulnerable and exposed.* "You don't
need to hurry," he said aloud, rising to his feet. "Breakfast will be ready when
you are, not before." *And you'll talk to me again when you're ready, too. I
won't push.*
----------
Locked in the bathroom, Duo washed his
face with the coldest water he could get out of the tap, rinsing off tearstains
and trying to hide the other signs that he'd been crying.
*It won't do
any good, though. It's not like he doesn't know already. He's probably disgusted
that I dumped all my problems on him like that. Too weak to handle my own
shit... what if he doesn't want me to stay here any more? He said... he said
he'd stay with me... but... what if he doesn't want to
now?*
*I guess I'll find out soon enough.* He swallowed hard,
and reached for the door.
----------
Once again, Wufei found
himself talking a lot to fill up Duo's silence. Duo was listening -- he
shrugged a shoulder or nodded slightly at appropriate spots in the monologue --
but he kept his eyes firmly fixed on his bowl of apple-cinnamon oatmeal and
didn't open his mouth except to put his spoon in.
Finally, Wufei stood to
put his own bowl and spoon in the sink. "I'll just go tidy up in the bedroom;
then it's up to you whether you want to go back to bed or settle down on the
couch." He paused behind Duo's chair, one hand reaching out to tentatively
stroke down the long braid. "Or... if you want to take a shower, I could help
with your hair again," he said wistfully.
Blushing, he pulled his hand
away and walked into the bedroom without waiting for an answer. *Idiot!
Moron! What's he going to think about
that?!*
----------
Duo's eyes went wide as he felt the
gentle touch on his hair; then it was gone, and so was Wufei.
*He...
doesn't mind touching me?* he thought slowly, still looking down into his
bowl. *He wants to help with my hair? And... he didn't sound angry or
upset...*
*Maybe... maybe he's not disgusted? Maybe I
didn't screw things up again?*
A little bit of the pain in
Duo's chest eased as he relaxed slightly.
* * * * *
Quatre stalked
down a corridor towards the meeting room, clutching a sheaf of printout so
tightly that about a quarter of each page was pleated into a crushed
mass.
Walking beside him, Trowa shot a quick glance sideways at his cold,
angry expression and winced slightly as he looked away. *This may not
be the best time to have this meeting. He really didn't take it well this
morning when I finally got that search program to work... finding out that Duo
tried to call us twenty-seven times...* Green eyes narrowed
slightly. *Still, it's not as if Taarnby doesn't deserve
this.*
Quatre's lip curled into a snarl as they turned a corner and
he saw Taarnby and his lawyer walking towards them, but he controlled himself
and forced a bland, calm expression onto his face. He didn't look down at the
printed e-mails and phone messages in his hand, but lines from them flicked
through his mind in quick succession.
*'Call me, okay? My number
is...'*
*'...don't know if my e-mails are getting through,
so...'*
*'...please ask either Mr Winner or Mr
Barton...'*
*'...could you get Heero to call? I'll be
at...'*
*'...please call me...'*
*'...please get in
touch...'*
*'...please let me
know...'*
*'...please...'*
Taarnby stepped up to him with a
broad grin on his face, reaching forwards to shake hands. "Quatre! I'm Matt
Taarnby. Nice to finally meet you! I don't know why you called this meeting,
but--"
Ignoring the outstretched hand, Quatre walked straight past him
into the meeting room.
"--I guess it's pretty... important..." Taarnby
trailed off uncertainly, then recovered slightly. "You'd be Trowa, right? Trowa
Barton? I--"
Trowa shot him an icy glare and followed Quatre, trailed
silently by half a dozen of WEI's best corporate lawyers. One or two nodded
politely to Taarnby's companion, but they all ignored Taarnby as if he wasn't
there.
"Jeez," he muttered, "you'd think I had the plague or
something--"
"Matt," his lawyer said in a tight voice, "I don't know what
the hell is going on, but it's not good. Shut up and let me do the
talking, okay?"
"All right, all right, no need to snap--"
"What
did you do?"
"Nothing!" Taarnby spread his hands in an exaggerated
gesture of innocence. "Come on, Jase, you've known me for years!"
"That's
the problem," he said under his breath as he followed Taarnby into the room.
"I've been acquainted with you for years, but I don't think I know
you."
As they all settled into chairs around the long table, one of
Quatre's lawyers handled the introductions. "Mr. Winner and Mr. Barton, of
course. Mr. Taarnby. I believe some of my colleagues already know Mr. Taarnby's
lawyer, Mr. MacAllister--"
As the introductions continued, Jase
MacAllister nodded politely to each person, but most of his attention was on
Quatre. *Damn. I think he's furious. What in God's name could Matt
have done to affect him like this?! I've seen him negotiate before... no matter
what, he keeps smiling and he's always polite. I don't know what it would take
to make Winner be rude.*
Quatre's lawyer finished and looked
expectantly at his boss.
"I called this meeting to inform you that as of
now, the contract between Winner Enterprises Incorporated and Elite Secretarial
Services is severed," Quatre said coldly. "There will be no termination
payment. Some of the staff your company provided to us will be offered jobs
within WEI's structure; the rest needn't bother to come in tomorrow.
We--"
"Wha-- but-- hey! You can't do that!" Taarnby sputtered.
"The contract says you can't do that!"
"One moment please,"
MacAllister said quickly, holding up a finger; then he turned to his client and
lowered his voice. "What are you talking about? The contract I worked on with
your father had no such clause."
"I wrote a new one," Taarnby
muttered.
"You what?"
"I wrote a new one! It was no big
deal--"
"You have no legal training, and-- never mind that now. Do
you have a copy of that contract here so I can at least read it before I
start trying to negotiate about it?"
Taarnby blinked. "I figured you'd
bring all the paperwork and stuff."
"I can't bring something if I don't
know it exists!" MacAllister hissed, then turned back towards the other
end of the table, clearing his throat. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Winner, but I
seem to be missing some of the information I need to properly advise my client.
Do you, ah, happen to have a copy of the contract here so I can familiarise
myself with its provisions before we proceed?"
One of Quatre's lawyers
passed a disk to him, and MacAllister quickly slotted it into his laptop and
started to read.
Two minutes later, he turned away from the screen and
glared at his client. "Mister Taarnby," he growled slowly, "are you
insane?!"
"Hey!"
"This piece of shit," he waved
contemptuously at the display, "isn't worth the electricity to put it up on
screen. It's unenforceable. I don't know how you got it
signed--"
"Your client," Quatre interrupted, "brought this contract to my
sister Serena three days after my father died. She didn't read it." As
MacAllister choked, he continued. "As you've noticed, it's unenforceable --
especially as Serena Winner has never held any position with WEI,
much less one with the authority to sign contracts."
"Hey, she's your
sister!" Taarnby protested. "She's a member of the family, that's good
enough, right?"
"No. It's not," Quatre snapped. "Furthermore, even if you
had a valid contract with us, the quality of the service your staff provides has
dropped to almost zero in certain areas since you rewrote the standard
operating procedures. There are thousands of messages that never reached
anyone who could decide what to do about them--"
"Well, hey, no
harm done, right? We'll just go back to the old SOPs, go back to the old
contract, and everybody's happy, right?" Taarnby said nervously, glancing
sideways at his lawyer. "C'mon, Jase, help me out here--"
"NO HARM
DONE?!" Quatre flung his handful of papers straight at Taarnby's face. They
fluttered down around him as he yelped and jumped, nearly sending his chair over
backwards; MacAllister picked up a couple that fell into his lap.
"How
dare you?!" Quatre hissed, glaring. "You have the unmitigated gall
to sit there, after you took advantage of my sister's grief, after your idiotic
blundering almost killed one of my friends, and tell me 'no harm
done'?!"
"Kill?!" Taarnby squeaked. "Hey, no,
wait--"
"Those are all messages from one of our best friends," Trowa said
coldly. "Because the receptionists followed your SOPs, none of them
actually reached us."
"Duo Maxwell almost died because he couldn't
contact us." Quatre sat back in his chair, visibly forcing himself back under
control.
Jase MacAllister carefully set the papers down on the table,
ejected the disk, closed his laptop, and stood up to leave.
"Jase -- hey,
Jase, where are you going? Come on, talk to them -- they can't blame
me for this, right? Right? Jase!"
"Get yourself a new lawyer, Mr.
Taarnby. If you can."
"No! No, wait, Jase -- MacAllister -- come
on! We've got a contract!"
"Not any more, we don't. Your
father was my first client, and I'm genuinely sorry to sever my relationship
with the company he built, but I'll have nothing more to do with you. I'm a
lawyer; I'm a corporate lawyer; I've been called a shark; but I am
not a bottom feeder. Anyone who'd pull something like this--" he
brandished the disk, "--I won't work for."
"I'll sue
you!"
MacAllister laughed. "If you've got anything left after Mr.
Winner's through with you, you're welcome to try. I wrote our
contract. If I were you, I'd just be thankful Mr. Winner hasn't yet mentioned
charging you with criminal negligence." He nodded politely towards Quatre and
Trowa. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen? I seem to have developed an urgent need
to be elsewhere."
Quatre stood up. "We'll see you out, sir; I believe we
can leave this with my staff." Trowa followed him silently.
"You
can't blame me for what happened to your friend!" Taarnby protested
desperately. "I mean, come on! I never knew he existed until you
told me!"
"I know, Mr. Taarnby," Quatre said coldly as he headed for the
door. "That's why I'm only going to ruin
you."
----------
Half an hour later, when Quatre and Trowa got
home, the butler was waiting for them.
"--would have invited him for
afternoon tea or something," Quatre was saying as he stepped out of the limo,
"but I doubt I'd be a good host today."
"Maybe some other time," Trowa
said, eyeing the front door of the mansion. "Quatre, is it a bad sign when Arif
gets the door open before you even start up the steps?"
"Um... it could
be..."
"Let's find out, then." Trowa stalked up the
stairs.
"Master Quatre, Master Trowa, welcome home." Arif bowed. "You
have a visitor. He was most insistent, and holds a Winner Enterprises identity
card, so I allowed him to await your return in the west study. His name is Ninke
Assink."
"Thank you Arif!" Quatre blurted out as he and Trowa almost ran
inside.
Ninke was pacing along one wall of the study, gazing intently
down at something in his hands, when Quatre opened the door; he looked up and
stepped forwards, uncharacteristically hesitant. "Mr. Winner, Mr. Barton, good
afternoon! I-- ah-- please excuse the intrusion, but--"
"That's quite all
right, Ninke, really," Quatre interrupted. "Please, sit down. You have something
for us?"
"Ah, yes, sir. Thank you." He didn't sit down, however; well
over six feet tall and lanky, he towered over both of the ex-Gundam pilots.
Long-fingered hands almost hid a small bundle from view as he held it out to
Quatre. "We think we've found everything Duo Maxwell sent, sir. Six postcards
and a package."
Quatre spun his desk chair around and sat down, handing
the package to Trowa and picking up the first postcard. He blinked momentarily
at the picture on the front -- a cartoon of an extremely fat man wearing a
singlet, shorts and a hat with corks hanging from the rim, clutching a can of
beer and frying a giant shrimp on a barbecue -- then turned it over and snorted
softly. "Trust Duo to find a multiple-choice postcard," he muttered. "Trowa,
listen to this. 'Good: morning / afternoon / evening / what time is it?' He's
ticked the last one. 'I am: having a good time / being exposed to strange native
customs / drunk.' It goes downhill from there."
"I rather liked that
one," Ninke offered, then winced. "Er-- that is-- that's the first one he sent,
sir, and it seems to be the happiest-- um--"
"Ninke," Trowa said calmly,
"you regularly intercept memos that aren't being sent to offices on this
planet, let alone your department, and you always know everything that's
going on. We didn't expect you to pass up the chance to read the
postcards." He pulled a sheet of paper and two small tissue-paper parcels out of
the padded envelope.
"Er... yes, sir."
"You said 'happiest'...?
Quatre asked quietly, looking at the other five postcards in his
hand.
"Yes, Mr. Winner. The others... well, you'll see. Some of them just
sound a bit strained, but the last one... it's pretty bad if you know what was
going on." Ninke rubbed one hand through his short hair, looking
upset.
"And you know, of course," Trowa said under his breath, holding up
two thin silver bookmarks. One had a camel on top; the other had paired masks,
Comedy and Tragedy. "'Hey guys'," he read from the note. "'I saw these and
thought of you, no surprise there. Tro, if you don't wanna use yours for its
intended purpose, you can always sharpen the end and throw it at people'..." He
smirked slightly, looking at the envelope. "It's postmarked
mid-June."
"So's the multiple-choice card," Quatre said quietly, not
looking up. "These are sorted into chronological order, then?"
"Yes,
sir."
Quatre slid the bottom card out from under the stack and looked at
it; then he lunged up out of his chair and headed for the
vidphone.
"Quatre, what does it say?!"
Stabbing fiercely at
the keyboard, Quatre didn't seem to hear the question.
"Quatre?" Trowa
repeated.
"It says 'Wish I was there'," Ninke said sadly.
* * * *
*
Wufei knocked on the bathroom door after hearing the water shut off.
"Duo?" he called, trying not to sound harassed. "I left the laundry in the
basement last night; I can't put clean sheets on the futon unless I go and
get them. I'll only be a minute." *And of course I didn't
remember until I went to put the dirty sheets in the hamper and it wasn't
there,* he grumbled to himself.
"...okay," came quietly from
the other side of the door.
Spirits absurdly raised -- *He's talking
again! And he doesn't sound upset that I'm leaving for a moment!* -- Wufei
found himself grinning broadly. "I'll be right back!" he said hastily, making
for the door.
As he stepped out into the corridor, his shin collided with
something and tipped it over. Scrambling for footing as the 'something' flipped
under his sneakers, Wufei wound up against the opposite wall with a loud thump
and a strangled yelp.
"'Fei? You okay?" Duo appeared in the doorway,
wearing an oversized t-shirt and clutching a towel around his waist, eyes wide
with worry.
"I'm fine, I just tripped over--" Wufei got his first look at
what he'd stumbled over, and blinked. "--our laundry?"
As Wufei set the
hamper back upright and started picking up the scattered towels, a piece of
paper fluttered out; Duo picked it up, read it, and then wordlessly held it
out.
Mr. Chang,
You left in a bit of a hurry, and I noticed
you
never came back for your washing; so, here
it is!
- Mrs. P.
"Mrs.
P.?" Wufei raised an eyebrow. "I don't know a Mrs. P... 'P'-what?"
Duo
shrugged. "I guess Mrs. P. knows you," he said quietly, and went back
inside.
When Wufei emerged from the bedroom after putting away the last
of the washing, Duo was sitting on the couch with the wet mass of his hair
pulled forwards over one shoulder, beginning to work at the ends with his brush.
The towel was lying on the couch beside him, having been replaced by a pair of
sweat pants.
"Do you want me to help?" Wufei asked hopefully. When Duo
looked up at him, 'do you mean it?' clear on his face, Wufei smiled slightly and
held out his hand for the brush. "I'd like to," he said gently.
After a
long moment, a small answering smile appeared on Duo's face, and he handed over
the brush.
----------
Long after Duo's hair was dry, Wufei
continued to brush it; eventually, without quite noticing what he was doing, he
put the brush down and just ran his fingers through the silky mass over and
over. Part of his mind was very busy trying to point out that this was
definitely showing something more than supportive friendship, and wasn't Wufei
meant to be avoiding that? The rest of his mind, however, was
completely entranced in the moment.
*I've wanted to do this for
such a long time!*
Have you got a hair fetish?! the
conscientious part of his mind screeched, figuratively jumping up and
down.
Duo, meanwhile, was leaning sideways against the back of the sofa,
swaying gently with each stroke through his hair. A bubble of happiness seemed
to be forming within his mind.
*'Fei likes my
hair...!*
*He wouldn't be doing this if he was mad at me. He might
brush my hair 'cause I needed the help, but he wouldn't keep doing it
like this. He'd do it as quickly as possible, then plait it and
stop.*
*I haven't upset him. I haven't screwed
up.*
*'Fei likes my hair!*
Closing his eyes and snuggling his
cheek against the sofa cushions, Duo almost purred, quite content to stay
exactly where he was for as long as Wufei was willing to keep going. The
longer, the better.
Several minutes later, a quiet -bebebebebeep!- noise
came from Wufei's desk. Jerked abruptly out of his blissful daze, Duo blinked
and glanced in that direction. *What's that? It didn't sound like his
computer... a pager?*
-bebebebebeep!-
Wufei growled something
uncomplimentary under his breath as he reluctantly let go of Duo's hair and
stood up. "If Une thinks I'm going back to work one minute before my
shift starts on Thursday -- if then -- she's got one hell of surprise
coming..."
-bebebe*- The noise cut off as Wufei snatched the pager up and
hit a button, glancing impatiently at the text display.
< < ANSWER
YOUR DAMN PHONE! -Q > >
"Is it Une?" Duo asked
timidly.
"No... it's Quatre," Wufei said in a puzzled voice, turning to
look at his vidphone. Sure enough, the little red 'incoming call' light was
flashing; the ringer was still turned off. "I'd better see what he wants; he
said 'damn', so it's probably important.
Hitting a key to accept the
call, Wufei raised an eyebrow as the screen cleared to show a crystal-clear view
of... a wall. The absence of any visible caller was quickly explained as Quatre
suddenly appeared at one side of the screen, stalked across at high speed, and
vanished again. A couple of seconds later, he reappeared, repeating the
manoeuvre in the opposite direction.
"...Quatre?"
Appear. Stalk.
Disappear.
"Quatre?" Wufei repeated, slightly louder this
time.
Appear. Stalk. Disappear.
"Quatre, stop that! I feel
like I'm at a tennis match!"
The blonde boy jerked to a halt, spinning to
face the screen. < < Wufei! Finally! > >
"What's the
prob--"
< < Is Duo asleep? Good, > > Quatre blurted out,
steaming ahead without waiting for a reply. < < Sally said he needs it.
Can you believe that jerk Taarnby? 'No harm done', my ass! He even
feels slimy, he was so sure he could slide out of taking responsibility.
If I'd had a gun I would've shot him instead of just throwing papers. Duo
sent us bookmarks, and we never got them! Twenty-seven phone calls stuck in a
bloody low priority file! They put all Duo's messages in low priority
files! They put Duo in a low priority file! DUO MAXWELL IS NOT
FUCKING LOW PRIORITY, DAMN IT! > >
Wufei's eyes widened as
Quatre's voice slowly scaled up the octaves and he started to shake. Grabbing at
a thick sheaf of papers on the desk beside him, Quatre brandished them at the
screen.
< < Look at this! His SOPs! Everything's fucking low
priority to him!> > He tossed them over his shoulder, grabbing at another
set of papers as white sheets fluttered down behind him. < < Duo's
e-mails! Low priority! > > They went over his shoulder too, adding to the
blizzard of paperwork. < < Duo's phone messages! Low priority! > >
Toss. < < Duo's postcards! > > He waved them in one hand, then
slammed them back down on the desk. < < Thousands of messages from little
old ladies and school kids and-- and-- everybody! Sitting in a fucking
low priority electronic trash bin for eighteen months! Allah only knows what's
in there, and then there's the physical files-- > >
<
< One of those little old ladies sent you a package of homemade cookies, sir,
> > an unfamiliar voice said. < < Six months ago, unfortunately.
They were pretty green when we found them. > >
< < See?
Everything's in there! > > Quatre yelled, pointing off towards
whoever-that-was as if he'd proven some obscure point.
"Quatre... slow
down," Wufei pleaded, shooting a quick glance sideways to where Duo was sitting
on the sofa with his eyes the size of saucers. "Start again, and tell me things
in sequence this time! You lost me somewhere around 'No harm
done'."
As Wufei spoke, a tall lanky man with almost-white hair quietly
walked into view behind Quatre, nodded politely, then bent down and started
picking up the scattered papers.
< < That moron-- > >
Quatre started, then squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.
<<Right. In sequence. I-- oh, this is Ninke Assink, by the way. My new
special assistant. He found the postcards and bookmarks for us. >
>
Ninke straightened up with a jerk, pale blue-grey eyes wide. <
< Mr. Winner, I-- what-- > >
< < Ha, > > came
Trowa's voice, sounding immensely satisfied. < < I told you, you needed
one. > >
< < We'll discuss the details later, > >
Quatre said, waving one hand vaguely in Ninke's direction as he turned back to
the screen. < < Consider yourself promoted. I'll write up the usual
paperwork as soon as I've finished explaining to Wufei. > >
This
time, he started at the beginning.
As the story unfolded, Wufei found
himself wanting to pace and rant, too. *It's people like that who make me
wish 'criminal greed and stupidity' was a capital crime,* he thought,
clenching his jaw angrily as he shot another quick sideways glance towards Duo.
*I'm sure it would improve the gene pool. Taking advantage of a grieving
woman's lack of business sense--!*
< < --and it felt so
good when his lawyer left, and he finally realised he was in serious trouble,
> > Quatre finished. < < I can't put all the blame on Taarnby,
though. I'm just as much at fault. > >
< < Quatre-- >
>
< < Trowa, no matter how busy I was I still
should have realised how long it had been with no word from Duo! Whenever I
thought about him, I just assumed he was having fun, and he'd call us if
anything went wrong. He never had any trouble contacting us during the war, but
I should have thought about what it meant when he couldn't just call me
on Sandrock's com any more! I don't blame him for hating me! I'd hate me
too, if our positions were reversed! > >
< < If anyone should
have realised something was wrong, I-- > >
< < No, you were
busy with-- > >
< < Damn it, Quatre, I'm not going to
let you take all the blame for this! > > Trowa almost
yelled.
Quatre 'hmph'ed. < < I'm not trying to take all the
blame. I'm perfectly willing to share it with Taarnby! > >
<
< But not me. > >
< < Damn right, not you. >
>
< < Um, Mr. Winner? Mr. Barton? This probably isn't the best
time to discuss that... > > Ninke interrupted nervously.
Quatre
sighed, turning back to the screen. < < Anyway, Wufei, I just wanted to
let you know what was going on over here. After meeting that shithead, and then
finally getting the postcards -- especially that last one, Allah save us
-- I needed to get all this off my chest. Keep us informed on how Duo's doing,
all right? > >
"Ah... sure, Quatre," Wufei agreed, shooting another
quick glance towards the boy in question.
*click*
Wufei
stared at the blank screen for a moment before turning to look properly at Duo.
*How is he taking that? Does he even believe it? It would be so easy for him
to just reject it...*
Duo was sitting on the edge of the sofa,
staring blankly at the opposite wall, with a single tear slowly making its way
down his cheek.
------------------------
end 'Reunion' chapter
12
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