Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Edulcoration of Duo Maxwell ❯ Decrescendo ( Chapter 47 )

The Edulcoration of Duo Maxwell - 47/?

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"Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night." - Bette Davis, as Margo Channing, in the 1950 film All About Eve.

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Warnings: AU, yaoi, coarse language, violence, angst, cliffhangers, red herrings, mention of various vices, random bits of useless knowledge, occasionally explicit sex, enough footnotes to choke an army of horses.

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Nah.

Disclaimer: I don't really need to be Captain Obvious here, do I? No ownership, no money being made, yadda yadda. Written for fun, not profit.

Archived at:
http://www.atsui.org
http://www.gundam-wing-diaries.150m.com/gw /Mookie/gwmookie.htm

Edulcorate (verb) - To free from harshness (as of attitude); to soften

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Chapter 47 - Decrescendo

Early the next morning Duo gave up on trying to get back to sleep and put his efforts into carefully extricating his hair from his and Heero's bodies. He was sure Heero would awaken when he rolled him to the side to pull his hair out from beneath the two of them, but Heero was dead to the world. It seemed so unlike Heero, to not even twitch in response, that Duo was sure the decision he'd come to during the night was the right one.

He went to the bathroom and looked at his reflection. The damage to his body wasn't as bad as he'd thought, but there was a smattering of red splotches on his upper torso and faint purple smudges on one of his hips. He frowned and then lifted his chin. Thankfully his neck bore no signs of Heero's passion. That would have been extremely embarrassing. Hickeys were for inexperienced, hormone driven teenagers, although Heero had certainly acted like one last night. That wasn't what he saw that was most vexing, though.

The worst sight reflected back at him was the condition of his hair. It was a veritable rat's nest. What had he been thinking, to sit in bed to comb it out? He'd known last night that he was tired, and he should have finished braiding his hair before going anywhere near the bedroom. He'd thought his mind would be too active to allow him to sleep, but that hadn't been a problem until he and Heero had made-

Until they'd done what they did the night before. Until everything else that followed.

His disheveled appearance really had very little to do with the black cloud over his head, but it was something tangible that he could address. He turned on the shower and stepped under the spray, not waiting for the temperature to adjust first. He let the water saturate his hair, making the snarls tighter and more difficult to untangle.

His eyes were closed, so he didn't see the shadow across the shower door, but he was aware of the presence before he heard the door sliding open. The cooler air outside the confines of the shower touched his skin only briefly before the glass door slid shut again and Heero's arms slid around him from behind. Duo's spine stiffened as Heero's lips pressed against the back of his neck, and he fought to relax, turning his upper torso slightly with a hint of a grin on his face as he held up a lock of knotted hair, something that now resembled the proverbial drowned rat.

"Ow," he said.

Heero's face reflected confusion, concern, disappointment, and finally settled on mild chagrin. A look that turned to mild horror as his eyes traveled up and down the front of Duo's body, noting the occasional discoloration.

"Heero, don't," Duo said flatly. "I very much enjoyed your enthusiasm." Despite his tone, it was true. More than true. It was to be expected, a little soreness, especially his first time. The bruises on his hip were faint, and the weariness he felt was in no way tied to Heero's uncontrollable passion the night before.

Heero swayed in the shower, his arms dropping to his sides. He closed his eyes and took one step away from Duo, looking very much like he wanted to be sick.

"Heero." Duo gripped his chin and squeezed until Heero opened his eyes. "This is me, remember, the honest bastard?" Heero nodded, even though Duo had only referred to himself that way once, and that had been after his first meeting with Milliardo Peacecraft. "After last night, I can now say, with conviction, that I am gay. Well, bi, at least." He smiled at Heero, and was rewarded by the crinkles around Heero's eyes smoothing out. He brushed the knuckles of his hand across Heero's forehead before turning his back again.

Heero didn't say a word, just carefully pulled the entire sodden mass of hair behind Duo, ensuring he didn't miss a strand. His motions were so gentle that, if not for the added weight of the water, Duo might not have felt any of the tugging at his scalp as his hair was slowly released from Heero's grasp. He heard the shampoo bottle being uncapped and winced as Heero's hands rubbed together, Duo assumed to work up a lather.

Except he soon found out that it was conditioner, not shampoo, that Heero was using. Heero carefully trapped one section of the largest tangles in Duo's hair between his palms, then rubbed them together briskly before dispensing more into his hand and repeating the process. He did this several times, each time including a little more of Duo's hair as he did so. After he'd completely worked the conditioner through the strands, he picked up a single lock of hair and held it near the bottom with one hand as he ran a wide toothed comb through the tangles with the other.

Heero loved the texture against his fingers as the conditioner allowed him to work loose the knots in Duo's hair. It was good that the person he'd once spent the most time with, day after day, had complained to him on more than one occasion about how long it took her to untangle her tresses daily. That was before she'd gotten so fed up with it that one day she'd greeted him, as she did every morning, except he'd noticed that her hair was significantly shorter. He was barely aware that he'd brought up yet another memory of his past without wincing as he worked on the next section of hair.

"You're supposed to shampoo it first, you dork," Duo said, the silence too much for him.

"Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?" Heero chided gently. Duo closed his eyes at the warmth in Heero's voice. No, he reminded himself. Don't go there.

"Only you, Heero, would have the balls to tell me something like that." Duo hoped the teasing tone of voice didn't sound forced to Heero's ears.

"Hmmm," Heero responded. "And here I'd have thought that Wufei, at least, might have offered that opinion. You've worked together for some time."

Duo's eyes flicked open and he snorted, then cursed as he got a nose full of water for his efforts. He sputtered a bit, and could feel tremors in the body behind him as Heero chuckled softly.

"And I'm the dork," Heero chided gently, beginning to comb from the middle of Duo's hair to the bottom, including larger sections with each stroke.

"If I say so," Duo agreed. Heero made another sound of amusement. He paused in his combing for a moment. Apparently he'd set the comb down somewhere because both hands began to gently massage Duo's scalp.

"Oz," Duo said, fighting to keep his eyes open while Heero's hands worked their magic.

"Oz?"

"The yellow brick road. It doesn't go to Narnia. It goes to Oz."

"Mmm," Heero murmured into Duo's hair, seemingly uncaring that he had to be getting a mouthful of conditioner as a result of the nuzzling. Duo wanted to laugh. It wouldn't be the first time Heero ended up swallowing something he hadn't planned on when they first met.

"The wardrobe leads to Narnia," Heero said, resuming the task of combing. "And Aslan, and the Witch," he added.

"Then I'm sure you knew that the yellow brick road would take you to the Emerald City, and the Wizard. You might encounter flying monkeys, but not the Four Horsemen." Duo bit down his next words, refusing to add that the Great and Powerful Wizard had turned out to be nothing more than a tiny little man behind a curtain. Just another instance where the reality paled next to the fantasy, even in fiction.

He decided he would allow himself this one last perfect moment with Heero. There'd be enough time for recrimination after he closed the book on this particular chapter of his life.

No, he reminded himself. There would be no regrets. It was the right thing to do.

It was that thought and that thought only that prevented him from turning and planting his lips firmly against Heero's, consequences be damned, no matter how good it felt, the sensation of his hair smoothing out under Heero's meticulously thorough care.

~~~~~

Milliardo Peacecraft arrived at the Zagat award-winning restaurant in the Renaissance Hotel at six-thirty, eager to have some time to think things over before meeting his companion for breakfast.

He ordered nothing more than coffee to start with. Mimosas would dull his intellect, and he knew he needed to be sharp for the upcoming battle of wits. He also knew that by the end of the meal, he would have arrived at a decision.

He'd told Pagan to be ready to bring Relena wherever it was that the fate of the company was going to be determined, for better or worse. He'd informed his sister that she was to stay at home, and under no circumstances was she to go out for any last minute tete-a-tetes with anyone. Especially Heero, he'd thought, but he didn't say it out loud.

Treize had said quite a bit, actually, Milliardo realized, once he'd had time to digest it. Treize had also made what seemed to be an idle comment about motivation of people in general, but nothing he said was ever without purpose. He'd said that individuals often acted with the same goals in mind as others, and that what drove one man wasn't always all that different than what drove another, despite appearances to the contrary.

It made him feel like nothing more than just child of Hamelin following the Pied Piper, but he knew from the light in Treize's eyes that wasn't what he meant.

There was something missing that would put the comment in perspective, but he knew that if Treize didn't want to tell him, he wasn't about to.

He'd spent so much time mulling over Treize's words, he almost missed the arrival of his guest, but his military training wasn't that easily forgotten.

He stood up to greet her just before she arrived at the table he'd reserved.

"Good morning, Mister Milliardo," she said, an enigmatic smile on her face.

~~~~~

Heero knew that things had changed irrevocably. Duo had not really welcomed his presence in the shower, even though he had allowed his body to relax slightly. He'd almost reluctantly enjoyed the attention paid to his hair. Duo said he was an honest bastard, but Heero had come to realize that neither word described Duo accurately, other than when it suited his purposes.

It seemed as though a switch had been thrown after last night, although whether it was a matter of turning something on or off, he wasn't sure. Either way there was little Duo could hide from him now, try as he might. Heero could read his body language like a book, and he felt he could comprehend Duo far better than he could English, or Spanish, or Japanese. Perhaps that was only true within the walls of this suite, which was fast becoming more like a fairy tale castle in his mind.

So which of them had vanquished a hundred years worth of briars, thorns, and overgrowth to awaken the slumbering princess?

It was a poor analogy, although he supposed 'princess' served just as well as a euphemism for an emotion that it seemed both of them had spent far too much time pretending didn't exist. The difference was that in almost all fairy tales, the princess was beautiful and soft-spoken, and once awakened, she and the hero went off to live happily ever after - something far from realistic, even figuratively speaking.

Then again, the original version of most fairy tales had a goodly amount of blood and gore in them. The princess was never easily won, and perhaps, when it came down to it, she was a shrew as well.

After they'd turned off the water, Duo puttered around the bathroom, and Heero had taken the hint and left him alone. He'd pulled on a pair of pants and grabbed a shirt from the closet before leaving the bedroom, knowing it would be easier for Duo to deal with the way things had changed if he had some time to himself.

No matter how hard Duo tried to deny it, things had changed. Heero could only hope that Duo eventually arrived at the same conclusion he had.

He walked to one of the balcony doorways, deliberately avoiding the one he had used all week, where Duo had shared the story of his youth. He found the memory of Duo's impersonal words at the end of the narrative still stung his ears. Instead he chose the balcony entrance where Duo had found him last night, where he'd invited, accepted, welcomed, and enthusiastically returned Duo's kiss.

If it turned out that he was going to have to content himself with only the memories of their time together, he was going to make damn sure they were ones worth carrying with him.

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When Duo's mind was troubled, he found something soothing about routine. Doing that which was familiar, and repeating a process that required little in the way of mental activity, kept the hands busy, and therefore the mind had a chance to still the wildly ricocheting thoughts that were so unsettling.

It was Sunday, but he got dressed anyway, just like he did every morning, first donning the tailored slacks, and then a crisp dress shirt. The act of tying a Windsor knot and feeling the expensive silk tie beneath his fingers - these things were like a security blanket, one he clung to almost desperately.

It wasn't until Duo was dressed as if it were just another day at the office, his clothes looking impeccable, his hair braided tightly, that he felt capable of dealing with the Heero issue. When he finally emerged from the bedroom, Heero was in the process of walking from one of the balcony doors toward the desk where the laptop was set up.

Apparently Heero must have needed some sort of routine to follow as well. Duo had expected to see him naked, or in the hotel robe, or maybe wearing nothing more than the loose pants that dipped temptingly on his hips, exposing his navel...

He should have known that Heero had detected that something was rotten in the state of Denmark. Duo cleared his throat and looked away, not wanting to be swayed by Heero's unconsciously seductive manner.

Unconscious my ass, Duo reminded himself. Don't let him lead you around. He does this all the time. It's his job. He couldn't look at Heero, who was dressed in the dark pants and the pale yellow shirt that he'd worn the day Wufei punched him. The shirt was unbuttoned, and Duo knew all too well what the sight of Heero's bare chest was like.

He found it odd that Heero had decided not to wear jeans, although he really had no idea how Heero usually dressed on weekends. The fleeting thought crossed his mind that perhaps at least one of the two pairs of Heero's jeans might have been soiled in a rather conspicuous place. He had to stop thinking about things like that, instead focusing on the possibility that perhaps Heero was already getting dressed for another day of work on the streets, although the leather pants would have been a lot more appropriate. Except that they'd draw more attention to Heero as he left the hotel, just like they had when Duo had brought him here a week ago...

"Heero," he began unnecessarily, as he already had the man's undivided attention. "You know my business in California will be concluded one way or another today." At least he assumed so. No news would mean they were wasting their time with Peacecraft. He'd be glad to get on that plane and go back to New York; he'd had more than enough of the West Coast. In the future, maybe Wufei would be willing to take on more of the responsibilities here. He'd have to discuss it with his partner.

"Yes," Heero said calmly. "You had informed me of that, right at the beginning of the week, and I had assumed, without receiving any additional information, that the end of our contract remained unchanged."

And you know what happens when you 'assume,' Yuy.

"That's kinda what I want to talk to you about," Duo said, risking a glance at Heero, but not meeting his eyes - eyes that had narrowed dangerously, unbeknownst to Duo.

"Meaning?" Heero folded his arms across his chest, and Duo had to look away again.

~~~~~

"Dorothy," Milliardo greeted. "I see you are exceedingly prompt."

"When there is something I want," she responded, flipping her hair out of the way before she sat down. "I find it pointless to wait."

"I understand you had a rather interesting conversation with my sister," he said.

She smiled, an expression that looked less like one of pleasure and more of grudging admiration.

"It seems I underestimated the sparrow," Dorothy said softly. "I must say Miss Relena's intelligence is quite impressive."

"What do you want, Miss Catalonia?"

They were interrupted by their waiter. Dorothy ordered a Bloody Mary. Milliardo took the opportunity to study her in that short time.

She exuded confidence, and in that moment, he saw her as Relena must have. He couldn't blame his sister for being unnerved. If he hadn't faced worse on the battlefield, perhaps he'd have been a bit uncomfortable as well.

Several battlefields, he amended, including the personal ones.

After Dorothy's drink arrived, she stirred it with the celery garnish and then placed the stalk in her mouth and sucked it dry. She gestured toward a nearby window.

"Ever watch crows drop walnuts in the streets?"

He shook his head and started to wish he had requested something with less of a stimulant effect than coffee. Perhaps an herbal tea would have been a better choice. He hoped it would not be the first wrong choice he made today.

"In Japan, and in parts of California, crows have been observed dropping walnuts into the street. After passing cars crush the nuts beneath their wheels, the birds return to retrieve the exposed nutmeat.

"The question is," she said, returning eerie blue eyes to Milliardo's. "Are they demonstrating signs of intent, or is it a happy coincidence?"

She settled back into her seat, and Milliardo could imagine her acting the part of a Southern belle, complete with hoop skirt, or whatever it was that women wore to make them appear more excruciatingly feminine. Despite the almost vacant look to her eyes, she was shrewd, and his brief investigation had unearthed a few stories about her machinations.

Her tactics almost reminded him of Treize's. No wonder Relena had been blindsided. He felt a brief pang of regret, but he could not spend his life changing the past. He could only attempt to atone for mistakes he may have made, all in the best interests of anyone he'd ever cared for. He wished he could consider himself as deserving of the same concern. He may not care for his own wellbeing, but Relena certainly did. Being responsible for her upbringing had always been daunting.

He had to let Dorothy know that he was not as naïve as his sister. It wasn't the best strategy, to allow an enemy to see all your cards, but he was a civilian now. He could adhere to his own code of honor. The only ones at stake were those he was responsible for protecting.

Two could play the analogy game, though, and fortunately he'd been prepared for this eventuality after his meeting with Treize. Dorothy might be more mysterious, but she possessed not a tenth of the experience Treize had.

"You seem a very bright young woman as well, Dorothy," he said, dispensing with the formalities at this point. "I am sure you've heard of the ecosystem."

"Of course," she smiled at him. "It's the backbone of business."

"Then you understand that each participant in the food chain is dependent on the others."

"Naturally," she replied with a slight nod. She took a sip of her drink and he had an image that the thick red liquid was something other than tomato juice and vodka, and he would not be surprised if she'd drink it with just as much aplomb.

"I do not wish to be a producer any longer," he said. "Nor a decomposer, like Maxwell-Chang. It's time for Peacecraft to be a consumer."

"You don't fear upsetting the delicate balance set in place?" she asked, running a remarkably long fingernail along the edge of her glass. For a moment he thought she'd unsheathed her claws, but her voice had that same blend of amusement and almost religious fervor.

"If any single link has a major shift in population, perhaps that would be the case. However, I am concerned with the effects of surrendering my family's company to Romefeller."

"You do not think it would be symbiotic?"

"There are many forms of symbiosis, Dorothy?"

"And you fear a parasitic relationship with Grandfather's company," she said thoughtfully.

"I fear nothing," he said adamantly. "However, I am not a fool. Do not treat me as one."

She looked up and saw the veiled anger as well as heard it. She was being warned to tread carefully.

She took another sip, and Milliardo felt more and more like he was dining with a feminine version of Treize. If she started talking about wine, however, he thought he might be tempted to shoot her, even if he hadn't carried a firearm since he was discharged.

"What a small world," she said suddenly, looking over his shoulder at something.

Despite the fact that it could be considered rude, he turned to see what she was looking at.

Or who. It was a middle-aged woman he did not recognize, but she apparently knew Dorothy, because she smiled and changed direction to stop by their table.

"Miss Catalonia," she said. It was disgusting, he thought, the way the woman was practically simpering. "How nice to see you again."

They exchanged pleasantries for a while, with Dorothy saying very little, and the other woman endeavoring to pile on the compliments. He suspected the sycophant worked for Dermail, although it didn't explain Dorothy's perpetual smirk and the occasional glances she threw his way.

Then again, nothing Dorothy did or said could be easily explained.

"Well, Miss Catalonia," the woman finally seemed to have run out of pretty words. Her fawning behavior was most likely the biggest reason he hadn't connected with anyone on a personal level since he'd taken over the business. He had little tolerance for such blind hero worship. Not that he'd had time to think of anything except trying to keep the company afloat. He hoped like hell that Relena didn't turn out to be like that, and found himself seething at the image of his sister and Heero, sequestered in the corner like two young lovers. It was incredibly interesting that Heero did not seem to possess a last name.

He turned his attention back to his dining companion. Milliardo shuddered to think at the kind of man that Dorothy might marry some day. As if on cue, the ingratiating woman seemed to remember something she hadn't yet told Dorothy.

"Oh! Before I forget, I have a picture for you."

Dorothy's knowing smirk grew a bit, and he half expected her to wink at him while the woman rummaged eagerly through her purse.

"Here it is!" she beamed, handing a wallet-sized photo to the enigmatic blonde.

"Thank you, Miss Fane," Dorothy said, her voice clearly dismissing the other woman.

Dorothy's talons - fingernails, Milliardo corrected himself - were running along the edge of the photograph.

She turned it over to reveal the subject of the portrait. He didn't have to ask the identity of the young redheaded girl in the photo, because Dorothy was only too happy to provide that information in her next breath.

"I assume you have not yet met Mariemeia Khushrenada, Mister Milliardo?"

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This chapter dedicated to Natea, who, without even trying, helped my muse get its groove back. Thanks, 'Claire'!

Now for the ubiquitous footnotes!

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Decrescendo is a musical direction that means to gradually become softer, to decrease in volume. However, its antonym, crescendo, a swelling of sound or volume, has another meaning. Merriam-Webster.com, rapidly becoming my best friend, indicates the second definition of crescendo as "any gradual increase (as in physical or emotional force or intensity)." Chew on that one if ya want.

"Something is rotten in the state of Denmarke" - something is wrong, something is strange, or something is fishy. Spoken by Marcellus in Act I, Scene IV of Shakespeare's Hamlet.

The food chain explained Reader's Digest style (meaning heavily abbreviated): The links of the food chain are producers, consumers, and decomposers. The herbivores and carnivores are both consumers, feeding directly or indirectly on the producers, which are the green plants, using minerals and gases in the environment to support life. The decomposers return the consumers into minerals and gases. A bit more detailed than Elton John's Circle of Life, eh?

The part about crows is true, although after some ornithological study on the phenomenon, it appears that the crows aren't intentionally using the car tires as nutcrackers, and their interaction with the cars is apparently coincidental. They have a habit of dropping walnuts onto a variety of hard surfaces, not just busy intersections. Although they will fetch the shelled kernel if a car does run over it, they are also just as likely to fly away without retrieving the nut, cars or no cars. Crows, along with members of the corvidae family (such as jays and ravens), are considered to be among the most 'intelligent' birds, exhibiting an ability to use tools to perform various tasks.

I told you that most OC's get their names from somewhere, right? The name 'Fane' was borrowed from a character from the Bette Davis' 1965 horror/suspense film The Nanny. Film trivia - the family nanny, played by Davis, is responsible for the care of a ten-year-old boy named Joey, blamed for the death of his younger sister, despite his protests that it was the nanny responsible for the little girl's drowning. Mrs. (not Miss) Virginia Fane is Joey's unable-to-cope mother.