Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Edulcoration of Duo Maxwell ❯ False Proscenium ( Chapter 59 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

The Edulcoration of Duo Maxwell - 59/?

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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.

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.

Pairings to date: 2x1x2, 3+4, 4x3, 5+M/5xM, 9+6, past 2xH, past 4x1

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

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

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Chapter 59 - False Proscenium

Immature love says: "I love you because I need you." Mature love says: "I need you because I love you." - Erich Fromm

~~~~~

When Heero woke the next morning, his eyes drifted to the cell phone on his bureau. He'd warned Quatre that he might not return his call right away, but he still felt guilty for not having the opportunity to contact his friend.

He decided that he'd do so at lunchtime. It would be nine in the morning, Quatre's time, if he called then.

Once he'd made his way to the bathroom, he filled a glass from the tap and drained it before running the water for his shower.

It was nice having warm water every day, after the temperamental plumbing in the apartment he'd shared with Quatre. He squirted conditioner into his left palm and briskly rubbed it through his hair, feeling the slickness under his fingers before he rinsed it out.

He wasn't sure what he should share with Hunter at the next session. Each time he carefully avoided mentioning Duo, because that was something infinitely personal, and nothing that he felt the good doctor needed to know about.

Perhaps he could acknowledge his fairly newfound sexual preference. If Hunter extrapolated anything from that bit of information, that was his prerogative.

He was clipping his cell phone to his belt loop when it rang. He answered it with a clipped, "Yuy."

"I have some information you might be interested in."

Heero blinked in surprise as he recognized the voice, and he sat down abruptly. "What do you have, Trowa?"

~~~~~

Trowa Barton was no man's fool. When Heero had slipped him that phone number, he'd known there was more to it than a gesture of friendship. It had taken him a long while to figure out that Heero's actions seemed familiar, at times, and it wasn't until he'd managed to watch him objectively that he'd figured it out.

That, and the concern Iria had expressed for Quatre's well being, had gotten those particular wheels spinning in his head.

Heero had been quietly vehement in his anti-drug stance. Trowa recognized the signs. Heero didn't accept drinks from customers, didn't disappear into the bathroom for extended periods of time. When someone came in who looked like they were under the influence of more than alcohol, his lips would purse ever so slightly in disapproval, and when Trowa would eject said persons from the premises, Heero's minute expression seemed both relieved and proud.

There was something about the way that both Quatre and Heero moved, their bodies purposefully fluid at times, that might have triggered the connection sooner, but Trowa wasn't naive enough to pretend that his ability to see things where those two were concerned wasn't colored by his own feelings.

It had hurt, knowing that Quatre was in constant oblivion when it came to him. He felt like he'd been brought to his knees when he realized Quatre was throwing the poker games simply because he knew Otto's misery was partly due to financial difficulties.

How could Quatre detect how others felt, and yet be blind to his feelings?

On the other hand, he looked forward to seeing the blond man every morning. Their easygoing banter was something he looked forward to each day. Quatre was sharp, and his humor was surprisingly cutting at times.

He'd allowed Quatre to use the phone in the bar just to have the chance to keep him there long enough to, quite frankly, 'check him out.'

That alone had surprised him. For the longest time he'd considered himself lacking a sex drive altogether. Girls in high school did nothing for him, but he'd chalked that up to the fact that the only ones that approached him were not those he had anything in common with.

He'd met a girl in basic training, fooled around a bit, and decided manual stimulation was much better with a partner, and oral stimulation was not at all overrated.

What would have bothered him, had he spared the time to analyze it, was that he felt more drawn to recruitment posters and yearbook photos featuring soldiers in various positions. He'd been oddly intrigued by pictures of various uniformed young men...some brandishing their M16A1s, some of them straining during their PT tests, all looking intent and determined rather than coy and flirtatious.

Perhaps that was one of the things that drew him to Quatre initially. He'd appeared a fascinating mix of adrift and determined when he'd approached the bar and politely and firmly, without a hint of a quaver in his voice, asked to use the phone. His voice softened slightly when he spoke to the person on the other end, but he kept one eye on Trowa as if afraid to let down his guard.

Then he'd unconsciously licked his lips as he hung up the phone and asked if it would be too much trouble for a glass of water.

Trowa was used to a certain clientele in Los Angeles. The bar catered to the norm, as opposed to the flamboyant - which, he supposed, was often the norm, at least in terms of LA.

Trowa couldn't help watching Quatre's throat bob with each swallow of water, and he'd done the first impulsive thing since that fateful night when he went out with his battalion for a couple of drinks.

He'd offered Quatre a meal, in exchange for helping him prep the bar for business.

Ever since then, Quatre had been a regular fixture. They'd discussed current events and local sports teams, shared anecdotes of their younger days, speculated about the occupations of regular bar patrons, and debated the latest political issues. A few times, they'd even torn open samples of new salted snacks that were sent to the bar, munching and discussing the merits and pitfalls of each.

He looked forward to Quatre's presence every day - almost lived for the times when they got to talk, just the two of them. The time always passed quickly, making chores such as cleaning and inventory seem less like work and more like...a date.

One day they'd been in the stockroom, rotating the supply of soda syrup to keep the oldest on top. The handle of one of the cardboard boxes had torn as Trowa lifted it, and Quatre's hand was beneath the box almost immediately to prevent the plastic bag inside from hanging out of the gaping hole in the side that resulted.

Trowa had breathed deeply, inhaling Quatre's scent. His minor delay in moving the box prompted Quatre to take over, and he slid the box into its proper place at the top of the stack.

As he did so, his shoulder brushed against Trowa, and then he turned and grinned at him. Trowa had blinked a few times, realizing Quatre was actually in his personal space, and surprised at how right it felt.

Trowa had almost leaned toward Quatre, to kiss him, that day, but as a rule, he'd never been one to give in to impulse the way he had that first day. He preferred to weigh things carefully. A kiss said a hell of a lot more than offering a meal did.

He also had to admit, the prostitution bothered him. He'd been unhappy to find that was the 'job' Quatre had landed, and had never understood the young man's motivation.

He supposed Quatre knew that Trowa would have managed to find some sort of job for him, but Quatre was both too proud to accept what he'd view as charity, and too stubborn to prove he could make it on his own.

And too young to know any better. The fact that Quatre looked fresh out of high school should have bothered Trowa a lot more than it did.

When Quatre had adopted Heero, Trowa had to admit a flare of jealousy almost immediately. The funny thing was, Heero's dark intimidating looks were the type that Trowa was used to, the type he'd always found attractive, before he'd met Quatre.

It only served to convince him the lure of Quatre was more than something physical. The innocent blond act may have been a draw for the johns, but it was the steely, strong-willed, and stubbornly loyal person behind those wide smiles that drew Trowa in.

Trowa had minded his own business, but it made him a little bit sick every time he knew that Quatre was servicing someone. It was more than simple jealousy. He couldn't bear the idea of someone with Quatre's intelligence and perceptiveness doing what he did, day after day, night after night.

It had taken him a while to start wondering about Heero. He'd known, from Quatre's behavior once Heero started performing sexual favors for money, that somehow he'd had a hand in Heero's new career. The guilt was permanently etched on Quatre's face whenever Heero left the bar with someone, or if Heero hadn't shown up at all because he was otherwise occupied.

By unspoken agreement, the three of them carefully avoided mentioning what two-thirds of them did to pay their rent.

Trowa wasn't sure how much he'd started watching Heero because of Quatre, and how much because Heero was fascinating in his own right.

It had taken him a while to realize that Heero had experience in infiltration. If not for the fact that Heero's presence hadn't led to Quatre's arrest, Trowa might have suspected an undercover prostitution sting.

The more he watched Heero, the more he recognized much of himself in the man. Heero was in hiding, but it was obvious it wasn't from the law. Heero also seemed protective of Quatre, which both reassured Trowa and made him uneasy.

Jealousy was a foreign concept to Trowa, but he was man enough to admit that's what he felt. It had hurt when he'd realized Quatre and Heero had been intimate. It ate at him in a way that Quatre's job never had.

He should have been happy for them, should have been glad that they'd found some amount of pleasure and comfort in each other, but he wasn't. It also seemed to be not enough for either of them.

Trowa didn't interfere. It wasn't his style, and even if it were, he was far too biased to be objective. He cared too much for both of them to make things worse than they already were. They both needed to find their own way.

When Heero had called and blurted out "I'm sorry" on the phone that day, he had been halfway out the door before he'd realized what the words had done to him.

He'd reacted, and at first he'd assumed he was slotting himself into the role of jealous boyfriend, which seemed contrary to his entire personality.

It was the faint trace of a plea in Heero's voice, the request for intervention, that had goaded him into action. He replayed Heero's actions and words from earlier that day in his mind until he'd arrived at their apartment.

When he'd walked into the kitchen, he'd been struck by the realization that their roles seemed almost reversed. If Heero had blond hair and larger eyes, and if Quatre's eyebrows were thicker and his hair darker, it would have been less of a shock to see Quatre's look of wide-eyed shock and guilt on Heero's countenance, and Quatre looking dark and brooding.

He'd called on a bit of info that Iria Winner had shared, and asked about the man whom he'd spoken with at the bar, Quatre's father.

It had worked. Whatever might have happened between Quatre and Heero, it was clear that it was over. Heero had insisted on taking a cab to the airport, the subtle suggestion that Trowa should stay and talk to Quatre blindingly obvious.

He supposed Heero had other things in mind, rather than what had actually happened once it was just the two of them. Hell, he'd been surprised as hell when Quatre started touching him. He'd wanted to knock Quatre's hands away and tell him that he didn't want to be used that way.

But more than that, he'd wanted to feel Quatre's body against him, to know that Quatre found HIM attractive.

He already knew that what he felt was more than just physical attraction. Perhaps it was the other way around for Quatre, and he needed to see that Trowa could be more than just a friend, could acknowledge that there was chemistry between them.

Then Quatre had latched into a nipple and all the arguments in the world melted into one voice uttering a single word. Yes.

It had been more than he'd dreamed it would be. Quatre was good at what he did for a living, but he was doing this with Trowa because he wanted to, not because he was getting paid to. Trowa wasn't naive enough to fool himself into thinking that Quatre wasn't using him as an escape of sorts. Had he been, he might have been a bit devastated by the shouting of Heero's name.

Trowa had snapped into action when he'd heard the door being forced open and had reacted immediately.

He'd been less than happy that he'd heard Heero's name, but he was downright pissed that someone had the nerve to not only break into the apartment, but to pick a time that couldn't be more inconvenient.

He'd finally managed to get Quatre to admit to himself there was an attraction between them, and then someone had to burst into the kitchen like someone in an Old Western with guns blazing.

Quatre apparently knew the intruder, and Trowa couldn't help the flare of jealousy that sparked anew as he released the man and stalked to the bedroom. Let the man get an eyeful of Quatre in all his naked glory. He wouldn't be the first.

He'd overheard Quatre mention Heero's name in an apologetic tone, and had wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. It seemed Heero had a knack for touching people's lives. Did he even realize how much of an impact he had on others?

He'd picked up his pants and as he did so, he felt the crinkle of paper in the back pocket. The one that Heero had slipped in there earlier, before Quatre had returned.

If Heero wasn't working undercover, then what exactly was his secret?

He'd pulled on his pants and fastened them, then picked up the other articles of clothing that had been strewn haphazardly about the room.

He'd needed to know just how much Quatre still felt for Heero. Perhaps the timing for them was wrong. Trowa would not throw away the relationship he had with Quatre, would not trade it for one built on a false ideal. There was definite chemistry between them, and if Quatre hadn't been so persistent, and Heero hadn't left for the airport, perhaps he'd have been able to stick to his guns, to explore the possibility of there being more between them than a quick fuck.

Sometimes, however, things in life didn't line up in neat order. Risks were necessary for any successful operation. The question was, was the price of failure worth it?

When he'd seen that damned pencil in Quatre's fingers, the answer, for him, was a resounding yes. For once in his life, he gave into impulse wholeheartedly, with no reservations and no safety net.

Kissing Quatre had taken him by surprise. First kisses were supposed to be awkward, with noses bumping and excessive saliva being swapped. Perhaps the latter was entirely true, but if so, he hadn't noticed.

What he had noticed was Quatre's reaction. Trowa was stunned at how hot that kiss was. He'd thought it just idle bragging, how steamy a simple kiss could be, but he could feel that one through his entire body. He'd known that he was in the position of control at that moment. He'd liked it, liked knowing that Quatre wasn't the only one with the ability to make someone weak in the knees.

He'd given Quatre something to think about, that was for sure, and when the kiss ended, the sound of his own name, throaty and full of desire, had just about made up for what had happened earlier in the bedroom.

The next time they made love, he decided, he would make sure he had his legs wrapped around Quatre, would insist that Quatre kept his eyes open if that's what it took for him to remember who his dick was buried in.

The next time they were physically intimate, Quatre had damn well better be willing to accept that Trowa wanted more than just sex.

He had a lot of things he wanted to discuss with Quatre. The only person who could put him in touch with Quatre was Heero.

Trowa was not the type of man to wait for things to happen once he'd made up his mind, but he was also not the type to put a friend in the middle of things.

Catherine, bless her heart, had given him a reason to call Heero, with her speculation about something that was going on in the narcotics division over breakfast one day. She'd been rather gung-ho to get transferred to that particular department lately. Trowa knew it was her big sister role coming into play. She couldn't do anything for Trowa now, but she could do whatever possible to tackle the source of the problem in an effort to help others.

Cathy could share very little, ethically and legally speaking, so Trowa suspected she knew more than she'd let on. Perhaps he could do something to help both of them. So he asked if she'd mind if he made a long distance phone call.

Hearing Heero's voice filled Trowa with hope, and when Heero asked him for more information, he'd briefly explained that it might be nothing, that it was certainly out of Heero's jurisdiction, but he'd consider it a personal favor if Heero would listen to the ideas someone had.

He'd then handed the phone to Catherine and walked out of the room.

At one time, such an action would have been inconceivable to Trowa. In fact, he knew he was overstepping many boundaries, and it was up to Catherine and Heero to determine where the lines were blurred and where they needed to remain intact.

He hated encouraging Catherine to go over someone's head, but he also knew that she was new to the LAPD, and rookies didn't always get the respect they deserved.

The fact that her past experience was with Kern County, which had gained a bit of a reputation after a gag decal had been placed on the sheriff's vehicle, didn't help, either. The collection of mugs that she'd gladly surrendered to Trowa, plastered with the 'new Kern County Sheriff's Department motto,' were proof that she'd have a bit of an uphill battle. Although most of her new colleagues recognized the fiasco as the joke it was, there were bound to be those who thought it spoke volumes about the incompetence of anyone associated with the KCSD.

Chances were good that there would be little Catherine could officially impart to Heero without violating written and unwritten rules about information sharing.

On the other hand, there were always hypothetical situations, in a casual, friend-to-friend, or friend-to-friend-of-a-friend, chat. Hypothetical situations were often a damned effective method of getting the same result without stepping on anyone's toes.

~~~~~

Heero was impressed with the amount of information Catherine managed to convey under the pretext of not saying a word. Fortunately he'd recently been in California himself, and had already suspected something brewing there, something the filled in some of the blanks.

The question was, were the incidences of drug use in New York City related to those in Los Angeles? On the heels of that, where the hell were the drugs being produced?

He'd told Noin about his speculations regarding a potentially elaborate ruse surrounding a new street drug, one that could conceivably be touted by a dealer as Prozac-without-a-prescription - just the ticket for many a college student.

He had too little information. He didn't know if Romefeller was involved, and if so, to what extent. Were Dorothy Catalonia's warnings to Relena meant to be taken as an proud admission of guilt? He doubted that very much, but if anyone would know for sure, it would be Quatre.

He'd meant to call Quatre later. It looked as though more than one reason to, now.

Another piece of the puzzle that was missing was how far Dermail was willing to go in order to turn Romefeller into a leading corporation. Would he risk it all for money, or was he smart enough to keep his nose clean, to avoid dragging down his business?

Dermail had already had the rug pulled from under him twice, something that may have made him rethink his business ethics. A few key people to bring in for questioning would be those whom were responsible for his downfall.

As Noin had pointed out over dinner, those individuals wereTreize Khushrenada, Wufei Chang, and Duo Maxwell.

Catherine's casual conversation did no more than suggest that the answer to his first question was a resounding yes. The timing was too precise for it to be a coincidence. Iria and Sally had already compared notes on mysterious emergency room patient symptoms, supporting Heero's conclusion.

The dialogue with Catherine took little time, despite everything being couched in idle chitchat. A pro and a con about speculation was that it didn't have to entail any details or hard facts. Hunches were often the best starting point, and he'd been slowly gaining confidence in his own.

"Would you like me to put Trowa back on?" she asked.

"Please."

When Trowa greeted him the second time, he found himself indulging in a bit more speculation, that which had nothing to do with the intricate web of connections he seemed ensnared in.

"Good to see you didn't lose my number," he replied.

"I'd never have pegged you for Cupid, Heero."

"Tell that to my partner when she's busy questioning her ex-boyfriend's former best friend."

Trowa chuckled. "Before I met you, Heero, I'd never have believed Tinkerbell really existed."

Heero's subdued laughter joined the other man's for a moment, then he sobered. "I need to call him, Trowa."

"I know."

A pause followed, then "I'm sorry."

"If you think I'm dropping everything and running over there this time, you're sadly mistaken."

Heero was relieved that Trowa's voice still sounded amused. He had no idea how much time had passed before Trowa spoke again.

"Just so you know, Heero, 'sorry' implies regret. Do you have any regrets?"

Heero blinked several times at the question. There were so many things he'd done over the past few months that he wished he'd done differently.

He could think of a few different implications of Trowa's question. Did he have any regrets?

Did he?

~~~~~

//Love is the ideal of all of us; intimacy and mutually elevating equality, complete trust and maximum esteem, both for ourselves and others...Who can say "I don't want to be loved" or "I can't love" without the most profound regrets?"//

Quatre took a deep breath after reading the introductory paragraph of the book Heero had given him, a quote from Robert Solomon's The Passions.

Tempted, he said the words aloud.

"I don't want to be loved."

He shook his head. He was being ridiculous. They were just words, and no one was there to hear him say them. He didn't need to say them aloud to make them true.

He flipped a few pages.

//Human beings are the only animals capable of self-deception and therefore of self-betrayal.//

He dropped the book abruptly when the phone rang. His heart thudded in his ears a moment as he stared at it, then he felt a rush of warmth, realizing suddenly who was calling.

"Heero..." he breathed into the mouthpiece as soon as he picked up the receiver.

"This is becoming a habit, Quatre."

Quatre's breath caught in his throat. "Trowa..."

tbc

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NOTE: I appreciate that so many of you are eager to see an update, and it's flattering to hear that I can't update fast enough.

The lighthearted teasing and mild threats with sporks are not an issue - in fact, they're funny as hell. Being told "you took long enough to update" is borderline rude, and being accused of abandoning the fic is downright insulting.

I should not have to explain my reasons for the change in my update schedule, but here it is anyway. Long story short - when I started writing this story, my daughter spent most of the day eating and sleeping. She's now awake a good portion of the day, has moved to solid foods, and just recently learned to crawl.

Now for the real footnotes!

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Ouch, Sol, look what you've done now! Duo's gone into hiding this chapter!

Proscenium - the stage of an ancient Greek or Roman theater; the part of a modern stage in front of the curtain

False proscenium - a frame within the fixed proscenium used to make smaller the exposed area of the inner stage

The armed forces do have yearbooks, and they are specific for each platoon. PT tests are Physical Training tests. The M16A1 (being replaced or has been replaced by the M16A2) is an infantry rifle used in both the US Army and the Marines Corps.

In case you forgot the infamous Kern County Sheriff's Department "motto" briefly alluded to in chapter 50, ("We'll kick your ass" - later modified to include "And take your donuts, too, although I suspect the latter was a digital enhancement) you can view it here: http://home.comcast.net/~mookietwinkie/kern.jpg