Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Chef Heero's Selections ❯ Quatre wants Proof ( Chapter 2 )

Title: Chef Heero's Selection #2: Quatre wants Proof
Author: Keiran
Pairing: 1x2x1
Rating: PG
Warning: Unbetaed.
Word Count: 519Â

"Maxwell, are you okay?" Duo wearily raised his head from his desk. The blurry shape hovering in front of him gradually became Wufei. There were still some indefinite edges though…

"Wuffers? Whatsa matter, ran outta gel `smornin'?" he slurred. The Chinese man stared.

"My hair is just fine, thank you." The braided man tried to focus harder.

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"Now, what is wrong?"

"Nuthin'. I just got a hangover from hell," Duo yawned. Wufei raised a brow while Duo managed to gather his wits and answer more clearly. "See, Heero was trying to be romantic last night. So we had dinner and candle light and wine and even bloody flowers and bloody great sex afterwards.

"It's just that… well; Heero is Heero, no matter what he's doing at the moment. So you know he signed this contract with Quatre this weekend, if he can prove that he actually can cook, we'll be throwing birthday parties for us, instead of allowing Q-man employ his flowery strippers, whole posh clubs and cuisine straight out of a ballroom."

"Amen to that," Wufei muttered. "Finally."

"As for Heero, he's down to `wine' on his contract list." Wufei stared for few seconds. Then suddenly it all became as clear as daylight in Sahara.

"He made *you* test? But he's so anal about it usually! He made me taste *chocolates* before you got them!"

"Oh, it was already tested. For eventual harmful effects that is."

"Funny that, I thought Trowa looked weary last Monday," Wufei muttered. Duo grinned. "But I don't get it then, why are you hangover?"

"Well, just because it's safe doesn't necessarily mean it tastes good, right?"

"Oh boy. So, did it?"

"The first five were fine, one or two even better than fine. The next six… reasonable," Duo said cautiously, "but after that I don't really remember the taste all that well."

"I sympathize. Do you want a painkiller?"

"A club to the head would be nice. And I would scram if I were you." Wufei considered this. That usually meant… uh oh.

"So, see you later," he said hurriedly and moved to leave quickly. However it was already too late - there was a mirthless grin between him and the doorway. `I'm doomed' flew through his head. The grin was hovering right above a carefully wrapped pack.

"Chang. Have a seat," Heero commanded unpacking his load on the desk. Wufei moaned internally. There was no use getting out of it now… So he allowed himself to be sat down and fed a piece of pie. Per minute. In at least three different flavours.

Afterwards he got up with some difficulty and once again tried to leave, but no such luck. Heero produced a few sheets of paper. Wufei stared incredulously.

"You will fill that in," Heero informed. "Quatre wants proof." Still in disbelief the Chinese man stared at his braided friend, who grinned.

"Well, you didn't think a bit of *alcohol* made my head hurt the next morning?" Gaping at the thorough questionnaire Wufei shook his head. Only Heero would be able to think up thirty questions about a *pie*.