By Tralla
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and its characters do not belong to me. No profits are being made.
The grunts were even audible two rooms away. After five minutes of feigning complete disinterest, curiosity won out and Trowa found himself moving toward the source. He encountered Quatre first and then he looked past the blonde's standing form to see what the commotion was all about. His usual impassive face betrayed him. Trowa felt his eyes widen and his mouth sag. He blinked. No, the image was still there. The grunts continued without intermission. He saw a mat consisting of a white background and huge red, yellow, green, and blue circles…and he saw Wufei and Duo twisted in near impossible positions over said colorful circles. Yes, near impossible for them, but he was quite sure those positions would give his flexible build little trouble. He was brought out of his stupor by the irrational thought.
"Quatre," Trowa managed to finally say. "What…" Before he could finish, his mouth set itself into a thin line. Perhaps he should just walk away and pretend he never saw any of this. But, as his curiosity failed to abate, he became well aware he couldn't leave without an answer for this bizarre event before him. "What are they doing?"
For a moment, the blond managed to tear his eyes away from the scene. He turned to Trowa but his gaze kept darting back to the contortions on the mat. "It seems Duo outsmarted Wufei and persuaded him into a game of…" The Winner heir paused in an attempt to remember the name of the game Duo had embellished with quite an amount of praise. "Twister," he said finally.
"*Duo* outsmarted Wufei?" Trowa squinted at the blond. Quatre didn't appear ill. But, was he suffering some unperceivable ailment that denied him the power of reason? "*Duo* outsmarted *Wufei*," Trowa repeated in a quiet, baffled tone.
"Well, yes, in a way. Duo challenged Wufei to a game of Twister. Then, Wufei answered that he'd have nothing to do with such an unmanly endeavor. Then Duo said that it was the very excuse a coward would make. Then Wufei said he refused to listen to anymore of this nonsense. And then Duo said Wufei was afraid he'd get his…bottom kicked."
Trowa raised an eyebrow. He was quite sure the American would never use as colorless a word as "bottom," especially when he'd proven in the past how well-versed he was in demeaning potshots. Obviously, the retelling suffered a tasteful revision on the part of Quatre.
"And then, after poking fun at Duo's braid and build, Wufei said only a pansy would position himself over such a womanly thing." Quatre glanced up at Trowa. "He was referring to the mat. And then….ummm… I'm sorry, Trowa. I lost track of the insults after Duo called Wufei a 'yellow-bellied puffer fish'…I don't even know what that is…"
Trowa shrugged away the apology. As he continued to watch Duo and Wufei, he murmured, "Who do you think is going to win?"
The blond thought for a moment before answering, "Heero."
Trowa actually turned to look at him. "Heero?"
"Yes, well you see…Duo borrowed his laptop to---"
As if to intercede on the explanation, both pilots heard said laptop utter in an electronic voice, "Left hand blue."
Quatre sighed. "Duo programmed it to shout out Twister commands."
An interesting grunt proceeded from the makeshift mat.
"Wufei, get your ass out of my face," griped Duo.
"Maxwell, get your face out of my ass!"
The two continued to struggle in their positions on the mat. Quatre briefly averted his gaze from the questionable scene.
He turned only to see the furious strides of yellow sneakers tramping his way. His eyes scanned from the sneakers, up to knobby knees, past black spandex, up a green tank, and finally his gaze paused at the decidedly irate expression on Heero Yuy's face.
"I want to know *who* dared to touch my--"
Heero was interrupted as an electronic voice uttered in a halting tone, "Right foot green."
"…" was Heero's reply as he looked from his laptop to the scene on the mat. From what his eyes told him, Duo and Wufei were in the same position those two stray mutts that ate their trash were in yesterday…
"Heero…" murmured Duo from his risqué position.
"Yuy," frowned a flustered Wufei.
"Which one of you touched her?"
" 'Her,'" asked the four pilots.
"The laptop."
No one answered him.
"Right hand yellow."
Wufei looked away from Heero. He had more important things to consider than Yuy's latest bout of vexation. He could feel Maxwell shaking in his unsteady position. The braided pilot's head kept nudging at his rear. A slight smirk touched the corners of Wufei's lips. He'd teach that longhaired idiot what humiliation awaited those who questioned his masculinity. Obviously this was a game centered on stamina and cunning. One more move and it would be all over for Maxwell.
" *I'm serious.* Who's responsible?" Out of the corner of his eye, Heero saw Winner begin to back away. He fixed the blond with a steely gaze. "You?"
"NO." Quatre frowned. His reply was much louder than he would have liked. "I had nothing to do with her."
"You," asked Heero as he peered at Trowa.
The lanky pilot didn't even reply. His look said everything.
"Of course not," Heero answered for him. His gaze tackled the two red-faced and soon to be ill-fated pilots on the colorful mat.
"Left foot red."
Wufei was too busy gloating over his imminent victory…so busy he didn't realize Heero was standing much closer to their mat than he was before.
The wing pilot waited for Wufei and Duo to make it into an especially precarious position before he reached down and yanked the mat from under them. With one swift, sharp movement, which revealed his much talked about but seldom-seen strength, Heero sent both pilots flying. Wufei landed forehead first. After reclaiming his senses, he realized that Maxwell's body partly covered his own. With a distasteful shove, he moved the Shinigami pilot off him. They were about to fall into an argument when they heard the sound of a gun being cocked. The two pilots looked up at their new cause for concern.
Thanks to another feat made possible by spandex space, Heero had a gun aimed at the both of them. "As far as I'm concerned, you're *both* responsible."
Once again, Trowa found himself murmuring to Quatre. This time he asked, "Who do you think he's going to shoot first?"
Quatre thought for a moment. "Himself."
Trowa was about to inquire further, but the blond had been curiously right before. Perhaps, it was best not to question. Instead, he'd watch how the next set of events would unfold.
The End