This is very much turning out to be a stream of consciousness-type of story. Because of where I currently reside, I don't have the luxury of internet at my disposal 24/7. But I also don't want to go forever without updating. So, my plan is to just keep posting, and then one day go back and edit it all for coherence. :D Thanks for reading! Reviews pump me up, hooah?
It wasn't too long after that theater incident, only a couple of weeks or so, I'd guess. Quatre swept up and down the scales again, followed by short and choppy staccato. I've never played keyboard or piano, but it looked difficult. The way his fingers splayed and flexed as they jumped around the keys looked almost painful, and his veins were protruding from his skin from all the effort.
"Nuh, nuh, no," Heero shook his head and took the pen he had clenched between his teeth out. "Right here," he pointed with the tip, "You need to come off louder, and you're letting your fingers drag a bit."
Quatre's head dipped forward, and he sighed with exasperation. They'd been at it for a good hour or so. He hiked up the over sized sleeves on the sweatshirt, which hung off his right shoulder, and tried again. Heero watched him, intently, his hands clasped around the back of his neck so that his elbows touched in the front. After Quatre finished, he folded one arm and bit down on the pen again, slowly shaking his head. I'd thought it sounded pretty good.
"What?" Quatre's voice was stony. He tucked his bought hair behind his ears and narrowed his eyes.
"It just still doesn't sound right. Here, let me show you." Heero took off his leather jacket and tossed it to the side before taking a seat next to the now somewhat disgruntled kid on the bench. He dove right into the part, and, like everything Heero Yuy did musically, it was perfect. I was aware of his talent for the piano, we had one in the apartment, but it wasn't often he played in the band's company. Quatre looked a little shocked.
"If only there was a way for you to play guitar and piano at the same time," Wufei lamented, lightly tapping a cymbal. I was pretty sure the look Quatre threw his way could kill.
"I'm sorry we can't all be so fucking perfect," he muttered, crossing his legs and folding his arms. His shorts were approaching dangerous heights, as he kicked at the keyboard stand with his sneakers, irritably.
"You're doing fine," Heero asserted, though his voice was distracted. He rose, taking the music sheets with him.
"Wait! Where are those going?" Quatre asked.
"I'm just going to rework this section all together. I think it's a bit too overdone."
"Oh, fuck no!" Quatre cried, not buying the obvious cover, and he stood as well. "I can get it, I promise! You've just got to give me more than an hour! I'm just not used to playing this way, yet!" he demonstrated by waving his hands about frantically.
"It's not about you, but while we're on the subject, you need to cut your nails."
"Excuse me?" Quatre's voice was suddenly quite breathless.
"They're too long to play correctly. Cut them." I almost laughed. Quatre looked like Heero had just asked him to cut his hands off. Heero himself didn't even notice, as he shuffled through the papers, eyeing them critically.
"As long as we're celebrating 'shit on Quatre day', will there be anything else, oh favored one?"
"Nope," Heero said simply, walking out the room, already completely absorbed. Wufei let out a small snort and Quatre looked absolutely livid.
"Asshole!" he yelled, sending the fold out bench clattering to the far side of the room with his foot. His voice was becoming very loud with agitation. For such a runt, Quatre had an amazing pair of lungs in him. It's why he provided a lot of the ambient backdrop vocals without hardly any tweaking through the mixer. He was able to manipulate his voice practically any way, and although it was not quite as unique as Heero's, it was full and vibrant. It was the kind of voice you'd never expect to come out of some skinny little kid, but then again, there were a lot of things about Quatre no one would ever expect. "Can you believe that shit?"
Trowa and I had been sitting on the small, floral print couch, which occupied a corner of the recording studio, plucking idly at our guitars as we waited for practice to resume. I faced the front, and Trowa lay stretched out on his back, his buckskin boots propped up against my right leg. He shrugged at Quatre's question, and I leaned forward, resting my arms over my guitar. I liked the way the smooth, polished wood felt cold against the back of my arms. Gave me goose bumps. Everyone else was in long sleeves, but I was used to the chilly weather.
"Heero didn't mean to snub you, you know," I offered, trying to dispel the tense atmosphere. It wasn't just that day, the kid had been on edge all week. "You know how he is when it comes to music. He kind of mentally checks out."
Quatre completely ignored me, not uncommon, especially when he was in a mood, and leaned against Trowa's side of the couch in a huff. "He's the one who asked me to be in this stupid band! If I'm not fucking good enough, then he should just find someone else!" Trowa said nothing, and continued to pluck at the thick strings on his bass.
"Why are you taking this so personally?" Wufei sighed, laying his sticks aside and rising from his drum set. "No one's as good as Heero. Stop being a diva."
"Was not talking to Wu!" Quatre intentionally looked in the opposite direction.
"Whatever," Wufei sighed. "I need to call and let Nakamura know we might be running a little behind schedule. Anyone want something to drink while I'm at it?"
"Sprite?" Trowa asked, sounding small and meek, like a child.
"Oh, orange?" I chimed in, mimicking his baby tone. "Pwease?"
"What the fuck is wrong with you people," Wufei said, shaking his head as he left.
"Thanks, Daddy!" Trowa called after him.
"Shut up!" Wufei's voice sounded from the other room. Quatre watched him go, and plunked down on the floor.
"Such a jerk," he rubbed his temples. Trowa shrugged, and still didn't say anything. Quatre looked back at him a moment, and when it became clear he wasn't going to get an answer, continued on. "Since Wufei's so into Heero, they should just go get a hotel room together in hell."
I snorted. Trowa just rolled his eyes and sighed. "What?" Quatre asked, immediately on the defense.
"Nothing. Go practice."
"What?" Now his voice sounded confused.
"You say you're good enough. I know you're good enough. Stop being so insecure and show them. Grow up."
There was nothing cruel in the way he said it. He might just as well have been commenting on the color of the room. In a way, it was fitting, as Trowa had always been a sort of big brother figure for the boy. At least, in as much as I'd seen them interact with one another. He definitely looked out for him. And, in turn, it was obvious to everyone, (well, except maybe Trowa), that Quatre completely and utterly adored the older man. He was usually attached at the hip everywhere they went. How the two polar opposites grew to be such close friends was a mystery to me. Music was the only commonality between them. Trowa had been in the Maritime Self-Defense Force, and then gone on to work with law enforcement for the past couple of years before the band became a full time job. Quatre was, as far as I knew, an otherwise unemployed, flashy, vocal little thing. I suppose opposites attract, even in friendships. Like a tall, quiet hound and a skittish little fox. The fox and the hound weren't playing so well together, today.
"What the fuck are you talking about? Insecure? Me?"
Trowa rose from the couch, putting his guitar back in it's case. He stood up straight, a good foot taller than the kid. After all, Quatre was in flats that day. "Yeah. You. And you don't need it."
"Don't need what?" Quatre was practically spitting. He was getting so wound up, I suppose the emotion had to go somewhere. It was like shaking a can of soda.
"All of this," Trowa sounded tired as he made a sweeping motion over him with his left hand. "If you did it just because you felt like it, well that's one thing. But it's like some weird crutch with you. And the attitude. Seriously, no one cares that much. If you want to be in the band you should just do your job and get better, little by little." Quatre looked like something inside of him was going to explode. His face was turning all sorts of lovely shades of red and purple. It was like a dial spinning, and he wasn't quite sure how he should feel. He bit his lip and cocked his head slightly to the side. "You don't need it," Trowa reiterated. "Stop acting like a damn child."
The room was deathly silent. That had to be the most I'd ever heard Trowa speak at one time. Quatres' face was unreadable, his head sank so low you couldn't even see his face. Trowa shoved his free hand in his jean pocket, and and he looked down at him with somewhat of a sad expression. He shook his head and started toward the door. "If we're not practising anymore today, I'm going to split. I got a date tonight," Quatre flinched, "Tell Wufei I'll call him."
"I will," I answered, feeling more than a little awkward at being left alone with the troubled youth. I suddenly had a feeling about what was really bothering him. We were alone, and I sat there, nervously drumming the body of my guitar with my fingers. "Well, alright then," I clicked my tongue, (Heero had me doing that now), and looked about, fighting the compulsion to start whistling. I wanted nothing more than to leave as well, but even I wasn't cruel enough to leave the poor kid alone like that. He really was just a child, and I felt like Trowa had been a little harsh. On the other hand, tough cookies. Life sucks sometimes, and nobody's going to solve your problems for you. You just got to pull yourself up by your own boot straps, and yadda, yadda, yadda...
I heard a quiet sob, and the boy's small, thin shoulders hitched. I sighed. Fuck it all...
"Alright," I rose from my seat with purpose, and put my guitar away. "Come on," I commanded, gruffly.
"Wha-?"
"Shut the fuck up and get your ass out that door, now!"
I doubted Quatre was aware that I could sound that mean. I wasn't aware that he could move that fast. The guy shot out the door like he was on fire. I followed up the rear, and we reached the parking lot. Heero's tangerine colored Mazda was nowhere in sight; he'd probably forgotten we were even there. I had my old, brown, used Subaru in the corner of the lot and steered him toward it. "Get in." He complied. I was half expecting a snide comment about the comeliness of the car, but he said nothing. He stared straight ahead over the dashboard, his hands on his lap. The only movement he made was to blink. "Buckle up." Geez, telling people what to do was kind of fun. Maybe I should have volunteered to be a drill sergeant. After the initial shock wore off, he recovered and reached into the front pocket of his sweatshirt and took out a pair of sunglasses. They took up his entire face, but they hid his puffy and bloodshot eyes. He set his lips in a firm line; it made him suddenly appear years older than he actually was.
"Where are we going?" He finally asked, after I'd pulled out onto the street.
"To get some fresh air, and don't light that in here."
His hand froze halfway, the cigarette poised right on the edge of his lip. He stared at me over the rim of his glasses. "Sorry, I forgot you don't smoke," his voice was genuinely apologetic. It was...odd.
Shaking my head at his new addiction, I popped a tape into the cassette player, and looked straight at the road. It was a mix, and we listened in silence to the Pixie's Monkey Gone to Heaven and Michael Jackson's Billie Jean. I stopped at a small convenience store and came out with a loaf of bread. Quatre said nothing. A few minutes later, we reached our destination, which happened to be a local park. "Are you serious?"
I unbuckled and began to get out of the car. "Absolutely. You need fresh air. You look like you haven't had an hour of sun in your life. It's not healthy."
"What the fuck, are you my father now? I don't need people to tell me what to do."
"Everyone needs someone to tell them what to do sometimes...Get out of the car."
I couldn't see his eyes behind the glasses, but I'm sure he was glaring. "Fine," he said at length, and got out. He slammed the door a little harder than necessary, and stood with one hip cocked, his arms folded so tightly, his nails were probably digging into the skin on his arms. I'd never seen someone look so out of place. In my home town, the park was where it was at. It was the place all the local teens gathered and mingled until either the sun rose, or the local law enforcement ran us off. That was a sight to see. As soon as someone glimpsed the hazy blue and red lights flashing through the foggy night and heard the faint wailing of the sirens, we scattered like a thousand cockroaches in every direction, beer cans flying. Kids are so dumb. I nodded in the direction of the lake, and started toward it with the bread in my hand. I knew he would follow. we walked out onto the small, wooden foot bridge crossing over a small slip. White ducks paddled beneath us, quacking indignantly at our presence. Their tone quickly changed into a frenzied excitement at the sight of the bread. I handed Quatre a few of the slices, and he stared at them, quizzically. He finally looked up at me with his fine eyebrows arched high.
"We're feeding ducks," I explained, dropping a few tiny pieces into the water. The ducks swarmed over the floating crumbs and they were devoured almost instantly.
"We...are feeding ducks," he echoed, and almost mechanically dropped a whole slice of the bread over the side of the railing.
"You gotta tear it up into little pieces and scatter them. You've never fed ducks before?" I asked, almost laughing. He shrugged. "Man, what kind of upbringing did you have?"
"The bad kind," he answered simply. He dropped a handful of crumbs and leaned over to watch the ducks jump all over each other. "It is kind of therapeutic to place small, stupid creatures in a state of aggressive mania, isn't it?"
"That's the completely wrong attitude," I declared. "Why are you so negative?"
"Because I never fed ducks when I was a kid?" he shot back snidely. I could already see the tension leaving his face, though. We stood there for a long time, periodically throwing bread into the water. Eventually, the loaf ran out, and the ducks quickly lost interest and swam away. "Well!" Quatre observed, holding onto the ledge and leaning back. "Aren't they little whores." I laughed, and he startled. A small smile broke through to the surface, and he laughed too. Now that I thought about it, I'd never heard him laugh before. It sounded so...normal. He quickly caught himself and fell silent again. "Thank you," he said at length. "For this..."
"You're welcome."
"Trowa's right. I do need to grow up. I've never been anything but a mega-bitch to you."
"Yup," I wasn't going to disagree. He smiled, sadly.
"You know," he said, putting his hands in the back pockets of his shorts, "Sometimes I don't know why he even bothers. The more I try to imagine my future, the more I see nothing, just a big, black hole." I opened my mouth to respond, but he quickly whipped his head around to silence me. "I know what you're going to say. I'm too young to decide there's nothing more to life. Cut the bull shit. I knew it when I saw you."
"Knew what?" I asked. He ignored my question and lit a cigarette.
"I'm assuming you want to know my sob story," he said, slowly exhaling a stream of smoke. What I really wanted to know was how he kept getting cigarettes. I knew Trowa wasn't buying them for him.
"If getting it off your chest will help," I offered. I could already tell this was going to be one of the more uncomfortable moments of my life.
"I don't think anything will ever help me," the way he said it made me believe him. "My mother's dead, because of me."
'Ouch,' I thought. Yes, this was going to be unpleasant, indeed. He looked up at the sky and continued.
"My stepfather, he absolutely hated me. He married my mother, because she was beautiful. She married him because he was one of the only people who would marry a single mother. It was...pathetic." He brought his head back down into his chest and took another drag off his cigarette. "So, one night, my step father was beating me. Not the usual kind of beating; I was pretty sure he was going to kill me. He had a drinking problem. My mother, I guess she thought he would, too. She usually didn't interfere too much, but that night, she jumped on his back, and started hitting him. She was screaming at him..." he trailed off and I knew he was reliving the event in his mind. A while passed before he continued on. "I can remember the sound of her shriek when he threw her. The back of her head hit the corner of a table; she died almost instantly." He tapped his cigarette over the railing, letting the breeze catch the ashes and carry them far away. "The police came. Trowa was there. I guess he was pretty new at it. My step dad passed it off as an accident. He was an important banker. I was scared out of my mind, hiding behind my bedroom door and watching them through a tiny crack," he held up his thumb and forefinger together for emphasis. "I remember praying. I was screaming in my head. 'Please don't leave, please don't leave'. They began to walk out the door, but I couldn't make a sound. I saw them lift my mother onto a stretcher. They threw a sheet over her and wheeled her out the door. I still didn't make a sound. Trowa was the last to leave. I don't know why, but he paused right as my stepfather was about to shut the door. He suddenly threw his arm in the way of the door and pushed his way back in. Everything happened so fast, I don't really remember it too well, but I remember my stepfather cursing at him and the next thing I knew, my door was flung open, and Trowa was standing right in front of me."
"He helped you," I thought out loud.
Quatre flicked his cigarette into the water. "If you mean he kept me from dying that night, then I suppose so," he muttered rather darkly. He crossed his arms over the wood and rested his chin on them. "But you know, sometimes...it feels like things didn't happen the way they were supposed to."
"What do you mean?"
"I should have died that night, not my mother. Trowa should still be in the police force. This band shouldn't exist. Like, everything got all fucked up somewhere along the way." I don't know why, but a sudden surge of panic swept over me, and I gripped the railing tightly. I was very much regretting the conversation. I started to bounce my leg, bending my left knee back and forth in my agitation. Quatre didn't notice. "It's like there was a hiccup in time or something." He took off his wig, and looked down at it, thoughtfully. His hair was shockingly blond, and fine. He shook the pins out, and it resembled a white bird taking flight when the wind caught the ends and lifted them up. I'd never seen someone look so angelic and fragile. He really didn't look like he belonged; not in the park and not to this world.
"You love him, don't you?" It was more of a statement than a question.
He shrugged, and walked to the side again, letting the hair drop between his hands. It fell into the water with a small splash, and we both watched as it slowly faded from view, sinking to the bottom. "I guess, if this is what they call love."
People along the shore of the lake were beginning to point and gaggle in our general direction. I guess they finally realized who we were, and had started taking pictures and what not. We had yet to reach mega stardom, but there was enough of a stir for me to decide it was time for a hasty withdrawal. Quatre dumping his hair into the lake was probably going to be all over the papers tomorrow morning. P.R. was gonna be pissed. As we got back into the car, I recalled what he had said earlier.
"What did you mean when you said you knew it when you saw me?" I asked, sliding into the drivers seat and fastening my safety belt. Quatre adjusted his sunglasses and looked toward me.
"That you're empty," I stared at my reflection in the large, plastic lenses, "Just like me."
We didn't listen to the radio on the drive back. Quatre was telling me about a few thoughts he'd had concerning the album we were currently working on, going so far as to demonstrate, a cappella style. As he spoke, it was like our previous conversation had never happened. He was once again a loud, bubbly teenager, talking a little louder than necessary and over-gesticulating. Most of his ideas were actually really good, and I told him he should definitely bring it up with Wufei and Heero the next day. He said he'd think about it. Quatre would hang himself three years later.
Heero and I had driven back from his work at the bar in my little Subaru late one afternoon. He wouldn't be working there much longer. Wufei was already looking at selling the old place. We were still riding pretty high from signing our record deal a couple of weeks before and had already begun recording in the studio. We were supposed to be on our way to practice, but I'd seen a goldfish that looked exactly like Cleo in a pet store window, and we had to bring Cleo II home first. Heero held the fish in a bag up high, inspecting it.
"Well, now you won't be so lonely at night," he commented, referring to how we'd originally met.
"Maybe we should arrange play dates for Cleo and Aisha."
"That sounds more like arranging dinner," I said, with a grin. Heero laughed, and let the bag rest on his lap.
"Gotta get our laughs in now before 'real work' begins," he commented. He twirled a cigarette around in his free hand, knowing I wouldn't let him light it in my car.
"Come on, you've gotta be a little excited about seeing your name in lights."
Heero smiled and shrugged. "I suppose so. That sort of thing just isn't very important to me, I guess."
"So, what IS important to you," I queried. I honestly wanted to know for some reason.
"Ah, lots of things!" he grinned. "Let's see...my cat, my guitar, my piano, my friends...I don't know, I'm just happy as long as everyone else is happy."
"In America, we would call you a 'hippie douchebag'," I informed him, and he laughed again. I could listen to that sound all day long, and not grow tired of it. But the smile quickly faded from my face, as we rounded the corner. There in front of my building was a familiar, small silver Honda, parked a few spaces from the door. Heero immediately sensed my change in mood.
"What's up?" He asked, trying to look where I was looking.
"It's...my wife." I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. I hadn't even thought about her in days. Heero's eyes grew large for a moment, and he glanced at me questioningly. I sat there, stunned, not really knowing what to do. But I guess there really was only one thing to do. Heero slowly held the bag with the fish out to me.
"Guess you, your wife, and Cleo II have a lot to talk about. I can walk from here. I'll tell Wufei you're running a little late."
"I'm really sorry," I began, as I took the bag and began getting out of the car. Heero got out as well and thrust his hands in his jacket, rocking back on his heels.
"No worries, seriously! I'll catch you later, alright?" He smiled again, but something about it seemed off. I think Heero might have been a little apprehensive about whether Hilde and I would get back together. It was pretty evil, but something about that kind of made me feel good.
"I'll come as soon as I can," I promised. He gave a wave and began walking away. I waved back, even though he was already turned around.
"Well, you two seem awfully close," an all too familiar voice spoke from behind me. I turned around to see my wife, smartly dressed in a skirt, blouse and heels. Her short, black hair was always neatly pinned back now, but I remembered the days when it used to flip every which way, when we were young.
"Hi, Hilde. Nice of you to stop by. What can I do for you?" My voice was pretty platonic. If she had been expecting me to be a little more emotional about her sudden return, she was going to be sorely disappointed.
"Well, super star, I came by to bring these for you to sign. I would have done so sooner, but you are literally never home now days."
I knew what was in the envelope before she even opened it. "Sure thing. Let's go inside." I walked past her up the steps and into the building. She followed.
"So, was I suppressing the latent rock star in you all these years?" I'll never know how she found out about my sudden career change. Maybe she had talked to one of my old coworkers. I just laughed as I fished around for a pen.
"It was really nothing to do with me. I was practically shanghaied into it, no effort required on my part. I think they just liked my hair." Hilde rolled her eyes.
"Of course it is the hair I was always telling you to cut that eventually brought you fame and fortune," she sighed, giving her bangs a little toss.
"Awe, it must not be that bad looking after all, huh?" I teased. "Look! Pen!"
"You want to read it first, yes?" she asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
"I don't really care what it says," I told her honestly. "Take it all, if you want."
"You are such an idiot," she muttered, handing the papers to me. "You do not care about anything that is important."
"Well, I am a rock star now," I informed her as I signed. "We tend to be a carefree breed."
She shook her head. "Well, in case you wonder later, I do not want any of your money. I am doing just fine without you. But I did..." she suddenly looked down at her shoes, "want to apologize...for the way I left. It was not fair to you, and I am sorry." She sat down on the couch, her knees together, neatly. "I am happy things are working out for you." She sounded sincere, and I smiled.
"I want you to be happy too, Hilde. I'm sorry I made your life so unpleasant for so long."
"It was not all bad," she winked, and stood to leave. I handed her the folder back. "Well, take care of yourself, Duo. I'll be following along with your career."
"Thanks, Hilde. You too."
"Oh! Who's this little guy?" she asked, suddenly noticing the fish I'd set on the counter top.
"That's Cleo II. Sorry, honey, but Cleo kinda kicked it after you left," I mentally slapped myself for letting the "honey" slip, but old habits die hard. Hilde didn't seem to notice.
"Bummer..." she said. I'd taught her that word. "Well, bye, dear," she waved on her way through the door. "Oh, and tell your boyfriend I said, hi."
"What? He's not my-"
Hilde tilted her head down and looked up at me cynically with her large, cornflower blue eyes. "Really, it is pretty obvious. I'm glad you found someone to make you happy. Good luck, Duo."
She kissed me on the cheek and left. That wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. Not more than ten minutes had elapsed before my phone rang.
"Duo here," I answered.
"Duo!" Wufei's angry voice pierced my eardrums, "What the fuck happened when Heero was out with you? All he's done since he got here is stare out the window!"
I was shocked at how accusing his voice sounded. He was literally seething. I was not aware at the time of just how protective Wufei could be over his friends. He was like a lion!
"It's all good, Wufei, just tell him I had some divorce papers to sign."
"...What?"
"Just tell him. I'll be there in a few." I put Cleo II in his new bowl, grabbed my coat and raced out the door, feeling absolutely no worse for wear at the prospect of being "single".