Disclaimer: As per usual.
Note: this is for K.S., who begs so nicely….Thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter One
Interfacing:
I've always believed in love at first sight.
I've always thought that when it happens you just know. That this is what's going to make you complete; to make sense of the world and everything you've ever done in your entire life. To fill up the deepest part of your soul and heart.
When Quatre Winner pulled up opposite the diner, it was a case of love at first sight.
I just knew.
Trowa fell for the blond guy; hook, line and sinker. He tries to make out he's so tough, but he's really a pussycat who cries during sad movies, especially involving animals, and Bette Middler songs. Because he thinks they're sad in a sorrowful way.
I fell for the car.
Like in all the best romances, it ended with Tro and Quatre strolling off, arm in arm, into the sunset. Well, actually, that's not quite true. They strolled around the corner to eat Vietnamese delicacies at Miss Saigon.
Trowa'd given me a black look as he walked off;. Okay, maybe I'd overdone the teasing just a little, but I'd been trying to get my verbally disinclined friend to open up a bit to Quatre. I mean, it was staggeringly obvious that the blond guy had fallen for him. I'd only been trying to help. I'd even sloped off to hide in the back so they could be alone, and Trowa wouldn't think I was any sort of competition.
He'd seen the blond first, and anyway, he knew damn well that blond airheads, no offence to Quatre, weren't my type. If they were, I'd have jumped on Zechs years ago. Well, before Wufei got him.
So they strolled off and left me alone with the perfect view of the car.
It wasn't really a safe place to park a car like that. Not when it was starting to get dark, and most of the other businesses had closed up for the night. It was only right that I should keep an eye on it.
And it was so cool. All sleek and shiny under a lamppost, with a beam of light illuminating it perfectly. Shit, it couldn't have been more tempting if it had been wrapped in big shiny ribbons and tinsel and a tag addressed to Duo Maxwell.
I could practically hear it calling my name.
Duo. Take me for a spin. You know you want to…
No one would ever know, that was the thing. If no one knows, then you haven't done anything wrong.
No way were Trowa and Quatre going to be back for ages. I could just imagine them, staring into each other's eyes over their plates of noodles, and listening to cheesy Vietnamese love songs.
It wasn't fair, that I was stuck here by myself with that car sitting across the road, and tempting the hell out of me.
I could have the door open in one second.
I could just drive around the block. Once. Slowly. Just to check the battery wasn't flat or anything.
That wouldn't be a bad thing, would it?
Then I started thinking that this whole thing had started with Quatre locking his jacket in the car. It was still there. With his keys and his 'phone and his wallet, most likely. If anyone broke into the car, they would steal his entire life.
It wouldn't be right of me to let that happen. By leaving the car there, with who knew what inside, I was enabling any prospective thieves. I was actually encouraging them. And stealing is always wrong.
After half an hour, I'd convinced myself that I'd be failing in my duty as Trowa's friend if I didn't move his blond buddy's car. We had a secure parking area behind the diner, for Howard's truck and my bike. There was room enough for a zippy little sports car.
It would be safe there.
Quatre would be really grateful; I could call and let him know what I'd done so he wouldn't have a coronary when he came back and his car had vanished. And if the friend with the keys turned up while I was gone, I'd only be a few minutes, after all. He could wait.
I was still wavering - just a little bit - when a group of teenage boys wandered past. They didn't touch the car or anything, just looked at it admiringly, but the point was that they could have.
It was so vulnerable there.
Nope, it was going to be moved. By far the best thing to do. I shoved the 'Back in Five Minutes' sign on the diner door, and ambled across the street, taking my time. Looking at it from all angles. The only thing I wasn't crazy about was the colour. Quatre presumably liked that shade of blue, but I would have preferred black, or maybe a really dark purple. Something a bit more edgy.
There was nothing else to criticise though. Perfection on four wheels. I was running my hand along the shiny bonnet, lost in loving admiration and wondering if Quatre ever really opened the throttle and let it fly. I never even heard the guy approach, knew nothing about it until I was suddenly bent forwards over the car, with my arm twisted behind my back.
I don't possess Trowa's fighting skills; I tend to rely on the fact that I've got fast feet and a faster mouth. I still know how to handle myself. I grew up in a tough neighbourhood where even the Dobermans went around in packs. Having long hair and being gay made me quite the target so I'd learned enough to keep me safe.
I got in a few blows but this guy was good. He knew marital arts; not just a nodding acquaintance; more like knowing in the biblical sense. And it wasn't easy to fight when he had my right arm shoved up my back like a Pretzel.
Damn. Where was Trowa when I needed him? Or Wufei; he knew all those fancy 'Crouching Tiger; Hidden Dragon' moves; he'd spifflicate this guy. Even Hilde with her ten tonne handbag would have come in useful.
Still, he couldn't hold me like this forever. I got the feeling he'd learned his moves in some dojo with rules and principles; if he just let up one tiny bit, I'd kill the fucker.
'I'm making a citizen's arrest,' he panted, and part of me felt just a little bit proud that I'd made him exert himself.
'You're what?' OK, not some crazed rapist/lunatic. Just a civic minded citizen. Who thought he was Jackie Chan.
'You were trying to steal that car.'
'Was not. I was checking up on it. I know the guy who owns it; he's a friend of mine.'
'No, he very definitely is not.. I'm calling the police.'
Oh, no. Don't do that.
'I do know him. He's called Quatre. Quatre Rab…something Winner. Right?' Damn, how could I prove I knew him? 'He's got a pink flamingo. Called Sandrock.' There; that should clinch it. Surely there was no way he went around blabbing that sort of stuff to just anyone; although, come to think of it, he'd told me and Tro straight off.
Then my brain kicked into gear. I didn't think that Quatre would have all that many friends in this neighbourhood. 'Are you Heero? I'm Duo. From the diner. You're supposed to give me the car keys.'
'I hardly think you need them,' he grunted, although he did lay off the physical pressure and let me stand up.
He wasn't bad looking. I might have been more appreciative if he hadn't just half killed me, and if he didn't have his fingers clenched around the base of my braid in a death grip. When I tried to take a step back from him, he gave an almighty yank and it felt like he'd wrenched out half my hair.
'What were you doing with Quatre's car?'
'I told you. There were a few teenagers hanging around it earlier; I just wanted to check they hadn't damaged it.' I did my best to look virtuously wounded; he obviously wasn't buying it. 'Look, call Quatre. He'll tell you who I am.'
'His 'phone is in the car.'
'Oh yeah.' I took mine out of my back pocket. 'He's gone to dinner with a friend of mine. I can call Trowa.'
'I'll call him.' He grabbed my 'phone out of my hand. God, he was rude. 'Ah, what's the number?'
'Don't know everything, do you? It's on speed dial; 03.'
'I need to talk to Quatre,' he said curtly. 'Tell him it's Heero. Quatre? What the hell is going on? I've just caught someone trying to steal your car and he's claiming to be the guy from the diner.' He spun around to look at me. 'Yes, he does have long hair. Blue eyes, very dark blue.'
'Violet actually. Here, give me that. Quatre? It's Duo. Your friend's a freaking lunatic. He nearly killed me! Can you tell him to give me the keys and sod off to whatever nuthouse he's escaped from?'
'Oh, Duo. I'm so sorry.' He sounded absolutely stricken. 'I'm sure it was all a misunderstanding. Would you like me to come straight back?'
'No. Don't bother. You stay and enjoy your meal. And the company,' I added slyly.
'Well, if you're absolutely sure.' I had to grin; he was so cute, trying to be all polite and obviously dying to stay with Tro. 'Oh, Trowa wants to have a word with you.'
'Duo! Are you all right? What's going on?'
'It's OK. Nothing I can't handle.' I glared at Heero, wondering if my glare would somehow neutralise his, and we'd end up smiling at each other. 'You having fun?'
'Yes. You sure you're OK? Look, Quatre wants to talk to Heero for a sec. Can you put him on?'
'Yeah.' I handed the 'phone over. 'I'll be across the street. Bring that over when you're done, OK? Don't run off with it or anything.'
He walked into the diner about two minutes later.
'Quatre says I'm to apologise to you,' he announced stiffly.
I plonked myself on one of the counter stools. 'Well? I'm waiting.'
He just stared at me. 'For what?'
'For you to apologise.'
'I just did.'
'Nope. You told me that Quatre had told you to apologise. Not the same thing.'
'You're being ridiculous.'
'Fine. Don't say you're sorry. I'll be telling Quatre. And I'll show him the whacking great bruise on my arm where you grabbed me. And I'll tell him you tried to pull my hair out by the roots. Where I come from, only girls do stuff like that.'
'Where I come from, only girls have hair like that.'
'Must be a hell of a boring place then,' I shot back. 'What are you still doing here if you just want to insult me? Just leave the keys and shag off.'
'I'm waiting to see Quatre. I told him I'd be here.'
'Huh. If you have to stay here, would you mind sitting with your face to the wall? That glare of yours will scare away my customers.'
'You don't have any customers.'
True enough. I never quite got why Howard insisted on staying open so late.
'See that?' I pointed to the 'Management reserves the Right to Refuse Admission' sign. 'I can throw you out if I want.'
'You can try, certainly.'
Tosser.
I made a face at him, and then realised that he hadn't just tried to pull the hair out of my head; he'd managed to pull a fair amount out of the braid. It was a total mess.
I walked 'round the counter and ducked down, searching for a comb and shaking my hair loose.
He gaped at me when I popped back up, flipping it over my shoulder. 'What are you doing?'
'Fixing my hair. The hair that you messed up. See this?' I shoved the comb in his face. This is a thing called a comb. From the look of your hair, you've never used one in your life.'
'My hair is windswept.'
'Windswept, hah! It looks like you've been swept all the way from Kansas by a tornado!' It was kind of nice, though; a contrast to his very neat clothes. The sort of hair that makes you want to run your fingers through it and see how it falls, how soft it is.
Gah. I hated this guy. I couldn't have those sort of thoughts about him. That was wrong.
Instead, I reached up my right hand to start combing and winced. 'Ouch.' Bloody Heero's fault; he'd nearly wrenched my arm out of the socket. No way could I braid one handed. I suppose I could shove it into some sort of loose ponytail, but I preferred to have it tightly pulled back, especially in the diner.
'Here, you.' I thrust the comb into his hand. 'You tried to break my arm; you can damn well do my hair. I don't suppose you know how to braid?'
'I do, yes.' He ran his hands through my hair, and began to divide off the sections. 'I have a horse; I braid his mane for shows.'
'Well, I'm not a horse.' It didn't come out as quite so crossly as I would have liked. Heero's only other experience with hair care might have been with horses, but he was damn good at it, easing the tangles out gently and then smoothing his other hand over my head.
'Why do you have such long hair?'
'None of your business,' I said sharply. 'Why d'you care, anyway? You already told me you didn't like it.'
'I never said that. I think it's amazing. There, all done. Do you have a hair tie?'
'Uh, sure. Here.'
He secured the braid, and then went back to running those hands over my skull. Oh, that was just so good. I let my head drop forward, feeling his fingers massage my temples. Wow.
'Is this OK?' His hands dropped down to cup my shoulders, then down again to rub my poor arm.
'Shit, yeah.' At this rate, Trowa and Quatre would come back to find a long haired puddle on the floor.
'I'm really sorry I hurt you, Duo.'
Hey, he'd even remembered my name. And he had a nice way of pronouncing it.
'There!' I got one last, rather clumsy pat on the arm, and he backed off.
'You, ah, you don't have to stop.' I swallowed, wondering if this was really stupid. Hell, I didn't even know for sure if he was gay. And if he was straight and homophobic, he'd probably kill me with his bare hands, or my own comb. 'I mean, not if you don't want to?'
'I think I should stop, actually.' He gave me a rueful little smile. 'Since this is a restaurant, anyone could walk in.'
'I could lock the door. Put up the 'Closed' sign. If you wanted.'
'We shouldn't. Quatre said he'd be here soon.'
'OK, then. You're right. That's probably for the best. Sure. Listen, do you want a chocolate milkshake or something?'
He looked startled. 'Ah. All right. If you're making one. This Trowa person, he's a friend of yours?'
'Yep.' I took a carton of chocolate ice-cream out of the freezer. 'I've known him since we were both little kids. He's a good guy.'
Heero grunted.
'What? You have to approve all of Quatre's boyfriends? I would have thought he's old enough to do that by himself.'
'He is, I suppose.' Heero didn't sound overly happy about that. 'He's just making a lot of changes in his life at the moment. A new career; a new home.'
'So he might as well have a new guy, no? D'you not approve of this music shop idea?'
'I do, very much. It's time he started doing something he enjoys, rather than trying to please his family.'
'Well, maybe he'll enjoy doing Trowa,' I winked at him, scooping ice cream and milk into the blender, and he chuckled back, assuming that choking sound he made with a totally straight face was a laugh. Wow, he had a sense of humour; enough to find my jokes funny anyway. What more could I ask for? Maybe he could even smile. Maybe I could convince him to touch me again, notwithstanding that lame excuse about Quatre being due to turn up. 'What do you do, when you're not running around like some sort of vigilante ninja?'
'I work with computers.'
'Yeah?' I handed him a brimming glass and two straws. 'You don't look like an IT geek.' OK, the smart office clothes maybe did, but not the body and the crazy hair.
'Thanks. I think,' he said dryly, dipping one straw in the shake and licking the end. Very sexy. 'It comes in useful occasionally. I've offered Quatre to help with setting his inventory and cash flow systems.'
'Right.' Ack, he had the cutest little blob of chocolate goo on one corner of his mouth. Just sitting there, begging to be licked off. Instead, I handed him a paper napkin. 'So, does that mean you're going to be hanging around a lot?'
'I will now,' he said calmly. 'Assuming I can find a safe place to park my car. The nearest garage with a security guard is miles away.'
'We've got space behind the diner, if you want. It'll be safe there. What sort of car do you have?' Please, not something boring.
'A 1961 Aston Martin DB4 Vantage. Bentley six cylinder engine. 3.7 litre twin overhead camshaft. Original leather upholstery. Rack and pinion steering. Bodywork designed by Zagato.'
Oh, man, he was such a sweet-talker once he actually got going. He doled out these little details in between licks at his shake. Tease.
'266 bhp engine power?'
He shook his head smugly. '302.'
'Seriously?' I bounced on my stool. 'Only a handful of those were ever made with the bigger engine. What colour?'
'Black.'
The click sound was the last nail dancing gleefully into my coffin. I was so a goner over this guy. All my fantasies about Quatre's powder-blue Italian model went swirling off to sea. Trowa could keep them both.
I wanted an Aston Martin with Heero in it.
'Any chance you'd ever take me for a spin?'
'Possibly. If you're very good.'
'Heero! Are you flirting with me?'
'It's taken you this long to notice?' There were a cute little beginnings of a smile glimmering around the corners of his mouth. 'Yes, I am. Is that acceptable?'
'You bet! Flirting is good! So what happens if I'm very bad instead? Would I get pressed up against the car again?'
Oh, he could smile properly when he wanted! Oh, yeah. 'That would be a distinct possibility, yes.'
Wow. I hadn't even kissed the guy, hadn't even touched him, really, and I was going to come if he kept talking like that.
'I think that pretty much guarantees that my behaviour is going to be bad.'
'I thought it might.' He leaned across the counter, holding my hand palm up and tracing the lines with one finger. Oh God. If he could make me feel like that, just touching my hand, what was the rest of it going to be like? 'First though, I'm going to take you to dinner, as soon as Quatre gets here, so we can get to know each other a little bit.'
'You don't have to do that. I can fix us up something here. We've got freezers full of food.'
'Don't be silly,' he said firmly. 'I'm not going to let you cook on our first date.'
First date!
'Then I'm going to take you for a drive down by the coast, and we can get to know each other a little bit more. Will that be all right with you?'
A hot guy in a hot car. Yeah, that was all right.
It's not true about love at first sight.
It takes thirty seven minutes.
