Chapter 4: Maxwell House

Author: Gilly Wrist

As always, reviews are most welcome!

I had needed a dog then. Something loyal, something kind. Something I could be gentle towards and it, in turn, would be gentle and eager to see me. That would have made all the world of difference.

That may have helped heal my heart.

Duo woke up and it was daylight. This time he was certain it had to be the next day because of the foul taste in his mouth and the crust in his eyes. It felt repetitive. He woke up. He woke up. He woke up. Alone. Each day, all his days now, waking up, falling asleep. By the time he woke up there was a tray in his room with cereal and container of milk on ice.

He hadn't noticed this tray previously, he had not been hungry. He wondered who put it there. Surely the door had to open at some point. Duo frowned, sitting up and wincing as he did. He did not know if the door was locked. He rubbed the band around his thigh, feeling it through the pajama bottoms. He couldn't remember if Zech's told him anything about staying in this room. He had assumed the door was locked. He certainly did want to provoke anything of any kind.

The boy shook his head. He had to focus elsewhere. He was finally feeling better and he was finally ready to start attending to the rituals of the living.

He desperately needed a shower, to wash himself, to wash his hair at least. That would be a puzzle without getting his side or any one of his four casts wet. The pilot shook his head, four casts.

He needed to use the bathroom; he had to brush his teeth. He had to comb his hair. He had to eat something. It sounded exhausting.

The washing, the brushing, the bathroom were in a relatively small place at least. If he got back there, he could get a lot done. He stared across the room at the bathroom for a couple moments, rubbing the sand out of his eyes. And then he slowly, cautiously, began the journey.

Once in the bathroom he avoided the mirror like he was watching a horror film and the music was reaching a crescendo. He did not want to be surprised again. He washed his face and poking around in a drawer, found a toothbrush in plastic and a small tube of paste. He was surprised that he was not surprised. Everything about the chambers of the Merquise was thorough and well-considered.

Maxwell stared down at the casts on his wrists wondering if he could slip one off. He could wash his body carefully enough with a washcloth, but his hair would make his wrist casts soaking wet. He stared down at them, contemplating his next move.

If he could only get one off, he could wash his hair well enough in the sink one-handed. He tried, gingerly to pull. Not even a wiggle. The casts were too fresh. Nothing budged. Duo inhaled and for a reason unbeknownst to him, started to fight off a rising tide of panic. When something is attached to you, impeding you, uncomfortable, inorganic, and you do not have the means to get it off RIGHT NOW, your brain can sometimes snap a little.

Duo forced a deep breath. There were others ways. The casts can stay. They were there to help. He turned his attention to the sink and turned the faucet, waiting for the water to warm before grabbing a washcloth. Untying the drawstring around his waist was enough for the pajama pants to fall to the ground. They were huge on him. He didn't mind except he preferred to not feel impossibly smaller than he already was.

It was not a big deal.

As he bent down with the warm damp cloth in his fingers his ratty braid fell over his back and down his left shoulder. Once he was done with his lower half, he toweled off and warily bent down to pull the pajamas back up over his hips, moving slow and anticipating a terrible pain in his side. Nothing hurt too badly. He picked up the pace as he rinsed off the washcloth, still avoiding the mirror as he washed his neck, his arms, his pits.

As the water dripped down his belly he frowned as he realized he was dumb to wash his body backwards. He was completely inoperable without coffee in the morning. Duo smiled to himself, it was a good sign that his body was craving coffee again. 'Maxwell needs the Maxwell house,' Quatre would always say. Duo sighed, shaking away the memory of the blonde. It was better to keep his mind on puzzles. The puzzle now was his hair.

He frowned as he scanned the bathroom, eyes finally resting on the plastic encasing the extra rolls of toilet paper. There were more gauze bandages in the drawer. With a little luck, he could fashion a ridiculous looking but semi-water proof device.

He had a mechanic's brain. His solutions were often shoddy looking but they'd hold. He felt the same way about his appearance. Shoddily slapped together maybe, but there was strength in his wiry frame. He was held together where it counted. He looked down at his casted wrists. He usually is, anyway.

He shook his head against the memory of the repair he made on Wing once. Heero had him by the neck after that, slammed up against the hanger. Duo didn't break his gaze and Heero eventually let go. It was only fair. Heero had raided his babygirl months before for parts. Here he was, repairing Wing. Yea, he also hadn't asked. But he was helping. The repair did hold. Through the next battle at least. He snorted. That asshole didn't even thank him. He learned better than to touch Wing again. He didn't need to. They were even after that.

Scythe was like him. Scarred up and ain't much. He fixed her to be quieter. He fixed her to be quicker. She was unmatched in cloaking. His shoulders relaxed as he honestly appraised his work. She didn't look like much but she too, had it where it counted.

Now the task was a waterproof arm.

He removed the extra rolls of toilet paper and set them down on the sink. The bag was barely long enough.

Duo grabbed his greasy chestnut braid, pulling the rubbing band off the bottom before working the plait open. He warmed up the water in the sink and maneuvered the shampoo out of the shelf in the shower. He paused, exhausted and a little light headed. He thought about waiting until a little bit later. He did not want to have to walk back over to the bathroom once he left it. He glanced out of the open door and over to the disheveled bed. His hair was already unbraided. He sighed as he wrapped one wrist in the plastic, tearing the gauze with his teeth and tying it off. The action made him feel like a junkie. He had seen a lot of them on the streets of his home before the Father found him. V-08744. V-08744. Tied off with the teeth and mainlined. He swayed on his feet, inhaling the steam filling the room.

Duo bent over as he pushed his hair into the sink, sighing with the relief as he rested on his elbows. He'd deal with his scalp in a few minutes. For now, it was enough that the bottom of his hair soak in the hot water. He closed his eyes. Hot water always felt like a privilege.

The boy did not mind it, being grateful. He was more grateful than guilty feeling about the hot water spilling over his hair and down the drain. He appreciated it, how the steam felt in his lungs, how his hair moved against the clear hot consistent water. It was hypnotizing. The running water was nice white noise to his thoughts. His mind was finally clearing. He was thinking of nothing but water, water, water, spilling down, down, down, down, and over, under, around and around. Washing away the sweat and the fear and the dried blood away, away, away.

He could fall asleep like this.

It was a struggle to keep his eyes open and dip his head further into the sink. The plastic bag around his cast and his hand made the shampooing difficult and awkward. He snorted as his mind drifted around the word 'horse condom' and 'fisting glove.' He bit back a grin. It's not his fault his mind fell on weird things. That's what it felt like anyway. Like his arm was stuck inside some prophylactic made for an elephant. Quatre would probably describe these thoughts as Duo starting to feel right as rain again.

Elephant condom.

He rinsed his hair as best he could. He had so much hair and he was tired. He pulled off the plastic wrapper and gauze. Soon he was rubbing a towel over his heavy water soaked tresses. It was dry enough. He stared at the brush he had also found in that well-considered drawer. He couldn't even begin to think about brushing his hair. Untangling it would take at least forty minutes.

His stomach gurgled for food. His legs felt like gundamium alloy.

As he shuffled out of the bathroom, he shot a look at the cereal on the tray before turning his head back over to the bed.

The cereal could wait the boy thought as he yawned. His damp hair clung to his back. He couldn't braid it without combing it first. All of these things had to wait. Bed won. His hair was going to be a nightmare when he woke. Duo shook his head as he sank down on the mattress. He'd deal with it then.

"Is there a reason you aren't eating,"

Duo started awake, he was not alone.

Zechs was standing before him.

The boy's jaw was slack.

The man was in full uniform. Pristine, as always.

Duo stared down at his own bare and bandaged chest, his knotted half dry hair all over the place.

He must have looked like some feral fucked up mermaid. That thought made Duo's eyes dance a bit, it gave him resolve. These silly thoughts, this sick mind, they were his backbone. Without them he had been so very lost. With them, his armor, he felt stronger at least. Not strong yet, but stronger than he had been.

His head lolled to the side, twisting in a smirk.

"Are you trying to fatten me up for the roast?"

Zech's face was blank, he pivoted, walking out of the room.

"Wait, wait," Duo bit back a yawn as he tried to stop the blonde. "Wait please"

The blonde halted.

"I apologize. I'm rusty, I uh don't get out much. I, please, I'll answer you."

Zechs turned around but came no closer. He had never seen the boy's hair down like this before. The dark coils of hair spilled over the sheets and pillows, spilling over his shoulders.

Duo swallowed under the gaze of the man appraising him.

"I'm not, not eating," he said finally, "If that was your concern." He shrugged his shoulders. "Today was the first day I even noticed food was in the room. I had to wash up first and it made me too tired so I just fell asleep."

Zechs blinked. "Ok," turning again to leave.

"Wait, I uh. I couldn't remember what you said. About this", he rubbed the band on his thigh through his pajama pants. He didn't know what to call it.

The Merquise waited.

"The monitoring device thing on my leg. Am I allowed to leave this room?"

Zech's frowned. "The door has not been locked, Duo. But I am not sure it is a good idea. The door leading out of this apartment is secure. But the rooms of this apartment are free." Zechs exhaled as he gathered the rest of his thoughts. "Yes, you are allowed to leave this room."

"Ok." Duo answered softly. "Thanks."

"Anything else?"

Duo opened his mouth and shut it, ducking his head.

Zechs waited patiently in the silence.

"It's stupid." Duo finally said, blushing and still refusing to meet his gaze. He was grateful his hair was down and he could hide behind it a bit.

"02 I am short on time." Zechs tried.

"Coffee?" Duo tried. "Coffee maker, coffee, and uh…smokes? Anything. It doesn't matter. Truly, truly, coffee and smokes and I'll eat like a soldier and I'll start lookin' good and then I'll be outta your hair and standin' trial as your badass big bad wolf terrorist'n'shit" He rushed, hoping more words would make his request sound better. That plan failed miserably.

Zechs was aghast and somehow somewhere, almost charmed. It was almost funny. His ears were buzzing a bit. He had never in his life heard a person talk as fast and as strange as this.

"What," he said tersely. He had not meant it to sound that terse or that snapped.

"Never mind, I'm.. forget I said anything" Duo mumbled, eyes transfixed with the sheets.

He, the Merquise, was rarely on lower ground, rarely on unstable footing. No one talked to him like this. No one asked things like this of him. This boy, this pilot, was supposed to be a better flyer than 01. This boy, this pilot, was supposed to be unmatched in assassination and espionage.

Where were these talents? Where was he hiding the killer?

Yet this could not be some sort of elaborate ruse. He was staring at all of the boy. His bare chest, his large eyes, his fragility, and his diarrhea of the mouth. He was a crazy, irreverent, elven, waif, killer, joker child pilot creature. That combination would hardly congeal in his mind. It was too much.

"Coffee and cigarettes." Zechs said incredulously, shaking the blonde bangs out of his face. "I smoke Red 100s occasionally. Will that brand do?"

Duo's eyes widened and rushed to Zech's face, searching him.

Zech's struggled to remain impassive.

Duo nodded and knew better than to open his mouth again.

"How do you like your coffee?"

"Black" Duo answered. "Please"

Zech's nodded, moving towards the door. Duo's forehead was still scrunched with worry. The boy did not know why talks with Zech's always went this way. He couldn't even name what he meant. They always ended batshit crazy. They could not interact normally. Duo shook his thoughts, HE could not act normally, he was batshit crazy, the Merquise was probably just caught off guard. Duo hardly noticed the Merquise slip through the door, so deep he was in his spinning thoughts. He chewed on his lip.

The blonde pulled the boy's attention away a moment, poking his head back through the doorway. When the Merquise opened his mouth, he spoke politely and slow, enunciating around his elegant cadence. When he opened his mouth, it was how the Merquise always spoke, only a bit slower, a bit more refined. When he opened his mouth, his voice was clear and calm, the voice of a prince. "Red 100s and coffee black for the big bad wolf terrorist and shit."

Duo had been wrong. The Merquise was batshit crazy too.