Author's Note: Okay, I suck. I know I suck. I'm sorry it took so long to get this next chapter out, and this one is not as long as I wanted it to be, either. I can only plead complete and total lack of time. But now, armed with my shiny new Bachelor's degree, I hope to once again get back on the ball with all off my stories. Mea culpa, please forgive me, and feel free (in fact please do) send me nagging e-mails. I might make me work faster. ;)
*********************
With the triumphant end of my first (and please God, only) foray into the world of relationship councilor, life at Timberlake began to settle into something approaching normalcy. Wufei did indeed confront Meiran, and I'm told that the argument drew an impressively large crowd. Afterwards, Meiran tried to corner me and discover my involvement in the whole affair, but I was avoiding *both* the Changs until the temperature came down a few dozen degrees. In class, however, she seemed happier underneath the exhaustion that all of us were feeling.
Wufei was eating lunch with the group again, but I was not. Headmaster Treize (affectionately known to his students as "That Crazy Bastard") had assigned our mid-term project: five full size canvases of the same scene, each done in a distinctly different medium and style. Eating, sleeping, and certainly spending time with my housemates were all things of the past. I cursed Treize's name with every single breath; and yet, I don't believe that I'd ever been happier. My hands were stained with a rainbow of colors, I dreamed about pencils that squirted green oil across a bright purple sky, and for the first time in my life, I really felt like an *artist*. On the day we finally turned the project in, it caused me actual physical pain to abandon them in that classroom. Although, thinking back, that may have just been the starvation talking.
Whatever it was, it also broke the fevered spell I'd been operating under. As I staggered out under the agonizingly bright sky, every one of my missed meals and sleepless nights dropped like lead onto my shoulders. "Oh, God," I whispered--the first time I'd spoken in a week--"I'm going to die. Please."
"You wish," a rusty voice croaked from behind me. Meiran's shoulder crashed into mine and she wrapped an arm around me. For support, mind you. We stood there and leaned against one another. I turned to look at her, the tendons in my neck twanged like overstressed metal wire. Her eyes were bruised and sunken in a face that would have moved a beggar to pity. I blinked. "Do *I* look like that?"
She threw me a look that blistered a little of the paint that I could feel smeared on my cheek. "Maxwell, you charmer," she croaked, "You look worse."
"Damn."
"Yeah."
And it wasn't just us. Our classmates stood (or sat) dazed and uncomprehending in the sunlight, like something from a really low budget horror movie. 'It Came From the Art Room' I thought, and began to giggle. The giggle became a chuckle, then a bark. Finally, with tears of helpless laughter streaming from my eyes, I dragged Meiran down to our knees and howled with hysterical mirth. She stared at me, wide-eyed, then raised her hand. It only had a fraction of its usual strength and power, but it was enough to do the job. "I need sleep," I gasped, feeling the sting on my cheek.
"Yeah. Upsy-daisy." Meiran hauled us to our feet and we staggered towards the dorms. "What day is it?"
"'S Friday," I replied muzzily. I wasn't exactly sure about that, but my internal universe could no longer contemplate having class tomorrow. Therefore it had to be Friday. Made sense to me.
"That's good," Meiran said after a long pause. I tried to remember what the hell we were talking about. Before I could work it out, we ground to a halt outside her dorm. We disentangled, and she flapped a hand at me as she disappeared through the door.
Gentlemanly duty accomplished, I barely made it to my own room before collapsing, fully clothed and not giving a shit, onto my bed.
I awoke to blessed night and a roaring hunger. The pillow smelled like acrylic paint and dirty socks. The last time I'd washed the bedclothes had been...never mind, I didn't want to know. A yawn nearly dislocated my jaw. Perhaps, if I got about twelve more hours of sleep, I'd discover that I still had two brain cells to rub together. My stomach and my nose began to protest as my eyes slid shut again. Damn. All right, a meal, a shower, and then twelve more hours of sleep.
Sitting up felt pretty good, and for some reason standing felt even better. I opened my door, and winced as light from the common room washed against me. I walked in, and saw my housemates sprawled on the various furniture, looking as dazed as I felt.
Quatre were...well you had to call it sitting, I suppose, at the table, while Wufei stretched across the small sofa with one arm flung over his eyes. Heero was on the floor, and he looked just a tad more alert than the rest. Quatre's head was on the table, and Trowa was making a desultory attempt at massaging his neck. Something about the two of them nagged at me, but thinking was just too hard, and I pushed it away. I dropped myself into the one free chair, and its protest seemed to prod the others into acknowledging me. At least, I think a few eyelids fluttered. "I'm hungry," I proclaimed.
"I could eat," Heero said from the floor.
"I could eat a horse." Wufei's voice was muffled by the fabric of his sleeve.
"Raw," Trowa agreed with quiet vehemence, and Quatre breathed a wordless, but enthusiastic, groan. Four heads turned to contemplate the tiny kitchen. In Wufei's case, this meant he was looking into the fabric of the sofa, but I wasn't going to say anything. "Anybody know how to cook?" he asked, sounding dubious.
"Not right now," Quatre muttered. I was pretty sure that he was drooling on the table.
"I can cook." We turned with various levels of disbelief to look at Heero. He shrugged, but showed no sign of actually moving.
"I can cook, too," I said, "but did anyone ever get around to actually stocking the kitchen?" It looked awfully bare from where I say, and I knew that I hadn't done anything resembling shopping. A glum silence descended as memory banks were searched without success. I think I spoke for all of us when I said, "Fuck."
"Let's raid the real kitchen," Quatre said. He levered himself upright and stared at me. "Duo, you look terrible."
Wufei snorted. "We all look like that."
Heero leapt to his feet, and everyone else flinched. "I like the kitchen idea." He had gloves on his hands. No, my mind corrected with pinch, not gloves, *bandages*. What was that about? Heero looked around, expectantly. I filed the mystery for future consideration, and thought about Quatre's suggestion.
"That involves walking," I pointed out to nods from Wufei and Trowa. Heero smiled slightly and held out a hand to the nearest person...me.
"And yet," he said, "there is food." I grasped his wrist above the bandages and he helped me to my feet. We both turned to Wufei, as Trowa and Quatre pushed themselves up from the table.
When we were all upright and liable to stay that way, we headed for the main buildings like grim zombies.
A half an hour later, we were huddled around the kitchen table while huge bowls filled with steaming beef stew were placed before us. The student cook, Matt, had been cleaning up from dinner when we arrived, and had mercifully taken pity on us. He'd pulled the leftovers out of the fridge, and reheated them, while we all caught naps. Then he'd served us all. I was seriously considering writing a letter to the Pope and nominating the guy for sainthood. "Well," Matt said, as we fell to devouring the stew, "If there's nothing else you guys want reheated, I'm going to put everything away and go to bed."
Quatre was the only one who even looked up. He gave Matt a smile and wave as the brown-haired boy put what was left of the stew back into the fridge and started cleaning up. As I came up for air from my meal, I noticed that Heero was eating slower than the rest of us. Those mysterious bandages were getting in the way. I wiped my mouth with a napkin, and since the edge had been taken off my hunger, I decided to practice my nosy bastard skills. "Hey, Heero. What happened with the paws? Surely you weren't *that* nervous about exams?"
He looked up, expression blank. "What?"
"Those," I said, gesturing at his hands, "I mean, I've heard of nail biters, but that's taking it a little far, isn't it?"
"I don't bite my nails, Duo. Do you wear nail polish?"
I blinked at the complete non-sequiter, and glanced down at my own hands. They looked as if I'd been washing them in paint. Wufei snickered. I ignored him, and gave Heero a tired wink and grin. "Oh, I assure you, my man, when I wear nail polish, I do a much better job." I sniffed haughtily. "I *am* an artist, after all."
"If we didn't know before, Maxwell, the way you smell like you've been bathing in paint thinner would probably tip us off," Wufei sneered, but the twinkle in his eyes took most of the sting out of it. I shook my head as Quatre sleepily started to chastise him. God help me, I was starting to find his arrogance endearing. Besides, not everyone could be as charming and unpretentious as myself, right? I snickered out loud, and got looks from everyone else.
"Touche, Chang. But, unlike *some* people, I have to do more than sit in a little white room and write about dead people for my grades."
"He's got us there," Quatre said with a smile. Wufei just growled something mildly uncomplimentary, and returned his attention to his half-empty bowl. "Still," Quatre continued, "You've got to admit, Duo, that midterms were lousy for all of us."
"No argument there, Q." I said, just to watch him wince. "But at least they're over, and I think I did pretty damn good."
"Une said I passed," Wufei sighed.
"I think I did pretty well," Quatre agreed, and Trowa nodded as he continued to eat his stew.
"But none of it matters," Heero ground out, as he glared at the table in front of him.
"Of course it matters!" I exclaimed, "I mean, it's *midterms!"
He looked at all of us, his blue eyes dim and red-rimmed. "But it doesn't matter. Remember? We could ace every assigment, and it won't mean a damn thing."
A look was passed around the table. It was a look that said quite clearly, "Oh, shit." I had completely forgotten about the 'final exam', and from the sudden panic on the faces around me, so had everyone else. Except Heero, of course. I groaned, and pushed away the nearly empty bowl. Suddenly I wasn't at all hungry. "Why did you have to remind us *now*, Heero?"
"Yeah," said Wufei, "Why not before I did that fifty page research paper on the impact of the Inter-Colony Alliance of 2072 on China's economy?"
"I hadn't seen any of you, remember? Besides, just because it doesn't matter is no reason to slack off." I just groaned again, and put my head in my smelly hands.
"This sucks," Trowa said, to enthusiastic agreement from the remainder of the table.
"How much more time do we have?" Quatre asked. I shrugged. I wasn't even sure that it was Friday, yet. Math was beyond me.
"About ten weeks, until the competition begins," Heero said. "I've been keeping track."
"I can't think about this now," Wufei muttered, and drained the rest of his bowl with a complete lack of manners. "I'll think about it after I've had a couple of...days to sleep."
"Amen to that, brother." I stood with him. "Screw the competition. I've gotta catch some z's." Quatre and Trowa rose together, apparently using each other for support again. I glanced at Heero as we sketchily washed out our dishes and put them away. "You coming, oh astute one?"
He shook his head and didn't look in our direction. "I'm going to finish here. I'll be back in a while."
"Your choice. Don't expect us to wait up, though."
"I won't."
We returned to the dorm. I managed to retain just enough stamina to reach the bathroom first. The hot water scalded and pounded my aching skin, and began to wash away some of the accumulated crap. When I felt within shouting distance of clean again, I stumbled out, and walked buck naked back to my room. Then I once again fell into the welcoming arms of Morpheus.
*********************
With the triumphant end of my first (and please God, only) foray into the world of relationship councilor, life at Timberlake began to settle into something approaching normalcy. Wufei did indeed confront Meiran, and I'm told that the argument drew an impressively large crowd. Afterwards, Meiran tried to corner me and discover my involvement in the whole affair, but I was avoiding *both* the Changs until the temperature came down a few dozen degrees. In class, however, she seemed happier underneath the exhaustion that all of us were feeling.
Wufei was eating lunch with the group again, but I was not. Headmaster Treize (affectionately known to his students as "That Crazy Bastard") had assigned our mid-term project: five full size canvases of the same scene, each done in a distinctly different medium and style. Eating, sleeping, and certainly spending time with my housemates were all things of the past. I cursed Treize's name with every single breath; and yet, I don't believe that I'd ever been happier. My hands were stained with a rainbow of colors, I dreamed about pencils that squirted green oil across a bright purple sky, and for the first time in my life, I really felt like an *artist*. On the day we finally turned the project in, it caused me actual physical pain to abandon them in that classroom. Although, thinking back, that may have just been the starvation talking.
Whatever it was, it also broke the fevered spell I'd been operating under. As I staggered out under the agonizingly bright sky, every one of my missed meals and sleepless nights dropped like lead onto my shoulders. "Oh, God," I whispered--the first time I'd spoken in a week--"I'm going to die. Please."
"You wish," a rusty voice croaked from behind me. Meiran's shoulder crashed into mine and she wrapped an arm around me. For support, mind you. We stood there and leaned against one another. I turned to look at her, the tendons in my neck twanged like overstressed metal wire. Her eyes were bruised and sunken in a face that would have moved a beggar to pity. I blinked. "Do *I* look like that?"
She threw me a look that blistered a little of the paint that I could feel smeared on my cheek. "Maxwell, you charmer," she croaked, "You look worse."
"Damn."
"Yeah."
And it wasn't just us. Our classmates stood (or sat) dazed and uncomprehending in the sunlight, like something from a really low budget horror movie. 'It Came From the Art Room' I thought, and began to giggle. The giggle became a chuckle, then a bark. Finally, with tears of helpless laughter streaming from my eyes, I dragged Meiran down to our knees and howled with hysterical mirth. She stared at me, wide-eyed, then raised her hand. It only had a fraction of its usual strength and power, but it was enough to do the job. "I need sleep," I gasped, feeling the sting on my cheek.
"Yeah. Upsy-daisy." Meiran hauled us to our feet and we staggered towards the dorms. "What day is it?"
"'S Friday," I replied muzzily. I wasn't exactly sure about that, but my internal universe could no longer contemplate having class tomorrow. Therefore it had to be Friday. Made sense to me.
"That's good," Meiran said after a long pause. I tried to remember what the hell we were talking about. Before I could work it out, we ground to a halt outside her dorm. We disentangled, and she flapped a hand at me as she disappeared through the door.
Gentlemanly duty accomplished, I barely made it to my own room before collapsing, fully clothed and not giving a shit, onto my bed.
I awoke to blessed night and a roaring hunger. The pillow smelled like acrylic paint and dirty socks. The last time I'd washed the bedclothes had been...never mind, I didn't want to know. A yawn nearly dislocated my jaw. Perhaps, if I got about twelve more hours of sleep, I'd discover that I still had two brain cells to rub together. My stomach and my nose began to protest as my eyes slid shut again. Damn. All right, a meal, a shower, and then twelve more hours of sleep.
Sitting up felt pretty good, and for some reason standing felt even better. I opened my door, and winced as light from the common room washed against me. I walked in, and saw my housemates sprawled on the various furniture, looking as dazed as I felt.
Quatre were...well you had to call it sitting, I suppose, at the table, while Wufei stretched across the small sofa with one arm flung over his eyes. Heero was on the floor, and he looked just a tad more alert than the rest. Quatre's head was on the table, and Trowa was making a desultory attempt at massaging his neck. Something about the two of them nagged at me, but thinking was just too hard, and I pushed it away. I dropped myself into the one free chair, and its protest seemed to prod the others into acknowledging me. At least, I think a few eyelids fluttered. "I'm hungry," I proclaimed.
"I could eat," Heero said from the floor.
"I could eat a horse." Wufei's voice was muffled by the fabric of his sleeve.
"Raw," Trowa agreed with quiet vehemence, and Quatre breathed a wordless, but enthusiastic, groan. Four heads turned to contemplate the tiny kitchen. In Wufei's case, this meant he was looking into the fabric of the sofa, but I wasn't going to say anything. "Anybody know how to cook?" he asked, sounding dubious.
"Not right now," Quatre muttered. I was pretty sure that he was drooling on the table.
"I can cook." We turned with various levels of disbelief to look at Heero. He shrugged, but showed no sign of actually moving.
"I can cook, too," I said, "but did anyone ever get around to actually stocking the kitchen?" It looked awfully bare from where I say, and I knew that I hadn't done anything resembling shopping. A glum silence descended as memory banks were searched without success. I think I spoke for all of us when I said, "Fuck."
"Let's raid the real kitchen," Quatre said. He levered himself upright and stared at me. "Duo, you look terrible."
Wufei snorted. "We all look like that."
Heero leapt to his feet, and everyone else flinched. "I like the kitchen idea." He had gloves on his hands. No, my mind corrected with pinch, not gloves, *bandages*. What was that about? Heero looked around, expectantly. I filed the mystery for future consideration, and thought about Quatre's suggestion.
"That involves walking," I pointed out to nods from Wufei and Trowa. Heero smiled slightly and held out a hand to the nearest person...me.
"And yet," he said, "there is food." I grasped his wrist above the bandages and he helped me to my feet. We both turned to Wufei, as Trowa and Quatre pushed themselves up from the table.
When we were all upright and liable to stay that way, we headed for the main buildings like grim zombies.
A half an hour later, we were huddled around the kitchen table while huge bowls filled with steaming beef stew were placed before us. The student cook, Matt, had been cleaning up from dinner when we arrived, and had mercifully taken pity on us. He'd pulled the leftovers out of the fridge, and reheated them, while we all caught naps. Then he'd served us all. I was seriously considering writing a letter to the Pope and nominating the guy for sainthood. "Well," Matt said, as we fell to devouring the stew, "If there's nothing else you guys want reheated, I'm going to put everything away and go to bed."
Quatre was the only one who even looked up. He gave Matt a smile and wave as the brown-haired boy put what was left of the stew back into the fridge and started cleaning up. As I came up for air from my meal, I noticed that Heero was eating slower than the rest of us. Those mysterious bandages were getting in the way. I wiped my mouth with a napkin, and since the edge had been taken off my hunger, I decided to practice my nosy bastard skills. "Hey, Heero. What happened with the paws? Surely you weren't *that* nervous about exams?"
He looked up, expression blank. "What?"
"Those," I said, gesturing at his hands, "I mean, I've heard of nail biters, but that's taking it a little far, isn't it?"
"I don't bite my nails, Duo. Do you wear nail polish?"
I blinked at the complete non-sequiter, and glanced down at my own hands. They looked as if I'd been washing them in paint. Wufei snickered. I ignored him, and gave Heero a tired wink and grin. "Oh, I assure you, my man, when I wear nail polish, I do a much better job." I sniffed haughtily. "I *am* an artist, after all."
"If we didn't know before, Maxwell, the way you smell like you've been bathing in paint thinner would probably tip us off," Wufei sneered, but the twinkle in his eyes took most of the sting out of it. I shook my head as Quatre sleepily started to chastise him. God help me, I was starting to find his arrogance endearing. Besides, not everyone could be as charming and unpretentious as myself, right? I snickered out loud, and got looks from everyone else.
"Touche, Chang. But, unlike *some* people, I have to do more than sit in a little white room and write about dead people for my grades."
"He's got us there," Quatre said with a smile. Wufei just growled something mildly uncomplimentary, and returned his attention to his half-empty bowl. "Still," Quatre continued, "You've got to admit, Duo, that midterms were lousy for all of us."
"No argument there, Q." I said, just to watch him wince. "But at least they're over, and I think I did pretty damn good."
"Une said I passed," Wufei sighed.
"I think I did pretty well," Quatre agreed, and Trowa nodded as he continued to eat his stew.
"But none of it matters," Heero ground out, as he glared at the table in front of him.
"Of course it matters!" I exclaimed, "I mean, it's *midterms!"
He looked at all of us, his blue eyes dim and red-rimmed. "But it doesn't matter. Remember? We could ace every assigment, and it won't mean a damn thing."
A look was passed around the table. It was a look that said quite clearly, "Oh, shit." I had completely forgotten about the 'final exam', and from the sudden panic on the faces around me, so had everyone else. Except Heero, of course. I groaned, and pushed away the nearly empty bowl. Suddenly I wasn't at all hungry. "Why did you have to remind us *now*, Heero?"
"Yeah," said Wufei, "Why not before I did that fifty page research paper on the impact of the Inter-Colony Alliance of 2072 on China's economy?"
"I hadn't seen any of you, remember? Besides, just because it doesn't matter is no reason to slack off." I just groaned again, and put my head in my smelly hands.
"This sucks," Trowa said, to enthusiastic agreement from the remainder of the table.
"How much more time do we have?" Quatre asked. I shrugged. I wasn't even sure that it was Friday, yet. Math was beyond me.
"About ten weeks, until the competition begins," Heero said. "I've been keeping track."
"I can't think about this now," Wufei muttered, and drained the rest of his bowl with a complete lack of manners. "I'll think about it after I've had a couple of...days to sleep."
"Amen to that, brother." I stood with him. "Screw the competition. I've gotta catch some z's." Quatre and Trowa rose together, apparently using each other for support again. I glanced at Heero as we sketchily washed out our dishes and put them away. "You coming, oh astute one?"
He shook his head and didn't look in our direction. "I'm going to finish here. I'll be back in a while."
"Your choice. Don't expect us to wait up, though."
"I won't."
We returned to the dorm. I managed to retain just enough stamina to reach the bathroom first. The hot water scalded and pounded my aching skin, and began to wash away some of the accumulated crap. When I felt within shouting distance of clean again, I stumbled out, and walked buck naked back to my room. Then I once again fell into the welcoming arms of Morpheus.