This time I slept the rest of the night, the next day, and on into Sunday. It was the bloody, late afternoon light falling on my face that finally called me back into the land of the living. A little blind groping got the cheap curtain to block the sunlight, and I turned over, intending to go right back to sleep. To my surprise, sleep wouldn't come. I didn't really feel rested, instead, I had that puffy and swollen feeling that comes from sleeping too much, and the start of a headache behind my eyes. And my pillow smelled like turpentine. The universe, she is not subtle.

I yawned and sat up. I was naked and on top of the rumpled sheets. This was probably a good thing, since the sheets needed washing, badly. The bedroom door was closed, and I couldn't hear any activity in either of the rooms beside me. The clock read 6pm, so everyone else was probably at dinner. I wasn't really hungry, so I thought I might as well get some things done.

I stripped the bed quickly, throwing the sheets and pillowcases on top of the pile of dirty clothes already by the door. Opening the wardrobe to get clean linen, I discovered that I was severely lacking in clean clothes. In fact, all I had left was a black suit of rough synthetic fiber, hanging forlornly in one corner. The breath caught in my throat. It was the first suit of clothing that I remembered being able to call mine...Father Maxwell had it cut down from one of his own vestments. I'd worn it--and it alone--for almost a year. I'd even stuck a real priest's collar in there--whether it was to honor the Father or piss off some of the more straitlaced Sisters, not even I really knew. I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. I couldn't wear that again.

I snatched at the linen, and shut the wardrobe with bang. I remade the bed with quick, jerky movements...it wasn't until I was done that I noticed that I'd made it according to orphanage regulations. I rumpled one corner of the top blanket. "There. Much better."

The pile of dirty laundry was beyond redemption. None of the outfits could meet even my loose standards of "clean enough to wear again". In fact, as I picked up a musty and sweat-stained shirt with two fingers, I felt my skin shudder at the very thought. I dropped the shirt and stalked back to the wardrobe. It was either wear the priest's outfit, or go nude. The latter idea had a certain appeal, I had to admit, but I didn't think my housemates would be amused.

I put on the suit including, after a moment's hesitation, the white collar. I gathered all the dirty clothes and threw them into my sack, and hauled the whole stinking mess into the laundry room. Before I left, I pushed aside the curtain and opened the one window. A cold breeze, smelling strongly of flowers, wafted in and began to air out the funk. By the time I got back, it should be almost livable again. In the laundry room, clothes were quickly sorted into two loads, and the first load was started on its merry way. I thought that I could hear the dying screams of all the tiny critters that had no doubt decided to make my neglected clothes their new home. 'Duo Maxwell, dealing microscopic death by the billions', I thought, and chuckled. I left the second load piled on top of the washer, and ambled into the bathroom to take a much needed shower.

After I'd gotten reasonably clean, I climbed out and dressed again. My hair, I simple pulled away from my face and clipped. There was no way that I'd have the patience to face braiding it at the moment. As I opened the bathroom door, I heard a peculiar thump from down the hall, towards Quatre's room. Had he come back while I was in the shower? The day was looking up. Sure enough, his door was cracked just a little bit, and the light was on.

"Hey Quatre," I said, as I pushed open the door, "What's up?" Then my eyes caught up with my mouth, and I realized that, under the circumstances, it was a question that was really self-evident. And rather impressive, too, in Trowa's case. I closed the door, and headed to the common room at all speed. I really, really needed a drink.

They found me there a few minutes later, as I glowered at my glass of water. Quatre looked sheepish, but also a little pissed. I couldn't really say that I blamed him. Trowa, on the other hand, was almost unconcerned. I could only see the tension in the way he kept throwing furtive glances in Quatre's direction. With the disarray of their hair, and the way that Quatre had put his shirt on backwards, they could have been a painting titled "Lovers, Interrupted". They sat down. Looked at each other, looked at me.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, you want something to drink? Nothing but water, unfortunately."

"No, thank you," Quatre said. Trowa just shook his head. There was another uncomfortable silence. Then Quatre leveled his best Serious Stare on me. "Duo, what you saw..."

"Is absolutely none of my business, and I was wrong to walk into your room without knocking in the first place."

"Well, yes. But, we're friends." He looked anxious, "We *are* friends, right?"

"Hell, yeah." I glared at him. "I can't believe you'd think we're not. Although," and I smiled crookedly, "I would completely get it if you wanted to kick my ass. If I were you, *I'd* want to kick my ass."

"I don't want to kick your ass, Duo." His answering smile held more than a hint of relief.

"Uh, I just gotta ask..."

"Yes?"

"Does anyone else know? I mean, it'll kill my rep as the Maestro of Love if I'm the last person to have figured this out."

Quatre laughed. "No, no one else knows. I mean, we didn't even know until a few days ago."

"Cathy knows," Trowa said. When Quatre turned to him, wide-eyed, he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "She's my sister. She always knows."

"Is that a big deal," I asked, feeling a little confused. "I mean, are you going to try to keep it a secret?"

"I...that is, um," Quatre looked down. "I don't think my father would approve. And Headmaster Trieze..."

"Is gayer than a treeful of monkeys on laughing gas," I said with authority.

Trowa snickered, but Quatre just looked even more uncomfortable. "Well, maybe. But I still think that we should keep it to ourselves for now. Do you mind, Duo?"

I raised an eyebrow. From the look of hurt that flashed across Trowa's face, it seemed that I wasn't the one that he should be asking. I shifted in my seat. It'd always seemed to me that keeping a relationship secret never ended well, but then again, it wasn't my relationship. And have I already mention how much I am not fitted for the role of relationship counselor? So, I decided to trust that Quatre and Trowa knew what was best for them, and gave my best grin. "Hey, Q, man. Like I'm going to spread it around that I'm the only person in this little group--aside from Heero the Iceman--who *isn't* getting laid?"

"Wufei's getting laid?" Trowa asked.

"Uh," Damn. "I imagine that Meiran's forgiven him by now, and knocked his legs out from under him. I have confidence in her."

"Duo!"

"What?" I said, in my best innocent voice. Quatre just sighed and shook his head.

Behind us, the outer door banged shut. Quatre looked down at himself, and leapt up from his seat. He disappeared into the hall, just as Heero walked into the common room. He shouldn't have bothered, really. Heero didn't even seem to notice that Trowa's bangs were reaching for the sky as he sat down in the seat next to me, and opened his laptop. "Good," he said as it booted, "you're up. Where's Wufei and Quatre?"

"Wufei's MIA," I said, "and Quatre's..."

"Getting dressed," Trowa cut in smoothly. I gave him an offended look. What did he think I was going to say? He just shrugged. Heero remained oblivious.

"We'll wait for Quatre, then. We can fill Wufei in later."

Trowa and I exchanged a look. "Fill him in on what, exactly?"

Heero smiled. It was the kind of smile that evil masterminds use in movies, right before they put their world domination plans in motion. "The plan," he said, helpfully.

"What plan?"

He gave me a look that suggested that I was the one being difficult here. "Our plan to take over the school."