Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. It's just the way things are. Someday perhaps they will change…
AN: Some of this dialogue must be credited to my best friend, JenX, since she came up with it. I just put it into context.
Warning: Extreme silliness and Relena-bashing ahead.
Boy Band: The Sequel
Part 3
It was 5:30, and time for the boys to start getting ready for the show. Wufei had taken a nap, and walked sleepily into the small kitchen they'd been provided with backstage near their dressing rooms. He was hoping to find that someone had already made some coffee, so he wouldn't have to trouble himself with it.
By the aroma drifting out of the kitchen as he stepped through the doorway, someone had indeed made coffee. As he entered the room he saw that it was Trowa, who was now seated at the small table looking over a magazine and drinking a steaming mug of the stuff.
"Is there more?" Wufei asked curtly, heading for the coffeepot.
Trowa nodded, then glanced up.
He spit out his coffee, and began laughing convulsively – so much so that he nearly fell out of his chair.
Wufei looked at him. What the hell was wrong with him? Had the stress finally gotten to him – had Trowa finally lost it? Wufei's eyes narrowed in concern and annoyance as he glared at the spasming figure before him.
"What is it?" he demanded.
Trowa managed to peek up, one eye glancing at Wufei before the head bowed and the laughter continued.
"WHAT?!" Wufei demanded, walking over to the banged pilot, ready to punch him if he did not give up the requested information in the next thirty seconds.
"Look…. at… your… hair…." came from beneath the brown bang.
Wufei took a step back, wondering what on earth Trowa was talking about.
Then he turned and saw his reflection in the toaster.
His hair – it looked like… like some bad rendition of a Dragonball character's hair. It was stuck up in funny-shaped spikes all around his head. Like someone had tried to make him into Son Goku.
Wufei fumed. Who the hell could have done this?
Then his attention snapped back to the laughing figure on the chair.
Trowa.
There was only one person in the group who had access to such… remarkable hair gel. And only one person with an atrocious hairdo, aside from that silly American baka's remarkably stupidly long braid.
And that was Trowa.
"Rrrrr….. BARTON!"
Trowa just laughed harder.
"Barton. You. Dead. Now," Wufei stated, making his way over so he could strangle the pilot, who was just now beginning to breathe again, his face red and eyes tearing.
Trowa blinked up at him as Wufei's hands approached his neck.
"Wait. You think – you think *I* did that?"
Wufei could swear the room had turned a rather dark shade of red. "Of course!" he sputtered. "Who else would it be? You, with that hair gel – and you are the only one who could possibly conceive of such a dreadful hairstyle! Besides," Wufei smirked, "I saw you watching Dragonball the other day with Duo. Well, let me tell you something – I AM NOT GOKU!! You are going to die!"
Trowa scooted his chair back a bit. "Serious," he said, attempting to keep a straight face. "Wasn't me."
"I don't care!" Wufei screamed. "I must murder something, and you're the only one here!"
Trowa scrambled into a standing position, eyeing the Chinese pilot menacingly. "Hey, hey – remember what Duo said – you'd lose our ratings with only four guys."
Wufei paused in his attempt to murder the unibanged boy before him. "Hm." A thought struck him. "MAXWELL!!!"
Duo heard the voice, and grinned, rolling over in bed and going back to sleep.
Trowa continued to eye the fuming Chinese pilot as he tried to assess the situation. He vaguely wondered what the best way to escape would be – what were the chances that Wufei would kill him just because he was in a murderous mood? From the looks of it, pretty good chances. Which was not good for Trowa's well-being.
There was a noise at the door – Trowa and Wufei both looked up to see a confused and fuzzy-haired Quatre standing in the doorway, trying to figure out what was going on. His face had a look of shock on it, and he obviously had no idea what he'd just walked in on. He must have heard the commotion, Trowa mused.
"Stay back," the brunette pilot warned the Arabian, not wanting to see him get killed because Wufei was acting so particularly unpredictable at the moment.
"What – what…?" Quatre wanted to know, looking from Trowa to Wufei then back to Trowa again. "Are you trying out a new hairstyle tonight, Wufei?" he asked earnestly.
Trowa goggled – did the other boy seriously believe Wufei would… go out in *public* like that? Now Quatre had done it – he would almost certainly get himself killed. Trowa frantically began to formulate a contingency plan…
Wufei, who'd already looked like one could most definitely fry an egg on his head, now looked as if steam would come shooting out of his ears at any moment.
"*WHAT?!* You think *I* would be caught *dead* anywhere with… with THIS?!"
"Um…" Quatre stammered as Wufei began making his way towards the door with deliberate, slowly stalking steps.
"Squee!" Quatre squeaked, diving behind Trowa's chair. "Please, can't we all just get along?"
Trowa sighed, knowing the blond's wishes would never be fulfilled. Not so long as Wufei was still breathing, at least. Or had his hair in that… state.
"NO!" Wufei shrieked. "I'm going to find out who did this to me, and I'm going to *kill* them – SLOWLY!"
"Can you try taking that aggression out on Relena the next time you see her?"
Trowa and Wufei – and the cowering Quatre – looked over to see a placid Heero leaning nonchalantly on the doorframe.
Quatre inconspicuously scooted under the table. Perhaps he hoped Wufei wouldn't find him there, Trowa thought.
"*Gladly*," Wufei replied in almost some semblance of his normal tone. "After I finish with Barton."
"Hey! I didn't do it. I'm for taking it out on Relena - she was the one who got us in this situation in the first place," Trowa defended himself.
Wufei was grumbling now. "… made me *sing* in front of people just to get away from her –"
"And just who do you think keeps your fan club going, huh?"
They all turned to the female voice from the back door of the kitchen.
"Well… maybe not yours, Wuffy or Wu-tang or whatever your name is. But Heeero's…."
"Relena," Heero muttered – was there venom in that tone? He went for his gun, and his eyes went wide when it wasn't in the back of his spandex shorts.
"How'd you get in here?" Trowa demanded, wondering if any of them were going to leave this kitchen before blood was shed. Probably not.
"Looking for this?" Relena asked, holding up Heero's gun.
"How'd you get that?!" Heero snapped, anger flaring in his normally emotionless eyes. Uh-oh, Trowa thought, she was really in for it now…
"You shouldn't have it anyway, you know," she replied, skirting the subject. "You don't need to be a one-man army anymore, Heero. If you're going to be with me you've got to learn the meaning of the word 'peace'."
"How'd you get that?" Heero growled, repeating his question.
Relena sighed. "That cute American with the braid gave it to me," she said simply. "It was the least he could do, after I pulled him in from that crowd of girls," she scoffed. "Really… Oh well, at least they're staying away from you, my *Hee-chan*."
"Oh God, is she for real?" Wufei asked, his hair and Barton death wishes seemingly momentarily forgotten.
Trowa shrugged.
"You know, Heero, I don't appreciate this running from me you keep doing. I mean, I love the band and all, guys, but… Heero, when can I… makeoutwithyou?" she asked, the last part of her sentence coming out in a rush and her cheeks turning a slight shade of red.
Wufei's nose had started dripping blood. Another squeak elicited from beneath the table.
"Now?" she pleaded, batting her eyes, attempting to twirl the gun around her finger. It didn't work very well, but despite Trowa's silent prayers, she didn't shoot herself in the process.
"NO!" Heero looked around the room, and finally settled for throwing the coffeemaker at the girl.
"Hey! I was drinking that!" Trowa protested.
"You! Dead man! Shut up!" Wufei replied, but seconds later a distinct chuckle could be heard from his direction.
Despite the fact that the boy had just pummeled Relena Peacecraft with the last of his special-order chocolate mocha supreme coffee, Trowa was almost proud of Heero.
Relena, dripping with coffee, the smashed pot and plastic holder at her feet, stood looking at Heero with wide eyes. "Well…. *fine*!" she said, turning on her heel and spraying coffee all over the room as she did so. "I never really liked you anyway! Purely physical attraction, anyway. I can find someone else!"
And she was gone.
"Finally."
Trowa slumped into his chair. Wufei seemed to have forgotten about the state his hair was in and was actually laughing.
Trowa lifted the tablecloth to see a confused and scared Quatre huddled beneath the table.
"You can come out now, Quatre."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Quatre slowly emerged from beneath the table, eyeing Wufei and the pleased-looking Heero in the doorway.
"Does this mean we don't have to sing anymore?"
AN: But Quatre, the show must go on! Not done yet…