Trowa was surprised how nice the Senator's jet turned out to be. Treize gave Quatre and he a posh cabin equipped with a velvet-furnished sofa, a king-sized waterbed and a mini-bar. He couldn't help but wonder whether the flight to Trinity would be more relaxing than the island nation itself.
Yet as comfortable as he was resting on that bed, and as excited as he was to be spending a week with Quatre in a beautiful paradise, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety in his gut. Maybe it was the knowing that even the smallest missions can carry fatal risks. On the other hand, maybe it was the fact that he always had a little ball of anxiety in his chest, and the happier he was, the bigger it got.
Why did he do this to himself? Why did he fill every today with worry for tomorrow? A click at the cabin door gave him the answer, as Quatre entered, reminding him of how much he might lose in the future.
Quatre flopped down on the bed beside him with a sigh.
Trowa wrapped his arm around his little cherub, bringing him close to his chest. "What's going on outside?" Trowa asked him.
"Well, Wufei looks angry," Quatre began.
"That's not surprising," Trowa told him. They'd have more to worry about if the boy were smiling. Then something would definitely be up. "And what about Duo? How is his mood? Do you think he's excited to get out of his apartment for the first time in months?"
Quatre giggled. "He's acting strange," he said, "I wanted to use the bathroom but he had locked himself in with one of the flight attendants. He said it was a special meeting of the Mile High Club and that I could come back in fifteen minutes."
Trowa sighed.
Quatre turned and looked at him. "What kind of club meets in a bathroom?"
"Don't worry about it darling," he said running his fingers through his light blonde hair.
"You know, sometimes Trowa, I feel like everyone around me is laughing at some big inside joke that I don't get," Quatre told him. "And it bothers me because I think I have a pretty good sense of humor and I want to hear the joke."
"It's called innocence," Trowa told him, "and its worth more than a laugh."
Quatre closed his eyes, and soon he was asleep inside his arms.
"The sleep of the just," Trowa whispered, reaching for the vial of sleeping pills inside of his pocket.
###################################################
Treize watched the boy's blood spill onto the linoleum floor of the jet.
"Tissue?" he asked Wufei, extending a box of them to his young bodyguard.
The Chinese boy swiped them from his hands, and quickly rolled the tissues into two little white balls to plug his nostrils. "What are you looking at?" Wufei snarled at him.
"You just look ridiculous trying to be fierce with Kleenex stuffed up your nose," Treize commented, giggling.
"Well, maybe you shouldn't be staring at me old man!" he growled. "I happen to have a medical condition which causes me to have nose bleeds! Do I laugh at you because you have a medical condition that makes you an obnoxious nymphomaniac?"
Treize relaxed in his seat and smiled. "What medical condition is that? Acute fear of anything vaguely sexual?"
Wufei's face flushed with anger as he narrowed his eyes into angry slits. "Actually, if you must know I was about to use the bathroom when I opened the door to find that twit Maxwell being sucked off by one of those male flight attendants. I imagine you would have been shocked as well."
"Actually, I would have invited them back to my cabin. But that's just me," the Senator remarked as he approached the mini-bar and poured himself a drink.
"Yes, that it is just you," Wufei told him.
Treize gestured to a bottle of brandy, offering him a drink.
"No," Wufei said. "I don't trust you for a minute."
Treize frowned. "Well, at least stay with me for a while until dinner is served. You might be an unsociable brat but I find your company irresistible."
"You're a masochist. Kinky," Wufei commented. "I came here to ask you when we would be needed tonight."
"We'll go the hotel directly after we land," he said. "There is a party tonight for members of the Congress at the Trinity Ballroom and I'm expected to be in attendance. I'd like to have all three of you there in case anything should happen."
With that information, Wufei turned and left the cabin, only to see Maxwell and his new friend stumble out of the small bathroom stall, zipping up their pants and wiping off their mouths.
"Hey. Wufei," Duo smiled, "sorry about all that. The bathroom's free now."
Wufei began to feel a warm gush erupt behind the tissues in his nose. Why did Barton insist on bringing Maxwell?
######################################################
Wufei touched a small button on his wristwatch and spoke into it. "Barton?"
"Wufei?" Barton's voice responded into Wufei's earpiece.
"I've lost sight of him completely. He's like a child, I need a leash for him," Wufei commented bitterly into his communicator.
"Don't worry. Quatre and I are sticking close to him," Barton told him. "Oh, and by the way, don't blame Treize for your shortcomings as a bodyguard," he added. "Barton out."
Wufei looked around in disgust. He did not even have the slightest bit of personal space to himself. Being stuck in a crowd of senators like Treize bothered the hell out of him. If they were all as horny and depraved as the Senator was, he stood little chance of making it through the night without them hitting on him. Not that he could really blame them, after all.
While he was thinking of shameless nymphomaniacs, he decided to check in on Duo. "Maxwell?" he asked through his communicator.
"Yep. Maxwell here, what's up?" Duo asked.
"Just checking in. Any suspicious activity to report?"
"Well, I'm standing in a room full of middle-aged senators and none of them have propositioned me to be involved in a sordid sex scandal. I think that's quite suspicious don't you?"
"Actually, yes," Wufei told him.
"I'm still a little bummed about it. Do you know where they keep the alcohol at this place?" Duo asked.
"Hate to disappoint you, Maxwell," he said, "but they don't allow alcohol at Congressional parties any longer. Ever since Madeleine Albright's nude cabaret performance in '99, they've had strict rules against it. It's for the best, trust me." The memory of it still brought warms tears to his eyes and a twinge of pain to his heart.
"Anyway, I don't think you have anything to worry about Wufei. With me here, nothing is going to happen to Treize."
"This from the boy who was about to get drunk on duty. You're utterly useless, Maxwell. Chang out."
###############################################
"No alcohol," Duo muttered to himself looking around the ballroom. "That's a shame," he said, pulling a small glass container from the inside pocket of his tuxedo. "Luckily, Duo Maxwell comes prepared. Alcohol is the first tool of seduction after all."
He glided over to the punch bowl, where he discreetly poured the contents of the container into the mix. There was enough potency in that little bottle to keep Boris Yeltsin mildly subdued, more than enough to put the average man into a drunken, and hopefully, easy mood.
Duo leaned against the buffet table and scoped out the goods as they walked by. He wasn't sure what he wanted to go for first: looks or money. He could tell the rich men from the rest because they always felt the need to buy gaudy embellishments to their outfits like diamond-studded neckties or clunky, gold cufflinks. That was a rule: more money, less taste. That was one of the first rules of gold digging that he had ever learned and it hadn't failed him so far.
The next most important rule, and this usually applied to politicians: the larger the breasts of the prostitute on their arm, the more they want to sleep with a scandalously young man. This was also a tried and true Maxwell method.
Why bother digging cash out of balding, rich men when you already live in a posh penthouse courtesy of a good friend? Duo knew he really wanted a sophisticated, sexy lover that could screw the Heero Yuy out of his skull. That was also important. Maybe that was manipulative, but so far in his life, Duo hadn't once had sex with someone he loved. Heero hadn't loved him. That was obvious now.
Duo poured himself a glass of spiked punch, and then another, and one more after that. By the time he poured the fourth glass, he was woozy and staring forlornly at his reflection in the drink. Thinking of Heero Yuy had effectively ruined his mood. He knew that looking as if you are almost about to cry wouldn't get him laid, and he wiped his eyes, resolving to be more aggressive in his pursuits.
"Excuse me," someone said from behind him.
Duo turned to find his eyes meeting the thick chest and broad shoulders of a very tall, very attractive man with crown of platinum blonde locks and moody blue eyes made of liquid valium. Duo sighed.
"Excuse me," he repeated.
Duo sighed.
"Excuse me," he repeated for the third time.
Duo sighed.
"Are you alright?" asked the young man with deep and immediate concern for the young pilot.
Duo sighed. "You need to have some punch."
"How'd you know?" the man asked, taking a glass from Duo.
"I don't know. Just drink it, dammit," Duo muttered as his jaw turned to slag from sheer awe.
The man downed the glass in a few seconds.
Damn, he even drinks sexy, Duo thought to himself.
"Wow! That really has a kick to it," the blonde said.
"Have another!" Duo insisted, pouring him a glass.
"I'm really not that thirsty," he said, refusing him.
"Nonsense! Have another! The caviar here is very salty and you'll be thirsty again in no time! Now drink!" Duo demanded with a smile.
"Okay," he said. He downed another. "Wow! That's got bite."
"You know, I find that after the third or fourth glass that rubbing alcohol taste starts to fade. Have another," Duo insisted.
The man looked at him with suspicion. "What makes you such a punch expert?"
"I made it. I hope you like it," he said handing him a third glass.
"Well," he said drinking the third, "in that case…I love it!"
Feeling suddenly dizzy, the man slung his arm around Duo's shoulder. Duo didn't waste a minute to move in and catch his entire body with his arms. Only five minutes after meeting him and he already had the man in his embrace, not bad! "Why don't you sit down with me? You look pretty tired," Duo suggested.
"Yeah. I feel real woozy now," he said. "All the lights feel so bright. I didn't realize how noisy it is in here until now, either," he told Duo as he rubbed his temples.
"If you like," Duo said, "I could take you back to my room at the hotel across the street. I'm sure it would be quiet and the bed's more than enough for two people to sleep in," he suggested. In fact, Duo began to wonder if the bed was big enough for three people…that might be fun.
"Actually, I can't," he explained. "I have to be going somewhere, I should have been there like yesterday."
"Then go do what you need to," Duo said, patting him on the back. "And meet me in the lounge when you're done!"
The man smiled at him. "I'd like that. What's your name?" he asked.
"Duo. How about you?"
"York. I'm York," he said, before stumbling off drunk.
"Score!" Duo whispered to himself.
#################################################
"Do you see Treize anywhere?" Quatre asked, pouring himself a glass of punch.
Trowa looked around the crowded ballroom, wiping the weariness from his eyes. They had been standing around following the Senator from table to table, friend to friend, acquaintance to acquaintance, constituent to constituent for the last three hours. There hadn't been one moment for them to sit down and rest, much less enjoy the party. Trowa began to feel foolish for even thinking that he might enjoy this trip to Trinity. "I lost him five minutes ago," Trowa told him. "But luckily the crowd is starting to thin out a little."
Quatre activated his wristwatch communicator. "Wufei?" he asked.
"Chang, here," he responded.
"We lost Senator Kushrenada. Trowa and I are getting pretty tired too."
"I'll keep my eyes open," Wufei said. "You two can just relax for the rest of the night. Security is tight here; they have metal detectors at every entrance so I doubt anyone is going to get in here carrying any unauthorized weapons. Chang out."
Quatre came up from behind Trowa wrapping his arms around his waste. "Good news, darling. Wufei said that we can relax for the rest of the evening." He poked his head over Trowa's shoulders and kissed him on the cheek.
"What do you say we get out of this dump?" Trowa asked.
Quatre looked around. "Maybe," he said, "but look. They're starting to dim the lights and the band just started up. Why don't we dance? We haven't danced in months."
"That's because I can't dance," Trowa explained. Trowa hated this subject. It made him think about Quatre's upbringing: his family was rich, well-bred, talented at art, music, dancing and all those other things Trowa never knew much of during his childhood. He often wondered whether Quatre wouldn't have been better off with someone in his own class, who could talk to him about these kinds of things.
Quatre tried to smile, not to look disappointed as the other couples took to their feet and began to slow dance. He just held tighter to Trowa's waist. "It's okay, honey. It doesn't really matter anyhow."
Quatre was let down though, Trowa could tell when he tried to hide that sort of thing in his voice. He should have tried dancing with him, but he couldn't, he felt to uncomfortable around all these rich people. It was as if they were looking at him, looking past his nice clothes, knowing that he wasn't one of them. He couldn't explain it to Quatre, he wouldn't understand. He slipped Quatre's arms from off of his waist. "Let's get out of here, cherub."
"But, I'm having fun. It reminds me of the parties my father used to throw when I was a child," he told him. Quatre tried to hold Trowa again, but he just pushed him away. "What's wrong, Trowa?" he asked.
"I don't know," he said. "I just don't feel well. I think I'll leave. I don't want to get in the way of you having fun." Trowa began to walk away from Quatre, heading towards the exit at the far right of the room.
"I'm not going to be happy without you," Quatre whispered just loud enough for Trowa to hear.
He stopped. Suddenly there was a large boom, like an explosion or truck crashing into the ballroom. The dancing came to a standstill, and the music to a screeching halt as the sound lingered for a split second before there were a group of screams and then darkness. Complete darkness. Every light in the ballroom cut off, not leaving even the slightest stream of illumination.
"Trowa!" he heard Quatre cry out in the midst of thousands of gasps, and panicked screams. He felt his love's arms wrap around him again. In the darkness, he could feel Quatre's heart pound, frightened, against his chest. "Don't leave me Trowa!"
"It's alright," Trowa told him, squeezing him tight inside his arms.
"Was that a gunshot, Trowa?" he asked. "You don't think an assassin made it through, do you?"
"Honestly, I don't know," Trowa told him. All his years of training as a pilot and soldier told him to be alert, looking for Treize despite the pitch black. All he could think though, was how nice it was to hold Quatre in the dark, where everyone was equal, and no one could see his scars or smell his heritage.
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