Winding Down the Day
Stephanie
November 12, 2001
Part 5
About six months later I had made it back to earth for a few weeks of vacation. I spent two of those weeks in Arabia visiting the Maguanacs, and then made my way to New Orleans to spend the rest of my time with Trowa and Catherine at The Café Q. It was late summer there, and rather humid. Not the best time to vacation in a tropical environment, but I made it a point to always see Trowa when I got a chance to go to Earth.
The café was teaming with customers, as always. Catherine greeted me with a hug and directed me out back to the courtyard where Trowa was taking a break and drinking an ice coffee. She leaned close to me and whispered in my ear "Talk some sense into him, Quatre."
"Hn?" I turned around and looked at her with concern. "Is something wrong, Catherine? What's going on?"
"Just talk to him, please," she pleaded. "You'll find out in enough time." She shook her head and went back up front to help the staff.
I walked over to where he was sitting at a table in the corner of the courtyard. He was still in habit from his training to sit with his back to the wall. The top of the brick wall was laced with spiked rod iron and the surface of the brick was covered in jagged glass. It was an old practice of the French during the colonial days of America. To keep people out or to keep them in, I don't remember which. Probably both. Trowa liked it though. Some sort of ivy with a bright pink flower grew over the brick wall adding a sharp contrast to his normal earth-colored clothing. I remember he wore a green short-sleeved shirt and khaki shorts that day. Actually, he wore variations of those colors everyday, so it's not a real stretch for my old memory, but for some reason I can see him perfectly. . . as if I were there now.
He set his coffee and newspaper down and looked up at me with a smile. "I didn't know you would be here today."
"I didn't either, actually," I said. "I got tired of the desert, so I decided to join you in the swamp a bit earlier. I hope that's okay with you."
"That's fine. I'll have Heero set up the guest room later."
"Heero?" I raised an eyebrow at that. Apparently more had happened while I was away that time than anybody had bothered to tell me in mail or phone messages. I thought maybe it was what Catherine had wanted me to talk to Trowa about, but I couldn't see why Heero's more permanent presence would bother her or be bad for Trowa.
"Yes, he has to earn his keep somehow, so he's doing house chores." He smiled slightly and I could tell whatever arrangement they had come to it, amused Trowa greatly.
"Is this permanent, Trowa? Has Heero moved in with you?"
Trowa nodded, still smiling. "Yes, he has. He quit his position in Relena's cabinet, if you can believe it. He still works for her as the senior computer programer and analyst, but he claims he can do that job from anywhere," Trowa shrugged, "so he's staying here." He leaned in close to me and pulled the newspaper up to cover our faces. "Between you and I, I think he must be designing private video games for her, or something trivial like that. I can't imagine he'd be able to work with top level information from his laptop."
"Well, no. Probably not," I agreed. "This is great news though, Trowa!" I said smiling at him. "Now you have each other full-time, you must be happy about that!"
Trowa set his paper down and looked serious. "To be honest with you, Quatre, he's starting to get on my nerves. It's only been a little over a month and I feel. . ." He looked at me with a trace of guilt on his face, "smoothered." He looked down at his coffee and began turning the glass around. "I love him and I'm glad he's here but. . . well. . . Now he's always here."
That must have been what Catherine was talking about, I reasoned. Heero moved in and Trowa was having second thoughts about the arrangement. "Trowa," I told him, "this is to be expected in the beginning. You need some time to get used to each other's habits, that's all," I chuckled.
"He likes to wake up when I get up. . . He likes to get the paper for me in the morning and eat breakfast together," he said with a grimace. "It's like an invasion. I've. . . always been alone for that. . . It's sacred time. That's the only time I have to think about things in private. I don't want to give that up. Does that seem selfish of me?"
"A little, yeah," I laughed, "but I understand. I was the same way when I first married Anna. She wanted to be a part of everything I did. Believe me, time tempers that. Soon, he'll be looking for opportunities to take a breather from *you* and you'll start wondering what it is you did wrong."
"Really? You really think it's all just the newness of it? Everything else is wonderful. . ." he said with a sigh. "Dinners in the evening, walks by the duck pond at Audubon, and the nights. . ." He smiled a little again and sat back in his chair. He even gave that little blush he had come into habit with after confessing to me his love for Heero. "It's just. . ."He frowned as he said it. The poor thing was feeling so much guilt. "Some mornings I want to bludgeon him to death with his laptop."
"Oh, Trowa!" I laughed out loud. "Well, as extreme as that sounds, you've never been a morning person. Back during the war, the rule was not to approach you in any way, shape or form before you had at least two cups of coffee in you. And even then it never hurt to offer you whatever form of solid food we had at our disposal before talking about anything significant."
Trowa frowned again. He lifted his glass and tilted it back against his lips to slide what was left of the melted ice down, but I knew the cover for what it was. "I'm really that bad?" he mumbled through the ice.
"Worse. I'm sugar coating it because we're friends." I took his hand in mine and patted it in reassurance. "Heero knows what you're like. Maybe he's a little over zealous now because it's all so new for both of you and he wants to show you that he loves you. You know how Heero can go a bit overboard when he's on a mission. He wants things to be perfect when you prefer comfortable. Have you talked to him about this at all?"
He looked at me for a moment and shook his head. "No. . . I didn't want him to think I didn't want him here. I feel bad. . ."
I rolled my eyes. Why do people always make their lives more difficult than they have to be? It's something I never understood, even if I did it myself sometimes. "Trowa, how is he suppose to know you want him to ignore you in the morning if you haven't told him? If you act as if you like it, he's going to think you want him there. And I thought you were always the logical one," I sighed and shook my head at him. Had it been anyone other than him, he would have out right told us we were being stupid. "Talk to him, Trowa."
"Hn." Trowa sat back, seeming to think on that for a moment. "I guess tonight after he gets back from the court house."
I blinked, not sure if I heard him right. "Court house? What is he doing there?"
"Trying to get Duo out of the local lockup," he said casually as he picked the newspaper back up and began to read.
It was a good thing I was not drinking anything at the time, as I nearly choke at his words. "Duo is in prison?"
Trowa nodded and flipped the page. Of all of us, it was always Trowa that was least affected by Duo's antics. He believed that it was all a part of knowing Duo. I don't think he would have been surprised if Duo one day sprouted wings and flew away. "Yes, but I wouldn't worry. With all the press this is getting, I doubt they'll keep him there long."
"Press?" I queried.
"Animal rights activists. It's a big issue here now." Trowa turned the paper towards me and pointed out the headline. Sure enough, a group of activists were standing in the front lawn of the court house holding up signs that read `Save Duo Maxwell!'and `Duo Maxwell: Endangered Species' and `That Last War Virgin'. Right below that photo there was another of a few of his detractors. One held up a picture of a donkey with its back end in full view and a picture of Duo's head replacing that of the donkey's.
"Trowa. . . I might not really want to know this. . . but. . . what did Duo do this time?"
Trowa set the newspaper down again to looked at me for a long moment before answering. "They took him in for stealing mules."
"What?" It was AC 207, mule theft was not a common crime.
"He wasn't really stealing them, he was just trying to free them." He shook his head a little and sat back in his iron rod chair. "And it wasn't Duo that started it this time. It was me," he said, and waited for me to respond to that little bomb.
I was quiet for a moment, trying to wrap my head around the thought of Trowa stealing mules. Or freeing them rather... Either were odd for him. Trowa didn't normally act out in ways that would draw attention to himself. "You. . . were stealing horses. . . ?"
"Mules. And I was rescuing them, not stealing them," he corrected me, "from the carriage drivers. You know how they line up all long Decatur by Jackson Square?'"
I nodded, rather speechless at the moment, and waited for him to continue.
"It's August," he said. That was all he said. He looked at me and waited for me to piece things together. But I was still working out how Duo was in prison now because Trowa was freeing the mules.
"Can. . . you give me a little more information, Trowa?" Now it was falling into place. Catherine was upset about Trowa and the mules.
"Those mules are old, Quatre. It's the middle of August in New Orleans, they shouldn't be pulling carriages in this weather. Duo stopped by a few days ago and we went for a walk. This poor mule was limping along the road pulling some tourists in a carriage. I don't know what gets into to people that they can't see it's too hot for anything to be pulling their pathetic lives around, but they don't. They're blind to everything, Quatre." He looked up at me and I saw real anger in his eyes. Trowa was not one to display emotion freely, much less anger, but it was setting off sparks in his eyes now. "What Wufei did was wrong, but I can understand it." He was referring, of course, to Wufei's part in the Mariemaia uprising back in AC 196. "Sometimes I think it would have been better had they succeeded in Operation Meteor."
"You don't mean that, Trowa!" I was shocked by what he had said. Trowa had risked everything to stop Dekim Barton. He infiltrated their ranks and was nearly killed by Wufei for what he did. And in our last battle, it was Trowa that called out the order not to kill any of Mariemaia's soldiers. He had said on many occasions that he had enough of fighting and killing. . . that the people must be protected because it was the right thing to do, not because of orders or duty to rules. He had come very far from the early days of the first war when he believed duty was little more than following orders. It was difficult to hear him talk as though killing off the majority of humanity was a good thing.
Trowa merely shrugged. "I do, Quatre."
"Then why do you put yourself through so much trouble to do *any* of this?" I shouted at him as I pointed to the far wall, where behind it the homeless gathered for their meal. "Why not just tell them to get the hell out and find food in a garbage pail, if that's how you really feel?"
Trowa stood and folded his newspaper up. "Calm down."
"You sit there and calmly drink your coffee as you tell me Duo is in prison for something you did and then spout off on how humanity should all just curl up and die. And now you want me to just nod and smile and be polite as always? No!" I stood and shook my finger at him. "Don't tell me to calm down. I'm irritated. I'm irritated by the way you just sit back sipping your coffee and look all cryptic! If you have something to tell me, then tell me and stop making me guess what goes on in that head of yours. For all the years we've been friends, you at least owe me that!"
"Come with me." Trowa said in reply and then turned to walk back into the café.
I followed him back into the café and into the kitchen. I had half a mind to leave, but then I really couldn't justify being that upset with him. Trowa was always a little odd and prone to depressions, and then what Catherine said was worrying me, so I stayed.
To tell you the truth, I probably would have stayed even if I was really angry. It wouldn't have been polite to leave."
"I made you angry," he said. There was a sort of apology in his tone, and I felt my agitation begin to dissipate.
"Only a little," I admitted.
"I can't help, how I feel, Quatre." He reached into the fridge and handed me a bottle of one of the ice teas his café kept in stock. "I wish I could be the optimist like you, or see the good within the bad like Duo, or rise above it all like Wufei. But I can't." He took my hand and led me up the steps into the apartment he and Heero kept above the café. It was much cooler there, and no doubt he took me there to get out of the heat.
"But just think about that boy you helped the last time I was here." I leaned up against the wall and folded my arms. Trowa stared blankly at me. "You know, the one that was ranting and raving." He still showed no sign of recognition and it occurred to me that he must deal with that sort of disturbance on a daily basis. "The one with the pins in his head and all the piercings." I added for clarification. He nodded finally and just shrugged. "I would have been too shocked to really do anything about him." I continued. "Most people would have called the police. But not you." I shook my head. "No, you slid you arm around him and talked to him like he was a valued and prized customer. You treat everyone you meet with the same dignity. You can't hate humanity and show it that much respect."
He looked at me for a moment and then sighed. His eyes were drawn and sad, and suddenly he appeared very tired. He sat down on the edge of the couch, placing his elbows on his knees and propped his head up on the backs of his hands. "Oh, Quatre. . . All I saw was someone who was going to end up face down in the Mississippi in a few days. I don't love them, Quatre. I don't even like them. But I feel sorry for them. For everyone. Even Monsieur Genet makes me feel sad. I do what I can not to contribute to all the rotten things out there. . . but it's not out of love. It's pity. . . empathy maybe. I can remember waiting for death at a time in my life. I remember the loneliness and thinking there was nothing good in this world. . ." He paused for a moment and braced the back of his head with his hands. He looked so miserable. Almost guilty. "For many of the people that come here, I'm the nicest person they've met." And it was then that I saw something that I had never before, nor ever since, witnessed from this man. There was tear. And then another. He looked me in the eye and said in a soft voice, "And I don't even like them. How sad. . . How very sad. . ."
I sat down next to him and leaned forward on the edge of the couch in the same position he was. I didn't really know what to say or how to comfort him. Most of all, I wasn't even sure if he wanted it. The best thing, I had reasoned, was to just be there.
I changed the subject.
"Tell me what happened with Duo, Trowa. Why is Heero trying to get him released from prison while you're sitting here with me?"
"Oh that," Trowa dismissed it with a wave of his hand. He sat back in the corner of the couch and curled his legs under him. "I started to unhook the mules that were tied to the hitching posts. I'm not sure why I acted on it that particular day and not before. Maybe it was my mood. . . Or that it was so damn hot and humid." He sighed a little. "I had issued numerous complaints before, but this was the first time I really acted. Duo stopped me. I was a bit surprised that he would, it seemed like something he would approve of, but then he told me to let him do it. I think he was protecting me. . . But he said I needed to do the real work of helping the animals, while he took care of the PR." Trowa smiled. "He also said he needed the publicity as people were starting to forget him. So I stepped aside and let him do it, and he got carted away."
"That's it?" I asked him. The whole affair seemed a bit too sedate to have Duo involved, but then that was how Trowa told most stories.
"You know Duo," Trowa shrugged, "he always does things in extremes. I'll leave the story for him to tell after Heero gets him released. My vocabulary is far too limited to do it justice."
"Why do you think he has to be so extravagant?" I wondered aloud.
Trowa laughed. "It's how he knows he's alive, Quatre. It's just a little badness to shake us all up and let us know we're alive too. He's mostly harmless."
"Hn. Mostly. One day he'll get himself into something he can't get out of, and then where will he be?" I posed that question to him, knowing already that he had an answer to it. Not that I'd accept it.
"I doubt it," he replied. "People like Duo always have a way out. There is always an alternative to giving up and accepting fate. People get into the messes they get into, because they accept the rules that they break as the rules of life. But people like Duo don't break them, because they never really believed in them in the first place. When you cease to be bounded by the rules, there are an infinite amount of alternatives that don't include a prison term."
"And you really believe this?"
"I'm just explaining to you why Duo is so `extravagant'. You know the Degas I have in the café?"
I looked at him confused for a moment at the abrupt change in subject and nodded. "Yes, it's one of my favorite prints in the café."
"It's not a print of the Degas," he said.
"No? Did Duo paint a replica for you? I didn't think that was his sort of thing," I said, thus confirming my status as eternally naive when it came to judging the innocence of my good friends.
"No, Quatre. It's not a replica. It's a Degas."
I was more confused by his words and wasn't sure what he was trying to get at. "The one of the woman looking sad? `Melancholia', isn't it? I thought Duo gave you that a few years ago."
"He did. It's a Degas."
"I'm. . . not sure I'm understanding you."
"A few years ago a Degas exhibit visited the New Orleans Museum of Art. It travels here every so many years because Degas vacationed here once. . .or maybe he had family here. . . something like that. So before the exhibit left, Duo saved that painting for me."
I blinked. Then I blinked again. Then I asked for clarification. Something had to be sailing right over my head. At least that was what I had hoped. "You're telling me that a Degas is sitting in the dinning area of your café?"
"Yeah. Duo gave it to me." And that's all he said. Just like that. Duo gave it to him.
"Trowa! My God, do you even realize how much trouble you could be in if someone found out about it!"
"No one knows, Quatre. Duo was careful when he replaced it."
"How? I mean. . ." I stumbled over my words not sure what to say or how to phrase it. My best friend had just confessed to being an accomplice to a major felony with my other best friend, and my mind was in utter chaos trying to assess the situation and determine what I should think about first. "Duo. . . how . . . how could he just waltz in and. . . leave with a piece of art like that?"
Trowa merely shrugged. "I didn't really ask him how he did it. He's a trained terrorist, I'm assuming he's had tougher assignments than this in the past. We could all pull it off if we wanted to, Quat."
"But.. . but. . .a Degas. . .I mean. . . and then he just gives it away. . .why?" I was in a daze. One floor below me hanging on a wall was several million dollars worth of stolen art. The wall of a simple little coffee house. My mind raced with all the millions of ways the painting could get damaged down there. At least Trowa had banned smoking inside the establishment, but still. . .
"That I can answer," he said. "He asked me what I wanted as a gift for opening the café and I just asked him to steal me a nice piece of art."
"You asked him to steal it for you!" I believe it was that Trowa had asked Duo to steal the painting that astounded me more than anything else. I could see Duo stealing it. It was outrageous and scandalous and right up Duo's alley of mischief. I can even see him giving the painting to Trowa and Trowa accepting it. . . He accepted everything else Duo did, why not stealing a priceless piece of art? But asking Duo to steal it for him. My mind wasn't ready for that yet.
"Not that particular piece, but--"
"Trowa! My God, have you lost your mind? You have a stolen Degas sitting in your café and you asked for it!"
"It's not that big of a deal, Quatre. It's not like it's a Da Vinci or Picasso. I would have liked Monet's London Bridge, though. But I guess I shouldn't be choosey."
"Oh, you have lost your mind! You can go to prison, Trowa! And Catherine and I are business partners with you, we can be associated with it! And Heero, did you think of him at all?"
"Calm down, Quatre. No one is going to prison." He was as calm as he always was, while my own mind was nearing meltdown."Duo replaced the art and no one was the wiser. And no one is going to walk into my café and think I really have a Degas sitting on the wall."
"It's stolen Trowa! That's wrong just wrong! That belonged--"
"To a museum that hasn't missed it for almost a decade now. Quatre, it's just art. Degas is dead, I'm sure he doesn't mind who owns it now."
"Why couldn't you just commission Duo to make you something new? Did you have to encourage him to go out and steal you something? My God, Trowa, I don't understand you at all!."
"No. You don't, I guess. You don't understand either of us very well. Duo is a thief, Quatre."
"He was a thief," I corrected.
"No. Duo is a thief." Trowa countered. "He steals things. That's what thieves do. He was happy to do it, Quatre. It made him feel good to go into that museum and pull off that trick. Art is a living thing. You're cultured, you should know that. It is the highest flattery to the artist's work to have it stolen."
"I--"
"You know what Duo did upped the value of this Degas, and created a new piece of art in the forgery. When they finally figure it out in a century or so, the forgery will probably be worth more than the Degas is now. But that's not why I've hung it in the café. I don't even like Degas. I hung it there because it is the product of a greater work. It's a Duo Maxwell special. That's why it's there. He put more work and skill into stealing that painting than Degas put into painting it. That's the art, Quatre."
"Trowa. . . I. . . I don't know what to think about this. . . It's. . .a bit much for one day."
"Quatre. . ." We're not bound by the same laws anymore. The war freed us from the rules of this place. There isn't anything more I could possibly do that could be worse than what I did as a soldier."
"Trowa, I--"
"No. Listen. We have been liberated in the most extreme way a human can be liberated. We killed and we did so on a regular basis. I've killed thousands, Quatre. It really doesn't matter why or what belief system I held. I did it. I killed them. Many of them were innocents, caught up in the same madness that you and I were. But. . ." He hesitated for a moment, and I could tell he wasn't quite sure he should say the rest. He did though. "Their deaths set me free in a way," he confessed. "When I realized that I couldn't sink much lower in life, the boundaries began to melt away. I didn't have to kill because I was ordered to kill. I could stop. I could walk away from it if I wanted. When that realization hit, the rest of the rules fled with it. I fell after that, Quatre. And it felt good to finally let go of everything I had held to before. Logic, order, structure. . . those things aren't real. They're just things that other people made up and forced the rest of us to follow."
"You worry too much," he continued. "You need to let go without the fear of falling, and then you'll discover what I did. Falling isn't so bad."
"Trowa," I shook my head, "You may live your life in accordance to your own set of morals, but well. . . we're not talking a little civil disobedience any more. This is grand larceny. I mean, it's nice to think there are enlightened people that live a good life despite the laws, but I just don't think it's very practical for very long when you're committing major felonies. And you're dragging other people in on it now, I just don't know. . . Why did you even tell me any of this, Trowa?"
He sat back and looked away from me as he spoke, and I knew then my failure to understand him had come as a major disappointment. "Because I need off of the pedestal you placed me on, Quatre. I'm no saint. I'm not even remotely good. But I'm free and I can live with that." He then got off the couch and crouched down in front of it. He reached under it pulling a few of the wooden floor boards out and then a small chest about the size as a cigar box. He sat back down on the couch and pulled a key out of a drawer on the coffee table and opened the box. He showed me the contents.
"Drugs," I knew it before I even looked. What else would he hide under the floor boards? He had proved brave enough to hang a priceless painting in his café, I couldn't imagine he'd feel the need to hide too many things."I guess this is the night for revelations," I said to him.
"Yeah," he replied quietly. He then looked at me directly in the eye for a moment and I had the suspicion that even though he had been trying to jar me with just about everything he said to me that night, it was also important for him to let me know he was no hardcore addict. It was obvious with how articulate and deliberate he was that nothing there could be stronger than what occurred in nature, but he pressed the issue just the same. "It's nothing heavy. It's all natural. Some hash and marijuana. Nothing serious."
"Why?" I asked.
"It's relaxing and less hazardous than alcohol," he said lowering his head. He was keeping something from me, this much I knew.
"Does Heero know?" I asked, rubbing my eyes, which had begun to burn and itch as though I had been awaken too early from a deep sleep.
"No," He shook his head. "Or if he does he hasn't said anything about it." I nodded to let him know I would keep his secret. I couldn't imagine that Heero hadn't figured it out by now, or that Trowa would lie about it if asked. But whatever silent agreement the two of them had reached, it was none of my business. I was not about to say anything. Maybe Catherine knew and that was what she was talking about. It certainly wasn't about the Degas painting. It would never be hanging up still if she knew about it. But I had finally stopped trying to figure out what was bothering Catherine. Anything that came out of his mouth since I arrived could have been it. Or none of it, and I shuttered at the thought that there could be more to be discovered.
I picked up one of the bags that had some shriveled up substance in it and showed it to him. "What is this?" I asked.
"Mushrooms," he said as he began to put the little bags back in his secret stash.
"Well, what's so special about dried mushrooms? Lots of people eat those. Relena puts them on her salads."
Trowa smirked at me. "Not these kinds of mushrooms." He looked at the bag in my hand for a moment in contemplation. "Though it might explain her utopian dream of absolute peace, love and happiness." He reached his hand out to me. "Give me the bag, I'm putting this stuff away."
"Well, I'd like to try it," I said. It stunned him. I knew it would. It stunned me too, but I was committed now and I wasn't going to back down.
"Quatre, give me the bag and you can forget I ever told you about this or the painting. You'll be happier if you do."
"Don't tell me what will make me happy!" I snapped at him. He could be so irritating when he acted like he knew everything about me. He had a calm arrogance about him at times that rivaled Wufei's more blatant type."You wanted to jump down from the pedestal you claimed I had you on? Well fine. Now I'm jumping down from the one you placed *me* on. That's only fair, right? I want to try these, and I am!"
"Quatre, give me the bag." It was a command, not a request, but at this point I don't think he was really angry. This was all just an act for him. He had to make it seem like he was concerned enough to want to stop me. I wasn't buying it though.
"Don't come a step closer!" I warned. "Or I'll eat the whole bag of them and then you'll have to explain me to Catherine and Heero."
Trowa took a step back. "Quatre. . . don't be irrational. A moment ago, you thought you put them on top of salad. Give me the bag back."
"No," I was adamant. "And don't call me irrational, you seem to think they're so great, why should I be deprived of the fun? Now, how many of these do I eat?" I opened the bag and popped one in my mouth. It was perhaps one of the most vile substance I've ever eaten in my life. But I would be damned before I let him know I thought that.
"Please, Quatre--"
"How many, Trowa? Or I will eat them all!" I popped two more in my mouth. I thought I might vomit before I carried out my threat. I had really gone soft since the last war.
Trowa sighed and shook his head. He tried to look put out, but even then he only managed to look mildly amused. "Six or eight, but no more or you'll get sick. Put them in your pocket, we don't need the staff to see them on you" He grabbed his keys off the chest of drawers. "We're leaving. If you're going to eat those, we're going to an environment where you can appreciate them more." He then took me by the hand once again and led me out of the café to his car.
I got in his car and we drove out of the French Quarter and to some secluded spot along the banks of the Mississippi, which he said was ideal for optimizing the visual experience. He was quiet most of the way, only looking over to me every once in a while to make sure I didn't eat too many of the mushrooms. "It doesn't seem to be doing anything, Trowa." I finally spoke up in a little disappointment. "I don't feel different at all."
"It takes about thirty to forty minutes to take effect, Quatre." he informed me. "You'll notice it soon enough."
"Um. . . do you want any, Trowa?' I asked, handing the bag over to him now that I had eaten what I needed. I didn't mean to be rude, but I was afraid he'd take the bag off of me before I had a chance to really experience them. It was just something I had to do. I thought that maybe I'd understand Trowa and Duo a little better if I knew a little about this part of their lives.
"No," he said with a faint smile. "I think tonight I'll just watch you." He was always so protective of me, I wanted to hug him. I wanted to kiss him, actually, but then I thought it might be the influence of the mushrooms and I didn't want to start something neither of us knew how to finish.
He drove a little while longer in silence and then looked over to me as I sat huddled on the passengers side waiting for the mushroom to kick in or for the authorities to pulls us over. "I lied before," he said to me. I looked back at him a bit confused. It was Duo's motto that he never lied, but I didn't believe any of us ever really lied. "I. . . didn't show you those drugs to take myself off any pedestal. I was wrong to say that to you."
"Oh, Trowa. . . it's okay, I guess I do have a tendency to idealize my friends and--"
"No, Quatre. . ." he cut in on me, "that's not why I did it. . . I don't use them to relax or for recreation." He stop speaking for a moment and returned his attention to the road. "I. . . have a condition. I was going to tell you about it earlier but. . . things progressed differently."
"Condition?" I looked over at him, anxiously waiting for him to tell me what it was. But he remained silent again. "Trowa. . . What is it? What's wrong?"
He gave me a cursory glace and trained his attention once again to the road. "Don't get upset or worried, Quatre. It's not too bad of a case. It's not fatal and it shouldn't slow me down too much."
"Trowa!" I was about to panic despite his attempt to calm me. For all his grace, Trowa was notable lacking in it when topics of conversation concerned him in a significant way.
"I have a mild version of multiple sclerosis, that's all, Quatre. I'm usually fine, but sometimes. . . the stiffness in the joints or the neuralgia become hard to manage. I. . . don't like to take those prescription drugs, they make me too tired, or they don't ease the pain enough, so. . ."
"You take the marijuana," I finished for him.
He nodded. "It works better with less side effects."
"And this is why Heero moved in and is driving you nuts with his over protectiveness," I added.
He nodded again and stared at the road intently. So intently I wondered if he was watching it at all.
"Does Duo know?" I asked.
"I don't know," he replied quietly. "Maybe. If Heero told him. I didn't say he couldn't and they're best friends. . ."
"Maybe that's why he took the wrap for you with the horses," I suggested.
"Mules," he corrected. "I thought of that," he said, and then he stopped the car near an isolated riverbed. "I think he would have done it anyway. I think he was jealous I thought of it first." He smiled a little at me and then unbuckled his seat belt. Funny the laws he choose to obey. He rarely ever used them while piloting his Gundam.
"Trowa," I placed my hand on his shoulder and stopped him before he could get out of the car, "is it really a mild case? Are you going to be okay? I can find a good neurologist for you. You know I have the money to--"
"Quatre, I'm not dying." He clasped his hand over mine and smiled again. "I'm just a little stiff and sore, I'll be fine. If it gets worse I'll tell you."
"Promise?" I wasn't sure he would even if he promised. Not that he would lie to me, but rather he, along with Heero and Wufei, had an amazing threshold for pain. I wasn't quite sure what he would judge as `worse'.
"I promise," he said to me and squeezed my hand. I would have to accept it.
We got out of the car and sat down by the river. Dusk was upon us and the bright lights of the river boats were flashing and reflecting off the water. It was a beautiful sight. I could understand why Trowa wanted to take me there for this experience. We sat in silence again for a while, before I broke it with a gasp."
"Oh. . . oh, Trowa!" I shouted out.
He was immediately on me. He grabbed me by the shoulders and stared into my eyes. "What is it Quatre? Are you okay?"
"Oh. . . Trowa. .." I started laughing, I couldn't stop it. "I think. . . I think I'm going to be a talker!"
He settled back down on the grass and shook his head. "Quatre. . ." I think I even heard him laugh.
"Oh God, Trowa! Look at the river! Those lights! Those lights are spectacular!" It's hard to describe it in words, but it was magnificent. The lights formed in geometric patterns that sailed around the river leaving glowing trails, like something out of a fairy tale. Triangles and rhomboides and dancing decagrams and on and on. . . It was like sliding down a mobius strip with geometric strobe lighting. Trowa told me later that the mushrooms I took were specific to visual enhancers and not really mind altering on a deeper level, but that was just fine by me. It was gorgeous. He gave me my own supply of them before I left, which he said was to make space travel a little more interesting. And they certainly did. I couldn't see how they would lessen pain though. I guess you had to have pain to notice it.
As the night proceeded I just talked and talked. Trowa just listened. Or maybe he did talk, I can't really say I remember after the mushrooms kicked in. I went on about everything we had talked about that day. About Heero and stolen mules and why tea was superior to coffee and on and on. And I think I even had a revelation on the Degas painting. It suddenly all made sense to me then, what Trowa said about the true art of what Duo did and how the forgery in the museum would be worth far more then the real Degas - if anyone ever found out about it at least. It didn't bother me so much that he had the painting hanging up at the café. Mostly I understood what he meant about being free. I can't say that I was freed in such a way myself, or that I even agreed it was a good thing, but I think I understood what he meant. He was free. And I was happy for him that he could at least have that.
