What We Keep Hidden
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: Intended as a humorous tale with a mish-mash of characters borrowed from Gundam Wing and Cowboy Bebop. Alternate Universe. Written as a gift for Killraven after she challenged me to do this. Enjoy.)
***
Non sine magno labore veritas invenietur.
~Not without great labor will truth be found.
***
They walked in wearing leather jackets. Every head in the coffee shop turned to stare as the pair made their way toward the counter. Pale cheeks were cream touched with rose from the brisk, late autumn chill. Dark hair cut short, but growing out so that it curled over their collars and long around their chins. Their eyes would meet briefly then spark with a shared secret as lips rounded into a hint of a smile.
They were the center of attention. Obvious beauty. The only people who hadn't paused in their conversation were the three old guys in the corner who were too slow to have noticed yet. But they would. Nichol knew they would, because this was the routine. It happened before. It would probably happen again. Even though it dazzled the new mass of customers, he had seen them do this repeatedly.
He continued to wipe down the house mugs, which were still toasty feeling from their recent bath. The towel starting to make an irritating squeaking noise as he worked it round and round the edge of the mug with a fast twist of his hands.
"Careful, Nichol, you might just crack under all of this pressure." Dorothy passed in front of him. Her hair tied back into a strict ponytail per orders of the café owner's guidelines for his staff. She leered at him doubtlessly amused at how easily she riled him and caused his temperature to rise. She let the short skirt she was wearing flare up with a skilled flick of her hip. He swallowed, watching her pass around the front counter and take two mugs to a couple by the window. For a moment, he was distracted from the women who had just come in, but then they were ready to order.
Barton got to the counter first. Nichol pretended he didn't care. Dropped the mug back into the sink, and then pulled it out to dry it anew. He leaned sideways against the sink's frame and watched as Trowa tried to engage them in conversation.
Just the three of them were tending the store that afternoon. It was Thursday, and while the weather was bringing more people to drink hot coffees and tea, most of their customers were the in and out sort--business people in suits or the occasional group of senior citizens on a bus tour of the downtown.
To Nichol, Dorothy was still a shadow against the sunlight brilliantly blazing through the front window. The couple, Heero and Hilde, was college friends of hers and Trowa's. Nichol scoffed to himself. Well, "friends" might not have been the best word. Intricately balanced rivals seemed more fitting. The last he'd kept track, Heero had finally won the slim dark headed girl to his side--which broke Barton's heart and annoyed Dotty, who was sickeningly protective of the overgrown toothpick. When pressed about her feelings for Trowa, Dorothy denied everything and professed undying love for the blond musician that came in occasionally. Not one word of her story was true, but she would carry on about her supposed infatuation to such length that Nichol would frantically beg that he believed her so that she would stop.
"Daydreaming, Nicky?" Dorothy was back, hands on her hips and flipped her silver-blonde ponytail over one shoulder. Then she took her hands and suggestively rubbed them up and down her apron, "About me?"
"You wish," Nichol pried his eyes from the saucy look she was teasing him with to watch Trowa hand the women their drinks. In mugs. Looked like the ladies were going to cause a scene for longer than their "in and out" routine, "Looks like they're staying today."
"Becoming regulars," Dorothy nodded, turning so that she could lean against the sink as well. "Do you think they're sisters? They look so much alike, but," Dorothy tilted her head to one side, "I like the taller one's coat better. The longer cut is flattering to her waist. The other one is just waaaay much into fringe."
"And that's a bad thing?" Nichol asked, having long since stopped pretending to dry the mug.
"Depends on what she has on underneath it," Dorothy said nonchalantly, even as Nichol dropped the mug to the floor.
***
Lucrezia glanced back at the crashing noise. "Oops. Someone has butter for fingers."
Her companion pulled out a chair from the table along the wall and stared at the mural for a while. The painting itself was so large it took up the entire wall, but from what she could see from that close, it bore a striking resemblance to . . . she spoke, "Luce, why does everything remind me of him?"
"It's because we let men become the center of . . . er, too much a part of our lives, Electra." Lucrezia shrugged, offering poor comfort. They had met in an internet chat-room for women trying to break free from lousy relationships. After sifting through women who grumbled about bad hairstyles, male body odors, and flabby tummies on their husbands, Lucrezia and Electra had found each other to be rare kindred spirits. Rather than finding things to despise about their boyfriends-they had rather idealized them so that they were essentially blind to the hurt the relationships caused.
"He made me feel like dynamite, like a princess . . ." Electra stared at the large blob of red next to the orange. Reminding her of how he used to set off small explosives in the backyard after dinner. Then how after he ran out of gunpowder and bullets, he would come back into the house and they would make love on the kitchen table. He would still smell like fireworks and flint.
"A princess?" Lucrezia laughed, "No, that's not a word I would use. Then he'd be treating me like his sister. 'Relena this, or Relena that.' She's the only woman he intentionally cares about, rushing off to pick her up from parties when she's drunk, paying off her credit card debts, and buying her dates when she can't get the one guy she likes to pay attention to her. If he only put a fraction of that effort into keeping me . . . I would have no reason to have left."
"Well, aren't you glad you did?" Electra felt less sympathy for other's pain when nursing her own, "Or you'd still be there offering to knot his tie properly and having your hands slapped away."
Lucrezia blushed, "You're going to make me regret telling you that."
"Heck, we both sound stupid." Electra rolled her head from resting in one hand to the other. Sighing heavily. "That's why we're trying this girl power trip, right? Spending all of our money on advancing our career with a few espresso drinks on the side. Free of men."
"Free of men," Lucrezia added with a mumble.
Electra's expression twisted from momentary glee to remorse, her eyes narrowing into slits, her lips balancing sympathetically over the words, "They need to start spiking this coffee with alcohol. Maybe that would help."
***
Nichol was still working on the remaining shards of the very clean coffee mug when he heard the bells on the door jingle--distinctive of someone entering the store. From his knees, Nichol had found a very nice angle from which to admire Dorothy's legs as she wandered around arranging the tins of flavored chai mixes. He stole glances until in his distraction the glass cut his index finger. "Yeow."
"Are you okay?" Said their quiet co-worker, "Want me to clean that up for you?"
Unbidden, Nichol had a picture of Trowa Barton's mouth wrapped around his finger, "No!" His voice clipped a little sharply. He stood grabbing for a towel and making for the sink.
Trowa watched the surly expression with mild amusement, and turned back to see another regular customer, "Hello, Howard."
"Howdy, Trowa." For an elite computer man with one of the larger companies downtown, Howard still dressed like a beach bum.
"Hawaiian shirts in the middle of winter?" Trowa asked, demurely. He found that more people tolerated others making fun of them if the opportunities were handled with some delicacy.
"It's not winter yet, sonny," Howard chortled, appraising his server from over his angular, dark glasses. "I'd like an Iced Mocha."
Trowa shivered, but took Howard's money anyway, "Would you like me to save you a seat by the fireplace?" He added. His voice hardly more than a polite whisper.
"What's that?" Howard's voice, on the other hand, ricocheted throughout the entire shop, "You kidding? I want to sit next to the hot dames along the wall."
"Sure, you just take your seat, Howard. I'll bring your mocha to you." Dorothy had come from the back room to hover near the cashier, practically attached to Trowa's arm.
Howard ogled her, "Sure thing, sweetie. Nice apron."
Dorothy smiled broadly, "Thanks, I think it accentuates my figure. Don't you, Trowa?"
Trowa intently studied the buttons on the register, muttering a noncommittal, "Uh-huh."
"Actually, the ruffles make your chest look huge," Nichol interjected as he walked behind them. Holding one wrist with his opposite hand and blowing on his lacerated finger, "Would you look at this, Dorothy? I think I might need to go home."
Dorothy vacillated from being flattered or annoyed, each expression molding into one as she turned to face Nichol sharply. "I think not. Find a band- aid in the bathroom."
Then, disrupting whatever retort Nichol had poised for his matching irritated expression, Howard slapped his fist into his palm, "That's right. It does make your chest look huge."
"You've paid your bill, old man?" Dorothy's grimace was so large it almost looked like a smile, "Sit down, then. I'll bring you your drink when I'm ready."
***
"Hey, isn't that Trowa's sister?" Hilde stared out the window, as she had been for several minutes while Heero studied his spoon. He'd been taken with sudden spells of unbroken, silent curiosity about simple things, and she had been amused listening to him go on at first. What shape was the color yellow? Why was Braille on the drive through ATM? How necessary was wearing underwear? (That had been a revealing discussion, and Hilde smirked at the memory.) However, when he started ignoring her in order to over achieve on his philosophy homework, Hilde knew she should have discouraged him from switching majors. How was he going to earn any salary worthwhile as a philosophy major?
Although, Heero wearing nothing but a large sheet still excited her imagination.
Therefore, while Heero drifted off staring at his reflection in the coffee or on his spoon, Hilde in turn stared at the people walking past.
"Why yes, Hilde, I do believe that is Trowa's sister . . . " Hilde continued in a nasally voice, glaring at her boyfriend. "Imagine that." Her voice changed as the tall woman with wavy brown hair walked into the shop, holding the door open for her companion, "Hi, Cathy."
"Hilde?" The slender woman's face split into a grin that shattered what might have previously been a similarity in resemblance to her quiet brother. Trowa couldn't smiled like that, or at least he never did. "Haven't seen you around in a while, what are you doing?"
"Dating this oaf," Hilde pointed at Heero with her thumb, "But you're looking gorgeous in that flattering brown suit, maybe I should reconsider my choice after all."
"Thanks," Cathy's eyes sparkled, "But I think Philip wouldn't be able to manage without me."
"How is Walker these days?" Heero spoke for the first time in several minutes, giving Cathy his full attention. Philip Walker majored in computer science and had been one of Heero's classmates until Heero transformed to the contemplative lifestyle after taking Philosophy 101.
"Great," Cathy hooked her pocket with her thumb and not-too-subtly let the sunlight bounce of the diamond decorating her finger.
"Congratulations," Hilde laughed, "I suppose it was that subtlety that convinced Walker to ask?"
"Hn?" Heero glanced between the two women, "What?"
"You've got your work cut out as well, I see." Trowa's sister turned to her companion, "Well, Sally and I only have a few moments before our lunch break is over."
"Lunch at two in the afternoon?" Hilde's eyes widened.
"Real life. Stinks, don't it?" Catherine's friend, Sally chuckled, her brilliant blue eyes sparkling.
"I'd say," Hilde turned back to find Heero studying his palm very intently. She sighed and resting her chin in her hand, stared out the window again. Only to find someone staring in right back.
***
"Everything fine here, ladies?" Nichol briskly walked past their table. His good hand holding a used mug he'd collected while making a round between the tables. His other hand balanced palm up with a bandaged finger pointed outward. Electra's eyes crossed as she stared at him.
"Fine, thanks," Lucrezia answered, all the while staring at her pity partner. While the wiry haired kid went back about his business, she dropped her voice, "What's wrong?"
"That boy reminded me of him," Electra hissed, "The tone of his voice. Polite, but suggesting something was really wrong. The way he was pointing . . . accusing."
"He reminded you of *him*?" Lucrezia chewed her lower lip a moment, "I thought the kid would rather have reminded you of . . . ~him~ . . . with that curly hair and all."
Electra's brows pulled together, then relaxed, "Him too."
"I have a feeling anything masculine is going to remind you of one of them."
'But I liked ~him~ . . ." Electra took a long drink of her coffee, which was starting to go cold. She gazed over Lucrezia's shoulder and caught the eye of the burly kid who immediately froze before searching around frantically to make sure he was the one she had given that *look*.
Noin turned in her seat just as Nichol ducked under the counter, "Electra, you agreed . . . no more men. Stop teasing the boy. He doesn't understand . . ."
"Maybe if I became a dominatrix?" Electra whispered, teasing.
"I thought we agreed that was your problem," Noin sighed, "That we come on just a little too strongly. A little too forcefully. That we need to explore our feminine sides until we subconsciously attract a true gentleman. It worked for Une."
"Darn her for abandoning us!" Electra said, only half teasing by that point.
"Yeah, darn her for being happy with her filthy rich executive." Noin tried to joke, but the fact that her old roommate was dating her old boyfriend's best friend because she had introduced them did cause a little bitterness.
"I'm single."
Lucrezia turned completely around to see some old guy at the table behind her reading the paper. His unruly white hair flipping out over his ears. Shrugging, she faced Electra's puzzled expression, "Did you hear something?"
"Nope."
The both shrugged then continued talking about the disadvantages of each support group they had joined recently.
***
"Oh, please, Nicky." Dorothy put an arm to her forehead as if in a dramatic swoon, "Our leather chicks did not just give-you-the-eye." Then when she didn't get a response, "Get up off the floor, at least."
"I'm not interested in women with hair like that." Nichol grumbled to himself, still unnerved by the stare one of the dark haired women had given him earlier.
"How about men?"
"Shit, no." Nichol cringed away from Trowa, the taller boy appearing from nowhere to stand at Nichol's shoulder.
"Cathy." A delighted tone warmed the voice of the quiet boy, who pushed back his unruly brown hair. He stepped up to and leaned against the counter. Seeing his opportunity to escape, Nichol ducked away.
"Yeah, yeah. You can't fool me, Trowa Barton," Cathy swatted his cheek affectionately, "You need to cut that hair, before your boss makes you tie it back in a ponytail like Dorothy."
"Hi, Sally." Trowa turned to the other woman who was staring toward the wall. "Admiring the new mural or perhaps our biker chicks?"
"Ah, no . . ." Sally responded, distracted for a moment before turning back, "Who's that old guy?"
"Howard?" Trowa arched his neck to make sure he was seeing the same person, "He's some really important computer person from what we've gathered."
"Yeah, I know." Sally turned to stare again. "He owes me money. I beat him at cards on the web last week."
"You have way too much free time on your hands," Cathy chuckled, "The usual, little brother of mine."
"The usual?" Trowa inquired, deciding to avoid the conversation of conflict. He had long decided it was much safer being acquiescent when dealing with women. He lowered his eyes to key in the right order.
***
Hilde continued to stare out the window. The man outside wasn't looking at her, she determined so she decided to give him a good once over. He looked a bit prissy for her tastes. She liked unruly hair, dangerous eyes and a chiseled jaw. He had long, well-shampooed blonde hair, unfocused blue eyes and a jaw that had softened-mostly likely from a fondness for fine alcoholic beverages. The recent consumption of which would explain the watery eyes. "What do you make of this guy?" Hilde asked.
"Hn?" Heero glanced up, and for a moment, he was dazzled by how cute his girlfriend was-a recurring revelation he had after meditating for long periods. "God, Hilde. I love you."
"Yikes!" Hilde started, "You always bring that up at the queerest times, you know that? Aw, but you're sweet." She melted a bit, before remembering that he'd just been ignoring her for the better part of an hour.
"Did you ask me something?" He leaned forward, reaching across the table for her hand.
"Yeah," Hilde withdrew her hand and used it to point at the guy in the grey coat just outside the window, "What's up with this guy? He hasn't moved for a while."
"He's been outside watching ever since the dark headed women came in, actually," Heero commented, then added, "How brilliantly the sun shines, yet outside the world is still cold." He reflected on that a moment. Then two.
Hilde didn't notice her boyfriend drift off as she already was distracted by the blond man making a move for the coffee shop door.
***
"Oh crap. I'm caught." Some feminine intuition she wished she could have turned off persuaded Lucrezia to turn toward the door at just that moment. Simultaneously, he pulled open the door and walked toward her and Electra without hesitation.
"Zechs?" She stood. When he didn't respond right away, she tried again, "Milliardo?"
"Why?" He asked, a pathetic lilt in his question, "Why?"
"Why . . . what exactly, sweetie?" She could feel Electra shooting daggers into her feeble resolve that didn't help matters any. He stared at her without saying anything, so she tried again, "Want to sit with us?"
"He's drunk."
Lucrezia turned to see the old man innocently stirring his coffee and reading a magazine. She turned back to Milliardo, "Are you . . . drinking? The doctor said not to drink while you're on meds, love."
"Why?"
"Um, they don't mix. It's bad. I don't know. Why are you here?" She didn't dare look at Electra.
"I couldn't find you. I woke up and you were gone." He stepped forward, reaching out with one hand beseechingly.
"Last night? You said you were bowling with an old friend last night." Electra hissed, "You skipped out on our Addicted to Love meeting because you were playing with your OLD BOWLING BALL . . ."
"Ah, um," Lucrezia couldn't exactly deny it, so she focused on her supposed ex-boyfriend instead trying to cover with a different approach, "You're drunk, love. You don't remember, I guess, but we broke up. I don't love you anymore." Then as an after thought, "If I ever did."
"I love you." He said simply, the gaze of his crossed blue eyes striking her deepest weakness. "I've not been able to eat since you left. My publishers won't read what I've written since I've lost you, my muse. My writing is just not the same as before."
"Fine, we can be . . ." Lucrezia mumbled, instinctively wanting to cuddle with the blond oaf. Conditioned to want to run her fingers through his coarse hair. Push him back against the pillows while she tore his clothes off and had her way with him . . .
"Snap out of it, Luce," Electra stood up, then muscled her way forward to interrogate the intruder up close. "You've put Lucrezia through hell, you idiot. Get lost. She doesn't want you. Right?" She turned to her soul sister, seeking affirmation. "Luce . . ."
"Can we still be friends?" Noin turned to Electra, trying not to read the hurt in the wide eyes, "I mean, if I just shag him now and again?"
"No!" Electra spun, pounding a fist on the table, "Fight back. Be strong. Want me to karate him into a pretzel?"
"Are you the one who has bewitched, my love?" Milliardo stared at Electra, his lips curling into a sneer. "Who are you?"
Electra plugged her nose and waved away the sent of his breath. "You stink."
***
Meanwhile, Trowa diplomatically volunteered Nichol to ask the unruly customers to leave.
"No way," Nichol shook his head; feeling very put upon by everyone all afternoon and his finger was starting to throb. "Maybe if we just turn the music mix up really loud, they'll get the idea."
"Great idea." Dorothy nodded.
"Are you kidding?" Nichol whipped his head around to look at her so quickly that next he had to grip his neck in reflex to the pain.
"Well, it might work." She nodded.
Just then, they noticed that Sally had confronted the old guy slyly eavesdropping from behind his newspaper. The volume of raised voices increased proportionally.
"I can't even hear myself think!" Dorothy threw up her hands, causing her skirt to lift and Trowa threw his hand over Nichol's eyes.
***
"Where's my money, old man?" Sally said, her tone and expression demanding no nonsense. Howard foolishly disregarded the sign.
"Who are you?" He asked gravelly, smiling but the eyes hidden behind the sunglasses were calculating how far it was to the exit. He hadn't been caught or so quickly since he tried to scam the red-headed monkey child who had hunted him down and taken his weight in debt by literally chewing his bum. When he'd finally been released from the hospital he'd hired the girl, which while being a risky business venture in the eyes of the public had turned out to be a wise decision as far as utilizing raw talent. He wondered if he could buy off the pig-tailed girl with a high paying salary before she decided to gnaw at his kneecaps.
"Don't pay dumb, or I'll make your life absolutely miserable," The relaxed posture and easy smile that settled over the young woman was more terrifying that her threatening posture just moments before.
"Why do I think you can follow through on that threat?" Howard pushed the glasses farther up the bridge of his nose and swallowed hard.
Sally's grin never faltered.
***
"I've decided . . ." Lucrezia Noin swallowed hard, while her recent source of womanly encouragement stared at her with disbelief.
"You've decided to go back with him?" Electra spat out the masculine pronoun, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand to remove the remaining spittle. "After being detached for six months, drinking espresso and going to self-help meetings . . . after all we've meant to each other?" She laughed bitterly, "I'd have never guessed for you to be the first to fold under the pressure."
"Six months and seventeen days to be exact," Lucrezia inched her way toward the object of her desire. In her mind, Milliardo was already missing the trench coat and the maroon buttoned shirt.
"You're going to give that all up so easily." Shaking her head, Electra noticed that just about everyone in the coffee shop was staring at them. Except the Japanese guy who concentrated on folding and unfolding his napkin and the pig-tail girl who was arguing with the old geezer in the floral print shirt. The staff, it appeared, was drawing straws.
"Well, actually, I only lasted twelve days before I saw him at the karaoke bar and we ended up in the last stall of the unisex bathroom, y'know . . ." Lucrezia enticed Milliardo to meet her eyes, to put him under her spell- like the immobilizing venom a spider might put into it's captured prey just before devouring it.
"Twelve days!" Electra choked. Her hand flayed about trying to find her cold coffee, anything to wash down the bad taste appearing in the back of her throat.
"I was good for about three months after that. Honest." Noin nodded to the door ever so slightly, and Milliardo responded by taking a step backward. "Then I saw him in the parking garage and we went at it in the bed of his pickup truck."
"Three? Months?" Electra blinked.
"But seeing him now--I know his will is completely mine. So I guess my suffering is over." Noin shrugged, "You have to be strong, girlfriend."
"Wait, don't be fooled . . . " But Electra's pleading was drowned by the sudden blaring of the coffee shop's music mix. Everyone stopped, throwing their hands over their ears.
***
"Bon Jovi??" Dorothy looked at Nichol as if she wanted to grind him in the shop blender. "You decide to execute your grand idea when the loop was at Bon Jovi?!" She was shouting at the top of her lungs, but only Trowa and Nichol who were nearest to her could make out her words. Nichol looked as if he'd tasted something nasty.
"Why do I get blamed for everything?!" Nichol growled. Only Trowa heard that, and Nichol shrugged off the taller boy's comforting pat.
"Um," Catherine appeared at the front counter, "If you haven't noticed . . . THE MUSIC IS REALLY LOUD!"
"Yeah, sis, we know." Trowa replied, speaking much louder than ever before in his entire life, "But it worked."
"Everyone's left!"
"Exactly."
***
A week later in the rumor pages ran a article that Lucrezia Noin and Milliardo Peacecraft had been secretly married a few months before the public release of the information. The papers mentioned it on page six of the local news section, right after the blurb announcing Sally Po's promotion to President of a local software distributor and a snapshot of Po and her maniac Vice President, a fourteen year old genius who's name was so long it had to be continued on page eight.
Nichol tossed the paper down on the table in front of him and glanced at his watch. He had three minutes left of his break. Glancing around he saw the three old geezers in the corner playing cards while talking loudly about how they had invented coffee. Trowa, who was taking his turn wearing the company apron, was refilling Hilde's coffee. She'd broken up with Heero, but instead of making the skinny kid happy to snatch her up, it seemed that Trowa was trying to patch things up between them. And he was succeeding.
Dorothy said it had to do with Trowa wanting to ensure that *Heero* was happy-which made no sense. Unless, Trowa was absolutely unselfish . . . or gay. That, Nichol realized, would explain a lot, like the apron . . . except . . .
Except that Dorothy walked up and tapped him on the shoulder suddenly distracting Nichol. "My turn, darling. Your break is over."
Protesting feebly, pointing at his watch, Nichol slumped back to the front register, "Can I help you?" He asked without an ounce of pep, looking up to jerk back in surprise. Standing in front of him was the woman who had been part of the argument a week ago during the Bon Jovi incident. The woman who had given him ~that~ look.
"I dunno, what do you want, Spike?" She glanced over at the tall man with her. The new guy was scrawnier than Trowa and had more unruly curls than Nichol himself.
"Doesn't this place have alcohol?" Her companion sounded disappointed, studying the menu over his angled nose.
Nichol punched at the register's keyboard with his index finger, and winced at the phantom pain, "I'm sorry," he excused himself, "I've got to . . . I need a new job . . . " Grabbing at his face, Nichol fled into the back.
Immediately, Trowa materialized in his place smiling at their guests, "Don't mind Nichol, he's under stress or having some identity crisis or . . . "
"It's alright," Electra shrugged, "I guess not everyone's cut out to work at a coffee shop."
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: Intended as a humorous tale with a mish-mash of characters borrowed from Gundam Wing and Cowboy Bebop. Alternate Universe. Written as a gift for Killraven after she challenged me to do this. Enjoy.)
***
Non sine magno labore veritas invenietur.
~Not without great labor will truth be found.
***
They walked in wearing leather jackets. Every head in the coffee shop turned to stare as the pair made their way toward the counter. Pale cheeks were cream touched with rose from the brisk, late autumn chill. Dark hair cut short, but growing out so that it curled over their collars and long around their chins. Their eyes would meet briefly then spark with a shared secret as lips rounded into a hint of a smile.
They were the center of attention. Obvious beauty. The only people who hadn't paused in their conversation were the three old guys in the corner who were too slow to have noticed yet. But they would. Nichol knew they would, because this was the routine. It happened before. It would probably happen again. Even though it dazzled the new mass of customers, he had seen them do this repeatedly.
He continued to wipe down the house mugs, which were still toasty feeling from their recent bath. The towel starting to make an irritating squeaking noise as he worked it round and round the edge of the mug with a fast twist of his hands.
"Careful, Nichol, you might just crack under all of this pressure." Dorothy passed in front of him. Her hair tied back into a strict ponytail per orders of the café owner's guidelines for his staff. She leered at him doubtlessly amused at how easily she riled him and caused his temperature to rise. She let the short skirt she was wearing flare up with a skilled flick of her hip. He swallowed, watching her pass around the front counter and take two mugs to a couple by the window. For a moment, he was distracted from the women who had just come in, but then they were ready to order.
Barton got to the counter first. Nichol pretended he didn't care. Dropped the mug back into the sink, and then pulled it out to dry it anew. He leaned sideways against the sink's frame and watched as Trowa tried to engage them in conversation.
Just the three of them were tending the store that afternoon. It was Thursday, and while the weather was bringing more people to drink hot coffees and tea, most of their customers were the in and out sort--business people in suits or the occasional group of senior citizens on a bus tour of the downtown.
To Nichol, Dorothy was still a shadow against the sunlight brilliantly blazing through the front window. The couple, Heero and Hilde, was college friends of hers and Trowa's. Nichol scoffed to himself. Well, "friends" might not have been the best word. Intricately balanced rivals seemed more fitting. The last he'd kept track, Heero had finally won the slim dark headed girl to his side--which broke Barton's heart and annoyed Dotty, who was sickeningly protective of the overgrown toothpick. When pressed about her feelings for Trowa, Dorothy denied everything and professed undying love for the blond musician that came in occasionally. Not one word of her story was true, but she would carry on about her supposed infatuation to such length that Nichol would frantically beg that he believed her so that she would stop.
"Daydreaming, Nicky?" Dorothy was back, hands on her hips and flipped her silver-blonde ponytail over one shoulder. Then she took her hands and suggestively rubbed them up and down her apron, "About me?"
"You wish," Nichol pried his eyes from the saucy look she was teasing him with to watch Trowa hand the women their drinks. In mugs. Looked like the ladies were going to cause a scene for longer than their "in and out" routine, "Looks like they're staying today."
"Becoming regulars," Dorothy nodded, turning so that she could lean against the sink as well. "Do you think they're sisters? They look so much alike, but," Dorothy tilted her head to one side, "I like the taller one's coat better. The longer cut is flattering to her waist. The other one is just waaaay much into fringe."
"And that's a bad thing?" Nichol asked, having long since stopped pretending to dry the mug.
"Depends on what she has on underneath it," Dorothy said nonchalantly, even as Nichol dropped the mug to the floor.
***
Lucrezia glanced back at the crashing noise. "Oops. Someone has butter for fingers."
Her companion pulled out a chair from the table along the wall and stared at the mural for a while. The painting itself was so large it took up the entire wall, but from what she could see from that close, it bore a striking resemblance to . . . she spoke, "Luce, why does everything remind me of him?"
"It's because we let men become the center of . . . er, too much a part of our lives, Electra." Lucrezia shrugged, offering poor comfort. They had met in an internet chat-room for women trying to break free from lousy relationships. After sifting through women who grumbled about bad hairstyles, male body odors, and flabby tummies on their husbands, Lucrezia and Electra had found each other to be rare kindred spirits. Rather than finding things to despise about their boyfriends-they had rather idealized them so that they were essentially blind to the hurt the relationships caused.
"He made me feel like dynamite, like a princess . . ." Electra stared at the large blob of red next to the orange. Reminding her of how he used to set off small explosives in the backyard after dinner. Then how after he ran out of gunpowder and bullets, he would come back into the house and they would make love on the kitchen table. He would still smell like fireworks and flint.
"A princess?" Lucrezia laughed, "No, that's not a word I would use. Then he'd be treating me like his sister. 'Relena this, or Relena that.' She's the only woman he intentionally cares about, rushing off to pick her up from parties when she's drunk, paying off her credit card debts, and buying her dates when she can't get the one guy she likes to pay attention to her. If he only put a fraction of that effort into keeping me . . . I would have no reason to have left."
"Well, aren't you glad you did?" Electra felt less sympathy for other's pain when nursing her own, "Or you'd still be there offering to knot his tie properly and having your hands slapped away."
Lucrezia blushed, "You're going to make me regret telling you that."
"Heck, we both sound stupid." Electra rolled her head from resting in one hand to the other. Sighing heavily. "That's why we're trying this girl power trip, right? Spending all of our money on advancing our career with a few espresso drinks on the side. Free of men."
"Free of men," Lucrezia added with a mumble.
Electra's expression twisted from momentary glee to remorse, her eyes narrowing into slits, her lips balancing sympathetically over the words, "They need to start spiking this coffee with alcohol. Maybe that would help."
***
Nichol was still working on the remaining shards of the very clean coffee mug when he heard the bells on the door jingle--distinctive of someone entering the store. From his knees, Nichol had found a very nice angle from which to admire Dorothy's legs as she wandered around arranging the tins of flavored chai mixes. He stole glances until in his distraction the glass cut his index finger. "Yeow."
"Are you okay?" Said their quiet co-worker, "Want me to clean that up for you?"
Unbidden, Nichol had a picture of Trowa Barton's mouth wrapped around his finger, "No!" His voice clipped a little sharply. He stood grabbing for a towel and making for the sink.
Trowa watched the surly expression with mild amusement, and turned back to see another regular customer, "Hello, Howard."
"Howdy, Trowa." For an elite computer man with one of the larger companies downtown, Howard still dressed like a beach bum.
"Hawaiian shirts in the middle of winter?" Trowa asked, demurely. He found that more people tolerated others making fun of them if the opportunities were handled with some delicacy.
"It's not winter yet, sonny," Howard chortled, appraising his server from over his angular, dark glasses. "I'd like an Iced Mocha."
Trowa shivered, but took Howard's money anyway, "Would you like me to save you a seat by the fireplace?" He added. His voice hardly more than a polite whisper.
"What's that?" Howard's voice, on the other hand, ricocheted throughout the entire shop, "You kidding? I want to sit next to the hot dames along the wall."
"Sure, you just take your seat, Howard. I'll bring your mocha to you." Dorothy had come from the back room to hover near the cashier, practically attached to Trowa's arm.
Howard ogled her, "Sure thing, sweetie. Nice apron."
Dorothy smiled broadly, "Thanks, I think it accentuates my figure. Don't you, Trowa?"
Trowa intently studied the buttons on the register, muttering a noncommittal, "Uh-huh."
"Actually, the ruffles make your chest look huge," Nichol interjected as he walked behind them. Holding one wrist with his opposite hand and blowing on his lacerated finger, "Would you look at this, Dorothy? I think I might need to go home."
Dorothy vacillated from being flattered or annoyed, each expression molding into one as she turned to face Nichol sharply. "I think not. Find a band- aid in the bathroom."
Then, disrupting whatever retort Nichol had poised for his matching irritated expression, Howard slapped his fist into his palm, "That's right. It does make your chest look huge."
"You've paid your bill, old man?" Dorothy's grimace was so large it almost looked like a smile, "Sit down, then. I'll bring you your drink when I'm ready."
***
"Hey, isn't that Trowa's sister?" Hilde stared out the window, as she had been for several minutes while Heero studied his spoon. He'd been taken with sudden spells of unbroken, silent curiosity about simple things, and she had been amused listening to him go on at first. What shape was the color yellow? Why was Braille on the drive through ATM? How necessary was wearing underwear? (That had been a revealing discussion, and Hilde smirked at the memory.) However, when he started ignoring her in order to over achieve on his philosophy homework, Hilde knew she should have discouraged him from switching majors. How was he going to earn any salary worthwhile as a philosophy major?
Although, Heero wearing nothing but a large sheet still excited her imagination.
Therefore, while Heero drifted off staring at his reflection in the coffee or on his spoon, Hilde in turn stared at the people walking past.
"Why yes, Hilde, I do believe that is Trowa's sister . . . " Hilde continued in a nasally voice, glaring at her boyfriend. "Imagine that." Her voice changed as the tall woman with wavy brown hair walked into the shop, holding the door open for her companion, "Hi, Cathy."
"Hilde?" The slender woman's face split into a grin that shattered what might have previously been a similarity in resemblance to her quiet brother. Trowa couldn't smiled like that, or at least he never did. "Haven't seen you around in a while, what are you doing?"
"Dating this oaf," Hilde pointed at Heero with her thumb, "But you're looking gorgeous in that flattering brown suit, maybe I should reconsider my choice after all."
"Thanks," Cathy's eyes sparkled, "But I think Philip wouldn't be able to manage without me."
"How is Walker these days?" Heero spoke for the first time in several minutes, giving Cathy his full attention. Philip Walker majored in computer science and had been one of Heero's classmates until Heero transformed to the contemplative lifestyle after taking Philosophy 101.
"Great," Cathy hooked her pocket with her thumb and not-too-subtly let the sunlight bounce of the diamond decorating her finger.
"Congratulations," Hilde laughed, "I suppose it was that subtlety that convinced Walker to ask?"
"Hn?" Heero glanced between the two women, "What?"
"You've got your work cut out as well, I see." Trowa's sister turned to her companion, "Well, Sally and I only have a few moments before our lunch break is over."
"Lunch at two in the afternoon?" Hilde's eyes widened.
"Real life. Stinks, don't it?" Catherine's friend, Sally chuckled, her brilliant blue eyes sparkling.
"I'd say," Hilde turned back to find Heero studying his palm very intently. She sighed and resting her chin in her hand, stared out the window again. Only to find someone staring in right back.
***
"Everything fine here, ladies?" Nichol briskly walked past their table. His good hand holding a used mug he'd collected while making a round between the tables. His other hand balanced palm up with a bandaged finger pointed outward. Electra's eyes crossed as she stared at him.
"Fine, thanks," Lucrezia answered, all the while staring at her pity partner. While the wiry haired kid went back about his business, she dropped her voice, "What's wrong?"
"That boy reminded me of him," Electra hissed, "The tone of his voice. Polite, but suggesting something was really wrong. The way he was pointing . . . accusing."
"He reminded you of *him*?" Lucrezia chewed her lower lip a moment, "I thought the kid would rather have reminded you of . . . ~him~ . . . with that curly hair and all."
Electra's brows pulled together, then relaxed, "Him too."
"I have a feeling anything masculine is going to remind you of one of them."
'But I liked ~him~ . . ." Electra took a long drink of her coffee, which was starting to go cold. She gazed over Lucrezia's shoulder and caught the eye of the burly kid who immediately froze before searching around frantically to make sure he was the one she had given that *look*.
Noin turned in her seat just as Nichol ducked under the counter, "Electra, you agreed . . . no more men. Stop teasing the boy. He doesn't understand . . ."
"Maybe if I became a dominatrix?" Electra whispered, teasing.
"I thought we agreed that was your problem," Noin sighed, "That we come on just a little too strongly. A little too forcefully. That we need to explore our feminine sides until we subconsciously attract a true gentleman. It worked for Une."
"Darn her for abandoning us!" Electra said, only half teasing by that point.
"Yeah, darn her for being happy with her filthy rich executive." Noin tried to joke, but the fact that her old roommate was dating her old boyfriend's best friend because she had introduced them did cause a little bitterness.
"I'm single."
Lucrezia turned completely around to see some old guy at the table behind her reading the paper. His unruly white hair flipping out over his ears. Shrugging, she faced Electra's puzzled expression, "Did you hear something?"
"Nope."
The both shrugged then continued talking about the disadvantages of each support group they had joined recently.
***
"Oh, please, Nicky." Dorothy put an arm to her forehead as if in a dramatic swoon, "Our leather chicks did not just give-you-the-eye." Then when she didn't get a response, "Get up off the floor, at least."
"I'm not interested in women with hair like that." Nichol grumbled to himself, still unnerved by the stare one of the dark haired women had given him earlier.
"How about men?"
"Shit, no." Nichol cringed away from Trowa, the taller boy appearing from nowhere to stand at Nichol's shoulder.
"Cathy." A delighted tone warmed the voice of the quiet boy, who pushed back his unruly brown hair. He stepped up to and leaned against the counter. Seeing his opportunity to escape, Nichol ducked away.
"Yeah, yeah. You can't fool me, Trowa Barton," Cathy swatted his cheek affectionately, "You need to cut that hair, before your boss makes you tie it back in a ponytail like Dorothy."
"Hi, Sally." Trowa turned to the other woman who was staring toward the wall. "Admiring the new mural or perhaps our biker chicks?"
"Ah, no . . ." Sally responded, distracted for a moment before turning back, "Who's that old guy?"
"Howard?" Trowa arched his neck to make sure he was seeing the same person, "He's some really important computer person from what we've gathered."
"Yeah, I know." Sally turned to stare again. "He owes me money. I beat him at cards on the web last week."
"You have way too much free time on your hands," Cathy chuckled, "The usual, little brother of mine."
"The usual?" Trowa inquired, deciding to avoid the conversation of conflict. He had long decided it was much safer being acquiescent when dealing with women. He lowered his eyes to key in the right order.
***
Hilde continued to stare out the window. The man outside wasn't looking at her, she determined so she decided to give him a good once over. He looked a bit prissy for her tastes. She liked unruly hair, dangerous eyes and a chiseled jaw. He had long, well-shampooed blonde hair, unfocused blue eyes and a jaw that had softened-mostly likely from a fondness for fine alcoholic beverages. The recent consumption of which would explain the watery eyes. "What do you make of this guy?" Hilde asked.
"Hn?" Heero glanced up, and for a moment, he was dazzled by how cute his girlfriend was-a recurring revelation he had after meditating for long periods. "God, Hilde. I love you."
"Yikes!" Hilde started, "You always bring that up at the queerest times, you know that? Aw, but you're sweet." She melted a bit, before remembering that he'd just been ignoring her for the better part of an hour.
"Did you ask me something?" He leaned forward, reaching across the table for her hand.
"Yeah," Hilde withdrew her hand and used it to point at the guy in the grey coat just outside the window, "What's up with this guy? He hasn't moved for a while."
"He's been outside watching ever since the dark headed women came in, actually," Heero commented, then added, "How brilliantly the sun shines, yet outside the world is still cold." He reflected on that a moment. Then two.
Hilde didn't notice her boyfriend drift off as she already was distracted by the blond man making a move for the coffee shop door.
***
"Oh crap. I'm caught." Some feminine intuition she wished she could have turned off persuaded Lucrezia to turn toward the door at just that moment. Simultaneously, he pulled open the door and walked toward her and Electra without hesitation.
"Zechs?" She stood. When he didn't respond right away, she tried again, "Milliardo?"
"Why?" He asked, a pathetic lilt in his question, "Why?"
"Why . . . what exactly, sweetie?" She could feel Electra shooting daggers into her feeble resolve that didn't help matters any. He stared at her without saying anything, so she tried again, "Want to sit with us?"
"He's drunk."
Lucrezia turned to see the old man innocently stirring his coffee and reading a magazine. She turned back to Milliardo, "Are you . . . drinking? The doctor said not to drink while you're on meds, love."
"Why?"
"Um, they don't mix. It's bad. I don't know. Why are you here?" She didn't dare look at Electra.
"I couldn't find you. I woke up and you were gone." He stepped forward, reaching out with one hand beseechingly.
"Last night? You said you were bowling with an old friend last night." Electra hissed, "You skipped out on our Addicted to Love meeting because you were playing with your OLD BOWLING BALL . . ."
"Ah, um," Lucrezia couldn't exactly deny it, so she focused on her supposed ex-boyfriend instead trying to cover with a different approach, "You're drunk, love. You don't remember, I guess, but we broke up. I don't love you anymore." Then as an after thought, "If I ever did."
"I love you." He said simply, the gaze of his crossed blue eyes striking her deepest weakness. "I've not been able to eat since you left. My publishers won't read what I've written since I've lost you, my muse. My writing is just not the same as before."
"Fine, we can be . . ." Lucrezia mumbled, instinctively wanting to cuddle with the blond oaf. Conditioned to want to run her fingers through his coarse hair. Push him back against the pillows while she tore his clothes off and had her way with him . . .
"Snap out of it, Luce," Electra stood up, then muscled her way forward to interrogate the intruder up close. "You've put Lucrezia through hell, you idiot. Get lost. She doesn't want you. Right?" She turned to her soul sister, seeking affirmation. "Luce . . ."
"Can we still be friends?" Noin turned to Electra, trying not to read the hurt in the wide eyes, "I mean, if I just shag him now and again?"
"No!" Electra spun, pounding a fist on the table, "Fight back. Be strong. Want me to karate him into a pretzel?"
"Are you the one who has bewitched, my love?" Milliardo stared at Electra, his lips curling into a sneer. "Who are you?"
Electra plugged her nose and waved away the sent of his breath. "You stink."
***
Meanwhile, Trowa diplomatically volunteered Nichol to ask the unruly customers to leave.
"No way," Nichol shook his head; feeling very put upon by everyone all afternoon and his finger was starting to throb. "Maybe if we just turn the music mix up really loud, they'll get the idea."
"Great idea." Dorothy nodded.
"Are you kidding?" Nichol whipped his head around to look at her so quickly that next he had to grip his neck in reflex to the pain.
"Well, it might work." She nodded.
Just then, they noticed that Sally had confronted the old guy slyly eavesdropping from behind his newspaper. The volume of raised voices increased proportionally.
"I can't even hear myself think!" Dorothy threw up her hands, causing her skirt to lift and Trowa threw his hand over Nichol's eyes.
***
"Where's my money, old man?" Sally said, her tone and expression demanding no nonsense. Howard foolishly disregarded the sign.
"Who are you?" He asked gravelly, smiling but the eyes hidden behind the sunglasses were calculating how far it was to the exit. He hadn't been caught or so quickly since he tried to scam the red-headed monkey child who had hunted him down and taken his weight in debt by literally chewing his bum. When he'd finally been released from the hospital he'd hired the girl, which while being a risky business venture in the eyes of the public had turned out to be a wise decision as far as utilizing raw talent. He wondered if he could buy off the pig-tailed girl with a high paying salary before she decided to gnaw at his kneecaps.
"Don't pay dumb, or I'll make your life absolutely miserable," The relaxed posture and easy smile that settled over the young woman was more terrifying that her threatening posture just moments before.
"Why do I think you can follow through on that threat?" Howard pushed the glasses farther up the bridge of his nose and swallowed hard.
Sally's grin never faltered.
***
"I've decided . . ." Lucrezia Noin swallowed hard, while her recent source of womanly encouragement stared at her with disbelief.
"You've decided to go back with him?" Electra spat out the masculine pronoun, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand to remove the remaining spittle. "After being detached for six months, drinking espresso and going to self-help meetings . . . after all we've meant to each other?" She laughed bitterly, "I'd have never guessed for you to be the first to fold under the pressure."
"Six months and seventeen days to be exact," Lucrezia inched her way toward the object of her desire. In her mind, Milliardo was already missing the trench coat and the maroon buttoned shirt.
"You're going to give that all up so easily." Shaking her head, Electra noticed that just about everyone in the coffee shop was staring at them. Except the Japanese guy who concentrated on folding and unfolding his napkin and the pig-tail girl who was arguing with the old geezer in the floral print shirt. The staff, it appeared, was drawing straws.
"Well, actually, I only lasted twelve days before I saw him at the karaoke bar and we ended up in the last stall of the unisex bathroom, y'know . . ." Lucrezia enticed Milliardo to meet her eyes, to put him under her spell- like the immobilizing venom a spider might put into it's captured prey just before devouring it.
"Twelve days!" Electra choked. Her hand flayed about trying to find her cold coffee, anything to wash down the bad taste appearing in the back of her throat.
"I was good for about three months after that. Honest." Noin nodded to the door ever so slightly, and Milliardo responded by taking a step backward. "Then I saw him in the parking garage and we went at it in the bed of his pickup truck."
"Three? Months?" Electra blinked.
"But seeing him now--I know his will is completely mine. So I guess my suffering is over." Noin shrugged, "You have to be strong, girlfriend."
"Wait, don't be fooled . . . " But Electra's pleading was drowned by the sudden blaring of the coffee shop's music mix. Everyone stopped, throwing their hands over their ears.
***
"Bon Jovi??" Dorothy looked at Nichol as if she wanted to grind him in the shop blender. "You decide to execute your grand idea when the loop was at Bon Jovi?!" She was shouting at the top of her lungs, but only Trowa and Nichol who were nearest to her could make out her words. Nichol looked as if he'd tasted something nasty.
"Why do I get blamed for everything?!" Nichol growled. Only Trowa heard that, and Nichol shrugged off the taller boy's comforting pat.
"Um," Catherine appeared at the front counter, "If you haven't noticed . . . THE MUSIC IS REALLY LOUD!"
"Yeah, sis, we know." Trowa replied, speaking much louder than ever before in his entire life, "But it worked."
"Everyone's left!"
"Exactly."
***
A week later in the rumor pages ran a article that Lucrezia Noin and Milliardo Peacecraft had been secretly married a few months before the public release of the information. The papers mentioned it on page six of the local news section, right after the blurb announcing Sally Po's promotion to President of a local software distributor and a snapshot of Po and her maniac Vice President, a fourteen year old genius who's name was so long it had to be continued on page eight.
Nichol tossed the paper down on the table in front of him and glanced at his watch. He had three minutes left of his break. Glancing around he saw the three old geezers in the corner playing cards while talking loudly about how they had invented coffee. Trowa, who was taking his turn wearing the company apron, was refilling Hilde's coffee. She'd broken up with Heero, but instead of making the skinny kid happy to snatch her up, it seemed that Trowa was trying to patch things up between them. And he was succeeding.
Dorothy said it had to do with Trowa wanting to ensure that *Heero* was happy-which made no sense. Unless, Trowa was absolutely unselfish . . . or gay. That, Nichol realized, would explain a lot, like the apron . . . except . . .
Except that Dorothy walked up and tapped him on the shoulder suddenly distracting Nichol. "My turn, darling. Your break is over."
Protesting feebly, pointing at his watch, Nichol slumped back to the front register, "Can I help you?" He asked without an ounce of pep, looking up to jerk back in surprise. Standing in front of him was the woman who had been part of the argument a week ago during the Bon Jovi incident. The woman who had given him ~that~ look.
"I dunno, what do you want, Spike?" She glanced over at the tall man with her. The new guy was scrawnier than Trowa and had more unruly curls than Nichol himself.
"Doesn't this place have alcohol?" Her companion sounded disappointed, studying the menu over his angled nose.
Nichol punched at the register's keyboard with his index finger, and winced at the phantom pain, "I'm sorry," he excused himself, "I've got to . . . I need a new job . . . " Grabbing at his face, Nichol fled into the back.
Immediately, Trowa materialized in his place smiling at their guests, "Don't mind Nichol, he's under stress or having some identity crisis or . . . "
"It's alright," Electra shrugged, "I guess not everyone's cut out to work at a coffee shop."