So many people to thank for this chapter. Rey Solo: It's not exactly a fusion with Ghostbusters, but there may be some parallels. I haven't watched the first Ghostbusters movie in a few years. Kay Willow: You're fabulous. Have a cookie from Relena's tea party. Rocky: I'm glad you like it! I'm loving this fanfic with every chapter I'm working on. Kasra: You make my day. You can have…*searches pockets* one of Duo's hair ties. Relwarc: Yes, Quatre is the ghost. But you never know what may happen in the later chapters. I certainly don't! All right, well, maybe I do, but only because I'm supposed to. Kay Zozma: You're my hero. And those websites kick ass, so thanks for sending the links. And of course, to my cohort Nicki: Trowa shirt! You never dressed up like Duo, dumb ass. Better do it soon before you get sconed!
And now, onto the next chapter. It's a little shorter than the last two, but I wasn't sure where to stop off. I have half of the story written, just not chaptered, so I tried to pick a good stopping point.
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Trowa was sitting in an overstuffed wing chair that reeked of what Duo affectionately called 'old castle smell,' his long legs draped over one arm, the small of his back cradled by the other. He was absently flipping through his notebook, pen tucked behind one ear, waiting for Heero and Wufei to finish unpacking everything. Catherine had run off to develop her film in her makeshift dark room, and Duo was meandering about the hallways, trying to get a psychic connection to everything. Not that that was all that difficult, when he'd had a one-on-one conversation with their ghost not more than twenty minutes ago. Something was tugging at the back of his subconscious, something that he might have deemed important if he had known just what it was. Trowa dismissed it as one of those things he'd remember at two in the morning when he woke out of a sound sleep and left it at that.
"Damn it all. Lousy piece of useless shit," Wufei was cursing, whacking something against his palm. Trowa glanced up at his Chinese affiliate.
"Something wrong?" he asked.
Wufei frowned, holding out an electromagnetic frequency reader. "It's broken. The needle keeps going off the scale. The numbers are never this high, it's got to be malfunctioning."
It was a belief in the paranormal investigation field that electromagnetic waves had a lot to do with places being haunted, something about the waves being able to trigger some sort of reaction in one of those lesser-used portions of the brain that makes one somehow able to see ghosts. But the numbers Wufei was reading were abhorrently high, abnormally so, which made Trowa very concerned.
"Heero? What's your EMF reader saying?" he questioned, calling out into the murky gloom.
"Numbers too high to be normal," was the reply, punctuated with a grunt as he came around the corner, dragging a bundle of cabling. "Why?"
"Wufei's is getting the same thing. Got any speculations?"
The sapphire-eyed man was just about to reply when Duo bounced into the room, latching his arms around Wufei and nuzzling him like a beloved stuffed animal.
"Hi there, Wu!" he chirped. "How's things going?"
Heero glared. "How quickly you forget which of us you're married to."
"Oh, don't hate me because I'm so well loved, Heero! Not my fault I'm so irresistible, is it? Not even Trowa the amazing dateless wonder can resist my charm, ain't that right, gorgeous?" Duo asked with a saucy wink.
"What'd you find?" Trowa questioned with a no-nonsense tone.
Duo shrugged. "Nothing. A picture of Old Man Winner, but nothing of our happy little friend from Relena's mad tea party."
Catherine bolted into the room, having run flat-out from a secluded corner tucked away in the castle, down a flight of winding stairs with loose stones scattered intermittently throughout the steps, and across the hall. Breathless, she thrust a handful of still-moist photos newly developed into her brother's hands.
"Look," she commanded with a constricted wheeze. Trowa looked…and uttered an incredulous sound akin to the one someone makes when they've had the wind knocked out of them. The picture of the teaspoon showed the utensil being grasped by a foggy, bluish hand, spectral white outlining the shape. The chair held the thighs and lower torso of its phantom occupant, vaguely defined by white and smoky blue. But the most startling one of all was that of the ghost's shoulders, neck, and head. The apparition had cocked his head slightly to the side in an inquisitive pose, phantasmal lips parted, hollows where eyes would be wide and questioning. This ethereal being seemed not only benign, but just as human as he'd been before his demise.
"Quatre…" Trowa muttered. "Hmph. All right, I want everything set up for our nine-thirty appointment with Young Master Winner. Set all the microphones in the upstairs rooms, the infrared cameras in the hall, and divide the motion and heat sensors between the two. Cathy, get your camera loaded and ready to go. As soon as everything's taken care of, grab something to eat and take a nap. It's going to be a long night."
His face suddenly set into his 'on-duty' expression as the young scientist barked out orders. Grumbling slightly, they acquiesced, wandering off to hook up the various bits and pieces of electronics. Catherine stood over the chair, leaning on one of the wings, leering down at her brother.
"Those women weren't too bad looking, eh, Tro?" she stated nonchalantly.
Trowa shrugged. "Eh. Too bad I'm gay."
"Couldn't you just pretend not to be? I mean, really, Tro. Gay or not, you haven't gone on any dates…and those pretend dates with Duo don't count, so don't try using those."
Again he shrugged, really not listening to the nagging shrew perched overhead. "I'm waiting for the right person, Cathy. He'll come along, sooner or later."
"Yeah, more later than sooner," she grumbled, walking off.
Trowa chuckled, suddenly having some semblance of sympathy for his sister. She really did try, after all, to make her only brother and only living relative happy. He was just a hard person to please. With an exhausted sigh, he adjusted his weight in the armchair, letting his notebook drop and his eyes slowly sink shut. Sleep would be delicious right about now, especially after such a long flight and a terrible in-flight movie. It just had to be Thirteen Ghosts, didn't it?
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"Trois?"
A figure stepped out of the shadowy recesses, his head bowed. He was dressed in a high collared navy blue waistcoat, the tails fluttering about the knees of his navy breeches. Under the waistcoat was a shirt so pale a pink it was practically white, and a lacy cravat of the same color. The young man held his hat in his hands, such pale, delicate hands. He lifted his head and smiled, and Trowa felt his heart skip several beats. A young man, not much younger than he, with a handsome heart-shaped face and unblemished, translucently pale skin. Practically platinum blonde hair curled around his jawbone, bangs flopping down into brilliant, effervescent aquamarine eyes.
He's beautiful…oh God, he's beautiful.
Trowa hadn't put much stock in God for a long time, not since his parents were killed in a horrific accident on the MBTA Red Line. But he was willing to renew his faith if He let this blue-eyed Adonis be gay.
"No, not Trois. I'm Trowa…Trowa Barton," he answered, feeling a stab of something like guilt prick at his insides. The young man's lips quivered.
"Trois, I'm afraid. I don't know what to do. Claudette and Nichole have become suspicious, Iria caught them snooping in my room last night. If Papa finds out, I will die, that is for certain. Please, Trois…please hurry and take me away from them," the blonde archangel whimpered, clutching at his arms. Trowa grimaced, spanning the distance between them and holding his dream-companion in his arms. Words tumbled from his lips, words he hardly realized that he'd spoken.
"I'm doing all that I can, Little One. Hold on, just a little longer. Can you do that for me, beloved?"
The boy nodded, planting a feather-light kiss on his lips. "I will fight for as long as my heart can beat, dear Trois. My father cannot keep me chained forever. I am a man, free to make my own decisions, and I will make him see that or I will die trying."
Trowa woke with a start, practically falling out of the chair he'd been in. The grandfather clock in the hallway was clanging again. He groaned, trying to shake off his dream. It had been so vivid, as if he'd really been there, had really been kissed by a phantasm of his dreams.
"Damn, why is it the epitome of perfection in gay men is always taken or a figment of the imagination?" he grumbled, getting up off the chair. He needed to find Dorothy, he needed answers…and dammit, he needed a jar of Icy Hot. Lying in a chair in such a position as he'd been in was definitely not good on the back.
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Dorothy answered the knock on her bedroom door wearing a gold lame (pronounced la-may) and black marabou feather bathrobe, holding a crystal decanter in one hand and a glass in the other. She smiled, her forked eyebrows arching in mild surprise.
"Dr. Barton! What brings you to my boudoir this time of evening?" she asked.
"I have something I'd like to ask you that I didn't think could wait, if you don't mind, Miss Catalonia."
She shook her head, ushering him inside. "Care for a drink?"
Trowa politely declined, seating himself on a velvet-covered chaise. Dorothy's bedroom looked as though it belonged in Beverly Hills, not the middle of rural France. It was bedecked in pink, gold, and leopard prints, with all the latest baubles and gewgaws deemed the 'in' trend. Trowa silently thanked God, who had earned back a little trust from the young doctor, that Catherine wasn't big on the trendy and exciting. Her trends ran back to the days of Ninja Turtles and New Kids on the Block. She'd laugh and tell him that those were the good times.
"I was hoping that in your studies you'd run across someone by the name of Trois. I…um, was told by Mr. Maxwell that he was confronted in a dream by someone looking for a Trois," he informed her, idly playing with a tassel hanging off the chaise.
Dorothy frowned, sipping at her drink. "Trois…mm…name does ring a bell. You know, I'll have to check my records and get back to you on that, Dr. Barton."
"Thank you, you've been most helpful, Miss Catalonia. If you'll excuse me now, I'm sure my colleagues are waiting for me."
She nodded, escorting him to the door. "Maybe we could go for coffee sometime before you leave, Dr. Barton? I could give you an excellent tour of the Sanq Kingdom."
"The offer is enticing, Miss Catalonia, but I'll have to decline."
She pursed her lips. "A strict clientele dating policy?"
"I'm gay," he stated bluntly.
Dorothy's mouth hung open for a moment, before she remembered that it wasn't in polite society to gawk at someone like a mackerel. "Oh. Well, then, good evening, Dr. Barton."
Trowa tried very hard not to laugh as he walked back down the hall. Sometimes the best part of his job was telling the enthusiastic female clients who would give an appendage to date their paranormal investigator that he was of the homosexual persuasion.
"Another dissatisfied customer for Duo's tally," he muttered, chuckling quietly. Duo kept a running tabulation of all the women Trowa had had to decline due to his gender preference. So far, it was forty-seven.
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Heero was connecting cables from the infrared cameras to the upstairs parlor room where they would be monitoring any supernatural activity when he heard a loud 'thunk,' followed by a string of curses in Chinese.
"You all right, Wufei?"
"Dammit, that hurt! One of these fucking stones is loose!"
Heero tried to stifle a chuckle, but failed miserably. Wufei was a lovely shade of beet red as he kicked at the stone he'd tripped on. It shifted as he continued pummeling it with his foot.
"Wufei, stop! Stop, stop, stop," Heero commanded, making him move aside. He walked over to the offensive piece of granite and pried it up, revealing a hollow containing a small silver box. He pulled the box out of the hole and replaced the stone, giving his find to his colleague, who carefully opened the container.
"Hmph. Nothing in here but an old, tarnished ring and some dried up flower petals," Wufei said with a disappointed grunt. Heero took the box and stuck it in his pocket. He'd show Trowa later, when they got the chance. It was probably something of importance that would pertain to their assignment, but at the moment he needed to focus on taping down his cables before Duo came and distracted him further.
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That's the kit and caboodle for this time around, folks. Please be sure to send me some sort of review…email, the little review box below, Nicki, you can bop me over the head at one of our many shared lunches. I value all of your comments (and your criticisms…but I like the comments better). Act now, and you too can be one of Lia's special friends. Maybe you'll be special enough to be rewarded in some way. How, I'm not certain of, as I hardly have enough time to keep a fanfic running these days, but rewards for reviewers! And stay tuned, my dears, there's action, there's occultism, and there's a lime on the way! So, I'll leave you with that promise. Until next time, kiddies. I'm off to reconstruct Confederate south with Rutherford B. Hayes.