Caught Between the Banister

by Hawk Clowd

One day on his way to work, Duo catches sight of a little boy in need of some help. Little does he know that this little boy is going to put him through the ride of his life... Yaoi.

3. Babysitting

CAUGHT BETWEEN THE BANISTER

Part Three: Babysitting

Disclaimer: don't own them.  Don't want them.  Don't need them.  I'll tell you if anything changes, but don't hold your breath.  Wouldn't want you to pass out or anything now, would we?  Anyway, this part is written with thanks to TKMaxwell777, who is the best beta ever, and to Leilla, Endymion, and Abby, who sort of laughed when I told them what I was planning.  I'd also like to thank my brothers Dave and Andy, just because they stayed out of my way.  For the most part, at least.  The whole banister concept is with thanks to Michael Hobson, who had no idea that I was actually listening at the time.

Warnings/Rating: Not much here to speak of.  There are one or two psychological references, if you can catch them.  Some language issues.  I used to Lord's name in vain a few times, but the only person to complain about that so far is TK.  My usual insanity.  Fun stuff like that.  This part is rated PG for a few four-letter words.  That's all.  This story is not meant to offend, it is meant to amuse.  If it does offend you, that's your own damn problem.  Bugger off.

---

I knocked on Heero's apartment door at exactly three forty-five the next afternoon, a little bit earlier than Heero had asked me to arrive.  I don't know why I bothered, honestly.  Maybe it was to prove that I really could do something right for a change, instead of bumbling through missions, showing up late, and making a fool of myself.  It probably wouldn't even make a difference to him anyway; Heero would only grunt at me and ignore my spasm of punctuality and responsibility so he could focus on all of my mistakes.  Not even Heero could change that much; the pretentious bastard would never be able to admit I wasn't all bad.  He never wanted to look on the good side of things.  Or on the good side of people.

Mike opened the door, standing on tiptoe to reach the doorknob and lock.  He grinned when he saw me.  "Hi, Duo!"

"Hey," I replied, grinning and looking around the apartment.  Have I mentioned that Heero had a damn nice apartment?  The basic layout was more or less the same as mine, but whereas mine was sparse, his was full of furniture.  Everything matched, too.  The floor was covered in a brown carpet and the room itself contained a dark brown couch and a matching recliner.  There was a wooden end table on one side of the couch and the whole ensemble was set up in a kind of 'V' shape.  There was an ornate lamp on the end table.  There was a big TV against on wall, positioned so that both the couch and recliner had a clear view of it.  The whole bit was pretty nice, really.  "Where's your father?"

"Trying to finish packing.  He told me not to go in there while he was doing it because I might get hurt or something, so I'm playing cars."  He held up a tiny blue pickup truck, offering it to me.  "You want to play with me?"

"In a bit.  I've got to talk with your dad for a few minutes or so.  That okay?"

"Ahuh."  Mike pointed to the closed door of the bedroom.  "He's in there.  You might want to knock first or he might shoot you," he said, frowning.  "He doesn't look and see who's standing there before he aims the gun."

Same old Heero.  A chill ran down my spine.  He was the father of a five-year-old boy and he still hadn't managed to shake that "shoot first, talk later" attitude?  Even I used to look at who was standing there before I brandished a weapon, and Wufei, too!  Quatre and Trowa never really bothered either way, if I remember right, but Heero!  Heero, even with Mike there, hadn't broken the habit, and that scared the hell out of me.  I just knew that someday I was going to hear a gun go off a floor below my apartment and wouldn't be able to do anything but pray.

Thinking back on that, I'm hoping it wasn't a premonition of some kind.  Not only would that just be damn creepy, it would scare the hell out of me, too.

I knocked boldly on the door before I walked in, to alert him of my presence.  Heero, sitting on the floor beside the bed, didn't look up from the gun he was carefully loading, but he grunted when I came in.  That seemed to be a good sign.  I looked at the artillery spread all over the bed and at the open suitcase on the floor, already half-full of ammunition, weapons, and spare socks.  I frowned.

"What kind of business trip are you going on, anyway?"

"It's a pleasure trip.  I lied," he said vaguely, a note of irritation in his voice.  "It's just a business trip.  That's all you need to know."  He finished loading the gun and raised it to eye level, squinting a bit.  There was a tense silence on my part, mostly given the fact that the gun was aimed at my chest.  After a moment or two he lowered it again.  "Sights are off," he said quietly, to himself.

I frowned again, trying to get my mind back on track.  He wasn't going to shoot me, really; someone had to watch Mike, after all.  There was no reason for me to be sweating bullets.  Of course not.  "Exactly what do you do for a living?"

"It's none of your business.  How would you like it if I asked why you've been fired from six jobs in the past two years?"

"I'd be too busy wondering how the hell you'd know something like that to bother thinking about it.  Have you been stalking me or something?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.  He snorted.

"Why would I want to do that?  It would be a waste of time, effort, and money.  I have other things to be doing.  Better things."  He fiddled with something on the top of the gun.

"Name one."

He shot me a cold look.  "Do the names Stacey and Michael mean anything to you?"

Oh yeah.  His family.  Yeah, that probably ranked pretty high on his list of better things to do than stalk me.  "So how did you know?"

He shrugged.  "Old habits die hard.  I did a background check on you yesterday, while Michael was at your apartment.  Do you honestly think I would have you watch him without checking your records?  I had to make sure I wasn't leaving the boy with a criminal or an ex-convict."  He frowned and checked the sights on the gun as he spoke.  "You've been careless; you've left a digital trail."

"It's not like I'm in hiding or anything.  Who gives a damn if a master computer hacker can track down my life story?  Definitely not me."

He grunted, clicking the safety on the gun and setting it carefully in the suitcase before he reached over the bed to pick up another weapon, ignoring me again.  I sighed.

"Why do Mike and I have to stay in this apartment, anyway?  Wouldn't it be just as easy to let him stay at my place while you're gone?"

Heero frowned.  "The apartment to the right of this one is empty and the one on the left is occupied only by a deaf woman.  It allows for a bit of leeway and for me to keep Michael here.  It is a rare child who can be totally quiet all of the time."

"Oh."  I sat on the floor, back resting against the wall.  "Why bother hiding him here, anyway?  Wouldn't it be easier to find an apartment complex that lets you keep kids around or to just buy a house or something?  Then you wouldn't have to keep him secret or anything."  And, I added silently, I wouldn't have had to meet you again.

"It's necessary," he said shortly.  I had the feeling he wouldn't elaborate on that, so I just shrugged.  Maybe I could worm it out of Mike later, if he knew.

"Whatever.  Am I allowed to feed him?"

"There's food in the refrigerator if you want to cook and money next to the microwave, probably hidden under the clay ashtray Michael made a few weeks ago."  He looked at the gun in his hands, clicking on the safety with a frown.  "I'll need to reconfigure this one all over again," he murmured to himself.  He tucked it into the back of his jeans.

I looked around at the arsenal he had spread out all over his room.  "Does Mike know you have all this stuff?  Does the landlord?"

Heero grunted, not answering my question at all, and got to his feet, sweeping the rest of the stuff he had decided not to take into a box which was resting at the foot of the bed.  He shoved the box into a closet.  Then, taking out some clothes, he tossed them into the suitcase, not even bothering to fold them.  Wherever he was going, he wasn't going to have to be concerned by wrinkled clothing, that was for sure.  He'd have a hell of a time getting through customs, though.

"I left a list of important phone numbers on the table, in case you need them," he said.  "It's a short list; the only numbers are the ones for the doctor, the hospital, the local pizza place, Stacey's number, and the number to my portable phone.  Don't call them unless someone is dying or something exploded."

"What if we want pizza?"

He ignored that, too.  I'll admit it was a stupid question, but he was being a bit of a jerk anyway, so why not ask ridiculous things?  It wasn't like he was going to bother answering them.  "Michael goes to bed at eight o'clock every night--no exceptions.  He'll probably wake up before you do, but most days he'll just watch the television until you get up.  If he has a nightmare he will wake you up and you'll have to read him stories until he falls back asleep.  He'll have a pile of picture books with him and you'll probably get through about half of them before he nods off.  Don't let him use the phone and don't give him too much sugar.  He's allowed to get into the sweets once a day--if he's been good.  Make him drink a glass of milk every day."

There was no way I was going to remember all this.

"You can sleep in my room if  you want--the sheets were just changed this afternoon.  Michael's bedroom is over to the right; you can't miss it unless you actually attempt to.  The layout of the apartment should be fairly similar to yours, so I expect you know where the closets and washrooms are.  Make sure he bathes every other day--at least.  He will go for weeks without cleaning if you let him."

"Okay.  Sure.  I'll keep that in mind."  I'd already forgotten virtually everything he'd just told me, except for the bits about the phone numbers and having to sleep in his room.  That was going to make for some rough nights; I could tell that already.  Insomnia, here I wait for thee.

The door creaked open slowly and Mike peeked inside.  "Can Duo come out to play?"  He smiled a little.  "Please?"

Heero grunted and his hand fell to his side.  I hadn't missed that first little movement; he'd been reaching for the gun he'd stuck in the back of his jeans a few minutes before.  Christ, it was things like that which made me wonder how this kid had managed to stay alive long enough to reach his fifth birthday.  Somebody was smiling on him; living with Heero was definitely not the easiest thing in the world.  Hell, I'd had a hard enough time staying sane when I was the man's partner!  How could this five year-old boy do what I hadn't been able to accomplish?  Had he gotten used to it by now and didn't care or did he not know that most fathers weren't like Heero?  It was no wonder Heero and Stacey had separated--with a husband like that, who could blame her?  How does that saying go--with friends like that, who needs enemies?  Yeah, that's it.  Well, Heero's the guy that saying is describing.  A week with him could make anyone go crazy.  It did make me wonder, though...

"Yes.  I am going to finish packing and then I'll have to leave.  You two go play in the living room until then--quietly."

I was being shooed away, like a pesky cat.  If Mike hadn't been such an awesome little kid, I may actually have been offended.  As it was, I was more than willing to leave the room--if Heero was going to be like that, why bother trying to talk to him at all?  A guy can't just meet up with you years after you parted ways with a big-ass fight and expect you to act like nothing had happened--you can't forget the past and you can't just ignore big things like what made our friendship go down the hole.

He may have forgotten, but I hadn't.  And, playing with Mike's cars on the floor, I reminded myself that, like it or not, Heero Yuy was not my friend.  Friend's just don't do things like that and then act as though they can just blow it off like it never happened at all.

What, you actually want me to tell you what happened between us?  Get real.  My mouth may run a mile a minute, but I'm not about to spill private and painful information like that for someone just because they ask me to.  Sorry, I'm not that generous.  Unless you've got cash.  A lot of it.  And maybe even then I won't tell you anything, who knows?  It all depends, you know?

"You and my dad don't like each other very much, do you?" Mike asked, interrupting my thoughts with his childish voice and innocence.  Christ, I love little kids.

I didn't look at him, just pushed the taxicab I was using over the edge of the couch's arm and watching it fall to the floor.  "Look, an accident!  Quick, Mike, call the ambulance!"  He didn't move, even though I knew damn well that the ambulance and the fire truck were his favorite cars and that he used them whenever he could.

"You didn't answer my question.  My father says that not answering people's questions is rude."

Damn it.  Weren't kids supposed to have short attention spans or something?  Stupid kids.  "We had a fight, a really long time ago," I said finally, shrugging my shoulders.

"Yesterday?"

I laughed at that.  "No, kiddo--a long while before yesterday.  Before you were born, believe it or not.  Look, we'll talk about it some other time.  Right now this taxicab needs some saving, okay?"

"Okay."  He lunged for his toy ambulance.  "Don't worry, taxicab driver, I can help you!"  He started making those alarm sounds again and got to work saving my taxi.  I found a tow-truck and brought it to the disaster scene, helping the ambulance sort through the wreckage.

Almost half an hour later, Heero emerged from his bedroom, his single suitcase in hand.  He set it by the door.  Then he hovered over us  for a few moments and watched us play a little.  The current scenario was something along the lines of a motorcycle gang mugging a bank and a grocery store at the same time, with Dave the Daring Duckling as one cyclist and Andy the Angry Ant (who was invisible, I think) as the other cyclist.  There was a running theme there about Dave the Daring Duckling falling down under the scrutinizing eyes of peer pressure, but the main plot was the bank robbery.  Heero wasn't amused and, after a bit of observation, he scowled.

"Ducks don't ride motorcycles," he said finally, sounding more than a little irritated.  "What does this one think he's doing?"

"Robbing a bank," Mike supplied cheerfully, making Andy the Angry Ant pop a wheelie.  "Duo said that they could."

Okay, so having the motorcycle gang create general havoc and mayhem had been my idea.  What else were they supposed to do?  Leather-bound ducklings and ants rarely go around planting flower gardens and helping little old ladies cross the street, though it's not exactly unheard of.  I don't know why Heero started acting like I was corrupting his son or something, but he did.  You should have heard the lecture I got!  I mean, jeez, it's not like I was telling Mike about things a person couldn't see everyday on television, or oftentimes on the street!

I pointed that out to Heero, and he got real snippy.  "But not here," he said, practically growling at me.  Oh, fuck that.  He was growling at me.

Looking back on that, I've really got to admire Mike.  Hell, the two of us were practically yelling at each other now, but he didn't even raise an eyebrow.  I don't think he even really noticed; he just sat there and pushed Andy Ant's motorcycle back and forth along the carpet, never looking up at us.  It was kind of sad, really.  The poor kid was probably used to it by now, given the whole situation with Heero and Stacey, and he didn't think twice about Heero and I getting up in arms with one another.  It was a sobering thought.

Something must have brought that to mind then, too, because I shut up and stopped the argument.  Mike didn't have to hear it and I didn't have to deal with it.  I checked my watch.  "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Heero blinked, probably startled by this change of pace and the sudden cease in my own witty banter, and checked his own watch.  "Aa."

That made Mike giggle, though I'm still not sure why, and that made me feel guilty.  He'd been listening to every word.  Every fucking word.

Heero went back over to the closet and pulled out his jacket, which was a dark blue color and kind of ratty.  It struck me as familiar, but I couldn't figure out why for the life of me.  He shrugged it on.  "Try not to--"

The phone rang, interrupting him in mid-sentence.  Mike's eyes lit up.  "I'll get it!" he announced loudly, hopping up.  Heero's eyes widened.

"No you won't," he declared, grabbing onto the blonde boy's shirt collar.  "Duo, get that," he ordered.  I shrugged, obeying for a change.

"Yo," I said as I picked up the receiver and set it against my ear.  Heero had an old voice-and-listen phone, which surprised me quite a bit.  The only things that used that system were phone booths.  Most everyone these days--including me--has a view-phone, the kind we had sometimes used for transmissions back in the days when the Gundams had still been around.  This phone, however, was older.  You couldn't see who was talking to you, which sucks, if you ask me.  It probably came in handy here, though, what with Mike running around and all.  Heero glared at me when he heard my greeting and let Mike sit back down as soon as he deemed it safe.  Mike immediately started playing with his cars.

"Maxwell?"  The person on the other end of the phone--Wufei--sounded surprised, and, honestly, I didn't blame him.  "Did I call the wrong number or did--"

"Were you calling for Heero?"

There was a very brief hesitation and I heard some papers rustling in the background.  "I suppose so.  I was simply given the number and told to relay a brief message."

"Business matters?"

"Something along those lines.  Where are you?  Yuy's place?  How did you manage to find it?  We've had people here searching for years and we still don't know where it is."  He paused momentarily.  "Odd that they can't find his location but that they have no trouble finding his phone number, isn't it?"

"Maybe it was just a lucky guess."

"Perhaps.  What are you doing there?"

"Oh, you know.  Destruction, general mayhem, and other such things."  We both laughed at that.  "Nah, I'm staying for a few days to keep an eye or two on Mike.  The two of them live in my apartment complex, you know."

"Who?"

"Mike.  His son."  I saw Heero twitch a bit when I said that and I grinned.  This was tormenting him, I just knew it, and he wanted to know who the hell I was talking to.  For all he knew, I was telling the landlord all his deep, dark secrets.  Lucky him, I guess.

"He has a son?"  Wufei didn't sound so much surprised as he did amazed.  "Is that at all safe?"

"Depends.  Who are you worried about, Mike, Heero, or society in general?" I asked.  Heero's glare intensified with every word I spoke. This was fun!

"All of the above."

"In that case, I'd have to say probably not, maybe, and no, but it all seems to be working out.  D'you want to talk to him?"

Wufei hesitated again.  "Not particularly.  Just tell him that Une is glad he reconsidered and finally agreed and that he's welcome back at any time.  He should know what that means; I don't know and I don't want to find out, really.  Is everything going all right for you, Maxwell?"

"More or less.  Heero's giving me the evil eye, though."

"You probably deserve it."  He chuckled at that.  "I'll be seeing you soon, then, if this damned hotel will ever send up that map I asked for three hours ago."

That startled me a little.  "Hotel?  Are you on colony right now?"

"More or less.  I'm in the colony chain--about a ten-minute shuttle ride from your sector.  I was planning to call you once I finished up with some business, but it seems I saved myself the phone call.  Usual place at the usual time?  You are welcome to bring your charge along--I'm interested in meeting the young gentleman."

"You would be.  See you tomorrow."

"Until then."  He hung up and I set down the receiver of Heero's phone and grinned.  Heero was glaring at me, and, if looks could kill, I wouldn't be telling you this now, so I dispelled a few of his worries before he decided to strangle me.  "Une says thanks and wants you to know that you're welcome back whenever you want," I told him.  Heero grunted, but the mean look on his face sort of melted away.  Mike smiled, never looking up from the toy cars he was still pushing across the floor.  He started making quiet 'vroom vroom' and 'whirrr' sounds as he moved Andy Ant's motorcycle around.

"Who was it?" Heero asked gruffly.  I shrugged.

"Wufei.  Did you want to talk to him?"

"No."  He picked his suitcase up off the floor.  "I'm leaving now."  He set his free hand on top of Mike's head and ruffled the boy's blonde hair.  Mike got to his feet and hugged Heero around the waist; Heero returned the hug rather half-heartedly.

"I'll miss you," Mike told him.

"I'll be back in a few days.  You be good and do what Duo tells you to do, unless it's something stupid and you know better anyway.  Remember that Duo's not always right, no matter what he likes to think," he said, his eyes sliding up to meet mine.

Mike giggled.  "Mmkay."

I picked Dave the Daring Duckling up from off the couch and threw him at Heero's head, just hard enough to make it sting if it actually hit him.  He avoided it easily and it made a dull thunking sound when it hit the wall.  Missed.  Damn.

A few more words passed between father and son, and Heero was soon out the door.  As the thing shut and locked behind him, Mike turned around and faced me, a big grin on his face.  A smile tugged on my mouth.

"That was a good throw," he told me, retrieving Dave the Daring Duckling and handing him to me.  I shrugged.

"Missed, though."

Mike grinned at me.  "That really kind of depends on what you were aiming for."

Ooh, smart kid.  I grinned and held up a toy minivan.  "You want to play with the cars a little more, kiddo?"

He shook his head no.  "I'm tired of cars right now."

Yikes!  An hour with the midget and I was already running out of things to do with him!  This wasn't going to bode well.  "Oh, okay.  So what do you want to do instead?"

He put some careful consideration into that for a few moments until he finally smiled and asked, "Have you ever played Twister?  It's fun."

I hadn't, but he decided to teach me how to play anyway.  It was simple enough, I suppose, and frightfully pre-modern.  It involved spreading a white mat with colored circles on it over the floor and using a voice-activated spinning thing to order you around.  When you said 'spin,' a little dial would circle the thing until it landed on something and told you, in a boring, monotonous voice, to put your left hand on yellow or your right foot on green.  Things of that nature.  You had to follow the directions until someone fell over and lost.  It wasn't easy, exactly, but it was fun and it involved a bit of skill.  I felt bad for Mike, whose arms and legs were short and couldn't reach so easily, but he was a lot more flexible, so it probably evened out in the end.

We played the game close to a thousand times, stopping only to grab something to eat, until about seven-thirty, when the batteries on the spinning thing ran down.  Technology always amazes me; we can make a voice-activated game for kids and keep a million colonies alight but can't make batteries that last forever.  Go figure.  Anyway, I think the final score was something like nine hundred ninety-six for Mike and four for me.  I didn't bother telling him that I'd fallen on purpose a lot of times; let the kid have his victory.

Mike said he was tired, so I helped him get ready for bed.  It didn't exactly require a lot of effort on my part, anyway.  He could do most everything himself; I was really only needed to help him reach a few things that were too high up for him to reach on his own and to make sure he didn't drown in a puddle of his own toothpaste.  How much of the stuff does one kid need to use, anyway?  I think he squeezed half the tube onto his brush, though I'm sure that most of it didn't even reach his mouth.  I found out why he used so much later: Mike's toothpaste was bubble gum flavored and actually tasted pretty damn good--I used the other half of the tube that night brushing my own teeth.

Mike was in bed about ten before eight, earlier than Heero had ordered, and went straight to sleep.  He had a nightlight shaped like a fire engine and his room was pretty much done entirely with a car and truck motif, though there was nothing hanging on the walls.  I smiled when I saw it.  Heero probably locked the room when the landlord came by to visit and, since this room was a dead giveaway that someone under the age of seven was living here, he would avoid showing it to him.  I wonder, even now, just what sort of excuses he would have had to make up.  A room can only smell funny, flood, be infested with bugs, and have the key locked inside of it only so often; sooner or later someone's going to get suspicious.

"Goodnight, Mike," I said softly as I left the room and shut the door behind me.  Mike murmured something unintelligible.

With Mike in bed, I didn't know what to do with myself.  I had a bag of clothes, books, and some music on the floor by the couch, but I wasn't in the mood to do much of anything.  I should have looked through the paper for another job (the want ads were folded up in my jacket pocket, along with the daily comics), but didn't particularly feel like doing that, either.  So I collapsed on the couch and put my feet up.

"Spin," I said, my voice sounding haggard even to my own ears.  The Twister spin-thingy came back to life.

"Leeeft foooot oooon bluuuuueee..."

It was like listening to a movie in slow motion.  I yawned; at least it had been interesting for a minute or two.  I looked around the place.  Heero obviously didn't entertain much, but what exactly did he do when Mike had been put to bed?  I sighed; he probably used that laptop of his until he was about ready to fall over.

I wondered briefly if it would be the same laptop as the one he'd had in the wars but then decided that I didn't really care.  He and that machine had a symbiotic union type thing going on; they were practically attached at the hip.  And yes, I do know that I'm talking about the thing as if it was human.  Can you blame me?  After all, he used to treat that battered machine better than he did any of us.

I eventually fell asleep on the couch, remembering and pondering, and woke up around eleven that same night, shivering.  Mike was still sleeping when I checked up on him, which didn't surprise me, so I went to Heero's room and crawled between the bed-sheets.

The bed smelled like him--or at least the way I remembered him smelling (I used to pay attention to even the smallest details back then, things like the color of the buttons on Quatre's favorite vest and such) and it was a restless night for me.  I spent most of it tossing and turning until I finally gave up and slept on the floor.

--to be continued--