Warning: ...warning? What a dumb word. Sweet shounen-ai goodness. That's not warn-worthy.

Disclaimer: I know, from traipsing through every store, mall, and boutique in the Greater Toronto Area, that nobody has Gundam pilots for sale. I even offered to pay retail instead of the supposed sale price, but they still said no. Therefore, I cannot possibly own these magnificent examples of manhood, or the chicks they hang out with. Do not sue me. I have no money except that miniscule amount reserved for presents.

~~~~~~~~~~

Episode Seventy-One: Patchwork

"Oft expectation fails and most oft there,
Where most it promises, and oft it hits,
Where hope is coldest and despair most fits." ~William Shakespeare, "All's Well That Ends Well"

January 17th, 1903

It seemed that more days than not, Heero was coming down with a headache. He'd always suffered the occasional twinge, about once a week ever since he could remember, but it was usually after a hard day of training, and he didn't have long to put up with it before he could sleep it off. Lately, however, they were coming much earlier in the day, and sometimes trying to sleep it off would bring the unpleasant surprise of still having it in the morning. Still, it seemed to trivial to complain about, so he carried on as normal, or as close as he could get to it.

While Duo was downstairs making breakfast, Heero crept across the hall from their suite to Pegan's, where there was a secret stash of analgesic powders and other assorted pharmaceuticals in the medicine cabinet. If not for the fact that he didn't want to worry Duo needlessly, he could have kept them in their own bathroom. Mechanically, he opened the mirrored cabinet, took out one of the little paper packets filled with bitter white powder, ripped it open, and dumped the contents into a half-glass of water. Two quick swirls of the glass later, he gulped the mixture down, making a sour face at himself as it burned his throat on the way down. The salicylic acid was almost as bad as the headaches themselves; it was terrible stuff to swallow, and it almost invariably gave him a stomachache in trade, but nothing else that was legally obtainable could stop his head from splitting open.

That taken care of, he now had to race downstairs and scarf down some breakfast before his appetite was shot to pieces. He took the stairs two at a time, loping down like a mountain goat, and emerged into the kitchen where a sparse group was already well into the morning meal. The housemaids had taken their plates into the dining room for a change, so it was just the boys left over, and Wufei had made a trip over to the house for a change of scenery. Before Heero could make any movements towards the stove and the food and the food-preparer, Quatre got up and blocked his path for a quick word. "I got a telegram back from Dorothy," he said in rapid-update mode. "She's got the directions to that café you went to, and she said she'll be there at ten-thirty."

Heero nodded. "You'll need to take at least one of us with you, for security..." He immediately looked over at Trowa, but the stable hand shrank away in his chair, clutching his own neck.

"I don't think I should leave the house today," he warbled in a falsely raspy voice. "I've got a bit of a sore throat, and I don't want it to turn into anything..." Though he didn't want it to, his eye fell on Quatre, and he saw the vague look of disappointment on his face. Guilt came crashing in on him, but it couldn't change his story.

Heero brushed it off. "Fine." He then looked at Wufei. "You go with him, then."

Wufei looked stricken, as if he'd been asked to volunteer for random limb amputation. "What!? I'm worth more than that! Sending me to play bodyguard against a girl!? You do it!"

"I have other things to do here," the butler insisted. "You're not doing anything useful, so you'll do as you're told." He turned his back on the group, grabbing a plate from the cupboard and making for the stove, where Duo was busy with scrambled eggs and crispy bacon. "Besides, it's not just Dorothy you might have to watch out for. Byron patronizes that establishment every once in a while, and you're perfectly well-equipped to deal with him on top of the Baroness." Heero and Duo both removed themselves from the conversation after that, retreating to a corner of the pantry where Duo appeared to be rearranging foodstuffs, though he was actually asking if Heero was alright, and getting the usual semi-convincing reassurances in return.

Back at the kitchen table, Quatre tried not to be insulted by Wufei's attitude; he was really more interested in why Trowa out-and-out lied about having a sore throat, but when he turned to confront him about it, he saw that the boy was already making a hasty retreat up the servants' stairwell. Quatre sulked, and sat back down a chair away from Wufei. "Looks like it's just you and me today."

Wufei looked out the window with bland eyes, stirring his tea. "Looks like." They sat stiff and bored until it was time to leave, and now neither of them really wanted to go.

**********

From a front room window, partially hidden by a golden chintz curtain, Trowa gazed outside and watched Quatre walk down the street to the corner with Wufei in tow, where it was easier to hail a cab. The sore throat Trowa supposedly had, the one that prevented him from driving Quatre to his destination himself, was shamefully fabricated. He still didn't know why. When Quatre approached him for help, he panicked, and made up the first story that would excuse him from duty for the rest of the day. Now that his schedule had been cleared, however, he couldn't think of a single thing to do except watch Quatre disappear and wonder why he let him go.

I can't think straight anymore, when he's around, he thought, perching an arm on the window frame and leaning his forehead against it. I can't spend five minutes alone with him without snapping at him. I don't mean to, it just happens. Maybe that's why I lied...because I knew I'd just end up hurting him again.

He pushed himself off the window and landed a few feet away in a plush chair, his mind spinning with question after question. It hadn't always been this way between them, of course, so what was the turning point? Trowa sat there for a full ten minutes until he could admit what he really should have known all along, that when Quatre used the two of them and allusions to love in the same sentence, he couldn't handle it.

Unexpectedly, a vision from the past invaded Trowa's repose. It was a memory of walking down a bustling street of commerce, collecting parcels from shops and grocery bags filled with this and that, and right down to the smell of the air and the warmth of the sun, the scene was re-created inside his mind's eye. It was the day that Quatre had been approached by Lady Une with a tempting but odious offer to switch households 'for his own good,' back when the tontine was an item of novelty. However, it wasn't the confrontation with the pushy brunette that Trowa suddenly remembered so vividly--it was the casual walk leading up to that point. The street was full of people, of all ages and descriptions, and of particular importance were the young ladies with lace parasols who kept making googly eyes at Quatre as they passed. Trowa hadn't liked that one bit.

I remember now, but...why would I be so upset over that?

It took another fifteen minutes for it to sink in. From the very instant he set eyes on Quatre, sitting in the stands at his cricket match, the two of them had been tightly bonded, and it was all going perfectly well until the concept of love was introduced. ...and then I panicked. But did I panic because I hated the idea...or did I panic because I...sort of...liked it?

All of a sudden, Trowa couldn't get out of his chair, not even if the house was on fire. It would take another half hour, at the very least, for that thought to sink in, and settle somewhere comfortable next to the others, and if it didn't, Trowa was in danger of being stuck in that chair for good. I wonder what Duo would think about bringing all my meals up here for the rest of my natural life...

**********

The café near Eton that Heero had suggested for Quatre's meeting with Dorothy was somehow even more beautiful and decadent than described, even though it came with a persistent warning that Byron might show up unexpectedly. With Wufei keeping watch, however, Quatre felt that Byron was the least of his worries. What was critically important now was getting Dorothy on his side, and that would take a conniving streak that he didn't know whether he had within him. Clutching a file folder full of papers and photographs, he walked confidently into the café wearing a fine borrowed suit and allowed himself to be seated in a secluded booth by one of the waiters, who was dressed almost as finely as he was. After telling the man that he would be joined by a young lady in a short while, he saw Wufei enter through the same door, over the waiter's shoulder, wearing one of his blue satin creations from his interior decorator's wardrobe. He chose a table for himself, refusing all assistance, and positioned himself so that he could keep a casual eye on his charge.

Quatre felt somewhat silly looking so wealthy and partaking of such a posh environment, even though he had a potential fortune dangling over his head like the sword of Damocles. It just wasn't in his nature to be snobbish. He didn't even have the right clothes to wear or any of the expected accessories to keep up the pretense of being well-off; nine-tenths of everything located on his person was sponged off Heero, the last remaining well-dressed person at the manor. The waiter glided back to the table and handed Quatre the brunch menu, and as soon as he was gone, the gardener tried not to gawk at the prices. How do these people stay rich if this is the way they spend money!? He glanced at Heero's pocketwatch, calculated how much time he had to burn before Dorothy arrived, then looked for something that would take enough time to eat without eating up all his pocket money. He settled for a hot cocoa with an ornately sculpted dollop of whipped cream on top.

A short distance away, shielded just perfectly by a potted palm, Wufei was picking out some imported tea for himself, and made surreptitious eye contact with Quatre between the broad green leaves. Quatre silently acknowledged his position, then looked back down at the table, and started fiddling nervously with everything in the place settings. He went all the way from pruning the dead bits off the flowers in the little vase to drawing patterns in the linen tablecloth with his knife before he started deriding the way the whole morning was turning out. I know Trowa's not really sick. He can't lie like that with me in the room and expect me not to notice! He just didn't want to come along, it's obvious. Without even knowing it, he had put down the knife and gone back to pulling things off the bunch of flowers, and when he came to, he was slightly horrified to find a small pile of petals and leaves in front of the vase. He looked guiltily to either side and stuck his hands safely under the table.

Then, seven minutes past zero hour, in waltzed a well-dressed lady floating on a cloud of cream-coloured lace. Dorothy had arrived. She presented herself to the waiter who rushed to her side, and after a brief exchange, she was directed to Quatre's booth. With a flip of her hair and a superior smile, she sauntered over and regarded Quatre with a calculating eye before offering any sort of a greeting. "Good morning, my darling," she purred with the tiniest trace of sarcasm.

Quatre remained stone-faced. "Hello."

As Dorothy sat down, a second waiter flew up and handed her another one of the tasselled menus full of over-priced delicacies. She began perusing the very excellent selection, mentally putting together a meal that she laughingly expected would bankrupt the boy. "You're looking well," she said, without looking at him.

"And you're looking...different." The gardener was having trouble computing the sight of Dorothy in that lace dress. Usually she tried to dress at least five years older than she actually was, strangely taking after her mentor, Lady Une, who typically did the opposite. Her gown was made of layer upon layer of pure cream lace, without pearls or sequins or anything gaudy, and her makeup was minimal. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear something so...conservative."

"Really, darling, you wouldn't expect me to wear anything but the very best, would you?" she asked, pulling off her satin gloves one at a time. "This is so new, it's next year's fashion."

Quatre raised a disinterested eyebrow, wishing he hadn't mentioned anything. "Is that so?"

Dorothy preened proudly. "Cream is the new white."

"We're here to talk business, if you don't mind."

"Oh, of course." Dorothy twisted a bit in her seat as she saw a waiter walking past with a tray full of Martinis, on his way to another table. She flung out a hand that landed on the young man's thigh, and he shuddered to a stop in shock, leaving him wide open and defenceless against the same hand snatching one of the drinks from his tray. She twisted back and took a hearty sip as the poor, flustered waiter made his escape. Her other hand hung in the air while she savoured the cocktail with eyes closed, and after a prolonged pause, she set it down with a smile. "Now...what was your suggestion again?"

Now Quatre remembered why he was dreading this meeting, and he was rapidly losing patience. Shoving his own menu to the side, he took out his file folder full of documents and whatnot, and laid it on the table between them, pointing a finger down into the centre of it. "I have all the information you need to either tip Hassan off to Treize's interest in my family, or warn Treize about Hassan so he can take action to defend himself. I don't care which one you do, as long as it gets done properly, and in return, your life will be made as comfortable as possible."

Dorothy tucked a finger under her chin adorably, fluttering her eyelashes. "Hm, let me think about it for a minute. No."

Quatre slowly leaned forward against the tabletop, his eyes widening. "...what do you mean, 'no'?"

"You are a silly little boy!" she laughed. "How much more comfortable could you make me than Treize already has? As a benevolent gesture, he and Lady Une took me into their home and now provide me with a lifestyle that is in every way superior to the ratty old existence I suffered at Bridlewood! What could you possibly offer me that could be any better?"

"But you were furious at the pair of them! You never wanted to see them again! For days and days after you went to see Lady Une you did nothing but stomp around the house, whining and moaning about how your life was in tatters! We couldn't get any peace!"

"Then you should be glad I'm gone, instead of trying to lure me back into your good graces!"

"And you shouldn't have suggested that you were interested in my scheme in the first place if you were going to go running back to the jackals who betrayed you!"

By now, people around the café were starting to stare, and one of the senior wait staff, a tallish man with a curled moustache and a red pinstriped waistcoat, walked stiffly over and gave them both a glare. "Does Sir or Madam require any assistance?" he asked snootily. That was one very puny step below asking them to leave; when the public peace was at stake, the customer was not always right.

"No, thank you," Quatre said quietly, sipping his glass of water. Maybe Dorothy didn't care if they got tossed out, but he wasn't finished yet.

"I'll have the veal croquettes, a mango-almond salad with raspberry vinaigrette, and another one of these," Dorothy cooed, handing the now empty Martini glass to the man with a sweet grin. "On the gentleman's bill."

The waiter snuffled. "Very good Madam." Since he was there already, he turned to Quatre with the same look of disdain. "And for you, Sir?"

Quatre hadn't even finished his hot cocoa, and trembled to think of what Dorothy's meal would cost, but he couldn't afford not to appear omnipotently affluent in front of her. "The same," he muttered. Behind the potted palm, Wufei rolled his eyes, shook his head, and squeezed the bridge of his nose in frustration. Then, as soon as the waiter was gone, Quatre leaned well over the table, gripping the edge with two white-knuckled hands, and struggled to look pleasant as he forced calm words out through semi-smiling, tightly-gritted teeth. "We had a verbal agreement."

"Oooh, I'm afraid I have no such recollection," said Dorothy, rearranging her hair in the reflection of an ivory compact taken from her purse. "But don't go getting all upset at me just because you never thought to draw up a written contract. Besides, I'm not shutting the door entirely on collaborating with you...the price has gone up, that's all. If you want my help, you'll have to do better than a few dresses and bits of jewellery. If you can't afford it, you can always find someone else to do your dirty work."

"But there isn't anyone else!" Quatre insisted. "It's got to be you!" At the next table over, Wufei pushed aside the palm leaves and made a frantic slashing gesture across his throat, trying to tell the other boy to shut up already. Quatre's skills at negotiation hadn't evolved much past that of little boys trading baseball cards.

Dorothy put her mirrored compact away and giggled sweetly. "It feels so nice to be needed."

"Alright...just exactly how much is it going to take to get you on our side?"

"Please, I couldn't put it into terms so coarse as numbers," the Baroness begged, "but if I had to pick a round figure off the top of my head, I'd say...maybe...a thousand pounds?"

Quatre looked horrified, and he wasn't even trying to hide it anymore. That amount was simply out of the question. "You...you don't mean that."

"Isn't the safety of your sisters worth that much? I'm more intelligent than you've obviously given me credit for," the girl scoffed. "You're not doing this simply to improve my standard of living, you must want something out of the deal, and it's probably going to be some vital secret about what Treize intends to do to your family. If that's what you want, then that's my price, take it or leave it."

At the height of Quatre's anguish, two waiters arrived with two generous helpings of mango-almond salad with raspberry vinaigrette, veal croquettes, and a Martini on the side for the lady. The waiters vanished as quickly as they had appeared, and Quatre looked at the food, swallowing down the unpleasantly acidic taste creeping up his throat.

Dorothy looked at the magnificent spread with aloofness, then gathered up her purse with a tilt of her head. "On second thought, I'm not very hungry this morning. Ta-ta!" She got up and pranced right out of the café, leaving poor Quatre with a table full of food and no appetite whatsoever.

Wufei abandoned his tea and rushed right over to the booth. "What happened!?"

"I...she...uh..." Quatre's mouth kept moving after that, but no sound was coming out, and his hands drifted aimlessly through the air as they tried to describe the utter failure that their master had just suffered. "She didn't quite agree to my terms."

"Why? What'd she say?"

Quatre blinked, possibly from the excess light coming through the crack that had just opened up in the storm clouds all around him. "I thought you could hear us."

Wufei shrugged. "Sometimes I could, sometimes I couldn't."

"We're...still in negotiations," Quatre began, licking his lips and plotting out a new path of retreat. "I'm going to have to pull back, regroup, and try her again some other day."

"Well, how much longer is it going to take?" the other boy asked impatiently.

"I don't know. Look...go home without me. I've got serious thinking to do, and I can't do it in that house."

"I'm not supposed to leave you on your own," Wufei said, shaking his head firmly.

"That's only in this place," Quatre shot back. "Heero never said anything about watching my every move for the rest of the day!"

"Well, what should I tell him?"

Quatre propped one elbow up on the table and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Doesn't matter to me, make up some excuse...I'll explain it to him later."

It didn't matter to Wufei either. He was just as happy to put this soppy little mini-mission behind him and get back to his kung fu training. "Whatever. See you at the next strategy meeting." After that, Wufei was out the door almost as fast as Dorothy.

As Quatre got up to leave, he hadn't yet given any thought to the table full of food in front of him, and the head waiter with the curled moustache rushed right over with a stern expression, ready to remind him. "Has Sir finished with brunch?" The imposing man was standing directly in the boy's way, so there was no escaping without paying the bill.

Of course, Quatre remembered the food, and deflated. He was pretty much stuck with it now, and he looked back up at the head waiter with doe eyes. "Could you possibly box it up for me?"

**********

Lately, Duo loved it when the house was quiet. When everyone was overtired and tucked in bed early, when different clocks ticked just far enough apart from each other that he could only hear them one at a time as he walked through the house, only then was it quiet enough to think. Everything Sally had told him about the images in the big black book went roaring through his head, and though he experienced some mild revulsion at first, when he put himself and Heero in the context of those images, he blushed and smirked mightily even though there was no one there to see it.

It's lookin' better and better every time I think of it, he thought as he made his way from the kitchen to the bedroom. Problem is...I can already tell that if I even tried to breathe one syllable of this to Heero, I'd come down with an awful case of the giggles. In fact, I might start giggling and never stop. They'd have to haul me away and put me in a specially padded giggle room. Then Heero would visit me in the giggle room, and when they shut the door, we'd--stop that! Do you know how red you're turning!? He took a deep breath, and suddenly he was standing in front of the bedroom door. Well...he's nowhere else in the house...so he must be waiting for me. That's a great feeling.

Looking in all directions to make sure no one was watching, he gave the door handle a silent turn and slipped inside, brimming with enthusiastic anticipation, and wondering if he would have the nerve to make this night more important than all other nights. His hope was brutally quashed, however, when he finally found his partner. Whoa...cancel that, he looks pretty rough.

Heero was alone except for Shadow, who was curled up in her basket, yawning. A roaring fire illuminated the otherwise sombre room, and the butler was seated cross-legged in front of it on a thick, imported Kashmiri rug with a lily pattern, slumped forward slightly as though from overall fatigue. His jacket and tie were slung over the back of an armchair, leaving him in his shirt and waistcoat, soaking up the heat of the flames. Papers were scattered all around, the only official evidence of his existence, and it appeared as though he had been poring over every scrap, fruitlessly. Now, all he held in his hands was the mysterious stuffed tiger, lovingly cleaned up by Hilde, who never intruded on his privacy with unnecessary questions about the toy. As he turned the animal over slowly in both hands, his eyes seemed to glaze over and look slightly past it, into the sparking flames, perhaps irrevocably lost.

Duo shut the door, but was too preoccupied with the scene to lock it securely, as was their custom. He loosened a few of the buttons on his chef's uniform as he approached with caution, and leaned over a bit, trying to catch Heero's eye. "You okay?"

Heero looked up at once, seeming only halfway normal and not at all well, but he forced a tiny smile. "Fine. Just going over a few things."

"Oh yeah?" Duo chirped with interest as he sat down on Heero's right, after clearing a big enough space. "Whatcha lookin' for?"

"Nothing, really. It's not important." The way the muscles around Heero's eyes crinkled and strained gave his secret away. He was in so many different kinds of pain that he could never hope to separate and name them, but he wouldn't let Duo worry for one second of his suffering.

Duo looked away hopelessly. Here we go...it's gonna be another one of those long nights, full of tossing and turning. He thinks I don't know the way he's been knocking back the painkillers, but I see all and hear all. Poor guy. "Well, if you made this big a mess since dinner, you must have found something..."

Heero shook his head. "Nothing I didn't already know...nothing I haven't already lived through." He put the tiger aside and pulled his knees off the floor, wrapping both arms around them to clasp in the middle, sitting up ramrod straight. It looked like a very meditative position, but it took a lot more effort to maintain, which was just one more way that he tried to look strong and in control. "We haven't heard anything about Dorothy yet. Maybe she's proving to be a hindrance again. We'll have to devise a new strategy...someone that shallow shouldn't be so difficult to outwit."

Unseen, Duo rolled his eyes, then picked up a piece of paper at random and read it thoroughly. It was a timetable for achievement in seek-and-destroy field testing, written when Heero was about twelve. Judging by his trainers' comments in the left margin, they were pleased with his progress; he had not only surpassed the expected success rate by the age of fourteen, but his marks were in the very upper nineties, called 'remarkable' by the scrawly black handwriting with no name. "Looks like they put a lot of work into you," Duo said. "Kinda makes you wonder why they haven't tried to take you back, doesn't it?"

"No one individual is that important to the organization. If they can't be bothered seeking me out, they must have more pressing matters to attend to. Proper management of resources is vital to any strategy."

Again, there was an exaggerated eye-roll, this time accompanied by a heavy sigh. "Would you stop that?"

Heero glared accusingly at him. "Stop what?"

"Stop...talking like an army general! It's just you and me here, there's nobody you have to impress!"

"I'm not trying to impress anyone, that's just how I talk!" Agitated, Heero shuffled around and ended up half-turned away from Duo, but still staring into the fire, with an arm propped up on one knee as a barrier between them. "You should know this by now. It's the way I am."

Duo's eyes turned mournful, and he went all slack and non-threatening from the neck down. "No it's not. The real you is nothing like this." Heero didn't move closer, but also didn't turn farther away, either, and Duo made a well thought out guess. "That's what you're going through these papers looking for...the real you. You hoped it'd be in here, somewhere...something that would tell you you're not a homicidal puppet, and after all your searching, all you've got is..." He pointed off to Heero's left, where the toy tiger laid flat on the floor. "...is Mister Stripey over there."

Heero squinted at the fire. He didn't want to argue. Arguing made the pain even worse, but then so did the fire. Nevertheless, he kept on staring, no matter how much it hurt. "We shouldn't be wasting time on this. There's the tontine to think of, and the Cinq Association's fiscal meeting, and--"

"Oh, screw the meeting!!" Duo yelled, rearing up on his knees and throwing a fistful of papers at Heero's head. The other boy flinched, then leaned away from the attack and looked back at Duo in anger and shock. "How can I get through to you!? You're spending every last drop of your energy on fixing things for other people and you've never got anything left for yourself! Look after Quat and his family problems! Turn Treize and Dorothy against each other! Plot Byron's day-to-day movements on a big friggin' pie chart with circles and arrows and colour-coded ink! Every hour God sends gets spent on them, them, them, and you won't be caught thinking about your own problems for one minute! You are not a waste of time!!"

There was a numbing silence after the tongue-lashing, during which Heero huffed with tightly constrained anger and resumed his original slumping cross-legged position on the rug. "What do you want me to say?" he spat.

As the molten lava and ice water slowly stopped clashing in Duo's veins, he stopped to look at the mood he'd created, and felt terribly ashamed. This was not the evening he had envisioned. Even Shadow was on edge now, startled by the violent rustling of papers, and she was prowling crankily around the bedroom, clawing things at random. The disappointment felt by one half of Duo's brain calmed the other half down, and he sat back on his heels as he tried to reorganize his thoughts into a more serene shape. "I want..." Another long pause followed. "I want to see you get fired up about something other than the mission...preferably yourself. I want you to stop feeling guilty about having problems to begin with, and if you have to wage war against Jeffrhyss and the others, I want you to do it for you. Not because it's a noble thing to save the world, but because they deserve to hurt as badly as they've hurt you." Duo got right back down on the carpet, cross-legged and hanging his arms off his knees, facing Heero directly. "I wanna hear you say that it bothers you."

All the while, Heero had been watching the chef's overly-animated face make the passionate case he should have been willing to make for himself, and afterwards, he looked back at the fire. The entire left side of his head was throbbing, making it even harder to think and absolutely brutal to see, so he shut his eyes and tried to waft away from the moment, in order to see all sides at once. When he opened his eyes again, they were lit with tiny red fires of their own, and he turned his head to show Duo the full and frightening extent of his suppressed rage. "It bothers me."

Duo swallowed squeamishly. "...good..."

"It bothers me that I don't know who I am," Heero said forcefully, picking up the toy tiger again. "It bothers me that I ended up in Jeffrhyss' hands because no one else wanted me. It bothers me that someone obviously wanted me to remember something from my childhood, but that there's nothing to remember. I can't stand the thought of never doing anything other than fighting and organizing and strategizing, but that's all I know how to do!!" With the tiger still in his right hand, he scooped up a large handful of papers while spouting some angry and indecipherable Japanese, and lunged backwards with his whole body, the arm poised to fling the lot into the fire. Startled, Duo grabbed the arm with both hands and wrestled it back down, and when Heero realised what he was about to do, he slumped over again, cringing bitterly.

The whole thing was scary, and as Duo rubbed the other boy's shoulders, it was to calm himself down as much as it was to bring Heero back to reality. That's a lot of anger. I wanted him to get a little worked up about it, but this is a bit much...

"I'm tired," Heero breathed out with great effort. "I'm so tired of this. I've been at it for nearly fourteen years, and I see nothing but more of the same ahead of me. I think I'm...scared...that by the time all this goes away...I won't have anything left in me to deal with...with....." He couldn't even finish the thought. Duo unravelled himself and crawled closer, putting an arm around Heero's shoulders as he hung his head in despair. This was more than plain frustration--it was a deep depression that the stoic leader had been hiding from his troops, lest they lose confidence in him, and the mission as well. "I'm sorry for being so angry."

"Why?" Duo asked. "You've got a perfect right to be upset at the monsters who ruined your life, anyone would."

Heero shook his head. "You don't understand..." He straightened up and looked at Duo, tucking his toy tiger into the empty watch pocket on his waistcoat. "How can I justify being dissatisfied with my life so far? I like knowing my education is at least five times better than most of the people I pass on the street, and I like knowing I could fend off most any attacker."

Duo squinted. "Well, sure, those things are nice, but they can't possibly be worth all the pain they put you through..."

In that short time alone, Heero had re-composed himself into the picture of confidence and serenity he always presented to the world, and he gave Duo a tiny shrug. "Maybe they're not...but you are." Duo looked surprised and puzzled, and then slightly hurt as he appeared to wonder if he was being blamed for a lifetime of hardship, so Heero quickly elaborated. "If my parents had never brought me here and given me away, what are the odds that I ever would have met you?"

Then, Duo understood, and he smiled shyly. "Probably not much."

"Exactly. And you were well worth the trouble." He snaked an arm around Duo's waist, pulling him closer, and Duo gratefully curled up to his side, nuzzling his neck. Other arms followed the pattern, and they were soon wrapped up snugly together. The warmth of the fire seemed to triple as it swirled all the way around them, and Heero reached up with one hand to lightly brush at Duo's hair while inhaling it's enticing scent, always pleasing to the senses and reminiscent of whatever Duo had been baking that day. Just then, it was cinnamon rolls with rich vanilla frosting. Heero squeezed him just a little bit tighter. "I also don't think anyone else could have gotten that out of me."

"It's why I'm here," Duo said in a low but cheery tone. "I'm sorry I went nuts like that...I just can't help worrying, but it sounds like you've got a better grasp of your troubles than I thought. I've already gathered that you don't want me to be worried about you, but it's not gonna go away until you make your peace with the world. If you still feel you have to take care of everybody else, then okay..." Duo lifted his head off Heero's shoulder and gazed into his ocean blue eyes, their noses less than a hand's breadth apart. Being so close to him triggered the memories of the big black book, and the tantalizing images tried to work their way from the back of Duo's brain to the front, but something got in their way, something pure and clean that existed independently from his passions. "...but you have to promise...to let me take care of you." As his voice dropped to a whisper, Duo reached up and dragged a hand down the side of Heero's face, and then his neck, coming to rest on the buttons of his shirt collar. An invisible magnetic force pulled their eyes shut and their lips closer together, ending their fight and beginning a long, sweet kiss, filled with only the purest thoughts of love.

Small bits of that purity trickled away as Duo's hand involuntarily worked open the first three buttons of Heero's shirt and slipped inside, sliding flat against his chest, around his shoulder and back again in a slow circle. Heero responded by deepening the kiss, pressing Duo backwards as if about to lay him flat on his back in the soft pile carpet. He didn't press too hard, letting Duo make that decision for himself, but Duo was stopped short of flopping eagerly backwards by a nagging, disturbing thought that he hadn't locked the bedroom door. If anyone walked in right now...but.....mmm...can't seem to move from this spot. Oh well. I was supposed to remember something...riiiight, the black book. Eh...y'know, this is pretty nice all by itself. Duo smiled into the kiss and draped an arm around the back of Heero's neck, leaning backwards ever so subtly.

"...mrrow!" Somewhere in the room, a little bell jingled. The boys brought their interlude to a befuddled pause and broke slightly apart, just in time to see Shadow whip past them in front of the fire, chasing her jingle ball. They released each other with soft, sighing laughter and sat apart as they watched her bat the ball around in the corner.

"It's going to be hell getting her back to sleep," said Heero tiredly. As soon as he said it, he stopped to make a thorough self-status check, and found that his headache was greatly diminished. All that was left was a faint feeling of tension in his left temple, but that was all.

Smirking, Duo got up, undoing the remaining buttons on his tunic and heading for the chest of drawers where his pajamas were kept. "Well, I'll leave you to it, since you're so good with animals, an' all," he teased.

Heero glared, friendly-like. "Thanks." He pushed himself up into a standing position and started towards Shadow's corner, but halted, and turned back to the chef. "When did I even suggest making a colour-coded pie chart about Byron?" he asked sarcastically.

"It wasn't you? Oops!" Duo laughed, digging out his night clothes. As Heero wrinkled his nose at him and turned away, Duo guessed that he'd be long asleep by the time the cat was calmed down. While Heero talked to Shadow in quiet, soothing tones, urging her back towards her basket, Duo looked at the bedroom door and smiled again. Whaddaya know. Nobody walked in. Maybe our luck's finally turning around. When he crawled into bed, he propped himself up on one elbow and watched the wonderful care and patience that Heero took when dealing with Shadow. He certainly looked to be in much better shape than he did only a few minutes earlier.

I can heal him, Duo decided. With some help from the whiskered one, of course. There was an excellent chance that Heero's depression was still there, under the surface, as strong as ever, but Duo vowed to chip away at it for as long as Heero needed him to. Then, he thought about what he was hoping to accomplish that night, and how he had missed the mark by a wide margin. The big black book had made no influence on the evening, but it still turned out pretty nice. That kiss threatened to be one of their best, better than Christmas Eve when Duo had snuck a sprig of mistletoe from the ball and brought it to bed with him, and even better than a week later, when Heero had led Duo into a coat cupboard for their second New Year's kiss, as the rest of the staff counted off the final seconds of 1902 in the parlour two doors down.

In a few moments, Heero would be collapsing into bed, exhausted as usual, and that would be that for another day. Duo couldn't force himself to regret not venturing beyond that kiss, even though the black book was telling him to, very loudly in fact, from under the mattress. He settled down into his pillow, curled up into a warm little ball and waited quite contentedly; it wasn't the grand event of passion he thought he was hoping for, but it was good enough for tonight.

**********

Quatre finally skulked back into the house around 11:30, still carrying the hateful little white boxes full of over-priced and under-heated food from the café. He hadn't decided what to tell Heero. The meeting had been a total disaster.

He shut the back door to the kitchen quietly and leaned back against it, pausing for a long bout of self-recrimination before unbuttoning his coat. After taking only a step and a half into the kitchen area, he froze; there was a green and brown lump flopped over the kitchen table, looking suspiciously like Trowa with his head laid down on his arms, facing the other way. Apart from wondering what he was doing there at such a late hour, Quatre also wondered if he could sneak past into the bedroom without waking him. Apparently he couldn't, for the very next step landed on one of the cracked floor tiles, and the two pieces of stoneware clanked lightly against each other under the boy's weight. Trowa lifted his head immediately, and the pair of them stared at each other for a long time. Eventually, Quatre broke the silence himself, but having used up his entire arsenal of honesty on entirely the wrong people that day, he said one thing and thought something else.

"What's the matter? Can't sleep?" Were you waiting up for me?

Trowa ran a hand through his bangs, and continued the trend of duplicity without realising it. "I dunno." Of course I was waiting up for you. I was worried. "Yeah, maybe."

"How's your throat?" I know you lied to me.

"Still kinda scratchy. Not as bad as it was, though." I didn't mean to lie, it just happened. I wish it hadn't.

Quatre set the boxes on the counter, went to hang up his coat on the pegboard next to the door, and slowly walked back to the table. "You shouldn't stay up too late. If you're sick, you need your sleep." If you're not going to talk about what's bothering you properly, you might as well go to bed.

Trowa shrugged. "Well, I was in here looking for a snack earlier...I didn't have much of an appetite today, but now I'm getting a little woozy from not eating." I want to talk. I just don't know how to get started.

"Want some of this?" Quatre asked, pointing a thumb at the little cardboard boxes. Well...I'm willing to give you a chance.

"What is it?" Better not be anything coconut in there...

"Uh...cold veal...some mango-raspberry thing..." He went to collect the boxes, and opened the one on the top as he spread them out in front of Trowa, sniffing delicately and wondering about their fitness for consumption. "It cost me a mint, but don't feel you have to eat it just because of that. I've been carrying them all over town unrefrigerated..."

"It's ten degrees outside. Of course it's refrigerated."

Finally, Quatre laughed a bit, and felt enough at ease to sit down next to Trowa. "I could blast it in the oven for you..."

"Actually..." Trowa poked around in the boxes and saw that there was quite a lot of veal and mango-raspberry stuff. "...I don't think I could eat all that by myself anyway. Maybe...if you wanted to help..."

Upset though he was, Quatre knew an invitation when he heard one. He smiled faintly and took the box of veal croquettes over to the oven, and studied it to figure out how to turn it on. Trowa dug out plates and silverware, dishing out some of the bizarre salad on each to tide them over until the main course was ready, and once it was warming in the oven, they sat down and dove ravenously into whatever was in front of them. After the first few bites, Quatre hung his head a bit, ready to make his grand confession. "I blew it, Trowa. Dorothy won't do anything for us without a thousand pounds in advance. She saw how weak I was, and she went right for the throat."

Trowa's eyes ballooned, which looked quite comical hovering over cheeks bulging with food. He stopped chewing until the initial shock wore off, then swallowed with some effort and put down his fork. "Why would she do that? I thought she was desperate to get back at Lady Une!"

"I thought so too, but..." Quatre sighed and shook his head. "Someone else should have talked to her. I was bound to make a mess of it, no matter what happened."

"That's not true..." Without stopping to think, Trowa reached out and clasped Quatre's hand, the way he always used to when the blond boy was upset about something. "We'll just have to keep thinking until we outsmart her, that's all. I'll even help...if you want me to."

The pair of them totally forgot that they were a little bit mad at each other as their eyes met, and for a few moments, the last month or so of tragic misunderstandings disappeared altogether. A little while later, when the veal croquettes came out of the oven, they sat down and had a real conversation for the first time in ages, and though it wasn't exactly as free and easy as it used to be, it was still a good feeling. It was good enough for tonight.


~~~~~~~~~~

Next, in Episode Seventy-Two: Wufei reveals something disturbing to Hilde about his allegiance, leaving her torn over what to do. Duo convinces Heero to set the mission aside temporarily, so that they might discover more about the strange toy tiger.

*sure hopes this will upload properly into FFN* If it doesn't, I'm going to have to write somebody a letter. =P Anyway. How are you all? Haven't talked to ya in a long time! So, now I'm gonna check my email, and there's art to be posted, and pages to be redesigned, and...aw, you know what I'm like, promises, promises. =^-^= Mark down January 27th for the next episode. (I could have it ready for the 26th, but I'd be a fool to mess with Super Bowl Sunday...especially since my editor will be neck-deep in pre-game shows all weekend. =9_9'=