As always, super thanks to Miyabi and Crazy for the beta, AND for all their help with the planning part of it.

Glass Towers and Steel Bars Ch. II

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When you hold the keys to ruin,
Of everything I see;
With every prison blown to dust,
My enemy walks free;
All my kingdoms turn to sand,
And fall into the sea.
Sting, Mad About You

Two weeks, already. A total of five that he'd actually been working for WEI, but two weeks was the amount of time he'd been working for Quatre, had known him, and dealt with him as someone to take direction from, and be around for nearly twelve hours a day as they scrambled, attempting to get through the process of settling them both into their new jobs. At least he'd had those three previous weeks to let the people around him get accustomed to answering his questions, because when he blew through departments, if he got impatient, he wouldn't just sit still and let them make him more so. He'd say some platitude, and blow right out, only to go back to that office on the twentieth floor, which was now adorned with his "promised" set of computer terminals, with wires going everywhere, and looking more like some mad scientist's setup than a corporate officer's workroom. From there, he'd trace through the system until he found that department's computer files, and he'd go through them that way.

It was remarkable how many times they both ended up in front of those computers, attempting to find the answers that the people, who were supposedly his employees, didn't want to give. Two weeks he'd been forcing his presence on the entire building, but they were no closer now to really seeing him—just as he was no closer to really occupying the penthouse, still filled with the offices of his sister's husbands—than he'd been when he and Duo had first stepped through those glass revolving doors.

It was about eight o'clock on that second Friday when Paul was finally packing things up. Thirteen hours, that's the amount of time he'd spent in that building, mostly in that one room, with Quatre, occasionally stepping forth from it, only to make his way back there not twenty minutes after leaving. He was cleaning up the paperwork that was beginning to cover the table, so tired he was in that place where cleaning seems such a brilliant idea.

Quatre was still on the left-hand terminal, his head propped up on one elbow, a little hunched forward. He looked much younger than you'd think he could, with the absolute confidence he gave out all the time. Now, he just looked like a young, untried kid in high school, staying up too late to finish homework, or tired from a long week. And it was too late, right now. This was the time that felt like three in the morning, when it was almost a physical impossibility to keep your eyes open, they felt a thousand pounds, each of them. Too much work, and more to go before they could settle it all into anything even close to resembling a "normal" workday.

Both of them looked up when the lock snicked back without a knock. The only other person who knew the code was Duo, who'd actually been the one to have the door installed, under Quatre's support of him being a security consultant. He'd installed the lock himself, and Paul didn't think that it was something you could buy right off a shelf, or even special order from a security company, because he'd seen the box it'd arrived in, hand delivered to Duo by special courier.

The box had been a non-descript brown, with no labels, and rather grungy. But when the actual mechanism came out of the box, it'd been pristine, and only the gaggle of wires that were hanging out of the various pieces were any evidence that it wasn't complete right there.

The failsafe was set ridiculously high; if Paul mis-entered his password the first time, he'd have to wait for Quatre to come along, and enter his, and clear Paul's. And the deadbolts were nasty things that looked to be over-kill on the light door. But they were keeping some rather sensitive materials in that room, so Paul could understand the measures perfectly.

Duo came breezing through the door, his face lit up with a broad grin. "Hey, Q-ball, you won't believe who sent you something…" He halted in front of the computer terminals after he'd skirted the large table and began to wave a data disc around in front of Quatre's nose.

"Who?"

"Oh-silent circus-freak, that's who!" He plunked the disc into Quatre's outstretched hand, chuckling at the delighted smile that Quatre was now displaying. The blond turned eagerly for the tower, sliding the disk home and pulling up the files on it as soon as he could.

Paul, expecting a vid-message, much like the communications you got from anyone on a disk anymore, was surprised when nothing came up on the screen. Instead, a rich, deep voice filled the air with liquid syllables that he couldn't understand, though, from the laughs that both young men gave, they could. In the midst of his laughter, Quatre pulled up a new window, over the ten already up, and began to set up an email. Paul was too far away to see what it said, but whatever it was, Duo found it even more amusing than the now-chuckling voice on the disc.

Paul just had to shrug, and continue on his way, slowly working his way through the papers, until he knew that he didn't really have to be there anymore. He was so close to exhaustion that the rhythmic sound of the foreign voice was luring him home to his own bed, and to sleep. To all appearances, Duo was sleeping in one of the computer chairs, arms crossed over his chest, legs stretched out and up on one of the desks, passed out cold. It was, however, belied by the chuckles that would occasionally crop up, a response to whatever they were both listening to.

He gave them a brief good-bye, and was out of the office, gone to his bed, only to be up the next morning, ready, if not willing, for the next round of paperwork, consultations with lawyers, various work foremen via vidphone...the average day he was coming to see.

He was rubbing his eyes one morning in front of the bank of elevators when Quatre appeared beside him, with no sign of Duo. Still too tired to startle at the sudden appearance, he did have a nearly over-whelming need to know where the braided youth was. This was the first time in two weeks he'd not been right there with Quatre.

"Where's Duo?" His eyes were having trouble focusing on anything yet. He had a thought about coffee, but it was more full of longing than the knowledge it was in his future.

Quatre grinned at him, unfazed by the early hour. "He's done here, really. I can handle whatever's left." He shrugged. "He was needed urgently at one of his other contracts."

"Other contracts?"

"Hm?" Quatre was almost staring off into space, a little distracted. "Oh, yeah." He smiled. "He was only consulting with us, and now he's done."

"Who else does he work with?"

"All sorts of places." The doors to the elevator on the far left opened, and they went for it. "I think he's back on Earth, but I'm not sure." He smiled again with a shrug, the heavy briefcase he was carrying making it a little sporadic. "Really, without an emergency, he comes and goes as he pleases. But that's Duo for you."

"Ah." Paul put it from his mind, just as he would some other trivial matter. There were too many pieces of the puzzle that was WEI for him to worry about anything else.

The more he worked in that building—the more he made progress, and together he and his boss made new avenues to eclipse the old, or, in some cases, pulled to light the many things that had changed and should not have, Paul was feeling almost proprietary over the company, and his place in it.

His month had come up—and he hadn't batted an eyelash when his contract had come through that day's paperwork from the lawyers firm. It'd been signed and not really thought about. By then, after only a week of being Quatre's assistant, he'd known he'd wanted to stay there. Right then, he knew it was the excitement. Later, it would be the perfect familiarity, the lack of questioning of his position.

So the grueling hours, the almost excessively fast pace—that was the now, and it would pave the way for the future, and nothing would feel as frenetic after the mad rush. Which was a thought he liked.

The mail was sitting on his desk when he got in, and it was the first thing that he went through in the morning. In with it was a package labeled simply QRW, and on the back it said, DO NOT OPEN—URGENT. Paul ran it through the scanner Duo had set up on his last visit through, (and Paul understood what Quatre had said about come and go as he pleased finally,) but the package came up clean. He put it in the pile that went straight to Quatre and forgot about it.

When Quatre got there, he was balancing his tea on one hand, had his briefcase in the other, and shoved the mail in his box under one arm, mumbling a greeting through what remained of his apple. He was back out not three minutes later, unopened package in his hands.

"When did this come in?"

Paul couldn't tell if he was excited or angry. "It was in the morning mail, so I'd assume yesterday. Doesn't it say on the postmark?"

His boss grinned. "There is none." He tilted the top to show Paul. No postage, no mark, no return address. All Paul could do was shrug helplessly as Quatre grinned at him, before the blond disappeared back into his office. Within moments, Paul could hear more of the voice that had become so familiar after Duo had brought in the disk issuing forth from the open door, this time in a different language.

As was usual, he'd turned the shade up on the windows, so only a little light came through, kinder on the eyes as he went through his endless pile of paperwork, and searched through both computer screens for the information he had to keep up with. Major deadlines, the larger shipments...and day to day paperwork problems, answers to questions that those who, now, looked up to him for the answers they wanted. They fought hard for the offices on the top floor, and now they had to defend the position.

Quatre took it in stride. Whenever someone would come to him with some doubt in their head, or something they thought he couldn't solve, Quatre would learn to, in leaps and bounds. Paul had remarked on it, once, and Quatre had grinned at him, and said: "Do you know what the average intelligence is? Less than you think." And he dropped the subject, apparently deciding that that was enough to explain it. Paul didn't understand, really, but he didn't want to say anything, for fear of appearing part of that average to his boss.

That night, when he left, Quatre was still there, the voice in a foreign language still going, and the paperwork still disappearing as he went through it.


Duo would send occasional letters, though Paul knew that mostly he contacted Quatre via email, and such electronic sources. Once, he sent a packet wrapped up in orange bubble wrap, and when it was opened, there was a framed photograph, and a ticket to a circus. The photo was apparently of the members of the circus, maybe about ten members, and a few of the more interesting animals. One of the clowns had a hand on a lions head, and you couldn't see anything of his face but for a mask, where he was crouched down next to the larger animal.


Quatre stuck his head around the corner after he'd gotten out of one of his morning meetings, and told him to order lunch, whatever. Paul, now used to this routine, called one of the numerous take out services that populated the colony, and it was decided that burgers and fries were a good idea. It had taken Paul a while to get used to the idea that Quatre had no interest in the food he ordered. He'd tested it once, after his boss' complete refusal to pick something out, by giving him a deli sandwich with just about every sauce he could think of, from vinegar to barbeque on it, and Quatre had eaten the entire thing without a single comment. He really just didn't care, and would eat whatever Paul put down in front of him. Which, if Paul's memory served him right, was exactly what Duo had told him before. "He'll eat anything you put in front of him, that guy has no taste buds left, so just make sure it's good for him, k?"

After testing it, he followed Duo's guidelines, mostly, only indulging in such things as burgers and fries when he'd gotten sick of rabbit food and nutritious, high protein, high fiber meals, like fish with wild rice.

So over burgers and fries, they had their lunch meeting. They'd usually go over the day's work so far, what was to come, and then also the head-ups for the coming week, business things, but today, Quatre was silent on that front, and Paul had run out of things to do. All in all, it'd been a fairly quiet week, with things apparently settling down into the new hierarchies that Quatre had thrown into the mix.

"Did the results from that audit of the office on MO-IV come in?"

Paul looked up from the burger he was staring at. "Yeah. All clear, thank god."

Quatre looked up from his sandwich. "Are you Christian?" He looked a little puzzled.

"Mmm." Paul's mouth was full, so he swallowed before he really answered. "Yeah. I was raised that way, so I guess I am." He used his napkin. "What are you?"

His boss shook his head slightly, going back to his lunch. "Nothing."

"Nothing? Were you raised anything?" He'd thought that most people were raised with at least some idea of belief. And as far as Paul knew, there were all sorts of different religions through the Winner family.

But Quatre shook his head again, using his own napkin after his mouthful. "I was. But…I lost that way."

Now he was thoroughly confused, because, although Paul could certainly understand that there were different belief systems, he found it extremely difficult to imagine someone with a complete lack of faith in anything. "Do you mean you were once religious, in some way, but are not now?"

The man considered it for awhile, taking another few bites from his diminishing burger. When he did answer, it was after he'd pulled a long drink from his water, and he seemed to be answering with a serious deliberation. "Actually…you know, I can't even say I've ever truly believed in anything."

"How can you be so sure? I mean…even as a child, you didn't believe in some higher power, whether it be a supreme being or a supreme force of some kind?"

He nodded. "Yes. Maybe I can think of a way to describe it for you, what I mean."

They sat in silence for a long time, finishing off their respective lunches, but not really pushing themselves to go back to work. They'd earned their respite from paperwork and boardroom politics, and for this one day, they meant to take a little of it with their lunch.

Quatre finally smiled, looking off into the false sky shown by the large windows. "Here's a way to look at it: say you have this wonderful painted masterpiece. Now, let's say that the textures are the things that are physical in the world. Next, you have the wonderful shapes and colors. That's, perhaps, what a higher being put there. So you can feel the physical, and see the intangible." He paused, taking another sip of his water.

"The artist wants to show this amazing piece of work to one of his dear friends, and so brings him to see it. But the man's friend, no matter how hard he looks at it, can only see the texture, and can't distinguish the colors from one another. He just cannot see the different effects that the colors make on the world of the painting, which are quite profound to other people, just not to him." He gestured out the window. "Which isn't to say it's not a wonderful masterpiece to the painter's friend as well, it just means that he sees a different part of it than many other people would."

He turned to smile at Paul. "But that doesn't mean the color's not there. It just means that it doesn't matter to that man if it is or not. It won't affect him, because he sees it all in a different light, and so, doesn't need the colors to enjoy the painting."

Balling up the wrapper in one hand to shove it back into the Styrofoam container it'd been packed in, Quatre smiled at Paul again. "A life without religion isn't the end of the world, or even something that deprives a man from seeing all there is to see, really. It just means he has a different way of looking at things."

Paul shrugged. "I guess, but that doesn't make any sense to me."

The blond man smiled again. "Well, from the atheist's point of view, you can't see his colors."

They finished cleaning up the boardroom's table from lunch, throwing away the refuse, and wiping it down with some furniture polish wipes they'd started keeping in the butler's tray by the windows. As they finished, they went back to work, and Quatre became all business.

Paul remembered when Quatre had brought the first package of wipes in. They hadn't been

eating in the boardroom yet, but Quatre had decided that he wanted to. He'd said that he wanted to enjoy the view from the windows on that side of the building because he always saw the other side when he was working. He was often like that, doing something that was a little strange, because he wanted to do it, and he'd become bored, or just plain tired of the way whatever it was had always been done.

The more he worked with Quatre, the more Paul had seen what it meant to be working with someone who controlled this much wealth and power. If he needed something, he got it, either by sending out for it, or by getting it himself. He brooked no arguments or excuses, and that was the end of it. Watching him, Paul knew that he was probably the most organized person he'd ever met, and while that could have been a weakness, it wasn't. He could still be organized in the face of a crisis arising. He'd be the center of the storm, still, calm, but barking orders like an infamous general, and if those commands were followed…soon, there'd be no problems at all. Everything would resolve itself.

Also indicative of his mind, and capabilities: he never forgot something. Down to the whatever food it was that he mechanically ate, or the man who'd called with a wrong number three days ago, he'd always be able to jog someone's memory. When he conducted the numerous board meetings that had perforce been called recently, he'd be thorough to the point of pure boredom. But no one had yet had a question he hadn't already covered. Quickly, they were learning to pay more attention, because if you asked something such as that, it was earning vicious looks from other board members.

Those men, filled to the bursting with wealth, and all of its many accoutrements, had taught themselves to never take anything from anyone, in their brutal rise to the top. But they were now learning what it meant to be a step lower than what they were used to, once more. Quatre was taking no prisoners, and he was ruling over the petty thoughts of his board with a fist stronger than iron, or steel.

Paul, though, had yet to have any real problem with his job, or working for someone whom he knew to be ruthless when the time called for it. He'd pull the rug out from under one of his own sisters without a second thought if he knew they were doing something they shouldn't. It was an interesting parallel for Paul to see.