Glass Towers and Steel Bars Ch. IV
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Ambition is a poor excuse for not having sense enough to be lazy.
Charlie McCarthy
The right word may be effective, but no word was ever as effective as a rightly timed pause.
Mark Twain (1835-1910)
I will not add another word.
Horace (65BCE – 8BCE)
Paul remembered it as being much longer than it really was, but he knew it wasn't. It seemed to him to be a gradual thing, this melding of Trowa to Quatre. But the way it really was, one day, Paul had met him, and nearly the next, plus or minus a month or so, Trowa was spending the days in Quatre's office, reading books on zoology, animal training, and cybernetic engineering. Apparently—and he was quite happy to tell Paul about it—he was interested in the field that would allow the biometric fusion of prosthetic limbs to amputees. For animals. He seemed to think that there were possibilities for the furtherance of this field using some of the technologies used in mobile suits.
It blew way over Paul's head, so he paid more attention to the relationship he could see between the two. After he'd come back from the circus that second time, it had been clear he was staying with Quatre permanently, and they'd begun to plan for an expansion onto Quatre's estate house. Trowa wanted to take in older lions and other great cats from the various circuses and let them live out their lives, but he also wanted to raise and train new ones.
Leaning up against the wall in the office, waiting for Quatre to finish his early day so they could supervise the construction for the evening, he'd explained it to Paul. "I've worked with the animals a lot in the circus, but I've never actually been the main trainer or raised them, and I want to."
He'd shrugged. "I've always had other things that needed to be done more, so I had to split my attention."
"I can understand that," Paul replied, nodding. "How's the work going?"
Trowa had looked at him in surprise. "You haven't been up to see it yet?"
Paul shook his head. "No, I've not been to the estate since before the renovations started, but I've heard that the plan is very ingenious."
The taller man laughed, and bowed to the blond who had just then appeared in the office doorway. "That would be all his fault."
Quatre came forward chuckling, to stand fairly close to Trowa. "Hardly mine in the entirety. Surely I can lay some blame on Jones and his group of excellent architects?"
Trowa smiled a little, replying with something in another language.
Quatre shook his head at him, "If you start that, I'll have you read aloud during the day, and remind myself of the tapes."
Paul, without thinking, muttered, "And then nothing will get done," and, when he'd realized he'd said it, stopped dead in his tracks, and stared at the astonished men before him.
They didn't leave him in very much suspense, but soon had broad smiles on their faces, and Trowa said, "And Paul wins," sketching a very courtly bow, sweeping off an imaginary hat, executing it with such exact precision that Paul gave a whistle.
"I'd bet you were amazing in the circus."
Quatre gathered up his laptop case and motioned down the hall to the executive elevators, saying over his shoulder, "Or on any stage, in any costume," getting in the last office banter of the evening.
It was dreary and cold outside, which is why Paul wasn't surprised to see Quatre come in with a wool overcoat on, his hair wet and sticking to his head from the rain.
Now a standard, he had breakfast stuck in his mouth, (something from the cafe downstairs,) and had one hand filled with his briefcase using the other to get through doors. He waved a 'morning to Paul and breezed through the outer office, heading for his own, and getting ready for the day's appointments. He hadn't been spending as much time at the office, and so had finally, (much to Paul's relief, who, seeing the man the most, was thinking it was definitely time,) begun to delegate a lot of the unnecessary things he'd done from the start due to the lack of understanding and skilled people to delegate to. But that meant he spent more time checking up on people than anything else, which meant lots and lots of meetings, and with some departments, that would be a daily thing, even if they were on Earth, and it had to be linked through satellites.
So his mornings were spent getting questions ready as he waited for his first appointment, and Paul was startled when the routine deviated suddenly, the deviation one Quatre sticking his head around the corner of the door.
"Paul, could you find me a company shirt, or something?"
His assistant looked at him in confusion. "Why, what happened?"
Quatre chuckled, and opened the door completely, showcasing his rather hideous shirt. "Well, it looks like the closet my coat was in was missed when they cleared everything out for the renovations." His shirt was completely covered in streaks of the pinkish-red clay that the colony's base ground was made of. But mostly, the shirt was pink, from the smaller particles sinking into the material when water was applied.
Paul couldn't help it, and he just broke down with laughter, seeing for the first time, the immaculate man so very un-immaculate. His boss just stood in the door for a few seconds, eyebrows raised and head shaking before he went over to the vid-screen. He hit the speed dial for the estate, and Trowa answered.
Quatre smiled. "The cats haven't gotten there yet?"
Trowa shook his head with a small smile. "No. Apparently, there was a miscommunication about it—there are two cubs with them, and they're having some trouble with the transports from the 'port."
The blond nodded, just as Paul got over his amusement. "Well, when they get in, could you come down with a shirt for me? As you can see, I've had a mishap."
"Hm. Sure, but it'll probably be around lunch before they get here." Paul was doing a very good job of keeping himself occupied as he went through the morning mail. No more big surprises there anymore.
"Then I'll see you at lunch, Trowa."
Paul glanced up just in time to see Trowa nod and the connection cut out. His boss then turned to him with a slight smile. "So, any luck on a shirt until then? This is rather uncomfortable." He tried to pick the shirt away from his body, but failed as it made a sucking sound, and some of the larger clay spots began to crumble into dust as the water evaporated them. He gave up with a rather displeased expression.
Needless to say, one of the company polo shirts was found post haste.
Just as Paul was dialing the vidphone for lunch, Trowa walked in, hanging shirt over his shoulder. He shook his head at Paul, and said, "We're going to go out, I heard about this really great restaurant in the new quarter," so Paul shrugged and hit the clear button.
Trowa went on into the office with the rescue-shirt, and they both emerged not too much later, ready to eat.
There was a car for them outside the lobby, and they made their way to this new restaurant, which was a blend of traditional Middle Eastern with an old world French influence.
As they were settling down with their menus, Paul looked up at Trowa. "So, do I get to come see some of the cats soon?"
He was somewhat startled, but nodded at Paul as he closed his menu and set it aside. "Whenever you want." He shrugged. "They're not going anywhere at the moment."
Quatre was scanning the menu, taking longer than the other two, when he stopped, and looked up at Trowa, frowning. He stayed that way for a moment, and then spoke. "You know...Trowa, why don't you bring one into the office for a little while?"
Trowa raised eyebrows back at him. "You want me to bring a lion into the office?"
With a laugh, Quatre shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. I meant one of the cubs." He snorted. "But one of the adults would be interesting. Maybe it could eat accounting..." He stared off as if dreamy over the suggestion, making the other two laugh. Right then, that was the department giving the most headaches to everyone. "But I don't think it would help anything at this point." He grimaced. "We're too deep in accountants."
There was some mirth over that, but they quickly subsided when their server appeared, leaving it off as not as important as the ordering of actual hot food on the dreary day.
They spent most of lunch talking about the situation the accountants had unearthed, with Quatre and Paul being the main participants, though Trowa would occasionally insert a shrewd comment that would get them over whatever small bump in the road had currently stumbled them.
At the end of the meal they returned to the office, and Paul was certain that others were as full as he was. Trowa stayed in the car to return back to the estate, sure to double and triple check on the new cats to the exclusion of everything else for the rest of the day. The last few words were a promise to bring a kitten in the next day.
But as the day waned onto evening, there was a lack of excitement about the office. It seemed, that, aside from their small issue with accounting, there were no more dragons to slay for the day, and, for once, they had a quiet, uneventful day at the office.
When Paul woke up the next morning, he decided that there would be no more Mediterranean food for him in the future—at least, not in such a large dose. He felt like hell. His stomach agreed with the sentiment, and began to clench and unclench, increasing the misery that Paul felt as a whole.
He tried to go about his normal morning routine, but he could barely stand, and it just got worse the more he was up and about. He was going to have to call in.
For some reason, seeing as he had yet to call in sick even once, and only took a personal day when Quatre made him, he didn't think that there would be a problem. Nonetheless, he hated having to, and perhaps that showed on his face when he called into the office after he knew his boss would be there. Quatre, when he picked up the phone, raised his eyebrows at the screen.
"You don't look very good, Paul. Feeling under the weather?"
Paul chuckled weakly. "I think it's more along the lines of food poisoning, or something."
Quatre nodded. "Then don't come in if you're feeling bad." He shrugged. "I'm sure that I'll be able to manage for a day or two without you." He smiled, though. "But barely."
Again, Paul gave a weak agreement of amusement. "Yeah. I'll probably see you tomorrow."
His boss nodded. "Okay. We'll put off showing you a kitten until then."
Feeling a wave of nausea and pain, Paul closed his eyes, swallowed, and nodded slowly. "See you later, then."
Quatre smiled at him. "Get some rest, it might make you feel better."
The screen went black, and Paul turned away from it, only to see the kitchen, making him feel more nauseous. Quickly, he looked away, and his eyes fell to his calendar, where he'd circled the date. His show was running another marathon today. He'd forgotten, but he'd circled the day to remember to watch some of it when he got home. He snorted a little. Looks like he was going to be watching it after all. He just didn't think he'd be able to enjoy it as much today as he might have otherwise.
