Ah, my favorite part; responding to reviews! Makes my day. :)
YiyangYoung: Yep, you made sense. No worries. And as for the beer bottle creaking, just… well, if you've ever had glass near it's breaking point and slowly apply continued stress, it does make sound. Heh heh. Trowa was about to shatter it in his hand. I just thought it was a nice bit of imagery.
GundamPilot03: Heh. I'd be pissed if I was Tro, too. Next chapter delivered! (rings bell to announce arrival)
Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.
-BEGIN FIC-
19:15 Hours --
Trowa scowled viciously as he glowered with unmitigated rage at the door that had not moved a single inch in the last fourteen hours. Smoke veritably roiled from the seething green-eyed boy as he ground his teeth together, his fists clenched to the point of risking slicing his own palms open with his fingernails.
Next, Trowa was pacing back and forth, wringing his hands behind his back, his face screaming of worry and panic as he muttered 'where is he?' over and over.
Finally, Trowa was jumping up and down with his fists flailing above his head, all worry forgotten and rage returning in full. Fangs sprouted out of his mouth and fire burned in his eyes, accompanying the steam rising out of his ears and the vicious slashed background that appeared over the living room of the Winner manor. His far-too-large head sported popped veins and pound-signs as it remained precariously balanced upon his tiny turtleneck and jeans clad, chubby body.
Trowa's brain was creating very, very intense and interesting imagery.
On the exterior, though, Trowa simply sat upon the couch, his flat and emotionless gaze remaining set firmly upon the door that had indeed not moved a single inch in the last fourteen hours.
Trowa resisted the urge to smirk as the image of a chibified him bounding around in anger popped into his skull again.
He'd been watching far too much anime lately.
Shaking his head slightly, he glanced over at the TV. Batman Beyond was over. Now Loony Tunes were on.
The braided pilot sat by his side, leaning casually on the couch, a bowl of trail mix cradled upon his lap. Reaching into the bowl without so much as casting a glance to it, Duo grabbed a handful of the snack and popped it into his mouth. Chewing noisily, his mouth slipping open from time to time, he stared at the TV as if completely enraptured with the antic of the cartoon bunny.
Trowa knew Duo was as worried as he was. It was easily seen by the fact that not once did the violet-eyed boy laugh.
It had been fourteen hours since Trowa had returned from that sleazy bar in the nearby town, having returned after losing track of Quatre.
Sandrock's pilot had yet to return home.
02:37 Hours --
Trowa faintly heard the creaking of the glass in his fist as he closed his eyes, struggling to keep his face in its neutral mask.
He'd never thought the sight of Quatre's lips being assaulted by another person would enrage him like this. Hell, he'd never thought that the site of Quatre kissing another person would move him, period.
Slowly putting the beer bottle back down on the table, Trowa willed his fingers to release the glass vessel before he unwittingly crushed it. His fingers slowly complied.
Trowa closed his eyes and rested his face upon his hand, casually slipping his index finger to his ear to press against the receiver in his ear.
"Mmmmm…. That was nice," Quatre said to the other man.
"So, you're the one James told me about…. Excellent," the unidentified person said, his voice lusty and breathless.
"Aa. James is such a dear friend of mine…"
"Really?"
"Aa. I'd do anything for him. Or for a friend of his."
"Anything?"
"Aa."
Trowa growled quietly, his eyes tightening their squint as he fought his body, attempting to keep it from inadvertently jumping out of its seat and throttling the man. Or throttling Quatre. Which it was screaming to strangle wasn't communicated to his brain at that time.
Trowa snorted as, ironically, the song changed and the band shifted tunes abruptly.
The piano's soft ring slowly eased through the room.
"When I find myself in times of trouble,
Mother Mary comes to me,
Speaking words of wisdom:
'Let it be.'
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom:
'Let it be.'"
'Oh, what incredibly sound advice… ha! Yeah, right. Let it be, my ass,' Trowa's mind growled viciously, sending daggers flying towards the band.
Trowa sat in his chair, silently seething, his hand still pressed to his head, his finger still resting on the receiver, his eyes perfectly flat, opaque mirrors of nothingness.
19:20 Hours --
Trowa sighed quietly.
Duo looked over, his face completely riddled with what could only be called stunned amazement. "My Lord in Hell, he makes a sound! You're actually alive over there?"
Trowa simply glanced over, his face entirely unreadable. "Of course."
"You're worried about him too, eh?"
"Aa."
"Oh cripes, now it goes from three words to one or two?"
"Hmph."
Duo sighed as he munched on more trail mix. Offering the bowl, he nodded. "Take some."
"No thank you."
"Well, at least you're polite at times," Duo muttered as he pulled the bowl away. "So, what's your name anyway? You haven't said a word since you've arrived at this place yesterday except for your little three word commands. Very rude, you know."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, really. So give your name already, neh?"
"Quatre hasn't told you?"
"WOW! That was four words!"
"…."
Duo arched a brow. "Kidding, kidding. Alright. No, he hasn't told me." Sighing, he glanced away. "We've… kinda been reluctant to talk about anything concerning recent events. Mostly been just talking about our mission orders, what life was like in our respective worlds, what an ass his father is, how much we both like "Slayers" and how the movie "Crouching Tiger - Hidden Dragon" was really good for being a subtitled, antique excuse for a flick with hokey flying ninjas. That kinda stuff. Getting to know one another."
Trowa could only stare. 'Does this guy ever breathe! He didn't pause once during that entire statement!'
"So yeah, he hasn't told me yet, meaning you've got to relinquish with the information, my friend. That is, unless you just want me to refer to you as 'Tall, Dark and Ugly' every time I see you."
"Trowa. Trowa Barton."
"Aaaaaah. Alrighty then." Duo laughed softly, before extending his crumb-covered hand. "Duo Maxwell."
Trowa stared at his hand.
Duo sighed quietly, his voice echoing with irritation. "Western custom. Take hand. Shake. Wee, we've met! Hiya! That's what it means. Yeesh, these people and their weird affront to shaking hands… what the hell's up with that anyway, huh? Could swear that Quatre's the only normal person in this entire damned alliance. At least he shakes hands."
Trowa continued to stare.
03:45 Hours --
Trowa was slowly beginning to develop one heck of an ache in his jaw from clenching it so hard for so very long.
Over an hour later, and Quatre was still seated at that mysterious man's table.
Trowa's brain calmly relayed the information he'd gathered from the bug he'd planted on Quatre's shirt across his mind's eye.
The man's name was Gregory. He was a friend of James Waverly. He was also affiliated with Douglas, whoever that was. He was working as a computer consultant and had been called in to check out some sort of security breech and a virus that couldn't be repaired. He was usually stationed out on the eastern seaboard of the continent of North America, but had been ordered to travel out here to assist in repairing and reestablishing the network that had apparently been broken into by Rebel forces.
'Scum,' Trowa's mind said. 'Complete scum. And Quatre's over there, practically in his lap, chewing on his chin. Why is this making me so incredibly nauseous? I'm gonna kill him.'
'Oh yes. I'm gonna kill him.'
'But which one goes first?'
Trowa blinked. Why was he considering killing Quatre?
'Because he's MINE.'
Blink went Trowa's eyes again.
'When did I ever come up with THAT assumption? He's my friend.'
'Friend.'
'And I'm his.'
'And, as his friend, it's my duty to protect him from scum like that, right?'
'Yep. That justifies my desire to kill that guy.'
Glancing back at his beer bottle, he stared, startled, at the reflection it showed him.
Quatre had grasped the man's hand, and was being led out of the door.
'Damn it!' Trowa's mind hissed even as he stood up rapidly, nearly upsetting his chair in the process. Grabbing his beer, he finished it in one quick chug before stalking off after the Arab and his companion.
He reflected as he caught sight of the bobbing blond head. 'He grasped his hand.'
'That touch, only meant for…'
'Maybe it's nothing. Maybe you're reading too much into it.'
'But the way he touched him… like a lover…'
'No no no, Trowa! He only met the guy recently! Quatre wouldn't….'
'Oh, he wouldn't? But do we really know him?'
'He's our friend. We know him….'
'How well, though?'
Trowa paused, and shook his head.
'Great. I'm going crazy… first, jealousy over Quatre's actions.'
'And now I'm holding arguments with myself?'
19:40 Hours --
Duo had long since given up attempting to shake Trowa's hand and had returned his attention to the cartoons on TV. Trowa had returned his gaze to the door.
The grandfather clock in the room ticked loudly, each tock echoing in both boys' ears, accentuating the fact that their blond friend was more than late.
03:53 Hours --
Trowa slipped through the crowd, keeping a careful eye on the blond and his companion while trying to not look overly conspicuous.
Quatre suddenly stopped and turned to his partner. "Hold on a moment, OK?"
"Alright," the other man replied, confusion in his voice as the Arab started plucking at his cuff.
'Oh no! He knows about the bug?' Trowa's mind breathed softly.
Sure enough, Quatre drew the bug out of his sleeve. Scowling at the little device, he dropped it on the ground, and sent his heel right onto it.
Trowa cringed, his hand flying to his ear as the squeal and crunch of the device screamed through his head like the roar of a lion stationed 3 inches from his head.
Quatre's eyes remained focused on him as he turned his gaze back towards the couple.
The dark blue eyes widened as Quatre caught sight of Trowa's face, then narrowed considerably before he turned sharply on his heel and marched off, Gregory in tow.
Trowa cursed, and attempted to follow them.
However, the couple soon vanished into the crowd. Softly snarling his hatred of his ill-fated luck, he shoved his hands in his pockets and returned to the bar to order a few more drinks before considering going back to Quatre's manor.
20:06 Hours --
Trowa was still calmly staring at the door.
Duo was beginning to fidget.
"So, maybe I could go look for him. Break ol' Deathscythe out of the hanger. She's refueled and ready to go, you know…."
"Iya. A Gundam searching a town?"
"True, true. A bit nerve wracking, neh? And would blow cover, too. Was actually thinking of taking her towards town and ditching her about a mile out, camouflaging her, and walking the rest of the way and seeing if I could find him on foot."
'He refers to his Gundam as 'her'…? Weird.' Clearing his throat, Trowa shook his head. "Best of luck. I lost him."
"Well, word on the street…"
"Will"
"Blow our cover. Right, right."
Trowa arched a brow as the braided boy squirmed in his seat, tucking his legs under him to sit cross-legged on the expensive couch one moment and kicking them out to flop back the next before turning on his side then sprawling on his belly.
"Do you always squirm like that?"
"Eh?" Glancing over, Duo grinned, and shrugged. "Sorry, man. I get antsy if I'm not doing anything… if things're outta my control. I just… I'm worried. Poor little guy… out there, all alone and everything."
"… Yeah."
"Heh… wish that bastard were still with us… HE'D be able to track him down… dammit."
Trowa turned away from the other pilot, not failing to notice the tears that hung upon the lashes of those large violet eyes despite the smile that graced the round face.
The door suddenly creaked.
Both pilots immediately sat at attention, though Duo had to fall face-first off the couch, stand, and plop back down onto the cushions to do so.
With a quiet sigh, Quatre slipped through the opened portal. Turning, he arched a brow at the two wired pilots, and smiled in a happy, innocent fashion before nodding firmly. "Konban wa!"
"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? You had us worried sick!"
Trowa's narrowed eyes screamed the same words Duo's mouth had just released.
"Gomen, gomen! I should have called."
"Damned right, you should've!"
"Where HAVE you been, Quatre?" Trowa softly questioned.
Glancing over, his eyes hardening slightly, Quatre mouthed, "None of your business."
"DETAILS, man. Gimme details or I'm not going to stop hounding you all night. No letting you go to your chess room to do whatever it is you do."
"Alrighty! You see, I met this… person. We talked, we laughed, we had a wild time on the town, and I'll give you details AFTER I'm allowed to, ahem, 'do whatever it is I do' in my room."
"Fine, fine," Duo said, holding his hands up in defeat, grinning. "You'd better not forget your promise."
"I won't!" Quatre promised with a wink before waltzing out of the room, heading right for his chessboards.
Trowa followed, and poked his head in through the door. "Quatre?"
The blond boy didn't respond. Rather, he was staring the board sporting what Trowa assumed was their current situation.
08:13 Hours, Yesterday --
"You strategize using a Chess board?"
"Hai. And it usually works very well. Chess… it's very insightful. It replicates real life so very well… all the unpredictable pitfalls… all the plotting that's required to reach your goal…"
20:25 Hours --
Trowa stood by silently, waiting as the boy calmly put new pieces on the board, considered their locations, and moved the OZ pieces with a flurry of movement.
For another long span of minutes, he sat with his hands folded before his mouth, staring hard at the pieces.
Then he rearranged them, nodded, straightened his stance and left the room, brushing right by Trowa.
Stopping a foot away from the taller pilot's back, Quatre whispered, "Don't follow me again."
"I only followed because I was worried," Trowa responded.
"I know that. And I do appreciate it, Trowa. It's nice to know that you care…" Quatre began, his voice soft and sighing.
"But?" Trowa asked, still staring into the chess room.
"But you may have altered the game. Please don't do that again. My strategies are my business, not yours."
"If you'd share your plans, I'd be better informed as to when to avoid following you."
Quatre sighed, then chuckled quietly. "I can't tell you my plans. Sorry. But it may alter your personal objectives."
Trowa felt his eyes widen and his lips part as his lower jaw dropped.
22:55 Hours, Yesterday --
Rather than the typical set of pieces found upon a typical chess board, this one sported an entirely different figurine collection, each piece's true identity recognized only by the letter emblazoned upon the bottom of it as Trowa discovered in his critiques of the craftsmanship of the statuettes.
Trowa the…
Trowa, the newest addition.
The pawn.
08:16 Hours, Yesterday --
If Quatre plotted his maneuvers in life as he did on the chessboard as he'd stated but a few moments ago, Trowa had every reason to not trust the boy.
Especially one who smiles at a play such as the one just completed.
Trowa frowned. He didn't like play that was this dirty.
He didn't like pawn sacrifice.
22:30 Hours --
Trowa stared at the board.
'Pawn sacrifice.'
Trowa the pawn was in dire danger from the OZ Communication Tower.
'Pawn sacrifice.'
The mobile suit knights, bishops and rooks were focused on Deathscythe the rook.
'Pawn sacrifice.'
Sandrock the rook and Quatre the queen remained untouched in their positions, though a new pawn - this one a single, face-less man - had appeared by the queen, threatening as well as being threatened.
'Pawn sacrifice.'
'Alter my personal objectives? Or make me run for my life?'
Trowa's eyes hardened as he glowered at the board.
'I will not be sacrificed.'
'To coin your own phrase, Quatre….'
'Not this early in the game.'
tbc...
