(A/N: had to change a C name…. It had a bit of a squick factor for me. Cherry's name is now Nick.)
Big Ol' Texas Soul
"What somebody says about you tells more about them than you."
Gladiola Montana
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Now, to say no one knew anything about the new Yuy man would not entirely be the truth. There were, in fact, a few who knew the new president of Yuy Business Corporation very well. It was just that those few who knew him well weren't the type to go and mix with the common folk in the mail room. And as everyone knows, the truly pertinent gossip comes from the mail room (not counting the gossip that happens in the mail room, a far different issue entirely, considering the manner in which various persons-who-will-not-be-named 'but we all know who she is, Missy Rump' has slept their way around and out of there).
There was, then, quite a bit of speculation as to what this new leader of theirs was like. Margi from mail room claimed to have met him once. A younger woman herself and painfully single, she had been keeping an eye out two weeks prior for the newest male faces entering the company doors while she worked at delivering mail to the main floor offices.
She had, she reported, noticed a slender, asian man entering the foyer about nine o'clock. He had been accompanied by another japanese man in a white suit. This of course led to why asian men looked so good in white suits and Gordon, in charge of mail room, had to direct them back to the task at hand, that being what exactly the new man was like.
The working group sat around the lunch table, eating cafeteria food and watching Margi's face turn pink in delight at being the first to have sighted the elusive Mr. Yuy.
It was a scene out of a movie, really, one of those Hong Kong kung fu movies, or so Trudy thought. But he didn't say so, keeping this to himself. Still the vision of the former man, his eyes black as a hawk's, striding into the foyer, flanked and slightly ahead of his taller counterpart, a japanese man with hair tied back to the nape of his neck and a decidedly dangerous air about him was straight out of plenty of movies he'd seen lately. It had given Margi chills, she said. And if it reminded her of a Hong Kong kung fu movie, she wasn't saying.
Mr. Yuy did not smile, did japanese smile or was that normal everyone wondered, and neither did his companion. Margi had made sure to have some important letters to put on the check-in desk beside that one guard fellow, Joe.
"He just walked up, smart as you please, he did. And is he glorious or what?" Margi liked words like glorious. She was the type of woman to call a man glorious and expect everyone else to see how he was a god of manhood. She had many glorious men to speak of from many different countries, though she loved using the word for what she thought were greek men the most often. "A little taller than me, 'round five ten maybe, with brown Abercrombie hair. He's got on these sunglasses and he takes them off when he gets close to the desk." Here, Margi gleamed. "His eyes. I'm not joking, are this glorious blue. Like, like some kind of electric color. I've never seen anything like it before. I almost fainted, they're so amazing!"
Of course, then the conversation turned quickly to "glorious" men and how the asian species of man in particular is a beautiful one. Though too short. Gorgeous, did anyone see that guy in Suicide Club, hot as the blazes and too darned short! But Gordon again brought them back.
"So? What happened after?" his voice terse. "We've got only ten minutes left ladies. I want to know what happened after."
"Well," Margi continued, "he looks over me with those glorious blue eyes like he's seeing some bug he could squash, and he nods to the guard. And Joe, he just grins and you know how he is, what an idiot he is? How he got passed up for a job in the police department and ended up doing private security. But anyway, he grins like an idiot and says, 'Mornin' Mr. Yuy. You forgot to sign in last time.' And Mr. Yuy doesn't say a word, just signs in, nods and goes to the elevator." She took a breath with a great grin. "I was so nervous, I dropped my letters. And Mr. Yuy's bodyguard stopped and picked them up. He bowed to me like the japanese do and said, something in his language and handed them to me. He looked me over and I just about fainted. Then he followed his boss. And then they were gone! Well, then that stupid guard guy asked me out for coffee. Of course I said no, you know how he's always hitting on all of the girls."
"Oh yes! Tell me about it! Last week he said he knew a really nice guy I should meet.." went on another of the women, beginning discussion about various womanizers in the company. Gordon (their token gay man) joined in, leaving Trudy feeling as if he were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
There was talk of course, of how quickly the change was made. It took only a week to do all of the paperwork and turn the company over to the young Mr. Yuy.
Odin Yuy had managed to ignore his office for the past few years, coming in only to sign those few papers his signature was needed for. He spent most of his time overseas in Japan, flying in for board meetings once a month. And while the board was in constant flux with changes in its body of six every few years, there remained the consistency of a few known faces, dinosaurs of the company, like Mr. Kirkland and Mr. Hargreaves, who had grown old with Odin over the years.
The company had been content as the great animal it was. There was no need of such a great shift in upper management. Expectation caused everyone to speak of how changes in leadership always led to changes in departments. Discussions on what company might be hiring was the norm for lunch breaks and everyone began talking loud and hard about how important their particular job was to the functioning of the company.
Within the week, sightings of the new president poured into the mail room. Odin Yuy returned to Japan and the board finished up the last of the paperwork expediently. The mail room gloated over every tidbit and pieced together a rather incredible story through which the new addition could be viewed.
Mr. Yuy-san (as he was called in the mail room) was young, only thirty two. He was excruciatingly handsome with blue eyes so blazing they could be sighted no matter the distance. He rarely spoke to anyone but his board and the bodyguard that followed him. Fresh out of college in London, he had taken over a electronics and security company in Japan that his father had holdings in and turned it into a multi billion dollar business. In three years it became the topmost electronic security company in the world. Specializing in high encryption and coding, the company went on to bid for military contracts as well as private company contracts. The unprecedented move to take on foreign security had led to some governmental investigation by Japan. But by some strange twist of fate it was discovered that the company's interactions with foreign powers was not to be a danger and in a matter of months, Japan also was contracting the works of the small company.
Of course, about this time, Trudy Haln of Mail Room C had a visit from his sister's brother from Japan. The man had apparently worked under the indomitable Mr. Yuy-san back in Japan and had a lot to say, much of which made its way further into the mail room gossip.
Apparently Trudy's brother-in-law, Bart Sante, an enormous man from Kentucky with a degree in Harvard business and a rather imposing demeanor, first met Mr. Yuy when the young man had come to the company those few years before.
At first, he reported, things had gone well. Mr. Yuy-san, fresh out of business school, had followed the Kentucky man around, learning the ropes. In fact, Bart had felt they might have become friends of course. But a few months into the year, Mr. Yuy came to work with an assistant, a Mr. Chang. He called an emergency meeting of the heads of all departments. The meeting was terrible. The open, friendly Mr. Yuy had become a cold mechanical monster. By the end of it, only half of the heads of departments were left, and Bart was out of a job.
Trudy wasn't entirely certain that his brother-in-law could be relied upon to be factual. He'd always struck Trudy as a man of temper and rash thinking. Any discussion around Bart could turn into an opinionated argument and often did. The large man knew his facts (or thought he did) and had a belief on everything from single mothers to the recent wars in the southern Americas.
Despite his misgivings, Trudy enjoyed the attention he received in the mostly female mail room when he was able to come up with a tidbit of information no one else had. For a week at least, he was included, asked questions of, and treated with something other than feminine disdain. It was a beautiful time of warmth for him, though quickly over when one of the girls who happened to have to deliver mail to Mr. Yuy's office and instead of getting his secretary, got the man himself and was able to talk to him.
But the time had been worth it, really. Trudy had felt a part of something for the first time since beginning work in mail room C.
While energetic conversations ranged about in the mail room, a quieter hush was to be found in the floors above. Even Mr. June was flirting with the idea that he might have to discover ways to prove that his job was had worth. Still, he was a practical man. There really was no need to go flying off the handle about a rumor and besides, other than overhearing a few snippets here and there, he really wasn't the type of person the real gossip mongers came to. He was, in a sense, very much out of the loop.
This lack of a sense on what talk there was to be had did nothing for his state of mind, however, when he received the letter on eggshell paper with the company letterhead above and the signature in bold, rich ink under the small typed summons.
It was dated that day and apparently Mr. Yuy did not believe in wasting time, for it was expected that Mr. June would make it to the upper offices by two that afternoon and if he was unable to do so for whatever reason, that he would make an appointment with Mr. Yuy's secretary for the next day he was working.
Mr. June, not one to wait out the executioner's ax, was before the secretary at one fifty five that day, adjusting a tie and wondering if he should have asked for a day's leniency so that he might be better presented. He hadn't dressed as well as usual that day, not having any lunch meetings to go to. It just went to show, though, how one never knew when there might be an unexpected turn. And maybe, he could not help but think, he could explain his lack of dress adequately. He spent the next five minutes of waiting trying to find a good excuse for his clothing.
Five minutes past two, the door opened and a tall, stately man with green eyes walked out, gazed at Mr. June with a passing interest not even worth recognizing, and stopped at the secretary's desk.
"Please schedule me for another meeting with Mr. Yuy for next month. I believe he said Tuesday the twenty-sixth would be fine."
Mr. June, feeling somewhat inadequate as he stood waiting to be ushered in, watched as the secretary opened up a file on her computer and began a discussion with the unfamiliar man. He wasn't sure what one was to do when the president of the company called one up. While Mr. June tended toward the timely and being that it was now, seven minutes late which left him with a sudden sense of unease, he also was unsure of exactly how he might point out this fact without seeming too high and mighty.
He settled, in the end, for a small clearing of his throat. And oddly, while the secretary did not look up, the tall man did. "Ah, I'm sorry. Heero mentioned he had a two o'clock. I was told to let the secretary know to send you in directly. But I suppose I could just as easily tell you," and he motioned smoothly at Mr. June and the door in one wave of his hand. The man did not smile, yet he was not cold either. He simply bid, expecting to be obeyed.
If this were the type of company Mr. Yuy kept, what then, would Mr. Yuy be like? Mr. June started, looking at the secretary for confirmation which she gave with an impatient nod of her head. Then girding himself, he pushed open the door and entered an office he'd only been in once, many years before, during a final interview with Mr. Odin Yuy when he was given his promotion to department head at TI.
The office outside with the secretary was one of richness and good taste. The inner office was little different, with a few oil paintings hanging that were not recognizable as important works, yet definitely gave a touch of class to an office made up of leather chairs, a couch, vases of orchids, and strategically placed book shelves.
Mr. June noticed that the door made no sound as it swung closed behind him. There was the scent of paper and books and money in this room despite the flowers. It was nothing like his office which smelled slightly of old coffee and smog and fruit. This office had taste written all over it's curves and angles. The colors matched and there was not a broken down binder or stained coffee cup or mish mashed, many colored conglomeration of pens to be seen. Even the desk was clear of all clutter and Mr. June wondered if the desk's drawers were as clear as the rest of the room was, or if there was some small hint of humanity somewhere, hidden in a dank side drawer where paper clips came in all sizes and were caught up with a grey tattered rubber band.
Mr. Yuy appeared, in ways, very like the words spoken of him. He sat in a high backed power chair behind a massive desk going through a small file before him with an impassive expression on his face as if he didn't truly have any feeling about what he was going over. It might have been accounts as far as he was concerned. However Mr. June recognized the orange folder clip on the edge and realized that it was, in actual fact, a department funds folder. And because he was here, it was more than likely, his department in that folder.
Mr. June's face was anything but inexpressive when he stopped before the leather chair opposite the table and addressed his new boss. "Mr. Yuy."
The man before him waved a hand to indicate the chair and Mr. June sat down, crossing his legs and tucking his fingers around one another like people holding on as the ship goes down.
A moment's silence and then the young, blue eyed man looked up, took off a pair of low-power reading glasses and regarded the older gentleman. "Mr. June. Thank you for coming."
"Of course, Mr. Yuy."
"I have been going over your accounts, Mr. June."
"Yessir?" Mr. June went frantically over his accounts in his head. Had there been any corners he could have cut? Anything he might have done differently? The blue eyes staring at him were disconcerting. They were too penetrating, as if they could read him. Still, Mr. June wasn't about to offer suggestions if he didn't know what the difficulty was. That would be corporate suicide, really, to act as nervous as he really was. He did his best to keep his face calm though he could feel sweat starting to run down his left side.
"I find them to be more than adequate, Mr. June." The blue eyed man's words elicited an unconscious sigh of relief from the accountant and Mr. Yuy's lips curved slightly in a bemused smile. "You thought I had asked you here for not doing your job as well as you were able?"
"It had crossed my mind, sir." Mr. June was surprised to find himself manage a small smile in response. The word, "asked" struck him as funny, somehow. A man like Mr. Yuy never asked, and if he did, his asking was never taken so likely as to be considered anything but a summons.
"Hn," Heero Yuy grunted. It was a strange sound to hear from the man in the power chair and it didn't quite fit the cool, professional exterior he exuded. "Well, in truth, Mr. June, you run a tighter ship than I have ever seen in my years in the business. Suffice it to say, I have not been in this business for that long, but I am aware of what an efficient department is and what it is not. Yours is most definitely well run and I consider you a boon to our company."
"Thank you, sir." Mr. June couldn't believe it. This was far different from what he'd expected.
"I would like to keep you in this role indefinitely, however seeing that you have surpassed my expectations, I think it fair to give you reason to remain and would then like to raise your income level if that is acceptable to you?" Mr. June was sure that he could see a glimmer of amusement now in those blue eyes while Mr. Yuy spoke.
"A… a raise, sir?"
"I dare say that is what they are called, Mr. June."
"Thank you, Mr. Yuy."
Mr. Yuy moved the file to one side and his face became again, a blank slate upon which some unknown fate could be written. "I do have one concern, however. You are, I have been led to believe, in a relationship with one of our upper management, Ms. Utherwood?"
"Yessir." Mr. June felt his back stiffen. Ah, here it was. The blow he'd not allowed himself to fear before.
"Mr. June, I am not in the habit of giving raises to men I am about to fire. Please relax."
"What? Oh, ah, yessir. Sorry, Mr. Yuy," Mr. June stammered.
There, that was a glimmer. Mr. June was sure of it. Deep in those blue eyes, there was something that was far better than a pile of mismatched paper clips buried in the back of an orderly drawer. Mr. Yuy was finding this entire episode hilarious, possibly.
"I have already spoken to her about it, Mr. June. I only wish to state my desires to you as well. It would behoove us all to have the pair of you remain on professional terms while working and that this relationship would be utilized to enhance your work rather than limit it. I have looked over your file and see no decline in your work in the last month or so, therefore I am certain that you have managed to keep a fair division between your professional and your personal life. However I did want to go on record as having said this aloud, rather than simply assume it to be fact. I have no difficulty in the least with office relationships. Only with those which inhibit the ability of my employees to manage their jobs."
"Ah, yessir. I can't imagine myself having any difficulty doing my job. It is rather cut and dried, you see. Technical Instatement is, sir." Mr. June smiled, nervously but with a good deal more certainty than before.
"Please, call me Heero." Mr. Yuy rose and held out his hand.
Taking this to mean that their meeting was over, Mr. June stood as well and shook hands with a greater smile. "Very well, Heero. Thank you."
"Ah, Mr. June?" came the calm voice as Mr. June turned to go.
Looking back Mr. June lifted a brow, watching the slender asian man approach him. It was strange, how this man moved. It reminded Mr. June of a fighter almost, predatory in a way. "Yessir? Err – yes, Heero?"
"I also spoke to your partner about a young man who is at present on extended leave, a Mr. Maxwell?" Blue eyes watched Mr. June's face intently, seeing the sudden panic that flirted with existence then was shoved away.
"Duo, sir? What about him?"
"I was intrigued by the fact we had a young man working for this company without an exact job description. I was glad to see that some of your, as well as many other of my departments', successes could be attributed to his intervention."
"Yes Mr. Yuy, er – Heero. I think I would not be as effective without the aid of Duo Maxwell. He has been instrumental in many projects we've undertaken."
"Yes," Mr. Yuy said meditatively, slowly as if he were buying time in which to think over what he might say next. "I must admit to finding him something of a mystery. He has taken little vacation for himself and suddenly he takes over a month off, now. I have been informed he is taking leave. As you've worked with him fairly consistently and also know his ex-roommate fairly well it is safe to say that you are acquainted with him." Those blue eyes cut into Mr. June as the slim president sat back on the edge of his desk, another small discrepancy that Mr. June wasn't certain exactly how to accept as it didn't fit the presentation he'd been given to that point. Men of Mr. Yuy's caliber did not sit on the edges of their desks.
"I should think so, Mr. Yuy. I do know Duo fairly well. I would hope we might even be friends, sir."
"Heero," automatically corrected the dark haired man and then continued, "Therefore I was under the impression you may know for what reason he has been unavailable for this extended time period? And when he might be coming back."
The panic, once pushed away, fought its way back up into Mr. June's throat. He hadn't really discussed with anyone what to tell Mr. Yuy about Duo. It hadn't been an issue. It wasn't he who was to tell Mr.Yuy what Duo's excuses were. There was no reason to ask Mr. June about Duo's absence. There never had been. That was a question for Delia. What would he say?
"Ah – well, sir – err, Heero, I believe that… That is, I seem to recall Duo telling me that he needed a break. He has, as you said, not had much of a vacation in the time he's worked for the company. And… and he had a fairly traumatic event o-occur…" here, Mr. June was horrified to note that Heero Yuy leaned forward with an considering expression. "I think, but don't know, that maybe he simply needed some time t-to himself?"
Mr. June had never been a good liar. And finding himself giving more information than Mr. Yuy had heard was reason enough to talk to someone about never being placed in this position again. Someone big and upstairs, preferably high upstairs. He'd hit his knees after this meeting and beg for divine intervention.
No, how about now? Mr. June began to swiftly pray that somehow he'd find a reprieve. And yet it looked very much like Mr. Yuy intended to get whatever information he could squeeze from the shy man's head.
But miraculous intervention or just plain luck, Mr. June took note of the pattern on his employer's face as slow internalization of something he'd said inadvertently began and then Mr. Yuy settled again and nodded, apparently satisfied.
"I see," Heero Yuy finally stated. "Thank you. And would you happen to know when he'll be back? But then, from what you've said, it sounds a tad uncertain."
"Err, yes. I think it may be uncertain, but I'd think soon." Mr. June stumbled, trying not to say too much again and feeling terribly as if he were being fed an out.
"Well," said his new boss as he stood and held out his hand for Mr. June to take. "Thank you, Mr. June. I appreciate your confidence as well as your ability to have fulfilled your job so very well. I hope to keep you on as a member of our team for a long while to come."
"Of course, thank you as well, Mr. Yuy," Mr. June answered, face red as he prepared to run.
"Heero," came the correction with a small smile.
"Yes. Heero." Mr. June amended and with a grateful nod of his head, exited the office and carefully walked to the elevator where he got on and punched the number for his floor.
As the silver doors slid shut, Mr. June realized something.
He hadn't given his name.
- - - - - - - - - -
Behind the closed door, Mr. Yuy turned and plucked the slender file from his desk. "Wufei," his voice soft.
From a side door, a slender man, easily mistaken by Americans for Japanese because everyone knew Americans couldn't tell the difference, but who was actually Chinese by birth, stepped into the room and stood quietly.
"Would you do me a favor?" and while the tone of the request sounded more like a command, both men knew very well it was just that, a request. "It will take time away from your Sally, I'm afraid."
"What is it, Heero?"
"I need an employee looked into," and here, Heero Yuy plucked a platinum pen, heavy and cool, from the desk and wrote in fine ink a name on a small memo pad. Holding it out to his friend he sighed. "Let's find out what this 'medical condition' is that he has, shall we?"
Wufei Chang, a calm man and very much not a body guard for Heero Yuy needed no such thing, merely nodded, taking the paper between thumb and forefinger.
"I'll see what I can do."
- - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - -
"Umm, so.." the softened lilt to the secretary's voice tips him off as to a shift in perception. Duo turns and eyes the young woman, taking note of her flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes. Oh yes, she's beautiful. Pity, really. She probably even knows it. It's the trouble with people who are beautiful, knowing it. Duo prefers the kind who don't have a clue. They're more real in a sense.
Or maybe not. He gives her a half smile, not willing to go into full blown flirt mode here in the waiting room when his boss might step out any second from the double oak doors at his side.
"I've uh, heard about you," she's trying, bless her. And that violet gaze is virtually making her stupid. She groans inwardly as she hears herself.
"You have, have you?" okay, so he couldn't help the little flirt in him. He tucks the arm holding his file closer to his abdomen and tilts his head to one side, knowing that when he does this, his braid sways a tad to one side and women love to see that, the end flipping against his hip. "All bad I hope."
"Well yes, or - oh! No, no I mean.," she stammers and he laughs. Then realizing that what she's doing is fairly obvious, she laughs as well.
"Look…" he pauses and reaches out, plucking her name plate an inch off of the desk and tilts it so he can read it, " - Shelly, it's nice of you but I'm about to have a meeting with Mr. Headhunter himself. How about we talk after, if I'm still with my head?" He shoots her a cocky grin and is pleased to see her turn a brighter shade of red. Oh yes, there is something powerful, very powerful about a singular look at a woman.
Duo likes the reactions he gets. It helps keep everything else at bay. Searching so desperately for some sense of control over his own destiny, a sense of control that doesn't include any of his other vices, alcohol being the least of his worries. It was nice when he batted his eyes a few times and they flocked to him.
He'd been mowing his way through the hordes in the last two weeks since coming back. And she was number, oh, fifteen was it?
"I think that would be nice," she simpers and Duo smiles in response, watching how a simple smile can make her heart beat a tad faster. She hasn't been paying attention to the gossip from the mail room he knows is spoken about him, or she simply doesn't care.
Not that he cares either way.
"And if I do have my head, would you like to -" Duo purrs.
"Ms. Estry, please send Mr. Maxwell in," the sharp voice from the telephone at her elbow makes the pair of them jump. Shelly gives Duo a guilty grin before she touches a page button and in a collected, professional voice one would expect from the secretary of a president of a large company, intones her acceptance.
"Go right ahead in, Mr. Maxwell."
Duo feels her eyes on him as he opens the door and enters.
The office within, man. Nice one, really. He manages to fix his mask on more firmly, refusing to gape around him, but he makes a sudden and quick decision that this office is incredibly impersonal. He is envious for a moment, wishing his office had the same, inhuman sense to it, as if no one lived there.
"Mr. Maxwell," the man at the desk stands and holds out his hand and Duo takes it with a half smile that falters. "Please sit."
Duo sees a reflection of the office in the man who reseats himself with a touch to his suit jacket to keep it from unwanted wrinkles. Then his violet eyes flicker down to the file on the table. It has official written all over it, heavy enough for a coffee table read, the thing has to be at least four inches deep.
He whistles, adjusting his tie as he does so. "I hope that's not all of my sins there in that file," he jokes and looks back to the pair of blue eyes staring at him, as piercing and as cold as a bird of prey. With a sense of dread, Duo realizes he is actually hoping that his name is not on that file tab. There is no reason to have that much information on him.
"Your… sins, Mr. Maxwell? What a strange choice of words."
Duo's mask settles quietly and he tucks his initial reaction into his gut where it lays, trembling like a dove hiding from a hunting dog, its wing shot through. He can feel the seeping of blood from the wound drip down into the base of his soul. "I meant it as a joke, Mr. Yuy." Something tells him that Mr. Yuy doesn't care for him much.
Good. Because he finds he doesn't care much for Mr. Yuy.
Mr. Yuy sighs as if put upon and opens the folder, looking at it a moment before speaking to it. "In here, Mr. Maxwell, I have a great many reports. Some are glowing, amazing accounts of your more than adequate work. Some have a far darker spin to them. You do realize, Mr. Maxwell," and here, the man's blue eyes swoop back upwards and fix on Duo's, "that I care about the health of each and every one of my employees. If you are ill, as your file seems to indicate you having had to take a great amount of time off for health reasons, though it does not tell much of what exactly the health issue is, then I need to be assured you are not bound for a relapse."
Duo could feel his body go hard. Well, that was a veiled threat. "I don't see a relapse happening any time soon, sir," he grinds out stiffly.
"Good," Mr. Yuy responds and looks pointedly at his employee. I expect it to remain that way."
Then, without skipping a beat, he continues, flipping through some papers within the file, "You work sixty plus hours a week, you're well liked among your coworkers, you seem to even be a subject of great consideration in our mail room." There is a hint of something in that voice and Duo doesn't like it. Mockery, perhaps?
Besides, the man has only been here for little under two months. How did he learn where the main brunt of gossip comes from?
Damn him already. Duo snarls within, dragging his wounded wing even deeper inside, wondering if the flare of disgust and rage shows in his eyes and hoping that his mask has remained true to its power of concealment. "So I've heard, Mr. Yuy."
"As have I. I wonder how you manage to get such a reputation, working this long. And seeing the work you've brought in, I dare say much of your time is being put into the private time you have as well. In fact, Mr. Maxwell, considering your strange propensity to be able to fulfill whatever needs your coworkers have and your exemplary work record with almost no vacations and only a handful of sick days over four and a half years as well as a decided drive to do your work and do it well, I would say you are quite a gift to this company. I hope you remain that way." Mr. Yuy stands at that and holds out a hand.
Duo, realizing he had stood as well, stares at the hand and then takes it as professionally as he's able but he can't force his eyes to match his smile, he never seems to be able to do that. "I hope so too, sir."
A moment later, exiting the office, Duo holds his folder closer to himself, reminding himself he can get someone else to show Mr. Yuy the plans he has drawn up for the Ulat case because that was not what Mr. Yuy had asked him up for.
Not allowing a shattering experience like that to affect his memory, he gives the girl at the desk a small grin. "Head still on!" and passes on before she can ask for a date. He has to say no anyway. He has things to do tonight.
Work goes quickly and Duo manages to put a few projects he'd slated to finish that night to the side, considering that he had two weeks yet on most of them, finishing the most important, putting a note on the Ulat folder for the Holdings Department head, Mrs. Iveron, a rather difficult woman and very capable of taking responsibility for the good ideas in the folder when she presents it to Mr. Yuy later in the week, he tucks his umbrella under his arm and exits, past the waterfall stairs outside.
The aspen trio whispers something he won't listen to as he lifts his hand and hails a taxi. The yellow slash of color across the black and silver of this upper crust business district seems almost garish and wrong. But that's okay. Because where it stops, it will fit right in.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Sara Nesi thinks her parents were jewish. She figures that makes her a bit of an anomaly, considering she is deeply Christian. But maybe not. She knows, however, that whatever her parents were, she's sure to follow her own path in life and if that path includes going to church every Sunday morning, then so be it. And if that path also includes Ides Tavern, then it does too.
She never drinks. She isn't old enough to, actually. But the barkeep, a bear of a man named Jerome, likes her and it keeps her warm until three or four a.m. She doesn't have to walk the streets this way either because Jerome pays her if she picks up the peanut shells and helps him wipe down the bar after closing time. "Never bin cleaner'n when you were 'round, kid," he'd say and she likes that he needs her.
She's only fifteen, skinny as a stork with eyes too big for a face that it too bony. Her nose doesn't fit her face, longer than it should be, and yet there is in her an upcoming beauty many of the older men recognize because they know more about how women grow then the younger men do who play darts in the back of the bar and slap one another on the backs about who messed with who last night.
Because it's Thursday evening, there aren't that many of the younger types in the bar. Most of the men in the building are regulars and they sit quietly over pint glasses of ale because Jerome likes to call his place an Irish pub, stating that he's half Irish so he might as well serve drinks like the Irish do.
She sits at the bar, swinging her scrawny legs and chewing on a peanut shell as she watches the soccer tournament on television. The sound is off, but she doesn't need sound to know what's going on. In the background someone has fed the jukebox and it's playing old Guns n'Roses. Because of the choice, she thinks it might be Ned because Ned is a child of the eighties, complete with outdated mullet, but she can't be sure. There are some unknown faces in the tavern.
Ides Tavern is a fairly straight up, yank tavern. It is obvious what it is by how it looks on the outside. People don't come here to dance. People don't come here to meet classy folks. They don't come here to deal drugs and they don't come here to hang out with the up and coming crowd. They come here to pick up women with hair spray clouds following them wherever they go and to drink pints of ale courtesy of Jerome. It is a rather select clientele. And the tavern crew is rather comfortable with the fact that they're closed minded, lower class, blue collar, stiffs.
But just like any crew, there is always going to be some anomalies. Not too many mind you, but one or two fit the bill nicely and keep everyone entertained.
Roger Paulson is classified as an anomaly in the Ides Tavern. A psychologist with a 200K job and a wife and three kids in ivy league schools as well as one more heading there next year, he doesn't fit. Just showed up one day, seven years before, dead drunk from a run about on the north side, and wanting to find a place that would serve him good whiskey. Jerome had plenty of that and some fellow in the cab he'd caught told him so and he ended up in Ides. He hadn't left either.
Roger isn't a drunk nor is he an alcoholic. He comes in once or twice a month and everyone knows him. Plastered men solicit his advice and he charges them a shot of whiskey for his words and they cough up the money even though he has enough to buy round after round for the entire bar.
Nick Cherry is another. Sara likes him because he's cute, lanky like her, and as blonde as a Florida beach sun. He rarely drinks but he likes the pool tables and the darts and he always brings a date. His straight edge ways don't bother any of the guys and they tolerate the fact that he refuses to get drunk with the rest of them because he's good looking and he's a sober, quiet spoken man that a body can't help but like. Funny as hell, too.
Of course, everyone felt sorry for Nick too. He has a habit of taking out girls that need him and then after a few weeks of being used for his money or his listening ear, he's always dumped usually because he's "too nice." No one has the heart to tell Nick that the girls are right. He's going for girls who don't want to take away the innocence that they don't even remember having and it frightens them. He needs to go for some gal from a church.
Which is exactly why Sara goes to church and why she's a Christian. Or at least why she started a year ago. She wants to be that nice girl that Nick will look at one day and realize what he's had under his nose all this time. Then he'll pick her up and take her back home and let her stay in his house and they'll get married and he'll bring her flowers from her garden every day. Even in the winter because she'll ask him to make a green house abutting the house and he'll do it because he'll do anything for his young wife.
Sara hasn't told anyone but Duo about this though. She's just waiting for Nick to notice her. So far he's keeping to the girls with the hair sprayed, funny colored hair and the orange, alien faces with too much cake foundation on.
She leans her elbow on the counter and pulls the peanut shell out of her mouth, staring at how the dark valleys and lighter colored ridge patterns runs up and down the curved sides. One of the teams scores a team but she doesn't know who is playing. She is mentally rooting for the team in green and white because she likes their uniforms best, but she won't mind if they lose.
With a sigh she drops her arm, curling her fingers around the peanut shell, lays her head on her upper arm, and stares at the man sitting next to her.
He smiles over his pint at her, his long hair curling around his shoulder and then weaving it's way across his sleeve because that's how she put it. He'll try and keep his arm still for as long as he can for her. It's just the way Duo Maxwell is.
"Bored, kid?" he grins.
"Nah," she smiles back. "Just wondering where you been."
Duo Maxwell is another of the anomalies. He has long hair so he's like a hippy, but it's pretty hair, in a braid most often, and he keeps his face clean shaven. He usually comes to Ides twice a month or so and has for forever. Sometimes he brings a friend along with him, but usually he comes alone. And the friends never come back. And she never likes them much. They remind her of hungry mouths, the friends he brings, sucking off energy from the light he carries around in himself.
Sara has told Duo things that she hasn't told anyone. And he's told her things he's never told anyone, or so he claims. She doesn't miss the sudden flash of pain in his eyes and he doesn't try to hide it behind the mask he's wearing, the one she can see right through. "Rehab," he answers quietly.
"AA?" she lifts a brow. There's a bunch of guys here who go to AA meetings regularly.
"A-yup," he nods and draws a happy face in the dewy side of his glass. "Clean for a month and a half, until t'night."
She sighs. "Sucks to be you."
He laughs then and nods. "Yeah. It does."
Sara isn't stupid and she folds her hand across her chin and chews on the knuckle of her thumb. "So what set you off?" As he looks at her as if she shouldn't know that kind of thing she grins. "I've seen so many fall off, Duo, you'd never believe it. It's always somethin'."
"Damn, why couldn't you have been my fuck buddy?" he growls. She doesn't take offense at the words because she's heard them before and she knows what they mean.
"Because I don't touch the stuff," she answers.
"I got a new boss at work."
"Yeah?" she glances at the television. Someone is driving down center, the ball is skipped around deftly in feet that seem to be as capable as hands holding an egg, and then stolen just as easily, heading back the other way.
"Yeah, blue eyes."
Sara pauses and then looks back at her friend. "Hmm.." and she almost doesn't pry. But curiosity gets the better of her. "So what's so bad about blue eyes?"
He laughs bitterly and she isn't surprised or saddened by it. It's half the reason why most of the patrons of Ides can talk to her. Sara has seen enough pain in her life to fill a ten thousand gallon oil drum, but she's remained innocent somehow through it all. It can't touch her like it touches them, hearing about their pain. It's meaningless in the way a reading of Shakespeare is to the brain of a five year old. Being around Sara is like being in a temple. Your words just resound and come back to you, as empty as they were when you let them go. But because this temple has muddy hazel eyes and a too long nose and is going to be beautiful one day, you don't feel the need to pick them back up again and you're free in a way. At least for the moment.
"Nothin'," he complains. "It was just an observation. He's japanese, they say, and he's got blue eyes. It's weird. He hates me. And he knows that I'm back from rehab. Told me to get m'shit together or get out."
"He really said that?" She knows where Duo works. It is strange to think of any of those people she's seen walk in and out of the building in their suits and ties as having the ability to say get yer shit t'gether or get out.
"Not in so many words, no. But he was saying it anyway. And I think Delia spilled the beans. It isn't so bad that he hates me. I mean, I'll rarely see him at all. Never saw his dad but once. It's the fact that Delia told him. She said she wasn't going to say a word." He lifts the untouched pint and then puts it back down on the counter. "Dammit."
"You can still walk out, y'know," Sara reminds him and reaches over, pushing the glass away from his laxe fingers.
"From work? or from here?" he smiles at her painfully.
"Both, I guess," she shrugs and watches him snake a hand out and grab the glass, pull it closer.
"Yeah, so it's up to me, isn't it?"
He's not looking at her anymore though and she knows he's not really asking her. But she answers anyway.
"Yep. It's up to you." And with a soft sigh, she watches him tip back the glass and take down the amber liquid as if it were air.
Then she adds gently and to herself more than to anyone near, "Just wish it weren't."
He grimaces and puts the glass down, hooks his arm around her shoulder and snorts in humor. "You and me both, kid." And with his warmth draped over her, she looks up to see how the team in green and white are doing.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"DELIA!" the thunder of a name being called from a distance wakes up Delia Underwood from a deep sleep. She can hear a pounding but it's not anywhere nearby. Still, she could have sworn she heard her name. What was it with the neighbors? Were they having a party again? Weren't they gone? She had thought they were gone to the west coast for the week. She'd been looking forward to full nights of sleep.
She sits up, looking for her watch and once finding it, touching the knob on the side and reading the time.
"DELIA!"
Frowning, she stands and goes to her bedroom window. Opening it, she looks out but the screen prevents her from seeing well. She can hear the pounding though.
"What is it?" a gentle mumble comes from her bed and she looks back at where Matthew lays, wondering if she should trouble him. But she is sure she knows who that voice belonged to.
"Nothing, hon. Go to sleep," she smiles and wrapping her robe around her body, patters down the steps and to the front door.
"DELIIAAAA!" the loud call is clear now with the front door open. As is the pounding. Shivering, Delia steps out onto the steps and stares at the ragged, braided man pounding on her neighbor's door.
"Duo?" She cuts him off as he starts to call her a fourth time. "Duo. It's three in the morning, what on earth?"
He leans his head on the door and looks at her blearily. "Hey, you moved!" he complains as he pushes off of the door and stumbles to her.
Taking his arm, she helps him inside and lets him fall onto the couch. "What are you doing, Duo? You're drunk!" Delia can't keep the displeasure from her voice.
"Fuck you," he snarls and she stares, shocked.
"Delia?" Matthew, tying his robe, enters the living room and touches a light switch. A small lamp near the window flares to life. "What is going - oh, Duo!" He takes everything in with a glance and then frowns.
"An' fuckyu too!" the drunk man points a wavering finger at Matthew.
Delia sighs. Duo rarely has gotten drunk. She can count easily the times she's seen him in this state. But never has he been mean. Duo was more of what one would call a happy drunk. This was definitely not happy.
With a frown, she quickly retrieves a bucket from under the downstairs bathroom sink, fills the bottom of it with water and returns, placing it beside the now quiet Duo. "Duo, why don't you sleep this off, honey," she murmurs in a placating way.
"Hn. Sure. So y'kin stab me'n th'back agin!" he raises his head and stares at her balefully. "'Spose'ta be m'friend, Delia."
"Now look here, Duo," Matthew shows a rare fit of temper and barks out at the ill man on his couch.
"Matthew, please," Delia's plea mixes with another round of "fuck yous" from their patient, ending in a soft moan of, "Think'm gon'be sick."
She tucks her hand under Duo's hair and guides him to lean over the bucket where he begins to relieve his body of the fouls smelling stuff. She closes her eyes and tries to ignore the stench and when he's done, looks over at Matthew tiredly. "Go back to bed, Matt. I'll take care of this."
Matthew, stubborn for once and completely unbiddable, scowls and sits in a chair across from her. "I think I shall stay here, my dear," in his PBS detective voice. She's come to know the voice and he's told her all about his small fantasy and she understands it so she doesn't fight him on it, though things would be easier if she only had Duo to tend to and worry over.
Duo is sick again and she is careful to keep his braid from falling into the bucket. When it seems he's done, she takes a chance and goes to dump the contents into the toilet, rinse out the bucket, refill it's bottom with about an inch of clean water, and then return.
Duo is breathing heavily on the couch, his face pale and his eyes small slits of silver which watch her seat herself beside him. With her hand on the rim of the bucket, she gives him a long hard look.
He whimpers.
"What is it, Duo?" she sighs.
"Fucker thre-threatened me.." Duo moans in a very Duo like whine. It was rare, but she'd been party to it a time or two. Usually when they wanted something from Matthew. Still, it is strange to hear it in earnest.
"Who threatened you, Duo?" Matthew straightens up instantly, bristling. He had a priority list. Delia was first on that list and no one was allowed to hurt her. But Duo brought up a close second in his mind. It warms her to see him so quickly leap into protective mode.
"Mr. Fuckin' I Own You Yuy, thaz hoo!" Duo spits out and then groans in pain. "I dun'feel so good."
"You're drunk, Duo. I don't expect you've ever felt good when you were this drunk," she reminds him.
"Use'ta b'able ta drink morr," he slurs and smiles up at her. "Y'know, 'e's got th'prittiest eyes. All blue, like th'sky on'y prettier…"
"So I've heard," Delia answers and then in a rush to distract him from talking about Heero Yuy in that manner in front of Matthew or anyone, for that matter, she puts her hand on his forehead. "You should rest, Duo. We'll talk about it in the morning."
"Talk bou'wha?" he smiles again. "Blue?"
"No, about the threats," she hesitates to say, but throws out desperately.
"Oh," his face turns black again and he closes his eyes, rolling over on his side and tucking his knees up to his chest in misery. "Yeah. Can't b'lieve y'told him I was a drunk, Dee. Go'way, hunh?"
"Told him - " Delia stops and stares at the suddenly snoring man on her couch.
With a sigh, she stands up and looks over at Matthew. At a loss, she shakes her head and leans over, picking up his hand and giving it a tug. He follows with a shocked expression still, then recalls himself and kisses the side of her mouth.
"We'll work out whatever it is in the morning, Delia. I'm sure it's something we can explain."
But she wasn't all that certain if it was.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
Duo wakens around eleven in the morning, his head pounding and his body feeling drained. The scent of coffee drifts over his nostrils and he cracks an eye into the bright afternoon sunshine coming through the window. Why couldn't it have rained today or something, he wonders. Then at least the sunshine would be muted.
He wonders at the room he finds himself in for a moment before he recognizes it as the one he helped break in the first night Delia and Matthew moved in together. He'd slept right here. On Matthew's couch. Or, rather, it was their couch now. There wasn't any need to use single possessives when you were talking about Matthew and Delia any longer. Everything that had been one or the other's was now a "theirs."
Amazing how that happens.
A rustle in the direction of the kitchen reminds him that he's not alone and with a moan, he slowly sits up.
"Here," a cup of coffee is thrust before him. He stares at the pale hand and the peach colored nails a moment before he takes the cobalt blue cup from her. Something about that color reminds him of -
Yeah, no need to go there. Not this morning and on an empty stomach.
"I got drunk," he sighs.
"Yes," she answers and he winces as he looks up, his eyes catching some light before focusing in the shadows of her face.
"Sorry." He has been a shmuck. A real shmuck, not a pretend one. "And I did it right after he told me not to, either." He groans.
"He told you not to get drunk?" Delia seems honestly surprised. "How could he have ever known?"
Narrowing his eyes against the sun and against the unkind thoughts in his head, he squints at her. "Figured you'd told him," and he almost manages to keep the frigid chill out of his voice.
"Oh Duo," she sits down next to him, touching his knee and he doesn't pull away. "I told him you had a sensitive medical issue and that you'd come back when you were well. I said nothing about your drinking." Staring at him, she tightened her hold on his knee. "Duo? You have to believe me. I would never do anything like that to you. I can even show you your file. It has - "
"Speaking of my file," he interrupts. "Why the fuck is it so thick?"
"Thick?" she stares at him. "What do you mean thick? It isn't any different from anyone else's. And I don't think I'd call that thick, really."
"What do you mean, you wouldn't call it thick? Delia, the thing is this deep!" and he holds up his finger and thumb, indicating how far top and bottom are from one another.
She stares at his fingers and shakes her head. "No, Duo. I've seen your file. It isn't that thick. It's the same as mine. It has a few of your forms, like insurance and some contract forms in it, but it isn't even a tenth of that thickness. Why did you think it was that large?"
Duo blushes. "Because he - Mr. Yuy, had it on his desk. Or… well, I thought he did." He rubs his temple and then runs his fingertips across his brow with a grimace. "Man, fell off the wagon for a misunderstanding." There is a sense of defeat in his voice and it scares Delia Utherwood.
"You didn't fall off, Duo. You had a minor glitch, like Matthew calls them. Don't think like that!"
He gives her a sardonic grin and gripping his cup, stands up. "What did I say last night?"
Blushing, she recounts what she can recall and ends with a soft, "But I understood. And I helped as well as I could."
They both knew what she was talking about and he grips her arm, pulling her up into a fierce hug. "Thank you, Dee. I don't know what I'd do without you, girl."
She laughs in a broken, choked up sort of way into his shoulder and hugs him tightly back. "You'd keep on doing what you do, but you'd just be without me."
"Yeah, but I-"
The phone rings and the pair look over at it. With a sigh, Delia lets go of her friend and goes to pick it up.
"Delia speaking…. Oh hello, Shelly. - Hmm? Yes, he's here. I'm glad Matthew told you. … no, no he'll be well by tomorrow I'm sure. I just wanted to keep an eye on him. He was pretty ill last night…. Thank you. Thank you, I'll tell him. Okay, goodbye."
Letting the handset click into the cradle with a slow, deliberate motion, Delia turns a concerned look upon Duo and chews on her lower lip.
"Mr. Fuckin' Jerkwad himself?" he lets fly, watching how she winces away from his enmity. Hatred. That's another type of power. Hatred and sex. He was good at both, but he generally tried to keep her safe from those parts of himself.
"Yes," she murmurs and then, hesitantly adds, "he wants you to come in to see him tomorrow morning, first thing. Shelly said that if you're better, he'll expect it."
"Yeah," he grumbles. "I bet he will."
- - - - - - - - - - - -
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((Another chapter done! I can hardly believe it! I think I'm very grateful for weekends off. I had forgotten who I was there for a while with all the traveling and stuff. But with snow coming, travel is out and I'm snowbound to my home town. Yay!
Anyway, on to you marvelous reviewer peoples!
BlackX: Hee hee. I'm glad you liked it! Thank you! I hope chapter two managed to fit in with whatever expectations ch. one started!
Dyna: There ARE a lot of characters! Though some of them only pop up once or twice. I've taken to keeping a document solely to keep track of who is where. Never had to do that before. : ) But it's fun! Glad you're willing to slog through all the words and enjoy the story! I promise I'll keep at it! I just wanted to finish Yoedian Arl. I had another fic I was going to do as well, but I'm putting that to the side until this one is done. I don't wanna be cruel! So the updates shall come more quickly than I'd supposed.
Crimson Release: Thank you! I shall keep to it as well as I'm able! Glad you're enjoying it!
kcgal: Wow. Thank you very much. I think Duo has a tough road ahead of him. I can't claim angst as well as some marvelous authors, but hopefully this will be a good stab at it without being too over the top.
Leemax: Thank you! And yeah, I'm a 1x2 fan too. Heck, I'm a "anyone goes!" fan, actually. : )
Blooknaburg: Ooo! Chewing on fiction. I'll tell Duo to beware of the drool -heh-. So yeah! Hee-chan will do some whipping I hope soon. But then again, maybe Duo will have to do the whipping. Either way you look at it, I don't think they got off to a very good start. I'm so glad you like it! I do too::beaming: ))