Big Ol' Texas Soul

by Memeal

One night, Duo Maxwell, golden child of the Yuy Business Corporation, disappears. When he returns, everything has changed. One man will save him from his secret. But how can he - when his very presence gives Duo nightmares? AU Slash

3. Chapter Three

Big Ol' Texas Soul

"The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.
'Please - tame me!' he said."
- Antoine de Saint Exupery

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The coffee in Duo's hand is cooling already. Across the top a skim of pale white tells the entire world of Mr. June's distinct dislike for anything close to real cream for his coffee.

The man had a personal vendetta against milk. If it was what mankind needed, they'd have been born a cow. Hell, even cows didn't drink milk after a point of time. Why should human kind feel it necessary to continue suckling at a teat that wasn't theirs?

Or that is how Duo thinks of Matthew's opinions of the matter. The truth is actually far less crude and far more PBS'ish, kind of like Oliver Twist asking for more, never having enough. Matthew June is careful with his money and he sees no reason to spend that much money on cream. And as for milk, it gives him a rash.

The whirling oily sheen of fake pale white undulates when Duo coughs. His breath slants across the surface but cannot seem break the oils apart. He tilts his cup to one side and then to the other, watching the play of light across it, a rainbow in your cup of coffee. It makes him laugh and the laugh hurts his head.

The sound of a shower going, like a whine of a distant engine, informs him exactly where Delia has gone since she left him after hanging up the phone. He stands, holding the cup to his ribs and not noticing nor caring how its warmth seeps into his palms, trying to flitter against his stomach. Warmth is not helping his headache, it's not helping his hangover. And damned if he'll drink coffee. He needs to make a phone call instead.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Tate Burnside first came to be called Burnie by his mother. She hadn't been the most maternal of women. Her idea of loving relationship was a man from the local bar, her bedroom, and making sure to scream so loud her five children couldn't sleep because the walls were altogether thin between her bedroom and theirs. Burnie came to know the sound of women reaching orgasm before he even knew the sound of his own name.

The day he turned two and four months, his father had left them all to try and find a way to live better with a Las Vegas show girl, like the worst, most idiotic Southern written cheap novel plot. Since that day, he'd been called Burnie. Even from two and four months, he keeps a memory of the look on his mother's face when she informed him that his 'father' was a low down good for nothing shit fly boy and she'd die before she let her youngest be named after him. She renamed him Burnie and he thinks even now how it was ironic, being called a parody of his father's last name instead of the honest disgust of his father's first. Time did nothing to erase the burden of that first name.

There were five of them to begin with. Now, he's the last of three and still the only boy. His oldest sister died of complications due to AIDs at the age of twenty seven, two years before he moved in with Duo. The second sister became a mother by fourteen and has four kids of her own. Like her mother, three are from different fathers and the oldest of her four knows what it was like to have a thin wall between herself and her mother's love. He doesn't talk to his second sister much, she looks nothing like his mother but there is a light in her eyes that makes his stomach churn with a glimmering pool that he doesn't want to believe is hatred. If he keeps away from her, he can feel pity.

His third, Odessa, turned twenty six this July and works for a high power lawyer in New York City. Unmarried, she reads big books that she brings up along with famous names she slings at her siblings whenever she can, trying desperately to prove to someone that she has worth. She was always the pretty one of the family. She was the one that was most outgoing, as opposed to the shy milk sops the rest of them were. And she was the one who had been sexually abused when she was nine. She is a lesbian who hasn't come out, but she's told Burnie and he doesn't think she was born that way, like the other lesbians he's met. He feels positive that she chose women because they couldn't tear her insides like his mother's second husband had. He still speaks to Odessa on holidays. She is the only of his siblings he does.

Myriam, only two years older than he and just thirteen months younger than Odessa, committed suicide when she was sixteen. She'd left no note before she stole their step father's hunting rifle and used it on herself. She had shot herself towards midnight in the middle of the family living room and Burnie is convinced that she positioned herself so that when the bullet tore through her brain, she'd be sure to fall on her mother's favorite couch.

The gun shot had torn the entire family from their rooms. Burnie's world slowly shattered into shards of glass and broke away the last tie that kept him bound. Myrian was the poet, the gentle one, who had loved Burnie and carried him in her own pudgy arms when he was young. She'd been all of the mother she was able, even at two years older and barely able to fulfill the natural instinct in her to love someone, anyone.

Burnie had stood at the doorway to the living room, staring at the white socks with pink hearts on his sister's twitching feet. His mother screamed at Myriam's body and kicked her and called her an ungrateful little bitch. Imagine, her doing that on purpose. Of course she had, and they all knew it. So his mother had felt it perfectly acceptable to kick her one last time and scream at her just moments after the gun shot had declared war on the paisley couch.

Burnie left home soon after. He was only fifteen but he said he was sixteen and got a series of under the table jobs at restaurants down on the west side of town where stew bums rounded out the corners and french fries could be a couple of days old, but they were a buck a basket.

For extra income, he made computers from parts he bought for cheap from people who didn't like their computers anymore. He could use an old tower, soak it in rubbing alcohol until it was clean. Then he'd take the old fans and modems and connectors and slot coverings and buy premium CPUs and hard drives and sometimes a new CD or DVD drive if there wasn't already one in there. And he'd put it all together and sell it as if it were new. He could make quite a bit off of a refurbished system like that and he always put a warranty on them because he knew the newer pieces wouldn't be a problem. The parts to replace filled a shelf in the bathroom of his studio apartment.

Then, at seventeen, he'd passed his GED, the test almost laughable to a kid as naturally smart as he. And with GED under arm and a bit of a sense of entitlement, together with a chip on his bowed shoulders, he'd entered a local college. A scholarship at the end of the year paid for the next three. He's not minded having to pay off that first year, and he worked with the computer gig for an entire year after school was out, paying off some ten thousand in school loans. Not much, considering where he began.

The refurbishing deal was okay but he found that restaurant work could be exchanged for working for an ISP throughout his college career. Still, leaving school he's since begun an internet business, supplying computers that are almost completely new, custom made systems, to private clients all around the world. He even can do some security stuff and he had just branched out into warehousing supplies and becoming a middle man known for cutting corners for his customers just a few months after getting the new apartment with Duo Maxwell. He's doing well for himself and because he lives on coffee and cheap pasta, he has done even better. He figures eventually it will all pay off. He already has thirty four thousand in the bank that he's saved. That is a hell of a lot more than most twenty three year olds can complain over.

Burnie has a girlfriend that he hasn't told anyone about. She is an internet relationship and lives in Sweden. He likes that because he can talk to her while he works and she doesn't know he is focusing some of his attention elsewhere, apart from her. It helps that she isn't the fastest typist in the world and he is.

She has talked of coming to the US to see him. Maybe the next summer? He isn't sure of this. He sent her a picture of Duo and some of the guys hanging out and had picked a semi plain, but sort of cute face from the group, telling her that it was him. She sent him a picture of herself and she looks like a cheerleader in a ski outfit. He will have to break up with her before summer then. Which is really too bad because he likes her. He thinks he could pretend to be sick and die, or maybe he could pretend to be a wife and write her a letter. It is fairly normal that people on the internet lie to one another.

Of course, he wouldn't mind being honest with her if he thought it would get him anywhere. He's talked to her about things like physical appearances and hair and health and other things that he hoped would let him know how good his chances were. The end result? Not good.

The man in the picture has brown hair and a nice smile. Burnie has a need for braces for his lower jaw, his hair is dirty blonde and there isn't enough of it though he's not had to stoop to doing a comb over or anything. He hasn't cut it in a while so it hangs limply to just past his collar and it almost covers where his scalp is starting to show due to male pattern baldness. He is slightly overweight in the belly area and that portion of him is growing, despite his eating little more than Ramen and humus with pita bread. The Macaroni and Cheese doesn't help much, he supposed. He read somewhere that refined flours led to obesity.

Oh, and his feet stink.

It isn't that his feet aren't clean. He struggles often with athlete's foot and he is too lazy to do anything drastic about it. He clears it up some and then he pick it up again. He tries sprays to make his feet less sweaty and special detergents. He buys new socks whenever he can. He even washes his shoes every few weeks. But the smell permeates the fabrics and the act of taking off his shoes lends everything in a room a sour scent that makes people's noses crinkle in disgust. As a result, he rarely takes off his shoes and that only makes the problem worse. It is the perfect Catch 22.

Therefore, he's come to the conclusion that he can't meet his girlfriend from Sweden with a paunch, bad teeth, a balding head, and smelly feet. She doesn't like bad smells. She's said as much when he asked her what smells disgusted her the most. She told him the smell of belly lint and feet. She'd laughed at how that was disgusting to say but insisted it is true. And she won't tell him what belly lint smells like.

He has non-smelly belly lint. He doesn't see himself finding out what the foul smelling belly lint is like.

Body odors aside, it is important to note that while his body may not be a temple, the room where his system resides is very much so. In the dimly lit room aside a bed, sits a great table with two monitors, one on either side. The monitors, networked and set up to accept the same mouse (depending on how far you move it across the desktop, are both black with airbrushed pictures on their sides, a rat with a bull dog collar around its neck on the furthest, and a naked woman with her legs spread wide on the other. Burnie is, if nothing else, very fastidious about his computer space.

File drawers on either side of the chair hold order forms both in and out, manuals, vintage Playboy magazines, and three ring binders full of paperwork. Above the desk on a long shelf is a range of things from a transformer (Megatron), dictionaries, and old computer sci books, to hentai manga shipped in from Japan so that the plots are lost under script Burnie cannot read and a picture of his swedish girlfriend. Below, in amongst the cd cases and the dvd covers and a few stray parts, sits a slender black phone, airbrushed across the top as a black panther. Over the panther is a sheen of invisible packing tape because the artist told him it would keep the paint from being worn off by his hand on his phone all of the time. The tape almost ruins the picture, though he used a table knife to try and smooth it down, because light from the screen glares off of the tape and the image is all but lost.

The phone has a nice electronic call sound that comes over the computer speakers. But rarely does anyone use the phone line to contact him. It's always a bit of a surprise to hear the sound clip from Fifth Element of Leeloo's scream coming over his speakers and he almost spills his Cupa'Noodles on his desk.

"Shit!" Burnie curses and sucks at the broth on the back of his hand, wipes if off on his flannel pj bottoms, then moves a manual to the side so he can put down the cup of noodles while Leeloo screams a second time.

"Burnside's Computers," he says automatically.

The conversation would be rather anticlimactic to explain at present and as only one side of the conversation would be heard over the hum of electronics in Burnie's room, one can only imagine what was the purpose. But it can't have been all that good, for by the time Burnie puts the phone down with a "Sure thing, man. Anytime," in his rather slow, almost drugged out voice, his face no longer looks calm and easy. Rather, he has a bit of a pensive expression and he runs his fingers through his lanky blonde hair with a deep sigh before he gets back to work.

- - - - - - - - - -

Shelly Estry and her newest best friend, Lara from the fourth eastern floor, inking division, chatter together as they wait on Shelly's nonfat tiramisu latte. Lara grips her nonfat mocha with an extra shot and extra chocolate, her raspberry cream muffin perched on top, and watches Shelly with gleaming eyes. Even she knows the great honor involved in being the first person told a piece of gossip.

In fact, if it turns out to be as good as Shelly had promised on the messaging client, Lara may have cause to slip into the office of the accountant at the end of her fourth floor hall. All things are fair when one has a good piece of gossip. Lara figures this means that she can fudge the lines of his marriage by leaning over and telling him in her breathless sort of sexy voice that she's attempted to perfect during the daydreams she infiltrates her bedtime rituals with. Dinner with a glass of wine, dream of sexy married accountant (SMA); television, dream of SMA near to cuddle up to; read latest Steele book with cat on lap, pretend SMA's head is causing the warmth - thus, read aloud; lie down and dream of SMA taking some of Ms. Steele's ideas into his own head to do - practice Sexy Voice.

Nothing brings people together like a good juicy piece of gossip.

Besides, Shelly had said in their early morning messaging in between jobs, it would be nice to "stick it to those bitches down in the mail room, for once."

But now is not the time to talk about gossip. Instead, the two women chat about Lara's newest Nordstroms shopping trip and the purse she got there for five dollars off. It really was last season's model, but none of the old fuddyduddies on Fourth would know it.

Well, except for Ms. Plott. Only, she won't have cause to look at what Lara's carrying on the end of her arm. Ms. Seiara Plott is far more interested in keeping the married accountant on the fourth floor with her at nights and away from his wife. She can't be bothered to even care if Lara has gotten a new, out of season purse. A nice pair of shoes now, she might cattily drop a word or two about. But a purse? There was a man to reel in. Such things as purses were of no consequence.

Armed with their coffees, they sit out on the bench that sit just by the steps leading up to the Yuy building. The birches whisper their own secrets here.

Once settled, Lara leans forward, her eyes piranha bright and her lips parted to show off years of dental work. "So?" she asks, her voice trembling with eagerness.

Shelly shifts on her axis and bumps her knees against the side of the bench. She's been waiting for two hours now to tell this story and it's almost as if she can't help but wait a little longer, gloat over being the only one to know.

"So," she mimics Lara without meaning to. "Mr. Yuy had a meeting this morning. First thing. I came in and hadn't taken off my coat yet, before he comes up. And you know who it is?"

Lara shakes her head, being a faithful audience, not daring to talk and take them both off of the subject when the subject is so important and their coffee break so short.

"Duo. Maxwell." A gasp from Lara makes Shelly smile in triumph. "Or.. Mr. Maxwell, I'll have to call him now." She sighs in sheer pleasure and her cheeks pink. "Yes, Duo Maxwell. He paced the front room and Mr. Yuy was fifteen minutes late." A decidedly evil look comes over her, wicked and mischievous. "You know what I think? I think that he knew Duo… Mr. Maxwell, that is, was coming and he wanted to make him sweat. It was on purpose."

"No!" Lara answers, faithful to the telling, knowing the best moment for dramatic emphasis. She's played this part before.

"Yes!" Shelly doesn't giggle. Rather, her eyes widen in happiness. "Anyway, Duo turns on him and oh, he didn't look happy! He just turns really cold and Mr. Yuy nods in this calm easy way. He's never late. He eyes Duo and as polite as you please, he opens the door and says, 'After you, Mr. Maxwell." I thought Duo was going to reach out and punch him! He mutters something really low and goes inside. Then Mr. Yuy tells me to hold all calls and he leads Duo into his office."

Lara gazes at her watch, concerned about how this seems to be more of a long term, over a good beer story, rather than the type you can slip into ears here and there.

"If you want to hear this, you'll have to take on a few extra minutes, Lara," Shelly sniffs. She sees nothing wrong with a bit of extra time taken for something important. Maybe she chose the wrong person to share this moment with.

Realizing that her role of being confidante is in severe jeopardy, Lara reaches for Shelly's hand and catches it in her own. "I have plenty of time for you, Shelly," she assures her friend smoothly and then giggles because giggling on the part of the audience is more than welcome. And in this case, it's the deciding factor for Shelly laughs and pats her hand.

"Well, I'm not an eavesdropper, but I certainly gave it a good shot. Unfortunately Mr. Yuy's doors are shut so I can't hear. I had a call come through then as well. It was some charity or something and the woman could yammer on. You'd have thought I was the person she had to talk to." Shelly gives a longsuffering look around her. "But then," and the glint has returned, Lara comes in close, "Mr. Chang comes by just as quick as can be. He wears a phone on his belt you see. And he's looking grim but he just enters. I lean over and Duo is sitting there, looking like he's been punched himself. Then the door closes and I tell that stupid woman from whatever stupid charity she's from, that she can just call back.

"I thought they were sacking him. Because a second later Mr. Chang is coming out of the door with his hand around Duo's arm, sort of looking like he's escorting Duo. I tried to give Duo a smile to let him know that things were probably going to be okay, only he didn't look at me. Duo wasn't saying anything, but he sure looked pissed." The two women giggle at this, the idea of saying a word like "pissed" when talking about a man while on a coffee break just too much to resist.

"Heero Yuy sacked Duo Maxwell," Lara's face is shocked as the full message seeps in. This is good!

"No. This is the best part!" Shelly's mouth widens into an enormous smile. "Mr. Yuy calls me in just after. And he tells me, as calm as can be, to pick up the files on the floor," Lara's eyes widen at this, "and then after that, to please box up Mr. Maxwell's things and move them to the adjoining office. Mr. Chang's replacement, he says, will not be back until tomorrow morning."

Lara looks confused. "I thought Wufei Chang was his bodyguard."

Shelly rolls her eyes. "And his personal secretary."

This, indeed, is enormous news and Lara gives an obligatory cackle of glee. "Holy shit!" she whispers harshly. "Oh you lucky bitch! You're going to be working with Duo Maxwell!"

Which, of course, was the entire reason to be excited about the subject, aside from the fact the two have serious gossip which would be shared as soon as she returned. Duo Maxwell had landed the cushiest job in the company.

- - - - - - - - - -

It is a shame that Duo Maxwell did not share their sentiment. Sitting in the passenger seat of a black Mercedes, glaring out of the window and refusing to look at Chang, he really was not altogether happy about the position he had found himself.

The city is a blank to him - but it's just as attributable to the shock he is in, as it is to how he's lived his life up until now. He's seen it in many different aspects, in so many different perspectives, at such different times. A building is a building is a building, whether it's dilapidated or shining new. A road moves into another road, some with pitted holes in their middles, some with shining black asphalt, newly laid. And sifted throughout the main building blocks of the city, the various forms of life, ranging from the bums on the east corner to the pigeons that shit on every surface that tilts slightly horizontal, the falcons that eat the stinky birds and the perfectly coifed men and women driving cars that the cost of which alone could pay the grocery bill for one of those east side bums for three years.

He has, literally seen it all. At the moment, it's a simple backdrop to the drama his life has just become.

The night before, he'd gone to Ides Tower and commiserated with Sara Nesi over a pint of rootbeer. He could call it commiserating despite the fact that Sara had never had had troubles with a boss let alone had a job to lose in the first place. Still, it was better than commiserating with Dr. Paulsen, because Roger only manages to get dead drunk and Duo felt almost certain that despite his overwhelming desire to get plastered, it would help to have a clear mind come seven a.m.

Sara Nesi had leaned on her hand and pulled at her purple lipstick painted lower lip. One of her long pencil thin legs was hooked over the bar stool while the other, she rested her chin on. She was skinny like that. She could tuck her heel up to her ass and both would fit on the stool seat. Her face seemed pale against the black netting of her nylons. Duo could see, now and again, as she moved, that she had on pink panties. It reminded him of a small child because Sara had no idea she was showing off the outer rim of her panties while all she was attempting to do was get comfortable.

He didn't mention the panties to Sara. He wasn't sure what she'd say to that. But he did make a mental note to keep an eye out on Roger Paulsen when he was talking to Sara, because there was something almost wrong about the man sometimes. Not that Roger would do anything to Sara. No one was that stupid. It was just that Duo wasn't sure Roger wouldn't go home and with all of his psychological excuses, make it okay for himself to jack off to a slim sight of pink panties. The thought made Duo want to gag. Straight men were so gross.

"So Mr. Blue Eyes is gonna can you?" She sighed and pulled on her lower lip some more. The lipstick must have been the no smear shit because it didn't transfer at all to her fingertips. "And what'er you gonna do then, Duo?"

Duo shrugged and pulled his braid around his shoulder. He dipped the end of it into his rootbeer foam. He picked up the lion's tail like end, sucking at it and grinning at Sara's giggle. "Dunno," he said a moment after she'd taken a napkin and was drying off the damp tip. "I thought I'd work with Bernie for a while. Or I could go back to what I did before."

Sara raised a brow. She was too young to have been around on the streets when Duo did his "other job." But she's heard enough from him about it. And she's noticed the guys that Duo brings to the bar and how they all seem to know about this other thing Duo used to do. She didn't say anything. She just looked at him and then, when she noticed a pale jean jacket come in through the front door, she dropped her leg and tried to look older by resting a hand onto Duo's upper arm.

Duo grinned. "Nick?" he mouthed and grinned further at how Sara blushed. But Duo was a good guy and instead of making a deal about it, he just leaned in closer so that they can talk more intimately. "Okay, so I couldn't go back. But at the moment, I'm just fuckin' pissed. I mean, he sort of forced this anyway." He ground his teeth and looked down at his rootbeer.

"No," Sara murmured back, "you just needed a better fuck buddy."

Duo grimaced. "That's why I'm drinking with you. So you better not leave me for another fellow tonight."

Sara laughed and hugged him. But they both knew that if Nick Cherry ever realized how he should go for a good girl instead of the alien woman he'd dragged in that night, that all he'd have had to do was call and Duo would have been drinking alone.

Duo didn't hold it against Sara. He understood.

Understanding didn't help much in the morning, however. He'd lost himself in contemplation of a plate of eggs turning slightly more yellow with every moment they were left on his plate. Then he'd gotten up and finished preparing for work because his stomach was a ball of nerves and he couldn't have expected to have any appetite, even if it would have been good for him. Anything he'd have eaten would have been thrown up anyway.

He arrived at Mr. Yuy's office in time to see the secretary pulling her jacket off. She looked at him in surprise and her smile was delighted. He couldn't remember her name. Duo was wonderful at name recall so he figured that it was most likley due to his nervousness. If he had to wait very long this time, he may not know how to speak by the time Mr. Yuy invites him inside. But then, that didn't turn out to be a problem. Mr. Yuy hadn't even gotten to the office yet, the secretary assured him. Would he care to sit?

Duo paced. He couldn't sit. He smoothed the silk of his shirt and tucked his fingers into the back pocket of his jeans. He wanted to rock back and forth on his heels, only that would have seemed infantile.

It might have seemed to any outside observer that Duo Maxwell was a man aware of how his life hung in the balance. Maybe even that he was concerned about how this meeting might turn out. But the truth was an oddity Duo didn't see fit to divulge to general public. That he wasn't concerned about his job might have struck many who had the sensibilities of Matthew June as surprising enough. To go into detail on just what he was concerned about would have done more than just surprise them all.

Duo was too good at hiding. He had had no intentions of letting any cats out of any bags. It bothered him that Mr. Yuy sat in his office, waving a hand and finding out all of Duo's cats without breaking a sweat. Duo sweat plenty trying to bury the stupid things. He didn't want to think that they'd be so easily found.

He had said no to a cup of coffee, checked his watch against the clock to make sure it was on time, checked his watch again to see how much time had passed, debated on leaving a note, debated on remaining and giving the infernal stuck up prig a piece of his mind about making him wait again, debated on remaining and doing other things that might have shocked the secretary enough and Duo as well, that he might have gotten her name just from Mr. Yuy's groan of "Mrs. Whatever, do shut the door." Hell, he had gone over every eventuality ranging from the pair of them going to get a beer together, to Duo getting shoved out of the window by Mr. Chang before having his last dirty secrets put out in a office memo. He was crafting said memo actually, when the elevator dinged and Mr. Yuy stepped out of it.

Duo had the sense that somehow, the bird of prey look he'd noticed before was turned to something resembling a hound, crouched over a fallen fox. He shivered. Then he focused his attention on the man's nose, wondered if there were any blemishes on the man's skin and if he covered them up in order to seem more perfect, felt disdain for someone who'd be so vain as to cover up what made him human, and in the disdain, discovered that he could actually still be pissed off. Actually, going into a meeting while feeling pissed off, where someone would kindly tell you, in as many words as they could cushion the message in, that one was fired, was somewhat of a relief. The last thing Duo could afford to feel was worried or scared or anything worse.

Not being as schooled as the coldness of the man, Duo knew his pride and anger were somewhat visible. Nevertheless, Mr. Yuy didn't seem to find it in himself to address the obvious upset. Rather, he went to his door and opened it. The dark mahogany swung open with a smooth sound of silence. Probably brand new, Duo thought with disgust.

"After you, Mr. Maxwell," the man managed to open the door to his office like he was ushering in an important client.

Duo took a deep breath, then let it out sharply at the first scent of something cool and minty, recognizing it as a new smell and therefore, belonging to Mr. Yuy. Fear rose into him, unbidden and unreasonable. "It won't take that long," he muttered more to himself than anyone as he passed ahead, forcing his mask to take its place once more. Anger was a good enough mask, but sometimes even anger wouldn't serve.

A soft murmur of "hold my calls," reminded Duo he had missed the secretary's name once again, but he ignored it. He wouldn't need her name as it was. Not after that morning.

As the door clicked closed with the preternatural suavity that only a door can manage in a high office like this one, Mr. Yuy's voice offered a chair and the man smoothly made his way to the other side of the office. There, while Duo watched, he drew his silk scarf off and looped it over a small hook. His hat and overcoat followed. The man would not mean to, but he'd make everything seem like business, even undressing. Hell, sex was more than likely a tab A/slot B affair.

Duo's mouth went dry and he looked away, out the windows behind the desk, and into the mayhem and normality of the city beyond.

"I'll stand, thank you," he realized he had missed a step in the dance they were conducting. But he was busy trying to consider the ramifications of simply stating his purpose now, or waiting for the final blow. If he was fired, or laid off, wouldn't it give him cause to use unemployment? But then, how would it affect his employment opportunities later?

Screw it. Matthew was bound to write a glowing recommendation. And it wasn't as if he had worked with the new Mr. Yuy anyway. The man could say nothing.

His thoughts, however, were derailed as the blue eyes turned darker and with no change of modulation in his voice, Mr. Yuy conveyed a full detail of torment and hardship possible to anyone declinging his request in a repeat of, "Take a seat, Mr. Maxwell."

Duo, to his amazement, found he was sitting down. He looked at Mr. Yuy with surprise barely hidden under the fragile mask on his face.

Finally in control, apparently, Mr. Yuy settled onto a small, professional smile. "Now then," he folded his hands and sat back into his chair behind the dark power desk. "I understand you've been ill, Mr. Maxwell."

Duo did a quick scurry in his brain and headed off the snort of disgust before it made it out his nose. Instead, he remained still, confused as to why he wasn't just standing up and leaving.

Mr. Yuy obviously took that as a means to continue as he leaned forward on his elbows, weaving his fingers together before him, thumbs pointing to the ceiling. "Let me be frank, Mr. Maxwell. I am certain that is, in the end, the only way to be."

"Of course," Duo's throat opened up enough to let out the two words, then slammed shut again and wouldn't let him breathe.

"I have a great interest in my company. I have a great interest, actually, in making certain my company is the best." Mr. Yuy's fingers remained still, but his eyebrows shot up with the expression of a man about to close a very advantageous deal. "I do not deal with men in my business who cannot give me results. Neither do I deal with men who are of a half and half morality. I choose, Mr. Maxwell, to keep my contacts, all of them you see, limited to those I know I can trust to do as well for me as I will do for them."

Duo Maxwell wondered if Mr. Yuy had written this all out before and practiced it during the night. Hell, he didn't even have cue cards. Duo wasn't sure he could pull off a speech like this without cue cards.

"Now, I realize that no company is perfect. There will be men and women who make errors, use too much paper, steal office supplies, even steal products or ideas at times. But as we are in the security business, I find it almost necessary to ensure that my business is filled with those whom I feel have a greater degree of good character and strength of will than those we serve. No more important is that, then in those I keep in the upper management, Mr. Maxwell. Those whom I depend on to do what no one else can do."

Those eyebrows really had a lot to say.But Duo Maxwell wasn't sure he could understand them without a decoder ring.

Leaning back in his chair, Duo folded his hands, one over the other, and placed them on his knee. His braid curled up behind him and nudged the back of his neck. It wasn't as silken when shortened ends were sticking out and into his skin. The prickle distracted him and he strove, in his own way, to discern just how long it was going to take Mr. Yuy to get to the point. Then, deciding it didn't matter how long it took Mr. Yuy to get to the point, Duo rose his chin and with an arch tilt to his head, hissed, "Mr. Yuy, I think we all know that the folder you had on your desk the other day has more incriminating evidence than you need to fire me. The mere fact that I'm a drunk would be more than enough."

The dark haired man lifted a brow. Duo wondered if there was a flag journal, like they make for the guys who direct airport traffic. Only this book would describe what left up, right down, meant.

"The folder," Mr. Yuy's eyebrow danced higher. "You have concerns about the contents?"

Duo sighed. "Are you waiting for me to quit? It would make it easier on you, I'm sure. Maybe me too."

"Quit, Mr. Maxwell?" How could the man have managed to look so at ease and yet so completely shocked? It was a cerebral shock though, there was no emotion visible anywhere, even in the man's infernal eyebrows.

"Mr. Yuy," Duo looked down a path he hadn't realized he'd chosen until then," how about I make this easier on us both. I quit." He stood. "Good day." And he almost laughed. He sounded like Matthew.

He wasn't sure what he was waiting for. But the lack of response shouldn't have surprised him. Duo made as if to go.

"Do sit down, Mr. Maxwell," the smooth voice ordered and Duo railed in anger at his body as it obeyed the voice and not him.

Once seated, Mr. Yuy leveled a gaze at the longer haired man. "I am not in the habit of firing men whom are irreplaceable, Mr. Maxwell."

Duo frowned. He could hear a niggling little "but" in there somewhere.

"However," Oh.. so it was a however, not a but - whoop dee doo-, "you have stated a point which cannot be swept under the carpet. Your alcoholism is a rather difficult problem for me, Mr. Maxwell."

Never before had Duo wanted to strangle someone for using his last name so damn often. It was a power trip some of the big wigs used. They both wanted to be sure they didn't forget your name, whilst at the same time, wanted it plain that they were in charge of the situation. There was nothing like the particular use of one's name to put one in one's place.

"Is it?" Duo asked, sarcasm lacing the question.

"Yes, it certainly is. You see, I cannot afford to let you go to another company. Not, I assure you, because I fear for any company secrets. I am positive that you are above such petty acts of disgruntlement. Rather, it is due to the fact that you, as you are, are far more important to the company than many of my other employees. I cannot afford to lose you, Mr. Maxwell. Not to another company, not to illness or death, not even to something as insidious as Ides Tavern."

The hair on the back of Duo's neck rose to tangle with the strands from his braid. "You aren't the one to make that choice," he said as sternly as he could. Somehow, the severity of his voice lilted and proved itself to be nothing but a small humm in the other man's ear.

"Therefore, I have decided that I will simply have to keep you out of Ide's Tavern, and sober as well."

Voices screamed in Duo's head. "I have a new job," he said as calmly as he was able.

"Of course," Mr. Yuy nodded, this making perfect sense to him which made no sense at all to Duo. "And you will begin to work today. Of course, I realize that your pay cannot afford the change in station you will have to undergo. The apartment alone will be almost impossible to cover. Therefore we will work out changes to your salary effective immediately as well."

Duo wasn't sure if he'd been obvious enough. "I quit," he tried.

Mr. Yuy seemed to think this was in line with Everything Else. And Everything Else was to be ignored. "Wufei will come by and help you move out of your apartment. I've directed him to engage a moving company to take all of your things and set them into a storage space. You may go through that later, perhaps."

Duo stared. "You can't do this," he whispered and sensed, somehow, that it wouldn't make any difference.

"Mr. Maxwell," the deep blue eyes seemed to be enjoying this far too much and at Duo's expense. "I have a folder of information which would make it almost impossible for you to ever have a job in this town again. Do not press me."

Of course, not having known Duo long, Mr. Yuy could not have known how that kind of statement was the worst thing anyone could say to Duo Maxwell. With his hands tightened and flat against his thighs, wanting desperately to go to fists, Duo stood slow and steadily. He loosened his jaw so as to speak in a normal tone.

"Mr. Yuy, I do not see any reason to continue working with you. If you think that I will remain because you want to throw some of my dirty laundry about, believe me, I have suffered far worse. Losing position in this world of yours holds far less fear for me than it would for someone like you." Duo attributed his eloquence fully on his overwhelming rage. "I. Quit."

Rage welled up in him and Duo growled in response. In a fit of infantile anger, an inbox near his hand went flying as he swept his hands out in an arc. "Dammit! Don't you get it? I won't work for you. I wouldn't work for you if you paid me triple what you do now!"

Heero Yuy did not rise from his seat. He merely lifted the other brow this time and stared at Duo. The stare alone had the power to undermine the courage of the most strong willed man. Duo, finding nothing to hide behind, felt himself deflate. Shame overwhelmed him. He fought it. "You can't do this," he repeated himself and hated how his ability to use words effectively had simply fled because of a stare down with a spoiled rich boy who wasn't getting his way.

But then, Mr. Yuy had something most spoiled rich boys didn't have. He had those damnable eyes.

"If it is for the good of my company, Mr. Maxwell, you will find there are few things I cannot do." It seemed like such a logical argument. More so, with the smooth man saying it. He'd won and he was merely tying up the last of the deal.

The door opened behind him. Duo looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the secretary (what the hell was her name?) leaning into the space to see what she could. Great, this would be in every ear before lunch time.

Then, he gazed up the white suit that closed the door and met onyx eyes.

"Ah, Wufei," Mr. Yuy made it sound as if he were relieved in the most suave of ways. "Mr. Maxwell has chosen to be somewhat resistant to our idea. But I am sure you can convince him otherwise."

Duo gasped. The man in the white suit looked like he could have convinced Hitler to give up persecuting the Jews. He felt a shiver slip soundlessly under his skin, freezing him from the end of his nose down to his knees. His toes flexed and he was sure his hair could have moved as well, but other than that, and a blink of his eyes, he wasn't able to do much else.

Well, maybe he could. "You … can't do this," he managed hoarsely and inwardly cringed at his lack of intelligence in his arguments.

"Can't?" Mr. Yuy's eyes were definitely laughing at him now. "Mr. Maxwell, I have just offered you a far better paying job, a position wherein you can continue to do well for my company as well as making yourself a well stocked resume for later should you choose to change companies, and a chance to, how shall I say it, get clean? You are telling me you don't want this?"

Duo knew he wasn't doing a very good job at all of hiding his surprise, nor his shame. "I…well, no.. I mean… No, it's not that! I would want all of that. But you can't just… just walk in here and tell me what you're going to do with my life. It is my life, you know." He was sounding more and more stupid with every moment that passed. It made it sound like he really wasn't in charge of his life. He suddenly felt like a child complaining against their parent.

"No one is keeping you here, Mr. Maxwell," Mr. Yuy assured him in a blatant lie. There was a hand on Duo's shoulder, light and insistent. He was fairly certain that should he have tried to stand, it would have held him down. And if that weren't enough, there was the fact that any of his reasons for leaving would probably have been crushed under the smooth wall of the indomitable Mr. Yuy's cool.

Weakness fluttered up and Duo couldn't find a single one of those words he'd used so artfully only moments before.

"Wufei will explain to you the job. He's been waiting for someone to come along who could manage it as skillfully as he has over the past years. I am certain he is delighted that you've accepted this. It will allow you and Sally to have a honeymoon, is that not right, Wufei?"

Wufei Chang gave a small grunt over Duo's head. Just a bit above. Just a bit behind. Duo couldn't be bothered to turn his head.

As if the conversation were well over, Mr. Yuy leaned back in his chair and looked at his watch. "Well then, I have a meeting in fifteen minutes which I'd like to prepare for. Wufei, if you'd be so kind as to help Duo settle into his quarters. Also feel free to take him to the storage space so that he might choose what he wishes to take with him to the apartment. Thank you, Mr. Maxwell. I look forward to working with you."

Somehow, the man had managed to stand and walk around the desk, because his hand was held out before Duo and there was the clean, buffed signs of a recent manicure on the slightly golden skin with the pink nails at each tip. Duo didn't take the hand. Instead, he attempted to slip out from under the demand. He rose to one side, bypassing the hand which, thankfully, withdrew so that he didn't have to brush past.

Shock couldn't begin to explain away how he'd ended up accepting this. He wasn't even sure if he had. He knew only that walking out of the office, he was rising to a slow boil and had been, ever since.

Oh, and that the secretary's name was Estry. Mr. Yuy had said it as Wufei escorted Duo out the door. He'd said, "Ms. Estry, please send me in the Hawkins report," with a tinny voice coming over the small speaker on her desk. Somehow, even modulated and changed, the voice retained the order to it which made Duo understand just why Ms. Estry leapt from her chair and hurried quickly down the hall toward what he could only suppose was a records room.

He felt sorry for her. Because he knew now, just how compelling that voice could be.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The car rolling to a halt draws Duo out of his painful memories. He looks through the window up at the highrise apartment complex. A glaring sign outside of it announces that this is the "Yuy Corp. Apartments" in a direct, uncaring attitude of silver on black. A waterfall slides down from underneath one corner of the apartments and curls around the side of the building in a long, rambling stream, ending finally in a fish pond at the front. A small japanese ornamental bridge spans the pond, a single blotch of red in a world of dark greens and soil and rocks and miniature iron cranes, half poised for flight.

Duo steps out of the car, half afraid that Wufei will come around and take his arm again. A little willingness never hurt sacrificial lambs. Not any more than they'd be hurt in the end, that is.

Following Chang up the steps, Duo glances around himself more, noting the small flower plot along the far side, tucked in against the foot of the building by the stream, and trying its best to add fading color to the autumnal scene. And ahead, there is a doorman at the top of the stairs. Duo felt, despite silk shirt, that he is a little too shabby, too common for this place. Still, there is only a "Mr. Chang" from the doorman and the door opens immediately.

Suddenly, the city changes. No longer is it dully lit. Rather, it harbors evil and eyes and darkness everywhere. Heads turn and gaze. Here is the enemy, those who know they own the world, guide it, direct it, and create it to suit their fancy.

Duo steps into the apartment building, not surprised in the least that the bottom floor is a lobby of sorts, with marble flooring and large pots filled with greenery. He brushes his hand along the rim of one, letting leaves fold over the back of his hand, and is surprised to find that there is earth inside the bowl. So they aren't fake. Yet they're well tended.

They pass a guard at the base who sits before a set of three elevators. The man looks up and smiles. "Hello Mr. Chang. Mrs. Chang-Po is in your suite, sir. She directed me to let you know if you came in."

Wufei nods curtly and to Duo's amazement, even manages a "thank you" before the elevator door closed.

Normally, Duo would have been filling the silence with his voice. Normally he'd have been complaining about Yuy's dealings with him, he'd have called the man all sorts of terrible names, and maybe he'd have been making appreciative comments about the building. But that was when Duo was nervous or afraid or worried or happy or sad or excited or… anything but angry enough to pop. With anger came silence. And Duo is unwilling to say a single word, fearful of where it might take things. The insides of a car or an elevator were not quite the safest places to let things get out of hand when his companion looks as if he could break Duo in half by a simple old fashioned karate chop.

A card slides into a slot alongside the numbers and then a key slipping in to the silver lock with the uppermost number at the top, puts everything into perspective. Duo manages not to be too overwhelmed when the elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open to reveal a mansion.

There is no hallway here. The elevator sits in the center of the penthouse, flanked on all sides by chairs or plants or rugs or, in one case, a half size bookshelf. Duo allows himself the opportunity to gape.

The foyer, for that is what it is, branches off on all sides, leading into the apartment across a green marble floor. Along the walls, on both sides, fountains ease water through copper leaves, over copper flowers, and into large basins from which grow green ferns. The soft sound of tinkling water into green patina copper fills the silence.

Duo swallows. All of this? But he isn't sure if he should speak. Now that they've managed to remain silent so long, he hasn't set up a precedent, really.

Three doors sit, two across from one another, close to the elevator, and a third at the end of the foyer. They remain closed and Wufei walks to the one at the right. A key again jingles and the door, previously locked, swings open.

Wufei watches Duo as the young man slips into the room beyond like a newly introduced kitten. His eyes wide, he stalks along the insides, keeping to the walls without seeming to. It adds a new dimension to the other man that Wufei will have to consider.

Unwilling to agree with what Heero has chosen, yet likewise loathe to give up his opportunity to have time with his wife, Wufei has done this only under gentle protest. He could not begin to say that he understood. Heero has a penchant for taking what he's seen others do and try to do them one better. That is the only way that Wufei can reason out this latest project. Not that he also can't see the possiblity for success. Yes, Duo Maxwell is a man well attuned to what is best for any situation. The man was nothing less than a great loss should Heero have allowed him to get away.

But then, Heero didn't have the reasons for keeping Duo that the other man who had tried this, had. That presented its own set of problems. Only Heero wouldn't have listened anyway. Heero was as stubborn as a bear and just as stupid at times. Wufei had given up.

Wufei Chang lets the door close behind him. "The penthouse has been split into three apartments which can be used in tandem or seperately," he says and calmly ignores the skittish leap the other man gives. Likewise, he doesn't attend to the hasty brushing down of shirt the man has been doing now and again since they entered the building. Wufei can empathize. He'd felt like he didn't belong either the first time he'd come here.

Then again, he hadn't been from money like the rest of these men were.

"This is your apartments for now. This is the main living space," he beckons to the large room the door has led into. Along one wall, an entertainment system sits, a selection of cds and dvds and books in a wooden rack along the wall. The room is furnished with light greys, greens, silvers, and coppers, much like a good deal of the penthouse is. A large leather couch set sits just before the three step rise in the floor that leads to an office setting at the far end of the apartments. There, a computer desk and filing drawers look out from the side, through large ceiling high windows. "Beyond, will be your work space. You will find," he intones blandly as he walks to where the steps dance upwards, "that there is a paneling to be used as a wall here which you can utilize if you find it necessary to separate yourself from work."

Sally felt it very necessary. She had closed the panels completely. She did not wish to have his work spill into his personal life and she made a good deal out of the business of leaving work behind when she was home.

Duo's careful stepping up, looking down in awe at the plush carpet of the office and the gleam in his eyes make Wufei sure that he isn't the only boy from a poor background. He isn't the only one who has never seen this kind of opulence so carefully displayed.

"And this door?" Duo asks, touching a door alongside the computer desk. "Like a personal bathroom and kitchen for my small needs?" he smirks. Something is rising inside of him, Wufei can tell. Something is coming to light.

Wufei shakes his head. "No, that is the door leading to Mr. Yuy's office. As a key part of his team, you'll be expected to be on call, for whenever he has need of you." It is a lie. Wufei isn't on call. But Heero needs to be able to check on Duo no matter the hour. That was part of the plan, apparently.

Watching Duo's back stiffen, Wufei senses that Heero may have bitten off more than he's capable of taking care of this time.

"Ah…" Duo's smirk turned deadly. "so I guess that means that this door is going to remain unlocked, huh?"

"Yes."

"Hunh," Duo snips out of the corner of his mouth as he chews on the inside of his cheek and looks at the closed door with something rather akin to dangerous and mischievous glee. "Kay," he turns on the balls of his feet and grins, wildly. Things obviously were sinking in finally. "So, what else, Feifei?"

Wufei, with a slight frown at how quickly his name has been twisted out of recognition, steps down and leads across the main living space. "You have a bedroom toward the back. But first, your eating rooms have been changed to an exercise room in this case. Though you do have a small kitchen as well, all meals will be taken with Mr. Yuy. This might be business meals where you will be required to take notes and organize functions, but also includes meals here as well. You will find your work day begins around five a.m. and continues until Mr. Yuy feels it is time to sleep. I will warn you," he adds, "Mr. Yuy doesn't need much rest."

Duo laughs derisively. "Well, too bad. I like to sleep."

Wufei doesn't look back. Already the first battle has been set into the sand. Instead, he continues down the hallway. "The den is your personal place. You may wish to change things as you see fit. Here is where you might choose to bring in some of your personal effects, those which you don't put into your bedroom. I heard there was plenty of furniture and such that the men had mentioned moving from your apartment, but this apartment is furnished."

"Burnie was there? Didn't he tell them that I'd left that shit to him? How much shit did they take?"

Wufei glanced around as he turned on a light, "Bathroom is here. Shower, jetted tub near the window, and this is the second room, not counting Mr. Yuy's sun room, that has sky lights. And I am unsure what they took. If they were wrong in anything, you can instruct me later when we go to the storage space. We will redeliver anything taken that was not yours."

"Damn straight. Hey, so this place. You got one of these too?"

"We do."

"Woah… nice tub… you know, this makes this almost worthwhile. I might have to take a bath right away. Not bad!" Duo runs his hands along the edge of the tub. "We got enough hot water to fill this?"

"You have three large capacity hot water heaters, Mr. Maxwell," Wufei assures him.

"Ah hell, call me Duo," Duo smiles. "Yer not a fuckin' butler are you?"

Wufei manages not to snort in disgust. "And through this door, you will find your sleeping room," he says as he opens a door leading from the large bathroom.

Duo crows in delight as he walks into the room. Obviously no longer upset by the arrangement, Duo runs for the bed. "Holy shit!" he cries out as he leaps upon it. Kingsized, covered in a black coverlet, backed up against a window that faces out to the city, the bed dances with the result of his landing upon it and then instantly leaping up. Duo flips and falls onto his back, a huge smile on his face. "Woah.. serious jumping power," he grins as he turns onto his stomach and looks around. Suddenly childlike, Duo seems far less innocent than Wufei's findings had made him out to be. It is … surprising, really. For all that Duo seems to have done, he still retains something of a prepubescent boy in his face and the way he's approaching all of this.

"Hey, Feifei?" Duo asks, leaning his chin on his hand and staring at Wufei.

"Hn."

Taking this as permission, Duo sits up. "How far back did Mr. Yuy go when he did all of that research on me. I mean, you know everything right?"

Wufei nods. "I am the one who looked everything up," he states. He knows he's not proud of delving into another man's past and withdrawing all of the wrong moments for the world to see. But neither is he cowardly enough to pretend he had had nothing to do with it.

"Oh," Duo looks crestfallen a moment and then smiles. "So? How far back?"

Wufei considers this. It is Duo's information, but he's not sure how much he should tell. By virtue of his job, which he still, technically has, he is not yet in a position to divulge everything.

And yet, watching Duo, Wufei recognizes a desire in himself to reach out and somehow touch upon this young man. There is a brightness about Duo which Wufei hadn't expected from his results of compiling that file. It is a brightness that transforms all around it, into moths.

"Four years, Mr. Maxwell."

"Toldja, you can call me Duo, Fei," Duo grinned.

"Hn."

"You're a real smooth talker. What's your wife's name? I'll bet she wants to strangle you sometimes. Sally, right? Does she know that communication isn't your strong point?" And Duo is smiling in feral delight. He is pleased and he obviously doesn't mind Wufei knowing it.

Wufei flushes slightly and grits his teeth. "I'd ask that you keep my wife out of this, Maxwell," he says calmly.

Duo stretches, plainly pleased. "Maxwell's not so bad. And I'll keep her out of this until I meet her," he grins and dances up and across the room before Wufei is even aware that he's taken a step forward, raised his hands, wanting to make a more permanent impression of his wife being off limits upon the handsome slender whirlwind. "Then! She's fair game," he snickers.

No matter what suit the other man puts on, he cannot hide the fact he is hiding a devil underneath.

"Devil by the tail," Wufei sniffs and looks out the window of the bedroom, seeing the city from the other side.

"So where's the other shit you're supposed to have in a pent house? Where's the pool and the tennis courts and all that?"

"The pool is one floor down, as are the raquet ball courts and the building exercise room. These are open to any with the passcode to get into them."

Duo snickers. "And I was just joking. And the servants? Y'know, my maid and shit?"

"Servant working rooms, this includes the cleaning cupboards and the kitchen, are all at the far western end of the building. You can reach them, if you'd like, by indicating that the elevator open to the back, rather the front."

"Is this the only elevator that comes up this high? There were three," Duo tucks his hands into his jeans and comes to stand by Wufei, his sudden intent calm so focused that Wufei feels like anything and everything he's been saying will be placed into some strange and foreign compartment in Duo Maxwell's head and there, never be forgot.

"There are three, yes. But the other two stop at the floor below us." Wufei stands and moves back through the room. "Please feel free to make yourself comfortable. I will return in an hour and get you. We can go to the storage facility to decide what you wish to bring back."

Feeling this is enough to say, Wufei draws out of the room and is almost to the door when Duo's voice stops him. "Fei?"

Taking a deep breath, Wufei turns. "It is Wufei Chang. Or Chang, which ever you happen to prefer. And yes?"

"Do I get a key?"

Wufei stares at Duo and wonders just how to respond.

"No."

"Not even a key to get up here? Or one for my door? Or one for Mr. Yuy's place? Or any of that?"

"No. Not even that."

"Then.. how in hell am I expected to get here? How am I going to do anything?" Duo stares at him, incredulous.

"I suggest you take that up with Mr. Yuy." Wufei can't be the one to describe the cage to this free spirited man. Suddenly terrified of what questions might follow, he flees.

---

((Well, chapter three. My goodness, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to pick it back up again. (Can't tell you how many times I've written and rewritten this chapter! I lost count after five.) Thank you all for the patience while I was thick in the midst of trying to find a good way to continue. It's good to be back and wrestling this gregarious group of characters back into boxes that seem to fit them somewhat.
I will be completely honest. I want to assure that this fiction is not dropped. It is merely sitting, percolating between chapters. ;; And good news! I already know where chapter four is going! J yay!

Those Amazing Reviewers aka - those who make writing worthwhile:

Dyna: Oh dear.. and this wasn't quickly gotten to at all! I knew this would be on the back burner, but a year going by is so back burner I'm not even sure it can be considered the stove top any longer! Needless to say, I'm glad you've enjoyed it so far and I hope, as do you, that it turns out happy too!
Crimson Release: Eh heh Eh heh… well, not so soon, I think. Still, I can't say how nice it is to have you reading! Thank you! You're doing the cut and copy thing! Woah.. that's a huge compliment!
Ien: More! You bet! There's more!
Tara SylvanBlade: Thank you so very much. I'm so glad you are enjoying it!
BlackX: Hopefully more trouble will appear. We like trouble. As Ruby (if anyone knows of her and all) says "Oohh, the writer. They create characters just so they can knock them off" Hee hee. Can't have a happy ending without some serious striving to prove they deserve it, right?
Kichiko: Where I'm going with it? Me too! Hopefully one of us will figure out what's going on! For now, I think Duo's in charge and he's being uncharacteristically mum about the whole affair.
Kcgal: Ooo! You caught that! The mail room set-up. I'm soo sooo glad! I've been trying a different way of going about things. A different point of view. Not sure how long I can pull it off, but two chapters of this length and your recognition has to count for something!
Rai: Hee hee… well, you're amazing anyway. Which is why everyone must bow down to you and feed you chocolate or some type of derivative form thereof. Pay her people!
Ichigo Pocky: Another lovely name I recognize and grin at seeing! Isn't that funny? How chapters can just slip past you? Sometimes it's completely on purpose - but most of the time, I find I miss chapters just because I have too many other things going on and then suddenly it's "Oh wait… wasn't there… four chapters, not five last time I read this? Grah! I'm BEHIND!" Hee hee. I'm glad you're enjoying it, very glad. Thank you so much for reading!
Tri-dear: You do know how much I care for your opinion. Thank you SOOOO much! The present/past tense thing is driving me nuts, but you would know better than most if I pulled it off or not, so my work must be paying off. Whew! What a relief! Thank you!
crazy-lil-nae-nae: I so love that name. Hee hee. Thank you! Wow.. There are some compliments which just make you beam. And this one definitely did. Yay! I'm glad folks are ignoring the "don't feed the author" sign! ;;
kazapochi: I allow sinking teeth into the writing. Just so long's you watch out for my fingers. Hee hee. Glad you're enjoying this! I'm sure loving writing it! I get to actually giggle during the process, that's neat. ))