. Chapter Seven . Symbols .
Hilde strolled into the living room that night, presumably drawn by the canned laughter of a low-rated sitcom. In fact, she was, but the rhythm of overly written situations and frequent commercials did not draw her from a bath and a book. Duo watching situation comedies meant only one thing these days. She'd heard the front door open and close while soaking, and, as soon as finishing the next chapter, had got up and got dressed. Another late night had kept him at work, though he'd been too busy to explain when he'd called hours before. He'd spoken loudly and distractedly into the phone, muttering offstage to some troublesome child, explaining only that he'd be late coming home.
She wasn't surprised to see the leftover take-out on the counter thoroughly pillaged. She turned over the emptied boxes with a smile and followed the smell of greasy Chinese to the living room. Entering from the kitchen, only the tip of Duo's braided tail hanging over the couch was visible, stuck from when he'd likely slid over the back, lo mein already dangling from his lips and fingers reaching for the remote.
Brushing the excess water from her hair, which had grown in violet-black waves past the bottom of her ears, she leaned over the back of the couch. Duo glanced up at her and flashed her a smile. "Hey, Hil," he said, turning back to the screen. "How was your day?"
Not surprisingly, he was just as she'd imagined, his button down shirt opened to reveal the rock and roll t-shirt beneath, already spotting a few errant spots of grease. She returned the smile when he'd already turned away, bending forward and resting on the couch.
"Not bad. McGregor called to say he's got another patch of material for us to process outside the West End. He's going to call when they're done collecting all of it," she said. He made a pleased noise through his food, but his eyes remained plastered to the badly written, mildly acted show.
That confused her more. An upset Duo avoided foods at all cost, and instead buried himself in bad, sentimental television. This odd hybrid must either indicate a schizophrenic break—unlikely if he hadn't already succumbed to one—or another thing entirely.
Duo watched her wardrobe for an emotional insight; his choices in television were her signs.
He forced down a swallow of food to talk. The show quickly faded to commercial, and he could afford to turn to look at her. "Good, good," he said. "So, pretty productive for there being no war and killing." He broke into a grin and turned back towards the television again.
Hilde put down the hairbrush then and stared at him. He continued to shovel the rubbery noodles into his mouth with a fork for ultimate food intake speed with no notice. "Yeah, I suppose."
If there were ever one subject he never joked about—honestly, without laughter masking some deeper and less humorous thought—it was war. But apparently, tonight syndication trumped socializing properly, and Hilde wandered into the adjoining kitchen to scrounge up a drink. "What kept you so long at the home today?" she called out.
"Oh, Cinderblock managed to get his head stuck between the railings just as I was about to leave. That was after I had to go through all the bills for this month. Then I stayed to help wash out the butter we used to squeeze him out, and had to check on to Breaker before he went to bed."
She peered out at the couch at this with a mild smirk. "Breaker? What, did he need help tucking himself in, or just someone to drive him home from the bar?"
Duo hesitated a moment, before sitting up and staring oddly at her. "What are you talking about?"
"New guy you met?"
"No, no, he's a kid at the home, Hil!" he answered, mildly scandalized. "You've been wearing that hat far too much lately. Warping all your thoughts." He grinned, already recovering from accidental accusations of pedophile tendencies and jabbing the fork in her direction.
She poured herself a glass of orange juice and shut the fridge door with a swing of her hips. "And you haven't worn anything likeit for far too long, Duo." She nudged his feet, silently asking for her portion of the couch. Amazingly, the show had flickered back on, but he remained actively engaged with her. She reminded herself to store that fact away when she would worry about him later that night, as she'd begun to make a nightly habit of doing.
"And exactly what do you mean by that?"
"It's been a while since you put yourself back into the scene. I think it'd might do you some good to find someone new."
"Oh, really. That's what you think?" He lifted an eyebrow at her, but nothing worse. Again, it nearly stunned her.
Joking about war and not immediately butting her out of a discussion on his love life? If she hadn't been sitting already, she probably would have found her knees giving way in shock. She attempted to smother any shocked expression that might have shown through in the hopes that Duo wouldn't shy away from talking about it.
"You haven't seen anyone in months."
"Neither have you," Duo reminded her, but she quickly recognized the devilish color in his eyes, brightened by the television's glow. He wanted to trick her into admitting she was dating someone herself.
"No, no—that won't work on me, Duo."
"Aw, come on," he drawled, wagging a finger at her. "You're not going to be able to hide it from me forever."
"If I actually was dating someone, no, I wouldn't. But since I'm not, I can hide the boyfriend I don't have all I want."
"Who were you talking to on the phone, then?"
"It wasn't a hooker, if that's your next joke."
"Damn." Duo laughed at himself and again shifted his attention to the television, absorbing what little plot and development offered with a distant but content stare. Confusing as that was to Hilde, interfering with all clear reads of his state of mind, he didn't seem to mind interrupting the television to ask about her other exploits of the day. She decided a confusingly content Duo was far superior to mysterious and moping Duo and nestled underneath his outstretched legs on the couch to answer.
---
Michelle lifted the pot from the burner and managed to navigate through a monstrous cloud of stream to pour it out. The greasy-yellow of spaghetti noodles lurched out and splashed into the strainer, the cloud of steam swelling up in an almost aggravated puff of heat. She rubbed the moisture off her face with the red oven mitt, and stood there, drawing in a deep breath of cool air. It wasn't long, though, before someone was calling into the kitchen, asking if lunch was ready.
The long morning was quickly looking to become a long afternoon. Their cook had come down sick early that morning—either with a mild kiss of the flu, or a decently bad hangover, neither of which really mattered to her; no way either affliction was getting near the kids' food.
She'd rolled her sleeves to her shoulders, her pant legs to her knees, and wrangled her hair up into a bun. The steam of the kitchen had loosened it, and the strands that had managed to shake free had gone frizzy from the temperature in the kitchen.
Cooking for herself was sometimes a challenge. Attempting to feed a home full of kids and teenagers was a 'whole 'nother ball game,' as Duo would have put it.
Not surprisingly, it was Cinderblock who had called out, sticking his head into the kitchen as if he were crossing the Alsace-Lorraine border.
She supposed she'd been a bit harsh with him the day before, but Duo neglecting the new child with an appalling dedication had pushed her to snap out when provoked. There was enough work to be done without creating problems like that. She smiled through the heat and waved him inside.
"Almost. Come in and help me?"
"Okay," Cin answered and walked in, but not before looking behind him and relaying the message to the hungry crowd that had no doubt followed him. To coat the massive amount of food, they needed an equally massive amount of sauce. She pointed towards the stove tops while wiping the back of her neck with a hand towel. "Uh, could you check the meat sauce for me? Is it still simmering?"
He had to stand on his tip toes to do so, but he checked. "Yep." He toyed with the stirring spoon, moving it around. "I think."
"Don't burn yourself," she warned him, as the kitchen phone rang.
She was surprised with the amount she'd produced on her own while still fielding work calls, her cell phone clenched between her shoulder and her ear. That sat idle in her pocket and she gave Cinderblock one more cautious glance before answering.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Michelle?"
"Hilde?"
"Yep. Do you need some help?"
The redhead let out a bright, relieved sigh. "Definitely. Where are you?"
"Just upstairs," she answered, laughing gently at Michelle's sense of urgency. "I thought you'd been in your office doing work again."
"I've just moved it into the kitchen, and made lunch along with it." When Cinderblock called her name, she wandered over and inspected the sauce herself. She nodded to him. "Is Duo with the kids?"
"That's where he said he was going," Hilde said.
"From your choice of words, I take it you heard about what he was doing this past week, then."
"Yeah. Actually, that's partially why I came. I want to talk to you about him. He's been acting strange lately and I don't know why."
"It's not just me then, either." Michelle stopped and leaned against the wall beside the receiver, watching the coiled cord swing mutely. "Well, come down to the kitchen and I'll be glad to."
"Okay."
"Thanks."
Michelle turned back to her work, only having to slap Cinderblock's fingers away from the sauce, too eagernot to taste it once. The day was finally, finally looking up.
---
"Breaker, my man!"
The child lifted his head from where it'd been hanging in intense scrutiny over the tabletop, pencil pinched in one hand, the other hand pressing the paper flat and into total submission. He glanced pointedly across the room at the sound of his new name. Duo's figure was easy enough to spot amongst the children and teens across the length of the Big Room, and he was grinning brightly. Breaker couldn't help but shyly smile in response.
"What'cha up to?" he asked as he pulled up a chair, spun it neatly, backrest facing the table, and slumped into coolly. Perhaps Michelle and Hilde—and even Relena now-a-days—were impervious to all his jaunty displays and his boyish charm, but at least therewas one person who could still appreciate it. He watched Breaker's smile broaden, the eyes crinkling shut happily, and felt half the world's weight suddenly gone.
He held up the paper he'd been laboring over and said, "Look!"
Duo blinked up at him momentarily, then down to the paper outstretched to him and took it to examine. He blinked again and smiled with an amazed puff of air. "You wrote your name? Breaker, that's—that's wonderful!" he grinned.
The other half of that weight was gone, somehow relieved by nothing more than seven half-crooked letters in red crayon on pre-lined paper, where peace and money and friends had somehow failed him. He looked back into Breaker's blue-blue eyes, and didn't even feel the temptation to wonder if his father was alive—only the urge to reach out and ruffle his hair.
"Thanks," he mumbled beneath Duo's hand, smiling to the floor as blood flooded his face.
"This is great!" he continued, despite the happily embarrassed motion. He almost spoke to himself, staring raptly at the letters, the crooked lines that met nervously but correctly nearly strangling him with joy. "To write at your age… you're one sharp kid, Breaker. Never doubted you for a second."
Breaker looked up at him silently. When Duo glanced up at him, still grinning dumbly with pride, he smiled in return, but with less enthusiasm and twice the color in his face.
Duo reached out for his hand, still clutching the paper in the other hand, and tugged. Tugged, like a much younger being, eager to head outside and enjoy summer sun. "Come on, let's go put this up in my office, how 'bout?"
"Really?"
"If you want me too," Duo added, shooting him a cautious look, almost plaintive, puppy-eyed. "I mean, you are the author. You own it, in essence. I need yourexplicit permission."
"You real' like it?"
"Does a brown cow make chocolate milk?"
Breaker squinted. "I don't think so…"
Duo laughed, and drew a few curious looks from about the room at the bright, loud sound. "No pulling the wool over you," he said, and clapped him on the shoulder, making them equal in all ways that moment in Duo's opinion.
They left the room with Breaker sitting neatly on his shoulders and Duo's braid wrapped around him like a seatbelt. Chatting brightly and freely—not knowing how many of his words the younger knew and how many he didn't, but completely sure he would understand and giggle appreciatively—Duo held the paper in front of him, still beaming with pride, and Breaker touched the top his head as they walked, every moment spent with each other becoming more and more exclusively theirs.