Fortnight
Ch 07 – Ersatz
by APs
Betas – gothic-pixel and justanotheranimefreak (Who are Super Fantastic! Capitalized and everything! Any problems are due to my impatience.)
A/N – Well, it is a Friday... Yeah, I know I may have implied every Friday, but I've never been a quick writer. I swear I am writing. An update on the LJ Charity Auction can be found on my author page.
Thank you kindly and I sincerely hope you enjoy! Commenting brightens my day exponentially!
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When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.
- Lao Tzu
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Something wasn't right. That was to say, something new wasn't right. Chang Wufei had been sitting in his living room all night, reading and waiting. Though, he had been 'reading' the same line on the same page for the last forty-five minutes. The sun would be coming up soon. Yet, somehow he knew something was suddenly off about the night around him. With great care, he set aside his book and stood, padding silently to the front door. Nothing. He started methodically searching his home, ghosting first into the kitchen.
Then, something crashed, scraped, and clattered, all at once, leaving the sound of running water in its waking. Wufei jumped and swore, practically running to the bathroom. The light was off and the door didn't even give him pause, though it had been slightly ajar anyway. It was the scene inside that stopped him dead. A figure was laying sideways in his tub, legs swung over the side, pants down around their knees with only one sock and the shower curtain pulled down on top of it all. The shower was soaking everything.
For a long moment, the Chinese ex-pilot didn't know what to make of it. Then an arm appeared and shoved at the fallen curtain and rod, revealing a braided head spewing muttered curses.
Wufei scowled, "Maxwell."
"Hey, 'Fei," the American drawled out after a long squinting session. Struggling, Duo managed to lever himself against the back wall and onto his feet, bucking the downed curtain rod off his person. It revealed for a moment the bottle in his off hand and boxer shorts about his waist. Then his hand on the wall slipped and the braided man tumbled back into the shower with a yelp followed by a dark chuckle.
The Chinese man could smell the alcohol from where he stood, "You're drunk?"
"I really hope so. Otherwise, why'd I spend all that money on booze?" Duo bared his teeth in something that tried to be a grin, yet failed.
"How did you get in?" Wufei crossed his arms. "You didn't use the door."
His friend flailed a hand in dismissal, taking a pull from his bottle, "Window in my room. Wired around it last time through the system and rigged a little something myself. 'Sides, didn't wanna wake you up."
Wufei noted that sourly, but let it go. He trusted that, even drunk, none of them would actually compromise the security of a safe house, especially not Duo. However, his anger had yet to run its course, "You didn't suspect this would wake me?"
"I obviously didn't mean ta fall," Duo chuckled again. When Wufei didn't seem anymore amused, the American lolled his head forward, attempting serious. "Look, bud, I needed a shower. I reeked a bar. That's booze, butts, barf, and butt and, yeah, I said butt twice, but that was for cigarettes and, ya know, ass."
The other trailed off laughing, apparently despite himself, and Wufei glared, "So, you've been at a bar since seventeen hundred yesterday. A bar without a phone. Curious."
Duo nearly snorted a mouthful of swill, "Wow, Mother Hen Chang! Never thought I'd see the day, 'Fei."
"Don't be an idiot," black as coal eyes narrowed dangerously, eyebrow twitching. Living with a friend was a precarious situation normally. Two ex-terrorists cohabiting was an exercise in pervasive, prosaic paranoia. A fact of which, Wufei knew, Duo was perfectly aware. That the Chinese man had been on mandatory medical leave since their return, a limbo forced on him directly by Une, did not help. She was stalling, hoping he would withdraw his resignation out of sheer boredom. Apparently, she had learned less about them in the years since the war than they had thought.
The braided train wreck let the manic grin falter slightly, mopping his face with a hand, "I went to 'Ro's."
Wufei tried not to react, but felt his glare shatter abruptly, thought suspended, "...I see."
"Yeah, well," the American sniffed, taking another pull, "He had... company."
The Chinese man tried to simply wait, to let the silence work upon the other as he knew it would. But after a long moment listening to the patter of ersatz rain as it fell on the American, soaking dark hair and clothes, streaming down flushed skin, he couldn't. Pacing calmly across the bathroom tiles, feeling the other tense at his approach, Wufei kicked the downed curtain out of the way, turned off the shower, and settled on the side of the tub without a word.
The drunk man scowled, sinking further down into the tub, "He said they were just talking. Like I don't know how he looks after... Both seemed happy 'nough ta see me. Surprised, but ya know. Anyway, after that I went for a drink. Wasn't 'bout ta stay and chat, no matter what she said."
"She?" It was out of his mouth before he realized, though he had managed to keep it calmly even, sounding more prompting than curious or shocked.
Duo tipped the bottle back and held the liquor in his mouth, puckering slightly. Finally, with eyes elsewhere, he grated out, "Sally."
Wufei snorted an abbreviated laugh. So, she had seen to it that 'gorgeous' Heero hadn't been wasted. When he realized the other was scrutinizing him in all his inebriated force, he met the violet gaze easily.
"You're not mad," Duo surmised, "You're not even really surprised."
"Should I be?"
The American shrugged awkwardly, "Thought you and her had something."
Wufei grabbed the bottle and drank, letting a small smirk settle, "It was never that simple."
"Isn't that always the way," Duo drawled, letting his chin drop to his chest. Wufei drank again and nodded, watching the other, violet eyes obscured by bangs dripping water down his lower face. It was too familiar, he almost expect to find fresh bruises forming. "I knew he looked at women. Hell, we fought 'bout it enough. Not that he got why I was mad. Guess I just figured... I dunno. Thought it'd take longer."
"Neither of them have ever been subtle," Wufei reminded. He actually hadn't considered the possibility when proposing the switch in partners. He doubted it was serious, though. Heero had a broken heart and Sally Po was nothing if not independent.
"Nope," the American agreed with a lopsided grin somewhere between a grimace and a snarl. Duo thrust a expectant hand toward Wufei, drinking deeply once the bottle was his again. Almost desperately. As though trying to feed a dying fire within himself.
"What made you go?"
Duo sat for a long time, moving only to swig from the bottle. Moonlight streaming in through the small window glinted off water droplets and silvered the edges of the soaked man huddled unceremoniously in the tub. The stillness grew heavy, almost inertial, and the Chinese man found himself wondering whether it could even be escaped at this point. Then, suddenly, the line of the other's mouth slid into a sharp, nasty smile, "I knew this chick, back on L2, not much older than me. She was maybe twelve-ish when I was maybe ten-ish. Anyway, every few days she'd sneak off alone and be back by morning. Now, skulking around alone at night was not too safe and if she was holding out on us... Well, long story short, I ended up following her. She ran a few miles. We ended up in a housing district where a battle had leveled half the buildings and everything had been left to rot. She headed for this bombed out corpse of a house, to the back corner where the only two bits of standing wall came together. There was a name carved into the wall. She just stared for the longest time before she broke down crying. That's how she spent the entire night, trembling and sobbing in that corner. Just as it was getting light, she dried her eyes, stood, spat on the name and left without another look. When I asked her about it, she tried to kill me, but I worked her around until she ditched the knife and told me. Apparently, she'd been raised by some guy, a real class A perv. He'd been the only thing she remembered and he had taught her things all us street rats knew we shouldn't know, if you catch me. So, when the battle had broken out, she'd run like a bat outta hell. And she'd gotten away. Escaped to the street, to starving and scraping and thieving and... So, she'd gone back and she kept going back. When I asked why, she gave me this smile through the tears. She said to remind herself that he was gone and to make damn sure he stayed that way."
Wufei tried to keep his breaths even, gaze steady throughout the other's parable and into the sudden silence beyond. The American sipped at his liquor, seemingly giving the question and its answer no further thought. Canceling bitterness with bitterness, Wufei wondered, or was it an attempt to numb. Either way, the Chinese man snatched the bottle and finished it to cover the fact that he simply didn't want the braided man to have it anymore. The sudden motion finally brought violet eyes to his own. Duo didn't smile, nor did he balk in shock or anger. The man stared, his face still wet, drops steadily falling from his chin even though the water had been off long enough for his bangs to dry. A chill shot through Wufei at the certainty of the emptiness in those violet eyes.
And then they were gone as the American struggled to free himself, "I should get to bed. Got work in the morning and-"
Wufei moved to steady the other, dropping the bottle on the bathmat, "Let me help."
The American roughly shrugged him off and went to walk away, but his pants had settled around his ankles. Wufei grabbed about the other's waist with a smirk to keep him from sprawling onto his face. With a sharp hiss, Duo cringed slightly.
Onyx eyes narrowed, "Are you alright?"
"That's a stupid question," Duo grumbled as he brushed off the help and gingerly attempted to step out of his pants, leaving behind his one sock in the process.
One of Wufei's hands felt oddly slick and when he looked down he realized red had come off Duo's black shirt on his palm. With a huff, he snaked an arm under the braided man's arms and around his chest, pinning the other back against himself.
"Wufei! What the-" Duo yelped to be brought up short when his shirt was yanked up, revealing his slim, scarred torso and a freely bleeding wound, large bandage peeled away. The American sagged back into him, "Shit."
The Chinese ex-pilot maneuvered his friend back onto the side of the tub, then stripped the sopping wet shirt from the braided man. Keeping a firm, steadying hand on the American's shoulder, Wufei examined the wound, which appeared to be a bullet hole that had torn its stitches. Swinging a leg into the tub, he could see a bandage taped over a corresponding wound on his lower back. These were not fresh. He gently folded the bandage back over and applied pressure.
Duo was falling back on old tactics, "Hey, look buddy-"
"How long?" Wufei sliced cleanly through the dissembling, voice low and onyx eyes resolute.
Violet eyes widened slightly, then cut toward the floor, "Two weeks."
Slowly, Wufei lowered his forehead onto Duo's shoulder and sighed. He felt the other tense, a violet gaze boring into him, but he stayed perfectly still, one arm stretch across the American's back to hold the far shoulder, the other stopping up a hole in the man's side, and his head lightly resting on his near shoulder. Duo had taken a bullet and hidden it. From everyone. From him. He spoke without moving, his voice rough, "Keep pressure."
A calloused, scarred hand promptly covered, then replaced his own on the bloodied bandage and he slipped away from the other man without looking at him. Duo was smiling again, "Really, buddy, it's not that bad."
"Your post mission examinations?" Wufei growled as he went to the small closet to retrieve an emergency medical kit. It was a stupid question, since Duo had managed to hide the wound from his fellow ex-pilots, but he wanted to know nonetheless.
The American chuckled, "Like I've ever taken a test I didn't want to take."
He grit his teeth as he set the kit down and knelt before the source of his frustration.
"Hey, it was just a through and through. No big deal," Duo protested.
Wufei prepared what he needed to restitch the sutures with a graceful, practiced hand, "And how would you know that?"
Duo laughed, "I'm not dead?"
The Chinese man's head finally snapped up, the alcohol making it swim a bit and being firmly ignored. The scowl on his face could barely match the anger in his voice, "Shut up, Maxwell."
The braided man had actually leaned back away, but after a moment he snarled back, "I just didn't want anyone to worry, asshole."
"You stupid..." it trailed off into a flurry of mandarin as he burst onto his feet and away from the other, pacing in the middle of the bathroom. Finally, he stopped and just stared at the wounded man.
The American blinked, "Done? 'Cause I still need you to fix this."
"You were shot," Wufei expounded, trying to press upon the other the gravity of the situation.
"I've noticed," Duo mocked. "What's the big deal? Not like this is my first time."
Onyx eyes burned with a sudden suspicion, his voice quiet, "Is it the first since the war?"
Violet eyes glared back.
Clamping down his anger this time, Wufei started washing his hands, "That's the type of stupidity likely to get you and your partner killed."
"Don't act like you give a shit, now," the braided man spat, rising precariously to his feet. "I could have been bleeding out in the hold for all you cared!"
A chilled calm descended on Wufei as he shut off the water, "I trusted you."
"There's trust and then there's apathy and I can't help feeling a bit of the second considering you never even looked at me before you quit! And now it's turned into some dick measuring contest with Une! At least when I was fucking 'Ro I didn't have to-" The braided man stumbled and ended up on his ass, swearing a blue streak.
Wufei took a deep breath. Then he calmly went to help Duo, "Lean back before you tear the other set, too."
The American allowed himself to be helped. The Chinese ex-pilot went to work on the wound without another word and the stitching was done, a small, neat row, in a matter of minutes. The other man was shivering when Wufei finished, sitting in only wet boxers on the bathroom tile. Yet, Duo made not one sound, not even as the Chinese man had helped him back to the room in which he stayed. And that was the only way to describe the room, Wufei realized. Duo Maxwell had occupied his guest room for the better part of three months, yet the only personal touches to be seen were the elaborately rigged booby traps around the door, vent, and window. There was a packed duffle in one corner with a pair of boots on top, a single sock hanging limply from the ankle of one. Wufei took this all in as he helped the braided man sit on the perfectly made bed. Duo sat as mutely as he had during the stitching, even breaths gently moving the scarred chest, eyes down, but a single rough hand cautiously clasped about the Chinese man's wrist before he could leave.
The hand was warm and loose on his skin, yet it held him fast. Wufei stopped, looked at the hand, and stared at the mass of chestnut hair presented by the bowed head. With his free hand, he softly touched an old, jagged scar that wrapped about Duo's right shoulder. The man shivered and turned his head that way slightly. The hand on his wrist was moving upward as his hand found its way across the other's shoulder, slipping under a cold, wet mass of braid. He bent forward, resting his head atop Duo's, breathing in the smoky, sweaty scent that clung to the half wet locks.
This time, Duo didn't tense. Wufei felt the hand stop on his bicep, pulling him closer as the other shifted back onto a free arm to raise his head. And lips crashed together. All hot want, liquor and salt. Tongues skirted sharp teeth, plunged deep. Twisting. Tasting. Panting into each other. Hard and warm and wet. He stepped forward to feel the rest of the other's body, reaching with his other hand, but finding he couldn't. The hand was biting into his upper arm, holding him back and away. He stopped, the night suddenly frigid in the space between them, and waited. Half lidded, violet eyes were still avoiding him, but the smile that quirked swollen lips mocked the very idea of anything further.
Wufei closed his mouth and swallowed, forcing himself to release the back of Duo's neck. Unfolding to give the seated man the space he apparently wanted.
"'Fei..." Duo's voice was a gruff whisper, "Are you serious about resigning?"
The fingers on his restrained arm were starting to go numb, but he didn't care. He wanted violet eyes to look at him. He wanted the question to be more pertinent. He wanted to cease the other's shivers and make sure there were no more wounds. Yet, Duo sustained a cool aloofness that forced the steel back into him. Finally, all he could manage was a single cool, silky word, "Yes."
Duo nodded, "Then I'll start looking for somewhere else to live."
And his arm was released. For a long moment, breathing was the limit of Wufei's neural capabilities. When thought returned, he found that nothing had changed. Duo was sitting in front of him, head bowed, breathing slowly. He nodded in return, but all that came out was a tired sigh, "Good night, Maxwell."
Then he left without waiting for a reply he wasn't sure would come.
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The mid-morning sunlight was dazzling, streaking through the large windows when Chang Wufei opened the recovery room door. To his surprise, he found an extra set of eyes greeting him. Trowa was sitting in bed, per usual, but Une was seated primly in the visitor's chair. She was giving him a soft smile that instantly set off alarms in his head. He had become accustomed to Une over the years, that is, Director Une of the Preventer's Agency. He had also watched her behavior closely for any sign of instability or irregularity. That smile may have counted as both. The fact that all conversation had ceased when he'd entered was certainly not helping.
"Trowa," he greeted and received a nod before turning to the woman, "Une."
"Good morning, Mister Chang," Une purred, standing with an easy grace, "Agent Barton and I were just discussing business, but it's nothing that can't wait, I suppose."
So, that was it. Apparently, this was what it meant to be 'out of the loop', how Une handled civilians. He would have smirked at the novelty of it, if he'd been in any mood to do so, "At least until he's recovered from previous business, I'm sure."
The bedridden ex-pilot arched a brow at his friend, emerald eyes shifting to the Director. Une's smile sharpened ever so slightly, lending her that cunning, predatory leaning he had grown to admire, "Of course. While you're here, I do hope you've had ample time to think over, and perhaps reconsider, certain recent decisions."
"I am not withdrawing my resignation," Wufei answered point blank, tired of the dance already.
The tall woman stared at him, clear disappointment in her honey brown eyes, before nodding, "Then I am left with no other recourse than to accept it. You will stay for a transition period, strictly in an auxiliary capacity, of course, until we find a suitable replacement?"
It wasn't really a question. A question would have implied a choice. In this case, the inflection was added as nothing more than another civilian pleasantry. Wufei wondered if she was simply trying to goad him into an outburst so she could throw him in detention and buy a little more time or leverage in their negotiations. He kept himself mild, "Two weeks, I believe, is traditional."
"It is, though I'm sure you appreciate how... specialized your position is. It will be difficult to find someone with anything comparable to your unique skill set." Une eyed him carefully.
It would be pretty damn near impossible, but they all knew Une kept a list of assets ready to be tapped. A list he'd accepted he would always be near the top of, no matter what his official capacity. She likely already knew whom she would bring in to replace him, or any of the other pilots should the need ever arise. He snorted, "A month, then."
Her smile softened with satisfaction, even as her eyes lit with challenge, "Agreed. I don't look forward to the day you leave us. You've always been one of our best."
"When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be."
Both sets of eyes burned against him, but he stood firm. Eventually, the Director moved toward the door, "Yes, well, I'm needed elsewhere, so I'll leave you to your visit. Good day, Agent Barton. Mister Chang."
They both muttered some appropriate farewell and watched her leave, listening to her footfalls until they were cut off by the stairwell door. Wufei keenly felt the silence falling, but went for the guest chair before even looking in the direction of his bedridden friend. For his part, Trowa was waiting blandly, appraising everything without the slightest hint of judgment, or even thought. The Chinese man stared tiredly, running a hand back over his hair.
Trowa blinked, "You realize she now thinks she has a month to change your mind."
"I do," he admitted. Honestly, he didn't care. He had yet to make a decision Une had ever influenced, much less changed. "How is your leg?"
Trowa arched an eyebrow. Of all the pilots, Wufei was probably the worst at misdirection, even when compared to Heero since it generally stemmed from a willful disregard for the practice rather than any lack of subtlety. The taller man was still considering the move when he spoke, "Better than we thought. Supposedly, the muscle kept the bone more or less in place."
"That's good." It wasn't particularly surprising. He'd always known the circus performer's sleek, slender legs had been deceptively strong, even among the pilots.
Trowa glanced out the window, "The infection cleared quickly."
Wufei nodded, "And your shoulder?"
"Healing well," the taller man noted, gingerly moving his left arm in its sling. "It was a clean through and through."
The phrase caught the Chinese man off guard, bringing a scowl to his face. Thoughts of the previous night were not yet far enough past for him to consider rationally.
It didn't escape Trowa, "How is Duo?"
"Irritating," he growled, then sighed. Watching his friend watch him triggered a hazy memory, a whispered fencing match of a conversation, "Is there a reason you and he aren't on good terms?"
An emerald eye was obscured by hair as a frowned barely bent thin lips, a rare defensive action. Trowa didn't flinch. Wufei was about to let it go when the other spoke up, "We've both been alone and betrayed and survivors. And we're both very aware of what that entailed."
It wasn't reported in any different a tone, yet Wufei felt the edge just under the surface. Very much like Duo's, subtle and hidden, yet more directed. It was the reason the taller man worked alone, the reason he only ever visited the circus for two weeks at a time. The reason he could trust someone, but push them so far away. Wufei wanted to ask more, to comprehend more completely. Instead, he glanced about the hospital room, "Where is Winner?"
"He doesn't visit me in the hospital," Trowa informed him, that soft mocking smile fondly erasing the minute frown.
Wufei's scowl darkened dangerously, "Why the Hell not? He visits everyone else."
Placid, green blinked at the sudden anger, "It brings back too much for him."
Too much of the war. He knew the sentiment, but he couldn't reconcile it with Quatre's abandonment of his lover. Then a gleefully bloodthirsty smile flashed to the front of his mind, riding on the memories of blood and pain and fear. The anger drained from him as quickly as it had swelled, "He should be here."
"What happened between you two?" It wasn't exasperated so much as inevitable, the next logical move.
Wufei leaned forward in the chair, willing for any readily available distraction, even one as confusing as the issue with his blond friend. "What do you know about Winner's Father?"
"A bit," the answer was reasonably tight lipped for the privateness of the question, "Why do you ask?"
"He said I remind him of the man."
Trowa seemed genuinely surprised by the revelation. Wufei almost expected the other man to laugh, since that was generally what followed that expression. Trowa didn't laugh, "His Father disowned him. It's the reason he's with Preventer's and not running a multinational corporation."
"I thought his sisters offered him the job anyway and he turned it down?" It was a slight challenge, meant more to draw out than to raise defenses.
Trowa paused long enough to let the other know he was well aware of the gambit, "They did. He turned it down because it was what he believed his Father would have wanted. That the company be run by a Pacifist."
Wufei snorted, "So, I remind him of a Pacifist that disowned him for fighting?"
"No," Trowa flatly refuted, "You remind him of his Father. It's not likely that simple."
What in his life was, anymore? The Chinese man pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to force himself to focus his thoughts. He was tired and a little dehydrated from Duo's infernal alcohol.
Emerald eyes missed nothing. The thought was offered as bait, "Have you ever considered how we view each other is different depending on frame of reference?"
The onyx glare was not happy at being baited, "Meaning?"
That smile tugged at the corner of Trowa's lips, "You've told us you see the five of us as your clansmen. I, on the other hand, first saw us as a mercenary group."
Wufei nodded. He understood. They each slotted the others into their own lives in ways that made the most sense. Clansmen, mercenaries, allies, gang members... He blinked, "Winner does not equate us with those Maganacs, does he?"
"In a way," Trowa laughed at the thought. The bedridden man settled himself quickly under the onyx glare, "He grew up with twenty-nine sisters. Family is a fairly elastic concept for him already."
"Family?" Wufei tested the concept, "He thinks of us as brothers?"
Trowa looked out the window again once he saw the idea he'd planted start to germinate, "It's certainly possible."
The Chinese man barely registered the throw away comment. If Quatre thought of them as siblings, then did he think of them in terms of older and younger brothers? They were all very close in age, or at least they believed themselves to be, considering three out of five didn't know their birth dates. Yet, at least in terms of general maturity, there were definite differences. Trowa would be older, but of course, in Quatre's mind, Trowa would have to be an exception. Then he realized what had happened. Trowa was making him think like Quatre. Crossing his arms, he scowled at the man who was pretending to ignore him, "Very interesting. How do you explain that I remind him of his Father?"
"At a guess?" Emerald eyes were watching him in periphery, "I'd say he looks up to you and wants your respect."
Wufei sat for a while and just concentrated on breathing. Finally, he snorted.
Placid emerald found tired onyx, "It was a guess. Of course, there's always a way to actually get the truth."
Talk to Quatre. He knew. The conversation slackened amiably between them as it usually did at the end of a game. He'd missed this, the give and take. A part of him he hadn't known was constricted eased in the familiar company and whispered that with everything in his life that was wrong at the moment, this was right. This was right and he would deal with the rest.
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In2lalaland – I'm happy the twists are enjoyable and not simply frustrating. And, yes, Quatre continues to be his elusive self. As for the kiss, I aim to please. Thanks!
Raskanii – Thank you for, well, everything! You know what I mean.
suicidal-sinner – Here you go. Hope you like it and thanks for speaking up!
mi5tan – Nope, not a traitor. Thank you and enjoy!
yuio10 – No direct Q resolution yet, but soon. Promise. Many thanks for the kind words and the favorite!
saiyanzrepublik – The fact that it had such an impact makes me jubilant beyond expression! Really, it means a lot. I do promise I am finishing this fic, even if update periods end up being a tad lengthy. Thanks for your continuing interest!