Author's Notes: At last, a glimpse into Wufei's current lifestyle!
It's a very bizarre feeling posting chapters retroactively... as in, quite a while after they were written. I think I'm in Chapter 18 or 19 right now. It's not like I've EDITED this or anything, I've just let it sit for a bit. That's why there haven't been many notes or comments on these chapters. Sorry!
I do like this chapter, however. Hopefully I'm not alo
-Lady
Chapter Thirteen
Home was unglamorous, but functional. Mei--damn him, she was beginning to think of herself by the unsophisticated nickname--peered around him carefully as he unlocked the door, both of them laden with shopping bags. After reaching their agreement to be less hotheaded and resistant to one another, they had shared the pizza ("I bet it would be better with anchovies. ...probably.") and made a list of all the things Wumei would need for the next two weeks or more. She had fought for a basic make-up kit, but Wufei insisted that she needed good shoes instead and that she could save her pocket money for make up if it was so important. She had been forced to agree; her old shoes were causing blisters.
The bag with her new high-tops banged against his leg as he opened the door and moved confidently into the living room. He dropped the bags beside the couch and his keys in his pocket, the pocket of the jacket he had finally reclaimed.
Wumei entered and closed the door behind her, drinking in what was now to all intents and purposes her home.
The first thing that struck her was the modesty of the place. The furnishing was minimal, enough for a single occupant and the occasional guest. He didn't have stacks of magazines or half-read newspapers lying about, but the shelves were full of neatly ordered books. An antique armoir's open doors revealed a television, directly opposite a comfortable-looking armchair, beside which sat the only book not in its place. There were open spaces on the shelves, but they weren't filled with much. A medal from the last war, she could recognize by its emblem. A few Chinese antiques. And only one photo frame, its image hidden by glare from the streetlamp outside.
Her benefactor switched on a table lamp and pulled the curtains closed, distracting her. "There are spare hangers in the cupboard. Your shoes can go on the mat." She scrambled to obey, unzipping her new wool coat and stowing it away in the closet. Her boots found a home beside his near the door and she gathered up her shopping bags just in time to follow him down the narrow passageway to the spare room he had promised her a lifetime ago. "This is normally my study," he offered by way of explanation, but her jaw had already dropped. Every wall was lined with stuffed bookshelves and filing cabinets, and a desk sat under the window covered in notebooks and loose papers. Wufei ignored it and went straight to the closet, which he opened and frowned at. "We'll have to move some of this to make room for you," he said, prodding at the boxes and more books lining the shelves. "Tomorrow we'll get you a futon, but tonight I'm afraid it's the couch."
She nodded mutely, staring dumbly at the wealth of material crammed neatly into such a tiny room. Where on Earth had he gotten it all? What did it mean to him? She hadn't taken him for a wannabe professor. "That's fine..."
A set of sheets were pulled from the closet and Wufei swung it shut. He arched an eyebrow at her. "You can leave the bags here, since this will be your room. You can unpack tomorrow." He took a watch the emotions running over her round face. "I'll get you a set of towels." She nodded as he left the room.
Wumei carefully placed her bags before the closet, and then turned back to face the room. She had never seen so many books gathered in a private home before; was he running his own library? Wordlessly she circled the room, her eyes running over titles.
Accounts of the Eve Wars by Q. R. Winner. The Dove of Peace: A Biography of Relena Peacecraft. The Barton Family Through Time. Mobile Suit Battles From AC100-200. The Colonial Founders and Their Imperial Past. Emperors of China. The Gundam: Modern Man's Dragon, Legendary And Just As Elusive. These titles meant little to her, but the next caught her attention. The Saga of the Long Clan, Journey From Earth to the Stars. She read it again, making sure she had translated it correctly. She had--a book about the Longs! With trepidation, she glanced over her shoulder to see if Wufei had returned before reaching to take the book off the shelf.
"Here you are. I think these will do," he entered without warning, startling a shriek from her. Wufei stared. "What in the name of hell has gotten into you?"
Quickly she shook her head and darted forward to take the towels. "Nothing! You surprised me, that's all. You really should learn to knock now that this is my room," she said with convincing haughtiness.
It seemed to reassure him, and he gave her what was quickly becoming his signature glare. "Laundry is done on Sundays. If it's not in the basket in the bathroom, it doesn't get washed. Towels go in once a month."
"Yes, mother."
Now he scowled outright. "And no backtalk. You're a guest, on probation, in my home, in my office--"
Wumei sighed and nodded. "Yes, yes, I know. Sorry."
"--my hospitality--what?"
"I said I'm sorry."
"...yes. Well. Thank you." He shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to make of this sudden politeness. She looked back at him with an honest expression. Meiran, I wish you were here to tame this abominable creature. Meiran was not here, and if she were, she would have nothing to do with this fiasco. He hopes. He cleared his throat. "I'll go make up your bed." He beat a hasty retreat.
Lying on my couch-bed that night, I lay on my side and listened to the darkness. Outside I heard a siren, far away. It had a different pitch to the ones in Beijing, which were nasal and snorted like angry pigs. Here they whined, making sure everyone knew that an emergency was in progress. I supposed that was necessary when you lived in the middle of outer space, only a few sheets of metal between life and destruction.
An antique clock ticked gently but steadily on a shelf across the room. Every so often I would glance at the face, trying to read it in the dark. I wasn't good at reading analog, but I could. I decided it was more for decoration than use.
No sounds had come from Wufei's room for an hour. I had heard him go to the bathroom, and prepare for bed. I was still awake to see when, after half an hour of pure silence, he turned off his light. Reading, no doubt.
I was never a big reader. Genji Ma said books were expensive, and were to be treasured. As such she only bought me books I could learn from, usually long before I needed them. I had tried on and off to read the dictionary in chunks, but I never made it past page 10.
A car drove past on the road below the apartment, and its headlights cast a wave across the room before disappearing. That, I was familiar with, living a short way from a major road. But an unusual shine cast its own light back momentarily, and I remembered the photograph I had not been able to see earlier.
What better time than now? I pushed aside my secondhand blankets and padded across the living room to the shelves designed for display. I could see the different now between these and those lining the study; that was a workroom, this was a public room. There were no baubles between elegantly spaced leather-bound volumes in there. I ignored these books, and went straight for the frame, tilted away and almost into a corner. There wasn't enough light to see it by, and so with great care I placed by hands on either side, and using only pressure, no fingers, I lifted it from the shelf.
It was heavy and the metal frame was cool. Real glass, I supposed. The velvet backing was short and fuzzy, tantalizing. I brought the frame to the window and tried to catch a beam of light from outside, but that, too, was insufficient. Frowning, I listened again for any signs that Wufei might still be awake. All was quiet.
Still, no reason to take chances. I picked my way through the dark to the bathroom, and placed the frame on the counter before quietly closing the door behind me. The trick was to turn the knob so the little bar didn't bang against the frame while lifting it off its hinges ever so slightly so it didn't squeak. I learned that from necessity, living with Genji Ma. When I was certain I had not disturbed my guardian, I turned on the light.
I had expected to see family, more dour Asian faces glaring back at me just like him. On further consideration, I supposed it should be Sally, his partner and--despite some bickering--friend. But I didn't recognize any of the people in this photograph, and I couldn't imagine the circumstances under which it had been taken.
A younger Wufei stood amid a crowd of men about my age--Odd, I had never considered him as a teenager. They all looked tired, but happy, each in his own way. I lifted the frame to my face, less careful now and more eager to see.
Dead center, a small-framed blond bashfully smiled at the camera, half-turned away as though resisting the lens' pull. Another boy had an arm flung around his shoulders, his other hand lifting an overflowing champagne bottle high into the air. Gusto and exhilaration marked this young man, with his wide eyes and impossibly long hair. To his right stood my Wufei, arms crossed over his chest as he determinedly ignored the clown beside him. I was fascinated--who was this person caught in a photograph?
Neglected on the blonde's far side stood two reluctant figures. One hid behind long bangs, but a ghost of a smile graced his lips. On the photo's far edge, one man's intense blue eyes pulled me toward him, satisfaction in his every line. He was injured, bandages wrapped around his limbs and forehead, but he still stood tall and proud.
Who were they? Schoolmates? No, what school would allow such an injury? Their clothing was as mismatched as their demeanors, they couldn't be comrades. Only one thing they had in common: medals pinned to their chests, each like the one I had noticed on the same shelf from which I had taken this very image.
It was then that bits and pieces of history class filtered back to me. Five young men came to Earth, armed with powerful mobile suits known as Gundams. They battled the Alliance, defending the people of Earth and the Colonies even when the people despised them...
That drew a snort from me, and I put the frame back down on the counter. Never. What a daydream. There was no way the gruff and temperamental Wufei, a man I found at random through the prison phonebook, could be a man of importance taught to children all across the world. It just wasn't possible.
I took advantage of already being in the bathroom to relieve myself once more before returning to bed. All the while, the photograph bothered me. Aside from the ridiculous, what could it possibly mean? Perhaps they were local militia, without uniforms, bound together by a common location and goal. They gave medals to such men for bravery, didn't they? Maybe it wasn't so outrageous to see five teenage boys banding together under terrible circumstances. I would seek out others my age if I were thrown into a war.
I made up my mind then to look at the medal closely when I had the chance. There was no sense in worrying about it when the question could be resolved by simply reading. I placed the frame back on the shelf, taking care to line it up as closely to its original position as I could. Hopefully Wufei wouldn't notice. I didn't get the impression that he wanted to look at it much, or why would it be nearly facing into the wall?
As I wriggled back between the sheets on the couch, I considered again the incongruity of the study full of books, and what I could only think of now as Wufei's military past. What scholar signed himself up for war?
What soldier adopted a girl sight unseen?
Author's Notes: Omgxx0rs, yes, Quatre wrote a book! See, this is why I love being older and more mature while writing this stuff. I get to have so much more FUN. (Not like I didn't 5 years ago, but yanno.) For those who want to know "Accounts of the Eve Wars by Q. R. Winner" was indeed written by everyone's favorite blond Arab. He wrote it about seven years after the whole Mariemaia bit (remember that Wufei is now 30, so it's a total of 15 years since the series' start). My Liberal Arts brain has been on this bent about recording history, and exploring meaning, and eyewitness testimony and suchlike, so there you go. No, I won't be excerpting it. Yes, you may pinch the title, but only if I get to read it!
Is it signed? Did Quatre send him a complimentary copy? WHO KNOWS what lurks in the mind of Lady Lye?! THE SHADOW KNOWS!
More in a week or two, chicklets.