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The Chains We Wear	By : LadyYeinKhan Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 13123 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 22
- 23
- 24
You can find story updates and other random and fandom related information at ahsimwithsake.tumblr.com

A/n: So I’ve been missing for a while, and I apologize. After failing NaNoWriMo (I only got to 32,000 but it was an interesting experience), I got swamped with work and the end of the term before break, went home for Christmas (because I needed it. Badly), and then got sick.

Oops.

But now I’m going to try to get back into the swing of Chains and my three-week deadlines. Wish me luck.

This chapter was difficult to write because of the places I was in (physically and mentally) and also because Duo’s personality is hard to understand for me.

Warnings for this chapter: swearing

Chapter 23

Honestly, Duo was surprised Trowa hadn’t gone bat-shit insane yet.

There was nothing wrong with Ocean City, New Jersey, of course. It was safe and mostly intact, and the air was heavy with the smell of the sea. Duo had rolled down his window before they reached the last bridge into the city, wanting to get that first whiff of the ocean. When the sea-cleaned air smacked the rental car, cascading over the less-than-pristine interior and the cracked, fake leather seats, Duo had stuck his head out the window and breathed.

If he looked like a dog on a road trip, half-leaning out of the car, with his hair flapping into his widely-grinning mouth, no one said anything. They couldn’t. Quatre had rolled down his too, just a crack; Wufei had leaned his head back, eyes half-closed under the smell, and Heero had actually smiled, until Duo barely missed clipping a road sign. Then he threatened to make Duo walk the last couple of miles if he didn’t pull his head in.

There was neither shoulder nor sidewalk on the bridge, and the sky looked ready to open up at any minute, so Duo had slid back into his seat.

Now, though, they were three days into their stay—and down four sets of clothes because good lord, it could rain in New Jersey—and Duo was realizing that under the rich smell of the sea, there was sweet, pungent decay. More than half of the stores were closed; the rest were struggling. Two schools were empty and more houses than any of them cared to think about. Residents avoided their eyes, and those who didn’t smiled with barely concealed confusion. Sometimes outright hostility.

And late on the first night, a three-idiot gang made the mistake of trying to mug Heero. The fight had lasted less than five minutes, and Quatre had had the worst time convincing Heero to call at least call an ambulance for the one bleeding from his head. While they were arguing, Duo had found a payphone and called it in anonymously.

Ocean City was dying. Slowly and brutally. From the inside out. Duo wasn’t sure how Trowa could stand it.

Duo knew that Trowa valued privacy—and he had to be getting it; Duo had been sitting on this curb for nearly twenty minutes and seen a total of two cars—and quiet. He knew that Trowa practically flinched from the hard rush of noise and bodies—a mistake he had learned from the one time he had gotten Trowa to go out for a “boys’ night.” More than either of those, however, Duo knew that Trowa hated being idle.

And if Trowa wasn’t, Duo would shave his head.

Trowa had been off the grid for just about two months, and hadn’t done a single thing he, or Heero, had expected him to during. Which is why he was so damn hard to find. He hadn’t cashed in any favors or called any old contacts—with the exception of Richards, who was hardly “old,” let alone a contact, and who had only provided him with his papers under threat (of losing his wife and son and that made Duo’s skin crawl). Trowa hadn’t slipped into cyberspace, hadn’t landed with barely a ripple in the pool of mercenaries and agents-for-hire that lurked just beneath the mess of social media, ridiculous images, and relevant-and-irrelevant information that was the internet. He hadn’t disappeared among the crowds of New York or London or Moscow, where a man with his unique skill set could easily make either a name or a fortune for himself. Usually both.

Instead Trowa paid-cash and hitch-hiked to a dead-end town with a dead-end name, took up residence in a dead-end apartment, and found himself a less-than-a-dead-end job.

If he wasn’t so angry about it, Duo would have been really impressed with Trowa’s dedication to escape them.

Duo heard a scuff and then the skitter of a rock on the concrete to his left. He glanced over just in time to see the can Wufei tossed at him. Catching it one-handed, Duo frowned at the neon green-and-yellow can.

“You would manage to grab the only flavor that I hate,” Duo said as he looked over the energy drink.

Wufei snorted. “Be glad I actually bought you that crap. I was so tempted to say they didn’t carry it and buy you water.”

“You don’t want to poison me, do you ‘Fei?”

“Water isn’t poison. That stuff on the other hand.”

“I like this stuff, thank you very much,” he said, popping open the can. The face Wufei made as he drank it was priceless. Or it would be if Duo wasn’t forcing himself not to gag.

“Do you even know what’s in it,” Wufei asked.

“Nope. Don’t particularly care either.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?”

“Hey, I’m pretty damn healthy. Let me have my junk food in peace.”

Outside of their weekly runs, Wufei was very much aware of the level of activity Duo maintained, the diet he kept, and how much noise he was willing to give when his health was threatened. Wufei had actually watched him argue with the cafeteria staff about how they’d be better off eating candy bars than the building’s dark-meat turkey-and-mayonnaise-on-potato-bread sandwiches. So Wufei twisted of the cap of his water a little harder than usual and squatted down beside him with a frown.

“Sidewalk’s pretty dry, you know,” Duo said. It hadn’t rained since last night, which was the longest break they’d gotten so far. Wufei eyed the cold, dark concrete once before settling himself more comfortably on his heels. Duo took a short swig of the bitter energy drink. On his heels probably would have been a good idea, but his butt was already mostly numb against the cold. Besides, Duo’s jeans were black. No one would notice a wet stain.

And considering how long he had been waiting, his legs would have been worse than numb by now.

“Still up there,” Wufei asked, looking four buildings down at the battered brick apartment building.

“Still up there,” he said with a nod. “No one’s come in or out either.”

Duo and Wufei would be up there themselves, except that Duo had gone up on the first day, with the landlord as a prospective tenant, and Heero wanted a second lookout. They had gone up to his apartment their very first night, not even an hour after checking into their hole of a motel, and stood, dripping wet, outside of Trowa’s apartment for nearly thirty minutes. Not home, they decided, which was totally possible. Trowa had a job after all (although Duo found it hard to imagine Trowa—graceful and brilliant and lethal Trowa—working at a supermarket). When Wufei and Quatre had waited over an hour that same night, however, knocking at intervals, Heero had started to worry Trowa had gotten word—or worse, caught a glimpse—of them. They needed proof that Trowa hadn’t already left, which meant that someone needed to distract the landlord.

Because in Heero’s head, breaking into the landlord’s office while he was with a prospective tenant was somehow better than breaking into Trowa’s apartment when he wasn’t home. Duo was probably the only one who understood how Heero had reached that conclusion, and it had nothing to do with the likelihood of bullets.

Duo tried not to be angry. He really did, but sometimes hecouldn’t help himself. If Heero had just listened to him. But when does Heero actually listen to me? If he had, though, this all would be so much easier. They’d be tracking down a boyfriend, at the very least a friend, instead of a wanted criminal who happened to maybe still be their friend. If Heero had told him, it might not have even gotten this far. Trowa might have come home after shooting Kader’s advisor in the kneecaps. He might have gone to Heero.

He might have told Heero, and then Heero might have hunted Kader down like the bastard that he was. It would have saved everyone some trouble.

Or Trowa might have booked. He might have moved out; maybe even resigned. And then they wouldn’t have worked together, because Une wasn’t dumb enough to put bad blood into an already sensitive mission. Maybe Trowa wouldn’t have been in the alley; but maybe he would of, and they wouldn’t have been there.

They wouldn’t have been there. Someone else would have found him, spread-eagle, blood cold beneath his head and drying on his face. Someone else would have found him with his shirt torn open and that fucking skirt hiked up. Maybe they would’ve still tripped over themselves. Maybe they would’ve slit open a pant leg sliding over the ice because stopping and kneeling would take too long. Maybe they would’ve ripped a seam on their coat trying to get it off. Maybe they would’ve almost broken Trowa’s neck shaking him.

And maybe they would’ve take one look at the small mounds of flesh, pale and hard from the cold, already bruising, and left him there.

Maybe Trowa wouldn’t have made it back at all.

The can’s rim twisted between Duo’s teeth. The thought alone made him sick and angry. Don’t forget guilty.

The thought frightened Heero. Face drawn, hands shaking, pulse spiking frightened. Which was disturbing because Duo had seen most of his reactions and there was nothing quite as painful as seeing Heero bone-deep scared. Heero could dent metal when he was angry, and look straight through you when he was concerned. He doubled over completely silent when laughing hysterically, and the one time he had seen Heero cry, he had been equally silent. And none of that was nearly as bad as when Heero had gone completely still at the mouth of the alley that night.

Except maybe after. After being after Duo had found his badge and after Heero had confirmed that yes, Trowa was gone. After that, Duo had gone home to collect Heero for Une, because she wanted Trowa found immediately. And that worked out so well.

Heero and Quatre had been at the table, with Trowa’s flute case between them. They hadn’t even heard him come in. Quatre had had his head on his arms, his fingers pulling at his flannel sleeves hard enough to tear. Heero, however, had been staring. Hands folded in front him, closed laptop at his elbow staring at the flute case. His lips were pressed against his knuckles. His brow was furrowed. It had taken Duo several long seconds to understand why the soft lines across Heero’s forehead made his chest hurt.

Heero had long since resigned himself to never telling Trowa how he felt. To him, losing him as a friend was so much worse than never being with him—and Heero could lose him. A confession could drive him away. The alley had strengthened that resolve. Trowa drifting away, Trowa wasting away, had strengthened it further. Even the “boyfriend”—Kader, the sleazy bastard, was so damn lucky to be in prison—hadn’t shaken him. There were moments, of course, where Duo worried Heero’s steel resolve had finally broken, but his jaw always unclenched and his fists always relaxed.Nothing was worse than losing Trowa, so Heero always backed away.

So that poignant look of regret—brows knitted; eyes narrowed, the corners turned down in momentary misery; mouth a soft line carefully hidden behind his clenching hands—on Heero’s face had damn near made Duo drop everything and sweep him into a hug because god damn it, it was not supposed to happen this way.

But he hadn’t, because when that moment passed, Heero would never have forgiven him for wasting their very precious time.

Duo hugged him after they got rejected from the first search team. They were at the office at the time, so they both claimed Duo was holding Heero back with an oddly-effective two-armed neck hold.

He was just starting to wonder if he could get away with a hug tonight, because Heero wasn’t the only one who needed some emotional support right now, when Wufei shifted. “Door’s opening,”he said. Duo leaned forward.

Four buildings down, they had the perfect vantage point for the old apartment building’s chipped entranceway. So when the scratched-glass door open and Heero and Quatre stepped out after a gangly kid with a soccer ball, they had an excellent view of their pinched faces.

Wufei sighed. “Kind of makes you miss the old days, doesn’t it,” he asked.

In the old days, Heero would have broken whatever system or door he had to. In the old days, he would have repelled from the roof and kicked in a window, or shimmied through the ventilation shaft to get into his apartment. He would have dragged Trowa back kicking and screaming, or knocked him out if the noise really bothered him.

But in the old days, Trowa was sometimes little more than a method for completion in a dark, quiet cockpit. Heero didn’t like to be reminded of that.

“Maybe a little,” he lied.

Wufei stuffed his empty plastic bottle and Duo’s equally-empty can—the taste was going to linger for hours—into the plastic convenience store bag. He stood and brushed himself off. Duo stayed on the curb, leaning against one knee with his cheek on his fist. They weren’t going anywhere soon. Quatre and Heero weren’t even halfway to them and he could already tell they’d been arguing.

“I’m not breaking into his office again,” Quatre muttered when they were in earshot.

“You didn’t break into it the first time.”

“Fine,” Quatre said, scowling. “You’re not breaking into it.”

Heero was known as “the perfect soldier” for several reasons, none of which had to do with skill. He knew how to obey an order, he knew how to prioritize them, and he knew (now) when to abandon the chain of command because of morality or gut feeling. What Heero didn’t know was how to handle being bossed around, and there was quite a bit of difference between the two. The glare he leveled on Quatre was sharp enough to make him stumble.

“I don’t remember asking for your permission, Quatre,” he said with a low growl. Quatre squared his shoulders, lapping up the tension for stability.

“I don’t remember there being much of difference between an office and an apartment.”

“I need to know—”

“He’s there.”

“We don’t know that.”

“He’s avoiding us.”

“Expertly,” Heero muttered. “Which does not mean he didn’t up and leave.”

“He’s probably at work,” Duo said, standing and brushing off the backs of his legs. Heero looked at him, face briefly flickering betrayal before smoothing back into its usual irritation. “You said his schedule’s mostly day work. Well, it’s not even three. He’s probably piling apples or something.”

Heero’s mouth flattened into a hard line. He finally caved yesterday and hacked through the ridiculously easy security software protecting the grocery store’s computer system. They had Trowa’s work schedule for the week in less than five minutes.    Part of Duo was thrilled at having Trowa’s working life in their hands. It gave them something of framework to work in as they tried to pin Trowa down.

The other part of him wished Heero hadn’t listened to him at all.

“We’re not going,” Duo said when he caught the almost eager gleam in Quatre’s eyes. Quatre had the decency to flush.

“I know, I know, but it would—”

Duo shook his head once. “No, Cat, it really wouldn’t.”

The frown crossing Quatre’s face was surprisingly Heero-like. Duo wasn’t exactly sure if Quatre was feeding off of Heero’s frustration or if he crossed the line.

“I would not cause a scene,” he said, voice oddly quiet. Crossed the line, big time.

To be fair, those had been Wufei’s words, not Duo’s. To be even fairer, Duo had almost smacked Wufei for them, true though they were. No, Quatre wasn’t exactly stable at the moment, and yes, the constant worrying and anxiety were wearing on his usual emotional and empathetic controls. But it wasn’t like Quatre was unstable. He wasn’t Zero-addled. And when the shit hits the fan? This wasn’t some vacation of Trowa’s that they were cutting short. The warrant in Heero’s pocket was real.

The gun in Heero’s suitcase, the one with the safety on and the chamber empty, was real. Protocol dictated that all operatives in pursuit of lethal targets had to be armed at all times. Even if that target was a friend. Heero hadn’t taken his gun out once since leaving the house.He could get a reprimand with a heavy dock to his pay, at a minimum, if the upper echelon of the Preventers ever found out. They all could.

But none of them wanted guns around when they finally cornered Trowa. None of them wanted that risk, from either of them.

“You won’t, but he might,” Duo half-lied.

“He won’t.”

“We have no idea what he’ll do,” Wufei said, arms folded across his chest. He stared unflinchingly into Quatre’s glare.

“He’s our friend.”

“He shot a man in the kneecaps and disappeared for two months under a false name.”

Heero nodded once. “All bets are off right now.”

“They are not.”

“Quatre,” Duo sighed. “Trowa left for, for probably a lot of reasons. Half of which we don’t really know. We don’t know how he’s doing, except for maybe bored, and we don’t know how he feels, except for clearly wanting to avoid us. Public spaces are not a good idea. Besides,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “An apple to the head can really hurt.”

Quatre didn’t smile like he hoped. His lip shook once before he heaved in a breath and turned. Wufei gave Duo an odd look as Quatre passed him: part exasperated, part concerned, mostly irritated. He followed after him.

“Too soon,” Duo asked quietly.

“It looks that way,” Heero answered. Duo sighed and ran a hand through his hair

“My timing sucks.”

Heero glanced over at him, expression oddly blank. He stepped forward once, and suddenly Duo could feel a warm, light weight on the small of his back. Heero’s touch lingered even after Duo looked at him, brows drawn together.

“It can,” he said. Duo frowned. When he turned to walk away, Heero followed, his fingers moving gently along the base of Duo’s spine. Duo couldn’t help himself from smiling.

Heero was shy, for lack of a better word, when it came to touch.    Outside of the bedroom, or very limited company, if it lasted for more than a few seconds, it was too long for him. Duo wasn’t exactly sure where the aversion came from. It was one of the few things Heero absolutely refused to talk about, and contrary to popular opinion, Duo did actually know when not to push. Waiting the few hours (once it had been a few days) it took Heero to work himself out of the mood that followed was tiring, but the light touch—a brush of skin against the back of his neck, fingers on his spine, hands weaving into his hair, lips against his ear—that always followed was well worth it.

Heero’s fingers lingered until they were just a few steps behind Quatre and Wufei. Duo felt oddly colder when they pulled away. He glanced at Heero keeping pace on his left. His hands were free from his pockets, swinging loosely at his sides. Duo moved half a step closer. He pressed the back of his left hand to Heero’s right. For a moment, he could have sworn the corner of Heero’s lips twitched up.

Then, there was a low whistle on Duo’s right and Heero was suddenly crushing his fingers. Duo cursed and twisted in his grip. Heero yanked hard. Liking his shoulder where it was, Duo stumbled into the pull. The soccer ball narrowly missed his head. He watched it slap loudly against the empty brick building they had been walking past.

Duo blinked and straightened, rubbing absently at his now slightly-numb fingers. The ball, standard issued black-and-white, looking well used with scuff marks and parts of its shell hanging off, bounced and rolled towards the street. Duo caught it with his foot. By then, Quatre and Wufei had already hurried back, and Heero had shifted his irritated gaze from the ball to across the street. Duo glanced over his shoulder.

The kid hurrying across the street was young, junior high school at best, but quickly approaching that age where his arms and legs outgrew the rest of him. Duo caught a glimpse of inches of pale ankle with every gangly step. The kid stopped short of the curb and stared up at them, completely unperturbed about standing five feet into the street, where a car could come along any minute and clip him in the back. If cars even came every minute in this town.

He looked at each of them in turn through a messy mop of dark curls. His eyes were wide but steady, an odd mix of curiosity and naïve bravery that only children seemed to manage. He stopped finally on Duo. Momentarily fascinated by the braid, the kid’s brown eyes eventually drifted down to Duo’s foot and his ball.

“Sorry about that, mister,” he said. His voice was high; probably a sixth, maybe a seventh grader. Hands in his back pockets and his hip tilted to one side, the kid scuffed the asphalt with the toe of his sneaker. There was at least a little bit of hard-pushed politeness left in him then. “Can I have my ball back?”

“You should be more careful,” Quatre said. “You could hurt someone.”

The kid’s shoulders shifted forward. “It’s just a soccer ball, and I said I was sorry.”

Quatre’s lips flattened into an irritated line. Duo knew that he had less than a few seconds before the lecture started, which was just enough time. The kid had to be from the same building; he had come out before Heero and Quatre and then loitered with his ball. Unless he was waiting for someone, he should have headed off to a park or closer to his own home to play. And he doesn’t look like he’s waiting for anybody.

Kids were brilliant. They were quick and observant. They might not understand all the finer points, but their attention to detail could be second to none. Little things adults missed—little things adults forgot—kids picked up on right away. They held onto them like treasures, usually out of curiosity, sometimes out of need. Making them let go, now that was hard part.

Duo’s mouth split into a wide smile. “Don’t start, Quatre,” he said. “A soccer ball isn’t going to kill me.”

Heero let out an odd noise, caught somewhere between a laugh and a growl. Quatre frowned at him, and Wufei’s fine eyebrows rose up to his hair. Duo ignored them.

“You got some power, man,” he said, rolling the ball back onto the top of his foot and kicking it up to his knee. Duo passed it from one knee to the other, bounced it up to his elbow, and let it roll down his shoulders to his hand. The kid’s eyes were even wider than he hoped they would be when he passed the ball back. “Going pro?”

The kid was quiet for a moment, eyes going from foot to knee, trying to pick apart the muscle movements and coordination. When he looked up, he smiled. He tossed the ball lightly between his hands.

“Coach says I’ll make the state team next year. I’d be the youngest,” he said, shoulders rolling back for a moment. Then the smile slipped from his face. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

Still that young. “Mom’s advice,” Duo asked. He dropped down to a crouch when the kid nodded once. “Well I’m not going to argue with a mom. She knows tons of stuff.”

“Well, yeah. She’s a teacher.”

“There’s a lot of stuff you can’t learn in any school. Your mom knows pretty much all of it, so I’d listen to her,” Duo said with a nod. He could almost feel the confused expressions drilling into his back. “That stranger stuff? That’s serious business, man. There are some crazy people out there that you don’t want to mess with.” Duo leaned forward, hand rising to the side of his face.

“See that one,” he said, pointing at Heero with his other hand. Duo glanced over at him and had to bite his tongue. I can’t laugh, I can’t laugh. Oh but Heero’s irritated scowl never failed to make him laugh. “He’s killed people.”

The kid turned his wide, brown eyes on Heero. Heero, arms folded across his chest, actually locked his knees to keep from reeling back under the young scrutiny. They stared at each other for a moment before the kid’s face scrunched up.

“No way,” he said, shoving finger at Heero. “He’s not much bigger than me.”

Heero wasn’t that much bigger than anyone, actually, although he had a good foot and a half on the kid. The growth spurt they had all gone through (finally) had ended much sooner for him, leaving him just over five-and-a-half. It didn’t bother Heero quite as much as it used it, but it was still something of a sore spot. Especially when not-so-politely pointed out by children.

“So way,” Duo said, cutting across the telling twitch to Heero’s jaw that always preceded less-than-polite commentary. “Bullet, right between the eyes.”

“You’re a liar.”

Duo let out an exaggerated gasp. “I am not. Guys, help me out here,” he said, craning his head back to look at them.

Quatre’s face was still pinched with confusion, and Heero was still struggling not to swear. Wufei, however, finally picked up on the cues. Then again, Wufei never missed an opportunity to poke fun at him.

“He’s worse than a liar,” Wufei said, rolling his eyes. “He’s a bad one.”

The kid laughed, just like he wanted.

“Dude, you’re supposed to help me, not him,” Duo said.

“I seem to recall you saying you didn’t need my help.”

“See, this is why I should keep my mouth shut,” he said, wagging a finger at the kid. “I have the worst friends ever.”

“We’re your only friends.”

“And he’s the worst of all.”

“You guys are weird,” the kid said. Duo shrugged.

“Most people are. But yeah, okay, he’s never killed anyone and I’m a bad liar.” Duo ran a hand over the back of his neck. “We’re just a couple of college kids.”

“Mom says they’re all over the place ‘cause of Stockton.”

“Well we’re not from Stockton. We’re from Colorado.” At least he hoped it was Colorado. Trowa’s personas could be ridiculously complicated. They couldn’t find, in any of the paperwork, if “Tracy” had gone to school out of state. Duo passed a quick, discreet glance to Heero. His face had smoothed finally, and he gave a short nod.

The kid’s nose scrunched up as he thought about it. “That’s far,” he decided finally.

“Really far,” Duo agreed. “Like seven hours by plane.”

“It was four, Duo,” Quatre sighed.

“Ish.”

“I don’t even like sitting in church for an hour,” the kid said.

“Can you imagine being stuck on a plane, then,” Duo asked. “Sheer torture.”

“It was fine,” Quatre said with a smile.

“Maybe for you. My knee was going the whole time.”

“I know,” Heero growled. “It kept hitting me.”

“How come you guys came out here then,” the kid asked.

Perfect. Duo timed his looks as well as he could, glancing from Heero to Quatre and Wufei with just the right amount of awkward seconds. He chewed on his lip for good measure. Quatre picked up the cue this time and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well,” he started. Duo let the word hang until the kid tilted his head.

“We’re kind of looking for someone,” Duo said.

The kid was most definitely sharp. It took only a few for his eyes to narrow slightly and his shoulders to round forward.

“He lives around here. His name’s Tracey.”

The kid took one step back. “I should probably go inside. Mom wants to go shopping before dinner.”

Pushed too fast. Last try. Duo let his smile slip a bit. He nodded once. “Yeah, alright. Well, you keep clear of those strangers. We’re just going to keep looking.” Duo rose slowly. He scratched the back of his neck once, throwing a wistful look at the apartment building before starting to walk. It took the others less than a second to move after him.

It took the kid a couple more to catch up to them.

“What’s he look like?”

Duo stopped. “He’s kind of tall,” he said, holding a hand above his shoulder to give the kid an idea. “And he’s skinny. He’s got dark hair that comes to around here.”

“I haven’t seen him,” the kid said after a moment of quiet shuffling. Duo nodded once.

“That’s okay. We’ll be here for a while, so if you see him.”

The kid caught up to them faster this time. “How long have you been looking?”

“Not long,” Duo said. “A couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks is long.”

“That’s what I said,” Quatre muttered.

“We thought he just, you know, he moved,” Duo said, looking down at him. “People have to do that sometimes. But then, you know, he stopped talking to us, and then the number we had didn’t work anymore. One week became two and then three and we didn’t hear from him at all.” Duo sighed and shook his head. “We were really tight. Best friends, you know? Andwe just, we want to make sure he’s okay. That we didn’t do anything.”That’s it’s not totally our fault. Duo bit back a flinch.

He didn’t even make a full turn before the kid stopped him. “He’s at work,” he said, looking down at the soccer ball in his hands. Duo watched him scuff the toe of his sneaker against the asphalt, watched his fingers tighten around the ball. His chest tightened.

If there was one thing kids always understood, it was losing a friend—and doing anything to get them back.

“Yeah,” he asked.

“He works mornings and stuff. I saw him with his apron. He gets home around five-thirty or six, when I get home from soccer on school nights. He lives on my floor.”

They already knew that. Duo dropped down in front of him again. “Thanks, man,” he said. “We’ll come back around six then to see him.” He paused, looking at the soccer ball, before taking it from the kid’s fingers. He balanced it lightly on the kid’s foot. “The key is balance. If it’s not balanced here, it’s not going to work. Then it’s not so much a kick. It’s a lift. Straight up, not out. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“It’ll take some practice, but you’ll get it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, giving the boy a light pat on the shoulder before standing up. “You got the skills.”

The soft smack of the soccer ball on the asphalt followed Duo as he walked away. The kid grumbled. Duo smiled, until the kid called again.

“Mom thinks he’s sick,” he said. The kid was talking to the ball balanced on his foot again, his arms held out a bit to keep him from swaying. “She says he looks funny, like he’s not sleeping. And she thinks he’s skinnier. She tried to invite him over for dinner two days ago and thought he was going to be sick.”

Duo didn’t need to look. He could hear the soft, whining intake of breath from Quatre; if he listened a little harder, he was sure he would hear Heero grinding his teeth. He smiled over his shoulder.

“Your mom’s probably right,” he said. “Thanks.”

Duo waited until they were at the end of the block, well past the apartment and far away enough that the scuffle of soccer ball and sneakers were more of a suggestion of sound. More than enough to keep most kids from overhearing. Duo still pitched his voice low.

“Look. We’ve got almostthree hours before he even might be home,” he said, hands deep in his pockets. “Let’s get some food. Some not-crappy, not-convenience store food.”

“There was that restaurant,” Quatre said after a moment, his stride lengthening until he was walking beside Duo. “On the way to, to the supermarket.”

“There were a couple of restaurants,” Wufei said, not mentioning the obvious hesitation.

“The Italian place, with the wrought iron table outside. It looked pretty popular.”

And popular meant that the food had to be decent at least. “Was it Italian,” Duo asked. “I don’t remember seeing a sign.”

“Duo, olive oil and garlic were practically pouring out the door.”

“Lots of people use garlic and olive oil.”

“Not like that,” he said. For a minute, Quatre was smiling: an exasperated-but-amused lift of his lips. The “oh Duo” smile. It made him smile, but then the smile slipped off his face and it took everything Duo had not to sigh. “So Italian?”

“Why not? It’s got to be better than that sandwich last night.”

“Or that soup,” Wufei said coming up on the other side of Quatre. “Lukewarm and I’m very sure those were rocks painted to look like carrots.”

“You can’t chew rocks.”

“Fair point. Dirt clods, then. Half-frozen, orange-painted dirt.”

Duo waited a few seconds before dropping back to walk with Heero. They listened to Quatre feebly try to defend last night’s mistake of a dinner for a minute. Then Heero glanced at him.

“I didn’t know you played soccer,” he said quietly.

“I don’t,” he said, shrugging once. “But stuff like that, it’s useful. At the very least, it was a decent distraction from time to time.”

Duo didn’t usually talk about L2, not even in passing. Not even with Heero. He didn’t talk about the gang he ran with, the gang he lost. He didn’t talk about the people and the things he’d seen, the skills he learned or was forced to learn. He didn’t talk about what he abandoned or what he kept, what he honed for its usefulness and what he simply clutched to his chest because he wasn’t ready to give it up. Duo didn’t talk about L2, and Heero respected that (most of the time). So the almost casual reference took him by surprise.   Heero’s eyes widened. His lips parted, and for a moment Duo regretted even opening his mouth.

Then Heero’s mouth snapped shut. He nodded once and looked away. But after a moment, the back of Heero’s hand brushed against Duo’s. It stayed, even after a few seconds. Duo twisted his index finger around his, and for once Heero didn’t pull away.

Their fingers stayed hooked together for the fifteen-odd minutes it took them to find the restaurant, a chintzy little hole-in-wall, sticking out like an aesthetic sore thumb between the brick-and-mortar buildings on either side of it. Heero squeezes Duo’s finger gently before pulling away, arms crossing over his chest as he looks at the overly-curvaceous iron tables and chairs framing the door with the badly-stained glass windows. Duo cupped the back of his neck with his hands.

“Maybe it’s less costume-y inside,” Quatre suggested.

“Maybe someone’s going to owe me money,” Duo said smirking at the fake ivy covered baskets. “Twenty bucks says there’s potpourri on every table.”

“You must like losing money, Maxwell,” Wufei said as he opened the door. He frowned at the chime clanking over it.

“I’m not spotting you this time,” Heero said.

“Once, okay? You had to spot me once.”

“Once is enough when it’s two hundred dollars.”

“How was I supposed to know Baker was married? She never wears her ring.” Hacking records was against the rules of the game, and Duo had only noticed the tan line after the office Christmas party. Apparently, some people took issue with mistletoe.

“You could’ve asked,” Quatre said.

Duo draped an arm over Quatre’s shoulders as they followed Heero inside. “Clearly, you have never played these kinds of games.”

The restaurant obviously switched designers between the outside and the interior; Duo thought it might have been after the owner got a good look at the restaurant’s façade. Inside, the walls were done in pale yellow, finished to look like the warm, worn stone of a Tuscan villa. Excellent replicas hung on the walls, interspersed with sconces converted for electricity. From the ceiling were small chandeliers. They threw warm gold light, making the dining room seem oddly sunny despite its lack of windows. Half of the round and square tables had candles, bare wax and tastefully covered with frosted glass.

The other half had small bowls of potpourri.

“You can cover me and we’ll call it even,” Wufei said under his breath as the waitress, a slip of girl with floating red hair and a too-bright smile led them to a table. Duo snorted and slipped a bill from his back pocket into Wufei’s hand.

He wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

The waitress led them to a small corner table between a sconce and a replica of something that Quatre could probably name. Heero sat down first, taking the chair that had the best line of sight to all available doors. Duo knew by his frown that there were at least two blind spots. Duo sat beside him near the wall, Quatre and Wufei sat across from them.

“Can I start you boys off with some drinks,” the waitress said, to Wufei while handing out menus. Wufei glanced at them in turn.

“Water,” he said.

“Same,” Heero said.

“Make that three, please.”

“Can I have some tea,” Quatre asked.

“What kind would you like?”

“Whatever you happen to have.”

She nodded, jotting down the order too fast to be legible to Duo. “I’ll give you a couple of minutes to look over the menus. Our daily specials are on the inserts inside the front cover. Our soup of the day, which is prepared on site, is minestrone, and I’ll be back in a couple of minutes with your drinks.”

Duo waited until the waitress was at least four tables away. “She’s gunning for you ‘Fei.”

“Shut up and look at your menu.”

“Did you see that ‘come hither’ look she gave you? Damn, she wants you.”

“Get your eyes checked.”

“She was oddly focused,” Quatre said, arms folded over his menu. “She didn’t look at any of us when we ordered drinks.”

Duo could hear Wufei grinding his teeth behind the menu.

“If she stares at you when she’s taking our order, there’s a seventy-thirty shot that she’s going to try and slip you her number.”

“Quatre, I don’t understand what half of this means,” Wufei snapped. He shoved the menu under Quatre’s nose. “You like Italian, explain this.”

Quatre knew enough about Italian, the language and the food, to be moderately impressed with the contents of the menu. Duo knew enough to safely order pasta with meat sauce and steer Heero away from anything that might have mushrooms or eggplant in it. Quatre suggested capellini with lemon and pepper to Wufei (after explaining what it was) before deciding on something with vodka sauce for himself.

Quatre caught Duo’s smirk and rolled his eyes. “Cooking burns off the alcohol.”

“Not all of it,” he said. “Good thing you’re not driving.”

“None of us are, so if you want a wine or something.”

“Nah. Unlike some people, I don’t drink before five.”

“I’m not drinking,” Quatre said, but there was a smile on his lips. Duo smiled and pushed a little further.

“Semantics,” he said. And Quatre actually laughed.

Duo smiled at the way Quatre’s mouth rounded when he laughed, at the way the corners of his eyes scrunched when he smiled. It lasted less than a minute, until just before the waitress came back with a small tray of drinks, but the silence that followed still felt a little lighter for it. The familiar give-and-take they shared—the three-way banter, the light teasing, the casual touches, the occasional lingering hold—had been missing for most of the last two months. There had just been too much stress, too much wondering, too much worrying, for that kind of ease. And honestly, that hurt because Duo did try. He tried for normalcy. He knew when to back off, of course; he knew when the empathy and the fear were too much for more than silent brooding side-by-side, with an occasional supportive touch. But Duo did try to keep the play and the affection in their lives.

Most days, Quatre wanted none of it, which left Duo with watching. Watching the empathy eat Quatre from the inside out. Watching the shadows pull on his face, and lack of sleep bruise his eyes. Watching the anger and the fear spill out of his mouth.

And that, on top of Heero, left Duo bone-deep exhausted.

Their waitress behaved herself when she was taking their orders. She even went so far as to at least glance at Duo when he ordered for Heero and himself. But she cast another one of those smolder smiles at Wufei as she left with their orders—a smile Wufei thoroughly ignored—and when their dishes came, the capellini was the only dish that ended up in front of the right customer.

“You both ordered meat sauce,” Wufei muttered.

“Yeah, but vodka sauce is white,” Duo said as he handed Quatre his plate and took his meat sauce-with-eggplant from under Heero’s frowning nose.

The food was good, at least. Better than good since it was proper temperature and showed no signs of having painted non-food stuffs hiding anywhere. When their waitress brought a basket of bread, steam still curling from the lightly-toasted crusts, Duo broke a breadstick and offered Quatre half. Quatre waved it off. Just like he waved off a lot of things Duo had offered recently.

Duo tossed the broken bread onto Heero’s pasta a little harder than necessary. Heero didn’t mention it, but as he took the warm bread in his fingers and used it to mop up sauce, Duo felt his knee shift. It pressed gently against Duo’s. Further down, Heero’s foot inched over until it was resting lightly on top of his.

Duo smiled down at his half of the breadstick. He bumped their knees together lightly before ripping off of a piece of warm bread and popping it into his mouth.

The four of them were generally quick when it came to lunch. The headquarters was always bustling with activity. There was always a file to send, a report to finish, a meeting to sit in on, or a mission to finish prepping for. They just didn’t have time for a leisurely thirty-minute lunch. Duo went down to the cafeteria because he needed to get away from his desk. He needed those fifteen minutes where he wasn’t an operative but a very hungry guy. He knew the others felt the same. Even Heero.

They could work through lunch; they’d probably get more done if they did. But Duo honestly thought that he would go insane by the end of the week if he didn’t get those fifteen minutes to just walk away.   He didn’t understand how people could stand it. He didn’t understand how Trowa could.

When he was there, and Duo hoped against hope that he’d be there again someday so he could scratch his head over it some more. He knew better, though, than to get his hopes up.

Generally, though, they were quick eaters. Today, however, they lingered. Small bites every few minutes. Low scratches as their forks slowly coiled in their pasta. An unusual preoccupation with soaking up every bit of sauce with bread. Duo knew what they were doing. They had two hours to kill, and not many places to do it in. The hotel was uncomfortable at best, the boardwalk was both possibly distracting and possibly dangerous, and sitting outside his apartment would ruin everything and drive them nuts.

Duo just wished they could talk and make the silence a little less awkward.

When he had eaten all his pasta and most of the leftover sauce with two-and-a-half breadsticks, Duo glanced at his watch. They made managed to kill a little more than an hour. Heero was almost finished, Wufei just behind him. Quatre had barely touched his food. Duo leaned back, draping his arm over the back of his chair.

“I’m going to need some coffee,” he said with a sigh.

“That poison not keeping you awake,” Wufei asked.

“I don’t drink it just for the caffeine, you know.”

“That stuff is packed with it, though. If that’s not keeping you up, I don’t think coffee’s going to help.”

Duo shrugs. “Ever had a straight shot of espresso? That’ll wake you up.”

“I thought you were going to stop drinking those energy things,” Heero said, watching him from the corner of his eye.

“I said I’d cut back, and I did. First one in a couple of weeks, and I think I deserved it, thank you very much.”

“They’re really not good for you, Duo,” Quatre said.

“Neither is not finishing your food, but have I said anything?”

Quatre flushed lightly. “You just did.”

Duo tilted his head. “So I did. Finish up.”

“I’m pretty much done. We can get the check and go.”

“I’m not leaving without my coffee, so finish up. We can wait.”

Quatre’s lips pressed into a frown. “I can get a box for it.” A box that would end up in the trash. Duo shrugged.

“You can, but vodka sauce sucks reheated.” Quatre apparently agreed, because he took one long look at his food, frowned, and picked up his fork. Duo thought he caught a smile from Wufei before he ducked back over his food. Heero’s fingers brushed over his thigh as he reached down to get his phone from his pocket. Duo smiled.

“Weren’t you ordering coffee,” Heero asked as he looked at the display.

“Yeah. You want something?”

Heero nodded once, snapping the phone closed with a frown. “Could probably use the caffeine.”

The restaurant wasn’t overly crowded when they first came in: a few couples here and there, most at least one table away from theirs and normal enough in their movements to warrant only a passing glance from Duo and a slightly longer one from Heero. Closer to four-thirty, an early dinner rush was starting, complete with old couples and a few families with children of various behaviors. Even so, Duo thought it took her several minutes too long to finally notice his hand in the air, and several more to make her way over.

At least the coffee was good.

Heero finished a few minutes before the coffee arrived. Wufei a few minutes after, and Quatre almost fifteen after that. He looked a little pale when he finally pushed the plate away. Having a full stomach must have been a slightly unusual experience for him after an extended period of shrunken meals. Quatre looked a bit better, though, once he had a coffee cup in his hand. They shared the first round, and then the second, in silence, nursing black and sugar-fortified coffee for as long as possible. Heero simply couldn’t handle three cups of coffee in a row—he claimed it threw off his reaction time by some odd decimal percentage—and signaled for the check just after five.

The check came in a small fake-leather folder that the waitress pushed across the table with her fingers. “You can come up to the front at any time,” she said. “I hope you all enjoyed your meal.” Heero waited until she had moved away to another table before turning it towards him and flipping it open. He paused, and then flipped it closed with an odd quirk to his lips.

“I think this is for you,” he said, pushing it towards Wufei. Wufei frowned. He picked it up, opened it, and swore.

“I always bet on the wrong things,” Duo sighed as Wufei frowned at the slip of ripped-out notebook paper.

“Depends on who you ask,” Wufei growled. He stuffed the slip in his pocket and passed the folder back. Duo was impressed. Seven months ago, maybe a little longer, Wufei probably would have torn it up at the table, in full sight of her. Zechs’ chivalrous nature was rubbing off on him. He’d probably dump it in the first trashcan he saw outside.

They squared up the check, give or take a few bucks, paid, and stepped out into the evening. The sun had dipped beneath most of the buildings. Streetlamps were flicking on. They stood in a small knot in front of the entrance. Quatre looked down one end of the street and chewed his lip. Heero looked down the other, his right hand curling briefly into a fist. Wufei stuffed his hands in his pockets. Duo sidestepped out of the way of a couple heading for the restaurant, nodding at their curious look.

He was the first one to head back to the apartment.

There was something about the anticipation—more like anxiety—that made the walk back so much longer. Longer, it seemed, than their slightly slower pace should have made it. Heero walked beside him, oddly stiff, and behind him, Duo heard an unusual scuffle as someone’s shoes didn’t quite leave the concrete every time they stepped. Duo cupped the back of his head with his hands.

He wasn’t sure what they were going to do if Trowa wasn’t there, because he might not be. He could have come home back earlier; he could come back later. He might not come back at all. He could have stashed his stuff somewhere between their visits and used “work” as an excuse to leave without being caught. Trowa put too much time and effort into his personas to abandon them like that, but considering the circumstances.

Duo didn’t know what they would do, what he would do, if they met a locked door again. Go back to the hotel, of course, but after that? Well, they’d have to make a show of hunting him down. That was, after all, why they were here. But Quatre wouldn’t be able to stay. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. He’d have to go home, by himself, to an empty house. They would have to go somewhere, after Heero managed to track Trowa down again. How long would that take? A week? Two? Another two months?

Heero might have been their best operative, their perfect soldier, but Duo knew he wouldn’t be able to handle that.

He was praying, honest to god praying, when they rounded the last corner. The apartment was a few buildings down, glowing a dull orange from the street lamps on either side of it. A crisper, whiter light, however, spilled out of the entranceway. So as they approached, they got a very good look at the young man with the hood ducking inside. One of the straps of his red apron got caught in the door. They were close enough that Duo swore he could hear the rip of fabric as the young man yanked the strap free.

Duo was kind of amazed they didn’t break into a run.

They did, however, take the stairs two at a time, until Heero stuck his arm out at the top and nearly knocked Wufei back down them. Trowa’s apartment was roughly in the middle. The hall’s ceiling was high enough that sound could carry, and they had no idea how thin the walls were. Trowa’s apartment was far enough from the ground that a jump out of the window would hurt, but it wouldn’t necessarily kill him. If the window was in the right place, he might make it to another building.

They approached the apartment quietly. Duo was in front with Heero, so he felt rather than saw Quatre’s anxiety, mostly in the way Quatre kept treading on the back of his shoes. Duo reached back. He found Quatre’s wrist and touched it lightly. He almost stopped dead in his tracks when Quatre took his hand and squeezed.

Heero stopped outside of Trowa’s door. Nondescript, paint peeling, without a nameplate. He waited for a minute, listening until Duo was sure that he confirmed the faint scuffling noises coming from inside were real and not some devastatingly-hopeful auditory illusion.   He didn’t look at any of them. He didn’t wait for a head nod. Heero clenched his fist once and knocked.

Two solid raps against the door with his knuckles. Inside, someone cursed.

Behind him, Quatre let out a shaking sigh.

Heero waited a few seconds before knocking again, and then a few seconds longer than that before the third. The apartment had gone absolutely silent. Duo chewed on his lip. He could almost see Trowa, standing there, near a chair or a table, gripping the edge of it tightly, watching the door. Hoping that if he’s quiet long enough, we’ll go away.

Duo pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going to be messy. Really messy, by the looks of it. Normally, he didn’t mind messy. It was something a challenge, but right now he didn’t want messy, not when it came to Trowa. He wasn’t sure how well any of them would handle messy and Trowa.

Frowning, Heero glanced up and down the hall once before stepping closer to the door. “We just want to talk,” he said, pitching his voice loud enough to carry through the door without going down the hallway. There were neighbors, after all. “Open the door,” he said. Heero waited a moment and then dropped his hand to the doorknob. He twisted it slightly and pushed. “We can kick this door in, regardless of the locks you have on it. You know we can.” Duo thought he heard a shift from inside the apartment. “Please.”

Heero was careful about not saying his name; Trowa had built himself a life here. A pathetic one, but a life, and Heero wasn’t going to jeopardize that further than he had to. But Duo could tell it was dancing on the tip of his tongue, teasing his lips. He could see it in the way he moved his mouth silently. He could hear it in the soft dip in his voice when Heero said “please.”

The apartment was silent for several agonizingly long minutes. Then Duo heard footsteps. Hard footsteps. Angry footsteps. They stomped towards the door. There was the sharp snap of a dead bolt sliding back. The door didn’t open.

This time, Heero did look at them once before reaching down and turning the door knob. Duo’s stomach suddenly dropped as the door opened. They never did find the gun Trowa used that night. Heero assumed he dropped it. Trowa wasn’t overly attached to his weapons, but he never did let a good tool go to waste.

Trowa stood at a small dinette, clutching the back of the chair with one hand and crushing his apron with the other. His mouth was pressed into a hard, sneering line.

“I hope you have a fucking warrant,” he said through his teeth.

Heero unzipped his denim coat just enough to reach into lining pocket. The warrant had been in a pocket of some sort—folder, then suitcase, then jacket—since Une gave it to them, so the bluish-white paper looked oddly creased. Heero held it out to him. Trowa looked at it briefly before his eyes darted up to Heero’s face. They lingered before jumping to Wufei’s, then Quatre’s then Duo’s. His lips twitched, amused and furious and so obviously miserable that it hurt.

Then Trowa threw his apron on the table, ignoring it when it slid off, and headed into the kitchen.

They waited until Trowa opened one of the cabinets, its door rattling loudly with the force of his pull, before moving. Wufei slipped silently back to the door and closed it. He slid the lock into place with a soft click. Heero took a few steps to the side until he had a clear line of sight into the kitchen. He didn’t take a single step forward. Quatre made a few abortive attempts to head to the kitchen before going to the table. He dropped down and picked up the apron, folding it carefully against his knees. He dragged shaking fingers over it, smoothing out invisible wrinkles.

Duo stayed exactly where he was. He had a pretty decent view already. He could see the mismatched furniture on other side of him: table and chairs and side tables of different woods and varnishes; a narrow floral couch, its white base and purple flowers yellowed with use and age. He could see the dings in the table legs, the chips in the tabletops, and the inch of dust on the piano’s lid. More importantly, though, Duo could see Trowa, leaning back against the kitchen sink, a glass of water trembling in his hand, through the gap between the counter and the cabinets that made up the divider of kitchen and living room.

Black was not Trowa’s color. At least not now, not when his lightly-tanned skin was splotched with white and red and purple.   Trowa looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, the bruises under his eyes thick and dark. When he ducked his head, as he seemed to do often before moving strands of that god-awful black hair out of his face, they swallowed up his eyes completely. His jaw was sharper than Duo remembered. His cheeks sunken. Trowa looked like a skull.

He looked sick.

Trowa sounded sick, oddly breathy when he snapped, “If you’re going to arrest me, do it soon. Otherwise, leave. I have a four A.M. inventory I need to go to bed for.”

“Have you been going to bed at all,” Wufei asked. The look Trowa gave him was short before he turned his attention back to his water. Duo was amazed he hadn’t dropped it yet.

“We can’t leave,” Heero said.

“I’ve noticed.”

“You knew we were here,” Quatre said, the hurt plain on his face.

“None of you are exactly difficult to spot.” The words came out in a low hiss. Quatre flinched from it, and for a moment the old irritation was back. They did actually want to help. He didn’t have to be that sharp about it. Duo grit his teeth and stepped forward.

Then Trowa’s head ducked, his chin nearly touching his chest as he turned his face to the side. If it were brown again and sculpted, the sweep of his hair would have covered his face. It would have hid the momentary guilty twitch of his mouth.

It didn’t, and Trowa realized that a moment too late. He brought the glass to his lips and took a long pull instead. Duo sighed, running his hand through his hair.

“I guess we weren’t exactly subtle,” he said. Duo thought he saw the corner of Trowa’s mouth twitch up as he looked at him, but his lips were still around the glass so Duo couldn’t be sure. “But subtlety was never really our style.”

“Speak for yourself,” Wufei muttered.

“I’m pretty sure you blew up the first base, ‘Fei.”

“We can’t leave,” Heero said again.

“Not without you,” Quatre added.

“Then arrest me.”

“Eventually, we’ll have to,” Heero said.

Trowa’s brow knitted, and for the first time since they came into the apartment, he took a long look at each other them. His dull, sunken eyes lingered on Quatre. The fact that it had taken him this long to remember that Quatre was not a Preventer and therefore shouldn’t be there for an arrest—and this was Trowa, who noticed when someone moved his stuff even a couple inches from where it was—was frightening. Trowa turned away finally and refilled his glass.

“Eventually,” he said. “What comes first?”

Everyone was silent, listening to the steady rush of water. When Trowa turned it off, Quatre took a step forward. “You could have told us.”

Too soon, Quatre. Duo could almost feel Trowa bristling.

“No.”

“You could’ve—”

Trowa turned. “No,” he said, fingers tightening around the glass. Duo worried for a moment that he might through it. “We’re not—I’m not—Leave.”

“Trowa.”

“Leave. I have to be up in seven hours.”

“We can’t just—”

“Of course you can. The door’s right there,” he said. “Go back to whatever hole you’ve been staying in, and come back when you’re actually going to arrest me.”

“Would you be here if we did,” Heero asked. A sharp, guilty twitch went through Trowa’s shoulders. “Quatre’s right.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Then can you tell us now,” Duo asked. He crossed his arms under the hard sneer Trowa gave him. “Seriously? You couldn’t tell us then, you can’t tell us now. Are you ever going to tell us?”

“I told you all to leave. Good night.”

“You ran,” Duo hissed. “You shot the advisor, threatened to shoot Richards’ wife—”

“Threatened but didn’t, and I did pay him extra for the, the trouble.”

Because money was worth a person’s life. Duo ground his teeth. “You took off, without telling us anything. For two fucking months, Trowa. I think you owe us something.”

Trowa laughed, and it was the worst sound Duo ever heard.

It was high and breathy, oddly hysterical, rushing around the side of Trowa’s free hand where he covered half his face. And it just didn’t stop. The hair on the back of Duo’s neck rose. Quatre’s hand rose, cupping his mouth as his brows knitted almost in pain. Behind him, Wufei let out an strangled noise. In front of them, Heero had gone rigid. Duo was at just the right angle to see how white his face had done.

Then the laughing hitched, and Trowa was coughing. He was still coughing after a few seconds; his body shook with every one. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand. Still, Duo heard when the coughing turned wet. Trowa’s shoulders rolled forward as he gagged. He turned. Over the shatter of glass, they heard dry heaving.

Heero was the closet to the kitchen and got to Trowa first. Wufei had the straightest line and got there second. Duo barely made third, but he still got to see Trowa throw a jerky punch that Heero easily dodged before he twisted out of Wufei’s grip on his shoulders. Trowa pivoted, elbowed high, aimed for Wufei’s temple. Heero slipped in behind him for another attempted grab.

Halfway through the turn, Trowa went white. His mouth dropped open almost in surprise. By the end of the turn, he was already halfway to the floor, eyes rolling back. His limp body slipped through Wufei’s arms. Trowa’s head hit the floor with a thwack.

A/n: I’ve been told by my beta that this was an evil cliff hanger. I’ve also been informed that Trowa is very nasty in this chapter.

Yes. Yes he is, and it was hard to write.

I’m going to try and keep up with my three-week deadlines, but I should inform you that I am starting a new project as well. I will be participating in the Gundam Wing Big Bang (an author and artist challenge) and need to produce a 15,000 word minimum story by May. So time management time.

The story cannot be published before May (and believe me that’s going to kill me) but I will link it here if there is any interest. If all goes to plan, it will be a WWII AU in which Trowa becomes a POW in the pacific theatre.

In the meantime, you can (hopefully) expect a few updates here. We’re coming down to the end, slowly but surely

I remain, as always, your faithful storyteller.

~*~ladyyeinkhan~*~

You can find story updates and other random and fandom related information at ahsimwithsake.tumblr.com
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The Chains We Wear