Adult-FanFiction.org : Gundam, Beyblade, DBZ, FMA

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
- 24
- 25
A/n: I'm sorry for the extended silence. A lot of things have happened in the last couple months--including positives, like grad applications, and negatives like some startling news about my mother's health. But I am still working on it, as often as I can (even when I really don't want to sometimes) and it WILL get done.
I apologize in advance for any errors. I don't have a beta at the moment.
Warnings for this chapter: split POVs (Wufei followed by Quatre), possibly some swearing, references to alternative lifestyles and multiple partners.

Chapter 25
Wufei’s first thought was the flu. Trowa was exhibiting some of its classic symptoms, including fever, shivering, and fatigue. He had even suggested the illness himself (as part of a lie to the kid-from-before, but the most effective lies had a basis in fact). It was entirely possible that the flu was circulating the building or the supermarket; they were still in the latter half of the traditional “cold-and-flu season.”
As he tied off the trash bag’s drawstrings, though, Wufei decided that it couldn’t be the flu. Yes, Trowa had some of the symptoms but not all of them. Not by a long shot, and the severity of what he had wasn’t exactly flu-worthy. The fever was still on the mild side. The weakness was not as bad as it could be. And outside of children, influenza didn’t usually include vomiting.
Wufei’s next thought was some sort of stomach virus, possibly even food poisoning. Quatre was right; Trowa’s refrigerator (and most of his freezer and a couple of his cabinets) was an almost toxic area. It would have been easy for Trowa, in his recently-inattentive state, to accidentally poison himself. And stomach viruses were year-round and easy to pick up. Either one would explain the stomach sensitivity and the vomiting.
But while he was leaving the apartment and then moving slowly down the stairs, Wufei decided that it couldn’t have been either of those. Trowa wasn’t complaining about any sort of abdominal pain—or rather showing any signs of it, because he was being difficult and not complaining or mentioning any symptoms—and that was common in both. There was also the small matter of the weight loss. Trowa had always been thin, and always the thin that was just on the right side of healthy. It was clear to Wufei, though, that Trowa had lost weight recently. A lot of weight. Enough to make his skin look dangerously tight. To achieve that, Trowa had to have been not eating (or at all) for at least a few weeks. Stomach viruses didn’t last for weeks. Food poisoning barely lasted for days.
Which left Wufei with one more idea: anxiety. Trowa was so emotionally out of sorts that he had made himself sick. It was an uncommon, but not unheard of, reaction to significant, continual stress. And there weren’t many ways to describe the last couple months other than continually and exceptionally stressful.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much they could do for anxiety or stress-induced illness. There was no medicine to give him, unless they went to a hospital and Wufei already knew how that conversation would go. There was no way to really stop his symptoms. That had to come from Trowa. They could treat them, they could keep him comfortable, they could try to make him feel safe and relaxed, but until Trowa accepted those last two, it wouldn’t go away. Not really, not for a while.
“God damn it, Trowa,” Wufei muttered as he opened the door to the building. “Why didn’t you come to us sooner?”  Why didn’t you come at all?
To be fair, Wufei didn’t think Trowa could have.
Trowa Barton was private, by nature and, clearly, by experience. Yes, he was their friend, and yes, he had told them a lot about himself and his past—more, perhaps, than he had ever told anyone before. For as close as Trowa brought them, however, there had always been some distance. There had always been the sense that Trowa was holding them at arm’s-length. Sometimes further. It bothered Wufei from time to time, especially recently, but he never blamed Trowa; he didn’t think any of them did. But he also thought that none of them had really understood Trowa’s need for that space between them.
Until recently
Wufei tried to put himself in Trowa’s position and honestly couldn’t. He had always assumed that there were things that Trowa wouldn’t, or couldn’t, discuss with them. They all had them. They all had pasts full of brutality and tragedy, betrayals and murders. Some of them had a little less; some had a little more. Trowa, though: mercenary from childhood through adolescence, surrounded by men at least three times his age. A child mercenary with a condition that was probably treated more like an oddity than a medical concern.
He tried to imagine it: growing up like that. He tried to imagine growing up and trying to keep it a secret but being exposed. It had to have happened; it had happened, in a dark alley just a few months ago. But there had to have been times before. Wufei tried to imagine it. He was good with hypothetical situations like this, but this time, his imagination ground to a screeching halt.
No, Trowa couldn’t have come to them. Too many variables, too many memories, too many risks. Trowa couldn’t have done it. And after Kader—
That was a mess Wufei didn’t understand at all.
Wufei let out a long, slow breath as he stepped out onto the apartment building’s landing. The evening was cold and moist, the air sharp with the smell of impending rain. Wufei looked up at the sky and frowned. Past the orange glow of the street lamps, there were thick clouds. It would rain tonight. It would probably start soon. The walk back to the hotel wasn’t short, and it was cold and miserable in the rain. Not that any of them were going to leave. Trowa couldn’t take care of himself at the moment, not to mention that they hadn’t seen or heard from him in two months. Unfortunately, Wufei didn’t trust the hotel not to cancel their room, hold their belongings hostage, or charge them a ridiculous “absentee” fee.
Someone should go back and stay in the room tonight. At the very least, they needed to inform the hotel of their absence, and then possibly move their things here if the hotel decided to be difficult. Wufei knew how well that conversation would go.
Wufei was considering (and loathing) suggesting that he head back to the hotel when he heard a shoe scuffle to his right. He turned. Down the sidewalk, just coming into one of the circles of street light, was Duo. He had a plastic grocery bag pulled up each arm like a purse and several in each hand. When he was within conversation range, Duo inclined his head.
“He needs to find a closer grocery store,” Duo said, the exertion making his voice a little thinner than usual.
“It’s not even a mile,” Wufei said.
Duo snorted. “You try walking a not-mile with ten bags.”
Wufei would rather not. “You volunteered.”
“Which was stupid of me,” Duo muttered. He shifted the bags awkwardly. “Why doesn’t he have a car? Hot wiring it would’ve been so much easier.”
“You’re welcome to ask him,” Wufei said before walking down the short front steps.
“We finally decide to drag him back to the hotel,” Duo asked, nodding towards the trash bag with a tired smirk.
“He’s light enough for it but still too long in the arm and leg. He’d never fit.” And as light as Trowa was, Wufei didn’t think he could carry that much weight concentrated in a plastic bag.
“True. What’s in the bag?”
“Three-quarters of his refrigerator,” Wufei said. “And a bit extra.”
“Shit,” Duo muttered. “Really that bad?”
“Worse. Did you bring something for his stomach like Heero asked?”
Duo nodded. “And some cold medicine and something for fevers and all the stuff for Quatre.”
“Great. I’ll be upstairs once I find somewhere to toss this.”
“There’s a dumpster around that way,” Duo said, jerking his head towards the direction he came. “Saw it on my way out.”
Wufei followed his gaze and nodded. “Thanks.”
“See you upstairs.”
Wufei walked down the sidewalk towards the edge of the building, glancing over his shoulder only when he was sure he heard Duo go inside. The errand had done Duo some good, it seemed. He certainly looked a little bit better than he had when he left. Fresh air and exercise could do that; so could distraction and distance. Duo had need all of that. The last two months had been hard on all of them, but Duo got the worst of it: the disappearance, the search, and then two roommates who weren’t taking either very well.
Both of whom were also his lovers and cruelly obvious in their not-exactly-platonic concern for Trowa and their irritation with each other.
Having multiple partners wasn’t unusual to Wufei. It was a rather accepted practice in several regions on Earth and on several colonies—including his own. Many of his parents’ friends and acquaintances had a lover, or several of them, that were in no way skeletons in closets or backroom secrets. His aunt and uncle had had the same lover and loved him dearly. He came with them to family functions and was welcomed in the family home and at their table. Wufei had called him “uncle.”
Wufei was fine with “open” relationships. More than fine, actually; it was out of respect for Zechs, who was perfectly accepting of open relationships as long as it wasn’t his, that Wufei didn’t look for another partner. He was happy for the three of them. He just wished two parts of it weren’t so self-absorbed at the moment.
They tried to notice, of course. Heero and Duo had always been almost eerily close, and Quatre was empathetic. He had to feel Duo’s frustration and concern and emotional fatigue. The both of them, though, could get startlingly oblivious when they were well and truly focused on something else. For every sigh they caught, there was one the missed. They missed the seconds that were now absent from Duo’s lingering touches. They missed the quickness that his frustration mounted.
Duo was tired. He was trying to dedicate his time and energy as they needed it, but he clearly needed more back from them than they were giving.
With Trowa back and under their care, hopefully that would change.
A drop of water fell, landing in his hair and slowly sliding down the back of his neck. Wufei shook his head and hurried around the building. The dumpster was impossible to miss, even with the light nearby. The stench was awful. Wrinkling his nose, Wufei walked up to it. He held his breath as he opened the lid and tossed the bag inside. The metal was wet beneath his fingers. He hoped it was from all the rain.  It’s probably not.  He was washing his hands as soon as he got inside.
Wufei heard the sharp patter of rain once he was back on Trowa’s floor. He frowned. Hopefully, Trowa had an umbrella somewhere in the apartment that they could use when one of them finally made the wet trek back to the hotel. Somehow managing to open the door with his elbows, Wufei stumbled back into the apartment. The couch was still empty, the trash can was back in the kitchen, and Duo and Quatre were shuffling around the kitchen with the groceries.
He headed into the kitchen and elbowed Duo away from the sink.
“Two words, ‘Fei,” Duo muttered.
“Need water,” Wufei said as he turned the water on.
“What, you kill someone while you were down there?”
“That dumpster is disgusting,” Wufei said, pouring some dish soap on his palm. .
“Well, yeah. It’s a dumpster. What’d you expect?”
Wufei rolled his eyes. “Well, you can take down the next one then.”
“Gee, thanks Wufei. Just what I wanted.”
Quatre chuckled and shook his head as he closed a cabinet door. “I’ll take it down while the soup’s cooking.”
“Finished with the fridge,” Wufei asked. He turned off the water. Quatre nodded.
“Nothing moldy or rotten or expired anymore. Only fresh milk and eggs and produce.”
“I hope you saved at least one tupperware,” Wufei said. Quatre turned, head tilted curiously. “How are you going to store the soup?”
Quatre looked between the large empty pot on the stove, the refrigerator, and the trashcan tucked back into its corner. “I’ll find something,” he said finally.
“I’ll look,” Duo said. “There’s got to be some more plastic bits around here. You start chopping.”
Wufei leaned back against the counter, well out of the way of Duo’s thorough searching and Quatre’s moving of the cutting board, knife, and vegetables. He looked around the kitchen and then back at the empty couch.
“Where are they,” he asked finally.
“Still in the bathroom,” Quatre said. “I think Heero’s drying his hair.”
Quatre said it without any noticeably-negative inflection—and now that he mentioned it, Wufei did hear the distant hum of a dryer—but the knife and cutting board landed on the counter a bit harder than necessary. His first cuts into the carrots, and then the celery, were almost malicious.
Wufei bit back a sigh. He was starting to think Quatre just wasn’t aware of his reactions anymore. Which would explain a few things. At least when he started the cabbage, the enthusiasm and force were more appropriate. Duo hadn’t reacted to the sudden violence at all, apart from pausing for a second before poking his head into a cabinet.
“Hey,” Wufei called. “Show me this medicine you got, Duo.”
Duo didn’t seem particularly glad to be distracted from his search; he rolled his eyes more than once as he got up and headed out of the kitchen. Duo did, however, give an odd sort of stretch, rolling his neck and shoulders as if he was trying to work out kinks from lingering weight. Duo had also just been carrying half dozen bags for a mile. Wufei decided not to read anything into it.
Duo had left the medications, tucked in their own small plastic bag, on the small dinette table. Wufei dumped them out. He looked over each brightly-colored box in turn, read the instructions, warnings, effects, and possible side effects or complications carefully. They should probably start with the stomach medicine, unless Trowa’s stomach had already calmed down enough for a little bit of food. Wufei didn’t want Trowa taking anything on an empty stomach.
Wufei was just about to ask Quatre if he could heat up one of the canned soups before starting the broth when he heard the bathroom door. He put down the fever medicine and headed for the hall. Wufei had explored the apartment earlier. There were two bedrooms—one that looked far more lived in than the other—before the bathroom. Just as he feared, Heero had walked Trowa past both of them.
He stopped just outside the hall and folded his arms. “No.” Heero’s eyebrows rose until they were behind his bangs.
“No what,” he asked.
“No couch,” Wufei said. “Get him to bed.”
“The hell, Wufei,” Heero grumbled, shifting as Trowa’s weight suddenly unbalanced. He tugged Trowa’s arm further over his shoulders. “The couch is fine.”
“It is not fine. Bed, now.”
Trowa frowned. “I’m not a child.”
“We’ll see. Bed.”
“The couch was fine before,” Heero said.
“Before, he had passed out and the couch was the closest. Now, he’s conscious and the bedroom is the closest. Besides,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder hard, “a night on that won’t do him any favors. I don’t want to add a fucked-up back to his issues.”
Heero and Trowa gave him equal looks of exasperation. Wufei bit back a smile. It was refreshing, seeing Trowa so much more like himself. The bath, or whatever Heero had opted for, had been a good idea. There was a touch of color to Trowa’s cheeks now that might not be fever related. His eyes were a little clearer. And the hair hanging around his neck and ears almost seemed to have streaks of familiar auburn. Maybe tomorrow, Trowa would have the strength to get around on his own. Maybe the day after.
Heero rolled his eyes but turned. Trowa hadn’t expected it. His feet tangled together and only Wufei’s proximity kept them both from going down.
Definitely the day after.
Duo rushed over as Wufei and Heero tried to carefully balance Trowa between them without slipping. He gave Trowa a warning touch before pushing him up by the shoulders. Trowa teetered forward into Heero. Heero caught him around the chest.
“This is what happens when you’re all arm and leg and no balance,” Duo said, grabbing one of Trowa’s arms and pulling it towards him. Trowa swayed back into his chest. “You knock everybody over.”
“Shut up Duo.”
“Think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all night.”
Trowa snorted. “I’ll rephrase.”
Duo smirked as he pulled one of Trowa’s arms over his shoulders. “Don’t trouble yourself. ‘Fei’s right, the bed will be much nicer. Come on,” he said, looking over at Heero. “Lean on us.”
“Not getting much a choice in the matter,” Trowa muttered.
“Nope,” he said as Heero got on the other side of Trowa. Duo glanced over his shoulder. “Bring the meds.”
Wufei shook his head. “Let’s get him some water and soup first.” He didn’t miss the shudder that went through Trowa’s tense shoulders. Heero looked back at him. “He needs something in his stomach.” Heero sighed but nodded.
“We’ll keep him awake for you,” Duo said. Wufei nodded. He watched the two of them shift Trowa’s weight more comfortably across their shoulders before heading to the bedroom. When he was sure they would make it all right (even if Trowa’s legs went out from under him again), Wufei turned and headed into the kitchen.
Wufei didn’t know if Quatre had come out of the kitchen during all that; if Quatre had, he’d done it in a way that Wufei hadn’t noticed at all. At the moment, though, Quatre was still at the counter, working through his vegetables. There were several bowls filled with chopped carrots, cabbage, and celery. He was currently working on onions.
“Where did you put those cans,” Wufei asked. “I’d like to get something to stay in his stomach before he takes anything.”
“That cabinet there,” Quatre said between cuts. He nodded in the general direction. “Bowls are in the one next to it.”
Wufei opened only one wrong cabinet before finding the soup. It had a slightly metallic smell to it when he opened it, but the vegetables didn’t look too bad when he poured it into a bowl. Wufei read the can before sticking the bowl in the microwave. He settled back against the counter near Quatre to wait.
“You okay,” he asked after a few seconds of listening to steady thump of the knife and the low hum of the microwave.
“Fine,” Quatre said, turning towards him and smiling. He held the expression for several seconds before Wufei’s stare forced it to crumple. Quatre sighed. “Really. I’m fine. Just worried, that’s all. We all are.”
“You’re right about that,” Wufei said. He waited several seconds before stepping away from the counter again. Quatre’s eyes followed him from the cabinet to the sink before turning back to his vegetables. Wufei set the glass of water he had gotten, and then the spoon he had pulled out of the drawer, near the cutting board.   The microwave beeped.
“The thing is,” Wufei said finally, as he brought the warm (hot, actually; Trowa’s bowls were excellent conductors) bowl over and dropped the spoon in it, “I know why they’re worried.” Wufei balanced the bowl in one hand, took the glass in the other, and turned. He almost bit his tongue at the pained confusion that pinched Quatre’s brow.
Almost.
“I’m just not so sure about you.”

*-----*-----*
Duo was right: sometimes, Wufei was just an asshole.
Quatre resisted the urge to throw something at his back, if only because his options were limited. A carrot would have pointless, one of the bowls of cut vegetables would have been both messy and wasteful, and a knife might actually kill him (although Quatre didn’t think it would go that far). Not imagining the onion under his knife was Wufei’s head took a little more effort.   It was a safe but silly indulgence, and one he hadn’t used for years. Considering his frustration, though, Quatre ran the risk of making onion useless for the soup.
And what was vegetable soup without onions?
Oh but it was tempting.
Quatre sighed and stepped away from the cutting board. He didn’t need to make more work for himself. Arms folded, he glanced around the kitchen. The pot was on the stove. He could fill it now. Stock needed water anyway, and that much water would need time to boil. He could look for some seasonings and oil, too. Some of the vegetables would need to be sautéed for flavor, and seasoning would need to be added later. He nodded to himself. Practical, helpful change of actions. Besides, if he couldn’t quite control himself, the worst he would end up doing was spill some water or make a little too much noise. Not that big of a deal.
Quatre took the pot from off the stove and set it in the sink. He turned the water on and left it to fill as he started searching the drawers. He was sure he had seen a row of spices somewhere. Eventually, he found Trowa’s meager selection in one of the drawers near the refrigerator. Salt, pepper, garlic, basil, a handful of others. Nothing fancy but better than nothing, and most appropriate for soup. Quatre made his choices and shut the drawer.
He wasn’t quite sure how he managed to catch his fingers.
The hard edge of the drawer pinned his fingers beneath the countertop. Quatre’s curses covered up most of the clatter of the spice bottles. It was also brought Duo running. Duo stood in the entrance of the kitchen as Quatre shoved his fist against his mouth.
“You cut yourself?”
“No,” Quatre muttered around his knuckles.
“You sure? Because that was definitely ‘cut-myself’ swearing.”
“I caught my hand in the drawer.”
Duo let out a sympathetic hiss. “That would do it,” he said. Duo sighed and shook his head before coming closer. “Well, spit isn’t going to do anything for you.” He pulled Quatre’s knuckles from his mouth. “Come on, under the water.”
“I banged them, Duo, not burned them.”
“Think of it as a very wet ice pack,” he said. Duo led him over to the sink and pushed the pot out of the way before tugging Quatre’s hand under the faucet. Quatre had to admit: the cold did feel good.
“We should probably fill that ice tray,” Quatre said, leaning against the sink.
“He has an ice tray?”
“It was in the back.”
“Nice. I was afraid we were going to have to fill up a plastic bag with water and hope for the best.” Quatre smiled a bit and shook his head.
“No, he at least had that.”
“What were you doing, when you almost broke your fingers?” The pressure hadn’t been enough for that, but Quatre decided not to argue semantics.
“I was getting stuff ready,” he said. He nodded towards the spices on the floor. “That’s the seasoning over there.”
“And the pot,” Duo asked as he got down and picked up the spices.
“Water needs to simmer.”
Duo nodded. He put the spice bottles next to the cutting board and then headed over to the sink. The pot had overflowed earlier. Water had splashed out of it when Duo moved it, but it was still more than full. Duo tipped it, pouring out another half inch of water. Then he picked it up, barely missing the edge of the sink, and took it over to the stove. The pot landed on the burner with a dull thud.
“How do you turn this on?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”
“You take care of those fingers,” Duo said over his shoulder. “Besides, I’m not totally helpless in the kitchen. I can at least boil water.”
Quatre let him fret over the stove for a couple of seconds before suggesting, “Hold the knob in until it clicks.”
“I knew that.”
Quatre walked Duo through starting the stock—setting the water to boil, adding some of the stronger vegetables for a base flavor—and then through getting the right pan and oil for sautéing. By the time he had the second burner going, Quatre’s fingers were cold instead of sore. He turned off the water and flexed them: stiff and achy, but none of the sharp pain that would indicate real damage. He didn’t shoo Duo away, though. Instead, Quatre leaned against the refrigerator and dried his hands, watching him.
Duo was right; he wasn’t helpless in the kitchen. Far from it, in fact. It was mainly habit, and the genuine pleasure Quatre got from cooking, that kept Quatre as the main provider of meals. The others could (and often did) take care of themselves, and they took care of Quatre, too. Heero’s meals were always practical but filling, and occasionally surprisingly savory; Trowa’s particular culinary needs and lack of experience always meant that his meals were rather simple, but he did know his way around a saucepan and made an excellent pasta. .
And Duo found the same pleasure in cooking that Quatre did. Duo’s ideas about spices and the central flavor and ratios and balance were entirely different from his, but Quatre enjoyed the new sensory experiences. And he enjoyed coming home or waking up to Duo’s careful clattering and soft humming and not-so-soft swearing. He liked coming home or waking up to the smells of garlic and onion, or peppers and cloves. It reminded Quatre of the desert: of lying low together in the house the villagers had let them have. It reminded him of sharing sleepless nights in quiet conversation about nothing at. Of watching sunrises with tasteless tea and bland coffee and the crumbs of the first decent breakfast they had had in weeks.
It reminded Quatre of Duo. It reminded him of why he had been drawn to Duo in the first place, and it reminded him of what he might have forgotten—at least a little bit—in the last few weeks.
Wufei’s early comments surged to the forefront.   Quatre’s jaw clenched, but then Duo swore and jumped back from the pan. The irritation flitted away.
“Did you put in too much oil,” Quatre asked.
“No,” Duo said as he brushed his forearm. The pan gave a telling pop. Quatre rolled his eyes.
“Shoo,” he said, going back to the stove, “before you set yourself on fire.”
“I’m not going to set myself on fire,” Duo said, backing away from the pan.
“With this much oil, you just might.”
“How much oil do you need?”
“Not this much.”
Quatre normally rolled his sleeves up when cooking, partly because kitchens tended to get too warm, and partly because he preferred his clothes stain-free. With this much oil popping and hissing in the pan, though, Quatre decided that protecting his forearms was a bit more important than overheating or ruining a shirtsleeve. He tugged them down before picking up some of the onions and carrots.
“What else can I do,” Duo asked as he glanced around the kitchen. Quatre shook his head.
“I’ve got it,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
Duo stared at him until Quatre had to look up from the vegetables. Duo smiled—a small twitch at the corners of his mouth that was oddly upsetting but had become common recently—and shook his head.
“What else can I do,” he repeated.
“We probably need more carrots,” Quatre said finally. Duo nodded and started rummaging around in the vegetable crisper.
“I should’ve bought more carrots.”
“Just cut up whatever’s there.”
They fell quickly into a quiet rhythm (after a few qualifying questions about exactly how the vegetables needed to be cut). Occasionally, they took breaks: Duo to hand Quatre this or that vegetable, Quatre to find vegetables or bowls for Duo. Soon, too soon really, the sautéing and chopping were done. Quare dumped the vegetables into the water and took the pan over to the sink. He considered the next step as he carefully ran water over the hot metal. If they covered and put the cut vegetables in the refrigerator, they should be fine for the few hours the stock needed.  There should be plastic wrap or lids somewhere in here.
Duo found the plastic wrap under the sink. There was just barely enough to cover all the bowls. At least there was plenty of space for them between the crisper and the lowest shelf. Duo handed them to Quatre one by one.
Quatre was just closing the door when he heard footsteps coming from the hall.
“Oh so here’s where you ran off to,” Wufei said.
“Yup,” Duo said, gathering up the cutting board and knife and taking them to the sink.
“Making yourself a nuisance?”
“Making myself useful—”
“Very useful,” Quatre added. It wasn’t as casual as he hoped. Thankfully, Duo and Wufei didn’t mention it, although Wufei’s eyebrows arched for a second. Wufei let out a short, accepting noise before carrying the soup bowl to the sink. Duo flicked soapy water at him.
“Don’t dump your leftovers in my dishwater.”
“You’re doing the dishes.”
“Yeah, and I don’t need your oily soup in my soap. Besides, you’ve got, like, half a bowl left. Put it in the fridge.”
“You just flicked soap in it—”
"Then throw it out.”
“I’m not dumping soup in a trash bag—”
“Could you two not start,” Heero snapped in a low whisper. He stood just outside of the kitchen, fist with an empty glass on his hip. Cold irritation rolled off him in heavy waves, but under that, there was concern. And under that, the pungent sweetness of an affection that was not his deep love for Duo or his brotherly care for Wufei.
Quatre nearly gagged.
The cloying emotion had one benefit; it had forced Quatre to find himself some steel. He rocked momentarily (although, really, he should have been ready for it; it had been something of a constant from Heero for the last month) before stiffening and forcing the barrier between them. It was in no way impressive or impassive, but Quatre was still leaning. Besides, he didn’t want to sever all contact; his empathy was an asset. Quatre just wanted to lessen the unpleasant. He wanted to protect himself.
Heero noticed. He always noticed, although whether it was because he had slight empathetic leanings himself or because he was just too observant—Quatre’s shutdowns were far from smooth or discreet—Quatre didn’t know. His gaze shifted. The corners of his eyes crinkled and Quatre felt concern, warm and sweet, creeping around the edges of his barrier. It was, surprisingly enough, a balm against his ravaged senses. Quatre shivered. The barrier weakened.
Which was a mistake, because almost immediately after it came stinging irritation and a disappointment so bitter that it left a sour taste in Quatre’s mouth. Idiot. He didn’t know if he was referring to himself or heero.    Frowning, Quatre scrambled to put the barrier back up.
Heero’s eyes narrowed. His mouth flattened into a hard line before beginning to open. Thankfully, Wufei cut across whatever he was going to say.
“He finally fell asleep,” he asked.
Heero’s expression smoothed before he nodded. “Whatever you picked up seems to work, Duo.”
“It said ‘nighttime’ on it,” he said. Duo gave a one-shoulder shrug as he rinsed the pan. “Figured he was down enough that whatever sleep aid they have in those things would work.”
Heero’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t forgotten about the last time Trowa had taken a sleep aid. Neither had Quatre. That, however, hadn’t been a mild one, and they hadn’t known about it.  And Trowa wasn’t so sick he couldn’t stand.
“Seems like,” Heero said finally.
“Between that and the exhaustion, he should sleep through the night,” Wufei said. He leaned back against the counter. “Which gives us time.”
Quatre tilted his head slightly. “Time to what?”
“To talk.”
Quatre swallowed. His eyes flicked to Heero. They rounded when he saw Heero glancing back. Heero held the gaze for less than a heartbeat before moving on to the back of Duo’s head. Quatre hid his own flick behind several blinks. He tried not to think about how Heero’s eyes had seemed a little wider than normal.
“About what,” Duo asked. He nudged Wufei in the side with the wet panhandle. Wufei rolled his eyes before shifting to the side and away from the dish drainer he was blocking.
“Oh you know,” Wufei started. Quatre’s chest tightened. “How we’re going to get him home, and  want to come home. What we’re going to tell Une, and the board, and the media. What we’re going to do about his ‘Tracey’ or whatever, and the hotel.”
Quatre fought back the relieved sigh valiantly. “The hotel?”
Wufei nodded. “Although calling that rat hole a hotel is too kind,” he muttered, making a face. “We need to decide what to do about our room.”
“Why do we have to do anything,” Duo asked.
“All of our clothes, Heero’s laptop, our guns and badges and paperwork, are in that room. Not to mention the rental. We can’t just leave them there.”
“So we’ll go and get them in the morning.”
“I don’t trust them to be there in the morning.”
Heero glanced over his shoulder, back towards the bedroom. “We shouldn’t leave him.”
“He’s not in any condition to be moved,” Quatre said.
“He’ll fight us if we try,” Duo said.
“And he shouldn’t be left alone,” Wufei said, shaking his head. “God forbid he tries to get up and falls, or gets it in his head to move house.”
“Alright,” Duo said, draining the sink and rinsing his hands. “So someone needs to go back and get our stuff.”
“I really shouldn’t leave this unattended,” Quatre said with a short look to the stove. The stock needed to simmer for a couple of hours, at least. The heat was low enough that it shouldn’t boil over. He decided not to mention that.
Duo backed him up. “I know nothing about soup. I don’t trust myself not to fuck it up.”
“Soup is hard to ruin, Duo.”
“I bet I could do it.”
“I’ll go,” Wufei said. Heero blinked slowly.
“I could go.”
“There’s nothing I can do that you can’t. Besides, he should sleep through the night. You’ll be fine.”
Heero’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not coming back?”
“I’ll come back in the morning.”
Duo frowned. “Why not come back tonight?”
“One, it’s late. Two, check out times. Bet you ten bucks they’re asses about check out times.”
“Pass,” Duo said.
“Three, a bed. Those mattresses are only slightly better than that couch is going to be, but I’ll take one more night of certain, decent sleep.”
“There is a spare bedroom,” Quatre said.
“With a bed big enough for three. You three. Not four. And in his condition, no one’s bunking with Trowa. So it’s going to be the floor or the couch. I want one last night in a bed before having to deal with either of those.”
Wufei had a point. They had already had one issue with the front desk—and the man who worked it—that had only gotten resolved because Quatre and Wufei had threatened a lawsuit and an arrest simultaneously. It kept them from paying a ridiculous “additional” fee for four men to one room, but it hadn’t endeared them to the hotel at all. The man threw them dirty looks more often than not, and muttered much too loudly behind their backs. Quatre wouldn’t be surprised if he did make check out a small nightmare, or slapped some sort of “absentee” fee onto their bill.
And space was limited in the apartment. The guest bed might fit three people, but probably not very comfortably. Someone was going to end up on the couch, which didn’t look so good, and someone else might end up on the floor, which didn’t look good at all. They could rotate, of course, but Quatre couldn’t blame Wufei. The hotel may have been awful but the beds were decent.
And if Wufei left, he would finally, briefly, get away from the tension that still hung between them all. The three of them could stew in it for all he cared, just as long as he got a few hours’ break. Maybe they would even reach some kind of conclusion or catharsis if the tension finally broke. Maybe they just needed a chance.
At least, that’s what Quatre thought Wufei thought; the light traces of hope flicking out from beneath the heavy, tired frustration couldn’t indicate much else. Still Quatre shivered and hoped Wufei didn’t have his heart set on coming back to more stability. It wasn’t going to happen.
“Fair enough,” Heero said finally. He sounded oddly reluctantly. Quatre knew, by the way Heero’s frown deepened and his arms crossed a little too tightly over his chest, that Heero had reached a similar—if not the same—conclusion Quatre had, and that he disliked it immensely. After a second, though, Heero shrugged and managed a smirk. “You’re going to get soaked.”
Wufei looked at the ceiling with a frown. The rain was pounding. “I’ve got spare clothes.”
“Yeah, but are they dry yet,” Duo asked.
“They’ve been hanging in the shower for a couple of days. Something has to be dry by now.”
“Not necessarily, and cold, clammy jeans are the worst.”
“Are they? I wasn’t sure, but I’ll leave yours outside tonight and we can test that theory tomorrow.”
Quatre shook his head. “Hit them with the hair dryer, if they’re still wet.”
“Because that will do so much,” Wufei said.
“It’ll do more than air drying them.”
“So would an actual dryer.”
“You could go look for a laundromat,” Quatre said. “You have the gas, and the time.”
“And with my luck, it’ll be closed by the time I get there,” Wufei sighed.
“Or just plain out of business,” Duo said.
“I haven’t seen an umbrella anywhere,” Heero said, glancing around the kitchen as if momentarily expecting one to appear. “But it could be in a closet somewhere.”
Wufei shook his head. “People generally don’t put wet umbrellas in closets, and it would be wet.”
“Still,” Quatre said, “it’ll be a long walk. There has to be something.”
Although if they didn’t find anything, Quatre didn’t think he’d be too disappointed. Not tonight, anyway. Maybe tomorrow.  Especially if Wufei gets sick.
But Wufei never got sick.
They found something suitable with some searching: a denim jacket with a hood. Trowa had been keeping it in the bedroom closet; he didn’t even stir when Duo snuck in and dug it out (against orders). It was a little bit too long in the arm for Wufei, and a little bit damp, but it was more than enough for an extra layer. The hood was surprisingly deep and hid most of Wufei’s face.
“I’ll try to be back by ten tomorrow,” he said after he pushed the hood back enough so they could see him.
“Make it ten-thirty and bring something for breakfast,” Duo asked. “I don’t think we have much for that.”
“I’ll see what I can do. At the very least, I’m sure there’s a bakery somewhere with cheap donuts.” Wufei grimaced at his own thought. Quatre smiled.
“Donuts are fine. Bagels would be better.”
“I’ll look for them first.”
“Stay safe,” Heero said.
“Safer than you would,” Wufei said with a smile. He checked his pockets for wallet and keys before tugging the hood forward and heading for the door. Heero followed. They stopped at the door. For one long moment, they stood there, silent, Wufei’s head turned towards him slightly. Then Heero reached around him and unlocked the door. Wufei left without a word. Heero closed the door and locked it behind him.
The silence that followed the click of the deadbolt was heavy and awkward.
“He’s right, you know,” Duo said once it was clear that Heero wasn’t going to move from the door and Quatre wasn’t going to move from the edge of the kitchen. “It’s late, and we’ve all had kind of a long day.”
Understatement of understatements.  “Kind of, yeah,” Quatre said.
Heero made a noise that could have been a chuckle. “I can’t remember the last time you agreed with Wufei,” he said as he stepped away from the door.
“I’ve agreed with him plenty of times. I just don’t let anyone know it.”
“Including Wufei,” Quatre said smiling. Duo winked.
“Especially Wufei.”
“A full eight hours would be nice,” Heero said. “I don’t think any of us has gotten that in a while.”
No, they hadn’t, and the idea of a full night’s sleep in a warm bed—with warm bodies—was enough to send a pleasant shiver down his spine. He fought it off with an effort he almost immediately regretted.
“What about Trowa,” Quatre asked.
“He should sleep through the night,” Duo said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “If it’s not the medicine, it’ll just be exhaustion that keeps him down.”
“We could keep the doors open,” Heero said. “One of us will hear him if he needs something .”
Quatre was sure they would; none of them were particularly heavy-sleepers, although the extended lack of war had made them all a little more inclined to just roll over and just ignore some noises or disturbances. Quatre was also sure, however, that when his head hit some kind of pillow tonight, he wasn’t getting back up for anything short of a firefight. Judging by the bags under his eyes, Duo was probably going to do the same. Which meant that only one of them would wake up if Trowa did. Quatre didn’t doubt that he wouldn’t wake either him or Duo up.
He tried not to let that bother him, because Quatre didn’t want it to bother him. He honestly didn’t.  What is it Duo likes to say? “Only human?” The sentiment had always seemed less bittersweet when Heero or Wufei needed it.
“Come on,” Duo said. He stretched slowly before jabbing his thumb towards the hall. “Let’s check out this guest bed and see how much tetris we have to play.”
Heero nodded. “We should probably look for a spare pillow somewhere,” he said.
“Hey, thighs make excellent pillows.”
“Only when they’re not pure bone.”
“Muscle is just as hard but I’ve never complained, thank you very much.”
“Yes you have,” Heero said as he headed towards the guest room. Duo rolled his eyes back towards Quatre and smirked.
“Lies and slander,” he said. Duo winked at Quatre before turning and following Heero. Quatre glanced between them and the stove.
“You go on ahead,” Quatre said, making his decision. He almost wished he hadn’t; the confusion and disappointment Duo gave off were sharp.
“Thought you were tired,” Duo said. Quatre nodded but looked down at his shirtsleeves. He rolled them up carefully.
“I really shouldn’t leave the soup.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, if you keep it on low,” Heero said slowly. Quatre couldn’t stop himself from smiling.
“Accidents happen, but I’d rather they didn’t. I think that smoke detector is just for show.” Heero glanced up at the old, dusty unit. He frowned but still nodded.
“We could test it.”
“That’ll wake him up. I’ll sleep when it’s done.”
Duo crossed his arms. “How long will that be?”
“I don’t know. Can’t be that long, though, since you helped me out.” The praise was just enough.
“Come to bed when you’re done,” Duo said, with a smile that looked sad but could have just been tired. “I’ll even save you a pillow. Heero won’t mind.”
“How kind of you,” Heero muttered.
Quatre forced out a laugh. “Go to bed, guys.”
“We’re going, we’re going. Don’t stay up too late.”
“I won’t.”
Duo, with his hand on Heero’s wrist, turned and headed for the guest room again. Heero lingered. Or tried to. After a second or two, Duo gave his wrist a small tug. Heero followed him, but before they were in the hall and out of sight, Heero glanced over his shoulder. From his slightly narrowed eyes came a feeling Quatre wasn’t sure he had felt before. Sweet and light and inexplicably sad. It ended when Heero looked away.
They didn’t close the door (just like Heero had suggested) so Quatre could hear their quiet movements. They climbed into bed without word after only a couple of minutes; he could hear it creak beneath their weight. It continued to groan loudly until they were finally settled. Quatre thought he heard something then: an almost silent murmur, or perhaps a contented sigh. Almost immediately, though, the wind picked up and lashed the roof and windows with rain, and he couldn’t be even remotely sure he had heard anything.
Which was just as well.
Quatre realized, long before he had fallen into a mindless rhythm in the kitchen, that he had been expecting it to go differently. There should have been a fight, or a ploy. There should have been arguing, begging, or wheedling. Coercion. Something. He realized that he had been expecting Duo to either pinch the bridge of his nose or glide over and take Quatre’s hands in his own. He expected frustration or play. Fierceness or gentleness. But all he had gotten was resignation.
He realized, as he tipped bowl after bowl of cut vegetables into the broth far too soon, that Heero might have been leaning towards the gentleness. Another few seconds, and he might have taken Quatre’s hands. Duo had stopped him.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to think about that.
But Quatre did, after he tossed the empty bowls in the sink and somehow managed to not completely overpower the soup with seasonings. Then he let it simmer and filled the kettle. Quatre sat down, his back against the cabinets, to wait, because the last thing he needed was to wake everyone up with a screaming kettle. And while he waited, Quatre thought.
Nothing came at first, or at least nothing important. Quatre let the inconsequential—the dust bunnies lining the bottoms of the cabinets near him, the draft creeping up his back, the spot of stickiness he accidentally put his hand in—come and go as it pleased. What he needed to consider was just starting to nudge him when the kettle let out a low whistle. Quatre scrambled up before it could work itself into a screech.
Quatre took his tea out into the living room. The rain sounded even louder out here, without the quiet sounds of the stove to muffle it. Quatre sat down on the couch. It was soft and lumpy, and Quatre nearly spilled half of his tea down his front when he sank into it. He shifted forward until he was only slightly uncomfortable, perched on the edge of the cushion with his mug and hands between his knees.
He was tired. Very tired. He wanted nothing more than to dump the thin tea in the sink and crawl into bed. Crawl between Duo’s arms. Crawl between them, if there was space and willingness. Quatre rarely slept better than when he was nestled in the warm crevice their bodies made, the sleeping rhythms playing quietly along his own dreaming senses. Quatre wanted to go to bed, where he had been invited, but he couldn’t. Not until he had thought long and hard about things—a lot of things, including him and Heero and the jealousy that left the worst taste in his mouth—and not until he was sure the invitation had been genuine and not simply expected.
The tea grew cold in his hands. When it was undrinkable, Quatre set it down on the floor. He slid sideways onto the couch and listened to the rain.

A/n: At one point, I had this entire story planned out. Then this story took that plan and tore this crucial section of it into itty bitty pieces and throw them out onto the freeway while going ninety.
Things were supposed to be very different at this juncture (and probably much worse than they are, plot-wise). I'm flying blind essentially, and I know it shows. This is not a tight chapter, or at least it's not as tight as it could be.
And maybe someday, I'll come back to it and edit it ridiculously and get it right. Sometimes, though, you just need to get it OUT OF YOUR HANDS and into the world so you can move on. So that's what I did.
I am sorry, though, that it's really not the best that it could be. I'm hoping to get a better hold of it again in the next chapter (Trowa's coming back, I promise).
As always, I remain your humble storyteller
~*~LadyYeinKhan~*~
- 24
- 25
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Chains We Wear

Chapter 25

A/n: At one point, I had this entire story planned out. Then this story took that plan and tore this crucial section of it into itty bitty pieces and throw them out onto the freeway while going ninety.