Daybreak spills over the sleepy suburban paradise like golden syrup. Slow with the promise of warm, complete penetration.
Mmmm….
A rich, thick, sticky-sweet sunrise pushing across---
Do I have time for pancakes? There must be a couple of minutes. Lazily scratching his head, the young man yawns and stretches in the kitchen’s lightening half-gloom. Weekends are made for pancakes. And sausages. Now where’s that griddle?
A rooster crows in the not-so-far distance.
*slam! clomp-clomp-clomp*
Aw, crap. Not again, he winces and tries to think happy, breakfasty thoughts.
”You get rid of that damned thing, Jupiter Griggs, or I’ll get rid of it for you!” his housemate screams out the front door. Wufei isn’t quite certain of the response, but it sounds something like the usual: “Ar! Shrimp puffs! Tis the plague of sour apple rings on yer head, nancy-boy!”
*slam! clomp-stomp-grrr-stomp*
”Coffee. Tea. Whatever’s hot. Just gimme.”
A very good morning to you too, Yuy.”
Hoarse from both sleep and that neighborly exchange, Heero shoots him a bleary-eyed glare and makes an impatiently grasping motion. “That thing crows morning, noon and night. I’m not the only one who’s kept up by it, right?” *slurp, smack, slurp*
Wufei adds more sausages to the grill. Although half the household doesn’t eat breakfast, there was no way he’d spend the morning with a cranky, hungry terrorist set on a shopping spree.
An obscenely chipper blonde pokes his head through the doorway. “Good morning,” he smiles, a million Watt gleam lighting the kitchen. “Nummy pancakes? You’re such a dear---don’t forget the mini chocolate chips on mine, please. Ready to leave in thirty? The pavilion gets crowed early.” He doesn’t wait for a confirmation, bustling off as quickly as he’d popped up.
”When was I elected general maid, cook and mother-figure?”
”It is partly your fault Trowa can’t set foot near an overn.”
Wufei flips a flapjack. “I didn’t know he had problems with oregano. And that kid berserked with a cookie sheet. Absolutely no warning.”
”Are you or aren’t you coming out?”
A lanky brunette scowls at his reflection. He turns in the cubicle and looks over his shoulder. “I am not coming out.” He bends at the waist and knees. Where’d it go? It’s like my butt’s vanished in a beige vastness of pleats and pockets.
”Now, isn’t that so much better? Plenty of room for movement.”
”I told you to stay outside.”
”But, Trowa---“ here the shorter youth stretches his name in a plaintive whine, “you’re taking so long.”
”It’s a big decision. I can’t rush it.”
”It’s a pair of pants”
”Please, Quatre. Wait outside and I’ll be done in a little while.”
Reluctantly, the blonde edges out of the cramped space. He beams at the other two skulking nearby and pantomimes “Almost done.” Wufei frowns before stalking out of the store, hell-bent on a soft pretzel.
”Whee…” Heero mumbles, slouching deeper into the courtesy sofa. “Nearly one complete outfit and we’re still on hour three. That’s got to be a record.” A rumpled pair of slacks flies over the curtained partition.
”Smaller, please.”
Quatre sighs. “They’re your size. They’re supposed to fit like that, Trowa. I appreciate the ability to ogle you in those tight jeans, but you’ll thank me for insisting on a comfortable fit.”
”Smaller, please,” he reiterates.
”Okay. I’ll try to find something.” He snags a pale green shirt as it sails past.
”And if you could find that in gray?”
”Of course… thought you’d like a little more color and it goes so well with your complexion.”
”No. Gray’s fine.”
”Be right back. Heero, stay,” Quatre commands in as stern a voice as he’d dare, given the other’s past volatile behaviour.
Beyond bored, Heero repositions his shopping bags. The best way to shop is online: no annoying sales attendants, you know the sizes and colors instantly, no fighting for parking, and it’s all over with when you’re ready to go.
At least his part of the shopping trip is complete; the fifth and final member of the household’s entire wardrobe had been tossed out, donated to a local charity, shortly after his death. His apparent death, it should be noted. Quite unexpectedly, he had returned weeks later and was understandably put out to here it was either shares clothing with is friends (not conceivable considering their collective lack of style) or go about daily business naked.
They were getting a few too many complaints from neighbors who’d rather not see quite that much skin when it was his turn to mow the lawn. It had taken slightly longer to find the proper style of underwear, but at least innocent pedestrians, children, the elderly or the infirm could safely walk the streets without the threat of more Duo than a reasonable person should have to deal with.
That is if Trowa could make up his mind so they could all go home.
Quatre meanders to another rack of shirts, flipping through them with an increasing sense of ire. It’s the wrong season for gray and he’d look so much better in a soft eggshell. Maybe this one… Pulling an armful of pastel and patterned shirts off the carousel, he heads back to the rear of the shop and flashes a smile at Heero on his way past.
Tucking his feet up on the sofa, Heero curls into a ball and tries to get a bit more sleep. The combination of an insomniac rooster and amorous roommate had neatly eliminated any chance of a peaceful night’s rest.
”Hello,” pipes up a child’s voice somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.
Jeez. Maybe if I stay still it’ll go away.
”I said ‘hello,’ mister. Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore people?”
They’ll get tired of waiting soon. Only a few minutes more.
"Just cuz I’m short doesn’t mean I’m stupid. You’re not asleep and if you don’t say anything, I’ll keep talking and talking and talking and talking---“
”Look, you,” he starts. Heero peeks out from under his folded arm. A small child, five or six years old, stares back at him. “Little girl, I’m sure your mother doesn’t want you to bother strange men who are trying to take a nap.”
”Strangers are bad, but you’re funny looking,” she retorts.
The steady whispered exchange between Quatre and Trowa, low and muffled by the thick curtain, rises loud enough for Heero to overhear snatches.
”… I don’t see why you’re so adamant about this…”
”-compromise? Three of the shirts but no pants.”
”Two each or you’re sleeping on the floor, Mr. FashionPlate.”
”You’re a little dictator, aren’t you? I’m not a dress-up doll for you to play with; I have a style I like and I’m sticking to it!”
Oh. Very bad move, Trowa. Heero frantically tries to shoo the girl away. “I’ll bet your mother would be proud of if you told her you’re a discriminating young lady. Why don’t you go. Now.”
She finally takes the hint. The icy silence stretches out until he’s certain Trowa has been quietly strangled with a pair of chinos.
”I’ll assume that was a thoughtless remark born of low blood sugar.”
Stiff, formal, and deadly, that quiet tone is so deceptive. Be smart and cave, Trowa. That way we might make it out alive.
”Yes, dear. Two of each, you said?”
”You do look so debonair when you put an effort into it. There’s nothing wrong with showing off your best features. Plus the pockets are so useful. Here, let me see those. Um hmm. Absolutely perfect.” Quatre tugs aside the curtain and slips out, waving down a sales assistant. “Miss? Would you mind removing the tags from these? My friend would like to wear them home. Thank you. Wrap the others and charge it to this account,” he fishes a card from his wallet. “Heero, we’re done here so it’d help if you-“
”I’ll find Wufei. Back in a minute,” he blurts, grabbing his purchases and fleeing the shop in a blur. He finds the other teen perched on a bench between a pet shop and falafel vendor, picking salt off a pretzel.
”Did they finish or are you making a break for freedom?”
Heero sets down a bag. “Both. Be careful what you say to Quatre; he’s one snide comment from snapping.”
”All this fuss and bother over pants. No better than women, the lot of you.”
”Why are you tagging along,” Heero asks, mildly peeved.
Wufei holds up his pretzel. “The one saving grace of this entire wretched culture. Ambrosia.”
”Okay,” he shrugs. Weirdo.
Trowa, laden with “gifts” and looking on the verge of tears, catches their attention. “Help me,” he pleads with his eyes. At his side, Quatre glows as the others take in a truly alien sight: Trowa Barton in a button-down shirt and slacks with more pockets than a pack of kangaroos.
”Isn’t he dashing,” Quatre gushes. “It’s quite the mode with older professionals yet youthful enough for our age group.”
As if they couldn’t be more uneasy, the front of Trowa’s pants make a noise hitherto unassociated with the history of menswear. They start beeping.
Paranoid and already strung out on tense nerves, Heero leaps into action. “An underwear bomb! Bonzai!!!” He jumps behind a convenient potted plant, adding to an already high concussion count when he fetches up against the scant cover too quickly. *Bonk!* “Ooww, he moans.
Less rattled, Wufei asks, “It may be rude to bring this up, but do you know your ‘thing’ is beeping?”
Trowa looks sidelong at him, shifts the bags, and reaches deep into a hip pocket.
Please don’t let him do what I think he’s going to do. This is a public place! Wufei turns a shade paler.
”I thought you had it set on vibrate?” Quatre says.
”It was, but I wanted to make certain I noticed and a ring would be too bothersome.”
”What the?” Wufei spits out, caught between morbid curiosity and a need to preserve some semblance of privacy.
”My wireless,” Trowa replies, finally pulling out a palm-sized black and silver rectangle and walking a short distance away. This does nothing to calm Wufei’s concerns.
Quatre takes pity and explains. “Instead of saying ‘cellular’ or ‘cellular phone,’ some people use the word ‘wireless.’ They’re interchangeable.”
Rubbing a growing bump on his head, Heero points to a lingerie window display and chimes in, “This bra is wireless! Does that make it cellular?”
”Perhaps I should amend that and say they’re interchangeable in certain circumstances? Poor thing must have hit his head hard.” Quatre helps him to his feet. “I think we could all do with a little rest and some refreshments?”
”I’m afraid we won’t have time for that.” Trowa rejoins them, losing his phone in one of the bottomless side pockets. “Une wants us at HQ, post haste. We’ve got an emergency briefing after you and Duo,” he gestures at Heero, “go through next week’s session with Sally today.”
”But it’s the weekend. Can’t we at least swing by that stand for one of those scrumptious pita burgers? It is past lunch time so there won’t be a long line.” Quatre fixes the “soulful puppy” look on Trowa.
Wufei throws his hands up in defeat. “Why not? It’s not like the fate of the free world rests in our hands. Oh, wait---it does!”
”Don’t be such a drama queen,” Trowa admonishes. “A few minutes won’t matter. Get Heero, make sure he doesn’t bounce off any walls and let’s go.”
On the way toward Petite Petunia’s Pita Palace, Trowa spots a proselytizing pilgrim and breaks away. “Just a second.” He nods to the man, accepts a pamphlet, and glances at the title. “Jesus saves? Yes… I see he truly does.”
”Another Brother whose heart is open to the Good News! Would you like to join with me in a moment of pra---“
Trowa stops him, handing back the tract. “Jesus saves, but does he invest wisely?”
Later, standing in line to place their orders, Wufei fumes, “Why do you keep winding people up like that? Many of us take faith and values seriously.”
”It’s part of the perks of being an agnostic.”
”How can you still doubt the existence of God after what happened to Duo? You know he doesn’t lie---at least, not about the big things. Expense reports, sexual prowess, and laundry are all up for skeptical evaluation, but he wouldn’t purposefully exaggerate something like that.” He stops to reflect for a moment. “Would he?”
”PreviMed. My name is Sarah. How can I help you?”
”I just want what’s due. This is the third time I’ve called and I keep getting the run-around. It’s a life insurance policy and I need to collect it.”
”Of course, sir. Policy holder?”
”Duo Maxwell. That’s two l’s and one e.”
”And you would be the legal representative of the beneficiary, Ms. Schibeker?”
”No. I’d be the deceased, Mr. Maxwell.”
”Oh… I’m sorry, but premature collection or cancellation is another department. One moment and I’ll transfer you.”
Duo jolts upright. “Wait! It’s not---“
*click*
”-ow the way to San Jo-“
”Damn.” His foul mood growing darker as the tinny music plays on, Duo fidgets with the bathrobe’s frayed belt.
”All operators are currently busy. Your call is important to us and will be answered in the order it was received. Please stay on the line and the first available-“
*click*
”Hello. How may I help you today?”
Duo takes a deep breath and begins with his slow, even “speaking with telemarketer, claims adjustor, account, tax bureau prole, and other assorted idiots” voice. “Okay, don’t do anything or push any buttons until I finish explaining my situation. All right?”
”Yes, sir.”
”There’s a PreviMed policy for Duo Maxwell-“
*tappity tap*
”Yes, sir. It’s paid to date.”
At the end of his rope, he snarls into the phone. “You pushed a button. Don’t do that again.”
”Sorry.”
”Anyway, this policy is half a mil for natural causes and double indemnity where applicable.”
”Yes, sir. Of course, if you were to file a premature claim, you’d receive 100% of the cumulative premium paid to date and not the full value of the policy.”
”Don’t interrupt. You don’t seem to understand. I have a signed, notarized, legitimate death certificate for one Duo Maxwell citing cause of expiration as ‘accidental marshmallowfication’ and I’d like---“
”It’s a full-term collection? Then you’d want Accounts Payable.”
*click*
”-isten to the rhythm of the traffic in the ci-“
”PreviMed. This is Sarah. How can I help you?”
”God damn it! Is it really that difficult? A guy says he’s dead, but nobody believes him!”
”Sir, the crime of insurance fraud carries heavy penalties, including but not limited to incarceration for up to---“
”Aaaaaaaaarrrrgh!” He slams the phone in its cradle a few times and throws himself out of his chair in a fit of righteous indignation. Pacing and grousing about the gross incompetence of all PreviMed staff (but especially those named Sarah), Duo scoops up a ragged piece of paper. “You’re not doing me any good if folks aren’t going to look past obvious logical impossibilities that just happen to be true.”
The front door opens and his housemates pile in. “Hello? Duo? Are you---good, you’re awake,” Quatre enthuses. “You need to get dressed and come with us to work.”
”Right! Go straight to the top to get this dealt with. If Une in a tizzy doesn’t get me that money, nothing will.” He starts pawing through the shopping bags. “Hey, what’s up with him?”
Wufei gently pushes a dazed Heero until he complacently sits. “Knock on the head. He should recover soon. Isn’t that my robe you’re wearing?”
”Yup,” Duo grins.
”You’ve got something on underneath?”
The grin spreads into a toothy smile.
”Disgusting! Don’t even bother to give it back. Burn it. Keep it. Whatever.” He leaves for the bathroom medicine cabinet. “I feel a headache coming on.
Quatre presses the right bags into Duo’s arms. “You’re still trying to claim that policy? If you must have the money, I’ll give you it.”
”I don’t need your charity. Besides, it’s rightfully mine and I intend to see them pay up.”
Trowa asks, “Why don’t you let Hilde collect it and then have her transfer it to you?”
”It’s… that’s…” he sputters to a halt. “It’s the principle of it all!”
”What would you do with it?”
He shrugs with one shoulder. “Keep it. Or spend it. You know---buy stuff.”
”Stuff?”
”Yeah. General stuff. Maybe a couple of iguanas. I always wanted a pet to hug and love and squeeze.”
”And call George?”
”Trowa!”
”Is it too much to ask for a little affection? Some cuddling?” Heero says.
”Let’s focus on this. Duo is ‘with’ Heero. Physically now at a new level. And how does Heero feel about that? Is it you don’t feel your emotional needs are also being met? Or is it merely the physical aspect you’re unsatisfied with---a mix of the two?” Sally Po tries to keep in her laughter, firmly repeating to herself I’m a trained psychotherapist. I can deal with this.
”The ‘physical’ part is just fine, thank you very much. I thought we were here to discuss how nuts he is.”
”Duo, I don’t think that’s a healthy attitude. Denying culpability won’t help you on your journey of personhood growth.” All those journal subscriptions and symposiums are paying off---I hardly had to think to call up the appropriate-sounding psychobabble.
”Must we have a joint session? His negativity and very presence is both counterproductive and intimidating.”
”I’m sorry you feel that way,” she pats Heero’s arm reassuringly; he rewards here with the tiniest glimmer of a smile. “Lady Une insisted on more empirical data based on observed workplace friction. She hypothesizes, and I concur, that pre-existing or evolving interpersonal conditions don’t have to be at loggerheads with ‘professional’ camaraderie.” At their continued confusion, she elaborates. “This whole angst-resolution via boinking can be a good thing that contributes to a closer working relationship which, in turn, could mean more successful multi-agent assignments.”
”This is important because?” Duo drawls.
”Our funding is contingent on agent productivity.”
”Gotcha. We ‘bond,’ net some serious bad guys, and Une gets that swimming pool she’s always wanted.”
”Sort of---can we get back to the crux of the matter? You were saying, Heero, that you’d like a bit more depth and understanding?”
”Yes. I need some tenderness and consideration. Is there something wrong with wanting more foreplay?”
”God!” Duo explodes. “Are you a chick? I don’t see what the fuss is. It’s all fine. Or it would be if he didn’t have a nipple fixation.”
”Pardon me?” She knows she’ll be sorry for asking, but she can’t stop herself.
”Pulling, tugging, flicking, biting, sucking. It’s annoying. I’m not a damned cow, for crying out loud!”
Heero scowls and turns away, moving out of Sally’s reach. “I happen to have sensitive nipples---did you ever think I like you to reciprocate. No; it’s all ‘me, me, me!’ and ‘my feelings and concerns.’”
”Don’t you pin all this on me, you emotional cripple.”
”Selfish bastard,” he sobs.
”Manic-depressive nut case.”
Sally rolls her eyes and scribbles notes in the session file. For Duo: “possible intimacy issues.” To cover Heero’s sudden hysterics: “pharmacological side-effects?---dosage/prescription change?”
There’s no way they can pay me for sitting through this. I’ve got to get back in the field.
”That’s all the time we have for today. Lady Une did say she wanted to speak to you both afterward pending my recommendations.”
”Basically, boys,” Noin smugly leans closer to the conference table and fixes them each with a confidently superior look, ending with a jittery Zechs, “it’s past time you started pulling together in the same direction. I can’t save the day every time, especially if I keep getting major hits of experimental drugs in the course of duty.”
Duo raises his hand. “About that---is it safe to be in the same room with you?”
”Yes!”
”According to radiology reports, no one is in danger. She’s only slightly radioactive on Thursdays and Mondays immediately following the injection of tracking dyes. This will not come into play this week, though.”
”Your assistance has been invaluable during past missions, Miss Noin. Perhaps we’ve come to rely too greatly on you?” Quatre says.
”What do you have in mind, Lady?” Trowa asks, hoping for a quick meeting.
”Acting on a suggestion made by Mr. Winner and after consultation with the resident psychologists, I’ve cleared your schedules so as to take advantage of a proven efficiency enhancer. Tomorrow morning, you’ll board a shuttle to one of the highest ranked corporate retreats in the L4 cluster.”
Shrinking from the angry, accusatory glares from all quarters of the room, Quatre asserts, “Winner Corp. has utilized their programs many times in the past with nothing but positive results and boosted employee morale. I thought a similar approach could be useful. We’re just not acting as a unit anymore.”
”We’ve never acted as a unit,” Wufei rebuts. “What a load of---If you ask me, we spend too much time together as it is. Seriously, five decent-looking, unrelated, college-age guys living in the same house and working for the same organization. It’s worse than being married!”
”Your opinion is duly noted, Mr. Chang. However, given the recent disastrous trend of failed mission objectives, this long-standing problem must be addressed and steps must be taken to correct certain imbalances.”
”You can’t slap a feel-good patch on us or ‘workshop’ differences away. Besides, I’ve already applied for time off this week.”
”He does have a point,” Heero says. “Change of this nature must come from an inner desire and cannot be imposed on a unwilling subject.”
”Uncharacteristically astute of you, Mr. Yuy. I’m not imposing. I’m not threatening. I’m *persuading* you to see the possible benefits far outweigh any minor personal inconvenience. Plus, they don’t issue refunds on deposits.”
”Why do I have the sinking suspicion that any response except ‘Yes, Lady’ is out of the question?” Duo says.
”I’m thrilled you’re enthusiastic about this venture, Mr. Maxwell. I’ll see you all next week with a fresh new outlook and brimming with confidence in your partners. Dismissed.”
”Welcome to Pye in the Skye Corporate Retreats! I’m Noonie Pye, your director, and this is your support crew while you’re with us: ‘Genia, Activities Head; Bill ‘Barleycornpone,’ Wildlife and Nature guide; and Leonard and Cookie, the chefs.” The Preventers stand in frozen shock as they look on at the decidedly rustic locale. Short and balding with wispy, flyaway hair, Noonie picks out each staff member. “And I can’t forget the camp mascot, Sparky. Where’s he at, girl?”
”Don’t rightly know, but he ain’t usually far off. Maybe he’s---aw, come ‘ere, punkin. Come to mama and meet these nice folks.” She picks up a waddlingly obese miniature terrier.
Trowa drops his pack and moves forward to pet the barking dog. ”Hey, it’s a puppy! And it looks… Mid-nuzzle, it suddenly slumps into ‘Genia’s hands. “Crap. I was going to say it looks happy to see us, but the best description would be dead?”
”Silly old thang! It’s one of his sleeping spells. Poor critter’s got narcosomething or other.”
”Narcolepsy?” Sally supplies.
”That’s it. How about we get y’all settled in? First trust-building exercise after dinner!”
Duo chucks his duffel at a footlocker before collapsing on the closest bunk. “I’m not alone when I say this is entirely cheesy and anachronistic?”
”It’s quaint,” Heero says.
”You can’t dispute the results, though. I’ve heard nothing but glowing comments.”
”Quatre, I hate to break it to you,” Wufei breaks in. “Has it ever occurred to you that all your employees, especially managers or higher, jump through hoops to keep you happy because they know their CEO is unstable enough to turn the whole operation into a bubbling pit if the whim strikes him?”
”Oh, hell. Hit the deck, guys. Wu’s screwed,” Duo whispers, cringing in sympathy.
”It’s still a few hours before dinner. If you don’t mind, I’ll be outside,” Quatre grinds out between clenched teeth. He stiffly turns at the door to regard the shocked tableau. “Wufei, Allah loves you, but everyone else thinks you’re an asshole."
”Many hottie squaws in here!”
Zechs’ anger over a lifetime’s gender confusion temporarily overrules his ingrained sense of proper grammar. "I ain’t no squaw!"
”Beg pardon, sir. Didn’t see you from the front, sir. Only assumed since the ladies were here too…” Bowing, scraping and generally groveling, Bill backs out the second guest cabin.
”You! Nature guide type person,” Duo shouts from next door. “Are there any interesting sites in easy walking distance?” Trowa prods him. “And you haven’t seen the short blonde guy by any chance? He took off about an hour ago.”
”No, sir, I ain’t seen him around, but I reckon he’s either at the lake in the northeast or the grove down yonder way.”
”Can I have a map, Bill? Thanks. The lake’s closest and there’s open area from here to there so it’s more likely he’ll get lost going from the grove and back,” says Trowa.
”Or Quatre could just be sulking at the Mess Hall.”
”Not possible, Duo. He can’t stay upset long enough for a good, hard sulk.”
Sally, Noin, and Zechs had clustered around the impromptu war council. “Can we do anything?” Noin says.
”If you three went up to the lake, Duo, Wufei, and I could take the grove while Heero can stay behind here in case Quatre beats us all back.”
”How in the world did you four lose someone so quickly?” Sally asks.
”Woman, it’s a matter between two men---hardly something your weak mind could begin to comprehend.”
”Shot your mouth off again, Wufei? By the way, dare call me ‘woman’ one more time and you’ll be signing an octave higher,” she sweetly adds.
”But if the shoe fits… Zechs begins, agreeing with the label.
”Throw it out the window with the bathwater?
”Not how it goes, Trowa,” says Heero.
”Glad to see you’re back in the land of the upright and cognizant. Now, I’ve got to find my boyfriend.”
”We aren’t lost, Duo. Everything else has been… misplaced.”
”According to your calculations, Barton, the grove is thirty minutes from camp. Can you tell me how we’re still walking toward it after three hours!”
Trowa checks his compass one more time, sighting on a landmark and stalking toward it. “Either the electromagnetic field of the colony fluctuates wildly,” he says, “or I’m not reading it right.”
Wufei snatches it. “Let me try. Southeast, right?” He points in a totally different direction. “This way.”
”But I thought north was back there,” says Trowa, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “So that can’t be true.
”Hold on a second,” says Duo slowly. “Show me where north is, Wufei. And now you, Trowa.” He takes the compass and moves at least fifteen yards from both. “Too much,” he laughs, walking the rough perimeter of a circle centered on Trowa. “Empty your pockets---all of them.”
A while later, Trowa pulls out---
”A magnet? Why are you carrying around an enormous electromagnet?!?” Wufei stammers.
”You mean you don’t? They’re quite handy in a pinch.”
”They might be, Trowa, but only if they’re switched off near navigational instruments that indicate E-M fields,” says Duo, reaching to disconnect a small “starter” battery.
”So the whole time, we were walking in circles?” Wufei asks. “This… This sucks!”
"Sucking leads to success,” Trowa intones.
”Huh? That’s nonsensical. Did you hear that ‘aphorism’ on a pornographic flick?”
”It’s an ancient koan if you must know, Wufei.”
”Come on, guys. We can’t let little things get the better of us. The point of this week is to learn to function like a well-oiled machine, a close-knit family that can rely on each other when the chips are down.”
”Speaking of chips,” says Wufei, “does anyone have a snack on them? I’m a bit hungry.”
”Not a thing,” replies Trowa, refilling his pockets with---among other items---a first aid kit, small book of puzzles, collapsible cup, water-resistant matches, and a tiny stuffed bear.
”Well…” Duo stalled. “Technically, it’s edible, but it’s not something I want to share with you. It’s made for sharing---not in these circumstances, though.
”What? You can’t mean… oh, that’s perverse!” Wufei chokes, blushing deeply.
”I was counting on some ‘quality time’ with Heero this week, all right! You can’t blame a guy for hoping.”
”If we can tear ourselves from the subject of what marital aides Duo has secreted on his person,” Trowa snaps, “I’d like to hear what we’re going to do.”
Dejected, Wufei scans the map. “Over half is wooded preserve, so we could be close to rescue or at the other end of the colony at the rate we’ve been walking.”
”It should be getting dark soon,” says Trowa. “Priorities should be shelter and food. Fire won’t be a problem and the regular storms provide plenty of potable water.”
”There’s birds about and I think I spotted some small animal tracks not that long ago.”
”Good eye, Duo.”
”And you frontiersmen know how to hunt these fluffy creatures?” says Wufei with a smidgeon of sarcasm.
”The secret to catching any quarry,” says Trowa, “is knowing when to wait quietly.” He crouches and blends into the shade of some miscellaneous trees. The others fan out and follow his example.
My family would be beyond disappointed if they could see me now. Sitting on some prickly green moss under an even pricklier shrub, waiting for a harmless creature to pop up and get its brain bashed in while civilization is probably a ten-minute walk away…
"I thought I was supposed to be the dumb blonde,” Zechs wails.
”Excuse me, but I apologized already for inspiring your foolhardy manhunt,” counters Quatre. “Next time someone goes off in a huff, check to se if they’re not eating ice cream in the kitchen.”
Puzzled, Zechs blinks for a few seconds before replying, “I was talking about the roles. I’m Juliet.”
Heero pages through a worn copy of Shakespeare’s tragedies, trying to remember how they’d gotten roped into a performance of “Romeo and Juliet.” Clearly, they’d found Quatre and had dinner then they’d halfheartedly tried a “trust exercise.” Exactly what happened next was a little fuzzy because no one caught him when it was his turn to fall backwards. On second thought, doing it off the Mess Hall table hadn’t been the best idea, but it’d never failed quite so spectacularly before.
’Genia, who’d led them through that partially successful activity, had been called away as part of a second search party.
”We ain’t gonna lose a client on my watch!” Noonie had declaimed.
”Cain’t we just give ‘em a refund?”
”’Genia, I’m yo daddy and I raised you better than to use such language!” Left without supervision, the combination of Thespian!Noin, Guilty!Quatre, and a trunk of role-play costumes had press-ganged the remaining Preventers into an amateur theatrical.
A small brown shape emerges from the underbrush a few yards from Trowa.
"Oh, it’s a rabbit,” Wufei breathes in the same awed whisper of a priest in the presence of the Ineffable. "Dinner!" he grins. "Get me my shot gun!”
"I’ll do that and I’ll be singing zippity-doo-dah the entire way,” Trowa mumbles, creeping closer. Something about this colony must affect common sense, I guess. Here, bunny-bunny.
”Get ‘em,” Duo hisses from across the clearing.
”With what?” Exasperated, Trowa rifles his pockets. His fingers close on a hefty, blunt object, he takes aim and lets fly the awesome killing force of an electromagnet.
”My pantaloons don’t fit!”
”Other way around, Zechs… and try the codpiece on the outside.”
”Oops, I broke it.”
”You broke it, how did you break it?”
”It just sort of snapped off…”
”This reminds me so much of playing Lavinia in my college production of ‘Titus Andronicus,’ Heero,” Sally gushes. “I was quite good, but the rest of the cast were such savages. They threatened to beat me with a baguette?!? And it wasn’t even low-fat!” She continues, oblivious to the flat look in Heero's eyes.
Across the room, Zechs is attempting to absorb the salient plot points. ”They roll each other up in carpets?"
”No, no, no! That’s 'Cleopatra.' Aren’t you listening to me? You never listen to me!”
”I do when you’re not putting me to sleep, Noin. Say again why these two have to sneak around their parents?”
"Miss Po," Quatre interrupts her monologue. "What is my motivation for this scene?"
"Let me see... yes, it's rather simple. You run on, say your line, and get stabbed. That's all."
"Oh. I thought there was a bit more depth and pathos called for."
"No. You could try the role of Nurse. That might be fun since you'd be playing it the way the original actors did: as a male in a female role."
"That sounds interesting."
"The comedies would be your cup of tea--no end to the cross-dressing there! Once, I played a female character that pretended to be a man who then had to act like a woman. A woman as a man as a woman as a man as a woman." She pauses to run that last comment again. "I think that's the right way round."
At this point, Heero believes he'd gladly trade places with one of his friends lost in the deepening darkness with little hope of rescue before dawn. Squirells, bears, and tigers didn't prattle on about pantouffles.
”God… did you kill it?”
”I’m not certain.” Trowa leans over the stunned animal. Gingerly, he touches it and says in a small voice, “It’s so cute and fuzzy and… IT BIT ME!"
The rabbit springs up and springs away, leaving a dumbfounded trio staring at Trowa’s bleeding hand.
”Ow... ow... ow... ow." He alternately flaps his hand to ease the sting and sucks on the wound before spitting.
"I'm not a zoologist, but I don't think rabbits are venomous," Wufei postulates.
"You don't know how filthy it might be. Infections are nasty if you don’t try to stop them early. Good thing I've got a fully stocked first-aid kit." Trowa settles down to clean and bandage his hand with the other two loosely pile kindling for a cheery fire.
Stomachs grumbling, but otherwise hearty and hale, they sit back for a prime entertainment: Trowa stitching the laceration closed.
"And here I've been saying Heero was bonkers for setting his own broken leg. Couple of mental cases!"
"Um.... drat. It's not," Trowa winces, "it's not as bad as it looks. Ow... ow... ow.. topical anesthetic's a fabulous invention. That rabbit was the unhinged one." He finishes with the needle, pops two small white pills, and pushes the case aside. "Good as new."
Wufei throws a twig on the fire and sighs. “I’m famished. Enclosed environments have to be self-sustaining. Surely there’s non-toxic, non-hallucinogenic flora to be found.”
”That reminds me,” Duo says, “I read somewhere that civilization is always only two meals from collapse so you ought to eat like it's your last meal because it may be. The sort of advice you could base your life on---I do.”
”If you don’t mind being approximately spherical, it’s a good philosophy.”
”I assumed your diet was based on the concept of ’if it doesn’t move, pick it up and spread it on a cracker.'” Trowa wonders aloud.
”Same thing,” says Duo. “Often, when I was younger, there weren’t even crackers. A nice, crispy cracker, something to spread on it, and a knife can take a man far.”
”Stop talking about food,” Wufei moans weakly.
”Knife,” Trowa drowsily mumbles. “Cathy told me a little story about a knife once… it goes like this: ‘In the land of Cutlery, there once was a knife and a fork. They loved each other very much and got married. The knife and fork had a baby. And they named it spoon. And the spoon ran away with the plate and they had a baby. And it’s name was saucer!" His tale well-told, Trowa topples over and begins to snore lightly within minutes.
”Not the most incoherent he’s been. Pass me that med kit, Duo. I don’t care if there’s only lip ointment---I’ve got to eat something.”
”I still have---“
”No!” He sifts through the box’s contents. “Congratulate me.” He holds up a cylinder. “I’ve found our way back to roast meat, floury potatoes, and feather pillows.”
”Brother mine, was it never clarified that ‘roadside assistance marker’ is the same thing as ‘flare’?”
”Not funny, Cathy.”
”It is from where I’m sitting,” she gloats. “Don’t pick at that. Or that! Can you keep from hurting yourself even one week?”
Trowa leaves off rubbing his peeling sunburn and tries to forget how badly his stitches itch. “I didn’t do anything to myself! And the retreat was much better after that first day. Did you get my package?”
He’s such a cute kid, so eager and winsome when he lets his guard down, Cathy reflects. “Yesterday.”
”I made the clay one myself in Crafts.”
”You did very well… is it supposed to be that small?” She holds it up to the phone transmitter.
”Shrunken heads are always small.”
”Hence the adjective ‘shrunken.’ And is it supposed to be that color?”
”Heero used up the flesh tones with his nude self portrait and you did say you like yellow.”
”And the other item? What is it?” she asks. ”It’s warm and shining and it squishes between my fingers.”
”Glow-in-the-dark play putty. It’s the adult version of the children’s toy and a great stress reliever that foster creativity. We all got pounds of it.”
”Sounds like you had a lot of fun, Trowa.”
”Yes… I guess I did.”
”I told you it’s not hard to enjoy the simple things and acting your age every now and then doesn’t hurt. Take care of yourself and call me soon, okay? I miss you.”
”Miss you too, Cathy. Bye.”
Quatre sticks his head around the corner to ask, “You done catching up with the ‘family’?”
Trowa beckons him in and makes room in the oversized chair for a quick snuggle. “Um hmm. She and the rest of the circus may not be related to me by blood, but they’re as real a family as anyone could ask for. There are times when I can’t stand them, but there’s always love, respect and loyalty mixed in.”
”Like another group I know,” Quatre says, hugging Trowa tighter.
”We might not stroke together all the time, but we’re in the same boat and headed toward the same shore… and that’s what matters.”
Please feel free to e-mail the author, Mel with questions or comments.