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"Just Ducky"Written By: Kaeru Shisho Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Gundam Wing
or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: AU, male/male pairings, language Pairings: 1x2, 3x4 Summary: When Trowa Barton and Wufei Chang adjust to college life, Duo Maxwell and Heero Yuy learn to balance work with their changing relationships. A/N: My deepest thanks go to the kindness of Snowdragon
and WaterLily for editing and encouraging me. "Just Ducky " Chapter 1-- Moving Day "Don't quack like a duck, soar like an eagle."-- Ken Blanchard, American businessman Quatre lent us a few of Rashid's men and trucks for a day and Tro' and I moved our stuff from the shuttle storage to our new condo. That was nice of him, awfully nice. "Empty." Trowa looked from emptied crate to emptied crate—our satellite station table and bookcases-- and that about summed up the interior décor of our Earthside place. "Hey, we gotta bed, our clothes, your vid phone, books—" I began. "Book," Trowa said. "I sold the rest at the resale shop." "You'll be getting more," I told him, as if he couldn't guess that and wondering which one he saved. "Gundam manual," he said. "Might me valuable someday." "Yeah, how many can there be?" We shared smiles. "Mine went the way of the war." "Trashed?" "Lost in space, heh, heh." I stretched out a kink in my back. "Anyway we also've got our kitchen crap." "The place could be easy to keep clean, if we bothered," he said as he looked around the wide open spaces of our home. My boyfriend was sounding down in the dumps. Now I knew the lack of familiar comforts were bothering him. "Tomorrow, we'll call Quat and see if he can lone us a truck and we'll go re-sale shopping. A couch, couple chairs... TV—" Trowa flicked on the glaring overhead light in the kitchen. There was one just like it in the bathroom, but that was it. "We'll need some lamps." "We'll make a list." And I would start one, if I had a notion where to find a paper or pen or the laptop. "How about we shower then go out to eat?" I hoped getting out would cheer him up, too. "Yeah." And his smile was a good start. I couldn't always be certain he and I were on the same wavelength, but we were never far apart on the scale. I knew he was excited about the fresh start and I knew he was terrified of failure. Failure piloting or fighting a war could easily mean a death sentence—we both had felt that—but he also had a history of dangerous pursuits where a fatal mistake was your undoing. Take falling from a tightrope or one of those bad lion days or a fight with the knife-thrower or the dude with the whip-- those were dodgy situations. Finding a place to eat in an Earthside college town, now how could we fail? We couldn't and that was the point. We found plenty of terrific little eateries within walking distance and picked the Middle Eastern one for bowls of lentil soup, humus and flatbread. Really cheap and filling. We sat outside and watched others pass by. There were students and lots of them, but a mix of ages in no particular hurry to get anywhere. That was a nice change. Mostly, wherever I'd ever lived everyone was a working stiff and during the day they—we, me included—hadn't had time to waste over leisurely lunches. "I feel like I ought to be doing something," Trowa told me. "I was thinking the same thing, heh, heh." And pretty much I had been. "Take that spot up there." We both observed a balcony high up with a great view. "If I could just get my hands on a submachine gun. I could clean out this whole place." "Is that what you think about when you have excess time on your hands?" Trowa asked me with a toothpick in his teeth. He could do the damnedest things with it. He could draw it into mouth, turn it around and flick it back out with the tip split in half. How? That had to take practice, which told me about how he had passed many a dull moment. "Only when I spot the perfect defensible position. Anyway, enjoy the break, 'cause that schedule of yours looks loaded for next week." "Yeah," he said, pulling out a note folded in his pocket and looking it over. "Orientation, meetings with advisor to go over schedule and ... and counselors, tours, and tests." "Tests for what? Diseases? You got that covered by your doc." His expression said that I had no idea what college was about, obviously. "Placement tests, since I didn't have a high school diploma. I got in based on my war experience, some special admittance criteria. I guess if I can pilot a shuttle and a Gundam, they figure I can read and do math—but not how well or how much." "Oh." "Let's go back," Trowa suggested. "Check about the rig." We rounded the corner, our towering condo complex in sight, and noticed a familiar truck parked in the loading zone. "We musta forgotten something," I said. Why else would the Maguanacs be back? We found out a minute later as Amid explained how sad he felt after moving us the first time. "Your place made me think of the BIG EMPTY. Oh, yes, I've been there, Earth's Middle East. Too empty. We used Hellfire missiles carried by Predators for attacking hostiles in the big empty. Don't ever go there. Too empty." Oh, yeah, empty. I knew how that felt. When there is a big empty spot in your heart, when someone is gone, that's empty. "I got no desire to go there," I promised him, although I wouldn't speak for my boyfriend who looked suddenly consumed with the idea of vast wastelands of emptiness, staring off into space. "So, what's with the stuff?" "Oh, these few things," Amid said, diminishing the truckload to a basket of groceries. "I know we had chairs we didn't use, so I asked Ashir if he had some excess furniture, and word goes around—" His hand motioned 'round and 'round as if the call to "furnish Duo and Trowa's condo" had circled the globe. Trowa'd been looking over the inside of the truck. "You collected all this from your house?" "Oh, no, no, no!" Amid waved his hands around, pushing aside that notion. "All my friends were pleased to contribute. The wives want new, you know, and there's no place for the old." He was quick to point out we didn't have to take it all or any of it if it wasn't to our taste. Taste? It wouldn't be hard to improve upon our current "early packing crate" look. I urged Trowa to pick and choose from the donations, but he was of the same mind as I, plus he was in awe of the generosity. I stuffed some money in Amid's hand, "For gasoline," which I knew he'd be too honorable a guy to hand back. He'd been generous, but we didn't take handouts on that grand a scale without compensating a bit. I patted my empty pockets, speaking of vacant real-estate, noting I'd need to cash in a few more credits for hard money, which Earth still used. All the while Amid and a couple of others hauled furnishings out of the truck and to the freight elevator. We gave up turning down anything; it was the best looking stuff we'd ever seen not in Quatre's or Khushrenada's places. We stood, stupefied, honestly, by the unexpected act of kindness. "Go on up!" Amid told us. "Okay." We did have the keys... So, now we had a sofa in grey that could unfold into a bed; an area rug, which had actually come from Earth's Middle East; dark wooden coffee tables with black iron stuff on them; two TV's (One for the bedroom? Oh, yes, please); bright floor pillows in these incredible saturated blues and greens with huge tassels at the corners; four comfy chairs in varying colors—one red which I could tell Trowa loved-- one gold, one mustard yellow, and one real-to-die-for purple, mine. Also, there were a couple dressers and lamps with brass or colored glass bases and exotically shaped tops. Now, that's style! One of the men, whose name escaped me every time I tried to say it, come up to us, his arms overflowing with this shiny, gorgeous material. "I have these beautiful green draperies. Would you like to see them?" Trowa was speechless, heh, heh. "Sure," I spoke up. "I just can't believe this stuff is your castoffs." I watched him unfurl miles of shimmery parrot-green cloth and begin replacing the blah-looking cheap crap the place came with. "Oh, some of it's from Master Winner, too." Oh, no. Was our little Quat buddy sneaking in more "help" for us? Tro' would not like that. I checked out his reaction, but I don't think he was even listening. His eyes were riveted to the Maguanac carrying that plush, red chair, looking for its perfect resting spot. "Um, just wondering here," I said. "You used to call him Master Quatre, now you don't." "Ah, his father was Master Winner and he was the son. It's only right now that he is the family head that he have the more respectful title." "I get it. That makes sense. Well, you've all gotta drop the "master" when talking to for us, okay? It takes on a whole different connotation at times." "Certainly. As you wish." His eyes twinkled as he said that, showing me he was a man of the world and knew of those things. "And you can call me Ashir, if you please?" Ah, yes, Ashir. He was the one "painting" Heero's bedroom back at the estate. "Thanks, Ashir. Sorry 'bout that. I'll get the names straight one of these days. Sometimes I think you guys change them around to mess with me." "We wouldn't do that," he said with mock surprise. "But we rotate assignments so you meet the forty of us at different times." He smoothed out some rumples in the drape. "This is from the young master. He is remodeling his bedroom suite," Ashir divulged. "He's really doing that?" Well, okay. Maybe I wouldn't have to yell at him for the gifts then, because the drapes were silk and edged in gold coins (God, I hoped fake coins!) and looked unbelievably beautiful. Amid and the others unloaded and arranged everything; my boyfriend wandered about, running his finger through his hair, staring, and smiling; I marveled at the whole scene. Once the red chair was put in place, Trowa seemed drawn to it, and rested his elbows on the back as he watched the place fill. Ashir climbing high on a ladder to hang a string of tiny bells near an air vent. He clamored back down and took me by the arm to show me where the temperature controls were. Good thing. I might have never noticed them. He turned up the air conditioning fan and I could hear the faint tinkling in the heights above us. He and I shared grins. "Like home," he said. I agreed. Ashir leaned in and whispered his secret, "Rashid wants you to know how grateful he was for your blowing things up and warning him in time of the ones with bad guns so he could keep everyone safe." "Ah, I see. Tell him... thanks from the both of us." For all this had been Rashid's way of thanking us for helping his Master Winner. "We have these nice book cases, plenty tall and in good condition, but I am not sure you will want them," Amid said. These were real wood bookcases, not the crate and board and brick assortment we brought with us. I disassembled ours as I assured him we'd love what he was offering us, and that Trowa'd fill them in no time. Amid was delighted. Ashir was thrilled to remove the "duplicate material," as he so kindly called our crap. I was excited. Trowa was in shock, seated in the red chair. There were a few more exchanges of "looks nice" and "thank you" until, finally, "goodbyes" were said. Whatta day. That day I learned Trowa liked bright colors and lots of them. He was in awe but in a good way. He touched every new thing and commented on the vibrant color. I guess a bit of the circus was in his blood and came through that way. From then on, anything I bought for our place was multihued. That night we crashed early. One thing we'd noticed by this time was gravity. I'm serious! Heh, heh... yeah. Satellites and the colonies utilized slightly reduced gravitation pulls. Maybe it was cheaper? It's why we worked out at gyms so much, to keep the muscles toned. I don't know, but on Earth I felt heavier and Tro' mentioned exhaustion and himself in the same sentence, meaning we could wear out faster. "I don't remember feeling it when we were here during the war," he mused. "We were kids. What did we know?" "I knew what I wanted," he said. Me. And that was his seductive voice, too. "Mmm." Then we rolled over and fell asleep. (o) I was constantly reminding myself that I was the luckiest man to walk on Earth, but I knew that to be honest I'd have to include the rest of the known universe. Finding a mate was hard. Finding a gay mate was harder yet. If I liked girls, I'd have half the world's population to start with, but I only had eyes for men. Okay, that made half the population, too, but make that gay men and you got a 90 percent slug removed in one hit. So finding the right guy after narrowing the possibilities so dramatically was a needle in a haystack kind of proposition. But, Tro' and I had beat the odds—talk about luck! Keeping a relationship going was another thing. I'd failed to do that with Hilde, but then she was a girl and I was gay so that spoke for itself. Tro' had failed, too, but it wasn't all his fault. His "ex" left him with lions gnawing on his leg, which was a bond-destroyer right there in my book. So, far, he and I had weathered some rough patches, but we'd not really been tested. In fact, we hadn't been apart for more than an hour, spending practically every minute together for months. That was about to end with me working and him studying. Keeping us together and riding out the changes was gonna be our next treat to happiness, but we... we were solid. I was sure. That was a good thing. That was what I was thinking about after a satisfying toss in the sack and combing out my hair while Trowa shaved. We'd had great sex, showered, and were out the door before the sun kissed the faces of most the population. It was a short hike to breakfast. We chowed down on a couple of top of the notch Danishes and fancy-ass coffee from a nearby bakery. Great day. We almost had a routine going. It went like this: eat, shop, cook, and make out, heh, heh. Sometimes I could just smell a crappy day coming on from the start, but this one reeked of sweetness and light. We picked up food for future dinners later then headed back to the Kasbah, as we called our new home. It was an Arabic word we picked up from Rashid meaning a guy's fortress and sign of wealth, which seemed apt to us. Tro's college orientation began this day—all day and the evening schmoozing with classmates—and with additional events going on the entire week requiring his presence, and not mine, meant we'd have some "apart" time. It also signaled the end of my leave of absence from work. Nothing like a good old fashioned job hunt to look forward to. So, this was our last day to enjoy our home in peace and quiet and together for a while. The vid phone signaled an incoming call and Wufei's face appeared. We only allowed face-to-face incoming calls with a handful of friends, and he was one Trowa had added. I put in some names, he put in others. "Hey!" I called out. "Tro', Fei's calling!" "Hello, Duo." "How's life? You get moved in okay?" This was a joke. He'd moved his few possessions the week before, immediately after getting his acceptance to the university. Sanc U must have been starving for ex-terrorists, or, more likely, Zechs and his sister had put in a good word and pushed a few buttons to get him admitted so fast. How he'd gotten Une to let him go, he hadn't said. Anyway, the point was that he bought the three bedroom— one, two, three bedrooms—condo in the same building as Trowa and me, ordered furniture, new, and had it delivered. Then he shipped his clothes and a few boxes, had movers carry and unload them, and that was what he called moving in. "I am fine. Is Barton there?" "He's on the way. Hear from 'Ro lately?" "Yes. Put him on." Wufei meant Trowa not Heero. The two spoke in code, reading off times and places like mission parameters, and then signed off. "What's up?" I asked. See I'd left the room and given them the illusion of privacy. "He's coming over." "Oh, yeah? Okay. Should I powder my nose or dust the shelves?" I asked, feeling silly and happy. "No," Trowa said, being literal again. I was proud of our place and how it looked. It wouldn't be up to 'Fei's standards, certainly. He spent his accumulated earnings on sleek, hyper-modern furniture and Chinese knick-knacks. Heero, if he ever chose to grace us with his face again, would find Wufei's choices acceptable enough that he could hoard his own money, spending it only on techie toys. Just a guess. I opened the door to his knock. "Howdy do?" "Afternoon, Maxwell. Is Barton ready?" "Inna minute. Have seat or tour. Want a soda?" "Nothing, thank you." Wufei scrutinized the room. "Not at all what I thought you two would come up with. I was ready for brick and board assemblies. Nice... that ottoman is something that can be re-purposed." That brought on a long pause with Trowa examining it before asking, "To what? Another ottoman?" I laughed my head off. And I was alone. Trowa had been serious, maybe, and Wufei hadn't the time for humor. "It can be used as a serving table, game table, footstool to that chair, alternative seating." He left off "you fool." Trowa kissed me in a "see you later, gotta go now, no time for passion" way and took Wufei "Re-purposed pilot into an asshole" Chang away. This left me to scour the want ads or go out and walk the beat, putting sole to the pavement, hoof it to the streets. I chose the sun and out of doors and left, taking the elevator, since I knew 'Fei would insist on taking the stairs. The day could only look up from here, unless it didn't.
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