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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 6 - Party Guys "The perils of duck hunting are great- especially for the duck" -- Walter Cronkite I wasn't sure if I was pleased or disappointed to find Trowa was getting his health back. Both our patients had lost the fevers and improved enough so that by Monday they could attend classes. I'd liked having Trowa to myself again. Still, it was nice to think I'd helped him get better, and he didn't need to add the anxiety of missing classes to his other performance issues. To clarify, those issues were limited to the classroom, having nothing to do whatsoever with the bedroom. His sexual functioning was a-okay. I certainly wanted to drag Trowa back to bed and keep him to myself when Wufei pounded on our door, demanding, "Is he ready yet?" "Yes, and I have a treat for you." I'd packed them both to hand-made lunches, which I was pretty proud of. "A nutritious lunch." "Very sweet, dear," Tro' said in a simpering voice to tease me. I matched his sappy smile with my own and added a flourish of fluttering eyelashes. I pecked him on the cheek and in falsetto, declared, "Have a nice day, honey-pie." Wufei gingerly took his offered bag pinched between two fingers. "Thank you-- and I thank you even more for not kissing me." "Be that way." I pretended to pout long enough for Trowa to smack me on the ass. "Hey!" "Next time, I want you wearing a frilly apron and pearls when you see me off." That's when I knew I'd let him watch too many classic movies while he was sick. "Or maybe I'd like to get you off wearing just an apron and pearls. Whaddaya think of that?" I countered. "Do it and find out," he growled. Growled! With teeth! I wanted to "find out" so bad I'd take up sewing to make the damned apron. "Move it!" Wufei shouted, punctuating his demand with a shove. "You are blocking my path." Trowa moved, carried along by Wufei's intense desire to be on time. I wondered if 'Fei had left his lover back in bed sleeping, when the man himself stepped out of the shadows in the hall. "Remember," he said in a dead-serious kind of tone, "You promised to return home—" "Pronto!" I reinforced. 'Ro nodded my way, while finishing his command, "--shower, drink, and rest until dinnertime." "Goes for you, too, Sweetlips. Nap. I want full horizontal non-activity," I clarified. Make no mistake... "Correct," 'Ro said. "After which you may study in one hour increments with breaks." Wufei looked defiant as all get-out and I spotted the flicker of one of Trowa's trademark microsecond smiles. And before the argument could escalate into a time-wasting row, the rebellious schoolboys tottered off, lunch bags and book bags in hand. "I know." Heero remained at my door. "He'll be impossible if he gets away with this and he'll stress his system and get sick again. He's not as recovered as he lets on." "Tro's stubborn as well." True, but Trowa had been a lovely patient. In contrast, Wufei, to be generous, had reputedly been hellish. Irritable and touchy on his best days, when he had become feeble, brought low by a bug, 'Fei lost whatever charm he had ever had. I figured that Heero didn't want to lose containment, that his boyfriend had been a handful and if he got to thinking he could get away with working himself to death then we most certainly would. "So," I decided, "let's switch." "Uh—" His eyes narrowing with apprehension. "Not boyfriends! Geez, dear God protect me! Switch patients!" I watched Heero unwind once he understood what I was saying. "Yeah, you'll appreciate Trowa's sarcasm and quiet ways, while Trowa will be just intimidated enough by you to behave." Heero agreed that Wufei's rants wouldn't bother me as much as him; my skin was thicker, heart safely nestled away where he couldn't hurt it with stinging utterances. Not that he put it that way, "Or I can just get you an assault rifle and a submachine gun," but I got the drift. And I got to test out my rhino-skin that afternoon. Not that I was fond of rhinoceroses, but their hide looked like battle armor a mobile suit would be safe in. When Wufei returned home, I was ensconced on his sofa, sipping tea; the furniture piece was upholstered in a grey wool more elephant-like than rhino but it put me in the "tough adventurer" state of mind. Recalling the show we watched the other night, I felt bad for the animals, getting killed for a horn that was the equivalent in makeup of my fingernails and hair. I wished for a moment that I could sell my fingernail clippings to some natives somewhere for medicinal purposes. When I got to wondering if I should ask Wufei he knew any Chinese apothecary nail poachers, the door opened. "What are you doing here?" he demanded in a not-too-friendly tone. "Hello to you too, Fei my man. Call me nurse Duo. I can be a nice nurse or an evil one. I am here to see to it that you shower and rest as proscribed and agreed upon." "Where's Heero?" His eyes cased the room for hidden signs of Yuy, perhaps an electronic device, I guessed. "With Trowa. Making him behave." "I can take care of myself. You can go." He used up the last of his strength on that speech, and I caught his arm on the way down. "Where are you taking me? Hands off!" "Shower, buddy. Wash off the bad bugs for starters." "You are not getting into the bath with me! I can undress myself!" "Good, 'cause I'm prepared to force you, seeing as I'm likely stronger than you are when you're sick—that's nice nurse Duo. But just in case," I pulled out my cell phone, "Evil nurse Duo's calling for backup." I let that sink in a second then explained slowly, "Heero's going in with Trowa—into the shower-- if you don't do what I say." Oh, he grumbled lots. I heard "injustice" and "trickery" and a jumble of Chinese, but it didn't scare me off. I stayed by the bathroom door until he came out clean, and then walked him to his bed. "Get in and I'll bring you tea, aspirin, and a 'good nap' kiss." I batted my eyes and he gave me a "don't you dare" glare. Heero came over half an hour later to report his success and I was pleased to report back the same. "Barton was afraid I had killed you and was taking him out next to silence him." That statement Heero thought was funny enough to chuckle over. "You corrected this error?" I asked. I wouldn't put it past him to leave Trowa dangling in the air. He showed a total lack of sympathy, adding a shrug of indifference, which left me feeling more insecure, the cold bastard. "Trowa was very agreeable. I hadn't known about his interest in ropes before." He tagged on a smile for a sinister effect. "Er—whatcher mean? What did you do to him?" Now Heero was laughing aloud. Was this his attempt at a practical joke? Could he possibly think this was a way he could "get back" at Trowa and me for our part in pillaging the Winner ancient shrine last summer? Or was he serious? Imagining Trowa trussed up like a holiday bird for roasting, I pushed past him at the door and dashed to my place, breaking out in a cold sweat of pure liquid anxiety. There, I found my love fast asleep, the television muted, but tuned into a show revealing how hemp rope was made. So, Heero wanted to play dirty, eh? Thinks he's a practical joker? I had an idea how to get back at him, but I'd need the aid of a super schemer. I rang Quatre. "Yo, man! I need your help. Yeah. About your party--?" (o) By the end of the week, Tro' and 'Fei were both chafing at the bit at being cooped up, having been so compliant and cooperative. Blooming with good health, they were raring for action. I had a new interest in Quatre's costume party, and on his own Heero couldn't pull off the "too ill to go" act, so he wasn't speaking to me. No real loss there. The silent treatment only lasted so long. He needed me and my vast knowledge of the area in order to plan his routes so as not to waste a moment of time. "Why are you hell-bent on going to this party now?" he asked, finally. "Quat told me he was inviting lots of community bigwigs which would mean job opportunities," I told him. "Oh." Satisfied with that answer, I guess, he forgave me. We were friends again and I talked him into going grocery shopping with me. "C'mon. I'll teach you to cook some rice dishes." "That would be a satisfactory way to spend the day." Cool, because my plan was to make Kung Pao chicken that night. It was time for 'Fei-man to expand his hot'n'spicy Chinese roots. (O) The next evening, Quatre and his main squeeze showed up on our proverbial doorstep. "Welcome to the Kasbah!" "Duo! Hello! Oh, the place looks wonderful!" Quat cried out, squishing me with a full body hug. "Barton, good to see you." Zechs seemed satisfied with firm, manly handshake. No friendly, flaming, flamingo flourishes for him, although when he shook my hand I was tempted to kiss it. I don't know why, so I gave in to temptation and did. "Duo, you are becoming quite the courtier," he said, but his voice sounded a bit raw around the edges, even husky. I looked up to see the blood rush to Zechs' face—a nice effect, so I went for more. "Looks like I'm holding a royal flush." "More like a royal pain in the ass," Trowa said, glibly. It wasn't until he stared directly at Quatre that I got his double entendre. "Trowa!" Quat squealed, and not without a bit of delight, I might add. "You have such a dirty mind." I was laughing my ass off by this time. These guys all felt like buds I could share a beer with. Tone set for the evening. I knew we'd all have a great time. "Merquise. C'mon in." Trowa's greetings were dry and to the point. "Yuy and Chang are inside already." It was Friday and Quatre and Zechs had arrived, insisting we join them for dinner. And after the previous night's outrageous, delicious, blistering hot "...from the Szechuan province!" chicken dinner (insert "I am not" for Wufei's complete quote,) it took some major convincing to get everyone to agree on going out instead of reprising the Kung POW meal. Even Chang "some don't like it hot" Wufei would be happy to eat in. But out we went. I didn't have enough ingredients on hand and no one wanted to go shopping and, God, wait. Fine with me. I was in a great mood and top form. I looked forward to the party the next night and pulling my practical joke on 'Ro. I didn't care where we ate. I'd be happy with anything. We settled on a rustic pizza place suitable for scruffy student boys, their out-of-work boyfriends, and a princely pair. "So, what do you want on your pizzas?" I collected "want" and "don't want" pizza toppings ideas from the others and lined up at the order counter to buy an eclectic assortment of pizzas. Across the room, I could see Zechs at the bar, ordering beer for our table. I brought back piles of napkins, shakers of hot peppers and parmesan cheese. Zechs carried over six huge glass mugs, foam dribbling over the tops, three to each of his huge hands. "Need a hand?" Trowa asked, although it didn't look like he was moving fast to help. I guessed he was just being facetious. "Too late," I told my boyfriend. "Too bad." He was grinning now. "Looked like you and the Lightening Count had everything under control." "Did it?" I asked just going along with Trowa's kidding. I watched Zechs gulp back half his beer in one long swig. The guy could put food away, that was for sure. "Impressive," Trowa commented. "Now even my thirst is under control," Zechs said. "Did you just pay for everything?" Wufei asked us. "That's how it works," I informed him. "Order and pay." Finding he hadn't any money, had forgotten his wallet, 'Fei, made Heero pay double to cover him. We let Zechs and Quat pay for the drinks, letting Zechs recover his money, exact his charges, from his boyfriend on his own terms. Heh, heh... as I would from Trowa and I bet Heero could figure it out, too. We sat all nestled in the back corner where we could talk in relative privacy. Heero was dark and broody, as usual for him. Trowa and Wufei weren't buried in their books or coughing, sneezing, or sniffling. Quatre and Zechs were like beautiful silver and gold superstars with their perfect teeth and glamorous clothes. Even though we were as different as you could imagine, we had one thing in common: we all had piloted Gundams to kill. In particular, Zechs could put on airs, but underneath that persona was an officer and Gundam pilot. We all shared that, regardless of our vastly dissimilar beginnings and different life choices after the war. We all liked to eat pizza, too. Me especially and Wufei not so much, so it all worked out evenly. "So the party is tomorrow night," Quatre told us, as if we could have forgotten. "The costumes have been delivered to the palace—" "Your party's at the Sanc Palace?" Trowa asked. That's what the man said, weren't you paying attention? Of course, I was distracting him by fooling around under the table. I'd been stroking his thigh, which had been pressed against mine, and my hand had gained ground, even though he was rising to the occasion. "I thought it was going to be at one of your condominiums. You said so." Heero so wanted Quat to play by the rules. "That's correct. I heard you." Wufei was the supportive boyfriend tonight. I often wondered who submitted to whom in that relationship. Tonight, 'Ro seemed rather dominating. "Everything was already booked, and Miss Relena was going to have one of her own, so we merged lists. There will be a few politicians, entrepreneurs, and businessmen for you to meet, which could lead to job opportunities." "Waiter," Zechs beckoned the young man over with a commanding gesture. "Another pitcher of beer—rush that, please." Who could argue with Quat's schemes--especially when his boyfriend was buying the brewsky? There was a moment of drama when Heero clutched at his throat and claimed it hurt— a totally unconvincing act. He had no acting ability at all, so he wasn't fooling anyone, but my love played along a little. "If it's just starting to hurt now," Tro' said, "you'll survive a party." Yeah, why let a simple cold get in the way of having a good time? But would he survive the Heero death glare, is what I wanted to know? "I thought you had a super-reinforced immune system anyway?" that shrewd little Quat said. After that, Heero gave up the pretense of being sick and fell in with Operation Party like a dutiful soldier boy. And with enough beer, the details of the costume party blurred around the edges and the subject was dropped for the time being. Trowa and Wufei were called upon to tell everything about classes and what they thought of their professors, and the conversation turn toward them and the university. I wondered if Quatre had considered what life would be like with his boyfriend as a possible future grad student. Should I warn him about how it feels to be left out of the school activities? But before I decided if I'd tell him my side of the story, the dinner festivities wrapped up. "I have much work to do if I am to waste tomorrow night partying," Wufei said. Quat wanted to correct his impression of social occasions as "wastes", I could tell, so I stepped it to break up the ripening row with some stupid joke about getting the recently convalescent boys back home before they had relapses. I really did want Tro' to get some rest and save his strength. Yes, for strictly selfish reasons. However, sex was off the table for me that night. He was tired and buzzed so we just went to bed the instant we got home, and fell asleep. The next morning, I stuffed him with bacon, eggs and toast while he wrote an essay. He read it aloud to me and I thought it was fantastic and told him so. Oh, he muttered all kinds of "not so good" and "average" comments, but I could tell he was secretly pleased by my praise. I'd have to remember to do that more often. His math homework and "cultural topics" reading assignment absorbed the better part of the early afternoon. "If this party doesn't go on too long," he told me, "Maybe we'll take in the zoo tomorrow." "Go out? Just you an' me? Yeah, that would be cool." "Then don't keep me out too late, all right?" "Got it, babe." And then it was time to go. A limousine met us at our condo, ready to carry us to the palace, where there was a dressing room and costumes awaiting us. (o) The costumes were made by real artists. The masks looked like leaves but were made out of tooled and painted leather, molded to fit over the top half of a face. The over-the-knee socks were striped and muted, but each pair in different colors. They were meant to coordinate with the shirts and vests. The shorts were leather like the masks and so were the matching slip-on shoe covers. All this was nothing when compared to the wings, carried in last. They were amazing. At least five feet in length, wire-framed and covered in hand-painted sheer nylon, some had jewels others metallic glitter, but all of them were beautiful. We were sure to be glamorous fairies. "These were created for the winter opera on L4, so I'll need them back," Heero and Wufei were in awe, silent as they examined the masks and wings, especially. Quatre told Zechs which costume was whose and Zechs handled the distribution. Trowa had worn his share of costumes as a circus performer, but nothing like these. "No tights," he noted immediately. "That alone merits my thanks." Quatre trilled a laugh. "Knowing I had to wear one of these, too, most definitely meant no tights. Disappointed?" A smile appeared for a split second across half of Trowa's mouth. "Not really." My outfit was eggplant purple and heathery brown; Trowa's mossy green and a russet brown. Quatre's was a dusty blue and dull gold; Zechs' steely blue and pale grey. Wufei's was wine red and a minky, dark grey. Heero's was— "Pink." To rhyme with "stink." Heh, heh... "That's coral and light grey, Heero," Quatre corrected him in all seriousness. "Coral has orange in it, while pink is just red mixed with white." "It's feminine-looking," Heero said. "Not on a hunky guy like you," Quatre insisted, "and it coordinates with Wufei's outfit, see?" Holding the socks side-by-side, I could see how you could spin it that way, but, damn, Heero was pissed. Heh, heh. Payback time. Suck it up, pal. My grin must have given me away. "This was your idea—this color for me." My grin nearly split my face in two, until he returned the most diabolical leer I'd ever seen. It gave me goose bumps. "Ah, just getting into the trick-or-treat spirit," I spit out. Now, lose the scary expression. Quatre pooh-poohed the entire "feminine" color association, explaining how it's mostly a cultural thing. "In some countries around the world, pink for men is nothing out of the ordinary. Thailand for example is awash with pink." "A favored color of HM The King," Zechs inserted. "Both Thai men and women were sporting colored polo shirts, and pink jackets and blazers when we were visiting. Isn't that right, honey?" "Yes, my heart." They traded sticky-sweet smiles, holding them a minute before Quatre continued. "Many European men—" "Especially the French," Zechs commented. "Oh, yes, especially the French." "And the Irish," Zechs added. "Really? The Irish, too? Well, they are awfully hip these days. So, as I was saying, more than just the fashion-savvy, trendsetters for chic street wear have been wearing pink for years." Zechs also had his own viewpoint to voice, taken from his loftier altitude. "Is it fair that women and girls are allowed to wear masculine clothing but not the other way around — because the dominant gender—" "Males, naturally," Quat added. "Naturally." Smiles were exchanged. "Because males are not allowed—" "Culturally speaking, of course." "Yes, my love, culturally speaking, ought the dominant gender be dominated in this manner?" Why, indeed? And in this way, Heero's fight over his costume was diluted by "the grand dialog" until the topic of men in pink had been distilled and refined down to its essence: an error by the card companies. Quatre used his micro-sized computer to conduct his research, while Zechs dipped into his vast reservoir of knowledge on the subject, proving to one and all how effective his college education had been. "Here it is! Listen." Quatre read from the website, "The practice of pink for girls and blue for boys was introduced into the United States from France in the mid-19th century; in Little Women, Amy tied a pink ribbon on Daisy, and a blue one on her twin, 'French-style, so you can always tell.'" "I know my sister had that book in her possession," Zechs said. "I'm certain it led to her fanaticism with wearing archaic pink gowns." "Still, believe it or not, there remained considerable disagreement about which color was appropriate for which sex. There's more here in 1918 from, a trade journal,The Infant's Department: 'There has been a great diversity of opinion on the subject, but the generally accepted rule is pink for the boy and blue for the girl. The reason is that pink, being a more decided and stronger color, is more suitable for a boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl.'" "Clothing manufacturers complained that greeting-card companies were confusing the issue by using pink for girls and blue for boys in birth announcements. ... The debate continued for decades..." "You're kidding." I couldn't believe this mattered so much. "Not at all," Zechs assured me. "I know for a fact that the first children to be consistently color-coded by gender were the post-war baby boomers. Pink became an exclusively feminine color during the latter half of the 20th century. But, that was far back in the past, and this is a new age." "A Brave New World," Trowa piped up. "It's on my reading list this semester." By this time, we'd all gotten dressed. Just to show I was a fair winner, I let Heero wear the macho grey bat-like wings. It seemed to sooth his ego, so what the heck. While we'd been dressing, the ballroom had filled with partygoers. The place looked amazing with glittery decorations in purple and green; smoke poured from cauldrons, and looked like it might blanket the entire floor. Zechs and Quatre grabbed my arm and Heero's. "There's some people you must meet before they are too busy." Too drunk, I translated. "This might lead to a job, you think?" "Yes." And so, I parted from Trowa's side, promising, "I'll be back ASAP!" With Zechs taking point, we threaded our way past the glitz and toward a cluster of men and women masquerading as, well, suits with masks on. I guessed they saved their imaginations for work. We chatted about this and that, lamenting the licenses required, justifiably they felt, and the necessity of being in a union, or hiring union. I wasn't sure if anything would come of that interview. "This is the head of law school and the University president." Zechs handled the introductions this time. With his connections, I didn't see any problem with his getting into the graduate program. Funny, though, it was them impressed, awed, by us. Just being in a room with six Gundam pilots was "breathtaking, absolutely breathtaking." I felt surrounded all of the sudden by dozens of university people all eager to meet the "Gundam boys." Quat had gone off to gather in the other three, while Zechs and I were called upon to tell "war stories." I sensed the gathering was a mix of politics, heavily weighted toward the OZ side, seeing as this was Earth. Putting forth the colonists' point of view seemed to be me alone, until my buddies could join us. "I suggest you go to L2 for a vacation sometime and you'll get my point first hand," I said. "I love your passion." The guy who said that was a newcomer at my elbow. He looked about Zechs' age but the comparison stopped there. He was dark-skinned, darker than Wufei, and wore his wavy, black hair cut off below his earlobes. I was looking up into his huge brown eyes. I didn't know how to respond to what he'd said, so I clammed up. "I'm planning to do my next research work on L2." He smiled. "I'm sorry; it's not fair that I know your name, while to you I remain a mystery. My name'sDeepak." We got to talking about L2. He'd never been there and I had spent my first 15 years of life on that scummy colony. Next thing I knew, Wufei was in my face, yanking on my shoulder. "What's your problem?" I asked. "Are you deliberately trying to hurt him?" "Huh?" "Trowa, you idiot. Look at him over there. Oh, he's gone off to fade into the woodwork." "What are you talking about? Is something wrong with him?" "He's perfectly miserable," 'Fei said nearly gleeful. "We were watching you as that man started hitting on you." "Huh? You mean Deepak? I was telling him about L2 and he wasn't hitting on me." "Deepak Malik, the up and coming head of the history department, of which I am a student." I knew that. I didn't know how that mattered. "And this matters because--?" "Word gets around. He's a real player. A dishonorable cur. A seducer of young men." Word, eh? I wondered if the man had already made some kind of move on Wufei. I didn't ask, though, because I'm smarter than that. "I know what a 'player' is and he's not one; at least, not with me." "You didn't notice the hand on your arm? The fact that he was pressing his leg against yours?" No. "He was? He did? I was so busy talking—" "Well, let me assure you your boyfriend did." Ah, hell. Tro' didn't deserve that, then again, he should know me better'n that! "I gotta go set him straight." And I meant to, I would have immediately, had I not set eyes upon a familiar knot of men and recognized one man in particular. I was so distracted I ran directly into Heero. "Sorry, dude." His eyes tracked where I'd been staring. "You know those men?" Oh, joy. "Pink isn't just for girls" facts from a GentleBirth article titled "Dressing for sexes," by Jo Paoletti
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