Artless and Assuming

I - DUO

 

They have won the war, glory, glory, heroes all. 

 

After the end it seems you’re granted a few sweet months of riding out into the sunset towards your happily ever afters and then someone is on the phone politely pointing out that actually, it’s not over yet, and if you could just turn around a moment please, you’ll see there’s a whole new war just starting. 

 

Except, Duo thinks, this is supposed to be someone else’s war now. It’s not the kind where things go boom and people die in bloody messes. It’s the war of words and ideals, where people die with less obvious causality. It’s one in which he knows he’s capable of getting down and dirty with the best of them, but only on his own terms. 

 

‘Put me in the trouble zone,’ he thinks gloomily. ‘I can rat-catch and snoop and put a finger on every pulse and figure it all out from the gutter up, but this?’ The room is glittery with chandeliers and women’s jewellery.  

 

“You’re pouting,” Trowa says. 

 

“I’m not,” Duo argues. He is. He’s already dismantled his bowtie into his pocket and taken himself to slouch by the wall and eyeball the rest of the party guests. “This is dumb.” 

 

“It’s a state ball. It’s supposed to be dumb.” 

 

“It’s not supposed to be dumb,” Quatre says, wounded. “It’s supposed to be an opportunity. To see the lay of the land, so to speak. And to get an idea of the climate we’re dealing with.” 

 

“I could have stuck a finger in the air and hacked everyone’s computers from home, without being squished into formal wear.”

 

“And then we couldn’t have enjoyed your company,” Trowa says, giving Duo a wry look. 

 

“And besides, it’s good to look them in the eye once in a while,” Quatre adds, observing the room. “Remind them who they’re dealing with, and to remind yourself of the same. I need to see these people, Duo, as does Relena. They need to know us.”

 

“Ok, but why am I here?” Duo gripes. 

 

“To be humanised,” Trowa says flatly, tilting his glass back and forth a fraction to make the bubbles pop. “People feel less threatened by the idea of you if they’ve seen you eating shrimp cocktail and asking where the toilets are.” 

 

“Then people are idiots,” Duo despairs. 

 

“It’s a conciliatory gesture,” Quatre says, touching his shoulder. “One night, Duo, please. To play nice and be seen; that’s all I’m asking.” 

 

Duo swallows back a sharp mouthful of champagne. “One night. Because it’s you. Anything else, I’m gonna need further convincing. All this…” he gestures to the whole of the room. “I’m not sold on it. A lot of yap about how the good times are a-coming, a lot of shiny new badges, but I’m still seeing the same types marching at the top and there’s still the stink of the same rank shit. Sorry,” he adds, unrepentantly. 

 

“Things are fragile,” Quatre says quietly. “We’re trying.”

 

Duo heaves a huge sigh and claps Quatre between the shoulder blades. “I know, I know. I’m just chafing at my leash. I support your efforts.” 

 

“It’s not unappreciated.” Quatre picks a full glass from a passing tray and lightly taps it against his. “Just try and enjoy the party.” 

 

“Right, fine. Fun times with the fat cats. And the fun Quats. Do I get a dance?” 

 

“Maybe later,” Quatre laughs. “I’m afraid I’m supposed to be speaking with the North African delegation now. I will come back. I will!” He tsks at Trowa’s expression of disbelief, holding up his glass and pressing his hand to his heart as he retreats. “I promise. Talk together. Have fun. Behave.” 

 

“Can’t do both,” Duo calls. 

 

“Don’t get political,” Quatre calls back and then he’s gone, absorbed into the crowd. 

 

“Don’t get political? I thought that was the whole damn point.” 

 

“He means uncensored,” Trowa says. “You enjoy rubbing people up the wrong way.”  

 

“True. Well, you heard him.” Duo elbows Trowa, and leers. “Save the party. Rub me up the right way or give me something I can’t rant about.” 

 

Trowa takes a sip, hardly missing a beat. “My lion is pregnant.” 

 

“The fuck?” 

 

Trowa shrugs. “My lion’s pregnant. Cathy sent me a message the other week as soon as they got the confirmation. They had to take her in for dental work anyway, so they got an ultrasound. I have the pictures if you want to see.” 

 

“Fuck, yes, I want to see your baby lions!” Duo crowds around Trowa’s phone and admires the blobby, oscillating images of what he is assured are no less than four tiny lion cub hearts beating rapidly. “Are you gonna keep them all?” 

 

“For a while,” Trowa says, “But we can only accommodate so many animals, and male lions don’t cohabit well. I’d like to keep one of the females, but my share in the lions only goes so far in terms of outright ownership.” 

 

“You don’t have the lion’s share, you mean? Hah! How does that work?”

 

The fine art of lion-ownership legislation is a topic Trowa is happy to expound on, and one Duo is happy to query at every turn. They are getting deep into the ethical ramifications of circus animal husbandry when Duo feels a prickle on the back of his neck. 

 

It’s just instinct that tells him someone is looking at him. A subtle change in the hubbub of conversation; something that puts him on edge. Trowa senses it too, throwing a glance up over Duo’s shoulder across the room, eyes stopping a split second later on their spy in the crowd. Duo turns his head to follow Trowa’s line of sight just in time to see Wufei turn his back on them. 

 

“I’ll be damned,” Duo says, faint with surprise. 

 

“Surely you knew he’d be coming,” Trowa remarks, as surprised at Duo’s response as Duo is at the sight of Wufei. “He’s here with Une, fronting for the Preventers.” 

 

“No, I knew,” Duo answers. The crowd swells and parts, and he has only an intermittent view of the back of Wufei’s head and upper body. “I just haven’t seen him in a while.” 

 

A good while, in fact, and certainly never in a context like this. 

 

“Did you two… fall out?” Trowa asks, curious. 

 

“No, just by the wayside, I guess.” Duo scratches the back of his neck and tips the last dribble of champagne down his throat. “I’m out. You want another?” 

 

“No,” Trowa says with dry amusement. “I promised Relena I would periodically check on Heero and stop him from hiding all night fussing over security. That’s why I’m here tonight, apparently.” 

 

“I’ll come with.” 

 

“No. You’re the bait I’m going to use to lure him out of the woodwork. Stay, I’ll be back in ten minutes or so.” 

 

“If you think you can find Heero Yuy in under ten minutes and make him do exactly what he doesn’t want to do, then firstly bullshit, you can’t, and secondly-”

 

“Get more drinks,” Trowa says, hiding a grin. “Ten minutes.” 

 

“Unfair, leaving me to kick my heels by myself,” Duo complains to his empty glass. He discards it on the table and leans back against the wall, watching the party, eyes peeled. 

 

He can see Quatre down the far end, back poker-straight as he discusses something with a couple of intent looking men. Possibly the North Africans, but possibly someone else. No one Duo recognises anyway. The suits have a way of blending everyone together, which is deliberate, and there’s a noticeable absence of epaulettes and ribbons and other such ungentle paraphernalia. Just suits and gowns, folks, we’re pretending to be civilians here. 

 

Including the Preventers. 

 

Une has her hair up, although not in the Danish pastries, Duo notes, just a simple twist. She’s out of uniform as well, wearing a grey dress with so little by the way of embellishment that it’s almost severe. Conversely, her body language suggests she’s out to charm tonight. ‘So you’re kinda conflicted about all this too,’ Duo wonders. 

 

As for Wufei…

 

Well. It must be the suit. 

 

Duo catches the elbow of a passing waiter and relieves him of three glasses, queuing two on the table and gulping from the third. Whose fucking idea were the suits anyway? 

 

Wufei as an entity has always struck Duo as lacking much subtlety. God knows how he functions as a Preventer, because Duo can’t think of a time he ever saw Wufei in a crowd where he didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Even amongst a horde of an army he had stuck out, always that bit different. That bit too young, that bit shorter, that bit angrier, that bit better, compounded by that unrelenting streak of archaic L5-ish-ness that’s even more evident without the uniform. Must come of being the product of a culture that spent about a hundred years stewing in space in near isolation, pumped up on a past majesty that could never be regained. 

 

And then being singled out as the last of those people. 

 

Or in short, whoever thought they could pour Wufei into a penguin suit and expect him to blend in was fucking deluded. 

 

‘Of course, I can’t talk either,’ Duo thinks, bubbles fizzing in his sinuses. ‘Three foot of hair stands out, kid.’ 

 

It’s a good suit. Very fitted, and Wufei’s got posture that would make a debutante weep, which doesn’t hurt either. um

 

Duo’s glass is empty again. The champagne just goes down too easy. And it’s surely been more than ten minutes. Where the hell is Trowa? That asshole. 

 

‘Well,’ Duo decides, ‘Deserters can get their own drinks.’ 

 

He tips the flute to his lips and then feels the prickle of someone watching him again. This time their eyes meet. 

 

This time, Wufei doesn’t pretend that he’s not looking. The bubbles break against the roof of Duo’s mouth, tickling his throat as he swallows. Wufei has moved around the group he is with to face the back of the room where Duo stands. He’s framed by a temporary gap in the crowd, eyes bridging the space like a shout. 

 

‘What?’ Duo thinks, not blinking. If he blinks, he loses. ‘What do you want?’ 

 

Wufei doesn’t blink either, but it’s hard to read his expression. It’s not quite aggression, and not quite Urgent Business either. It’s something imperative, but the longer it’s held (and in reality, it’s moments even if it feels like minutes), the less Duo thinks Wufei intended to catch him looking. ‘No, of course not,’ he realises instead, ‘I caught him.’ 

 

Testing, Duo smirks and then sticks out his tongue. 

 

It breaks the spell almost at once. Wufei blinks, clears his throat and to Duo’s disbelief, stutters his attention back to the conversation at his elbow; an unexpected capitulation. 

 

‘He was looking,’ Duo thinks. Then, thinks again. ‘Oh. He was looking.’ 

 

Communicating raw interest, no less. Not even trying to flirt. There’s a thought to send a thrill down his middle. Duo keeps eyes fixed on the side of Wufei’s face, and the other man must be absolutely aware of it, even though he’s pretending to be listening intently to Une’s conversation. Duo stares, waiting for him to look back, and gradually the shell of Wufei’s ear starts to go pink. 

 

And then the crowd moves and Wufei’s gone again, eclipsed by the rich and famous. 

 

“Fuck.” 

 

It’s hot in here. Duo tugs at his collar, popping another button and tightens his fingers on the slippery glass. He scans for Quatre, Trowa, anyone else really, but they’re not to be seen amongst the tide of people being slowly herded in from the lobby while dinner is prepared. Duo glances down the wall instead and then moves, following the line of the building to the open sets of glass doors. 

 

Having mostly just come in, no one else has had the idea to go out yet. Not even the smokers. They have their own balcony over the inner courtyard on the other side anyway. Duo checks each section of the balcony in turn and then steps out of the shivering lights of the room and into the night air. 

 

He chooses the set of windows at the corner of the building, at the appendix of the balcony. It’s stacked with chairs to be put out later in the course of events, and he has it to himself. Below him the drive and gardens extend outwards, pricked here and there with flood lamps and headlights. Down and away, he can see the chauffeurs milling about their cars, smoking and idling. 

 

The temperature difference makes him shiver, slightly. It’s deliberately vulnerable to keep his back on the room. It’s the only direction anyone can approach him from. He drinks, listening to the party. Now and then feet draw near to his position and then retreat again; always the wrong ones; the heavy tread of taller, fatter men, or the click of high heels. In the corner, he can’t be seen from the room either. 

 

Duo swallows champagne and closes his eyes. 

 

Measured footsteps, almost light, the practised rolling step of someone who’d spent a lifetime learning to balance a sword. Duo doesn’t turn around, simply smirks into his glass. 

 

“Long time no see.” 

 

“Maxwell.” A little clipped and disapproving. Duo plays into that. He rolls lazily on the stone, braid dangling over one shoulder, collar askew. 

 

“The one and only.” He grins, gesturing to himself. “In the flesh.” 

 

Silhouetted by the party lights, Wufei is a series of white flashes against a dark shape. The nipped-in waist of the suit sways as he approaches. Duo touches his tongue to his lips. 

 

“What’s got you so pissed off?”

 

“You.” 

 

“Oh yeah? And what have I done?” 

 

Wufei stalks towards him, panther-mean, one hand at his belt as if seeking a weapon. He moves into the darkness up close to Duo, eyes locked, and no trace of the blush now. “You’re staring at me.” 

 

“Free country,” Duo retorts, putting one heel casually up on a stack of chairs and testing its weight as if he’s contemplating kicking it towards Wufei. The other man’s eyes trickle down Duo’s body, the open posture, chest held out taut, his hands gripping the gritty concrete of the balustrade, knees apart. 

 

“You’re a mess.”

 

“Aww, now, and me all dressed up and dignified and everything.” Duo tweaks his lapel, lifting his chin. “Knocking elbows with all the fancy folk.” 

 

Wufei’s lips quirk upwards in an amused little sneer. 

 

“Not very dignified, spending the night half-hard in your pants.” 

 

“Yeah? Well, what are you gonna do about it?” 

 

Wufei insinuates himself farther into Duo’s space, until Duo’s knee is knocking his hip. He reaches out a hand, held low, as with perfect control he sinks to one knee and-

 

“Shit,” Duo swears, opening his eyes.  

 

When he lifts his head up again, the lights swim. The champagne flute clicks against the stone when he steadies himself. “Ok…Right.” He’s forgotten how many he’s had. Probably enough.  

 

He holds out the glass over the edge and slowly tips the contents away into the bushes below. The liquid glistens with a dozen different colours as it drains away. Then he stiffens.   

 

Footsteps approaching. Duo turns, tongue cloven to the roof of his mouth, and is disappointed. 

 

“There you are,” Quatre says in relief. “May I?” He throws himself down into a chair without further invitation and sighs. “How is it only half past seven?”

 

Duo manages to unstick his tongue enough to chuckle. “We can bail,” he offers. “Blow this joint, just scale down this wall and grab a car and bail right back to the city.” He’s talking too fast even for him. Quatre frowns slightly, puzzled at his behaviour, but Duo swings the empty glass across his line of sight and the frown clears. 

 

“No,” Quatre sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “I wish, but…” 

 

“Q-ball, you’ve got to use our friendship more to it’s full advantages. What’s the point of having me around if you’re not going to let me tempt you to misbehave? You’re missing out on all the benefits.” 

 

“I’m sure your benefits are very nice,” Quatre replies, with mock primness. “But Trowa makes me breakfast in the morning.” 

 

“I cook. Wait, I do better. I go out and forage. I get only the good stuff. No badly cooked eggs at Chez Maxwell.” 

 

“Doughnuts aren’t breakfast.” 

 

“Now you’re just slamming my culture. What kind of lousy diplomat are you?” 

 

Quatre grins brightly and chuckles before reluctantly unfurling himself from the chair. “There’s the benefit of you,” he says, squeezing Duo’s forearm. “You cheer me up. Dinner’s soon. Perhaps… slow down a little on the bubbles though?”

 

“This was my last,” Duo says, making a show of how empty the glass is. “I’ll be fine. Best behaviour, and all that. Well. I will try, but it might depend. Who am I sitting with?” 

 

“Two different representatives in engineering and research. No, they’re nice,” Quatre adds, seeing Duo wrinkle his nose. “Dawlish has been working on an initiative to pick up work defunded or cut short in the war and see it through. Find people to pick up where the original researcher was… lost.” 

 

“Killed.” Duo translates, but his curiosity is genuinely piqued. “What kind of engineering and research?” 

 

“The good kind,” Quatre replies, flashing another smile. “Clean power, reducing production costs, better materials, civilian safety - that sort of thing. Talk to her. It’s her work. She can explain it better than I can. And Boadu is lobbying for better product spread.” 

 

“Like… on toast?” 

 

“Making sure new tech on Earth gets to the colonies if it’s useful,” Quatre explains, “And vice versa.” 

 

“Shit. So I’m parked between these saints? Why would they want to talk to me?” 

 

“Because you’re an unemployed engineer who cares about the colonies,” Quatre replies. “Also I have to sit down my end of the table and play interpreter and make sure no one gets too offended by anyone else. Would you care to swap?” 

 

“No, sir! I’m good! My Arabic’s not so hot anyway.”

 

“No, it’s not. Every time you think you’re saying ‘yes’, you’re telling people ‘go to sleep’.”

 

“Maybe I mean to tell them to go to sleep,” Duo teases. “Did you see Trowa anywhere?” 

 

“Relena had him and Heero collared around by the canapés.” 

 

“Yikes. Suppose I’d better say hello to her majesty.”

 

“You know she’s your friend too,” Quatre says, frowning again. 

 

“I know, I know, ‘Lena’s great. Just like way up here-“ Duo slices one hand back and forth in the air above his head, “and I’m way about…” he rocks the other near his hip and grimaces. “Also she’s nuts. And I know all the best people I know are nuts, but she jumped in front of a gun for the guy trying to kill her within days of meeting him.” Quatre has no idea what he’s talking about, but his face turns from puzzled to understanding before Duo’s even finished babbling.  

 

“Well, her judgement was right,” Quatre pauses, turning to face Duo. “This really does bother you, doesn’t it?” 

 

“Never sat easy in a padded seat,” Duo admits. “Unless it was Deathscythe.” 

 

“Duo, you’re clever.” Quatre reaches out and stops him in his tracks. “And you’re interesting. And you shouldn’t doubt whether this world has a place for you other than at war. Besides, I’m disgustingly rich and mad and farther up there than most people on this planet, and I like you.” 

 

“Oh.”

 

“You do believe that, don’t you?” 

 

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” 

 

Worry shines in Quatre’s eyes, barely concealed. But he says nothing more, just tightens his hands slightly on Duo’s shoulders and then a gong booms distantly from the hall. 

 

“Dinner,” Quatre says, with relief. 

____

 

Here’s a thing they don’t tell you. As much as state dinners have a reputation for being fancy as all get-out, when you pile a bunch of middle-aged people in a room, a lot of people, with various dietary requirements and so on, the food ends up… unimaginative. 

 

Duo notes he still has three forks, but the menu can be parsed down through the froo-froo to fish, roast chicken and a chocolate-something for afters. 

 

Or to put it another way, the food is not a distraction. Dawlish and Boadu are not the worst company he’s ever been lumbered with, but they have the world-view of academics; two more Earthers whose childhoods were safe enough and rich enough to keep them that one step removed from the real grist-of-the-mill. Duo likes them sufficiently to respect where they’re coming from, but meeting them in this context doesn’t do them any particular favour.

 

In short, he supposes he loves his own cynicism more. 

 

He eases in and out of the conversation, moulding it until it reaches a point where Dawlish is engaged in a debate with the man on her left. Boadu is too polite to pitch in over Duo’s head and too interested to start a second conversation. The man absently saws his chicken and furiously eavesdrops instead. 

 

Duo nips his wine and toasts his own brilliance. 

 

There is a lull before dessert in which speeches occur. These are distant to Duo both literally and figuratively, and he listens with half an ear. He should be more curious, he knows; it’s not as if it’s all irrelevant, but the wine is hot in his belly and it’s difficult to concentrate. He’s not alone in this. 

 

Heads nod up and down the table, some in agreement, others just in the soporific aftermath of too much roast meat. The speakers are projected at intervals and at opposite ends of the room so there’s no obligation to turn his head towards the living person. 

 

So he doesn’t. 

 

Wufei is opposite him, some six people to his right. He’s sat bolt upright like someone will rap the top of his head if he’s not, hands folded into his lap and, unlike Duo, listening intently. 

 

As usual, it’s hard to say if he agrees or disagrees with what he’s hearing. There’s a crease between his brows that’s halfway to a frown, but that doesn’t necessarily indicate disapproval. It’s simply the man’s default expression. 

 

Heero and Trowa have made their stock expressions in trade blank masks, but there’s discretion to be found other ways as well. Duo knows. You can be as incomprehensible behind a smile or a scowl as showing nothing at all. 

 

Better, in fact. People tend to underestimate you. They let things slip. 

 

The speeches go on. It’s probably not an onerous timetable but to Duo it feels like eons before the first round of applause. Relena concedes the floor to Mr. Someone-or-other VIP and it begins again. 

 

Duo leans back, his attention wandering the heights of the room, one eye drifting back to Wufei. The man has his head cocked slightly to one side, as if aware of something. Like a guard dog pricking up its ears. 

 

Oh if only.

 

Duo listens too, to all the little noises beyond the on-going hum of policy-making; the coughs and the creak of chairs, the click of a glass lifted and replaced, and longs for a distraction that goes like this:

 

The bullet whines with a crack of fire. Shocked faces in a row lengthening out with the slow dawning of understanding. Everybody looking for shelter. 

 

The sharp crack of another hail. The bubble of a communal scream rising, Duo with it, and a Mexican wave of posh people falling from their chairs to the table legs. 

 

‘Heads down!’ 

 

Heero with his hand on the back of Relena’s neck and the swirl of her hair falling loose from its pins as he sweeps her out of the room. The flare of Heero’s pistol up and over the table to the balcony. The answering outrage, sharp as Duo’s grin. 

 

They all move at the same time, already a team again. Heero kicks the door shut behind him, pushing Relena to safety, to her absolute fury. Duo laughs. It’s wonderful to be moving. Wufei plants the toe of one shining shoe on the table and then sprints, head forward and low. He hardly needs to look to know where to tread, darting across the empty place settings. Duo rolls to the east to the pillars of the room and fires, covering him to the end of the mahogany. Wufei leaps, swarming a velvet banner. He’s up it in a flash, just another day in the gym. At the top he grabs the balustrade of the gallery and swings himself in, drawing his gun before his feet even hit the floor. 

 

Pistol fire. 

 

Duo ducks back. He rushes the side door and takes the stairs two at a time, blood pumping. The fight is moving along the gallery. He gets ahead of it, taking a detour, until he’s sure he’s got it cornered. 

 

He cracks the door and peeks. The gunman has his back to a niche in the gallery, Wufei likewise using a table for cover, taking pops at each other. Duo’s door is covered by curtains and conveniently discrete. He waits for the gunman to get distracted and flashes a finger through the gap. Wufei doesn’t disappoint, redoubling fire, keeping things busy. 

 

Duo slips through on his knees, takes aim and as the gunman emerges to take his turn, blows off a chunk of wall by his head. 

 

“Fuck!” The man’s head turns and Wufei is across the space like he’s been spring-loaded. His left hand swings the surprised muzzle of the gun out of harm’s way, the right curls. The thud of flesh hitting flesh is final. The man slumps, stunned. 

 

Duo slinks from the velvet curtains. Wufei tugs the man’s gun from his limp fingers with a sneer of distaste, and the gunman finishes his slump to the carpet before Wufei straightens. 

 

There’s a wisp of hair come loose across his forehead, like his bow tie. Irritated, Wufei tugs it free and the button pops, baring a V of flesh. Duo’s suit feels hot and tight as well. They’re both out of breath, and shouldn’t be. That crease in the brow isn’t there now; it’s a hard, direct stare instead from those dark eyes. Wufei wets his lips before he opens his mouth and says -

 

“You don’t agree?” 

 

Dawlish is looking at him, clapping. Everyone’s clapping. The speech is over. 

 

“Huh? Wh-oh, no. I just… wasn’t listening. Some speech?” Duo flaps his hands together twice before the applause dies.  

 

“You were looking quite intense,” she comments. 

 

“Yeah, I gotta go,” Duo blurts, “Busting my dick here. Where’s the bathrooms?”

 

She points and he hurries away. Not dignified, but good cover. No one asks for details after a bomb like that and anyway, it’s not a lie. He’s definitely about to bust something. Hopefully Dawlish recalls the drink and assumes it’s that provoking the siren call of porcelain. 

 

Fuck this suit’s too tight. 

 

Fucking Wufei. 

 

Fuck fancy parties in general. 

 

He ducks through one of the side doors (no velvet drapes in reality; a sure sign he’s going crazy) and dives into the nearest bathroom. 

 

“Fuck.” 

 

At least he’s alone. He scours cold water over his face and wrists, shaking the drops onto the floor. Lifting his head, his reflection swims in front of him. 

 

‘Have I had that much?’ he wonders, shaking his head to clear it. Maybe time to dial it back. When he appraises his looks in the bathroom mirror, he doesn’t look drunk, but that’s exactly what a drunk would think, isn’t it? Duo rubs damp fingers at the back of his neck and pinches the muscle there. 

 

His mirror image squints back and smirks. “You misbehave when you’re bored,” Duo warns him. “Come on, we’re supposed to be here for Q. Why you gotta spoil it?” 

 

‘Because I’m bored,’ Duo thinks. ‘And I hate these prissy events.’ 

 

Probably it’s Trowa’s fault for fucking off and leaving him alone. “Leaving me to kick my heels with a bunch of assholes I don’t know from Adam,” Duo complains. His reflection sympathises. In the back of his head, he’s got a tiny Quatre reminding him that there’s a hundred people out there, all of whom are supposed to be interesting. They probably are, to someone. 

 

To Duo, there’s no one more interesting than the people he already knows. 

 

“Get coffee,” he says. “Keep your head down. And all other bits.” 

 

His reflection laughs and rubs at his forehead. “Oy…I’m a mess.” And he can’t hide in the bathrooms all night. His pride won’t let him; he’s supposed to be good at hiding. Cowering in the little boys room is like hide-and-seek-with-authority 101. 

 

A deep breath, one quick adjustment and Duo grits his teeth and throws himself back into the dining room.

 

The party has gone on quite well without him, it has to be said. He joins a swarm of waiters and finds his seat more or less as he left it. Duo eases in front of his chocolate pudding and tries to be normal. Just a guy, eating a chocolate fondant with vanilla ice-cream, folks. Nothing to see here. 

 

“Feel better?” Dawlish asks, amused. 

 

“Feeling great,” Duo says, shovelling in a mouthful and deliberately turning to Boadu. “So this… EC-Link library programme you were talking about, who hosts the servers?” 

 

Boadu brightens. “That’s a large part of the discussion. Logically the safest place is Earth-side, and land is cheaper down here; however, placing it outside of the colonies is politically a poor move. Ideally, we need somewhere neutral to encourage colony academics to buy into the idea at all.” 

 

Duo nods along. He hardly tastes the dessert despite clearing the plate, and to his good fortune Boadu is one of those great people who don’t need any input to keep talking. He washes down another glass of wine without meaning to, eyes fixed on the tablecloth. 

 

And all the while Wufei’s stare itches down the side of his jaw. 

 

____

 

The coffee cups are tiny. Pretty little thimbles brimming with the smoothest coffee Duo’s ever wrapped his gums around. It sure as hell beats the pants off the sludgy instant shit he usually ends up pickling himself in. “I need to buy a coffee maker,” he vows, trying to find a waiter to pour him another. 

 

It amuses him as well, seeing all these big, ex-army men trying to wriggle their sausage fingers in the seashell loops of the handles. 

 

The coffee helps soothe his jitters anyway. He manages to beam a stare down the table and make Trowa look up. He toasts him across the void and makes faces but Trowa just chuckles into his cup and shakes his head. Bastard. 

 

The formality of the meal is eroding. People start to rise and mingle, visit the loos and swap seats. And dear god in heaven, there’s Heero. He’s slunk out the woodwork finally and come to join the top end of the table, although Duo notes he’s definitely armed and still has an earpiece in. Unlike Wufei, Heero still looks like a security man in his suit. It’s probably the hair. It’s untameable. 

 

Duo grins. 

 

“Excuse me.” 

 

He ambles up the table, threading through the growing groups of twos and threes that are spreading from the seating like warts, and chucks his chin at Heero. 

 

“There you are.” 

 

“Duo,” Relena greets, face lit up. “How was dinner?” 

 

“Can I take the coffee home?” 

 

She laughs. “I’ll ask for the kitchen to send you some if you like it that much.” Her gaze flicks to Heero who is lounging like a cat in his chair. He sits up. Duo suspects some nudging concealed by the tablecloth. “Having fun?” Duo teases.

 

“I am,” Relena answers. She leans over and whispers behind her fingers. “He’s promised me a dance.” 

 

“Oh-ho! I wondered why they told me to bring handcuffs.” 

 

“Very funny,” Heero says, getting up.

 

“I only had to threaten to start opening my own mail,” Relena says, prodding him. “And going to the mall by myself.” 

 

Heero betrays a look that informs them all there has been an ongoing argument over this, and possibly a blazing one at that. Relena takes it in her stride, rising from the table and setting off a wave of people doing the same. “Let’s go to the ballroom. They must nearly be ready to start.” 

 

The orchestra is tuning up as they drift in, but it takes the the lady of the hour to start the party it seems because they wait for her nod before they start to play. Heero holds out a hand. 

 

“No,” she says, “You have to wait your turn.” 

 

“My turn?” Heero says, about as incredulous as Duo’s ever seen him. “You wanted to dance.” 

 

“And I do, but I’ve been stuck at the head of the table and hardly spoken to anyone I like. Besides, you’ll do one dance and then vanish again when you should be spending time with your friends.” 

 

“I’m supposed to be working.” 

 

“Well, here are two very dangerous people. Please keep an eye on them,” she says pertly and then gleefully grabs Duo by the elbow and propels him onto the dance floor. 

 

“Me? I don’t dance,” Duo protests. 

 

“Oh, it’s just doing circles,” Relena says, pulling him into place and leading him. Over her shoulder, he can see Quatre and Trowa cracking up and Heero fuming. 

 

“You’re mean to that boy.” 

 

“He likes it,” she says, and Duo doesn’t doubt it. Heero’s weird for her like that.  “I’ll be nice later.” 

 

“Yikes.” 

 

She treads on his foot, so she’s not a total lady after all, which is reassuring. “It’s the first time you’ve all been together. He shouldn’t be hiding in the shadows playing my security guard.” 

 

“Heero’s not really a party person. We’re not,” Duo says. “Not this kind, anyway. Sorry.” 

 

“I know. But he won’t invite you all of his own accord and he holds himself back from life unless someone tells him otherwise.” Relena glances over her shoulder. “He deserves more.” 

 

She meets his eye, seeking approval. “Don’t you think?”

 

“Don’t put me in the middle,” Duo says, “I slink around in the shadows too, remember? Is that why I’m here? To pry Heero out?”

 

“No!” She’s shocked at the idea. “No, you’re here as a friend of course. And because you’re an important person in this process.” 

 

“Come on, I don’t fit with the rest of the folk here.” 

 

“Exactly. That’s a good thing, Duo. It has to be inclusive. But I’ve talked enough on the matter this evening, what do you think of it all?” she asks, head tilted up to his. 

 

“It’s all foreign to me. This whole situation is weird.” 

 

“It is weird. Peace is a strange animal,” she says, contemplatively turning on a heel and steering them away from another couple. “I often find myself sitting on the same side of the table as the woman who murdered my father. On a personal level, that’s not something I’m comfortable with.” 

 

“No?” 

 

“But the peace is more important. It must be.” She looks at him then, with the same stern look she’d given him the first time they’d met, scolding ‘What do you want to shoot him for?’ with her arms spread in defiance. 

 

“The only way peace will succeed is when it becomes more important than a million vicious little personal vendettas.” 

 

“So you sit with Une.” 

 

“I do, and she’s a vital ally. I respect her, and together we prove it can be done. When they don’t believe me, well then,” Relena nods towards Une across the dance floor. “She’s doing the same. Working with the man who killed her lover.” 

 

“Because the peace is more important,” Duo says, glancing over.  

 

“Yes. As individuals our hurts ultimately matter very little.” 

 

“Doesn’t make them go away.” 

 

“No, but it makes them no better if all you can do with them is sweep up innocents into the suffering. If I can convince people to work towards a world without war, then I will be able to say my father’s death was worth it.” 

 

“I hope you do,” Duo says, after a beat. She doesn’t smile, just meets his eye with that same long blue look that seems to pin him to the wall and say ‘I see you. Do better.’ 

 

No wonder Heero can’t keep away. 

 

“Is he watching?” she asks, as if reading his mind. 

 

Duo risks a sidelong peek. “Yeah.” 

 

“Does he look jealous?” 

 

“He looks pretty pissed off. I mean, you are hogging the best dancer on the floor here.” 

 

She giggles. “You’re joking, but he’s certainly a little jealous of me. You should come to visit more often. He misses you.”

 

“Maybe if he called.” 

 

“Duo.” That stern look again. “If I waited for Heero to call, I’d still be at boarding school.” 

 

“If I remember right, you flew a plane into the middle of his duel and forced him to open his mail.”

 

The dance comes to an end and they part, Relena sinking into a curtsey. 

 

“And it worked,” she points out as she rises.  

 

____

 

Trowa cuts a better figure on the dance floor than Duo suspects he did. At any rate, Relena isn’t leading. Trowa flashes an amused smile over her head as they trot past at a smart pace, but Duo suspects that’s mostly for Quatre’s benefit. 

 

“Apparently you’re boring,” Duo informs Heero, helping himself to the seat beside him. More coffee. He’s beginning to feel 99% sober again, but equally a little wired. 

 

“That’s rude,” Heero says.

 

“It’s ok, she said she was going to be nice to you later.” 

 

At this Heero clears his throat and pretends to be very interested in the bottom of the coffee cup. 

 

“But you think this whole thing blows as well, right?” 

 

“I don’t enjoy it,” Heero agrees, “But I think she’s right. These kinds of things are necessary.”

 

“It’s like boardroom talks. You talk hours over trade agreements but then the deal really happens over lunch,” Quatre chips in. 

 

On the other side of the ballroom, Relena’s swung to a halt by Lady Une, catching her breath, albeit still hand in hand with Trowa as if they’ll resume at any moment. 

 

“My partner’s too good, he’s making me look inadequate,” Duo lip-reads her saying, through a laugh. “Could you spare me your agent for the next?” 

 

Their heads move as they talk, and he can’t catch any more as she swaps Trowa for Wufei and tugs him out unwillingly as the music changes. 

 

“She makes it all sound so simple,” Duo comments. He gestures towards Relena. “Everyone just deciding to be on the same side.” 

 

Heero grunts. 

 

“It is simple,” Quatre says, “And at the same time, the most difficult thing in the world. How do you convince people to do it? To sit down and break bread with people who have wronged them, and move on.”

 

“Forgive me my trespasses as I forgive those who have trespassed against me.”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“It’s a saying,” Duo says.  

 

“Forgiveness, yes. Maybe. Maybe not. Just coming to recognise that there’s a way to deal with the monsters of our history beyond pretending they don’t exist, or blindly seeking to destroy them.”

 

“The monsters of our history,” Duo repeats. “You’re a poet, Q. If politics doesn’t work out, you should take up writing.”

 

“Is there much call for political poetry?”

 

Heero rolls his eyes away from the dance floor. “All poetry is political. All the interesting poetry anyway.” 

 

“I suppose that’s true.” 

 

“It's all way beyond me, anyway,” Duo says, “I’m not so good at forgiving, or forgetting. I think about some of the things that happened, things people did and I’m so angry I could spit blood.”

 

Quatre squeezes his elbow. The dance floor is getting more crowded as more couples peel off into the space. Trowa has borrowed someone’s wife rather 

than try and elbow his way around the perimeter, chasing Relena’s heels.  

 

“Did you know Tro was so into this?” Duo asks. It’s funny. The dance partner Trowa has secured is scuttling to keep up with his long legs, and Wufei’s face is completely blank, as if he’s disassociated with his own body at the horror of it all. Relena seems to float around serene as you please nonetheless. 

 

“They’re as bad as each other,” Quatre says, looking as if he knows all too well how into it Trowa is. “In another life they’d have been born competitors.”   

 

“I did offer you a dance,” Duo reminds him. 

 

Quatre laughs. “I’ll wait my turn if I dance at all. I’m very rich and ostensibly single; dance floors are where I get mobbed by aspiring mothers-in-law.” 

 

“Eesh.” 

 

When the dance ends, Relena’s caught up at three o’clock from their position and has to weave her way back. Being the headline act; however, people move aside for her. She’s beaming. 

 

“Did you abandon Wufei?” Heero asks, when she finally reaches them. 

 

“He’s a big boy,” Relena says, “But I did tell him to stop lurking and come and say hello.” 

 

“Oh, then he’s definitely gone home. Is it my turn yet?” 

 

“It might be,” she says coyly, reaching out. “Or Quatre?” 

 

“No,” Trowa says, appearing through the melee and catching her hand again. “You cut me short of making you look inadequate, remember? Besides, this is the swing dance,” he adds, as if that’s reason enough. 

 

Heero waves them away with a grunt. “Don’t drop her,” he instructs. Trowa just laughs. 

 

“You’re not throwing me in the air!” Relena protests, before they’re gone again, pulled into the crowd. 

 

The room is buzzing now, the stupor of dinner thrown off in favour of a good time. The windows are wide open, dragging in a fresh breeze, coffee cups disappearing onto trays and fresh glasses making the rounds. 

 

“Brandy sirs? Scotch?” 

 

“Either,” says Duo, holding out a hand. Quatre takes a second, though Heero shakes his head, tapping his earpiece. 

 

“Still on duty.” 

 

“Right, gotta look after your VIP,” Duo teases.  

 

“She is important,” Heero says simply. “None of this would exist without her, and I’d be dead.” 

 

“Eesh. Bring the party down, why don’t you?” Duo turns back to watch the room. 

 

Trowa hasn’t actually thrown Relena in the air, but they’re moving enthusiastically enough to create a little circle of space around them. Even as he watches, Trowa drops into an eye-watering split just for a second and then bounces back up again. 

 

“So what’s the long term plan? After the parties?” 

 

“That depends on who stands up to carry it all forward,” Quatre says, “Relena knows she can only start this in motion. No one knows what the end result will really be. We can but hope it pushes enough people into a new era.” 

 

“Boar’s tusk,” says a voice behind them. 

 

Quatre turns, face lighting up in a smile. “Wufei! We were just hoping you’d come round and join us. What was that about teeth?” 

 

“The ‘boar’s tusk’. In the ancient Roman army it was a manoeuvre designed to break through the wall of an enemy’s ranks and disperse them.” Wufei touches his fingers together in the shape of an arrowhead. “Those at the front may not live to see the outcome of the battle, but the wall is broken.” 

 

“She’s not going to die,” Heero says tersely. 

 

“I didn’t mean it as literally as that,” Wufei demurs. 

 

“No, no, I understand it,” Quatre says, smoothing things over with ease, even as Wufei seems to die back from the conversation. “How was your dance?” 

 

“Less onerous than yet another conversation about funding,” Wufei admits. “I meant to come over and greet you all sooner.” 

 

“It’s fine,” Quatre says, “We knew you were here.” 

 

The piano rattles to the end of the tune with a scatter of breathless applause, the trumpeter stepping forward to bow and then retiring back, sweating. The room is growing warm with this many moving bodies. Duo’s glad he already tugged off his bowtie. 

 

The dancers come back, glowing and thirsty. Relena nips from Quatre’s glass, and takes the water that Heero pushes into her hand. “Having fun?” 

 

“Yes!” she enthuses, magnetic. She holds both hands out to him, drawing him from the chair. “And this one is my favourite.” 

 

It’s the waltz. 

 

Heero buttons his jacket and goes with her without a backwards look. The strings swell and slow, and the lights are dimmed overhead to one big ‘ah’ from the crowd. The waiters circulate, lighting candles like fireflies amongst the tables and the smell of warming wax mingles with clouding perfume. 

 

Trowa stands with one hand on a chair, his forearm crossing Quatre’s lower back. He tugs at his collar, copying Duo in pulling it loose, Quatre stealing the bow from his fingers as he tries to drop it on the table. There’s a hint of some private joke and Duo finds himself waiting for the continuation of a conversation that’s not going to happen. 

 

He can still pick Heero out in the middle of the floor, as ever unsmiling. But the intensity is something other than anger or prickly discomfort. The pair sweep round, gaze locked, with no regard for anyone else. The other dancers billow out of their way anyway, with the natural sixth sense of small-fry. 

 

‘If anyone is going to reshape the world,’ Duo thinks. His glass is empty again. 

 

Glancing back, the others have stopped talking too, and despite being only on the other side of the table, have withdrawn easily away to another space entirely, where Duo’s neither willing nor able to follow. 

 

The room narrows to a bubble, he and Wufei both waiting for something to happen. Duo turns, inhaling, expecting words to come out, because they usually do, and then runs promptly aground. Wufei leans in a fraction, expectantly, but back again when Duo doesn’t say anything. 

 

Duo fidgets with the glass, annoyed. Wufei’s silent presence is goading him. The man’s just stood there like a 71-inch streak of pay-attention-to-me and Duo almost doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

 

Except that he does.

 

Duo dumps his glass down on the table and deliberately squeezes through the narrow gap between Wufei and the table, front to front, close enough to throw a wordless challenge in his face. The heat of the other man’s intent follows him across the room before the man himself even makes a move. Unhurried, of course.

 

The trick is not to look back. 

 

The doors of the ballroom are weighted to swing closed behind him with a soft noise; a noise repeated as Wufei pushes through behind him into a deserted hallway. Duo leads him until the party is muted by distance and walls. Only then does he start trying door handles. 

 

None of them are locked, and if they were, it wouldn’t matter. The office they enter is dark and cool, lit only by the overspill from the driveway, made private by the same dark hedging that Duo had thrown his champagne into earlier. Wufei closes the gap, shoving the door shut behind them with a startling clap of wood, fist closing on Duo’s collar. 

 

“Tease,” Wufei accuses, before kissing Duo’s smirk away. 

 

“Fucking slowpoke,” Duo growls back, breath bounced from his lungs as his back hits the wall. 

 

Wufei bares his teeth, grabbing him by the hips, strong fingers curving around Duo’s ass, lifting. Reaching up, Duo grasps the wall fitting above his head, pulling up until he has the height advantage but Wufei’s mouthing down his neck, tight and close down below.  

 

“It’s… been a while.” 

 

Duo blinks. The waltz has blurred into some other slow dance and Wufei is regarding him with an inscrutable, restrained interest. The candlelight picks out the edges of Wufei’s face and makes his eyes seem darker when he asks, “How have you been?”  

 

Duo puts down the glass he’s been squeezing. “How about you and I go and find the bar?” he suggests. “And I’ll tell you all about it.”  

 

____

 

There’s a bar in this place somewhere. Duo swears it was mentioned when he arrived. It’s not in the ballroom, or in the dining room where the waiters are still clearing up, rearranging tables for nibbles, and guests are milling around to talk away from the noise of the orchestra. 

 

They end up in the empty space of the lobby, Duo scratching his head in frustration. They must have passed it somewhere, or it just plain doesn’t exist.  

 

“We could ask,” Wufei suggests, after a moment’s awkwardness.  

 

Duo gestures to the lifts, throwing out a challenge on a whim. “Or I have a bottle in my room.” 

 

Another of those unreadable looks. “Alright,” Wufei says, slowly, “If that’s easier.” 

 

“Yeah. Who needs a bar? Come on.”

 

Duo punches the button for the lift impatiently, though it’s only a few seconds before the doors softly ping open. The lift itself is cream and red, very plush, with the illusion of size from gold-trimmed mirrors that throw their reflections around crazily so there are three Duo’s and three Wufei’s crowding towards them as they enter. Hard not to look when you can see each other from all angles. 

 

The doors glide shut, closing them in together. ‘If the lights went out,’ Duo thinks. Wufei glances at him, and a prickle rushes up Duo’s spine. 

 

Stop the lift, push me against the wall. Make a fucking move Chang.  

 

“I heard you went back to L2,” Wufei says, instead.  

 

“For a while, sure. Didn’t stay,” Duo replies, trying not to go too deep into that particular topic. He shoves his hands in his pockets and laughs it off. “How’s life in the law?”

 

Wufei wrinkles one side of his mouth to mean ‘so-so’. “Underfunded,” he says, “No one likes us, the work is dangerous and endless, and the paperwork is worse.” Then he flashes a look from under his eyebrows that is pure good-humour. 

 

Duo grins. “And you love it.” 

 

Wufei almost smiles back. “It’s good,” he confirms. “It feels… like we’re getting somewhere.” 

 

“Kill any bad guys?” 

 

“Not officially,” Wufei says, and then really does smile. Just a little feral flash of teeth; a shared joke. 

 

The lift rocks to a halt. 

 

“After you.” 

 

Duo makes a show of sauntering out, flicking his keycard back and forth over his knuckles. In reality, his heart’s pounding. 

 

The room is only a hop, skip and a jump from the lifts. Duo twirls the card around into the lock and it clicks with a meaningful whir. He pushes it open. 

 

“After you.” 

 

The lights come on automatically, the moody glow of table lights. Earlier, Duo had ducked in just long enough to drop his bag and change, and the room is more or less still as he found it. 

 

“Did you-?” Wufei begins, and before the door has even swung silently shut behind them, Duo kisses him. 

 

It’s easy. Wufei only makes a little ‘uh’ noise of surprise and then seems to glide right into him. Like a dancer, back bowing to the pressure of Duo’s hand. A breath. Duo pulls closer, parts his lips but Wufei stalls, merely following his lead, which surprises Duo. 

 

Fingers catch in the gap between his shirt and his jacket by accident, and they wobble, Duo drawing back a fraction, puzzled. Wufei’s mouth moves under his, escaping him. He tries again, only for Wufei’s lips to move away to both sides at the same time. 

 

“What’s this? You laughin’?” 

 

He is. Wufei’s mouth keep falling back out of the kiss into a smile. Wufei ducks his head for a split second, trying to shake it off and purse his lips again but they won’t cooperate.

 

God, it does things to Duo, that smile. He chases it to its grinning corners, softening them with attention, and when softened enough, exploiting the opportunity to taste between them. 

 

Again that soft sway of movement together; my lead, your follow; a call, an echo. That’s what it is. Like a game. Anything Duo does, Wufei shadows a beat behind. The soft recline against the wall is unexpectedly delicious. 

 

Slow. 

 

Duo slides his hands into the warm space between jacket and shirt, his fingertips dragging on the damp cotton, untucking it so that he can touch bare skin. His hands on Wufei’s lower back make the man roll up against him. ‘Oh, I see,’ Duo thinks. ‘I missed a trick. Should’ve known.’ 

 

It’s a little cliche, that Mr. Law-and-order likes it conventional. Duo’s been itching for something different all evening but his interests are flexible and and this isn’t anything he can’t work with. Besides, knowing Wufei, the man has his own bossy little agenda just waiting in the wings, and Duo’s excited to find out what that entails. 

 

Duo withdraws his hands to shake off his jacket. Wufei helps, messing up his shirt and tugging at the buttons, though not enough to break them. Duo flips them free of their buttonholes instead. They do the same with Wufei’s jacket, tossing it aside into the bedroom before Duo snakes back in close to tease around the waistband of Wufei’s trousers. 

 

Wufei’s hands skim his chest, darting warmth over his skin in teasing contact that’s entirely different to the way he kisses back now, bold enough to make Duo want to grin. 

 

Instead he pushes a thigh between Wufei’s legs and presses against the hard line of his body, the electric pleasure of it making Duo swear. He grinds against the wall and things start to get a little messy, grabby, more heated. He pulls Wufei’s collar askew, though it’s still starched up and tangled in the bowtie and he hasn’t the concentration to pick the knot loose properly. Wufei grasps his hips, fingers digging in, then with an abrupt gasp, he pushes Duo back against the opposite wall and holds him there with space for Jesus between them. 

 

There’s a heartbeat of lust and confusion; they’re both mussed up and breathless, and then Wufei eases back. 

 

“What happened to that drink?” he says. 

 

‘Excuse me?’ Duo thinks. 

 

But they come away from the wall. The bottle is already waiting on the desk-come-dresser. There are wrapped glasses in the bathroom, but Duo just overturns the coffee mugs and tips a few fingers worth of liquor into each. 

 

Wufei allows him to knock the edges together in a silent toast and takes two slow sips. They’re back to staring again, only now the vision is more obvious. Duo drinks and toys with the button on his slacks suggestively. The bed is right there. 

 

Wufei knocks back the liquor, swallowing around the burn of it. Duo copies and as Wufei reaches for the bottle again, catches his arm and tastes the whiskey on his mouth. Wufei grunts. They stagger sideways, hooking their legs on the corner of the bed and each other. They topple onto the mattress, deliberately on Duo’s part. 

 

“God, you’re wearing too much,” Duo says, mouthing down the side of his neck, hand up Wufei’s shirt. 

 

The dangling bowtie is still an obstruction, but he can live with only half of Wufei naked for now and look forward to the rest later. Wufei grabs his shoulder, his other wrist still in the circle of Duo’s fingers. 

 

Duo presses him to the bed, groping underneath to cup a hand around the globe of a buttock and squeeze. Wufei wriggles playfully against him, chest to chest, arm flexing in Duo’s grip. Duo reaches up to catch Wufei’s other wrist and the man arches, body tightening. 

 

No. Not playful. 

 

Pushing Duo off. 

 

“Don’t pin me!” 

 

Startled, Duo lets go, rolling aside. “I’m off! I stopped!” 

 

Wufei makes space between them again, standing, panting, hand on his hip like he’s about to start shouting, the other running back though his hair in a gesture of self-comfort.  

 

“It’s ok, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I won’t pin you.” 

 

Wufei’s defensiveness turns to embarrassment, but regardless, Duo’s not going to ask. He’s not going to open a conversation neither of them are prepared for. Whatever the reason, it’s not something Wufei’s asking him to unpack, just to respect, and that suits Duo just fine. 

 

“Ok?” 

 

“I just don’t like it. It makes me-” 

 

“It’s ok. We can do it how you want,” Duo offers, shrugging easily even though inside his heart is still going pitter-pat. He touches his thighs, his knees, beguiling Wufei forward. “Come on. C’mere. It’s fine. We can start again. Just show me what you want.” 

 

Anything but talking. Anything but thinking too much. 

 

Wufei lowers his hand from his head. 

 

He moves into Duo’s space, but only touches the hem of his collar with the tips of two fingers. He lifts it away over his shoulder like the material is fragile, tissue paper, leaving Duo’s shoulder bare. Wufei’s belly moves as he breathes; Duo can hear it, a gentle interest that Duo didn’t expect at all. Wufei sits, stroking the other side of the shirt away and then kisses him. 

 

Slow. 

 

Duo twists his fingers in his lap, unsure what to do though it’s nice. There’s a sort of promise in the kiss, like the feel of an engine just starting to warm up. 

 

Wufei lays just his fingertips again on his cheek, a caress that passes on either side of his ear, then again a little further back to lightly stroke the edge of his braid, as if it were alive; an animal Wufei isn’t sure won’t bite him. 

 

“May I?” 

 

“Huh? Oh.” Duo pulls the length of his hair over his shoulder, surprised. It slithers over his bare skin nearly into his lap. Truth be told, it’s a pain to have it loose. It gets everywhere. Wufei senses his hesitation and withdraws his hand. 

 

“No, if you really want…” Duo says. He slips the band from the end and shakes out the ends, digging a finger into the twists to loosen them. The corner of Wufei’s mouth twitches slightly. 

 

Wufei pushes his hand, fingers spread, into the mass of hair and draws it smoothly free again in a gesture that makes Duo’s scalp tingle. Copying Duo, he uses his thumb to dismantle the rest of the braid, easing the knots until it’s loose over his shoulder and Duo’s breath has caught in his throat. From the corner of his eye he can see the inside of Wufei’s wrist up close, the untouched smoothness of the skin there compared to the blunt calluses on his fingers. 

 

Wufei is solemn as he brushes the hair out into a curtain. He looks, pauses, lightly scratches his fingernails down a parting and Duo shivers. A memory, unbidden, bubbles to the surface. 

 

‘Why are you sweeping, Father?’

 

The steady movement of the broom does not even pause for his question. His inflection poses it directly. Why you? Why not someone else? The twigs scratch the flagstones of the church floor, irrevocably moving the dust towards the door. 

 

‘I do it myself, because it is God’s house.’ 

 

Duo blinks. Reverence. That’s what it is. Suddenly without the braid, he’s someone else. It’s peeled up a layer of him and underneath there’s no God of Death and no smart-ass little bastard, and if not them, then who? Wufei lifts his hair over his shoulder so that it falls in a single stream to his hips and then Wufei stops. 

 

He hesitates, fingers caught in Duo’s grasp in the very act of brushing the hair away from his eyes. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Wufei blurts, leaning back from the kiss he was about to bestow. His hand slips free- Duo lets go. 

 

 “No, no, it’s- It’s just, there’s,” Duo pushes the hair back from his cheek distractedly. “There’s a reason y’know… for all this. I don’t talk about it much, it’s just- uh. It’s…” 

 

“I overstepped a mark,” Wufei says. There’s an awkward pause before he lifts the discarded hair band from the bed and offers it to Duo. 

 

“Thanks,” Duo manages, taking it and trying to bundle his hair, all this hair, into a clumsy version of the usual braid, feeling stupid. He laughs, “You can’t take it rough, I’m… this kinda mess. What’s it they’re supposed say about ‘opposites attract’?”

 

Wufei, arms folded across his belly, doesn’t rise to the joke. He’s gone still. “Perhaps this wasn’t a very good idea. I didn’t intend to mislead you…”

 

“Mislead-?”

 

“No, I- this isn’t something- It doesn’t matter.“ 

 

But something about Wufei’s whole attitude makes Duo’s understanding of the situation jar to a halt and flip on its head. He replays the evening removed of the fog of drink and sexual frustration, lines it up with the unexpected way Wufei hadn’t made the first move and the echo-like copycat act, the slowness. 

 

The nerves. 

 

“You’ve never done this before?” Duo blurts. 

 

“I should just go,” Wufei says, dropping his chin to one side and snatching up his jacket. He pulls it on roughly, one hand missing the sleeve on the first attempt. Duo knows he should do something, he’s just too stupefied to do anything except run his mouth. 

 

“Oh my God, you’re a virgin? That’s what all that was about?” 

 

Wufei doesn’t answer, trying to re-tuck his shirt as fast as he can, and that’s telling enough. The tension in his back is telling enough. 

 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Duo says. Wufei’s nearly at the door. “The fuck didn’t you just say? Were you going to say anything?” 

 

“Just forget it!” Wufei finally snaps back. “This didn’t happen. You’re drunk.”   

 

“What?”

 

“This didn’t happen,” Wufei hisses. He pushes Duo away as Duo blunders forward and yanks the door shut in his face. 

 

“I’m not drunk!” Duo protests at the door. “I am way too fucking sober for this shit! Fuck!” He teeters back, the edge of the bed catching his knees and dumping him on his ass. 

 

“The hell just happened?” 

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