Timberlake
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A Gundam Wing Alternate Universe Fanfiction
Prologue
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten *NEW*
Standard Disclaimers apply
***TIMBERLAKE SCHOOL FOR THE ACADEMICALLY GIFTED***
Woo hoo, nice sign. It hung above the wrought-iron gates like a guillotine blade, all nice and shiny and waiting for the nearest unsuspecting neck. Enter yours truly, Duo Maxwell. The small bus I rode in (all alone, I might add, except for the driver who couldn't have been a day under eighty and was as deaf as a post) swept through the open gates with all the dignity the squat little grey vehicle could muster. From the haughty glance my chauffeur gave the rearview mirror, I suppose I was supposed to be impressed.
Okay, so I was impressed. Beyond the gates was probably the biggest expanse of green that a Colony brat like me had ever seen. The driver slowed down as we came around the first curve, probably to allow the yokel time to gawk. Broad-leaved trees flanked the driveway, and I was willing to bet than none of them had been planted in the last century or so. Here and there, sculpted flower beds trembled brightly in the early autumn breeze, but most of the land had been left to run wild. L2's carefully tended greenbelts were, in my memory, sickly and anemic in comparison. So yeah, I had a highly uncool urge to gape and rearrange my less-than-dignified attire. But there was no way in hell I'd let the geezer know just how out of place I felt here. So, I stared straight ahead, and gave one rather bored yawn, just to get the point across. I was rewarded by a barely audible sniff from the driver's seat. I almost smiled, but quickly turned it into a grimace, instead. Rule one in the Maxwell Code of Conduct: Never let the mark know he's being played.
After my careful display of nonchalance, the bus regained a reasonable speed down the driveway, and when I felt that I wasn't being watched quite so closely, I was able to let my eyes wander a bit more. The place was amazing, I'd give it that. We came around the final curve, and the main building flowed into view. About four stories tall, it was elegant, restrained, and painfully high class. In fact, I'd never have guessed it was something as mundane as a school, if it hadn't been for the small groups of teenagers loitering near the massive double doors. They appeared to be as lost as I felt, various pieces of luggage huddled around their ankles as they engaged in wary conversation with each other. A small comfort, but I'd take what I could get. I tugged my braid hard as the bus pulled to a smooth halt.
"We're here," the driver said, unnecessarily. I slid out of the soft leather seat, and hefted my battered duffle bag on one shoulder. With a great deal more confidence than I felt, I sauntered down the aisle, and gave the driver a patented Maxwell grin and a jaunty wave. He opened the door with a bit more force than absolutely necessary; my smile widened just a little bit. It really was the little things in life that made it all worthwhile. With the grin still firmly in place, I walked forward into my new life for the next two years.
PART ONE
Stepping off that bus was not the scariest moment of my life. Not even in the top ten, actually, but that didn't stop the old pump from skipping a couple of beats as the scuffed rubber soles of my shoes made contact with the black asphalt of the driveway. Every kid out there turned in my direction as the bus door slid closed with a noisy screech behind me. I could feel their eyes roam over my recycled Colony clothes, almost hear their thoughts as they compared them to the silk shirts and soft wool sweaters that appeared to be the norm. 'Chin out, shoulders straight, and *smile*, Duo. You have such a pretty smile.' The voice in my head was soft and motherly, the Sister's last piece of advice as I got in the boarding line for the shuttle to Earth. I had a feeling then that this would be a bad idea. Now, staring at all those "gifted" rich kids as they stared back at me, I knew it.
"Hey!" One of the kids, a slender blond, raised a hand to get my attention. When I looked, he waved me eagerly over, like we were best friends or something. I shrugged my bag to a more secure position on my shoulder and ambled over. It wasn't like I had anything better to do, right? Besides, as soon as I acknowledged the greeting, the other kids went back to shooting the breeze with their fellow inmates. I knew the procedure from my days in my "youth club" on the Colony. Being vouched for was the only thing that kept you from being meat. The blond was standing with an older man, maybe his father? Nah, I decided as I got closer, his manner towards the kid was protective, but deferential. The blond stuck a hand out, and I shook it. "Hey," he said again, and I noticed that I'd never seen eyes that clear a blue before. "I'm Quatre, a pleasure to meet you."
"Duo. Duo Maxwell. So, what's the deal?" I eyed the other fellow, but no one seemed inclined to introduce him. Hey, who am I to insist on etiquette?
"Sorry?"
I gestured vaguely at all the students. "Why are we all standing out here? Don't we have dorm rooms or something?"
Quatre sighed, "I'm not sure. One of the staff came out a little while ago and told us to hang around for our first assembly." He laughed, "It's not like we have much choice, I guess."
"Yeah I guess. This place is kinda out in the boonies, isn't it?" 'And way too few walls,' I added mentally. It was the first time that I'd really been outside planetside, and I had to admit that there was a vague, creepy feeling about having that much space with nothing to define it. My art mentor would have disapproved, I was sure.
Quatre shrugged, "It's not that bad. You should see my family's vacation home. Now *that's* out in the middle of nowhere. Ten little buildings, an oasis, and *sand*. And more sand." He grinned, "And did I mention the sand?"
"I take it you're not a fan of sand?" I found myself liking Quatre. Even if he could seriously mention "vacation home" and "ten little buildings" in the same sentence. He had an insidious form of charm, and an air of innocence ... though you could never be certain whether the reality matched the packaging. Wasn't I proof of that?
"It's actually very beautiful, especially at sunset, it's just..." He sighed, "You can *never* get it out of the house, or the food. You know?" His tone suggested that he was a longtime veteran of the conflict.
"I guess so..." I was about to confess that I knew zilch about sand, when the front doors swung open with a horror-movie kind of creak. And, as if we were all extras in that same horror movie, everyone turned in that direction. All conversation stopped as a young (and very attractive, if I do say so myself) woman stepped onto the front steps. Her brown hair was tightly bound into two weird little buns and she wore glasses, but I tried not to hold that against her. She cleared her throat, God knows why, since she was already the undivided center of attention.
"Hello, and welcome to Timberlake. If you'll all please follow me, I'll show you to the auditorium for your... Orientation." The capital letter couldn't have been any more clear if she'd had heralds trumpeting fanfare. One of the others towards the front raised a hand, but the lady ignored it. She pivoted on her toe with a military sharpness, and disappeared back into the building.
As the rest of us peons grabbed bags and scurried after, I threw Quatre a glance. When I'd caught his eye, I allowed myself a brief tin soldier impression. His silver-clear laughter followed us into the cool shadow of Timberlake.
PART TWO
In the inside of the Timberlake Administration Building (as proclaimed by a discreet metal plaque over one of the glass display cases) was surprisingly ... comforting. It was decorated in rose and dark blue, with vases of fresh roses everywhere. Their subtle perfume filled the air, and I breathed it in appreciatively. Catching Quatre watching me, I let the breath out in a low whistle and winked.
And although the front foyer and hall that we traveled down were outfitted with obvious expense, it wasn't the stuffy don't-you-dare-touch-you-dirty-little-boy stuff. Everything was functional, sturdy, but without sacrificing beauty and grace. My fingers literally *itched* for paper and pencil, and I found myself sketching the corners we passed in my head. 'I wonder if they accept decorating tips from the students...?'
After the hall, the auditorium was a disappointment. It could have been ordered wholesale from Schools 'R Us, right down to those crappy little seats with the retractable desklettes. I hated those damn things with a passion. You'd think after a few hundred years of institutionalized education someone would come up with something better. "They sure as hell couldn't come up with anything worse," I muttered as I plopped myself into one. The distressed squeak made me feel a little better. I looked towards the front, momentarily ignoring Quatre's curious glance in my direction. 'So those are the wardens, hmmm?'
The chick from outside was up there, talking to a guy who just *had* to be the headmaster. He was maybe in his early 30's/late 20's, tall, and everyone else on the stage was listening to him intently as he talked while flipping through index cards. The clincher though was that the guy's suit was the same dark blue as the foyer's decoration, and his lapel held a fresh rose blossom. Not my style, but he managed to pull it off well. But no employee that I ever knew of would be loyal enough to color coordinate their wardrobe to the school colors. The others on the platform were dressed a bit more casually, very casually in the case of the old guy in the Hawaiian shirt. I elbowed Quatre in the ribs and pointed him out.
"Oh...Is he one of the teachers?" He spoke in a whisper.
"I hope so, he looks fun," I whispered back, "and I guess this means we don't have a uniform..."
Quatre snickered and said, "Maybe that *is* our uniform?"
I feigned a look of horror. "Oh, hell, no. One's okay, but 50? We'd all have blinded ourselves in self-defense by the end of the first week!" I melodramatically mimed clawing my eyes out and feeling my way to classes as best I could from my seat. I knew other students were looking, but Quatre was trying so hard to rein in his laughter that his face was turning bright red and he'd sunk so far down in his seat that his knees nearly touched the floor. I sat back, feeling smug. Okay, so he was an easy mark, but I just couldn't resist. I resumed staring at the front, doing my best innocent look, and knowing that I was failing miserably.
Quatre brought his fit under control just in time. The fashionplate on stage finally strode up to the podium and gave the mike the obligatory feedback tap. It whined obediently, and he began to speak.
"Welcome, students, to your first day at Timberlake. I am Headmaster Treize, and I believe most of you have met Assistant Headmistress Une. You will meet most of the other faculty Monday, on your first day of classes. Today, you will have Orientation, then receive your dormitory assignments and schedules. Tomorrow you can spend getting aquatinted with your dormmates, and exploring the grounds. There will also be a shuttle bus leaving at 10 in the morning and again at 3 in the afternoon for the nearby town of Mt. Azure. Anyone who needs to purchase supplies and such should take one of these buses. After this week, the shuttle will keep the same schedule, but on Saturday as well.
Now, as to our requirements for success at Timberlake. As you may or may not be aware, Timberlake is actually two schools. You are currently enrolled in the Junior school, which has 100 students. The Advanced school is on the other side of the compound, and has only 10 students a year. A year in both schools consists of two semesters, rather like a college schedule. You will receive your grades via e-mail on the day after exams. For this reason, we require that all students have an active e-mail account. If you do not already have one, one will be provided for you. However, it should be mentioned that the grades you make in your classes are only used for the purposes of college resumes, and in upholding the minimum average of C." Treize's face took on an odd, intense look. "Regardless of grade point average, only *ten* students will pass their year-end exam. And that, my students, is a promise."
"Oh, shit." I covered my head with my hands and groaned.
PART THREE
And I wasn't alone. From the seat to my right, I could hear Quatre saying something in a foreign language ... right offhand, I'd say it wasn't a grocery list. I could hear our reaction echoed in the other students; some were even shouting angry questions at the stage. Treize just stood there through it all, a slight smile on his face. Ms. Une was openly smirking ... it didn't suit her. I smelled a rat. I mean, what the hell kind of school fails 90% of its student body before the first day of class? There *had* to be something more to this.
After about ten minutes of griping, the assembly quieted down, but it wasn't a good quiet. Maybe I was projecting, but it reminded me of the sullen silence of a mob five wrong words away from a lynching. The faculty didn't appear to notice; they all looked particularly pleased with themselves. Did I mention that I knew from the start that this whole school thing was a bad idea?
Treize let the silence drag from sullen to downright ugly before he spoke again. When he did, his voice was soothing. "I realize that this upsets you, and rightly. You are ambitious, talented youngsters with dreams of success. And let me reassure you, those that do not pass the final exam will *not* be sent home, or penalized in any way... except of course the spiritual knowledge of knowing that you were beaten. You will simply remain in the junior school for the remainder of your time here. Or you may, as many do, transfer to a... less demanding institution. Those ten who succeed, however, will be allowed to spend their last year here in the Advanced school, and from there, will have every chance at success in the wider world." He stood even straighter, and proclaimed proudly, "A Timberlake Advanced graduate is one of the most sought after resources either here on Earth or in Outer Space. So, I challenge each and every one of you to fulfill your greatest potential and prove yourself worthy of this honor," he concluded on a triumphant note, and he seemed to look directly at me as he spoke.
I gaped like an idiot as there was a roll of applause and a few scattered cheers from the students who, moments before, had been seconds from putting the Headmaster's head on a pike. I didn't get it. The words were pretty pompous ... the tone was almost funny in its patriotic intensity, and yet somehow I was looking forward to stepping up to the plate for this guy. I didn't give a damn about other people's opinion (or so I adamantly maintained), but I found myself wanting to please Treize.
"Damn...he's good."
Quatre nodded, his eyes wide as he looked at me, "Yeah. Better than my father, and that's saying a lot. What's he doing teaching school?" He turned back to Treize, and said admiringly, "He could be ruling the world, or something." Before I could tell Quatre not to give the guy ideas, Treize continued,
"I'm sure you're wondering what the exam is? I'll cover that last." There were a few groans, and he smiled tolerantly. "Now, however, I'd like to go over our 'Colleges.'" Each of you enrolled in one of the five colleges when you filled out your application. What this means is that you will attend classes almost exclusively in that specialization, except for your electives -- which can be from any college. We do this because we feel it safe to assume that, being the gifted children that you are, you have an adequate knowledge of the basics. If you need help in any of the essentials, please feel free to contact Ms. Une, who will arrange a private tutor for you.
"Now, the five colleges are: the college of the Arts, the college of Biological Sciences, the college of Political Sciences, the college of Applied Sciences, and the college of Humanities. Each of these colleges is just as valued in the eyes of the faculty as the others, and I urge any student who experiences discrimination from fellows or faculty to report it immediately." Treize's voice became cold, "And this applies not only to academic discrimination, but to every other form. We have students here from many various origins, lifestyles, religions, and races. We also have a zero-tolerance policy for bigotry. You have been warned." For a moment, menace radiated from every line of the slender man's body. He seemed pretty serious about the whole thing, but I had my doubts. I'd yet to see adults deal effectively with the intrinsic cruelty of teenagers, but I was willing to give him points for trying.
"There will also be five students in each dorm apartment. This is not a coincidence. We have placed one student from each college in each dorm, partly to compensate for the specialization of your classes. We strongly recommend you make an effort to get to know these people, they will be instrumental in passing your final exam. But, before we move on to that, however," A few friendly boos and another smile. "I want to go over the dorm rules. They are relatively few.
"One: You will not have illegal substances in your dorm. I realize that some of you are within drinking age for your respective countries or Colonies, in this country you are all underage and that is what you must follow while you're here. If you need controlled substances for cultural or religious reasons, the infirmary will store them, and you may check them out as you need it. Two: The dorms are not coed, but we do not restrict members of the opposite sex from visiting and there is no curfew."
There were a few spontaneous cheers at that, and yes, I was most definitely among them. Hey, I'd been staying at a Catholic school for the past five years or so ... what do you expect?
With a long-suffering air, Treize waited for the noise to die down again. When it did, he smiled paternally and began again. "I realize this makes most of you happy, but just because there are no official rules on visitation does *not* mean that you have unlimited access to each other's dorms. Dormmates are encouraged to draw up a contract among themselves about visitation and other potential sources of conflict. You can log these contracts in with the Records Department. In event of a dispute between you, we will refer to this contract in distributing judgment." He took a warning tone, "If there is no contract, the faculty will rule quite harshly, I assure you. I suggest you have a contract drawn up and signed by the end of next week to avoid incidents."
As we whispered amongst ourselves, Treize flipped through his index cards. When he looked up, that intense look had returned to his face, and I felt myself tense.
"Now," he said, "we get to the good part, so to speak. Ladies and gentlemen of Timberlake school, here is your year-end exam assignment. You will be placed into teams of two dorms, five men and five women. Using every nonviolent means at your disposal, your team will attempt to take over and hold this school against both the faculty *and* the other teams. The team that has possession of the school at sunset of the last day, graduates."
And the crowd went wild.
PART FOUR
"He's not serious, is he, Duo?" Quatre whispered to me ... or tried to, anyway. With the noise of the agitated student body surrounding us, he actually ended up having to raise his voice to be heard over the din. In response, I just shrugged. I mean, he looked pretty damn serious to me, but teachers sometimes had a weird sense of humor. After all, in my experience, schools spent most of their energy in ensuring that the students *don't* take over... I was having a little trouble grasping the concept of encouraging it.
But if he *was* serious... I felt a grin tug at the corners of my mouth. 'This could be a hell of a lot of fun.'
"Students! If you'd like to know the rules of the game, please be *quiet*." Treize's voice, backed up by a screech of feedback, rose above the crowd, but it took a few minutes for it to penetrate. Slowly, though, the shouted questions and chatter died off, leaving us in eager silence. Treize nodded once to himself, then spoke.
"Before you all think that this is a license to run wild, let me assure you that there *are* rules to be followed. Breaking any of these rules will result in instant expulsion, no second chances." He sighed, "We at Timberlake realize just how unusual a task we are setting you, and want to assure you that we are *not* 'trying to get you killed' as the lady in the front row so vigorously opined." The girl in question, a carrot-top from what I could see, sank into her seat until nothing showed but the top of her hair. Some of the other students snickered, but I resisted the urge. Never pays to piss off the girls, you know?
Treize didn't appear to notice her discomfort, and he continued, "We are dedicated to your safety, our safety, and to the general well-being of school property. So we have the rules. Although these rules will be printed in your student handbook, I will go over them now.
"Rule one: Although you are expected to plan and prepare your assault all year, *no* attempts at takeover are to be made until after finals. We have set the last two and a half weeks aside for the war games, and *that* is when it will take place. No exceptions or excuses. Rule Two: Alliances are allowed, but under no circumstances will there be more than 10 winners. No penalty will be given for backstabbing... at least of the figurative sort. Rule Three: If any team causes physical or mental harm to any member of the staff or student body, accidental or not, that team is disqualified. For this purpose, harm is defined as anything that leaves a significant mark on the person's mental or physical state. So... a scratch or bruise is not harm, but an allergic reaction to a tranquilizer, a broken bone or sprained joint, or an act of terror such as threatening someone with torture or using a phobia against them ... these are all considered acts of harm. And regardless of who specifically is responsible, *all* the team will be disqualified. So I suggest you exercise some self-discipline when planning your attack.
"Rule Four: No explosives! And nothing that involves fire. The purpose here is to *take* the school, not reduce it to a smoking hole in the ground. And last, but not least, you may not go outside the school for any of the materials you use. In fact, we expect you to log anything you take out of the labs without exception." He smiled thinly, "Considering that we faculty are outnumbered almost 10 to 1, I don't believe that that's asking too much. Also, if you wish to know if a certain plan or apparatus would have a high probability of violating the harm rule, there will be a box up outside the faculty dining room soon. Put an identifying word, *not* your name, at the top of a note containing the question, place it in the box. Within a day, an answer will be put up on the bulletin board. Speaking of which," He checked his watch, then glanced at Une. She nodded curtly, and smiled. "I believe your dorm assignments are up on that same board. Speech over, have fun. You are dismissed." With that, he and the other faculty just got up and left out the back, leaving the students to their confusion.
Quatre, his old guy, and I stood up, passing a dubious look between ourselves. Nobody made a move for the aisle, as it was already clogged with kids pushing and shoving to get to the bulletin board at the back of the room. Quatre grimaced, and said tentatively, "I'm not really sure about this... I mean, it doesn't seem very nice to try to take over the school..." He trailed off, looking uncertainly at his companion.
"Master Quatre, I'm sure your father would understand if you wished to withdraw."
"Hey, Quatre!" I broke in, "C'mon, it'll be fun. No need to leave ... nobody's going to get hurt or anything. Do you really think this place would be so prestigious if it made a practice of killing its students?" Besides, I added mentally, Quatre seemed to be pretty good guy and I knew too few of those to just let one slip away. The older man looked disapprovingly at me, which I promptly ignored to crane my head towards the board.
"Hey, it looks like they're clearing out. Why don't we go see what dorms we've got? Then you can meet your team mates, and if you can't stand them, *then* leave. Otherwise, you'd just be quitting, and the Q I know is not a quitter!"
He blinked. "Q?" He repeated faintly, but followed me as I put my elbow to good use getting up the aisle. Exactly as I'd planned ... the second rule in the Maxwell Code of Conduct: Distraction is our friend.
--------
"Yes! See, Q, you can't leave now that we're roomies, right?" I peered at him, an exaggerated look of anxiety on my face. He grinned back.
"Well, I guess not. At least, not if you promise me something?"
"What? Anything! I don't snore, if that's what you want to know..."
He shook his head. "Nope. But it's a definite condition of me staying..."
"What, already?"
He hooked his arm in mine, and dragged me towards the exit. "Never, ever, call me 'Q' again, okay?"
PART FIVE
As we made our way around the main building to the dorms, I finally got tired of the large, frowning shadow behind us and nudged Quatre. "Hey, who *is* that guy, anyway?" I whispered with a backward gesture of my head.
He started, then blushed slightly and waved Tall, Dark, and Quiet over. "Sorry for not introducing you earlier. My Father would be ashamed of my manners. This is Rashid ... he's the family's retainer."
Rashid bowed. "I was asked to accompany young Master Quatre and see him well settled." I blinked, and mouthed at Quatre, '...master?' His blush deepened and he shrugged uncomfortably. In a fit of nobility, I resisted the urge to snicker, contenting myself with looking Rashid over critically and saying with a wink at Quatre,
"Well, if he needs to share a room with someone..." I twitched my eyebrows and let the statement trail off suggestively.
After a moment of stunned silence, Quatre burst out laughing as Rashid's already swarthy complexion took on a reddish tone. As his young charge giggled helplessly, he replied with admirable dignity, "I am not staying. As soon as Master Quatre is comfortable, I will return to the Colony." I thought I saw relief lurking in those dark eyes at the prospect, and I felt a little sorry for picking on him. In a halfhearted attempt to reassure him, I patted his shoulder heartily and leaned closer to say, "Don't worry too much, Rashid, you're not really my type."
He replied gravely, "I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps if I stayed for a few days, you would reconsider?" As one of the Sisters used to say, you could have knocked me over with a feather. My face flooded with heat and uncharacteristically speechless, I heard Quatre howling with laughter as if from a long way away. Rashid smirked as I tried to regain my composure. "Never mind, Mr. Maxwell. You are not my ... type, either. Now, shall we continue to the dorm, or would you like to try again?"
I could only nod, my face (I was sure) a bright, cherry red. Rashid nodded graciously and waited for Quatre, who by this point was trying to catch his breath. I glared at him, but he was studiously avoiding my eyes. I sighed philosophically. Everybody has to play the straight man occasionally, right? Eventually, the blond got himself under some kind of control, and we continued to the dorm.
We walked in silence, except for Quatre's quiet chuckle whenever he looked in my direction.
*******
Needless to say, by the time we got to our dorm building, 7A according to the small wooden sign on the door, I was restraining the impulse to strangle my new friend. Okay, yes, I started it and the joke ended up on me, but... sheesh, it wasn't that funny. I shot Quatre another glare, setting off a fresh round of chuckling, and shoved open the door to the building, intending to stomp angrily therein. But instead of the flat bang of wood against wall, there was a heavy thump and a muffled, but no less furious, yell as the door only made it halfway open, then bounced back.
"Shit," I swore, as the door was yanked open from the inside and I met a pair of raging, almond shaped black eyes. They raked over me with a scathing dismissal that made my teeth clench around my instinctive apology.
"What the hell do you think you were doing, you clumsy idiot?" The belligerent, condescending, and haughty tone of the rebuke (however well deserved) reminded me of every one of the rich bastards that had tormented me at my last school, and any shred of repentance I had evaporated in the heat of memory and indignation.
I felt my lips curl into a sneer, as I shot back, "What, you never seen anybody open a door, before? Maybe if you had the common sense of a turnip, you'd know not to stand behind the damn thing!"
His gaze roamed contemptuously over my somewhat threadbare clothes, and the smile that touched his thin lips was hard and mocking. "I'm sorry, I should have realized that every school has a charity case. Until you've gotten some lessons in how civilized people behave, I'll be sure to make ... exceptions for your obvious ignorance and lack of proper upbringing."
My fist shot out with a will of its own, and the other boy's nose almost seemed to explode. The next thing I remember clearly, Quatre and Rashid had grabbed both of our squirming, bleeding forms and had dragged us into the dorm's main room.
PART SIX
The other boy stopped struggling about the same time that I did, and irritably gestured for Rashid to release him. At Quatre's nod, Rashid let go, but hovered well within arm's reach. It would have been gratifying, if Quatre hadn't been doing the same to me. I scowled at everyone indiscriminately, and sucked my split lip between my teeth, where the copperpenny taste of blood gave me something other than pounding that guy into the dirt to think about.
Both of our shirts were splattered with each other's blood, but I got some small satisfaction out of the fact that my preferred black t-shirt was handling it better than the other guy's pure white, almost knee-length tunic. My lips twitched with smug humor, and I saw his eyes narrow. He took a step forward. My fists clenched.
"Stop it!" Quatre hissed, placing himself between us, arms outstretched. "You're going to get kicked out if you keep this up. Just calm down, Duo." He said, with a level stare in my direction. I felt resentment bubble, even as my stance relaxed. He said it like it was *my* fault. I should have known, though. They always stick together... I should have know that he was just hanging with me until somebody better came along... I slipped deeper into my sudden pity attack, and almost missed Quatre whirling to face the other participant in the fight.
"And you!" The blond glared at at the Chinese boy, who topped him by two inches easy, "How dare you say such things about my friend? And how do your think Headmaster Treize would like it, after what he said at orientation?"
The boy's black gaze narrowed, "I don't respond to threats." But uneasiness lurked behind the obsidian of his eyes. I snorted, knowing that I wasn't helping but unable to resist. Since Quatre's unexpected defense, I was kind of operating on auto, the part of me that wasn't basking in the word 'friend', anyway. And on yours truly, that meant that I was being a smart-ass.
"Duo, stop it!" Quatre said warningly, as he headed off another attempt to reach me. I smiled thinly, and felt a fresh trickle of blood slide down my chin. I ignored it and laced my hands behind my back to show my willingness to cooperate, but not trusting my voice not to ruin it by showing off. He flashed me a smile, although his eyes were grave. Quatre turned back to the other, stuck out a hand and said, "I'm Quatre, and this is Duo, and that's Rashid. What's your name?"
"Chang Wufei," he said, ignoring the hand but unbending enough to bow gravely. His voice was painfully nasal from the injury to his nose, and I squirmed uncomfortably. I knew how much a broken nose hurt, but Wufei was handling it a bit better than I had. Of course, I'd been around eight at the time.
"Pleased to meet you, Wufei." Quatre bowed back, and shot a significant look in my direction. I sighed.
"Yeah, sure. Me too." I did not bow. From the small sigh that escaped Quatre, I think he'd expected better, but I'd be damned if I was going to welcome with open arms the guy who'd insulted Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, even if hadn't been on purpose.
For a moment, nobody spoke, then I cleared my throat. "Uh, what do we do now? I mean, Wufei and I could probably get each other kicked out. Or we could just forget about it." I shifted uncomfortably. "I'd kinda prefer the latter. What about you?"
Wufei crossed his arms over his chest, and looked away. He shrugged, "I can always find another school. But Timberlake has an unmatched reputation. I believe that *I* could restrain myself from any further outbursts."
My teeth clenched, but I managed to keep my voice neutral, "So can I." Mentally, I added, as long as he stays the hell out of my way.
Quatre smiled at both of us, doing a Captain Carrot-esque job of ignoring the razor-edge tension in the room. "Well, that's settled then. I'm sure we'll get along just fine once we get to know each other."
Mine and Wufei's eyes met in a moment of perfect understanding. 'Not damn likely.'
From behind the four of us, near the door, there came a soft cough. We turned as one to see another kid about our age, standing rather uncertainly at the threshold. He took in our appearance with one wide, forest-green eye. The other was hidden behind an improbable arrangement of glossy black bangs. He carried two battered suitcases, and one dufflebag like my own slung around his right shoulder.
The visible corner of his mouth attempted a smile as he took us in. "Am I interrupting something?"
PART SEVEN
"No, not at all!" said Quatre. His relief wasn't blatantly obvious. As long as you were blind, deaf, and had the empathic ability of your avereage stalk of celery, that was. The green-eyed boy seemed to be the polite sort though, as he ignored the disheveled state of his new dormmates and gravely offered his hand.
"My name is Trowa Bloom. A pleasure."
Quatre strode forward and enthusiastically shook hands with Trowa. As he did so, he shot me a look that seemed to say, '*This* is how we greet people where I come from'. Or maybe he was just making sure I wasn't going to jump this guy, too. I'm not the greatest at reading all those significant glances. At any rate, the lopsided shrug I gave in return seemed to pacify him.
When he retrieved his hand, Trowa picked up the two suitcases and asked gravely, "Where is my bed?" I was beginning to think that he did everything gravely. Still, it was a distraction, and I was happy for it.
"Good question!" I said, with a nod towards my own battered piece of luggage. "I'd kinda like to get settled in, too."
Quatre addressed Wufei, "You've been here longest, do you know where the bedrooms are?" He'd moved over to the little 'mini-kitchen' in one corner of the common room, and had a wet rag pressed to his nose. With his free hand, he waved to a closed door a few feet away.
With difficulty, he said, "Hallway goes to some rooms and the bath. I've already unpacked. Another guy's here, but he's locked himself in his room. Heard typing, haven't seen him. Three rooms free." It was barely intelligible, but we got the gist. I retrieved my bag, while Quatre and Rashid grabbed the blond's collection of stuff. As I slung the bag over my shoulder, Quatre seemed to notice for the first time that it was all I was carrying. He frowned.
"Duo, where's the rest of your stuff?"
I spread my hands wide and faked a disgruntled expression. "Damned if I know. The shuttle said they couldn't find it, so I'll have to do with my carryon until they manage to pull their head out of their ass. On the bright side," I said and winked, "I wrangled an upgrade to first class on my next flight out of it!" He chuckled and I felt myself relax. It was a lie I'd been practicing for a few days, and I was glad it went over so well. With Quatre at least. Rashid gave me a look that could have been pity, but I ignored it, and took the lead through the door ... with a little more caution, this time.
The hall was narrow, but well carpeted and it smelled clean. I moved aside to let Quatre and Rashid in, and they in turn made room for Trowa. Our heads turned in unison as we surveyed the six doors in the hallway. The one on the far right bore a small plaque that read "Bathroom". It was a little too early in the semester for practical jokes, so it was probably safe to assume that that was, in fact, the bathroom. The two doors to the left were closed, and from one, we could hear an irregular tapping sound. Quatre and I exchanged a look. "Whadya wanna bet that's the Computer Science major?" I whispered.
He shook his head at me, but smiled. "So, what room do you guys want?" he asked, including Trowa with an expansive glance.
Trowa shrugged. "I'll take whatever's left."
"No preference at all?" I said in disbelief. Here I was preparing to have to fight tooth and nail. He shook his head, and Quatre seconded the motion.
"I don't really care, either. I imagine they're all the same."
I gaped at them. These guys had absolutely no concept of the "social status" theory of school rooming. Well, hell, who was I to knock a good thing. With studied nonchalance, I said, "Well, then. Why don't I take the one next to the Mad Tapper, here?" I almost yelled with glee as both the other guys shrugged and squeezed past me to get at the two remaining rooms. Now I was the one third closest to the bathroom, and in a perfect position for slipping into the common room at odd hours of the night. Hello midnight snacks!
I surveyed my new home for the next year with a critical eye. It was tiny, with a high, wood-frame bed in the corner by the slit of a window and a cedar wardrobe that topped my height by a good three or four inches. Bland white walls went perfectly with the short, pale carpet. At least it wasn't that weird vomit-brown that a lot of Colony schools and civil buildings preferred. I tossed the duffle next to the bed, and opened the wardrobe door. Three changes of bedclothes were shoved into the top shelf, but other than that it was completely empty. I took one of the sets and made the bed with the true disinterest of the healthy adolescent male. A couple of sheets, with a blanket unrolled haphazardly on the top, and I was done. Yes, it looked terrible, but I wanted to sleep on the damn thing, not photograph it. I unpacked the rest of my meager belongings, and that was the extent of my home decoration.
Poking my head out of the door, I caught the sounds of Quatre and Rashid's voices arguing over where to put the television (TV! I thought with no small amount of glee), and of some indeterminate sounds from Trowa's room at the end of the hall that might have been unpacking. My oh-so-friendly neighbor hadn't seen fit to introduce himself yet, and I really wasn't in the mood for more of Chang Wu-Fang's idea of male bonding, so I flopped onto the bed and decided to wait for somebody to come get me. After a few moments, the rhythmic sound of typing that penetrated the wall had lulled me into a stupor, and from there, to sleep.
I was scared. I was alone. Everybody who mattered was dead. I wasn't dead, 'cause I didn't matter...they left me here alone 'cause they couldn't live without each other. I rocked from side to side between their pale, still bodies, desperately clutching at chilled hands. Mommy and Daddy had gone away, and it was all my fault. I didn't know exactly how, but if it hadn't been my fault, then they would have taken me with them. I was only six, I should be with them. Right? I carefully placed Mommy's hand into Daddy's and wrapped his fingers around hers, and picked up Daddy's razor blade. It was the special, not-to-be-touched one that his father had given him when he was 18. It had been in the family for ages, and had once saved somebody important's life, Daddy had said, as he smiled and tapped my nose with the blunt edge. It would lead me to him. He might have left *me*, but he'd never, ever leave his special razor. My blood was very red, spilling over out mingled hands like a waterfall. It hardly hurt at all...
"Aaron...what are you ... oh my God." Warm, shaking arms pried my tiny body away from my parents, and I screamed and fought and bit and bled until something pricked me in the shoulder and everything fell into silence. Except that it didn't. It was supposed to, but the hands and the warm, living voice followed me, shaking...duo...duo...duo? What was that? Why can't you leave me alone, I cried, can't you see I'm going to them...Can't you see that I'm...
"...sleeping?" I mumbled as the dream shattered into a thousand biting slivers and I found myself staring into Quatre's worried blue gaze. From behind him, Wufei almost snorted derisively, winced, and contented himself with saying,
"Well, you *could* try it without the screaming part. Past misdeeds coming back to haunt you?"
"Shut up, Wufei," Trowa said quietly from his place at the foot of the bed. The other boy shot him a dirty look and stalked out of the room, muttering something under his breath that I couldn't catch.
"Ignore him, Duo," said Quatre with a concerned smile, "he was just as worried as the rest of us when we heard you call out." I shrugged awkwardly, not believing for a moment that Wufei gave a damn about me, except maybe for wishing I'd go get myself killed. I looked up at him, silent, as we both realized that his hands were still resting on my shoulders. His cheeks pinked, and he withdrew to the foot of the bed, shoving his hands into his pockets awkwardly. My own face felt as if all the blood had long ago drained away, leaving the visage of a corpse. Duo, King of the Dead...that was me.
Trowa just stood there and stared at us both for a long moment. Finally, he gently tapped Quatre on the arm, "C'mon, he probably wants to have a moment to himself." I nodded thankfully, not trusting my voice to be steady. Quatre left reluctantly, with a long backward look. I dredged up a shaken smile to reassure him, and knew from the way he bit his lip that it failed miserably. The door closed with a whisper and I flopped back against the single, flat pillow, exhausted. I hadn't had that damn dream in years, and I'd *never* made noise before. I wasn't crying though...I never cried. I trailed a finger along my cheeks, just to be certain, and found them reassuringly dry, though cold.
Fuck. I let the hand flop back to the bed, trying not to notice the thin white line across its wrist. How was I ever going to play this off? I knew what would happen when I left the room. Wufei would probably make some stupid joke (payback's a bitch, chortled a tiny, gleeful voice), Quatre would try to find out what was wrong, and Trowa ... he'd *look* at me. Sometimes I hated my life.
Still, I couldn't stay in here for the rest of the semester, could I? With masterful timing, my stomach took this moment to remind me that I hadn't eaten for about 12 hours. It's unanimous, I thought with a sigh, and swung myself out of bed. My body felt heavy and stiff. I wondered how long I'd been out. Pausing to yawn and stretch first, I went out to face the music.
It wasn't until the bedroom door closed behind me that I realized that something was missing: the typing from the next room had stopped.
In the common room four, not three, boys awaited my entrance. I paused at the threshold. For once it was out of a feeling of insecurity, not the desire to make a dramatic impression on my ever-present audience. Eight eyes fixed on me, nonetheless. "Hi, guys," I kept the tone cheerful and shallow as I took in the final member of our little group. The first thing I noticed was his eyes. They were blue, but managed to be the complete opposite of Quatre's. They were like a winter's sky, hard but as deep as Heaven. They watched me without sympathy, pity, or any emotion at all. The sheer neutrality of that azure gaze annoyed me more than even Wufei's open hostility. With effort, I dragged my mind away from the boy's eyes and took in the rest of him. I got a vague impression of a grim, but handsome, face and unruly brown hair chopped short. Next to the mystery of his eyes, it all faded to insignificance. 'That's how I'd paint him,' I thought, 'with his eyes larger than possible, dominating his face, but with the shutters firmly thrown over those windows to his soul.'
I stood, lost in thought and planning, until Quatre cleared his throat. He looked vaguely agitated, and I thought with amusement that it was probably the first time in a while that one of his peers hadn't listened with utmost attention to his every word. Sheepishly, I asked, "Sorry, still a little muzzy. Could you run that by me again?"
"I said, that this," he gestured at the our final dormmate, "is Heero Yuy. He agreed to come with us."
I blinked. "Come where?"
"You really weren't listening, were you?" Quatre smiled to show he wasn't upset, "We're going on the shuttle to get some food, since Heero says that the Cafeteria isn't up and running yet, and it's after dark. You wanna go?"
"Absolutely!" My stomach snarled again, prompting a snicker from Quatre and what might have, maybe, under microscopic examination, been a smile from Trowa. As we left, Wufei grumbled nasally,
"We better go somewhere with a buffet, so Duo won't be too noticeable among the other pigs."
I shot back, "As long as that hideous schnoz of yours doesn't put me off of my appetite, that is!" He replied with something in Chinese that made Quatre, and surprisingly, Heero, frown. But since they didn't offer to translate (not that I *really* wanted to know), and I couldn't make a good comeback for something in another language, to any casual watchers we appeared to step peacefully into the night.
PART NINE
"Somebody, please, please kill me..." I moaned into my pillow, as the alarm clock wailed next to my left ear. Groggily, I reached over and swatted it. The blind slap succeeded in knocking the clock off of the small side table to the carpet, where it continued to bleat. But now, I really would have to get up to shut the damn thing off. With a groan, I pushed myself into an almost vertical position, and swung my feet off the bed. My left big toe smacked into the corner of the clock and promptly began to do a little wailing of its own. I could just tell that this was going to be a wonderful day.
After wrestling the clock into submission and grabbing some clean clothes, I hobbled out of my room. Setting the clock at the ungodly hour of 5:30 in the morning had paid off: the bathroom was unoccupied. Eyes opened just enough that I didn't smash into walls, I hobbled into the cramped room to begin my morning ritual.
A couple of hours later, I was just finishing braiding my damp (but clean) hair when the first impatient knock came at the door. "Just a sec!" I called, as I looped the small, frayed rubber tile just below the last braid.
"Hurry up, Maxwell," came the muffled growl through the door. I made a face into the mirror. After three days of cohabitation, Wufei and I still were about one bad joke from murdering each other. We weren't consciously trying to irritate each other...I don't think we were, anyway. It's just that we had absolutely nothing in common except an unholy (sorry, Sister) stubbornness and quick tempers. I checked the tie one last time, then grabbed my stuff and awkwardly opened the door. Wufei brushed past me without a word, and I made another face at his back as he closed the door.
Heero was standing outside his door, leaning against it with shampoo and towels in his hands. He watched me silently. I shrugged off the odd feeling of anxiety that I had discovered radiated from the other boy like those cartoon stink lines. He watched *everything*, I'd realized, with the same disconnected intensity that I'd noted in our first meeting. Now I'm not one to judge, but it was getting *really* creepy. Somehow, I'd have to get him to warm up a little.
"Hey, Heero," I said, walking over and leaning on the wall next to my door. His eyes tracked me, but otherwise there was no indication he'd heard. Like I said, creepy. I tried again. "Wu-fang didn't steal the bathroom from you, did he?"
"No." He turned away to stare at the bathroom door. I looked too, just to make sure I wasn't missing something. Nope, just wood, and the faint sound of the shower. Well, hell. I know when I'm not wanted. I turned around and pushed open my door. As I retreated, Heero's voice stopped me in my tracks. "That was a good idea."
I craned my neck around. He was staring at me again. "What was?"
"Getting up early to be first."
"Oh. Uh, thanks?" I grinned at him, delighted to get a response from him, even if it was a fairly odd one. "I grew up in a dorm. If you think five people and one bathroom is tough, try thirty!" I tilted my head and waggled an eyebrow at Heero. My voice fell to a melodramatic whisper. "Hey, you aren't gonna try and beat me, now that I've told you my secret, are you? 'Cause I'm warning you, you'd have to get up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on me!"
Anyone else would have groaned at the painfully bad attempt at humor. Heero appeared to consider it seriously. After a moment, he shook his head. "I don't believe the lack of sleep would be worth it. My first class isn't until noon, anyway. I can wait." His eyes left mine, and focused on something behind me.
"Duo, Heero, good morning!" I yelped and nearly leapt out of my skin as the cheerful greeting chirped from right behind me. I almost fell on my ass before two hands, one from in front of me and one from behind, reached out to steady me. I glared at Quatre, and at Trowa who trailed behind the blond like an obedient puppy. They both carried little bathroom bags.
"Make a little noise next time, why don't you?"
"Sorry, Duo," Quatre said, not sounding sorry at all. Trowa just shrugged. "I was wondering, since both of you are here; you want to go get some breakfast together, after we all shower?"
I coughed to cover my sudden bark of laughter, and reminded myself again that Quatre did not have the dirty mind that I, myself possessed. He looked at me in concern. "Duo, are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Left over bit of toothpaste or something." I ignored his dubious look, and continued, "As to breakfast...I'd love to, but my first class is in," I pushed open the door at little more and tilted my head to look at the upside-down clock face, "Oh, shit. It's in fifteen minutes." I raised a hand in apology to the group almost dropping my wet towel in the process, "Sorry, guys, gotta run. How about lunch?" I said, as I dumped my toiletries on the bed and frantically hunted down some clean socks.
"I'm free at one," said Quatre and after a pause, "So is Trowa."
"Me too." That was Heero. He sounded reluctant...but with him, who could tell? At least he was making the attempt, right? I shoved my feet into my shoes, wincing as the toes scraped along the bottom.
"Great! See you guys then, okay?" I snatched up my portfolio and supply box, and sprinted through the common room and out the door.
It wasn't until I had reached the art building that I realized that my shoes were on the wrong feet.
"Somebody, just shoot me, okay?" I groaned as I plopped down into the hard embrace of the wooden chair. Everything from my neck to the soles of my feet hurt. Well, except for my hands. *Those* had gone completely dead about an hour ago. I glanced down just to make sure they were still there. Yup...they even looked human. Would wonders never cease?
Quatre sat across from me; his normally precise posture had wilted, and his head was bowed to his chest. He made an admirable effort to raise it at my plea, but finally gave up and murmured, "I guess your class went just as well as mine, huh?"
I nodded, then realized he couldn't see the gesture. "If that means that you were fed to a crazy, rose-addicted headmaster with a deep and abiding hatred of chairs and an opera fetish, then hell yeah." I think he smiled. "Where's Trowa?" I asked, "I thought he was supposed to eat with us?"
"I'm here," came a smooth voice from behind us, and Trowa sat beside me, carrying two trays. One, he pushed over to Quatre and after a moment, he slid the other to me. I nudged it back, limp-wristed.
"No thanks. Unless I bury my face it in, it's useless. I've been sketching for five straight hours. My hands," my voice rose in a tired parody of French, "dey are like ze put-ty." One corner of Trowa's mouth twitched, but he pulled the tray back without protest. He and Quatre began to eat, something that normally would have made me hungry--even if I were full. One of the lingering legacies of being a starving orphan. After Mr. Treize's idea of "warm-up" exercises, however, all I felt was empty. Now I know why all those artists are called starving.
"New perfume, Maxwell?" Wufei sneered as he dropped into the seat beside Quatre. I blinked.
"Huh?"
"You smell like flowers," Trowa remarked blandly from my left.
"Oh, that." I shrugged. "Treize has got this bug up his butt about them. He burned rose incense the entire class period. And he played opera scores. *German* opera scores," I shuddered with the memory.
"*You* had class with the Headmaster?" Wufei said with an aggrieved expression.
"Hey, if *you* want to spend five hours sketching rose buds and dead sopranos, I'll switch, no problem. What do you have, anyway?"
"The History of Diplomacy, with Ms. Une." He grimaced, "And I'd almost take you up on that offer, if I didn't know you'd get me flunked."
I was too tired to bristle. Almost. "Hey, Wu-fang, I was just being polite."
He darkened at the nickname. "I'm not sure you know the meaning of the word."
"Guys!" We looked at Quatre. "Don't you think you're acting just a bit childishly?" Yeah, so what, I resisted the temptation to say. Instead I just sighed, and looked away in resignation. Across the room was a familiar face.
"Heero!" I called, and waved a limp hand. He took his sweet time filling his tray before he looked around. When he spotted us, he walked over and sat down carefully on Quatre's other side. And began eating. I cleared my throat. He took a bite from his apple. "Heero?" I said, and he looked up, a frown on his face. "And how has your day been, Duo?" I asked the air lightly. "Oh, just crappy, Heero! Thanks for asking!"
Heero scowled, as Quatre grinned wearily and Wufei shook his head in disgust. Oddly enough, all three reactions made me feel sort of cheerful. Probably just low blood sugar and pure exhaustion, of course, but I couldn't deny that somewhere deep inside, this felt sort of *right*. Like we were all meant to be together. Stupid, huh? I shrugged the feeling off with a self-mocking grin and motioned at Heero. "Never mind, man, just keep ignoring us. It's okay, we've got thick skins."
Heero looked down at his food, then suspiciously around at us. He then put the apple down with a long-suffering air. "And how has your day been, Duo, Quatre, Trowa, Wufei?"
Silence reigned for a long, shocked moment. Then the sound of four boys laughing filled the air. As we fell to chuckling, Heero watched us with an expression so befuddled that anyone who glanced his way immediately cracked up again. Finally, he bit into the apple again, and chewed while watching us curiously. When we'd regained control, he swallowed and said with a hint of embarrassment, "And now you know why I prefer computers."
Quatre, red in the face from laughing, patted Heero on his shoulder. "We weren't really laughing at *you*," We weren't? "It was just what you said, and the way you said it." Heero shrugged, like it didn't matter and took another bite out of his apple.
Now I was feeling guilty. Again. This was getting to be a regular habit, and it really wasn't even my fault this time. While I sat there, massaging my left hand against the table edge and trying to think of something to say, we were interrupted by an attack from the rear.
"Trowa!" A tall red-haired girl swooped past me and threw her hands around the green-eyed boy, hugging him fiercely. Far from reacting to this assault with the instant recoil of any sane person, his face broke into a luminous grin. I think the sight of that open smile stunned us all for a moment, because when I could speak again, not only had I somehow been bumped down a seat, but four other girls had materialized around us. "This is Trowa, everyone," the redhead proclaimed, with a possessive arm on his shoulder. He blushed as the girls cooed.
Obviously, Trowa had hidden talents. I looked at Quatre. "Who'd have guessed? A Don Juan in our very midst." Quatre didn't seem to be amused for some reason, and he shot me a quelling glance.
Trowa looked like he had a bad sunburn. He cleared his throat. "This is my sister, Cathy." Oh. Well, shit, and here I was hoping to pick up some tips. "Cathy, this is Duo, Heero, Wufei, and," he seemed to hesitate a second but it could have been my imagination, "Quatre." We nodded at each of our names, while the other girls appeared to be settling in to stay.
Cathy smiled at us, a little dubiously. "You must be my brother's dormmates. A pleasure to meet you." She pointed at a pretty blond who was eyeing Heero, "This is Relena," another blond with a cool and hungry gaze, "Dorothy," a close-cropped black haired girl in combat boots, "Hilde," and finally, a young Chinese woman who was embroiled in a glaring contest with Wufei, "and Meiran."
"We've met," Wufei and Meiran said, as the temperature dropped several degrees in their vicinity. And I'm talking frostbite, you know?
Everyone exchanged uncomfortable looks. Finally Quatre, ever the peacemaker, smiled and said, "Really? Are you in the same class?"
Meiran sniffed. "As if I, a lowly woman, would ever attempt to compete with His Highness, the most pigheaded, insensitive, sorriest excuse for a husband on the Earth or the Colonies!"
Husband? As one, our eyes went from Meiran's stiff form to Wufei's mortified glower, and back again. Oh, boy.