Cat's Paw - Part 18 by Zooie
Standard disclaimers apply
Duo POV
I turn to my assembly of self-proclaimed guardians. They stare at
the door as it closes behind Barton, looking very much like three
disgruntled mama bears. I wouldn’t be surprised if they disemboweled
the next thing that crossed their paths. Or mine, for that matter.
“Excuse me,” I venture. Their heads snap simultaneously
in my direction. Whoa. Synchronized staring. Impressive. “I’m
feeling a smooge... overwhelmed. Can I ask some questions?”
“As long as they’re not the baby-making ones,”
Hilde grins, dispelling the somber mood. She crosses the room and
flops across the other, unoccupied bed, collapsing with a theatrical
sigh. Relena rolls her eyes from her shabby chair and Quatre shoves
Hilde over, perching next to her on the mattress. She shifts so that
her head is resting on his shoulder and giggles when he gives her
a noogie.
Either they did some serious bonding while I was snoozing or their
idea of personal space is a lot narrower than my own.
“So what’s on your mind?” Relena gently asks, giving
me her undivided attention. Quatre and Hilde settle down and turn
to face me, as well. I wonder if this is how the fish in the lobby
aquarium feel when the visitors stare at them. Huge, disembodied faces
floating at them from behind a veneer of glass, doing remarkable imitations
of the Wizard of Oz. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!
Focus, Duo. Focus.
I take a deep breath. “Well, first of all, am I correct in
assuming that my old room is off-limits until the investigation is
over?”
“You got it, kid,” Hilde nods. “They slapped so
much police tape up, you couldn’t hack your way through with
a chainsaw.”
Well, shoot. I hope I get my stuff back soon. I really want my rubberband
gun, among other stuff. That thing is better than a safety blanket
and ten times as painful.
Speaking of painful... “Am I also correct in assuming that
I can expect to be summoned to court somewhere in the future?”
Relena fields that one. “I’m afraid so,” she sighs.
“There is an odd chance that it will settle out of court, but
you’ll most likely be asked to serve as a witness.”
“How can I get out of it?” Always ready to be the model
citizen, that’s me!
Hilde pretends to think. “Well, you can die. Or flee the country.
Say! You could go insane! But, wait. You’ve already done that.”
“Oh, be quiet, you,” Quatre groans, giving her another
noogie. She blows him a raspberry, but does shut up.
That brings us to the Big Question. The one I don’t really
want to know the answer to.
“Would it be out of line,” I wince, “to believe
that everything I have said and done for the past month has been recorded
on tape and video and will be forever archived in the depths of the
FBI filing system after being overly analyzed by a team of top specialists?”
“That’s pretty likely,” Hilde flinches. “But,
hey! You’ll be in good company. We’re all on tape right
along with you. Say, I wonder what they’ll make of Miss Prim
and Proper here cursing?” She smirks wickedly at Relena, who
refuses to meet her eyes and instead opens her briefcase, shuffling
papers about feverishly.
Quatre chuckles. “Don’t worry, Relena. They’ve
seen me cry. Twice.”
Hilde crows. “That’s because you’re a wussy-wuss
boy!”
“Hush, little Miss ‘they’ll never know it was me
who spilled the beans.’ I’m surprised they didn’t
arrest you that night just on charges of sheer pigheaded-ness.”
Although I appreciate Hilde’s efforts to lighten things up,
I’m not in a laughing mood. She may be able to snicker at the
FBI’s funniest home videos, but for me it’s hardly the
same thing. They only make the occasional cameo appearance. My entire
life is on those tapes, everything from the conversations with inanimate
objects to one-sided Scrabble games to bratty temper tantrums. They
don’t exactly show me at my most best and most balanced. Maybe
I won’t have to testify at the trial after all. They’ll
take one look at the tapes and rule me insane.
Well, they wouldn’t be the first. Hilde just did that two seconds
ago.
It’s probably because I’m a little pissy about the videos
that I allow the next question to sneak past my lips. I really don’t
mean to ask it. I really don’t. But before I know quite what’s
happening, it has donned its sheep costume and tip-toed on past my
mental restraints, so wily you could pin a tail on it and call it
a weasel.
“Why was it that all three of you knew exactly what has been
going on and purposefully kept me ignorant? How was it that anyone
who watched the freaking six o’clock news knew what was going
on and yet I was absolutely clueless?”
The laughter stops and they exchange guilty looks. The silence is
thicker than the large print version of the Complete Works of Charles
Dickens and twice as melodramatic. No one speaks for a while, then
Quatre offers a quiet explanation. “It wasn’t... quite
as bad as that. The information on the news was sketchy at best. They
didn’t identify Heero by name or even say how he was involved.
They just mentioned that he was injured in the car accident that took
Lowe’s life. And actually, they didn’t even release that
Lowe was dead until yesterday night. He was reported as being in critical
condition.”
“The only reason Relena and I knew to be alarmed,” Hilde
speaks up, “was because of our connections in the legal system.
Otherwise we never would have thought that he or Lowe were connected
to the terrorists. And if you recall, we thought that Heero was in
danger, not the danger.” She and Relena exchange sardonic looks.
“We almost lost our practice because of that stunt,” Hilde
reveals, looking slightly ill. “The only reason they didn’t
shut us down was because we agreed to cooperate fully with their orders.
Otherwise I never would have lied to you. Oh, God. I’m sorry,
Duo. That was a real shitty thing for me to do. I chose myself over
you.”
“It’s okay, Hilde,” I smile reassuringly, hoping
she doesn’t start to cry. There are two things in life I just
can’t handle: bread pudding and girls crying. The sight of either
is enough to make me want to flee the room, climb a tree, and refuse
to come down until the Apocalypse. Or dinner, whichever comes first.
“I would have been plagued with guilt until I died if you had
given up your practice for me. Trade a successful career for some
loser kid? You would have to be crazy–“
“Stop it,” she interrupts me, looking upset. Bread pudding!!!
my head screams frantically. “You’re not a loser. You’re
a real brat sometimes, but...” Her voices pitters off and she
stands with a wobbly smile. “Excuse me. I need to use the ladies
room.” We all watch in silence as she flees the room. I am grateful,
for her departure saves me the trouble. I guess every cloud does have
a silver lining (except for the mushroom shaped ones, which have a
lining of Iridium & Strontium 90).
“I got the same story you did,” Quatre picks up the verbal
ball after a pause. “Barton told me the same billionaire lie.”
He shakes his head, looking angry with himself. “I knew my father
didn’t know Sano Yuy, but when I asked him about it, he told
me to leave it alone. And like a brainless, obedient son, I did. I
should have insisted--”
“Why?” I snort, ending his guilt spiral before it can
corkscrew down more than a few inches. “So he could ship you
off to Nigeria to your sister’s safekeeping? I’m glad
you didn’t ask, Q, because then you would have felt obligated
to tell me and that would have led to all kinds of trouble.”
“A coincidence, wasn’t it,” Relena randomly muses.
“The names, I mean. Yuy is a rather uncommon surname outside
of Asia.”
Quatre shakes his head. “There were a lot of coincidences.
Or maybe just careful planning. I’m not sure which. Either way,
I’m sure glad it’s over with. I’m ready to return
to my boring life now, thank you very much.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I sigh. I rue the day I ever
wished for a roommate. Over the past month I have been punched, strangled,
deprived of the remote control, forced to confront eyebrows with plans
of world domination, verbally abused, scared witless, and had my privacy
severely violated to boot. I should either be spitting angry, an emotional
eunuch, or flat-out overwhelmed. Instead I feel almost giddy.
Only I could manage to get myself into a situation like that one.
Of course, I had a little help along the way. I’m kind of going
to miss Heero, in a strange sort of way. We went through so much together...
and most of it was his fault. He may not have been the ideal roommate,
but he was sure better than the freaky clown poster.
I loathe clowns. Give me a good ole psychopath any day. They might
both be a few nuts short of a Snickers bar, but at least the psycho
doesn’t expect you to applaud him for it.
A sudden thought trots to my attention and prances about until I
verbalize it, as desperate for attention as Dennis Rodman. I really
need to have a little chitchat with my thought processes one day.
Instill some discipline into them. I don’t know what kind of
impression they’re trying to give, but I know I for one am slightly
repulsed by towering, green-haired transvestites sporting pierced
nipples. “Say, Q, what wound up happening with Dorothy? I thought
you were supposed to stay away from the hospital until further notice.”
He looks majorly pissed. “Long story short, that bastard S
tried to pin the whole thing on me. I’m just an intern, so I
work interdependently with a resident doctor. Hospital policy requires
the senior doctor to monitor the intern’s work. That includes
re-checking their patients to see that they’ve been properly
treated. The day Dorothy seized, I wasn’t the last one to see
her. I was just the last to sign off on her chart. S had been to check
her not fifteen minutes before it happened and was apparently too
busy to scribble his signature. Luckily Tracy remembered seeing him
leave the room.”
“So it was his fault, not yours, and when he realized it, tried
to save his ass by canning you,” I summarize. “What a...
a... jerk!.” If you can't say anything nice, then at least have
the decency to be vague.
“To put it mildly. But thanks to my excellent legal counsel,”
he smiles at Relena, “my job is once more out of peril.”
“So that’s why you and Hilde seem so familiar with one
another,” I deduce. “They give you legal advice!”
“Well, they’ve been doing a lot more than that for me,”
Quate grins. “Should we tell him now or wait for Hilde to come
back?”
“Oh, we have to wait. She’ll kill us if we don’t.”
Relena grins, drawing some papers out of her briefcase.
“And that would kind of defeat the entire purpose,” Quatre
sighs.
He is promptly chided. “Hush! You’ll give it away!”
“What is going on here?” I ask with narrowed eyes. “Haven’t
there been enough secrets around this place?”
“Oh, but this is a good secret.” Relena claps her hands
and practically bounces in her seat. The action is so far diverged
from her normal character that my mind cannot quite align the concepts
of “perky” and “Relena.” The best it can come
up with is “showing mild interest in the everyday affairs of
others” Relena. “Looking something other than offended
with society” Relena. Perhaps “Caffeinated” Relena?
Complete with Mr. Coffee and bonus filters?
“What did you do? Quatre! Explain!” I demand, crossing
my arms against my ribs. I just finish speaking when the door swings
open.
“You told him already?” Hilde yelps, coming back into
the room.
“Don’t worry. We didn’t start without you,”
Relena reassures her.
“Oh, good. Sorry I took so long, but I had to run to the car
and get this.” She holds up a Polaroid camera. “I have
the feeling we’re going to need it.”
“Why do I feel like I’m about to be drawn and quartered?”
I warily ask.
They beam at me in delight. I don’t know whether to be excited
or scared. I settle on a mixture of the both.
“Well,” Quatre begins, “we’ve been putting
the past couple of days to good use. We’ve spent a lot of time
just sitting around, you know. And you know what they say about idle
hands.”
“They do the devil’s work,” I finish the cliche,
wondering where this could possibly be leading. I swear, if they found
me another roommate...!
“You always have been our little Satan-spawn,” Hilde
pretends to shed crocodile tears. “Oh, how we’ll miss
you!”
Quatre elbows her in the ribs. “Quiet!”
I am totally confused. It must have shown on my face, for they all
grin even wider.
I hope they’re having fun, those detestable juggernauts of
deceit. My heart is in my throat, my tongue is tied, and my eyes are
bulging. Do I look pathetic enough for you or do I need to start quoting
Little Nell? Have mercy on me and explain, already!
“What would you say,” Relena begins again, shuffling
her papers about, “if I told you someone wanted to adopt you?”
Talk about being blind sided.
“I’d say you were full of shit,” I reply, forgetting
to censor my comment.
They chortle. I blink.
“What would you say,” Hilde continues, “if I told
you this someone was insanely rich?”
“That you spent too much time sniffing paint thinner as a kid.”
They chortle. I blink.
“What would you say,” Quatre smiles broadly, “if
I told you I’d no longer be the youngest one in my family?”
“HOLY FUCKING SHIT.”
Hilde snaps a picture. “Told you we’d need it!”
she laughs.
~+~+~
Afterwards....
Special Agent Trowa Barton was never heard from again. No record
of him exists anywhere publically accessible. However, a man bearing
a remarkable resemblance was once spotted on a Calvin Klein billboard
modeling underwear, French-cut male bikinis to be precise.
Heero Yuy was determined to be mentally unstable and was confined
to a federal mental institute. He was ordered to remain there until
determined capable of safely functioning in society. He was last seen
weaving potholders and muttering about bulbous grotesqueries. He refers
to himself as Perry Duck.
Relena Darlien and Hilde Schbeiker went on to become one of the most
prominent law firms in America. Representing a vast array of clients,
they achieved infamy for their refusal to represent O.J. Simpson when
he was retried for murder. His lawyers successfully argued that it
would be impossible to hold an unbiased trial, for upon hearing that
Schbeiker and Darlien turned down the case, most of the public condemned
him on the spot.
Quatre Winner earned his medical degree with flying colors and became
a resident doctor at the Winner Medical Center. A favorite with the
children, he can be recognized by his white blonde hair and bright
red clown nose. Taking Patch Adams as an example, he treats his young
patients to a healthy dose of humor, with the help of a special friend.
He specializes in puns, much to the dismay of his coworkers.
Upon his adoption by Jack Winner, Duo Maxwell was promptly released
into his custody. Completing his treatment as an outpatient, his bone
marrow transplant proved to a complete success and he made a normal
recovery. He never was called to testify against Heero Yuy. Even as
the youngest of thirty-one siblings, he never forgot those long, lonely
days in the hospital, talking to bedpans and oxygen masks. As soon
as he was well enough, he volunteered at the WMC where he quickly
learned exactly what candy-stripers do besides push wheelchairs. He
can often be seen by Quatre’s side, putting smiles on patients’
faces with the help of a sock-puppet named Drippy. Some friends are
just too close to our hearts to leave behind. [1]
*******
The End
*******
Footnotes
[1] Get it? Drippy was in his chest, right by his heart. It’s
a pun! Quatre specializes in puns! *crickets chirp* Um... I’ll
be over here now....
********
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