It has been a busy day, busier than the entire week combined. So when his private line rings, he answers with his mind still on the meeting just attended, and switching to the one he’s about to attend. It is Duo, and Quatre listens to his talk, but continues with pulling up the agenda for the next meeting, his mind working on whom to assign the tasks from the latest planning committee.
“…just the two of us, and we wound up at that Mexican shop…” Duo is saying.
“Yes, I know the one,” Quatre murmurs encouragingly, hitting print, and closing down the word doc. He has what he needs for the meeting in… (a glance at the clock) three minutes. Duo continues to tell him about the menu and what was ordered, and Quatre opens an email communication to pass off the list of items to one of the five assistants. He bullets the tasks needing to be finished by close of business, and prioritizes the others if there is time left in the day.
“…wasn’t expecting that question, so I told him the truth.”
“Always the best policy, isn’t it?” Quatre says soothingly, a tendril of thought wondering why Duo was suddenly agitated by telling the truth.
“Glad to hear that buddy,” Duo says, and Quatre pauses in typing the memo. He faces the vid monitor, and looks at Duo for the first time since answering. “’Cause I have to tell ya, Trowa’s on his way over there to uh… talk about it in person.”
His mind slams shut, and Quatre does a quick rewind of Duo’s conversation. Duo meets Trowa for lunch. They eat at the Mexican place Trowa likes. Trowa asks Duo …
“What… what in the hell have you done, Duo?” he asks, his face whitening.
Duo visibly swallows, his eyes widen, and he flushes bright red. “I didn’t mean to tell him like that, honest! I was just so surprised…”
“Duo?” Quatre asks softly, but his attention is diverted to the office door opening, his executive assistant telling someone he isn’t to be disturbed, and suddenly, Trowa is there.
“Everything all right, Quat?” Duo’s voice sounds far away of a sudden, and Quatre cannot take his eyes off Trowa; Trowa as he’s never seen him before.
“Quatre has to go now, Duo,” Trowa says, reaching over the desk to hit the disconnect button.
“Tro—” Quatre’s voice cracks, his mouth dry.
“I can call security,” his assistant offers from the doorway, knowing Mister Barton is a friend – a close personal friend – but afraid of the sudden overwhelming presence of him on this visit.
“No,” Quatre says, tearing his eyes from Trowa’s, and putting a little more firmness in his tone. “There’s no need.” He smiles for the woman, hoping to reassure. “And Grace,” he adds as she starts to leave, “Please reschedule the two o’clock, cancel the three, and…” his eyes return to Trowa’s. “I’ll let you know about the rest of the day.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, hesitating with her hand on the doorknob, glancing between the two. The hint of threat is gone, and something else is charging the room. Closing the door behind her, she smiles, and plans to have TBG reroute all incoming calls to her line, and reschedule or outright cancel all Mister Winner’s meetings for the rest of the day. Anything short of a major disaster could wait until her young man finally confesses to his young man.
*Trowa, Duo friendship*
I am no longer eating; any interest in the sandwich on my tray disappears when I hear the slur. At first, I believe I am the target, since it hasn’t been the first, but a quick glance tells me I am not. Though I am surprised by who is, and by his reaction. It isn’t the first time he’s taken his share of teasing, his share of jibes, and I wonder as his shoulders hunch deeper in his jacket as he leaves the cafeteria.
The jocks laugh, high-fiving each other, derisive comments are traded. I notice the one that is not participating, but instead watches the door their daily target left through. He realizes I am staring at him, and scowls at me. I continue to stare, letting him see nothing of what I am thinking. A handful of seconds pass before I rise, taking my tray to the disposal site, and dumping the waste. I have an idea on where he has gone; it won’t take any time to catch up. And if I’m wrong, there is always tomorrow.
He is on the roof, where he usually goes when he’s either too angry or upset to trust himself. I join him at the wire mesh fence, and let the wind cool my own face. It is in silence we stare out over the town – the little slice of it we can see. It is on my lips to tell him what jerks they are, but he knows that already. I would give him the platitudes of comfort, the ones I am offered when facing the same taunts and jibes, but I have told him these before. He knows it will get better, people do mature, and life isn’t stuck at sixteen.
There will be a day, and God I sure hope it is soon, that the one he is interested in shows that he is interested as well. The look I was given tells me it will happen. But, until that day when he is here to offer silent support, it will be my job; just as it has always been Duo’s, and still is in a lot of respects, even if I have my own someone.