Elevator Love Aside part 1
By Tralla
The sex is good. Undoubtedly, the best I’ve ever had and probably the best I ever will. Sex aside everything else is problematic. His eccentricities were fascinating and entertaining. For two years, they’ve been my close companions, but now they’re reasons to take a sledge hammer to him. For weeks, he’s been trying me, plying me with questions and accusing me with his actions. There’s no carping. Carping, I can drown out. It’s the looks and his actions, the way he snatches onto my clothing as I walk away. It’s in his tone when he asks me where I am going. Well, now he knows for certain. I’m going to the airport. I’m leaving this island, the palm trees, and his company. I’m in my car, speeding on a winding road. Not smart, especially when traffic comes from both directions with barely enough room for two cars to pass at once.
A tiny airport, with tiny people, with tiny little minds. And this is what I get. I’m at the ticket counter, trying to get my boarding pass. Trying. I should have been handed it after furnishing my identification. Instead, I’m getting interference. I look back at the offending employee and attempt to appear civil. I fail.
He looks befuddled. “I’m sorry, sir, but you’re not in the system. You must have cancelled your flight.”
It takes me a second to digest what he just said. My voice is threatening. “No, I didn’t.”
He looks back at the screen. “You are Heero Yuy, correct?”
I tap my open passport. Unequivocal proof.
He looks uneasy. “According to our records…I don’t mean to suggest that you’re--”
“Forgetful? Stupid? Crazy?” I ask. I’m losing my temper. I have a bad feeling. My instincts are rarely wrong. I swallow. “I’ll arrange another flight.”
“If it’s for today, I’m sorry. We’re not allowing any more flights out after 2.”
“It’s noon.”
“I’m aware of that, sir. All seats have been taken for the last available flight. There’s a hurricane. While it’s not going to hit us--”
“I get it. How long is this hurricane alert in effect?”
“I can’t really say with certainty, sir. At most, I can encourage you to listen to the weather reports and check back with us.”
I’m glaring. I need a definitive answer so I can plan. My eyes and forehead hurt. I get out of the line. If I have to wait without knowing...I’ll end up changing my mind and remaining with him. I’m that stupid.
I’m walking away.
I head back to the garage and my car. I’ll find a hostel outside of the tourist district. But I know it will be a waste of time. He has stalker tendencies so there’s no doubt he’ll find me. I look up as I reach my destination. As if my day couldn’t get worse, there’s someone trying to break into my car. I’m wrong. He isn’t trying. He just got the door open.
I break into a run. I catch him with a grip on his shoulder and try to drag him out of the driver’s seat.
He glances over his shoulder and I drop him and back away.
He stands up.
One word leaves my lips, “Jiro...”
My double.
I back up. I keep walking backwards, but I stop when he speaks.
“I’ve wondered if it is possible for a double to exceed an original.” His gaze is fixed on me. “Neither of us has a full grasp of the other’s situation. A lack of understanding will make our interactions somewhat complicated, but it’s irrelevant. You’re not the reason for my appearance.”
I look back at him. He’s being overly formal with me. It’s the kind of speech and manner I use when I’m pissed off but have to keep my surliness to a minimum. He’s forced by circumstance. I’m squinting. What circumstance?
He’s watching me as he says, “It’s the blonde,” he pauses, “I came to meet him.” He averts his gaze momentarily, as though he’s looking to see if anyone is eavesdropping. “And I came to afford Raberba time with you.”
My entire frame is rigid. “Raberba?”
“He’s on the island as well.”
My earlier unease was right. “Why?”
He ignores my question and gives one of his own. “A trade in partners? Can you handle it? Or, are you too insecure?”
He’s aiming for my ego.
And I fall for it as memories of my own earlier ambivalence reach my consciousness. “How long?”
Without hesitation, he replies, “One night without any interference.”
He’d said it in a dead tone, as if it was of little significance. Lies. My double knows how to lie with words and to deceive with his body. It’s our first meeting and we’re acting as though we’re old acquaintances who have a great distaste for each other. I’ve managed to cloak my unease but, if we’re similar in any way, he’s itching to tear into me to find out how exactly we match up. He’d said it earlier: can a double exceed an original?
I’m frowning. Original. He shouldn’t know anything about me, or that I exist. And there’s another disturbance to consider. Raberba was supposed to be fixed, with all traces of our prior interactions erased from his memory. Yet, he’s here and his partner/lackey is setting up an enforced reunion. My mind retreats 4 years and I see an image of Raberba standing cold and opened-eyed, with my hand against his cheek.
I hear my car’s engine.
From the driver’s seat, Jiro is looking my way. “Get in.”
My hand is curled into a fist around what’s in my palm. He started the car without my keys.
I’m frowning. I’m in the passenger seat of _my_ car. I have never been in the passenger seat. I glance to the right and then directly out in front. Everything is going by in a blur.
“You’re speeding.”
“I’m within the limit,” he replies.
I look at the speedometer. He’s right.
“What type of person is he?”
He’s asking about the blonde with that same lying, dead tone. “Troublesome,” I reply. I’m muttering like an old man. “Bad luck follows me because of him.”
“You make poor choices without taking responsibility.”
I’m still frowning. There’s no point complaining around him. He’s intolerant and has no tact. We’re too similar. I go back to staring out the windshield. More fast approaching scenery. Scenery that I’m overly acquainted with. It suddenly occurs to me that he’s driving me home. He knows where I live.
He’s onto me. “It’ll be quicker if I explain everything to him. I’ll be accurate by including how you were thwarted at the airport.”
I snort to myself. It’s just a feeling, but there’s no deception in his words this time around. I watch the road.
In a matter of minutes, we’ve arrived. He wastes little time leaving the car. He puts the car in park, opens the door, and gets out. He closes the door behind him, hard. The entire frame of the car shook. I don’t care what he’s made out of; he used unnecessary force. I watch him go with a litany of swears on a carousal ride in my head. I can’t decide which one he deserves most. He’s walking away and, as he does, he throws some talk over his shoulder. He discloses Raberba’s whereabouts. He’s about to tell me how to get there when I cut him off with a snarl. “I don’t need directions.”
He snorts loud enough for me to hear. He’d never stopped walking. He’s an asshole, a big one, talking to me as though I’m some pest he has to tolerate. I’ve already shifted myself into the driver’s seat. The temptation to put the car in drive, gun the engine, and make him road kill is almost overwhelming. But he’s already up the porch steps and has reached the front door. He pushes the doorbell. The door begins to open for him and I find somewhere else to be.
My car has been taken care of by a valet and I’m now standing in front of a restaurant with Raberba just feet away. He’s on the pavement. Despite his trim attire, with that deprived expression of his, he looks as though he’s waiting to shake someone down for change. I eye him warily. Given his past unpredictable behavior, he just might.
He’s walking towards me as he says, “Heero, it’s been a long time. Four years if my memory is in fact intact.”
I don’t let him get another word out. “What are you and that thing up to?”
He smiles. It’s good-natured in the face of my rank suspicion. “I suppose I can say words from our past with slight alterations. Jiro ensured your arrival, I will manage your stay, and you can support your own departure at any time. I’ve made a reservation here, but if you’d prefer to go somewhere else--”
I’m stalking towards the restaurant. He’s right on my heels.
We’re escorted in and led to a table. Before our rears warm the seats, a waiter appears with menus in hand. I take one from him. To get him away from me, I open the menu and order the first thing I see. It’s some sort of elaborate sounding item, but in reality it’s just a sandwich. There’s bread, some greens, and meat. It’s a sandwich no matter what ostentatious words they throw on the menu.
The waiter moves on to Raberba.
I watch him. He waves away the menu and manages an expression of embarrassment. “Just coffee for now is fine. I’m still full from brunch, but I will ask to see the dessert menu later.”
Smart bastard. He’s not capable of eating but still makes an effort to show interest.
The waiter takes the menus and leaves.
Raberba starts speaking as soon as the waiter is out of earshot. “I never lied to you, Heero. Can he say the same?”
I’m more than sure that he’s talking about the blonde and not the waiter. I have a response ready.
“You both deceived me without lying outright.” He frowns at me. I ignore him. “Now, you’re brazen. He’s still regretful. There is a significant difference.”
He makes a low noise. “Brazen...no one has ever called me that.”
His tone and that half-amused, half-discerning expression… I’m all too acquainted with them. He interrupts me from the consideration.
“Did you ask him what he did to me after that night you had me shut myself down?”
I look at him. He’s staring at his complimentary water.
“A year after…I am now aware that it was a year after …I awoke and there were gaps. He misled me. He kept you from me, the knowledge of you. And without that knowledge I wasn’t whole. To walk around knowing something was wrong and believing it was an internal deficit... It was a deficit, but not of my doing.” He suddenly looks up. “Weeks ago, everything returned to me...the remembrance was suddenly there: your face, your tone, your confused hatred on that night.”
All I can do is look back at him. He’s a master of his craft. His expression, his almost lyrical words...he’s Quatre, in pain. I’m becoming disoriented. It’s as though he’s speaking in echoes.
“There are problems with your memories as well,” he notes. “You can’t look back and tell who told you what and what you did with whom. Part of the problem is that you don’t want to know.”
“I know who--”
“You know who you were physically intimate with.” He looks pensive. “We established that 4 years ago. There are other things bothering you. Why else would you attempt to flee from him?”
“He became clingy.”
“It’s not entirely his fault,” he concedes. He’s pokerfaced as he says, “I gave him reason to feel uneasy, reason to keep a watch on you.” He inspects me for a moment before commenting, “Maybe he’s right, Heero. You can’t be trusted.” He’s staring, intently. “That night, I told you what I was capable of and you wished me dead.”
“You were never alive.”
He’s stubborn. “You killed me,” he murmurs. “If it’s a matter of word choice, you stopped me from functioning.”
Functioning. He means malfunctioning. But he’s not finished with the theatrics. He’s still talking, still casting blame my way. I’m trying to tune him out, but it isn’t working.
I didn’t come here for a guilt trip. I do the only thing that I know works against him.
I watch my hand reach out. It’s on his face, on his cheek. “Drop it,” I say. The words would have come out as a growl if I hadn’t taken in his expression. He lifts his hand to cover my own.
“You’ve become shrewd, Heero. I should be more careful.” He’s still holding my hand as he asks, “Is there something you would like to do?”
When I say nothing, he continues, “I suppose that gives me permission to choose.” He pauses. The rumbles of an imminent thunderstorm can be heard. “Given the inclement weather, our options are limited.” He takes in my expression. “You have issues with being seen with me, don’t you? It demonstrates acceptance on your part.”
My words are clipped. “_Why_ are you here?” I finally get my hand back. I’m gripping the edge of the table.
“In the restaurant?”
“On this island.”
He’s smiling. “To see you, Heero.” He’s leaning forward. “I can now say that it’s not imprinting that draws me to you. I’m testing the waters with your permission, of course.”
He’s taken up at least 5 hours of my time. It was a half an hour’s drive to the restaurant, we spent an hour there where he’d watched me eat and then connived me into finishing his coffee and then his dessert. The remainder of my time has been spent just within 2 yards of him.
We didn’t end up going out anywhere. He was right. I wasn’t comfortable being seen with him, but not for the reasons he noted. In everything but the hair color, he’s identical to his creator. Someone here is bound to call him “Quatre” and things will get unnecessarily complicated. Away from potential complications, we’re in his hotel room, where I’ve listened to him ramble on, primarily about what his responsibilities have been for the past three years.
I’m leaning against a wall and looking at him. He’s just at the balcony doors. They’re open, and warm, wet air is creeping in to defeat the efforts of the air conditioning. He has a hand on the doorframe. He’s looking out at the rain but is speaking to me. I’m half-listening and not caring. Part of me is suspicious that he’s purposely trying to bore me, to lure me into indifference. If he is like the blonde when he’s not miming…he’s doing just that, waiting to use me to his advantage when I’m distracted, when my guard is down.
“Heero.” He turns around and faces me. “You gave me a greater understanding of human nature. I would like to return the favor. Do you understand yourself?”
I say nothing.
He’s walking towards me. “It isn’t a trick question.” He’s quiet as he stands before me. I don’t like the way he’s staring. It’s intent…the way pets do, loyally without knowing when to stop, loyally without knowing that they’re only causing their masters unease.
He reaches out as he whispers, “For the past few weeks, I’ve wondered what a meeting with you would be like. Conjecture wasn’t enough, and I came.”
His hand is just a few inches from me. I’m glaring. His hand halts mid air. It doesn’t waver. There’s an obvious thought: he can stay perfectly still. Perfectly.
But he chooses not to. He takes his hand back. It’s on his shirt. He’s unbuttoning it, methodically without hesitating, without looking. It’s a series of smooth, purposeful motions. None like I’ve ever seen and I realize that he will never slip up because of his own ineptness. It’s the world that’s imperfect. All threats to him come from the outside.
And I understand more as I watch him undo the last button. I’d said it to him, that night. I told him that he was a danger to me. But I can see now that it’s the other way around. Had I not been my usual surly self in the elevator that day, I would undoubtedly still be at the same job, cursing my life and the people around me. I wouldn’t have grabbed the blonde’s attention. Raberba wouldn’t have sought me out to bring me to the blonde’s mansion. Had he not come for me, there never would have been a car accident. There never would have been damage to him. He never would have switched objects of devotion. He wouldn’t have had to betray his creator for me by interfering, by attempting to spur me to leave, by ratting on the blonde. He wouldn’t have had to shut himself down because I’d willed it. I’m at fault.
He’s taken his shirt off and dropped it. Even the way the shirt fell...it was an unnaturally clean descent, as though its landing was influenced by his proximity.
He reaches out to me, but I stiffen. My back is against the wall. I’m no longer leaning on it, but rigid against it.
“Heero.” His hand is not far from my face as he says, “Touch me kindly so I can hear praises.”
My mouth is moving. “You’re not making any sense.”
“Why won’t you touch me?”
His expression and his tone…are needy in a way I’ve never seen. Whether or not it’s his intention, he is still a reflection of the blonde, the parts that he tries hard to keep hidden. But, as I watch him and let my gaze move over him, I realize that there are stark differences between them that cannot be denied and my eyes are feeding on them.
He has an ideal body, a body that is without scars, ugly marks that are reminders of unscrupulous behavior. But, although he is faultless in appearance, he’s also a culmination of everything vile the blonde has done. He’s the product of scheming and theft. What is before me is the blonde’s own eccentric ideas mixed with what he’d lifted from his employees.
And I realize that I was mistaken earlier. I’m not at fault. I’m just another person the blonde has used and manipulated. I won’t be a pawn anymore.
I hook a finger in the waistline of Raberba’s pants and tug him forward. His skin is warm and as firm as it looks. It feels real. It’s muscle. That’s what my hands say. I’m swayed by insidious thoughts, thoughts of taking him, adding to his contamination, using him in a way he wasn’t meant to be used…thoroughly desecrating the blonde’s lifelong work. But maybe it isn’t possible.
“You’re frowning, Heero.”
“You’re not capable of everything I need.”
He catches on quick. “I’m resourceful,” he says in a low voice. I watch his lids. They’re lowering, making his eyes look sleep-shrouded, making him look drunk with desire as he murmurs, “I’ve thought of all your potential needs,” his fingers are on my lips, “and will gladly fulfill them.”