Elevator Love_Closure part 8b
By Tralla

Contains: a smattering of sap

More people from the mansion have come outside and they're mingling and chatting. From the way they're dressed and how they orient themselves, no one would think that they'd just served as caterers and house staff. They're posh and jovial. Now, with their appearance, it looks like the time for dinner is on the horizon. In the wait, I'll retreat until I'm required to masquerade as social. I saw some benches not too far off to the side of the growing crowd. I've made it to them and am about to sit when I'm confronted by a visual distraction. After his talk with the Marquis's wife, the blonde must have continued watching me. He'd just finished making his approach, and now he's standing in front of me. I haven't bothered to sit.

He looks the same way he did this morning: sleepy-eyed and slightly irritated. He's making no attempt to appear affable around me, and, with this assessment, it hits home that his interactions wore on him. And now he's come by me to take a break from pretending to be reliably gracious. I keep a snort to myself. He spent the last forty-five minutes strengthening social bonds, bonds he abandoned while traveling for the last few years. The creepy girl was right. Inconsistency with people can be dangerous. His initial escape was clean, but now he's returned to deal with the fallout. He's getting what he deserves.

His voice interrupts my thoughts. "There was something that almost looked like a smile on you." He murmurs to himself, "I didn't think they were serving alcohol."

"I'm sober."

"I can't quite believe that."

I park myself on the bench. Without looking, I can feel him staring. He's reading my silence and distance. And now he's responding to it.

"I was guaranteeing that you wouldn't be pulled into uninteresting conversations."

He's justifying his aloof behavior in a way that any criticism from my end makes me an asshole.

"I should have realized that, in public, you don't always want space," he comments softly.

And now he's trying to make a point.

He sits down beside me. His hand is resting lazily on my thigh. From the point of view of an onlooker, either I'm easy or we're carnally familiar. I've been publicly claimed, in a casual yet efficient way, but I'm not completely at ease with this latest turnaround. He may have suddenly taken on an affectionate carriage, but I'm still rational, vigilant. He's asking for trouble with Catalonia still around; he's putting me in the line of fire with that fork-eyebrowed menace so close. I look up. I'm wrong. The creepy girl has her occupied. They're probably still exchanging barbs about facial hair.

There's no outside interference and the blonde seems to know that. He's talking, providing explanations of what transpired during the time he was chatting everyone up. He's going conversation by conversation, filling me in on what I missed. And now a grudging sense of gratefulness sets in. I would have been bored to the point of brain death. He was right to leave me on the sidelines.

He's finished with the narration and now adds, "If you can stomach introductions, we'll go through them."

There's a sight that keeps me from answering him.

Trowa and the braid are here. They must have arrived while the blonde was detailing his exploits. Trowa is walking away from the growing crowd and the braid and the Marquis's kid are standing not too far from the tent. They're conversing. After watching them for close to a minute, I realize that it's the most talking I've seen the kid do.

There's a passing gust that causes me to lose interest in their interaction. With that movement of wind over the blonde, the last of my displeasure is gone. He smells good. He always smells good. And now he actively grabs my attention.

"Heero, when I go to see him, he remains silent."

He's talking about his father, but he's managed to sound reflective rather than disturbed.

The sight of the braid accosting the kid influences my reply. "It's difficult to remain unresponsive when someone is constantly yammering into your ear."

"There's nothing honest to say that he would want to hear."

"Apologize for worsening his health." I return his gaze. When he says nothing, I add, "Doing so doesn't mean that you're agreeing to stay."

"I should stay."

"It's not a decision you have to make right away."

He's giving me a strange look, one of bemused skepticism as he says, "You're more helpful than usual. Are you sure you're sober?"

He's not giving me more incentive to be "helpful". I ignore his question and have been given an excuse to.

From the sudden movement of people and the direction of their flow, it looks like dinner is finally about to start. The blonde and I stand and begin following the crowd. Our trek isn't without incident. The braid and the kid are in our path to the tent. As we approach them, it becomes clear that the braid is being grandiose and he's trying to take the kid along for the ride.

The blonde and I stop our approach as he says to the kid, "Look, I'm hard of hearing. You're going to have to speak up loud enough for everyone to hear."

The kid looks troubled by the braid's demand, but he responds, "Duo Maxwell is a…genius."

The braid snorts. "Fine, that was loud enough, but what was with the hesitation?" He shakes his head. "Anyhow, your uncle has the bird." He turns around and sights his target. "Trowa!" After a moment of watching him, the braid sighs disgustedly before broadcasting, "What's wrong with you? You're walking around like you can't find your way back to the tent."

The braid abandons the kid and starts walking over to Trowa. As they meet, they exchange words. From the braid's body language, something is up.

There's sound coming from my left.

"I think Trowa…became separated from Wing," murmurs the blonde.

He means "lost". From the braid's current demeanor, Trowa lost the bird and my instincts are telling me that there will be some sort of spectacle in a matter of minutes.

Earlier, with their absence, the braid and Trowa were holding up the dinner. And now, with their arrival, they're still holding up dinner. I look over my shoulder at the tent. Everyone under it is staring our way, wondering why 4 men are standing by a tree rather than sitting at a table with napkins spread over their laps.

I look forward. The situation between the braid and Trowa is growing worse and the blonde has opted to stay quiet. In fact, he's standing a few feet behind me, conveniently out of range for providing advice pertaining to the MIA bird.

The braid gives him more incentive to remain uninvolved as he gripes, "Crap, Trowa. What did you say to it?"

There's no reply from Trowa for a few seconds before he responds, "It doesn't matter. It's in the tree."

"You gave it the flutter command, didn't you?"

"You never told me the cue."

"And it's my luck that your secret muttering spurred it to go renegade." The braid shakes his head. "I'm not going up the tree. Take a guess at who is."

I hear footsteps and realize that we're being joined. Once again, I look over my shoulder. About fifteen people have showed up including the Marquis, his wife, their kid, Catalonia, and the creepy girl. It was a group migration to the scene of the crime.

I turn forward. The braid is still focused on Trowa. He sounds tired as he says, "If I shut it down, it could fall. Just get up the tree and don't do anything theatrical. It'll avoid you." There's a pause. "And, yes, even if you think you can catch it, shaking it off the branch is out of the question."

Instead of answering him, Trowa turns and looks at the kid.

The braid catches on and concurs, "Yeah…it should obey its primary owner." He says to the kid, "It looks like you're getting a ride up there."

Before the kid can walk over, the Marquis steps over to the braid's side and says something him. The message was low enough to miss everyone's ears, but I get what's going on. He's not keen on having his progeny hike a ride up a tree. His dissent was discreet enough, but the braid makes his complaint known to everyone by responding, "What kind of guy would I be if I let him get hurt?"

"You're not the one who is scaling the tree," replies the Marquis soberly.

The braid laughs self-consciously. "Good point. Trowa, that would be your cue to butt in."

Without further urging from the braid, Trowa states, "If Triton calls to it, we won't have to go far. I'm familiar with the trees in this area. I know which branches to avoid."

Spider monkey.

The Marquis is caught in a difficult situation. He can't challenge his brother-in-law without it being perceived as a snub. Finally, he simply steps aside.

The braid addresses the next possible source of interference. "Catherine, what about you? Do we have the go-ahead?"

There's no dissent from the kid's mother.

Without delay, Trowa acquires the kid and begins his upward journey. Scaling the tree is one thing. Scaling it with a 5-year-old attached to his back while trying to be covert is another matter. It's a display of physical strength and agility I wouldn't have been able to picture. I look around. A number of people are watching with their mouths slightly ajar.

"Someone should record this," comments the blonde.

I turn and look at him, but he isn't the only oddball. Instead of worrying about her spawn, the kid's mother is agreeing with him. They're debating whether it would be selfish to ask someone to run back to get a camera. They both dismiss the idea with a shake of their heads. They wouldn't want to deprive anyone of even a second of the carnival act taking place above them. Then it suddenly occurs to me that, instead of thinking of getting a camera, having someone acquire a ladder would have been more practical. As I turn back to the tree, it becomes clear that that thought is no longer relevant.

I can see the bird. Mission successful. The kid and Trowa are descending and, before long, they're at the foot of the tree. The kid is a little scratched up, but so is his uncle, who is now getting appreciative looks and comments from everyone.

The blonde has been abandoned by the Marquis's wife. He's now flanked by people I don't care to know. I look around. The Marquis and his wife are together and she has a hand on his arm as she speaks to him. I take in his expression. It's one of mild amusement. After his talk with the braid, he'd appeared to be tense, but his wife seems to have placated him with just a few sentences. From just watching them interact, I can see that she is probably the stubbornly good-natured type. Keeping the blonde's company has taught me not to trust consistent, outward cheer. But I don't linger on the thought. There's something else to take note of.

Even with the bird retrieved, the trouble isn't over. The braid is looming over the kid. He interrupts the owner-pet reunion. The kid looks up at him as he says, "You're going to have to hand him over. I'm just going to make sure no one has to scale any more trees."

After the kid gives up the bird, the braid looks around and catches sight of a new target. "Milliardo. I'm going to need--"

Without turning around the Marquis responds, "I have everything you'll require." After a word with his wife, he and the braid walk off.

Someone has approached me from the side. I turn to identify my uninvited company. I'm not inconvenienced. It's Trowa and he's staring at the Marquis's back as he says, "You've finally met…" He waits for everyone to start walking back to the tent before continuing, "You've finally met the person responsible for the successful integration of my leg." His gaze resumes its tracking of the Marquis as he adds, "His talents are far more diverse than he's willing to disclose. Catching hint of that was enough to keep Catherine impressed."