Elevator Love part 12
By Tralla

Hootie left. Two days have passed and I have to admit that I’m still somewhat surprised. She seemed like the type to stick around to reassert her dominance rather than flee after a counterattack. I snort. It was a counterattack and it hit a very personal spot. Apparently, I’ve become susceptible to provocation. Perhaps, interacting with the braid has tainted me. I’m not too smart. I’m seeking out his company and further contamination.

I look up. I’ve reached the garage. I open the door and head in with spidey’s two-day-old suggestion as a whisper in my head. The braid looks at me as I step in.

He greets me with his usual candor.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I want a tour.”

“Does this look like Disneyland to you? Tour, my ass. What do you really want?”

He looks me over and then his expression changes. He scratches his head. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” He snorts. “Damn, now I feel like an asshole. Oh well. Fine, what do you want to see?”

“Everything,” I respond.

“Everything,” he repeats as he peers back at me. He mulls it over. “Ok.”

I’m in learning mode. He isn’t belligerent…as long as I don’t goad him. What the blonde said about scorpions carries over to people. He’s only homicidal in defense.

He’s walking ahead, as though he wants me to follow. I do.

“I don’t suppose it’s the cars you want to see,” he says while walking. He glances over his shoulder. “Someone told you to ask, right?” He turns around and is murmuring to himself. “Just can’t believe it took an entire month.”

He’s still mumbling to himself as he stops his trek to field a rag from a bench. He addresses me.

“Dottie left in a hurry. I have a theory as to why.” The braid stretches and looks my way. “You said something to her, didn’t you?”

I play dumb.

He’s grinning. “You beat the previous record. Once, Wufei got her to leave just after a day. But 3 hours… You’re a champ.” He’s wiping off his hands. “Don’t get cocky though. She’ll be back and it won’t be as easy the second time around.”

I snort to myself. It wasn’t an issue of damage control that kept Mr. Forehead’s attention fixed solely on me for the duration of Hootie’s visit. It was rivalry. I’ll add “competitive bastard” to my list of things that are wrong with him.

The braid discards the soiled rag and positions himself in front of a sink. The water is running and he’s scrubbing his hands. He turns off the faucet, dries his hands and then brings them to the collar of his jumpsuit. He unzips it and then pulls off his garage gear. He throws it onto a stool. He’s in civilian attire and grease free.

He calls me over as he resumes walking. I can see where he’s heading. It’s to a metal door.

We’ve reached the door. It’s closed and locked and, for some reason, I know it’s thick.

There’s a light switch just at its side. The braid reaches out to the switch’s face plate, gets a fingernail under one side of it and flicks his wrist. The face plate swings aside. I can see a keypad. Without looking at me, he says, “Do you mind?”

I get the hint and turn around. He taps in his code. It’s a long one and doesn’t sound like a series of repetitions.

“Ok. We’re in.”

We stop walking when we hit the center of the room.

I follow his gaze. Ahead of us is another room separated by long flaps of opaque plastic.

“Ok, Heero. Here we go.”

He sounds like he’s gearing up for a speech. As he takes a brief intake of air, I realize that I’m right.

“I’ve got something better than the Sony AIBO’s,” says the braid loftily. “Let’s see if their half-assed robotic mutts can do this. Shin, get your tail out here.”

I hear barking.

Whatever he’d just called comes bounding out. There’s something strange. My ears catch it before my eyes do. The bounding, the sound of the paws against the floor, doesn’t quite sound right. My eyes catch up with the creature responsible. It’s just stopped in front of us.

It’s got short fur.

It almost looks like a miniature pincher, but it’s all black and the tail isn’t docked.

It’s the braid’s own robotic mutt and it’s looking at me.

“Pet him, Heero.”

“No.”

It’s wagging its tail and simulating panting in my direction. I’m still not convinced. Now, it looks frenetic.

The braid sighs. “Fine, the dog is too scary. Shin, how would you like some fish?”

I assume that was supposed to be some sort of signal for his robotic mutt, but it’s not doing anything. One thing has changed. The eye color, it’s gone from brown to yellow. I keep a snort to myself. A mini light show. But I’m wrong. I watch as it sits on its hind quarters and begins licking its forepaws. It’s cleaning itself. Or, at least, it’s moving as though it is.

The realization is slow. The braid’s robo pet is no longer a mutt, but a cat, in terms of behavior.

“So, what do you think?” The braid tries to make the question sound offhand but he’s really searching for approval.

“It’s still ugly,” I respond.

The braid looks back at me and sighs. “Why did I even ask?” He turns his attention back to his furry contraption. “Shin, mew for Heero.”

It’s probably just my imagination, but it looks annoyed. It gets up, turns its back on him, and walks away with its tail swishing behind it.

The braid sighs disgustedly. “Yeah…cats don’t really take commands. They pretty much ignore their owners…I suppose I made his feline persona too much like the original.”

“The original?”

“My cat, she’s special. Occasionally, my leg doubles as a scratching post. Damned ginger cats, they have tempers.”

He’s forgetting his own sadistic habits. He’s found a kindred spirit in his pet.

He begins walking and as he does he throws over his shoulder, “Hey, I’m grabbing a soda from the fridge. Want to tag along?”

I follow.

He’s explaining why he named his robo pet Shin. I’m not surprised by the choice.

Most inventors come up with acronyms to name their creations, but not the braid. He names his after a body part, one that serves as a scratching post for his demonic cat.

He’s at the fridge. He opens the door, reaches in, retrieves what he wants, stands up, and kicks the door closed

Facing me, he throws a can my way. I catch it. I look at it. It’s cream soda. I don’t open it. He’s already opened his and is slurping away. He’s frothing at the mouth. No, it’s just the foam from the cherry soda. He wipes it away with the back of his hand. He looks my way. He’s got a sloppy grin on. I take a step back.

“You know what, Heero? You’re not that big of an asshole today. Keep acting like this and I may want to get drunk with you.”

Strange. It’s a compliment and I have no problem taking it.

Hootie was partially right. We’re entertainment, but entertainment that also brings a dividend. We’re dancing money bags and the blonde’s an amused, collecting audience.

I glance at the braid. I recall the conversation I overheard between him and spidey. “You’re responsible for his leg.”

He looks back at me. “Trowa’s leg? Yeah. I’m part of it.”

“And the remainder?”

“It’s not my place to say.”

He’s actually showing discretion. Even he seems surprised by it because he finally says, “I can’t tell you everything but... here, follow me.”

He takes me to a side room and switches on the overhead light. I see a table nearly covered with wires, cables, and metal odds and ends.

He gestures to the object positioned at the center of the jumble. “Meet ‘Handsome’.”

I look at what’s sitting up on the table. It’s on a stand and is made up of parts from the disorder on the tabletop. My eyes take in the contraption and what it’s an imitation of: a wrist, a palm, and fingers.

The braid has a hand for a pet. He must be single.

He passes me something. “Here, put this on.”

It’s a glove and has small white balls attached to it. I slip it on. I flex my hand and hear something. I turn my head and move my hand again. The model is miming my movement.

I’m still flexing my hand. I’ve seen this stuff. I know about it, but it’s better to play dumb until I understand more of what’s going on.

I look up as the braid says, “What if Handsome didn’t need your hand? What if he only needed your wrist to send him the right signals?”

He takes in my expression.

“You were on good behavior today, Heero. Social even.” He grins, turns around, and starts walking away as he says, “Give a little, get a little. When you find out why you’re really here, swing by my garage again. I guarantee you won’t be able to get me to shut up.”

I went driving in an attempt to give myself time to digest my interaction with the braid. Through the haze of nonsense he’d said enough to trigger my curiosity when there was initially none.

After two hours of rumination, I return. When get back to my suite, there’s a note for me on the door. It’s from the blonde. He wants me to meet him in his office.

I turn around and head back to the staircase.

Despite how many times I have done this, the six flight trek now seems more significant. I don’t rush. I reach the blonde’s floor in the usual amount of time and head to his customary hangout.

I see him. He’s standing in front of his desk with his back to me. I barely get my foot into his office before he whips around and turns on me. “You were spying on me,” he snaps.

He’s pissed. It’s obvious and the suddenness of his reaction disarms me enough that I respond without thinking. “How did you--”

He takes a deep breath and manages to appear slightly more composed. “I didn’t…not with certainty until…” he responds while refusing to drop his gaze.

I was glaring to gain the upper hand via intimidation.

He picks up a light fixture from his desk. It’s built like a candelabra. I’d hidden a small camera in one of the adornments. He could have removed the camera without disturbing the fixture, but he didn’t. It looks like he’d yanked it out of the wall, the way a frustrated grounds keeper might handle a stubborn weed.

I look up as he says, “I don’t like being watched, Heero.” He tosses the fixture to me.

I catch it easily. The wires are jutting out of it. The frayed tail of one is scratching the back of my hand.

He’s still talking. “I would have shared my suspicions earlier but…I didn’t want to do this.”

I feel like I’m caught in the past, in some weird kind of déjà vu, because he walks up to me, places his hand on my shoulder, and says, “You’re fired.” He isn’t smiling this time around.

“What?”

“You heard me. Pack up your belongings. I want you out of your suite.”

I know my mouth is hanging open. I manage to shut it.

He releases me and turns around.

His back is towards me as he says, “I’ll have Duo help.”

He gave me until morning.

Part 13