Snowflakes

[kaigou]

This is for klingonpoo, merith, ravensilver, windsorblue, and anyone else who's overworked, overtired, stressed with life already and trying hard to get into the spirit of the season. This is implied 1=2 and 3=4, but if you skip a few lines, it's mostly genfic. Written in about twenty minutes while the drywall mud set up (so if you're thinking it shows, it may at that; I just included the explanation because it's a quick fun piece, and doesn't try to be anything more).

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Duo took a deep, steadying breath, and walked into the restaurant. Of course Trowa was already there; that just figured he'd get the seat facing the window. Duo slid into the booth opposite Trowa, and nodded when the waitress offered him coffee. Trowa said nothing; it was Duo who'd called this meeting.

"I want a moratorium on Christmas," Duo announced. Better to be blunt.

Trowa's eyebrows lifted a fraction. "I can't see Heero going along with that."

"This isn't about Heero." Duo frowned. "Okay, it is about Heero...and Quatre. I'm not going to stand by and let another year of this go by."

"Quatre enjoys it."

Trowa's expression had settled into those impassive lines Duo knew so well; he'd stared it down across a battlefield and a desk for at least five years now. Sometimes, Trowa across a conference room table, spread out with evidence, was almost more unnerving.

"And I'm sure Heero does, too, but at some point, Quatre needs to realize that he's giving the impression of buying everyone's affection." Duo managed to hide a smile when Trowa's eyes flickered open wider for a split-second before regaining composure. He knew infiltration; he knew the signs to look for, and he'd just scored.

Naturally Trowa would strike back immediately. "Quatre has the means to be so generous, and it pleases him."

"At the cost of displeasing everyone else?" Duo snorted. "Someone has to tell him that."

"I volunteer you."

They stared at each other across the two feet of tabletop, and Duo once again contemplated punching Trowa in the nose. The man could be absolutely insufferable. He was like Heero, but without all the good parts. No, more like Heero if he refused to let Duo see any of the good parts. Duo had no interest in Trowa's good parts, at least not the parts that Quatre sometimes raved about, once he'd had that third glass of whiskey.

"Look." Duo set down the coffee mug with a grimace. "Truce, okay? We're never going to be best friends—"

Trowa didn't quite roll his eyes, but he did look tempted.

"—But at least we can recognize when our partners are going a little too crazy on the competition. It's bad enough they obsess over the other's annual scores, or track each other's resolution rates, and I'm not saying gift-giving is a bad thing. But somewhere, it needs to stop."

"I take it you have an idea."

"Of course."

That time, Trowa did roll his eyes, but only a little. Then he nodded. "Quatre means well, and he does have the money to spend. But it is..." He looked uncomfortable, and glanced away. It was probably the only concession Duo would ever get.

"Okay, then."





"You want us to what?" Quatre stared at Trowa and Duo, then at the warehouse doors. "That's ridiculous. I've had all my Christmas gifts purchased for—"

"They've all been returned." Trowa leaned against the wall, arms crossed, head down. He didn't want to be there, didn't want to see Quatre's face, or hear the disappointment in his voice. As much as Trowa hated to admit it, he'd realized—after a long day to consider it carefully—that Duo's suggestion was the best alternative.

Duo shook his head at Quatre. He looked ready for a fight, and he might've already had one. Heero stood at Quatre's side, eyes narrowed and jaw set.

"You're blowing this all out of proportion," Quatre charged Duo. "You're seeing competition where—"

"You got Wufei a full stereo system, with full-house speakers," Duo retorted. "And you flew him to Sweden to tour the factory before picking it up."

"He's a good friend," Quatre replied, but he blanched.

Trowa sighed. He'd argued against that for a week. Was it really necessary to treat Wufei like he couldn't afford—nor select—a proper stereo? Trowa had seen Wufei's; it worked just fine.

"And you," Duo turned on Heero, "got Wufei a full stereo system for his car, with a gift certificate for three hundred music CDs and a ten year membership to satellite radio."

Heero frowned. He glanced sideways at Quatre, and his scowl deepened.

"I assure you Wufei is more than happy to be the recipient of such largesse, but the man has music coming out of his ears now, and did you ever think to ask him how much he actually uses his stereo?" Duo crossed his arms, looking disgusted. "He listens to public radio to and from work, and at home, he prefers silence."

Quatre and Heero attempted to both look nonchalant. Trowa meanwhile tried to hide the surprise. He wasn't sure whether this was because he'd not expected Duo to actually know anything about Wufei, or whether someone had instituted a new world order—in which Duo and Wufei could have a civilized, non-work conversation—and he'd missed the memo.

"Shall we discuss the gifts you got Sally? Or Noin? Une? Relena? Hilde?"

Duo's voice went up dangerously on the last name, and Trowa winced. Hilde was a small business owner. Her idea of Christmas gifts were limited to hand-written cards and promises to fix any equipment or provide any spare parts, at any time, anywhere, whenever needed. She really couldn't afford more than that.

"Right, then." Duo regarded both men with a serious expression. "These are the rules from now on. Everything you might need for your Christmas gift list is behind that garage door." He held up a finger when Quatre opened his mouth. "Not done yet. Every gift you give must be from both of you. And it must be made by both of you." He nodded to Trowa. "Okay."

Trowa stepped away from the wall and moved to the warehouse storage's doors. Bending down, he raised the garage door to reveal a simple, windowless space, but with the doors facing a brisk December morning, it was at least bright, if not the warmest. In the middle of the large garage-sized space sat an old wooden door balanced on two sawhorses, and two metal folding chairs. Three cardboard boxes waited on the table.

"Duo," Quatre said in a warning tone. He glanced at Trowa, as if to add, I hope you were innocent of this last indignity, and I'll forgive you being duped, but frowned uncertainly when Trowa just gave him a steady look.

"Duo," Heero repeated, and walked into the storage room to pry back one of the boxes. He studied its contents for a long moment, before closing the lid. "Absolutely not."

"Absolutely." Duo shrugged. "That's not a choice. Your competition is out of hand, and this is how you're gonna get over it, before anyone else starts getting over the two of you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Quatre rounded on him, angrily.

Trowa figured it was time he made a show of solidarity, however much it set his teeth on edge. Hopefully Duo wouldn't insist on going drinking to celebrate, or some other Duo-istic noisy nonsense. "He means," Trowa answered, choosing his words with care, "that until the two of you have presents for everyone on the list—" He nodded at a piece of paper that had been on the table, and now was in Heero's hand— "that you will not be getting any...attention."

"Any what?" Heero's fingers tightened dangerously on the paper.

"Nookie, babe." Duo smirked. "Nada. None. Zilch. Z—"

"They get the picture," Trowa cut in. Quatre's mouth had fallen open; Heero's eyes were as big as saucers. Best to retreat before the two of them went into a furious rejected-lover frenzy. "You have all day, and again tomorrow. We've cleared your schedules. Work it out."

He stepped back, and Duo with him, and together they heaved the garage doors down before Quatre or Heero could think to react.

Trowa watched while Duo slid the bolts home. "That's hardly going to hold Heero. And I'm sure the two of them will figure out some way to make white glue into an explosive."

"That's not the point. It's the principle of the thing." Duo popped up to stare through the glass at Heero's and Quatre's shocked faces. "Have fun! Sex in two days if you're good," he yelled, waving cheerfully. Then he grabbed Trowa by the sleeve, dragging him toward the end of the warehouse row. "Come on, I set up cameras last night while Heero was fiddling with the electronic security system he'd gotten for Hilde."

"Cameras?" Trowa perked up. He'd not thought of that; he'd expected his day to be spent at the diner across the street from the storage place, watching to see if Quatre or Heero—or both—snuck out.

"Yeah." Duo opened a door at the end of the row, flipping a switch to reveal another makeshift table, two slightly more comfortable chairs, and three cameras. He toggled the various switches, fiddled with the contrast, and stepped back to wave a hand dramatically at the three views.

"Not bad," Trowa allowed, moving forward.

He had to smile at the scene. Looks like Heero and Quatre had just figured out that the childrens' scissors were all left-handed; only Quatre had the dexterity to manage that, since Heero's war injuries were always worse on the left side, and worse still in winter. Trowa settled into the nearest chair, accepting a cup of hot chocolate from Duo without a word. Quatre had just discovered the white paste was the kind that made him sneeze, and the two seemed to have a few minutes of arguing about what to do.

Duo chuckled softly when Heero and Quatre spent another few minutes pointing fingers at each other, although Quatre seemed to do more of the talking, Heero appeared to be getting in a few shots of his own.

The time passed in silence, in the surveillance room, and Trowa found himself thinking that perhaps Duo wasn't quite so annoying. He'd certainly had a brilliant idea, and Trowa couldn't help but enjoy watching Heero and Quatre settle down to cut out colored paper and glue it onto more colored paper, trying their best with limited experience at child's play.

Although, in some ways, Trowa reflected, it was as much a child's play that he'd never had, either. And he doubted Duo had, for that matter. Impulsively he flipped open his cell phone, dialing Wufei.

"Barton," Wufei answered. "Emergency?"

"No." Trowa pondered that. "Perhaps." He gave their address, but said nothing more and ignored Duo's curious look.

Fifteen minutes later, Wufei arrived, confused and irritated. He met Duo and Trowa at the gates, and Trowa led the way to the storage area while Duo explained their dastardly plan to Wufei. Seems those two could converse without raising their voices, and Trowa put it down to the kindness of the season—or at least his ability to tolerate Duo.

At Heero's and Quatre's holding cell, Duo undid the bolts and Trowa slid the doors up. Quatre and Heero looked up from their work, and Trowa had to smile.

"I think," he said gravely, ushering Wufei and Duo into the storage room, "that perhaps this is something we could all use." Trowa tried to ignore Duo's sudden shocked expression, and Wufei's quick longing glance toward the colored construction paper before masking it with indifference, but it was enough to tell him he'd been right. "Gentlemen, the object is to make gifts for everyone on the list. We must make all of them together, and with nothing more than the materials you see here on the table."

"What is this stuff?" Wufei sniffed at the white paste, and sneezed.

"Kid's glue." Duo stuck his finger in the jar. "I hear it's safe to eat."

"That would explain a lot about you," Wufei muttered.

"Hand me the list," Duo said. "What's the plan for Relena's gift?"

Heero held the scissors, awkwardly trying to cut something out of folded blue paper. "I wanted to make a card with snowflakes on it." He said it quietly, almost as if worried, or perhaps uncertain of the response. "I've heard if you fold the paper..." He set the scissors down, along with the paper, and his jaw clenched.

No one spoke for a second, then Duo held out his hands. "Draw the pattern you want, and I'll cut them."

"We'll need a bigger card, if you're doing the snowflakes that big," Wufei decided. "Two pieces of paper..." He dug around in the second box, bringing up a stack, three inches thick, of every possible color paper. "Or a lot of paper."

"A softer blue, like that one." Quatre pulled out two sheets, laying them side by side. "Do we have tape?"

"Here." Trowa handed it to him from the third box.

They worked in silence for several minutes, but for the sound of boxes being rummaged for more materials, scissors cutting through construction paper, and the squeak of markers across paper. Then Wufei spoke up, in a disgusted tone.

"Whose brilliant idea was it to only bring left-handed scissors?"