The Peace-Time Routine: Let's Have some FUN
Oakwood

All in all, Trowa was having a wonderful day. The couch he was lounging on was sufficiently over-stuffed, and perfect for reading, and the open window let the summer sunlight stream in. The slight breeze carried a few strains of bird-song in, and Trowa almost smiled. There had been no missions in three weeks while the Colonies and Earth gingerly upheld a cease-fire in accordance with a series of peace talks. Oz and the Romefeller Foundation were too busy with political posturing to stir up any trouble for now. Trowa’s circus troupe was on a much needed vacation after that Knife-Throwing-While-Aloft-a- Handheld-Chair-for-Three disaster. He was sure Olaf the strong man’s herniated disk would be fine after a good rest, and Catherine only needed 25 stitches (8 less than last time), so she would be up and about in no time. Trowa flipped a page on his book and wondered whether or not the other two clowns would make full recoveries. He really should send them a get well card.

He heard Quatre’s voice, slightly louder and more strained than usual, echo down a flight of stairs by the window. “DU-O!!!! If you would please. It’s very difficult to read from that angle.”

“But isn’t it more interesting this way?” The pilot’s unmistakable American twang floated down after Quatre’s voice.

“No.” There was a finality in Quatre’s tone that made Trowa chuckle. Duo had better watch himself. The smaller, blonde boy may be kind and even-tempered, but he was a Gundam pilot, and even Quatre had a breaking point.

Trowa had almost managed to forget that all five Gundam pilots were in the small house Quatre had rented during the mission break. Toward the end of the first week, after the cover stories had been established, and the Gundams hidden thanks to Quatre’s team of Fez-Topped, Roving Desert Mechanics*, or whatever they were called, the five boys had been left alone in the house with not much to do. With no school, and no chance of escaping via Gundam without blowing their cover, there was more than a heaping helping of toe-stepping, fist fights, and a few death-treats from Heero, before they all settled into a sort of Peace Time routine.

Something hit the side of the stairwell with an impressive thunk. “All right, all right,” Duo’s voice protested. “No need to start throwing things!” A door slammed upstairs. “Yeesh.” Duo tromped down the steps in a sulky manner. “Who’d have though the Q-ster could be such a crank?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Trowa saw Duo enter the room and look in his direction. He lifted the book up higher to obscure what little was visible of his face.

“Hey there Sad Clown!” Duo said brightly flopping onto the couch next to Trowa, and nearly pitching the Silent One onto the floor in the process. “Can you believe Quatre?” he asked ignoring the Heero-worthy glare Trowa gave him. “A BEA-utiful day like today, and all he wants to do is sit with his nose inside a moldy, old book.”

“Imagine that.” Trowa scooted further down the couch, and rearranged some pillows to become comfortable once again.

Duo strained his neck to get a look at the title on Trowa’s book. “You too? Whatcha reading?”

“Nietzsche.”

“Any good?”

“So exciting, I can barely keep my pants on,” Trowa dead panned.

“Oh yeah? What’s the story?”

Trowa sighed and put down his book. There was no getting rid of him today. “There’s no plot, per say. It’s a philosophy book.”

Duo made a horrified expression which closely resembled that of an art student who had been forced in front of a quantum physics equation. “WHAT?!?!? You mean people read that sort of thing on PURPOSE!” He shuddered.

Trowa sighed again.

The Braided Wonder jumped off the couch with enough force to dislodge Bang Boy once again. “You, my friend, need to have some real fun.”

“And what, pray tell, would that be?”

Duo’s eyes beamed with unconstrained glee. “Follow me.” And with that he skipped out of the room like a constipated bunny.

Trowa rolled his eye. “Why am I doing this?”

He followed Duo’s madly hopping braid into the kitchen where Heero was sitting at the kitchen table typing on his lap top.

“Heeeeeeeero--” Duo called sweetly, “we need to borrow your computer.”

Heero didn’t even blink. “Drop dead, Maxwell.”

“Heero, Heero,” Duo said with a shake of his head. If you DON’T let us borrow your lap top, I’ll tell a certain group of mobile suit monkeys what web sites you’ve been visiting, TuxMsk 01.” He annunciated the last word forcefully.

Heero’s eye twitched. “If you do,” he growled, slowly getting out of his chair “I’ll stop your never-ending prattle by ripping out your voice box!” Heero’s normally cold, impassive eyes blazed with sudden fury. Trowa took a step back despite himself.

Duo sat down on the edge of the table. “You’re not the only trained soldier in this room." He grabbed the end of his braid and smoothed out the haphazard hair. "Think you can kill me before I spill?” He looked calmly up at Heero. “We only need it for a little bit.”

Heero straightened and stepped from behind the computer. “Fine,” he said in his normal monotone. He let the room without a word or a glance at either Trowa or Duo.

Trowa eased the air out of his lungs. "You realize he's going to kill us in our sleep, don't you?"

Duo waved his hand about impatiently. "Details, details." He flung himself into the newly vacated chair, and began to skitter his fingers across the keyboard. He chuckled to himself. "You know, for being the "Perfect Soldier," Heero sure was careless leaving all of those Sailor Moon fics bookmarked. It took me practically no time at all to pick the lock on his door, avoid those booby traps, and hack his computer."

"What?"

"Nothing," Duo sang merrily, continuing his steady stream of typing.

Trowa shook his head. He knew the Yank was balmy, but he never suspected he was suicidal.

"A-HA!" Duo jumped up knocking the chair over and latched onto Trowa's wrist. "I knew there was something cool going on."

"What is 'something cool?'" Trowa twisted out of Duo's grip.

"You'll see! Now," he grabbed a handful of Trowa's bangs, "come ON!"

Half an hour and one stolen ("No, BORROWED, Trowa") car later, Trowa's scalp still hurt where he had been pulled into Duo's little "adventure." "Where are we going?" he asked for what seemed like the ninetieth time.

Duo interrupted his whistling to give the same answer, "You'll see." He turned a corner sharply rising two of the wheels off the pavement in the process.

Trowa fought down the ever-rising urge to strangle him, reasoning, that for one thing, Duo was driving, and that could cause a moment of complication when the car went careening out of control, and for the other, despite his annoying habit of forcibly kidnapping friends by their hair, he was a damn good pilot, and he might actually be needed in the next fight. Instead Trowa sunk back down into a sullen silence.

"Music?"

"Hn."

"Who are you supposed to be? Heero?" Duo hit the power button on the radio, and Jim Morrison suddenly wailed through the speakers.

People are strange, when you're a stranger . . .

"DUO!" Trowa tried to yell over the music. "ISN'T THIS A BID LOUD?"

Faces look ugly, when you're unloved . . .

"WHAT?" he screamed back.

Trowa smacked the power button. The Doors slammed into silence.

"WHAT?" Duo shouted even louder, directly into Trowa's ear.

Just when Trowa had decided, good pilot or no, he was going to KILL Duo, he of three foot hair hit the brakes, throwing the fuming Heavy Arms jockey against his seat belt. Trowa looked in amazement at their destination.

"A library? he sputtered.

"Yep."

"A LIBRARY?"

"Wait 'till you see what's going ON at the library." Duo flashed a grin that would make a lesser man moisten the seat below him. Trowa just stared at him. "Well come on, Boring Butt," Duo said. He unlatched his seat belt, got out of the car, and pulled a small bag out of the backseat. "Let's go!" He pulled his black baseball cap on.

For the second time that day Trowa found himself following the erratic bouncing of Duo's braid with a rising feeling of dread.

Whatever was going on had attracted a large enough crowd. Throngs of people were milling about, or buzzing excitedly to each other in packs. Strangely, Trowa noted, they all appeared to between the ages of 5-12, save for the small clans of college students clumped on the edges of the library. Duo and Trowa instinctively blended into a group of college kids near a shadowy patch of wall to avoid being seen. They had a clear view of the library's front doors. Duo was rocking on his heals in excitement. "This is it," he said.

A gold banner strung across the building's facade read: TODAY ONLY! J.K. Rowling! Why is that name so familiar, Trowa thought.

"A book signing?" he asked as recognition dawned on him.

"Not a signing," Duo corrected, "a READING."

Trowa crossed his arms and leaned against the building. "You dragged me all the way down here for a moldy, old book reading?"

"It's not a moldy, old book," Duo snorted, but Trowa noticed he had gone slightly pink in the ears, and he had pulled the brim of his baseball cap down a bit further.

"A moldy, old children's book reading."

Duo had now gone red in the ears. "What? Just because I don't sit around reading Neecha--Neechiet . . ."

"Nietzsche."

"Whatever! I thought that this would be something fun. Just to get out of that house before we end up as high strung as Wufei. You like reading, this is a fun story--" Duo's face had turned the same shade of crimson as his ears. "Bah! Forget it!" He threw his hands in the air. "If you want to go home, go ahead." He turned away from Trowa and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Trowa looked over Duo's head toward the library. The group of kids standing closest to the doors was jumping up and down, shouting, and laughing in highly contagious giggle fits. They all looked so excited, just like Duo had. Trowa looked over at his fellow pilot. The brim of Duo's hat obscured all but his mouth, which was set in a tight line. One hand was crammed in the pocket of his black riding pants, and the other was gripped on the black bag over his shoulder. Trowa knew he had his gun, several clips, and grenades in that bag. He might look like he was drowning out the world, but at any given moment, Duo was prepared to fight, even though there was hardly an Oz threat in a library crowded with kids, parents, and college students. Trowa was suddenly aware of the straps of leather across his back where a holster held a gun in place under his jacket.

Trowa sighed and watched a group of about five boys reverently debating the extent of Harry Potter's powers. One brown-haired mischief maker apparently suggested something enormously funny, because they all lapsed into uncontrollably laughter.

"What did you say this book was about?" he asked without taking his eyes off the group of boys in front of them.

"Huh?"

"This book. What's the story line? If I'm going to hear a selection from it, I want to at least be able to understand the gist of the plot." Trowa looked down at Duo.

He beamed. "Well there's this kid, Harry, he lives with these mecca, super bastards the Dursleys, and he finds out on his eleventh birthday he's a wizard. Did I mention he's English? Anyway, these Dursleys . . ."

-------------------~~*~~---------------------------~~*~~-------------------

* Yes, I know the name of Quatre's group of Fez-bearing friends are the Maganac Corps, but I thought "Fez-Topped, Roving Desert Mechanics" sounded funnier.

** Trowa just seems like the Nietzsche type, doesn't he?

***"People Are Strange" by Jim Morrison, borrowed from The Doors. I love that song.

****Harry Potter, of course, belongs to its authoress J.K. Rowling