Disclaimers:  We do not own Gundam Wing or any of its characters.

Notes:  Quatre waits around while Heero goes in to talk with Doctor J.  Duo wakes up in a decidedly awkward situation, with a
massive hangover.



Flawed



Part One


Quatre warily watched the building that Heero had only recently gone into.  Just as Quatre had promised, he had gotten Heero
here in record time, getting one of his private shuttles to bring them to L-1.  He had also made sure that a car would be waiting
for them at the port, although he hadn’t requested a driver.  It would be simple enough for Heero to drive the both of them,
since Heero was the only one that really knew where they were going.

Now here Quatre was, standing outside of a rather large building . . . a warehouse that apparently served as Doctor J’s
laboratory.  Heero had gone in alone, telling Quatre once again that he wasn’t to enter the building without good reason.  Quatre
had reluctantly complied to that, but he did let Heero know that if he wasn’t back out in a reasonable amount of time or gave
him word that he was safe inside, Quatre would go in after him.

Heero hadn’t seemed pleased with Quatre’s request, but he had nodded.  Quatre then told Heero the number to his cell phone,
trusting that Heero would easily be able to remember it.  Heero nodded again after Quatre relayed the number to him, then
silently walked away and toward the warehouse.

Quatre sighed, leaning back against the side of the car.  He just didn’t trust J.  There was something wrong about this entire
situation.  Quatre didn’t know what it was . . . it was just a feeling really.  Something deep inside of Quatre’s mind nagged at
him, telling him to be careful, to go in right now and find Heero.

But he wouldn’t . . . no, he couldn’t betray his friend’s trust.  No, he didn’t want Heero to disapprove.  If he busted in there
with no real cause, he would be going back on his word, and then Heero might never trust him with anything again.  That wasn’
t an appealing idea.  Still, he didn’t trust J’s motives.

Quatre wearily rubbed at his eyes.  Sure, he and Heero had taken the opportunity to sleep during the shuttle trip, but Quatre
hadn’t slept all that well.  He worried over why J wanted to see Heero, not trusting the old scientist one little bit.  Who knew
why Doctor J had ordered Heero to come here?  The wars were over, peace had settled . . . there was no reason for J to need
to see Heero, at least no reason that Quatre could think of.

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, tiredly rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.  He hoped
that this wouldn’t take long, fearing for Heero’s safety.  There was just something so terribly wrong here.  Quatre couldn’t
shake the feeling . . . and so he waited impatiently for Heero’s return.


*****


Duo groaned as he came to wakefulness under the tender administration of a jackhammer pounding in his head.  Everything
hurt, from the ends of his hair down to the tattoo on his . . . well, everything just hurt.  ‘That is the absolute LAST time I
drink!’  He opened his eyes slightly and tried to get them to focus on the blur beside him.  ‘GOD, I hope this time I slept with
someone that doesn’t make me wanna puke when I’m sober.’  The image of his last drunken bed companion made Duo’s
stomach roil angrily.  He pushed the memory away, not wanting to make a mess of this bed.

Finally he managed to open his eyes completely, only to wince them shut as a wash of sunlight flowed over him.  It stung
terribly, sending shards of pain through his eyes and worsening his hangover immensely.  He raised his hand, covering his eyes,
shielding them from the harsh light as he tried again.  Slowly he blinked his eyes open fully, allowing them to adjust to his
surroundings moment by moment.

He looked around the room, finding that nothing was familiar to him.  Great, he had allowed himself to be taken to someone else’
s house, probably the one that belonged to the person still asleep beside him.  He looked down at himself, lifting the thin sheet
that covered his body.  He blinked, finding that he was nude beneath the sheet.

Muttering to himself that he wasn’t ever going to drink again, he turned his attention to the motionless body beside him,
wondering if he could figure out who it was.  Luck wasn’t on his side though.  The young man, and he was certain that it was
a man, was lying on his stomach, the back of his head facing Duo.  The sheets were just barely covering him, giving tantalizing
views of slightly tanned skin and his slender hips.  His body was more or less consistently toned, sleek muscles covering his
attractive frame.

Wow, Duo thought, eyeing the person beside him greedily.  This person had such a hot body . . . Duo couldn't help but wonder
what the face that went with it looked like.  Still, Duo wasn’t ready to try and get a better look.  It was time to go, before this
person woke up and decided to either have a conversation with Duo, or see if he wanted to have more fun.  It would just be
better for the both of them if Duo left now.

Shakily, Duo pushed himself to a sitting position on the bed.  Oh man, this was not a good feeling moving throughout his body.  
He was nauseous, achy and tired, his mouth feeling as if he had taken a long lick of some pavement.  Just how much had he
had to drink last night?

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Duo blearily looked around for his clothes.  He couldn’t see them, but that didn’t
mean they weren’t somewhere in the room.  His perception was a bit compromised by the raging hangover he was having.

Dizziness invaded his vision, making the room spin at a maddening pace.  He screwed his eyes shut, holding his aching head
with one hand, his other hand twisted in the sheets that still moderately covered his tired body . . . well from the waist down
anyway.  Still, he knew that he had to leave this bed.  He couldn’t be here when the man awakened . . . previous one-night
stands led Duo to believe that remaining here would only lead to trouble.

He was about to make another attempt at rising, when a hand grasped his wrist.  The grip was gentle, but firm.  Duo bit into his
bottom lip, sighing inwardly.  This was not good, now he’d have to explain himself, or at least come up with some excuse for
needing to leave right now.

“Going somewhere?”  A distinctly familiar voice asked.

Duo turned, his eyes widening as he took sight of Trowa Barton laying in bed beside him.  The brown-haired youth was laying
on his side, his upper body propped up by the arm that he rested his weight on, his other hand firmly holding Duo’s wrist.  His
hair was slightly disheveled, since he had just awakened, but Duo couldn’t help but think that Trowa looked damn good.

Duo couldn’t believe this.  He had slept with Trowa last night?  Oh, this was just perfect.  What better way to top off an
evening of drinking then to fuck one of your best friends?  Duo groaned, wincing his eyes shut as he let himself fall back into
bed.

“You, Trowa?”  Duo asked, not really wanting to believe that this was happening.  “I slept with you last night?”

Trowa chuckled, waiting until Duo looked at him before he said anything.  “Don’t worry so much, Duo.  Nothing happened.”  
He said, his brilliant green eyes sparkling in the early morning light.  Or was it afternoon?  Duo couldn’t tell, but it truly didn’t
matter all that much.

Duo blinked.  He took a glance, looking at the both of them once again.  They were both naked and in bed together.  How could
nothing have happened?  “Yeah, sure . . . right.”  He sighed, shaking his head, regretting the movement almost immediately,
since a sharp pain stabbed through his skull.  “You don’t have to spare my feelings, Trowa.  I’ve had one-night stands before.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”  Trowa responded.  “I may have been drunk last night, but at least I still remember what happened.  
You passed out long before we could do anything . . . interesting.  I undressed us and then went to sleep.  I was far too tired to
rummage around for something to sleep in.”

Duo bit his lip.  “Are you sure nothing happened between us?  I . . . I don’t want anything to spoil our friendship.  You know
what I mean?”  He smiled sheepishly, hoping that Trowa wouldn’t totally hate him.

Trowa smirked, his hair falling into his face.  He shook his head, raising a hand and brushing his bangs back.  “Nothing
happened.”  He repeated.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am in need of a shower.”

Duo nodded.  “I’ll just wait here . . . my head hurts too much to move.”  He commented, closing his eyes.

“All right.  I’ll bring you some Tylenol when I’m done . . . then you can get a shower if you’re up for it.”  Trowa said.

Duo felt the mattress shift as Trowa got out of bed.  He kept his eyes shut though, not only to lessen the throbbing in his head,
but to give Trowa some amount of privacy.  Trowa was in the nude after all . . . he might not want Duo ogling his body.

“Duo?”  Trowa asked.

Duo opened his eyes, looking over to where he thought the voice had come from.  He saw Trowa there, his body mostly
obscured by a door.  Must be the bathroom, Duo thought.  “Yeah?”  He asked in reply.

Trowa smirked, a glint in his eyes.  “That’s a nice tattoo you have.”  He said, a small laugh escaping him before he shut the
door.

Duo’s eyes widened.  Good lord, he had seen it?  Oh, this was far too much.  Bad enough that he had gotten drunk enough to
pass out in Trowa’s bed . . . but Trowa had gotten a look at that stupid tattoo that Duo had on his ass?  Just great, just fucking
great, he angrily thought.

“Why did I get that stupid thing in the first place?”  He asked himself, closing his eyes and throwing an arm across his face.

Of course, at the time, having a tattoo on his ass that said ‘Kiss This’ had seemed quite amusing.  Naturally, he had been drunk
at the time, and it was in celebration of the end of the war . . . how was he supposed to know that girl would start a revolution.

Shaking his head, Duo pulled the sheets up over his head, wanting to just find a hole and sink into it now, to hide for a couple
years or decades maybe.  This situation couldn’t possibly get more embarrassing.  He was just glad that he hadn’t gotten that
second tattoo to accompany the other . . . having ‘Suck It’ written on a more sensitive part of his anatomy would have been a
little too much.  Thank God he hadn’t been drunk enough to go through with it.


*****


Quatre was tired of waiting.  He looked at his watch, frowning when he saw that it had been hours since Heero had gone in
there.  And there had been no word from Heero, nothing saying that he was safe.  Quatre was definitely worried now, his heart
in turmoil.  If he went in and Heero was fine, then he would be betraying Heero’s trust.  But if he wasn’t well and Quatre didn’t
go in . . . the thought was disturbing.

It was a tough decision, but in the end, Quatre decided that he just had to go in.  He had spent hours waiting and Heero had
given him no sign that all was well.  His reasons for going in were sound.  If he had to, he could justify his reasons for breaking
into the warehouse.  Heero was his friend, and he did perceive danger.  He only hoped that Heero would forgive him for this if
he turned out to be wrong.

Sighing to himself, Quatre opened the door of the car.  He climbed in, then reached over to the glove compartment and flipped it
open.  He reached in, pulling out a handgun . . . without Heero’s knowledge, he had requested one to be left in the car . . . he
didn’t trust J.  He also grabbed an extra clip of ammunition.  Taking a moment to check the weapon, making sure the safety
was off and that the clip it held was loaded, he got out of the car.

Cautiously, not sure of what type of security system J had installed in this place, he moved over to the front door.  He checked
the doorknob, only to blink in surprise when he found it to be unlocked.  Either J was completely arrogant, or Heero had made
sure there was a viable means of escape if he needed one.  Quatre didn’t care which one it was at the moment, deciding not to
look a gift horse in the mouth.

He quietly opened the door, peering inside before he finally took his first step into the large warehouse.  Quatre adjusted his grip
on his handgun, swallowing as he looked around.  There was little in sight.  All there was that Quatre could see, were a number
of plastic sheets hanging down from metal poles, the tops of these poles covered by another layer of plastic, which created a
ceiling of sorts.  No doubt J wanted to keep his laboratory sterile, these sheets of plastic could be his means of accomplishing
it.  Besides one single part in the plastic, there didn’t seem to be any other way in or out of it.

Shrugging and knowing that he had no choice, Quatre pushed aside the plastic and continued to look for Heero.  He walked
through a number of labs, keeping his eyes open for any danger, as well as Heero and Doctor J.  The air in here was pure and
chill, and Quatre took note of a number of vents, probably pumping air in and out of the sanitary area.

From a closed off area, Quatre thought that he heard something.  Still, he kept his pace slow and cautious, not wanting to make
a foolish move.  By the time he did reach the closed off portion, his heart was pounding wildly in his chest.  He didn’t know
what he’d find on the other side of this plastic sheet.  It could be danger, or it could be nothing.  The only thing he was sure of,
was that Doctor J was in there.  He heard the old scientist muttering about something, but the words were too mumbled for
Quatre to make out clearly.

Taking a breath to calm himself, Quatre grasped the edge of the plastic.  Pushing it aside, his eyes widened, a gasp catching in
his throat.  His gun faltered in his hand, although he didn’t drop it.  He just couldn’t believe his eyes.

There Doctor J was, the sterile glove on his one hand tainted with blood, holding a bloodstained scalpel.  On the operating table
before him, Heero lay face down and immobile, blood dripping from two fresh wounds, one in the base of his neck, the other
just behind his ear, clamps and retractors holding back the flesh from the open areas.

What in the name of Allah was going on here?



To Be Continued . . .