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Author: FancyFigures
True Colours + Part 11 The exhibition was at an end - rather spectacularly for many, after the sensational sight of Duo Maxwell in a firm and obviously familiar lip lock with Heero Yuy, his patron and landlord! Journalists rushed to meet the next day's copy - Remy and her entourage also left swiftly, in a fit of pique because no photographer worth his salt was going to be looking at her now. Some of the sponsors rushed for the exit, grumbling about bad publicity and the fickleness of public opinion - others smiled more tolerantly at the handsome young men, and took their time about leaving, admitting to themselves that publicity was never bad, however shocking. Those who had bought paintings, or discussed future business with the Yuy Corporation, scrambled out of the building to call their head offices and consult their brokers. Quatre was heard to say to more than one such speculator that 'the value of investments may go down as well as up!' and his wickedly knowing smile made many suspicious that it wasn't the NASDAQ he was talking about.The after-show party would go ahead, of course, regardless of any scandal or shock! Quatre stood beside Malia at the door to 'remind' departing souls of the party, and to shake his head non-committally in response to enquiries as to whether Heero would be there - whether Duo was painting again regularly - whether the 'newly-discovered' couple would be announcing their private plans and intentions at that time. Quatre tried not to snap the heads off the people who were being so intrusive; who asked such ludicrous things. Wouldn't he have adored such a scene if it were anyone other than his own friends involved? Instead, he savoured the immense satisfaction of seeing the establishment so disturbed! He also tried to swallow the almost irresistible desire to tell the editors of the city papers that Heero and Duo were the love children of a past President and a spandex-clad punk rock chick, and would be consummating their forbidden love in Times Square on New Year's Eve to the accompaniment of a symphonic orchestra and a flight of blue doves. He knew he probably didn't need to. The gossip preceded them already. + Heero and Duo eventually parted, only to see their guests being shepherded out, and their friends attempting to minimise both shock and reputational damage. And Tony, still grinning. With a rueful grin of his own, Duo offered himself to help with the clearing up, and Heero went to speak to Malia. Trowa was collecting up the discarded catalogues, and wondering if he wasn't perhaps getting in people's way, rather than being useful. Heero had explained that they'd leave the fittings in the gallery tonight, and the removal firm would arrive for them tomorrow. Most of the paintings would remain, as well - though a few of the more famous and exclusive items had already been reclaimed by their owners. All the people left at the gallery were exhausted; they were all still buzzing with the excitement. Malia and Tony and their assistants were almost itching to get to the celebrations. There would be plenty of time the next day to deal with the practicalities. Trowa caught sight of Duo standing by the perspex screen, an empty glass in his hand that had obviously been forgotten by the caterers, and his eyes following Heero wherever he went. Trowa felt a sharp, poignant ache in his heart. He'd not seen that look in Duo's eyes since before Solo died; and even then, it had never been that vibrant. "Aren't you leaving for the party soon, Duo?" "Nah - Heero 'n me... we think it's best we don't go. Caused enough of a stir tonight, eh? Don't really want to, to tell you the truth. It's not my scene nowadays." Heero 'n me... Duo shivered inside at the affection that inspired. Trowa's voice was low, and a little hesitant. "Solo would have loved it, Duo - your picture." Duo turned as if he'd suddenly awoken, and he grimaced. "He'd have said it was crap!" Trowa laughed, then. "Maybe. But he'd have said it was fucking talented crap!" The words sounded quite shocking in Trowa's quiet tones. "That's what he said about all your work!" "What?" Duo's eyes widened, startled. "He loved it! He loved you. He was jealous of your style, Duo, your boldness." "Never said anything - he laughed -" Duo was struggling with disbelief; with old-remembered hurt. "OK," sighed Trowa. "I know. Solo laughed at a lot of things he shouldn't have. But he told me all about it, privately - every time you painted anything at all, he told me you were sharp and bright, and he was damned proud of you. Wished he had the feel for colour that you did. And then he'd tell me not to breathe a word to you, or your head would get even damned bigger!" "Shit..." breathed Duo. "That sure sounds like Solo. Guess I'd better believe you..." "Solo wasn't good at understanding other people's needs - at encouraging; at nurturing. Everyone needs that, eh?" Trowa touched his arm - he had no qualms about breaking Solo's confidence now; should have done it a long time ago, maybe! "But you were just as bad, Duo - you'd never listen to him; never hear his feelings under your damned arguments." Duo looked astonished at the whole conversation - at Trowa's frankness. "Guess there's some truth in all of it, Trow. Maybe Solo did love my pictures - but he was also right about me 'n my colours. I used 'em to hide things, as well as display. They served me one way - and they betrayed me another." Duo watched Quatre on his way over to join them. He and Heero had been amused to find that neither of their best friends looked like they were leaving the gallery until late. Duo liked to think it was 'cos they were aiming for some hot sex later on, stretched over the beechwood catalogue table. He wasn't discouraged from that vision, even when Trowa had explained that they were offering to lock up so that Duo and Heero could rest after the exhausting day they'd had. Quatre supported Trowa, pretending that the Assistant Editor he once coveted had taken up a better offer for the evening. He wasn't particularly convincing. Now Duo flicked an amused glance at the attractive blond, though he could see that Quatre's eyes were on his companion. Trowa must have been aware of the concentrated gaze directed at him; but he seemed to be deliberately avoiding it. "I'm learnin' so many things afresh, Trow," Duo sighed. "It's like goin' back to school -" "And Solo told me once that you spent next to no time there anyway," said Trowa, wryly. Duo grinned back. Trowa basked in the joy on his face - the contentment; the excited hopefulness. "So - is that more pillow talk, Trow?" Trowa raised an eyebrow. "Maybe." He laughed - Duo's happiness was infectious! They both saw Heero on his way over now, as well. His jacket was discarded, his impatient eyes barely focussing on Malia and Tony and their team, as they finally left the gallery. His gaze was all for Duo - dark, and excited, and full of desire for so many things. Trowa laid a gentle hand on Duo's arm and tipped his head towards the dark-haired man. "Pillow talk, yeah. So go get some of your own, OK?" + The digital clock on the office block across the road showed 3 a.m. and the road was silent and deserted. The sound of the gallery lock being worked open seemed to echo very loudly, but there was no-one around on the street to hear it. The door gave a shudder, and creaked ajar; a slim body, dressed all in black clothing and hooded as well, slipped through the gap. The door closed almost silently behind it. A discarded page from a catalogue whispered softly in the sudden draught, and vanished under a shrouded table. The figure paused, as if surprised that there was no reaction - no sound of alarm. Then it reached into a bag slung across its torso, and pulled out a torch and a collection of other small tools. There was no light in the gallery itself - and outside in the business district, an occasional logo or clock was the only illumination. There were strange, deep shadows across the floor. Sections of staging and empty pallets had been packed against the walls after the exhibition; now they loomed out of the half-light like small, stunted mountains. Paintings of many shapes and sizes still hung on the walls, though dustsheets covered them now. Some had been taken down and were stacked in careful piles. One of the floorboards creaked as the intruder moved towards one of these piles. It started to run its gloved hands over the paintings, feeling around the frames; pulling away the packaging and covers as quietly as possible. Then a single light snapped on. There was a sudden negative effect, and the people in the gallery were thrown into sharp, black relief against the pale walls. Then everyone's eyes adjusted, and the two figures at the back of the gallery were recognisable as Trowa Barton and Quatre Winner. Quatre had his hand on the light switch by the screen - Trowa stood beside it. The solitary spotlight made the perspex shine ethereally in the centre of the deserted gallery. The black-clothed figure let out a gasp of shock. It was astonishing that the two men had been standing there so silently that they'd been invisible up until now. "The alarm has been deactivated," said Trowa, softly yet firmly. His voice rippled in the darkness of the room. "We were expecting you." The intruder at the door straightened up; tall, lithe, slender to the point of skinny. It was still mainly in shadow. The dark, khaki clothes hid the figure for a moment, but as it moved towards them, its hand reached up and stripped the black hood from its head. Shoulder-length auburn hair swung softly against a graceful neck. Remy de Haas stared fiercely and warily at them. "Interestin' outfit," murmured Quatre. "But then I understand that camouflage gear is the new black this season..." "Am I meant to be shocked that it's you?" asked Trowa, clearly. She didn't answer. "What are you looking for, Remy? The exhibition is over, as you well know." "There's nothing here for you, bitch," growled Quatre. Trowa held out a hand, as if to restrain him from moving towards her. "Heero's here -" she said quietly, her high voice shimmering in the tense atmosphere. Her eyes looked a challenge at both of them, though her face was very pale. "He's got no interest in you, darlin'," said Quatre. "And I don't think you're here to pay your respects to him, are ya?" "They're not here, Remy," said Trowa. "They? I don't know what you're talking about, sweetie," she said. Her voice sounded more confident now. "The missing sketches," said Trowa. "The ones you've been looking for, for months now. The ones that would make up the whole set of six, and vastly increase the value of the four that have already been sold to an anonymous buyer in Hong Kong." "You're talking nonsense," she snapped, turning to stare at him. The spotlight's reflections shook briefly in her eyes. "That's nothing to do with me. You're both mad, creeping about in the dark like this. What are you doing here yourselves?" She flashed a look of pure venom in Quatre's direction. "I know the bastard boy Winner, of course I do, but who the hell are you? Another of the Playboy's little paramours?" Quatre flushed angrily, but Trowa was ominously calm. "I'm Trowa Barton. I was Solo Maxwell's lover." Remy hissed in a sharp breath. Her calculating eyes ran the length of Trowa's body, and for a second, she grew rigid. Then she smiled - a thin, cruel shape on such a beautiful mouth. "So was I, honey." "I know that," said Trowa, softly. "Do you think he wouldn't have told me all about his other lovers? It was part of the fun for him - part of the thrill. To tell me all about it... The way that you felt in bed - the things that you'd say to him. The special attentions that you'd ask for, again and again..." Remy gasped audibly, though she tried to hide it with anger. "Don't try those games on me, you pathetic bastard! You're the one he left at home while he was playing with me -" "Playing..." echoed Trowa. "Those are your words, Remy, and that's the truth. For that's what it was." "And now what?" she said, her voice tight. Her hands were clenched at her sides. "You haven't answered me as to what you're doing here." "Perhaps we wanted to see if you'd turn up tonight - if we were right about you. Like I said, they're not here," repeated Trowa. Her eyes narrowed - there was a sly look in them. A greedy look that she couldn't hold back. "So where are they, then? I know there were six, and I won't believe the lies of anyone who tells me different. Are you telling me everything was on display tonight? What about the rest of Heero's collection? What about baby brother Duo himself? Don't expect me to believe that he wouldn't have had some nice little souvenirs of his brother's work, kept to himself. If they weren't on show tonight - they must be stored somewhere -" "And that's what this is about, Remy, isn't it? You've been searching for quite a while now - ever since you dated Solo. You've been looking for anywhere the sketches might be - anywhere connected with Duo Maxwell." She pursed her lips. "I don't know where this fantasy is coming from -" "I was pretty sure you dated Solo Maxwell at the time of his death," Quatre broke in. "And I knew you were an art collector - amongst many other things. It wasn't until Heero told me the whole story of how the four sketches were sold out of the estate when Solo died, that I began to wonder if there was a connection. Trowa confirmed your involvement with Solo at that time - he helped me think some things through." "So bright..." she hissed, her voice loaded with sarcasm. "But that drawling, posturing act of yours - don't you know that it's only the stink of money that gets anyone between your legs?" Quatre's eyes shimmered with fury, and it was Trowa who answered her, sharply. "So we know what you're after. I daresay it was you who broke into the gallery when Heero first showed interest in buying it -" "And Heero's house!" Quatre spat out. "And now here again," continued Trowa. "Round and round in circles, looking for something that probably doesn't even exist -" "Damn well does!" burst out from her sculpted lips, startling the men. Anger and pain were mixed in her words. "He told me he'd finished them - all six!" "They were Duo's - all of 'em," said Quatre. He had some control of his voice, but the fury was still obvious, bubbling underneath. "They were to be mine! The little fucker owed me!" The obscenities were even more ugly from Remy's delicate mouth. "He wanted to sell them to me - he said so!" "That's a lie!" Quatre almost spat the words. Trowa stirred at his shoulder, and he turned with an almost protective gesture towards him. "Trowa -?" Trowa's laugh was like a finger scraped over glass. Even Quatre flinched. "You're right, Quatre. It's a lie. He would never have sold them willingly - and never to her." "He promised them to me!" she hissed. Her face was twisted now, with her anger. "All six! And then he started talking about only the four - mocking me -" Trowa laughed again - it was a cruel, painful sound. "Like you said, honey - he was playing with you! He told at least three lovers a month that he drew for them - that he would give them his work. That they'd be rich - that they'd be immortalised." Remy's eyes hardened. "Of course he did - and I heard him! I knew what he was like, even before I caught his eye - even before I contrived to meet him; and to take him to bed. But why shouldn't it be the truth for me? Solo Maxwell cared nothing for his work when it was done - the creation was everything to him. I wanted those sketches badly - it was right that I had them!" "You had no rights at all, though, did you?" said Trowa. His green eyes were like deep, viscous pools of anger, and they were fixed on Remy's flushed face. "And no influence over Solo any more. Because it was over - the affair was over. You and him. He dumped you!" Quatre watched her face - saw the spasm of total disgust that twisted her expression. Trowa's words rasped in the charged air. "No-one knew that but me - and you. He meant the sketches for Duo - he always had. He never had any intention of selling or giving you anything. He laughed when he told me you were chasing them - he laughed, and he said that you'd believed every lie he ever told you, and that you were nothing but a liability now. Dammit, he wasn't known for caring about an ex-lover's sensibilities - he'd normally just have cut you dead. But he knew you'd be at the exhibition that night. He told me he'd finish with you then. He had a sick sense of humour, did Solo Maxwell." "They were to be mine..." Her breath was more of a whisper. Her body was rigid with fury and resentment. "No they weren't," came Trowa's answering sigh. "But you took advantage of the confusion after his death, and took 'em anyway," snapped Quatre. His voice was very clear. Remy turned back to him, her eyes sharp again. "You're talking shit, Winner - it was an arms' length sale, remember? Everyone in the business knew that. Had to be, to satisfy probate -" "Like fuck it was!" snapped Quatre, almost cheerfully. His own blue eyes matched hers; his shone like flints. "There's little love lost between us, eh, Remy? I've always thought you an empty-headed, self-obsessed little bitch -" "You're just jealous that your own bid for 'em wasn't even in the frame -" Quatre smiled, but it never reached his eyes. It was an eerie sight - Trowa was fascinated to see the depth of dislike in the handsome face; and he was a little awed. "Whatever. But recently I've changed my mind about you, honey! I've been investigatin' your affairs for a long time, now - and that's your business affairs, not your sordid and predatory bedroom career. You know I've been watchin' you - you know how I feel. Ever since you ruined a couple of my friends' peace of mind - ever since you got your claws into Heero Yuy... Hell - I don't usually do a statutory search on my friends' lovers, but you, dear heart, are an exception!" He moved slightly towards her, and this time Trowa didn't stop him. "Remy de Haas, the dim little model. We all believe that with so much beauty, brains must be sacrificed in exchange. But that's not the case for you, is it?" The model stood silently now - her hands shook slightly. Her eyes were wary, and concentrated entirely on Quatre. "I always knew you were acquisitive; and greedy - but I guess I thought it was your natural instinct. Now I find it's a hell of a lot more than that - it's a career choice! You've invested well - you've had representation at every major auction in the city for the last three years. Your art collection - that I can identify specifically - is second only to the state gallery itself. You've bought and sold art for years under your nominees; the main agent being located in Hong Kong." Her eyes widened; his didn't waver. "You bought those sketches, Remy - you bought them for yourself. I ain't got all the details yet, but I will! Somehow you tricked the estate, you tricked Solo's wishes, and you tricked Duo Maxwell out of his inheritance. All for your own greed!" "And you're still not satisfied..." hissed Trowa, beside him. For a moment, they stood together, the two men, united in their hatred for the woman in front of them. They breathed together - they shared the same cold anger. Then there was another sound behind them; another slice of muted light appeared at their feet. The door up to the apartment had opened wide. Heero Yuy stood there, framed at the open doorway, dressed in sweat trousers and a rather garish red tee shirt, and staring with astonished anger at the gathering in front of him. + When Heero and Duo had gone on up to the apartment at the end of the show, leaving their friends to lock up, they'd kissed again - and again! - and had started to talk more about the evening, and how they felt, and what they thought would be their future. Then Duo had yawned loudly in Heero's face, and they'd laughed instead. Heero had undressed Duo, gently and protectively, and lain down beside him on the narrow bed. "Gotta get a wider bed," sighed Duo. He'd yawned again. "Your damned hips are too bony..." and then his eyes closed. Heero had watched Duo fall asleep, quickly and deeply, exhausted by the day's events. They'd not even had sex. He didn't mind. It was a measure of what they'd been through that they wanted to lie together - that it wasn't just their desire leading them for once. Heero found that he couldn't settle himself as quickly - there was too much going around in his mind to rest. He lay quietly beside Duo, his arm around him, listening to the thick, relaxed breathing of his lover and staring at the walls. There was a hell of a lot to think about, of course. The exhibition had been another incredible success, and he thought that Duo's career might be racing ahead of anything they'd ever envisaged. He realised what a vibrant, unpredictable talent he'd snared in Duo Maxwell. He was glad for him - of course he was! - but he couldn't help but think that Duo wouldn't want to stay in this gallery. Given the choice, he'd probably want to work elsewhere - travel - look for a gallery of his own again one day. He'll leave me, thought Heero, though he knew he was being unreasonable. He and Duo had something special, didn't they? They'd be together, however far he travelled... He just wouldn't have him with him - like this, in bed beside him - every night. And the gifted picture - dear God, the picture! Heero had been blown away by it. His appreciation of art had come to him only lately, but it had been a deep and rewarding interest. He'd acquired pieces for his collection that were his own personal choice - that spoke to him in some way. He didn't broadcast what he owned; he'd rarely shown them, though he'd made some of the paintings available for Duo for the exhibitions. Duo's drawing had been created for him. It had spoken Duo's thoughts to him - displayed Duo's emotions. He felt that it wasn't just a gift for him, but for them. When he thought of it, he thought of joy; of desire; of the connection between them. Of the future. He wasn't sure what first made him aware of the noises down in the gallery, but he was alert in a moment. He pulled on some clean sweats of Duo's that lay by the bed, and a tee shirt that was slightly more modest than Duo's usual look; he wanted something that was quick and easy to dress in, to go down to investigate. He couldn't believe that Quatre was still down there, or Trowa. Hadn't he heard the lock of the door some hours ago? When he peered down the stairwell, he couldn't see much light from the gallery. His steps down were quiet, and wary. He opened the door very slightly at first, and no-one noticed him. It had been a surprise to see Quatre and Trowa still downstairs, standing in the semi-darkness. It had been even more of a shock to see Remy de Haas there as well. He'd listened to their conversation for a while; and then he'd become incredibly, fiercely angry. He pushed the door wide open, and stepped forward into the gallery to join the unlikely gathering. + "What did you hear?" asked Quatre. Heero stared a little at his friend's harsh tone. It was a side of Quatre that he'd rarely seen; though he had to admit that he felt very harsh, himself. "Enough, I think. Is this why you two stayed late tonight?" "We thought she'd come tonight - the temptation would be irresistible, with both you and Duo at the exhibition; the potential of the sketches being here all the time. Because there were so many paintings here, we thought that she'd suspect that there may be even more, hidden or stored away on the premises." Trowa's voice was tired - his face looked pale and drawn. "Y'know, I may have mentioned something of the sort during the exhibition..." murmured Quatre. "Within earshot of a few of her loose-tongued assistants...guess the rumour got passed on, eh?" "We already suspected her for the other break-ins. Guess we wanted to force it out into the open -" Trowa looked a little like he was regretting the whole thing; as if he wasn't sure where they went from here. "Call the police then," said Heero, sharply. They all turned to look at him. Remy's laugh cut like a blade through the tension. "Things are that simple for you, aren't they, Heero Yuy? Decide what you want - make the decision. That was one thing I found attractive about you in the first place - a single-mindedness I can recognise in myself! But what are you going to say to these police? You've no proof that I've committed any crime." Her lips were curling in a smile again. "Just the fantasies of your amateur detective buddies here." "You broke in," Heero stated. His jaw looked tight. She laughed. "Who'd believe I was some kind of a burglar? How ridiculous you'll all look, three grown men harassing a young girl like myself. A popular, famous, fairly simple young girl like myself." Her eyes were sly again. "After all, didn't you invite me yourself here tonight? I think you may have wanted to apologise to me - in a more private setting - for your neglect of me earlier. Or that's what I believe my story will be if you try to suggest I forced my way in here uninvited." She drew herself to her full height. In the black clothing, even though it looked faintly bizarre, she was tall and elegant and impossibly beautiful. She demanded attention - her charisma told the story her way. "And you have nothing to connect me with any other - ah - similar visits." "There were fingerprints taken by the police, both times," stated Heero. "You were obviously careless during some of those visits." Her eyes flashed a warning at him, a measure of her anger. Then she looked at him pityingly. "But even if it were me, honey, it's not as if I'm on file, is it? And if they attempt to take my prints for comparison, without my permission, I'll sue, believe me -" "They don't need to," said Heero, softly. "What -?" "We have your prints already," he continued. "Voluntarily given." He looked over Trowa's shoulder and his eyes were dark and unfathomable. Remy followed his gaze; she saw the perspex screen, glowing faintly from the localised light. Saw the riot of coloured marks all over it - the evidence of a fun and frivolous time had by all, that very evening. Saw the individual fingerprints of all the guests... Red paint; blue; yellow. Remy went white. Quatre stepped forward again, to stand by Heero's side. "Give it up, Remy. Admit it all. You've been discovered. Perhaps we can come to some kind of an agreement for you to leave Heero alone..." Heero's hand stopped him. "No, Quatre. No agreement." Now he approached Remy; she tried not to flinch as he came within striking distance, though his hands stayed at his side. Despite the casual clothes, and the obvious evidence that he'd been in bed, he looked as cool and sharp as if he were in a board meeting; as if he were in charge of the whole agenda. "I always wondered why you dated me in the first place, Remy. Anyone who knows me, knows that I'm hardly a typical designer accessory. I understand now that it was because I had an art collection - that's how we met, after all. And of course, I was planning to buy the old Maxwell gallery at the time; yet another good reason to cultivate my company." She didn't reply. She looked like she was considering escape - her feet shifted slightly. Heero's voice was low, but they could all hear him clearly. "You spoke of single-mindedness, Remy. How far were you prepared to go, to get what you wanted?" She cleared her throat. "You want me to say I bought the sketches -" "No - I mean everything you wanted. Not just the goods - but the payback as well." "What the hell do you mean?" The others stared at her wide eyes - she looked almost frightened. Heero continued, relentlessly. "You tried to get into my collection, when you broke into my house. I assume you were looking for the missing sketches - perhaps you thought Duo had passed them to me when I bought the gallery; I don't know what your twisted thought processes may have been. You failed - but you set fire to my office regardless." "I -" "You set fire to my house," he repeated. "It could only have been you. Why did you do that - such a spiteful, purely malicious thing? Was it because you were unsuccessful? Or because I was ignoring you - because I was bringing our relationship to an end?" She pouted. "No-one finishes with me, Heero. I choose who I have, and who I leave." "Did that apply to Solo Maxwell as well?" "Heero -?" came Trowa's questioning voice behind him. Heero ignored it. "Remy," he said. "Was it payback with Solo as well?" "What is he saying?" whispered Quatre, his hand on Trowa's arm. "Fuck you, Heero!" snarled Remy. "Like Quatre said -" Heero's voice pressed on as if she hadn't spoken. "We all see Remy the model, the sweet girl, the girl who struggles with business issues. The girl who is a gorgeous, undemanding ornament. What about the girl who has the supreme arrogance to expect everything her own way?" Remy bit back an angry, sobbing sound. "The girl who is obsessed with being the best - with winning; with getting what she wants. The girl who is continually aware of how she looks and how she dresses - who eats less than a bird. Who smokes to keep her weight down -" "No..." cried Trowa, softly. "I had to have them, Heero," she said, her voice a whimper now. She had eyes only for him. "They were beautiful - I had to have them! And he promised them to me - he did. But after the accident, the sale had to be fast, y'know? Had to be finalised before the lawyers wrapped it all up in the estate." "I know you bought the sketches afterwards, Remy. We'll talk about what fraudulent methods you used at another time. But what happened on the actual night of the show? The night of the accident, as you say?" Her eyes flickered to Trowa and Quatre and back again. She wouldn't look directly at Heero now. "He was mad, Heero. Quite mad. Did you ever meet him? I could see he was tiring of me, that night. I think he had his eyes on a student who was following him around; I was surplus to requirements by then. But I made sure he took me home with him! I can't remember what I said to convince him. Something about how he'd be wise to keep me sweet for a little longer." She chewed gently at her lower lip. "Perhaps I said I'd turn my attentions to his precious baby brother - I'd heard he was always interested in willing companions, and maybe he needed education in the tastes of his big brother Solo..." Quatre felt Trowa's body grow deathly still beside him. He moved a little closer to the brown-haired man, as if to support him. "He wouldn't talk about the sketches - wouldn't honour the deal. I'd offered to give him a ridiculously good price; I offered whatever else he wanted from me. I'd pleased him enough times before to know what he liked. But he just laughed." There was a strange, high tone to her voice. "First he'd offered me the six - then it was only the four to be shown. Now he was saying that none of them were for sale - none of them for me!" Heero's eyes flickered, but his expression didn't change. "He'd drunk too much as usual - he didn't want me in bed. Didn't want me at all - just wanted new and more unattractive ways of telling me so. He wouldn't listen about the sketches - wouldn't sign anything." Remy was rambling now; she was swaying slightly. "He refused to tell me where the missing two were hidden. He kept blabbing on about Duo... I guess I may have suggested at one stage, that if he was that fond of baby brother, it ought to be him that Solo went to bed with!" She lifted her eyes now, staring wildly at the shock that had suddenly swept across Heero's face. "I was damned angry, you know? You can understand that..." "Did you fight?" he asked, more softly now. It was the softness of a gloved claw. "Yeah. We fought." She hissed at him. "You know how I like it rough sometimes, don't you, Heero? Not that you've ever played those games properly with me...not like Solo did. But this was no game, I guess. He slapped me, and I pushed back at him - he fell against the easel and hit his head; I think he was unconscious for a while. I was shaky myself - I'd dropped my bag - I'd dropped everything..." Heero glared at her. She rattled out her reply as if he'd demanded it of her; as if she were scared of what he'd do if she refused him. "It was an accident, sweetie! You know that antique lighter of mine - it's always been faulty. The flame flares up too easily - the cover is loose. A spark from it caught at a canvas, and the fabric started to burn." Her eyes were glazed now, as if she were having trouble remembering; or acting as if she did. "It's a beautiful thing, fire, isn't it?" Unconsciously, her tongue slipped out and licked at her lips. "Very clean - very true. It was good to see it licking all over his precious stuff - his canvases, and pencil sets, and easel...his furniture...all the good things of life that he said he treasured..." There was a sound like a sob from behind Heero. "Did you try to put the fire out?" asked Heero. The words were strangely stilted in his mouth, as if he had to drag them out forcibly. "Try to rouse Solo?" Her eyes widened. "Heavens, that would have been very dangerous for me, wouldn't it? If he'd woken, he might have hurt me even more. I can't risk personal injury in my profession. And he'd made it clear that everything was over. I had to go, Heero - I had to get to safety. I gathered up a few of his papers that were on the nearest table, just out of instinct, you understand. And I left." She drew a deep sigh, as if satisfied with the effort she'd put into the tale. "He deserved everything he got, Heero. I picked up my stuff, and I got a cab home." "The whole place burned down!" hissed Heero. "You took papers with his signature, so that you could forge the sale of the sketches, and you ran away. You never told anyone - you never told them that it was you at Solo's that night." She looked at him as if he were mad. "Why would I do that? It was never my fault - I couldn't be associated with such a thing. There was no need, Heero. No need." The slim shoulders almost shrugged. "Was there?" + The atmosphere in the gallery was of shock - of suppressed pain and horrified disbelief. Trowa's white face shone like a mask of horror in the dim light; Quatre was making a swift call to the police on his cell phone, his eyes flashing to and from the man at his side. Heero stared at Remy, and felt nothing but cold disgust. "That's what gave you the idea about setting the fire at my place, wasn't it? You got the taste for it - for seeing flames burn whatever had disappointed you; whomever had rejected you -" "Heero, I -" she said, just the once. The rest of her sentence dried up. "You stole Duo's sketches, Remy," he hissed. "Just pictures, Heero," she pouted. "Why is everyone so upset? It's just business -" "Was Solo just business? He was a person - he died! He was Duo's brother - Trowa's lover. What has your greed done, Remy?" "Duo, Duo, your little fuckbuddy," she hissed back, her gorgeous face distorted by the ugly words. "That's all you can think of to talk about, ever since you met him! Both of you, just playing at art - what the hell do either of you deserve? I saw you both at the exhibition - making out, for the whole damned city to see. Guess that's why you never managed much for me, honey - why you were such a damned disappointment in bed." Heero's mouth twisted in a travesty of a smile. "I'd have said it was more to do with your own lack of sincerity, honey. Can't help it if I find that level of superficiality less than desirable -" Someone cleared a dry throat behind him, and it startled him. "He's right, Remy. The loss is all yours; in bed, that is. And any blame for that is gonna have to lie with you..." Heero's blood ran cold at the sound of the new voice - at the most familiar voice. "Duo...?" His word was hesitant - horrified. The body was a warm shadow behind him, and even as he moved to protect it, he shivered with the remembered delight of its touch. Duo Maxwell was awake, downstairs in the gallery, and standing now beside him. [part 10] [part 12] [back to FancyFigures' fic] |