Murphy's Law (Part Two)
by Lorena Manuel

"God--teenagers," the security officer muttered as he walked off with about five of the hotel's managers and staff in tow.

Heero, Duo, and Quatre were left staring at the burnt and sodden bed, the first two gaping at it in stunned silence while Quatre was simply glazed over, his mind numbly rehearsing what he'd tell his family when the hotel bigwigs demand compensation for the damage.

Simply put, the place was a mess--"sorry mess" didn't even cut it. It looked like a green-shag-carpeted swamp. The bathroom door was wrecked as it had to be forced open with a battering ram.

"Did Trowa just spontaneously combust?" Heero finally said once he'd found his voice as he stared at the singed area on the bed. A wispy column of smoke still oozed out of it, swirling as it rose and softly vanishing before it hit the ceiling. "I wouldn't be surprised if he did. I've always said that guy was too intense for his own good."

Duo gulped. "Holy shit," he breathed. Then he turned to the bedraggled, shivering little blonde beside him. "What the hell kind of sex were you having?"

"The invisible kind," Quatre replied, shooting his friend a look of annoyance. "I really don't want to talk about it, Duo."

He sniffled, hugging his arms tightly, feeling the cold, wet fabric of his shirt and trousers cling to his equally cold and wet skin in the most uncomfortable way imaginable. He tried to brush off his hair from his eyes, but they seemed determined to stay plastered to his face.

"I don't think this was part of the plan, Cat."

Before Quatre could respond, though, Wufei ambled into the room, scanning the area with as much objectivity as was humanly possible under the circumstances. His eyes finally settled onto the bed.

"Heavens," he said. Then, from out of the blue, he added, "Did you know that prison mattresses are less flammable than the ones we sleep on? Condemned prisoners are better protected than innocent civilians. Frightening, isn't it?"

The other three simply stared at him.

"You high or something?" Duo asked.

Wufei shrugged. "Just stating a fact."

Heero grabbed Duo's arm before the braided one could reply. "Encourage him, Duo, and your ass is mud," he muttered.

"Trowa and Quatre can stay in my room," Wufei continued, unmindful of the exchange. If anything, he seemed completely unfazed. Then, as an afterthought, he quickly turned to Quatre and said, "But I need it tonight until two."

"Whoa," Duo said, raising a hand. "Whoa, whoa, whoa--you need your room? Tonight?"

Heero jabbed Duo's side with his elbow.

"But, Heero, he scored!"

Another jab--one a touch more violent than before, sending Duo doubling over with a small yelp. "Ow! But it's true! And don't you poke me that hard! I think you just burst my liver!"

Quatre watched the color creep up Wufei's cheeks. And though he felt genuinely sorry for causing his friend's discomfiture by staring, he found himself sucked in by Duo's incredulity and continued to gape in spite of himself.

Wufei blinked and, with an irritated snort, moved off. All eyes followed him. He paused at the doorway and looked over his shoulder.

"Maxwell, I may not sleep with any of you, but that doesn't mean I'm dead."

With that, he walked off to his room.

"I'd better go, too," Quatre said as he stared down at himself, noting his state with a stab of humiliation. "I need to use my clothes that got mixed in with your luggage. All I have in this room's ruined."

"Sorry this didn't work out, kid."

"Stop it, Duo," he snapped, his fur bristling. His friend had hit a sore spot that was even more sensitive in his current distressed state.

"What?"

"Stop calling me that. We're the same age, for heaven's sake. What makes you think I'm a kid?"

Duo looked taken aback. Even Heero seemed surprised at Quatre's little temperamental outburst. "Well--you just seem…" Duo broke off at the sight of the boy's narrowing eyes.

"I'm not a child, Duo. I may be short, but that doesn't make me a child. I may have less experience than any of you, but that doesn't make me a child. I may not know how to use a torch, but that doesn't make me a child. I may not know the first thing about courtship, but that doesn't make me a child," he said, his arms hanging stiffly down his sides with his hands balled into little fists. The words came pouring out of him in a furious cascade. "I'm not a child, Duo! I'm not, I'm not, I'm not! And calling me a kid is downright patronizing!"

Then he took a deep, shaky breath and calmly said, "If you'll excuse me, I need to go change so I could wander up and down the streets until two o'clock."

He turned and stalked out of the room, leaving his friends gaping at him in stunned silence, which was only broken by the rhythmic sloshing sound made by his soaked shoes. He was glowering as he left the room. He was glowering as he sloshed his way next door. He was glowering when he searched for his clothes. He was glowering when he took another shower and dressed.

And all that time, with the weight of his humiliating failure pressing down hard on him, the added sting of the awful truth of his inexperience turning that knife in his gut even more, he kept muttering the same four words under his breath over and over again.

"I'm not a child," he said as he combed his hair in the bathroom. "I'm not a child. I'm not a child. I'm not a child."

Then he walked over to the full-length mirror by the hallway door and stared at himself. He instantly deflated.

"Damn. I look like a child."

He stared, aghast, at his outfit. No sexy number here--with all his good clothes ruined and hanging like wet rags next door, all he could put on were a t-shirt, a pair of shorts, and a pair of sneakers and socks. To top it all off, with Wufei needing the room for much of the evening, Trowa and Quatre were temporarily homeless and would have to spend all that time in each other's company. And while the boy couldn't think of a better way to keep Trowa to himself, he sure as hell didn't want to look like this when his chance came to get the sparks flying.

A quiet knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and Trowa walked in. He'd been spending time in Wufei's room since his release from the bathroom, doing only God knows what. Quatre had noted, with some concern, his more than usual reserve since their arrival at the hotel that morning. His spending much of his time in Wufei's company puzzled the boy as well.

In spite of all this, however, Quatre couldn't help but beam at Trowa, feeling the embarrassment of the torched bed melt away at the sight of his beloved and a little burst of hopeful energy take its place.

"Oh, hi," he said brightly. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Don't worry about me. What about you?" Trowa replied with a look of gentle--almost awkward--concern.

"Drenched and embarrassed, but I'm…"

Quatre's voice trailed off as he watched Trowa stare at him, taking note of his change of outfit with an unmistakable expression of dismay. His brows furrowed, and his mouth opened slightly--almost as though appalled at what he saw. Then, just as quickly as it came, the look disappeared, and Trowa once more met Quatre's eyes. This time, however, what hint of life that was there before was now completely replaced with an impassive mask.

"…but I'm fine," Quatre finished lamely, blushing, his heart sinking a notch at the thought that he'd just turned Trowa off.

He looked down at his clothes. These used to be one of his favorite combinations as he'd always been very comfortable in them. At the moment, though, he hated them with a vengeance.

"You hungry? Would you like to go out to dinner?"

The boy didn't appreciate the dryness of Trowa's delivery. All the same, he realized that he was about to spend some glorious time in the company of the young man of his dreams; he shouldn't have any cause to complain. He swallowed, rallied his spirits, and brightened once more.

"I'd love to," he chirped.

"Great. There's a restaurant I've been dying to try."

"Lead the way."

Quatre followed him in silence before stopping dead in his tracks just as he reached the door. Something had suddenly sparked in him.

"Um--Trowa? Do--uh--do you happen to know if--if this restaurant uses--uh--long tablecloths?"

*****

The two sat side by side in a small, semi-circular booth at the farthest corner of the restaurant, their noses buried in their menus. So far so good. The general area was dimly lit, which served Quatre's purpose well as it took the place of the need for any obstruction like curtains or monster-sized potted ferns.

And the tablecloths were long.

Luck had nothing to do with it. Quatre had insisted on getting such a booth, passing up half a dozen chances of being seated sooner at more inconvenient tables. He also endured half a dozen arguments with Trowa over his choosiness, but his date was easily overpowered despite vague excuses on his part. Trowa, a touch exasperated, would stare at him in silence and then soften up, nodding and sighing his agreement.

In truth, Quatre was confused as hell. Part of him simply wanted a nice, quiet little dinner with Trowa, but another part was still chafing from his "kid" image. And with that came an overpowering urge to somehow prove himself to the world--even to Trowa. His head almost popped like a grape as his mind vacillated from one extreme to another, countless arguments buttressing either side. And being mere flesh and blood, he found himself getting lured away from sensibility to dabble in the daring. He'd made the decision by the time the waitress appeared.

"Care for anything to drink, honey?" she asked as she tapped her pencil on the order pad.

And since Quatre was about to pull a Duo on Trowa, he realized that he needed all the help he could get, not even caring that he'd never, ever done this before. He racked his brain for the name of the drink that Heero liked so much, thinking that he could somehow convince the waitress that he was really of legal age despite a number of pretty obvious arguments to the contrary.

"I'll have a Coke," Trowa said.

"All righty--what about you, sweetheart?"

Damn it! What was it again? Quatre started to panic a little as his companions stared at him, waiting for a response. His eyes glued to the menu, he set his mouth in a grim line and knitted his brows as he strained hard to think.

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! What the hell was it?

"Quatre?"

"Um…"

Ugh, he thought, adrenaline levels starting to shoot up. I know it's clear, and it's got little gold shavings in it--oh, what was it?

"Anything wrong, honey?"

"Um…"

"Quatre!"

Oh, help!

Trowa sighed. "Okay, well--looks like he'll have a…"

"Vodka!"

Nope. That wasn't it. The boy realized this all too late, and he warily looked up from his menu to find his companions regarding him as though he'd just thrown up pea soup and his head had starting spinning.

"In your dreams, doll," the waitress said with a cocked eyebrow as she scribbled something down. "Two Cokes coming up."

"Vodka?" Trowa repeated incredulously once she'd gone.

"Uh--slip of the tongue," Quatre said with a grimace, which he was trying to pass off as an effusive smile.

"Oh." Trowa cracked a tiny smile and resumed his inspection of the menu.

Quatre noted a degree of discomfiture in his date. This wasn't like Trowa at all; he'd always been so calm and collected. At the moment, he seemed restless and fidgety, and Quatre could sense the effort he was putting into hiding his anxiety from the boy.

Trowa was too--well--wound up.

That was the "go" signal, wasn't it? Quatre lost his nerve, however, if only for the moment, and opted to engage Trowa's attention in a run-of-the-mill conversation instead.

"So--um--have you been to this city before?" he asked, clearing his throat. That sounded like a pretty safe start.

"Uh--yeah. A couple of times before."

"Oh."

A few seconds of silence followed. Trowa was still staring hard at the menu.

"Well--what do you think of it?"

Trowa shrugged. "It's okay, I guess. No different from any other city I've been to."

"Oh."

Another moment of silence followed. Quatre felt the ship sinking and desperately racked his brain.

"Any good places for us to hang out?"

"Don't really know any around here."

"Oh."

Another moment of agonizing silence followed, and Quatre nearly popped a vein. That did it. No more pussyfooting around. He wasn't about to spend the rest of the evening in a conversation that bored the dead to tears.

All right, how do I do this? he asked himself, staring at the dishes in front of him. I need an excuse to get under the table.

Then he knew. Quickly glancing up at the ceiling, he nudged Trowa. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at nothing in particular.

"Huh? What?"

"That! Up in the ceiling!"

Trowa looked up. "What? Where?"

And in a flash, the boy grabbed a fork, stuck his hand under the table, and dropped it on the floor.

"Oh. Nothing. Thought I saw a mutant spider. My mistake, sorry."

Trowa glanced at him, a bit puzzled. "Did something just drop?"

"Oh, yeah," Quatre forced out a laugh. "I dropped my fork. How clumsy of me. Uh--let me just--um--slip under the table to get it back."

His heart pounding, the boy lifted up the tablecloth and started to shimmy down.

"My legs are longer, Quatre. It'll be easier for me to reach it that…"

"Oh, no,no--it's all right, really. I can do this." He flashed Trowa a bright smile and slipped out of sight.

Quatre was now under the table. And he instantly regretted it. He felt utterly lost--not to mention numbed with shock. He couldn't believe what he'd just gotten himself into, and he started to panic.

Try getting yourself out of this one, you idiot.

He glanced around in the dimness and noted Trowa's denim-clad legs stretched out before him. He started to hyperventilate.

Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! he cried silently and started banging his head against the table's cylindrical leg, causing the dishes to rattle overhead. This is the stupidest thing you've ever done!

"Quatre, what on earth are you doing?" Trowa whispered hoarsely from somewhere outside.

The boy couldn't even answer him. Never before had he felt so foolish.

I'm not Duo, he thought, stifling a little sob as he rested his now throbbing head against the table's leg. I can't do this. I can't.

"Quatre?"

The boy heard the tablecloth getting lifted up. He didn't move a muscle.

"Well, hello, handsome!"

Quatre froze, blanching, and Trowa quickly let go of the tablecloth at the sound.

Oh, no. It can't be.

"Oh, hi, Claudia," Trowa replied lifelessly.

Quatre pinched his eyes shut. Damn it! Of all people! Trowa, get rid of her, please, he thought, hoping this silent plea would somehow be received by his date via brain wave connection and acted upon ASAP.

"I knew you and little Quatre were here," Claudia purred in a voice that sounded more like fingernails on chalkboard. "I saw both of you walk by, and I thought, 'Well, what are two of the cutest boys ever to wear spacesuits doing in a place like this?'"

Quatre rolled his eyes. "Oh, please," he muttered.

Claudia had always used that line on every single one of them. She'd been hot on their tails for some time now, having this unbelievably neurotic fixation on men in uniform. And the fact that she was around twenty years their senior and that she'd always scared the shit out of them didn't faze her one bit.

"Quatre and I are having dinner," Trowa replied, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"Hmm. Where's the little one? What's he up to?"

Quatre bit his lip.

"Well--I honestly don't know what he's up to. He just--uh--slipped off to get something." Trowa cleared his throat before adding (in a louder tone of voice), "And I hope he comes back soon so we could order food."

"Oh, so that leaves you alone for the moment, you poor thing," Claudia whimpered and then giggled.

The tablecloth beside him rustled, and Quatre watched as a pair of stockinged legs suddenly poked through the fabric as Claudia sat down. And with a little gasp, the boy quickly scooted away as the woman crossed her legs, narrowly missing Quatre's eyes when she swung one leg up over the other. The boy shuddered at the sight of a gleaming, black stiletto pump just inches away from his face.

With some difficulty, he maneuvered his way around that instrument of death and crawled toward the only area that offered him a realistic hope of protection.

"Whoa! Oh, my God!" Trowa suddenly cried out as Quatre jockeyed himself between his legs.

He drew his knees up to his chest and pressed his back against the edge of the seat. Trowa's legs stretched out on either side of him.

"What's wrong, Trowa dear?"

"Nothing," he stammered, shifting his position a little to accommodate Quatre's unexpected presence. "My leg just had a cramp. Nothing too serious, though."

"Oh, poor baby," Claudia giggled again. "It ought to be massaged, I think."

Quatre's eyes widened as he watched her start moving her free leg so that the toe of her shoe was tracing a slow, suggestive line up and down Trowa's left leg.

What the…?

The boy couldn't believe it. The brazen hussy was putting the moves on his future boyfriend. He saw Trowa's leg jerk a little from the unexpected move, but with Quatre in the way, Trowa couldn't pull is leg away from the horny wench's wandering foot without strangling the boy with his thighs.

But that didn't matter to Quatre who, feeling a pang of jealousy skewer him like a human kabob, grabbed Trowa's leg and tore it away from the stiletto pump from hell--and effectively choking himself as Trowa's knees came together around his neck.

"Oh, shit!" Trowa yelped from beyond the tablecloth. "Quatre, stop it!"

"Quatre's not here, darling. Who're you talking to?"

"I…" Trowa sputtered and failed to finish his sentence. Under the circumstances, the best thing he could do was to hold his tongue.

"You look so wound up, Trowa. Anything the matter?"

"No, I'm fine. Really. Just tired and hungry."

"Hmm. Quatre's being a bit rude by dumping you here. Are you sure he's coming back? He may have ditched you."

Quatre, in the meantime, was struggling to keep Trowa's leg safe from Claudia's tentacles while pushing his knees apart to allow blood to once more circulate to Quatre's head. To say that he was a sight would be an understatement. Sweat was breaking out on his forehead from the strain; his cheeks puffed out, his face going from blue to purple like a psychedelic blowfish.

"Quatre's coming back," Trowa replied, shifting his position a little to accommodate Quatre's need to breathe freely. The boy took in a huge gulp of air when he felt Trowa's knees loosen their chokehold on him.

"Well--I don't know, darling," Claudia cooed, and Quatre watched her move a little closer to Trowa. "Quatre's such an innocent little baby…"

Baby? BABY?

"…and he'll be prone to childish impulses…"

Quatre gasped, his jaw hanging as he listened.

"…and for all you know, he could be running after an ice cream truck right now, completely forgetting about your dinner date."

Quatre's jaw hung even lower. Trowa! I think this is the time you're supposed to defend me! he screamed silently.

"Hmm. Yeah, I suppose you're right," Trowa said with a small laugh.

Aaaauugh!

"So then--would you like to join me for dinner? Then maybe we could do something afterwards."

"No, thanks, Claudia. I'd like to wait for Quatre to show up."

A well-manicured hand suddenly appeared and rested itself on Trowa's lap, just inches from Quatre's face. Then it started rubbing his thigh. Trowa's leg jerked reflexively, choking the boy once more.

"Sorry, Claudia, but I'm not interested," Trowa replied firmly, and his hand appeared to push hers away.

Trowa relaxed, his leg releasing the hapless Quatre, who was now gagging and taking in large gulps of air.

Could somebody please take this woman away? he thought as he pulled at his shirt's collar, reeling from being momentarily deprived of both blood and oxygen to the brain.

"Oh, Trowa," Claudia pursued, clamping her hand over his. "Have I ever told you you're the best-looking of the group?"

"No, and thank you, but I'm not interested, Claudia." He tried to pull his hand away, but she wasn't about to let go and tightened her hold. She was practically crushing his hand.

"Let go of him, you pedophile!" Quatre hissed and slapped her hand sharply, and she instantly jerked her hand back with a small gasp.

"What did you just call me?" she demanded in an injured tone.

"What? Nothing--I said nothing…"

Quatre watched her scoot over to Trowa. I don't believe this! he fumed.

He felt Trowa jump in his seat. "Claudia, what--stop it!"

"God, you're so sexy," she breathed.

A million images swirled through Quatre's mind at the moment, and he flew into a rage. Trowa was now struggling with Claudia, and it took Quatre all he had to maneuver himself around to face Trowa. It was hell what with Trowa's jerking, thrashing legs on each side of him. And with a huff, he got on his knees and lifted the tablecloth and poked his head out.

He glared at Claudia, his gold locks disheveled, big blue eyes shooting sparks, his cheeks an unhealthy magenta hue.

Claudia jumped away from a lipstick-covered Trowa with an ear-splitting cry. She gaped, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, at the furious boy as he tried to raise himself up until his head had cleared the table.

"He said 'no,' for heaven's sake!" he raged. "Are you deaf? He said, 'no!'"

Trowa was staring down at him as though he was having a heart attack.

"What--oh, Jesus! Have you been under the table all this time?" Claudia stammered once she'd found her voice.

"Yes! And I saw everything!"

"You saw…"

"Everything! Everything!"

Claudia's expression changed from shock to horror, and she let out another scream.

"Oh, you little pervert!" she shrieked. "You've been looking up my dress?"

And before Quatre could enlighten her with the truth, she exacted her vengeance by proxy. That is, because Quatre was in a position that made it awkward for her to reach him, she turned to Trowa and slapped him instead.

"Perverts!" she cried one last time as she stumbled out of the booth. "You should be ashamed of yourselves!"

Then she turned and fled. A surreal moment of stunned silence fell on the entire restaurant, with servers and patrons from nearby tables staring in their direction with mouths hanging open.

The waitress appeared in the middle of all this, humming to herself. She nonchalantly placed the drinks on the table and pulled out the order pad from her apron pocket. She didn't even blink when her eyes fell on a red-faced and wide-eyed Trowa cradling an equally red-faced and wide-eyed Quatre between his legs.

"Are you ready to order now, honey?" she asked, tapping her pencil on her order pad.