"Love Potion #9"
a Gundam Wing Fanfic

by the Princess

**WARNING: foul language, shounen-ai, characters frequently OOC...**

"Love is friendship set on fire."

-old Welsh proverb

~Part 2~

I didn't call D'arcy, of course. I wimped out at the last second--literally. I dialed her number, heard it ring, all ready with what I wanted to say, and when I heard her pick up the phone and say "Hello?", I immediately hung up and hit myself in the head with the reciever. What the hell was I thinking, letting myself get strung up in a pep talk from that Gypsy? D'arcy was in love with Hiro, and that was the way things went with regards to her.

...However, things were going to change very quickly with regards to every other girl in the city.

"Watch out," I mumbled, hoping Hiro wasn't in earshot; I didn't want him falling in love with me over the potion ( >Did I?< I thought, then forgot about it). "De grand master pimp is in the building."

Hiro came into the room wearing a fresh tux. He held another such suit in his hands, and tossed it on my bed. "This should fit you," he said. "Way I figure it, we can get into the Russian Tea Room #105 with nothing but the appropriate dress and a little magic in our mouths. Put the thing on and give me one of the bottles."

I nearly asked what happened to the first one I gave him, but caught myself just in time. I instead went over to my bureau drawer and, producing a notebook and a pen, scrawled "Where'd the first bottle go?" out and gave it to him.

He read it, his eyebrows raised. He might as well have had a huge question mark stamped on his forehead. "It got busted at the orgy," he said, then looked at me. "Why aren't you talking?"

I took the notebook back, and wrote: "I've got some potion in my mouth. A.I., the chick who gave me the stuff, sez that close friends are suseptible to the potion. We can't talk around each other after we spray the stuff."

"Wonderful, another rule to keep in mind," he grumbled, tossing the notebook away. As I went for the tuxedo, he grabbed a bottle from the box and left the room, saying: "I'll call and get our reservations."

I shook my head and smiled as I wriggled out of my clothes. Hiro didn't *really* need the extra charm to get our reservations, but one never knew, particularly with a place with the prestige of the Russian Tea Room #105. It was on the east side, the area of town where the people who could afford houses lived, and the costs of cleaning the tablecloths in that place was probably more than Hiro and I could make in a year. Riffraff ex-terrorists like us normally wouldn't stand a chance trying to get into the place, no matter how charming Hiro was over the phone...

"I get by with a little help from my magic," I sang as I struggled with my tie.

When I got it tied about twenty minutes later, Hiro had taken a dose of potion and called the restaurant. As I emerged from my room, he gave me a thumbs-up, then cocked his head towards the door. I started in that direction, when he suddenly put his hand on my chest to stop me. I opened my mouth to question him, but he laid a finger on my lips and thankfully stopped me. Then he pointed at my tie, which was in a big, floppy bow, and shook his head. He pointed at his own, which was the long kind, and pointed at mine again. He quickly undid the knots I had made, then did it up just like his.

Come to think of it, I had been wondering why a bow tie would be so *big*...

We left our apartment, and found that the elevator was (once again) broken, so we had to hoof it down ten flights of stairs. It was murder in the tux, which didn't breath at all, and sweat was pouring off me in rivers by the time I stumbled out into the late evening heat. I had to bite my tongue into hamburger to keep from hollering "Kuso!"; God seemed to be out to give me the worst BO possible before we got to the RTR 105, and

I nearly cried out "Kuso!" again, but this time out of awe.

Hiro had gotten a limo. It was a long, slick black model which seemed to take up half the city block. The thing had five doors, FIVE DOORS, and the lattermost opened to reveal a butler dressed in smart black and gold trim. He stepped out and gave a little bow. He was tallish and hefty, and had lost sight of his toes (and his early sixties) some time ago. "Greetings to you, young masters," he said respectfully with a slight British clip to his words. "My name is Franklin Bilestone, and I'll be your butler this evening. To the Russian Tea Room #105, I presume?"

I couldn't respond; my jaw had suddenly started kissing the pavement. Hiro shut it for me, and nodded to Bilestone.

"Excellent," he said, a smile creasing his doughy face. "I have already alerted the driver to your religious affiliation and your vows of silence. You can trust that I will handle all of the talking. Now, we must hurry if we are to get to the restaurant on time, shan't we? Hurry on, young masters!" He held the door open as Hiro shoved me inside, onto a seat which had the softest leather upholstry imaginable. I actually sank into it a little. I looked around as Hiro hopped in beside me and the butler took his place on the opposite side of the limo, which was about twenty feet off. What wasn't black leather was covered with black carpet. Huge speakers were imbedded in the walls and the ceiling. There were no doors on the left side of the limo, but there was a bar, with wine racks and shelves containing every kind of liquor and liquor condiment that you could want. They even had peanuts, the clever bastards.

"The trunk of this vehicle is also a hot tub," Bilestone said, "should either of you wish to entertain lady guests. Punjab and I will be at your service for the whole of the evening, as long as you will have us. Our company's vice president, Ms. Kusaiyo Butsoyo, was very insistent on this."

>Another Butsoyo,< I thought, shaking my head. >They're like the fucking Mob or something. They'll probably be one at the restaurant.< Then I looked at Hiro, and grinned lopsidedly. He'd wormed his way in pretty deep, to get service like this. I wondered who he'd talked to at the RTR #105. A Butsoyo, perhaps?

He grinned back and winked.

Suddenly, Punjab--the turban-bound driver--talked through the window: "Wise man say, 'a child without courage is like a night without stars.' Come, childern, we are going to the Russian Tea Room!"

I *barely* kept from bursting out laughing, but I managed it.

Once at the restaurant, Bilestone whisked us inside, leaving Punjab to find a place to park the monster limo. The interior was bright and gilded and polished. A woman hostess was standing at the podium outside the dining room like a prison guard. Her smile went down three notches when she saw Hiro, Bilestone and I approach her. "Do you have a reservation?" she asked pointedly, her nose jamming upwards in the air almost unconsciously. She was tapping a pen against her temple, like she was trying to drive herself crazy, and I noticed the huge diamond on her finger which marked her as married.

Bilestone started to speak, but I put a hand on his shoulder. He looked at me oddly. I cocked my head at her and smiled, and prayed to whatever god was on duty that Hiro had thought of some loophole to the vow of silence. "You..." he said softly, drawing me aside. "You would like to teach her your gospel?"

>God bless Hiro.< I nodded.

He smiled. "Very well, young master."

"What's going on?" the woman insisted, jabbing at me with her pen. "I need to know if you have a reservation--"

>Let's see if I've picked up some charm.< I went up to her, and boldly grabbed her by the arm and yanked her close so I could whisper in her ear. She made a squeak in protest. "We have a reservation, most assuredly," I said softly, "under Yui and Maxwell, unless your loveliness has made me forget my own name. And may I say that you are looking more lovely than a thousand sunsets tonight."

"You may certainly say so, sir," she said, a blush riding high in her cheeks, a smile of pleasure spreading across her face. "Yui and Maxwell, hhm? Yes, I have it right here. You both have special reservations. And what will you be doing afterwards?" she said huskily, dropping me a slow wink.

I returned her smile and wink. "Nothing, unless you'd like to do something with me."

"Oh, you cad!" She waved a hand in the air, like she was trying to knock away the coy comment before it reached her ears. "Have a wonderful time dining."

"We will," I said, then turned to Bilestone and Hiro, and nodded affirmatively. Bilestone, thinking that I had gotten a convert, nodded and moved briskly towards the dining area, his black-and-gold-trimmed suit creaking as he went. Hiro was looking a little shocked, and I understood why; this was the first time that either of us could remember that I had gotten a come-on from a married woman.

Hell, from *any* woman.

We followed Franklin inside the dining room, which was more gild and more shine than the waiting area. We were seated at a table with ornately carved red-oak chairs; the table had a huge, lacy tablecloth which had probably taken six months to make, a little group of candles in crystal holders in the center, and fifty utensils each for us which were made of almost pure gold. I felt unworthy to be breathing this place's air, much less sit in a chair and actually eat.

A waitress swung over to our table, wearing a very fine gray lace dress. She had long silver-blonde hair twisted in a cable down her back, small but sweet brown eyes, and legs which went up to her ears. "Welcome to the Russian Tea Room," she said, smiling and showing us her perfect white teeth. "My name is Marcia. Would you like to start with one of our appetizers? We have calamari, lightly breaded and fried with a splash of white wine--"

I decided I wanted her very badly. I looked at Hiro, who nodded and cocked his head towards her. He then elbowed Bilestone, who stood right next to him impatiently, and gestured towards the woman, then towards the door. The British man nodded and made the sign of the cross, smiled when Hiro mimicked the motion, then quietly left the room.

"--an Italian plate with various cheeses, pepperonis, and sun-dried vegetables--"

Hiro elaborately plugged his ears with his fingers. It was comical. I allowed myself a snicker.

"--and a light Greek salad with hearts of palm and vinigarette dressing. For drinks, we have--"

"My delicate little flower," I said, taking up her hand in mine (her skin was like satin), "we would be pleased to have you serve us that Italian dish you were speaking of, and some Emporer's Bride tea, with lots of cream and sugar. Isn't that right, Hiro?"

He nodded and grinned.

"You must forgive my brother. He was born mute. Isn't that right, Hiro?"

He nodded again, but his grin looked rather forced. I barely kept from smirking.

"I'm sorry," she gushed, worry creasing her brow. "It must be tough. The Italian platter and Emporer's Bride, you said? Very well, sir." She gently pulled away, a shy blush and smile on her face as she disappeared into the crowd.

Hiro unplugged his ears, and mouthed: MUTE????

I shrugged.

Marcia, looking very loose and drunk, delivered my dessert of tiramisu and connola. She sat down in Hiro's chair (he'd disappeared sometime during the second course) and twined her fingers into mine as I relished the espresso and cream and chocolate. She was babbling somewhat disjointedly, like she was on some sort of drug, and her brown eyes were looking a little glazed. "And then there's my boyfriend," she said, "but don't take that the wrong way, because he's nowhere near the nice guy that you are. I mean, compared with you, he's a regular shit. But you're like an *angel*, you know? I feel like everything's so much clearer since I met you. Like everything's come together and I know what I want out of life."

"What's that?" I asked, knowing the answer, draining my tea-cup.

"You," she said, and plastered me with a very friendly kiss which made me drop the tea-cup and nearly tilted my chair over. I drew my arms around her waist and pulled her closer, and she actually wriggled up against me and sent fire running through my body. Her arms went around my neck, and she slid one of her hands underneath my shirt and ran her nails over my bare back. I moaned against her mouth, wondering what would happen to me if her shitty boyfriend came upon us like this--

"MARCIA!!"

I screamed, my mouth muffled by hers, and then I really did tilt over in my chair and fall smack on my back. She went down with me, with a cry of surprise and a flair of gray lace. We both struggled on the ground, getting ourselves situated, and only when I looked up and saw the hostess did I realize that the voice hadn't belonged to her irate boyfriend. "Hi there," I said softly, smiling at her, hoping to God that the charm would work.

It didn't. It'd been way over an hour since last I saw her, and there was no longer a loving look in her eyes when she looked at me. "Both of you are engaging in lewd activities in a public, high-class restaruant--and *you* still on the job, Marcia!" she admonished. "You, Mr. Maxwell, are fortunate that I don't have you arrested! As for you, Marcia, you can pack your things and take your hussy behind out of this establishment for the last time! You're fired!"

We now had the audience of the entire dining hall. Marcia burst into tears, huddling up in a fetal position on the ground, her silver-blonde hair spilling over her face and shoulders. I looked at her, then at the hostess, and felt rather shitty indeed. >Why couldn't I just get away with getting a woman ONCE??< my mind screamed. >Why does everything have to collapse around my ears, and why do I have to feel so goddam GUILTY?!?<

"Excusing me, madam, but I think I can help in sorting this matter out..."

Marcia, the hostess, and I all looked up dumbly at the lilting female voice, which had a slight Russian hock to it. It belonged to an incredibly short woman with an incredible amount of beauty. Her black hair was twisted back into a bun with silver chopsticks, but loose ringlets hung around her ears and brushed against her pale cheeks. Her eyes were a soulfull green, powerful, and her lashes were thick and long. Her lips were a deep wine rouge, the only makeup she appeared to be wearing. She wore a black satin dress which fell nicely on her short frame; her only decoration was a necklace of diamonds and silver bells. "My name is Neine Rasputin," she said, with that slight Russian hock. "I believe you know of my father, the executive for the National Broadcasting Corporation."

"NBC?" the hostess said dumbly.

"Da. Now, I am believing that you are having difficulties with your waitress?"

"Yes. Well. Necking with a customer in the dining room is considered taboo, for obvious reasons."

"Of course. And yet, I wonder. You see, I have been, how did you put it? necking with another customer, yet you have done nothing in which to stop me." At this, Hiro popped up from nowhere. He took her hand and cuddled her from behind, and gave me a wink. I thought my eyes were going to roll right on out of my head. "Is this not a hypocritical policy, then, would you not agree?"

"Well--" the hostess stammered. "We are here to serve you, and if you wish to--"

"But she seemed to be servicing this young Mr. Maxwell very effectively, yes? Perhaps I could speak to my father about the matter. I am for certain that he would be very, very pleased at an editorial on this place's hypocricy. I could perhaps even write it my own self, telling about this evening, which until this point has been the height of culture and good service. Or perhaps you could simply smile sweetly, and because we are all knowing that you are such a big-hearted woman, you will be letting this Marcia girl get off of work early, and expect her bright and early in the morning hours. Look at the poor girl, she is weeping and heartbroken because of your uncharacteristically harsh words. Would you be liking it if the whole world knows of your hard-heartedness? Or perhaps I write a, what is the phrase? glowing report. Whatever it is that you wish to pursue."

The hostess gaped and goggled, her mouth working open and shut like a mousetrap gone crazy. I could barely believe Neine's charisma. She seemed to have a potion of her own, one which endowed a silver tongue on the inbiber. Her father must be a hell of a journalist if his daughter was any indication. She smiled sweetly at the stammering hostess, then blushed a little as Hiro placed a delicate kiss on her temple. "You are making me flush," she said, smiling, not objecting in the least.

"Um. Well. I. Suppose. It. Would. Be. All. Right. To. Proceed. As. You. Suggest." The hostess then started to gnaw on that huge diamond rock of hers, a bad nervous habit, as though she was wondering if this Russian dynamo planned on turning her into a toad. "Wouldn't. Want. To. Rock. The. Boat. Would. We."

"Of course we are not wanting that," Neine said smoothly. "And I am also thinking that you will permit me to pay for Mr. Maxwell's meal, and Mr. Yui's, and I am thinking that I will also compensate you for any damages which might have occured to that nice redwood chair which Mr. Maxwell accidently toppled. Am I correct?"

The hostess seemed to get it together. "Yes, ma'am, whatever the madam wishes," she said, reminding me obscenely of Bilestone. She whisked off huffily. I helped Marcia up to her feet, and fumbled around in my pockets until I found a handkerchief and dried her eyes. There was a little mascera dripping on her cheeks, and I got that too.

"You are a perfect gentleman, Mr. Maxwell," Neine said, smiling. "Though I am suspecting that you will never be so damn foolish as to let yourself get carried away here again."

I grinned and nodded. No sense in talking and seeing what happened if a charm pulled you two ways.

Hiro gave her another kiss, this one on the cheek, and she smiled at him. "You are making me think evil things, my dear," she said, and laughed. "Let us go to your limousine and, what is that quaint phrase? make ourselves scarce."

After Neine paid, each of us led our ladies to the limo, where a very proud Bilestone and a bubbling Punjab awaited us. Neine called out the name of a very expensive hotel, and Marcia named a house on Peace and Mecha. We were driven to our destinations, Hiro slipping off with the Russian beauty, and I leaving at Marcia's, giving Bilestone a note telling him to come back for both Hiro and I at eight o'clock and eight-thirty in the morning, since we both had work. Marcia led me into her house, a modest little place which was bigger than the apartment building I lived in, and--once I made sure she understood that I had to go in the morning--she dragged me into the bedroom, and I had her.

Quatre once made me watch a movie called "Shakespeare in Love". I hated every minute of it at first, but I'd found myself getting into it until I nearly cried at the ending. There was one part when Viola and Shakespeare had made love for the first time, and she's awakened by her nurse knocking at the door. She opens the door, draped in her bedsheets, and says, "It is a whole new world!" And just before that, she made the observation: "I had not thought it, but there is something better than a play."

I never really understood those lines until that night.

I woke up at ten till eight, and looked at Marcia. She was still asleep. I laid a gentle kiss on her forehead, then got up and pulled on my tux--except for the tie. I looked at my hair, and sighed; it had gotten undone, of course, and was a five-foot-long crow's nest. I would get Bilestone to braid it.

I left without waking her up.

I snuck outside, to where the limo was waiting. Hiro was inside, his tux almost as wrinkled as mine, and his grin almost as huge and face-cracking. Bilestone and Punjab were thrilled at our experiences; the Indian babbled about wise men's saws and animals and nature while the Brit did his best to braid my hair. As it turned out, he'd never done it before and was *very* poor at it. Hiro eventually shoved him aside and undid his work, then braided it himself. His hands wove expertly and patiently, despite the thick snags in my chestnut locks, until he got the entire length--down to my knees--bound up, then put out his hand for the elastic band, which I'd only just realized I'd left back in Marcia's room. I shrugged, and he bopped me lightly upside the head, then turned to Bilestone, holding the braid up.

It eventually got tied up with a piece of cloth torn from Punjab's turban, and I went to work more stylin' than I had ever been before.

Disclaimer

The Gundam boys and anything pertaining to Gundam Wing belong to the creators of the show, not to me, no matter how hard I wish. They are being used without permission for fun, not profit. If you don't know this, then you are a sad sack of shit. Go crawl under a rock and wither up and die. Also, "Love Potion #9" (the movie and the song ) belongs to their writers, and not me; any semblances between the plot of this fanfic and that movie were done very much intentionally. Get over it.

In contrast, D'arcy, the Butsoyo clan, the Rasputins, and any characters not belonging to the Gundam franchise are mine, and may not be used without my permission (God only knows why anyone would want to use them, but...). If you do use them without asking me first, I'm going to get Acchi Ikeyo (which, incidently, means "Go away!") to put a curse on you so nasty that I don't even know what would happen...

On to Part 3

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