I Will Corrupt You
By karei
Capitulus Decem
Chapter 10
Quatre fumbled his way out of bed clumsily, struggling to awaken after night X in the series of sleepless nights. His nightmares still plagued him, but he feared going to a doctor or psychiatrist. 'Who knows what those nut jobs would think of me,' was the thought that ran through his head as he stumbled out of his room and to the kitchen, being lead by the scent of Trowa's freshly brewed coffee.
Trowa was reading the paper, sipping a mug of black coffee, when Quatre entered. Trowa held down a smile as he saw Quatre yawn and rub his eyes, his golden hair in disarray and his whole body radiating a drowsy plea of 'just five more minutes.' When Quatre pulled his hands away from his face, he looked very grumpy; when he spoke, he merely promoted this perception.
"Coffee." A monosyllabic grunt.
"Good morning to you, too," Trowa muttered, hoping to irritate his already cantankerous friend with his indifference.
"Hn. I'll ignore that," he mumbled, his hands struggling for a cup.
"Here," Trowa sighed, taking the cup that Quatre was about to drop anyway, "I'll get it."
Trowa made the coffee with a slightly greater flair than Quatre was used to seeing from the normally demure man, and it struck him as odd. "Well, looks like you got up on the right side of the bed."
"And it looks like you crawled out from under it," Trowa joked as he handed Quatre a perfectly prepared mug of coffee.
'A joke? This is very odd...' Quatre took the offered mug. "Don't start with me, I had a shitty night."
"Yea, I could hear. Do you always have nightmares like that?"
"Was I that loud?" Quatre asked in shock. "What did I say?"
"I was mostly asleep, but I remember something about..." he paused to think a moment, "about a sacred compact and fire. And a name... Adesina? I'm not sure; I didn't really catch much. You should probably look into some help though."
Quatre glared into his coffee, his face not reflected in the creamy brown liquid. "Doctors suck. I can't put it any better than that, but they're worthless."
"Well, can't argue with that."
"It's the weirdest thing, though," Quatre said, looking up at Trowa with general concern for his own mental health. "The only language I know is English. I learned French in school, but I don't remember it. And yet, in my dreams, they're all in some Slavic languages that I can understand."
"Strange. What are your dreams about?"
"It's the same scenario over and over, and while it's in different situations every single time, it's always with me; that is, I'm inside the body of the same person, but different people."
Trowa gave a look that spoke volumes of confusion.
"Well, it's the same scene every time. I'm seducing someone. The weirdest thing, I know," he countered at Trowa's look of shock, "I have no idea where it comes from."
"I could take the Freudian route and say it's just a need to get laid, but you don't seem like that kind of guy to me."
"Says who?" Quatre said defensively. "Anyway, it's not so much that I'm seducing someone, as that it's different people every time, and I'm trapped in a different person's body every time - no, correction, a different woman's body."
Trowa whistled softly under his breath. "Now there's a dream."
"Can you make heads or tails of it?"
"Only that you need to sleep more. I'm no shrink, thank God, and I'd rather keep it that way. Now, I'm sorry, but I've got somewhere to be."
"Oh?"
"Yea, I found a job. It's a small thing, but I should be able to pull my weight fairly soon."
"Well, fabulous. I'll be seeing you then. I need to get ready myself. I'll go take a shower now."
"Be careful, the hot water's spastic today."
"Thanks," Quatre smiled, "I'll remember that. See you." He was already exiting the kitchen, mug still in hand, quietly sipping as he walked to his bathroom to take a shower.
Trowa remained in the kitchen for a little longer, continuing his morning routine. It was rudely interrupted when the phone rang. He almost called to Quatre, but he heard the strong stream of water from the shower and decided to pick it up himself.
"Winner residence."
"Quatre?" the voice asked. "Is that you? You sound odd early in the morning."
"No, this is his roommate," Trowa corrected.
"Oh. Hello there. My name is John Braddock; I'm a coworker of Quatre's. Is he available?"
"No, he's getting ready for work. I'll tell him you called though."
"No, that's fine. I'll be seeing him soon. I'm just bored waiting for the carpool and I know he usually leaves later."
"I see." Trowa was about ready to hang up.
"And what's your name, if I may ask?"
Trowa groaned inwardly. "Trowa Barton."
"Well, nice talking with you, Trowa. Perhaps I'll get to meet you sometime."
'Fabulous.' "Yes, perhaps. I really must get going."
"Of course, I'm sorry."
"Bye." *click* Trowa sighed in the empty silence. "Finally. Off to work for me." He tipped his head back, finishing off the last drops of coffee, folding his paper neatly and cleaning up the counter before heading off to work. He was borrowing Quatre's dark green Silverado for the time-being, since he didn't have a car of his own. Living so close to a centralized public transportation system, there was never any need for it, but now, he would require the car for such a long drive. As he drove to work, Trowa put on one of the burned CDs that Quatre happened to have. It was a mellower and more melancholy set that he happened to have. Without any idea on which song to settle, he set it to random and let the gently depressing tunes wash over him.
Sitting in the traffic
Another day of feeling nothing
Trying to find something
I guess it's back to huffing
Pain, it might have been
Oh how I die when I look at you
Smiling
Loving life
And all I know is you
Rainy days and cold stares
Broken love affairs
Everything is beautiful
As long as I ain't there
I guess I wasn't meant to crack a smile
Who cares?
I think I'll go to sleep for awhile
I'm barely living in my skin
Depressed since it all began
Cause I don't know where I am heading
Trying to forget where I've been
And I'm so sick of lying
God please show me that silver lining
Cause I'm hurting
And I'm not well
My head's full of Hell and this world's a jail
And it don't matter, I don't care
I let my pain into the air
Cause everything is hard to bear
Yea, everything is hard to bear
And it don't matter, I don't care
I let my pain into the air
Cause everything is hard to bear
Yea, everything is hard to bearAt a stoplight he reached into the CD case, digging out the playlist for the CD: it told him that he was listening to "It Don't Matter" by Rehab, number five on the disk. Deciding that he enjoyed the song, he turned it to play over again on the CD, already having picked up on the words. He sang along with the chorus only, letting the rap being taken care of by the CD itself, as he continued driving towards work. Once he finally pulled into the lot and made it to the door of the glass building, greeted at the door by a warm handshake and a pleasant smile.
"Why, hello there, Mr. Barton. Welcome to Starbucks."
He flashed his work smile, a mere curving upward at the corners of his mouth and an even slighter crinkling of the eyes, before returning to his more comfortably stoic expression. The only thing he truly loathed about person-to-person interaction was the slight façade he had to put on in order to not come off as a cold, unfeeling prick.
"Thank you. I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've met."
"Robert Miles," he smiled, "but most folks call me Bob."
"Well, Bob, it's good to meet you."
"And it's good to meet you, Mr. Barton. May I call you Trowa?"
"Please do," Trowa replied, surprisingly naturally.
"Well," Bob continued, "as you may have figured out by now, I will be training you. First, I need to see what you can do, of course, so that I know where I have to start with you. Save time and money, you know?"
"Of course; it's only logical."
"Then let's get started!" Bob led the way to the elevator, taking them up to the seventh floor. "It's our actual working lab. What I'm going to do," he explained, "is I'm just going to stand and watch and see if you can't mix flavors and ingredients. And remember, sticking strictly to coffee is all right, but we do also need our iced drinks. Summer, you know."
"What will I have at my disposal?"
"Over one hundred different coffees, twenty-six flavor additions, thirty brewers, seventy-one bottles of Italian soda syrup, and many other random ingredients."
"I'll make do," Trowa commented dryly. Rolling up his sleeves, he dove into work, hoping to impress The Man and get him off his back for awhile.
* * * * * * * * * *
Quatre pulled into his parking spot with a squeal of tires, already five minutes late for work. He grabbed his briefcase and coat and sprinted to the elevator, hoping that this slight transgression wouldn't be enough to get him fired - considering that his job was already walking on thin ice. He braced himself for whatever might be facing him when he entered the office.
As he stepped off the elevator, he could immediately hear the wave of whispers that would follow in his wake all the way up to his office. He couldn't catch anything that was being said, but the eyes that followed him and the looks he received made him feel like a dead man walking. 'This won't do,' he noted. 'I can't have this kind of crap following me.'
When he finally entered his office, he noticed his friend John sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Turning when Quatre entered, he smiled up to his younger comrade. "Good morning, Quatre."
Quatre closed the door behind him, walking up to his desk quickly and setting his briefcase down. "John, what the fuck is going on?"
"Indeed," he smiled. "Perhaps you could answer that for me. I called your house today... that Trowa guy answered."
"Yea, he's rooming at my house."
"And he has a job."
"Not by my doing, I assure you. But it seems like my work with him is pretty much done. You know, as opposed to in here."
"Oh, jeez, Quatre, how did you do it? Last time we spoke, you seemed hopeless. Now he's living with you?"
"Look, John, I'll answer your questions later," he all but growled. "Right now, I'm more worried about my job than anything."
John laughed, waving off Quatre's question. "Your job? Your job is fine. It's Johnson's I'm worried about. I don't know why the boss didn't skewer him and feed him to the papers, but, hey, at least you came out as the hero of the people."
"So I'm not fired?"
"Hell no! Johnson was."
Quatre fell into his chair, staring at his desk blankly. "Was it because of me?"
"You were more the straw that broke the camel's back than anything."
"Well, that's still no excuse."
"Quatre, Quatre, Quatre," John laughed, shaking his head, "you take everything to heart. I swear, you'd get eaten alive by this world if it wasn't for me. Johnson was a blowhard, and you know it. You did the company a favor by giving them a reason to get rid of him. The company, and the world."
Quatre sighed. "I suppose."
"Now," John grinned, leaning foreword on Quatre's desk like a schoolgirl eager for gossip, "about this Trowa situation..."
"What about it?" Quatre replied, spinning around in his chair so that he could prop his feet up on his desk.
"Details, man, details! How did you do it?"
"It was really quite by accident," he laughed. "I antagonized him by repeatedly sending him crap, until he came and confronted me about it."
"And then?"
"And then, we had a little fight. He tried to leave, but I wouldn't let him, so he shoved me out of the way. Let me tell you, although he doesn't look like much, muscle-wise, damn is he strong."
"Meaning?"
"I hit the wall and it knocked me out."
"Jesus Christ!"
Quatre shrugged. "Well, it was all for the best, actually, because then he helped me back to my house, and wound up staying for guilt."
"Sounds like fate had a major hand in that one."
"Yea, I'm beginning to think so."
John sighed, "Man, what dumb luck, huh? And it sounds like he's doing well, too."
"Yea, he got himself a job, although I don't know where."
"Find out."
"Well, duh."
"Your work may be done soon, you know?"
Quatre sighed, his eyes downcast. "I know. That's what makes me sad."
"You like him, don't you?"
"He's good company. The house doesn't seem so lonely anymore. It's nice having a friend there."
"A friend, huh?" John mumbled, smiling.
Quatre heard. "Yes, a friend. I promise you, that's all he is. A F-R-I-E-N-D."
John shrugged, stifling a laugh. "Whatever you say, Quatre."
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