I Will Corrupt You
By karei
Capitulus Undecim
Chapter 11
Days had passed, and Quatre sighed thankfully that it was finally Friday. He drove to work at a leisurely pace, sipping his coffee for the fifth day in a row that week. He smiled to himself, thoroughly enjoying the rapid bond that he and Trowa had made. It was undeniable that they were friends and he prided himself on that relationship. He was also overjoyed at Trowa's amazingly speedy success. Within days he had impressed all the right people and worked his way up to management. 'I think the part that made them happiest was that he worked his way through college with Starbucks.' He still recalled how hard he had laughed when Trowa told him that he told his own boss that he felt he owed a debt to Starbucks; Quatre felt a reminiscent smile tug at his lips.
A slight wave of melancholy passed through him as he realized that soon, Trowa could be moving out. "It's quite easy for him to do so," he thought. "I mean, he's got a steady income, and he could easily move to the city near his work and be happy there, leaving Quatre alone once more. "Don't mope around," Quatre scolded himself, "you knew this would happen. This is what you hoped for and counted on so shut up."
When he finally arrived at work, he went through his typical routine of park the car, enter the office, say hello to various people, kiss some ass, kick some others, until he finally made it into his office and collapsed into his chair, already exhausted five minutes into work that day. He booted up his computer and checked his email, groaning and putting his head down on the desk with a thud when he saw that he had over one hundred, of twenty or so different threads. "What a way to start a day," he complained as he began sorting through emails.
There was a quick knock at the door, followed by the handle turning and a head popping in, completely uncaring whether Quatre wanted either occurrence or not. "Hey, you might want to hear this," he whispered.
"John?" Quatre asked, rising. "What is it? What's going on?"
He smiled wickedly, motioning for Quatre to come into the office. "I've got an inside man. The PA is on. Come on."
Reluctantly, Quatre came out of his office, a slight tugging from the computer slowing his walk. What he heard caused him to stop in his tracks.
"... I'm sorry, but we're just going to have to let you go."
"But sir, you can't do that! I've done so much for the co-"
"We're sorry, but that is our decision."
Quatre didn't need to hear any more. He turned to John, "Johnson?"
John merely nodded, an ecstatic smile on his face.
He grabbed his sleeve and all but hauled John back into his office. "Are you crazy?" he whispered angrily. "You had someone turn on the PA system on Johnson's dismissal?"
John snickered softly, nodding excitedly. "It's great, isn't it?"
Quatre just shook his head, mumbling disapprovingly. "I swear, you really ought to act your age."
"What do you mean?" he asked innocently.
"I mean," Quatre hissed, "that you're forty-five and you act like a pre-pubescent prankster!"
"Ooh, big words," he mocked. "Looks like somebody boned up for the SATs."
"Grow up."
John tapped the side of his head. "Age is all up here, Quatre. You can be five or five hundred and act like the complete opposite. It's all a matter of perspective. You're - what? - twenty-one?"
"Twenty-two, thank you."
"Not important. You act old enough for the both of us."
"Whatever," Quatre mumbled. "You're just lucky you're the president's son-in-law."
"Hey, not my fault my father-in-law wound up being the owner of Standard Oil."
"Yea, and your job is secure. I swear, I'm going to get fired next."
"No, you won't. It'd be a bad PR move."
"It's not like I'm the hero of the people. I read the news, and I know. They make me seem like some stiff who just got lucky and caught a stupid mistake."
John shifted his weight slightly. "Don't worry. Things will turn out all right. There are always bumps."
They continued talking, the conversation quickly turning to happier, more lively topics. Soon, they were swapping jokes and the office was filled with laughter. A little later, Quatre stepped out of his office with John in tow, extremely animated. "And so the woman went to bed that night, relieved in knowing she'd never have to give another blow job…" And that was when he bumped into someone carrying a large box; the force of impact caused the large box to overturn, it's contents spilling out onto the floor.
"Shit!" the box's carrier grumbled. "As if today wasn't bad enough..."
Quatre's eyes widened as he saw Johnson standing in front of him, flanked by his boss. He stammered, "Uh, hello... sir... I-"
"Mr. Winner," his boss replied in a clipped manner. "Good to see you maintaining a professional air in this office."
"I... I try... sir..."
"You see?" Johnson cried. "I told you he was too immature to handle this job! A young kid with a bleeding heart is the last thing this company needs!"
"Johnson," his former boss nearly shouted, "please, preserve some dignity."
"Damnit, sir, dignity won't feed my kids!" His eyes fixed on Quatre's, pure hatred running out in streams. "I swear to God, Winner, you'll pay for this."
Fear passed over Quatre's face, remaining until John spoke. "Look, Johnson, I'd rather not be vulgar in this company, but you leave me no choice." He gathered himself to deliver his insult as professionally as possible. "Go fuck yourself."
The fourth of the party intervened, putting a hand on the shoulder of the man he just fired. "Let's get you out of here. I don't want any more of a ruckus caused in my office." He left, shooting a look at Quatre, mouthing the words 'we'll talk' to him. Quatre swallowed hard and nodded once.
As soon as his boss was down the corridor and turned the corner, Quatre sighed, leaning against the wall, his eyes turned up toward the ceiling in frustration. "Shit, John, I'm screwed sideways here. I'm so fired."
"No, you're not."
"Did you see the way he glared at me?" Quatre yelped. "I'm so dead."
"Quatre, you have nothing to worry about."
"The hell I don't!" A few heads turned at his outburst, so he quieted himself down. "John, I swear to God, I'm so fired. He must hate me as it is for that whole fiasco over this weekend, and let's not forget the fact that I am so young, and should anybody start digging into my past..."
"Don't worry about it. I'll be here to help. And besides, the people seem to think you're a hero for saving their jobs. You've definitely swayed some of the employees, that's for sure. He'd have to do a lot of mud-slinging before he could get you legitimately fired. And I highly doubt there's anything in your past that could get you in trouble."
"What about my 'degree?'" Quatre asked, slightly on edge.
"Taken care of. And anybody at UCLA can vouch for you."
Quatre sighed softly, still not fully relieved, but glad to have that minor weight off his shoulders. "And how many favors did you call in on my behalf, huh?"
John shrugged, "Not so many. Besides, I'd hate to see all our hard work go down the drain now, just because some stupid jackass decided to make a fool of himself in a last-ditch effort to save his job."
Quatre looked as if he was thinking this over, but inside was deciding to end the discussion. "Look, I'm exhausted. I'm going home, falling asleep, and not waking up until I have to."
"Yea, I think you deserve it. Get going," he laughed, "and say hi to your roomie for me. Oh, and I still have questions that you're dodging."
Quatre smiled. "I'll be sure to. And call me tonight. I'll answer then."
* * * * * * * * * *
Quatre opened the door with a smile on his face, thankful for the weekend. "Lucy!" he shouted in his best Ricky Ricardo voice. "I'm home!"
Trowa was sipping tea in the kitchen, a steaming cup waiting next to him. "I take it work went well?"
"Yea. Although, I feel kind of guilty." Quatre grabbed a piece of toast from the table and munched on it happily.
"Oh?" he asked, raising his one visible eyebrow.
"Yea, this guy I really don't like got fired today. It's really cruel to say, but I'm glad he was."
"Why didn't you like him?"
"Well, he was rude, and he had no consideration for employees or consumers. Just about profits and his own sorry ass."
"Then it's a good thing he was fired. No need for people like that to have power over such major companies."
"Well, fabulous," Quatre smiled. "I'm glad you agree." He went to the refrigerator to get himself something to eat.
"We're out of milk."
"That's fine."
"And eggs."
"Fine."
"And bread."
Quatre shut the fridge in frustration. "What else are we missing?"
"I made a list," Trowa replied flatly. "It's on the counter."
He found Trowa's list and began reading. "Milk, eggs, bread, carrots, French roast, cinnamon, mint leaves, vanilla extract, coffee filters, sugar, green tea, ginseng, Fruity Pebbles-" he stopped short. "Wait, I had half a box left this morning."
Trowa shrugged. "I was hungry. You took your precious time in coming home. I ate for one."
"At least you said something," Quatre mumbled, somewhat ungratefully.
"Well, I couldn't just leave it. That would be rude."
"And finishing all of my Fruity Pebbles off isn't?"
"Hn."
Quatre growled softly, getting very frustrated. However, he gave up, knowing that once Trowa said 'hn,' the argument usually ended there. Namely, because all Trowa would say on that topic from that point on would be 'hn.'
Trowa looked up from his paper, smiling slightly at Quatre's frustration, watching as he tried to throw the box away. The first time he went to do it, he did it too violently, and it bounced back out. So he picked it up and threw it again, and missed, hitting the rim and causing it to bounce out once more. He noted how Quatre's eyes shone just so when he was angry, and when he was trying to solve a problem. Currently it was both as he crushed the box to throw it away once more. This time he made it in perfectly. He slammed down the lid with a satisfying finality, haughtily remarking, "And stay in there!"
"Quatre?"
"Huh?" He looked up at Trowa innocently.
"It's just a box."
Quatre glared at the trashcan that held the cereal box. "Yes, and a very spiteful and vicious one." He sighed, picking up his keys. "Anyway, let's get shopping, huh?"
Trowa set down his tea. "Fine, but yours will get cold."
"That's what microwaves are for, Trowa."
* * * * * * * * * *
"You going to get the door, or do I have to do that too?"
"Sorry, Trowa, I'm locking the car."
"And who is going to steal it?"
Quatre laughed softly, scolding himself internally for his own silly habits. "Yea, I'll get it. Coming." He bound up the stairs and opened the door for Trowa, whose arms were laden with grocery bags.
"Thanks."
"Yea, don't mention it," Quatre replied as he followed Trowa in. He went to his room as Trowa thumped the grocery bags on the counter.
"Hey, Quatre!" Trowa called from the kitchen.
"Yea?" he shouted back.
"There's a message on the machine."
"Well, play it and tell me what it says."
"Sure thing." Trowa pressed play and listened to the robotic speech of the machine.
'You have two new messages. Message one:'
A slightly crazed voice came on the phone, not recognized by Trowa. "Winner? You there? I know you're there. Pick up. Damn you. This is all your fault. I'll see that you pay. Remember that." *click*
'Message two:'
"Hey, Quatre! So how's Trowa, the Wealth and Commonwealth project?" There was a slight laugh. "Well, I suppose it's a matter of time before he moves out, huh? Too bad, I really wanted to meet the guy. Sounds like a pretty good friend, though. You seem a lot more chipper lately. Well, I'll be expecting that call! You know the number." *click*
Trowa glared silently at the phone, feeling a hot sense of rage slowly building up in him. Quickly, he grabbed a pen and a sticky note, scrawling angrily on it. Once he finished, he ripped off the paper, sticking it to the phone. Having done that, he stormed out of the kitchen in an angry huff, just as Quatre walked in.
"Trowa?" He barely got his question out before he heard the door slam. "What in the hell-?" Quatre's eyes happened to fall on the paper that was stuck to his answering machine. He picked it up and read it, recognizing immediately Trowa's handwriting.
'You have two new messages. I'd pay particular attention to the second one.'
Completely puzzled, he pressed the button to hear the messages. The first one creeped him out as he recognized the voice to be Johnson's. 'Holy shit,' he thought fearfully, 'this guy's gonna kill me. I swear to God, he's going to murder me.' Forcing himself to calm down, he listened to the second one, his mouth opening in astonishment as he listened.
His heart plummeted as the message ended. "Holy shit," Quatre breathed. "Holy shit." The phrase kept falling from his mouth as he felt his own self falling. "He's gone. He'll never want to talk to me again. Holy shit." He gripped his chest in pain as a single tear escaped his eyes.
Back | Next | Gundam Wing