Punishing

He couldn\'t be taken completely off the case, now.

Every leering look that Mr. Schapery sent Quatre\'s way confirmed his resolve.

He had a pretty good idea on how he could be indirectly involved in the Winner debacle. After this meeting, he would become a quick study in flattery and convince Mr. Schapery, oh, fuck it, Taylor (formalities were for people that deserved them [and clients]), so, he would convince Taylor to keep him on as a co-counsel. Trowa wouldn\'t be a well to draw upon for legal advice, he\'d just have to force himself to play the part of insignificant ant in the shadow of greatness, or some other contrived shit like that to tickle Taylor\'s ego so that he could sit in the same courtroom as Quatre R. Winner and keep vigil over him.

At present, Quatre Raberba Winner was Trowa\'s most important personal investment, and he would have no qualms about chopping Taylor\'s hands off to protect his liege\'s virtue.

He looked penetratingly at Quatre, who appeared like he\'d enjoy nothing more than to be inhebriated at that moment. His blue eyes drifted to Trowa, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a small attention that made Trowa feel extreme happiness as if he had been privy to an absolutely thrilling secret. He returned the almost-smile.

Satisfied, Quatre turned away and focused his attention back at the meeting.

It was obvious from his expression that he knew Trixie\'s stubbornness would eventually drag everyone into court for a nails-on-the-chalkboard painful experience, it was just a matter of formality and time.

His phone rang.

\"Quatre Winner, speaking,\" he answered very cool and professional.

Trowa could tell that Taylor was just eating it up.

\"Duo...I\'m in the middle of a meeting, can it wait?\" he asked, though he had pen and paper at the ready. \"...\'Green thingy\' doesn\'t mean anything to me. Tell me the name of the part and the supplier...Can you ask Heero about this? He\'s in charge of the...What happened?\" He closed his eyes and breathed a moment. \"Put Khaled on the phone, please.\"

That was the last snatch of conversation that Trowa understood before Quatre\'s words dissolved into a language that he couldn\'t decipher. While he talked, he scribbled idly on the paper in front of himself. At first it just looked like a bunch of shapes and squiggles, but they melded to form a picture that Trowa recognized.

It was the riverside place they\'d been a few days before. Then, he wrote upside down (for Trowa to read better):
2NT? (Trowa translated to: tonight?)

That was really bold of him to write in such an unsecluded venue.

Trowa could tell that Taylor was trying to make sense of it, he must have mistaken the note\'s recipient for himself.

It was all Trowa could do to stop the smug grin from overtaking his features.

He semi-smiled at Quatre\'s expectant face hoping that would be enough affirmation for him.

Quatre inclined his chin in a sort-of nod to show that he understood.

Trowa felt like he was passing notes during class, and he looked a little guiltily towards Trixie who shot him a singing stare back. He recognized the pervy thoughts that were running through her head, and didn\'t feel so guilty anymore, that sensation replaced by sheer revulsion as he tried to burrow (covertly) into his seat.

The call concluded with Quatre smiling friendly at everyone and apologizing for his rudeness.

Trixie couldn\'t stop the deluge of shit that poured from her mouth (her visenssenses must\'ve queued her off that all was not well in the house of hetrosexualism), \"You\'re damn right, that was rude! Look! You\'ve made everyone wait for you! Poor Trowa looks ready to die of boredom! How could you be so cruel to him? You\'re a no-good man just like you\'re a no-good husband!\"

1. Trowa\'s \"boredom\" would be mostly due to Trixie\'s inability to accept a more than generous deal, 2. the negotioations over marital assets were going nowhere anyway, and 3. Trowa liked Quatre (eccentric as he may very well be).

Luckily for Quatre (and Trixie [bless her little black heart]), her words just seemed to roll right off him. He looked at his watch and forced a smile. \"Mr. Schapery, you and Mr. Chang may work out a court date with a judge. I don\'t think these discussions are getting anywhere, though preferable to my schedule, they\'ve proven ineffective.\" His eyes focused for a split-second on Trowa (whose heart did a double-over backflip) before focusing on some point beyond Taylor and Trixie. \"I really wish that this had worked out,\" he said extending his hand across the table shaking Trixie and Taylor\'s hands briefly, then (as Trowa would like to imagine) lingered on Trowa.

\"Wouldn\'t it be best for your collaboration in a courtdate?\" Taylor asked as Quatre stepped into the threshold of the doorway.

\"I\'m busy everyday, I don\'t see that the date matters much in lieu of that,\" he stated, but not without a hint of regret. \"The sooner it\'s over, the better.\"

Then he left, closing the door behind himself.

\"That. rotten. bastard,\" Trixie sulked.

++

Somehow, Trowa got suckered into joining Taylor and Trixie for post-meeting drinks.

A great deal of his patience came from his desire to protect his Quatre interests, the last bit came from an obscene fascination with watching drunk people. He never drank enough to get toasted, himself, but he was able to make one glass last long enough for miscellaneous drinking companions to be satisfied. With how sloshed they managed to make themselves, they couldn\'t count his drinks, anyway.

Right now, Trixie was two sips closer to incoherence, while Taylor held up fairly well.

\"Titiana is a very exotic name. May I ask where you are from?\" he asked her.

\"\'M all Russian!\" Trixie proclaimed proudly patting her breast. \"Got imported \'ere by the old guy.\" Then she started laughing.

\"Old guy?\" Taylor pressed while Trowa listened idly but still alert for any utterance from his cellphone.

\"Wh-Yeah,\" she said as if he were the biggest bufoon on the planet, \"Mr. Winner.\" She raised her hands up in a self-congratulating cheer, \"\'M a Winner import!\" When she let her hands back down, she took a rather uninhibited moment to adjust her bra. \"These are great, aren\'t they Trowa?\" she cooed and he winced. \"They can be all yours, too,\" she continued, \"but they make my shoulders hurt like a mofo...\"

Trowa almost laughed at that, but then recalled an all too recent fear of asphyxiation from the twin tankers. Her shoulders may have hurt, but he felt the danger of having his trachea crushed far more acutely.

His ears perked up (all of their own accord) at the next question.

\"So, ah,\" Taylor began, his smile growing a tad over-predatory for Trowa\'s taste, \"have you and, uh, Mr. Winner done it?\"

She looked at him a moment, surprisingly sober, \"Which one?\"

Trowa and Taylor (for the single moment in their entire lives) gave each other a look of mutual bewilderment.

\"Your husband, ofcourse,\" Taylor said turning his attentions to Trixie, once more, and feeling bolder.

She laughed up a storm.

\"Th-that little creampuff?\" she asked incredulously. \"He couldn\'t handle me even if he wanted to!\" She dug around her purse for a second muttering curses all the while until she yanked out a gold box from which she plucked a thin cigarette. She poked it in her mouth and sat thinking a moment, \"I only go with him to visit the horde of bitches on holidays, even then, the little shit takes a different plane.\"

\"So, he neglects you?\" Taylor prodded in a sugary sympathetic voice and provided a light for her dangling coffin nail.

\"Sort of,\" Trixie practically sang. \"\'Mh...thought he was kind of hot, \'n I was ready to, uh, what\'s it in English...uh, yeah, \'make a man out of him\' on our wedding night, but, uh, the little bastard didn\' even lookit me, then, uh...he never came to my room.\" She slammed a fist down on the table. \"I\'m hot, right?\" she demanded shrilly, so caught up in the heat of the moment that she forgot to exhale and was reduced to a puddle of coughing.

Taylor agreed with her and Trowa could tell that he was just using her to toss kindling to the fire of his own NC-17 fantasies. The shit-eating grin on his face proved it.

Trowa\'s gaydar had Taylor on an APB. Just when he was about to say something to wrest the conversation away from Quatre, his cell rang.

He excused himself and retreated to the bathroom where it was kind of quiet.

\"Barton, speaking,\" he said answering his phone.

\"Goodness, that\'s charming,\" Quatre\'s voice carried across the line.

\"Isn\'t it?\" Trowa baited him feeling a little emboldened by the miniscule amount of alcohol he\'d just consumed.

\"You\'re not that hot, Mr. Barton,\" Quatre\'s voice teased him.

\"Call me Trowa.\"

\"That\'s rather unprofessional,\" Quatre admonished him.

\"So are the thoughts running through my head right now,\" Trowa assured him cheekily.

\"I\'m not sure that I like where this is going,\" Quatre said amused.

As cute as that phrase sounded, those words made Trowa\'s blood run cold.

Hadn\'t he just said the same thing to Trixie earlier that day?

Before he could find his tongue, Quatre was talking again, \"Meet me at eight.\"

\"Eight,\" Trowa repeated back to him still feeling a little rotten about having his turn-down phrase used on himself.

\"Bye,\" Quatre waited a moment, then added hurriedly, \"Trowa.\"

Then he hung up.

When Trowa rejoined Taylor and Trixie, they both looked like they\'d need a designated driver. It seemed as if Taylor had finally crossed over the threshold and Trixie was deep in the bowels of boozeville. At present, Taylor was expounding on the many virtues of one young Mr. Winner whilst Trixie was incapacitated comparing Trowa to a love slave of something of the like.

As much as he\'d have loved to leave them both to pass out and pick themselves up later, his conscience would eventually catch up with him at some very inconvenient moment.

\"Can you walk?\" he asked from a safe distance.

Trixie lifted her head and tried to extract herself from her seat. She stumbled around a little, but she was upright. Trowa would have applauded her since she was wearing highheels but felt more put-out at the prospect of driving his client and co-counsel home than he was entertained by Trixie\'s balancing act.

Taylor was wondering aimlessly in the general direction of the exit, an ID card in his hand and a cellphone in the other. He was calling a cab. At least he maintained enough sense to realize that he couldn\'t drive, and what he was doing seemed to be routine enough for him.

He\'d paid for the bill in full, the money left in a careless stack on the table. At least he was chivalrous.
Most of the time, Trowa preferred going dutch.

\"I\'m going to take you home,\" Trowa said then instantly regretted it when a toothy grin overtook Trixie\'s face.

\"You gonna take...advantage of me?\" she asked hopefully.

\"Your home,\" Trowa annunciated. \"Where I will leave you, untouched, so that you can sober up at your leisure.\"

\"No petting?\" she whined grabbing for forbidden anatomy that Trowa, more or less, grullyully avoided.

\"Definitely no petting,\" he said as assertively as possible while trying to user her out of the bar and to his car.

Unfortunately for him, Trixie decided that it would be very funny to go dead-weight in the middle of their trek to the car.

Rather than look like Romeo and swing her up into his arms, he dragged her the rest of the way and dumped her in the backseat shoving a balled up plastic bag in her hands incase she felt the need to make a deposit (prefertably not on the upholstery).

++

He made it about as far as the outermost gate of her estate (which, by the way, was obscenely huge) on the posh outskirts of the city, then handed her off to a uniformed guard who would convey her the rest of the way into the bowels of her house to hurl and to sleep and to rehydrate.

It was about five-thirty. If he sped home, he could clean himself up a little before his rendez-vous with Quatre.
The smell of Trixie puke was a little unflattering.

Somewhere around five minutes to their arrival, she tossed her cookies, and thankfully had the prescence of mind to do it in the bag. Evilly, Trowa had her take it with her on her way out (like a parting present, but not as pretty). Still, though, the smell lingered.

Trowa drove a while with the windows down.

TBC...

note(s):
1. coffin nail=cigarette. It\'s a Chaka joke;>>
2. sorry the chapter is short. I have lots of school stuff to do and I\'m feeling a little oogey (can\'t concentrate very well), and I wanted to get this out to you guys
3. please R&R^_^ thanks! I heart U