Author: Snowdragonct
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: There's a bit of swearing. A pretty much "implied" attempted NCS that absolutely doesn't get anywhere near detailed or graphic. Some 1x2 smooching and cuddling and suggestiveness (what would fan fic be without that?). Nasty Dorothy. Rotten Silvia. Evil Alex. Surprisingly NICE Relena.
Thanks: My main beta/best friend Kaeru Shisho was 100 percent supportive.
The Wedding Date Part 1
Heero stood by the ticket counter, impatiently looking at his watch. Quatre's sister was running late, and if she didn't show up in the next few minutes, he'd have to go without her or miss his flight.
He felt the first stirrings of panic, wondering once again how he'd let himself get suckered into this in the first place.
Oh, yes -- it had been Quatre's silver tongue, hadn't it? His blonde friend was entirely to blame for the hoards of butterflies currently taking up residence in his stomach.
When he'd gotten the invitation to Milliardo's wedding, his first inclination had been to decline it. After all, it meant a transatlantic flight and a weekend of being hounded by Mill's sister, Relena, who'd been fixated on him back in prep school, and pretty much ever since.
He still cursed the day, back in grade school, when he'd beaten up a bully who was picking on her. She'd promptly dubbed him her "knight in shining armor," with veritable stars shining in her eyes, and had spent most of the rest of their acquaintance trying to get him to sweep her off her feet.
He'd had his apology all prepared, with multiple excuses -- too busy at work, not enough vacation time left, and of course, his inherent fear of flying. He'd figured those were ample grounds for skipping the event, regardless of the fact that it was a headline-garnering event in the social world.
But then Quatre had dashed into his office, waving his own invitation and practically giggling in delight over the chance to stay at the Peacecraft Palace for the weekend. "Look who's getting married, Heero! Isn't it great?"
"Lovely."
"The wedding is in the chapel on the palace grounds, where --" Quatre had looked down at the leaflet enclosed in the invitation. "'-- over ten generations of Peacecrafts have been baptized, coronated, and of course married.'" His blue eyes had positively gleamed with anticipation. "Won't it be spectacular?"
"I'm sure it will," Heero had said dryly. "Take lots of pictures for me."
"Of course -- What? You're not coming?"
"No, Quatre, I'm not."
And he'd meant it, too. He'd fended off Quatre's insistence that he not only had plenty of vacation time left, but that he was weeks ahead on his projects. He'd even stood firm in the face of suggestions that he could take a tranquilizer to ease his anxiety over flying.
But the next day when he'd gotten a personal call from Milliardo, requesting him to be a groomsman, he hadn't been able to refuse. They'd been very close, back in the day, and the hint of pleading in his old comrade's voice was too much to resist.
Although, now he couldn't even remember the name of Mill's intended! Something exotic -- probably some rare Chinese flower -- Changfei, was it?
The details had flown from his head once he found himself standing in the airport, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for his wedding date to show up to accompany him. But the only thing that had arrived so far was the flock of butterflies taking up residence in his stomach.
In a moment of madness, while bemoaning his situation to his best friend, Quatre -- Heero had let the smooth-talking blonde convince him that showing up with a date was the perfect way to keep Relena at arm's length for the entire weekend.
Of course, Heero didn't have a date. He didn't even have a girlfriend. If he were completely honest, he didn't really have anything remotely resembling a social life. Aside from company functions, he kept to himself -- filling his days with work, and his evenings with visits to the gym, walks in the park, and the company of his friends and many a good book.
When he'd pointed that out to Quatre, the blonde had immediately dialed up one of his numerous sisters and asked if she'd like to attend the social event of the decade. She'd jumped on the opportunity like a starving wolf on a juicy steak.
It wouldn't be that bad, Heero assured himself. He'd met several of Quatre's sisters, and they were pleasant to be around. The one he'd been set up with was a career woman, according to Quatre -- ambitious and good-looking and totally uninterested in the distractions of dating -- much like Heero. The weekend arrangement would suit them both.
It would suit them -- if she showed up!
Heero looked again at his watch, mumbling a curse. There was no putting off check-in any longer, unless he went to the trouble and expense of changing to a later flight -- assuming they even had one. Transatlantic flights tended to be few and far between.
If Heero hadn't had to fly out on a Thursday, in order to be there for the pre-wedding preparations and rehearsal, he would've flown with Quatre and Trowa, who were coming on Saturday. He briefly considered trying to switch to that flight, and just skip the rehearsal stuff.
But then, deciding it wasn't worth the effort, he again approached the ticket agent.
"Miss --? The person who was supposed to meet me here seems to be late. I'm going to have to go ahead through security, or I'll miss my flight."
The clerk nodded sympathetically. "Would you like to leave the name, in case they show up?"
Heero winced, realizing he didn't know which sister it was -- Iria or Lara or something? "I'm -- not sure," he admitted. "It's a friend of a friend. I think that ticket is under the name Winner."
"I see. Well I'll be sure to rush them along, if they make it in time. Would that be okay?"
"Fine."
Grumbling under his breath, Heero headed for the security line, eager to get through the tedious process of being screened and allowed to the boarding area.
He saw no sign of the sister Quatre had described, even once he reached the gate and found the flight already beginning to board.
"Fuck." He dialed Quatre's cell number, fuming a bit.
"Quatre Winner --" came a slightly staticky voice.
"Winner -- your sister is a no show!" Heero accused, fidgeting in the line for the boarding gate.
"-- small problem -- stomach flu -- but took care of it --" came the broken response.
"Took care of it how?" demanded Heero.
"-- a friend recommended -- dating -- meet you there."
Heero rolled his eyes. It sounded like some friend of Quatre's sister was going to show up -- or someone that a friend had been dating? It was all too confusing to even sort out.
"Forget it!" he snapped. "I'd rather go alone!"
He snapped off his cell phone, as the flight attendant accepted his boarding pass. "Please remember, cell phones will need to be turned off before takeoff."
"I know," he growled back, taking the extra moment to shut it off right then, before he was tempted to call Quatre back and really give him a piece of his mind.
He made his way to his seat in coach, stowing his carry-on above and sliding over to the window seat. Not that he cared one way or the other, but since the seat next to him was going to remain empty, he thought he'd prefer to be away from the aisle. That way he wouldn't be bothered by flight attendants or other passengers.
He settled back comfortably, his hectic week catching up with him all at once, and turned his attention to the view outside the window.
It was a clear day, and the harbor was glittering under the sunlight. But Heero didn't find the sparkling waves the least bit reassuring. He hated to fly. Takeoffs and landings sent him nearly into a full-blown panic attack every time.
He'd been to psychiatrists for it, since his job required him to travel at regular intervals. Most had suggested valium, or other relaxants, which had worked; but he hated taking those medications, preferring to keep a clear head. Then one astute therapist had taught him meditation and breathing exercises, and he found that if he cleared his mind and practiced slow, steady breathing, he could usually manage without drugs.
Just as he was about to close his eyes and start counting breaths, someone suddenly stopped beside his seat, putting their luggage in the overhead rack and struggling to close the compartment.
He looked up in irritation, only to narrowly miss being smacked in the face by a long chestnut braid as the newcomer turned to close the opposite compartment as well.
Then a slim body dropped into the seat next to him, and a pair of glimmering indigo eyes met his. "Sorry I'm late," said someone who looked just a bit too pretty to be a man. Yet his voice was decidedly male.
Heero stared blankly, taking in the heart-shaped face dominated by large, vivid eyes and a slightly too-wide mouth set in a relaxed smile. "Excuse me?"
"-- would've been here sooner, but the call was really last-minute, and the traffic --" the man continued all in one breath.
"Do I know you?" Heero demanded, scowling now.
The apologetic rambling ended rather abruptly, and the fellow held out a hand. "Um -- no. I'm Duo Maxwell."
"That's nice," Heero replied coolly, not returning the gesture. "But I think you're in the wrong seat."
Duo looked at his boarding pass and then back up, shrugging slightly. "21B."
"It must be a mistake," Heero insisted, sure they couldn't have sold the unclaimed ticket on stand-by -- not at that late hour.
"Nope. This is the ticket that was reserved for me."
"It was reserved for a Miss Winner," Heero retorted. "And clearly, you are not her."
"Ah, no," Duo replied with another smile. "I kind of thought you would be."
"I -- what?"
Duo sighed and shook his head. "Look, all I know is I was told a ticket would be reserved under the name Winner. I was to check in and join someone for this flight."
Heero shook his head. "As I said before, there's been a mistake. Miss Winner was supposed to accompany me on this flight."
Duo blinked, looking confused. "Oh." He started to fumble for his cell phone, but the flight attendant came by and shook her head sternly.
"We're taxiing to the runway, sir. All cell phones must remain off."
"You don't understand," Heero cut in. "He's not supposed to be here."
She eyed him suspiciously. "What are you talking about?"
Duo caught Heero's eye and shook his head slightly. Then he turned back to the stewardess. "I was supposed to have the window seat, he meant," he said smoothly. "But it's okay. I'm fine on the aisle."
She studied them both for a long moment before wandering off to continue instructing others to buckle up and put away any personal items.
"Jesus," Duo sighed, glaring at Heero. "Did you want us to get tagged as terrorists? Sheesh. She looked like she was just about ready to scream for an air marshal."
"Well maybe she should have," Heero snarled back. "I have no idea who you are, or why you took Miss Winner's ticket, but I've a good mind to alert security that something very irregular has gone on."
"There's nothing irregular, except maybe your attitude," came the heated reply. "And I told you who I am -- it's you who hasn't bothered to tell me who the hell I'm playing escort for."
Heero gaped. "Escort?"
"Yes, escort."
The plane was already speeding down the runway, and Heero suddenly recalled his unease at flying. He squeezed his eyes shut, and held his breath as the force of lifting from the ground made him feel pressed down into this seat.
"-- okay?" he heard, catching the tail-end of what sounded like a fairly long sentence as the plane gained altitude and the tightness in his muscles eased.
He opened his eyes to see concerned indigo ones staring at him. "Huh?" he asked intelligently.
"I said, are you okay?"
"I just -- don't like takeoffs and landings," he admitted, feeling sweat beading on his forehead even as his racing pulse steadied.
"Here." Duo pulled an unopened bottle of water from the backpack he'd stuffed under his seat, uncapped it and pressed it into Heero's slightly unsteady hand. "Sip it slowly."
"Hn." Heero complied, too shaken at having been distracted from his usual pre-takeoff breathing exercises to protest. He drank several gulps, and then handed the bottle back, watching as Duo closed it and tucked it into one of the cup holders.
"There -- in case you need it later."
"Thanks." Heero had caught his breath, and finally turned a quizzical look on his seatmate. "Could you -- explain how you came to be here? Please?"
He caught a wary look from the indigo eyes. "If you'll at least tell me your name --"
Heero blinked, realizing he'd never returned the greeting when Duo had introduced himself. "Heero Yuy," he replied, letting a trace of apology slip into his voice.
Duo smiled again, apparently taking pity on him. "Well, Mister Yuy, I work for Ladies and Gents -- an escort service. Miss Winner called in a request for a companion for the weekend, to fly to Sanc, act as a wedding date, and fly back on Monday." He shrugged. "I'm it."
"You're -- a -- an -- escort?" Heero demanded, barely able to keep the shock from his voice. "As in a --"
Oh, God! Quatre's sister had lined up a prostitute to accompany him to Milliardo's wedding? A male prostitute?
TBC...
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