"Two Fists, One Desire"

George stood before the large house on Champion Blvd, a few suitcases at his side on the sidewalk and a sheet of paper in one hand. One eyebrow raised, he regarded the establishment with a critical eye. Well, it wasn't quite the de Sand mansion, but it was better than staying in a hotel suite for almost a week while his home was being fumigated. Had it been anything but termites, he might have just stuck it out and ordered something less extensive than fumigation, but he didn't want his roof collapsing, either.

The Jack of Diamonds sighed. He half wished the Kasshus had managed to extend an invitation to stay with them ahead of the one Chibodee had given, but what had he to lose? On the other hand... George feared that while the mansion looked well kept on the outside by groundskeepers, the inside would be overly eccentric and a total mess. Sighing, he rang the gate bell and waited.

A few minutes later, Chibodee himself came waltzing out, only wearing a pair of old jeans with and some sneakers. George stared at him in shock. Did he know the entire neighborhood could see him like that? And where were his girls? George had sent Raymond on vacation during the fumigation, so had expected a little help from Chibodee's all female enterouge, but...?

"Hey, Red!" the boxer exclaimed as he opened the gates. "Long time no see! I'm glad ya decided to except my invitation to stay over. It was gettin' boring around here with the girls on vacation."

"I... I can imagine." George forced a smile, but on the inside, he screamed. The place was sure to be a disaster without female influence.

"Here, come on!" Chibodee grabbed two of the suitcases and began to lead the way back up the walkway and inside. "I got a room all set up for you."

The Jack of Diamonds sighed, picked up the remaining two suitcases and followed. This was going to be a long week.

Shockingly enough, the inside of the mansion was in decent shape. Well, at least the entry way was clean. The hall leading to the guest room was alright; a few random items of clothing lined the sides of the hall, which the boxer dismissed as being a few things he'd dropped while doing laundry that morning. The guest room itself was clean and tidy, but probably because Shirley and the others had seen to that before leaving on vacation.

"You've got full run of the house while you're here, so feel free to grab a beer or a take a nap on the couch whenever you feel like it," Chibodee said as he plunked the suitcases down on the queen size bed. "I've also got a personal gym, which you can have free run of."

"Merci." George put down the other two bags of luggage and glanced around. "I'm grateful for your hospitality, especially since I don't really care much for staying in hotels. They can be a little stuffy."

"Not a problem! Just let me know if you need anything," Chibodee replied with a wink as he left the room, swatting his friend on the ass as he went.

The fencer's face flushed almost as red as his hair. What had THAT been for? For a moment, he considered the idea of swatting Chibodee across the face for it, but he shook his head after a moment. No. It was probably some weird American...thing. He'd seen American football a few times while at Chibodee's Shuffle get togethers, previously, and occassionally the players would do that to each other in a good natured sort of way.

"Oh, one other thing." Chibodee started George as he peered into the room again, briefly. "You wanna go out tonight? I figured we could go to one of the local breweries, watch some smaller division boxing, that kinda thing."

"Ah, non... No thank you, mon ami," the other replied as politely as he could. He didn't much care for the idea of being around his friend while he was under the influence. "I think I will remain here and...rest up a bit."

Chibodee looked a bit disappointed at that. "You sure? We could play some pool?"

The fencer shook his head. "Non, but thank you, anyway."

"Alright then."

George breathed a sigh of relief as the Queen of Spades finally took his leave. Yes, Chibodee was his friend, but he wasn't quite sure he wanted to go out drinking with him to some bar, somewhere.

Nine o'clock came and went, and Chibodee had been gone for over two hours. George sat on the couch in the living room, watching the late evening news. Missing Raymond, or any sort of human contact for that matter, he sighed and flipped through the channels. Hardly anything interesting. Feeling a bit hungry, he finally got up and headed for the kitchen, remembering that Chibodee had given him full access to the entire house.

However, upon arrival, he found that the kitchen had seen far better days.

Stacks of dirty dishes stood piled in the sink, and the counter was covered with empty beer bottles and crumbs. The trash was about overflowing with used paper towels, left over food and other waste. As for the kitchen table, itself, it looked as if what was left of lunch was still sitting there, inviting an ant invasion. George sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. How was he to even THINK of getting food out of the kitchen while it was in that disgraceful state? Chibodee might eventually clean it up, but from the looks of things, the dishes in the sink had been there for at least a few days. The girls weren't there to do it, or to get after him, and with Raymond gone, that left the task to...

George had never really had to clean all that much in his life. He was born into a priviledged family, after all, but this was just unacceptable. Perhaps if he put forth some effort, Chibodee would do the same, and the pair wouldn't drown in a huge mess before Shirley, Bunny, Cath and Janet got back. Steeling his resolve, the Jack of Diamonds marched upstairs to Chibodee's room to borrow some old clothes for the task, since he didn't want to ruin any of his own garments. Part of him figured that it was the boxer's mess, so no loss if a pair of really old jeans and a t-shirt got a little dirty. Fair was fair, after all.

Unfortunately, Chibodee's own bedroom was also a horrid mess. George sighed, and figured he may as well try to do something about that, as well, once the kitchen had been taken care of properly. Finding an old pair of jeans and a red t-shirt, he changed into them and headed back downstairs to tackle the biggest mess he'd ever seen in anyone's home.

Sometime around 2am, Chibodee staggered in through the front door. Face flushed from one beer too many, he managed to find the entryway light switch and then made his way into the living room. There, he found George asleep on the couch, still wearing his jeans and t-shirt. This confused the Queen of Spades until he went to the kitchen for some water and found it spotless.

'Well, I'll be damned! That French bastard cleaned the place up!" Scratching his head, Chibodee smirked and went back out into the living room.

George wasn't too keen on getting up, being completely exhausted, so Chibodee picked him up and carried him upstairs. He didn't care much for being carried, either, and protested the whole way in a groggy sort of way, but fell asleep again after being deposited on the guest bed. The boxer shrugged and went to his own room...only to find that clean, too. Amazed by this, he could only scratch his head and shrug before going to bed, himself. He'd figure a way to make it up to his old friend in the morning.

The following morning, George got up around 8 o'clock and got dressed, still a little weary from the night before. It seemed like fighting and training was one thing, and having to clean up after Chibodee was another, entirely. Making his way downstairs, he found the Queen of Spades in the kitchen, making breakfast. The fact that the boxer was up so early didn't surprise the Jack of Diamonds as much as the fact that Chibodee could actually cook and cook decently. The blue haired fighter grinned at George as he entered, telling him to have a seat at the kitchen table.

"Thought I'd pay you back for cleaning up around here last night by making one hell of breakfast this morning," Chibodee explained as he brought over a pot of coffee and plates heaped up with sausage, eggs, toast and fruit.

"You didn't have to go through all this trouble," George responded, although he had to admit the food smelled pretty good. "I just thought maybe I could help you out a little since you were gracious enough to have me here."

"Don't worry about it! Besides, since the girls are out, we guys'll just have to look out for each other, huh?" Chibodee sat down and dug into his own food. "Oh, and I hope you didn't mind me hauling you upstairs to your room last night, but I didn't think you were going to get up, otherwise. You were dead on your feet."

The fencer felt his cheeks redden slightly in embarassment. "It's...fine, I suppose. Just not a word about that to anyone!"

Chibodee laughed, which made George blush further. Seeing his friend that embarassed prompted the boxer to change the subject, so breakfast was eaten over a discussion about the contenders for the upcoming 14th Fight. They left themselves out of it to make things easier, and instead chose to talk about the other Shuffle members, as well as some of the so-called "hot contenders" for the next tournament, many of which they considered nothing more than inexperienced greenhorns.

After breakfast, they made a joint effort to get the dishes done, and then headed back upstairs. George went to his own room to brush his teeth after eating, only to find his toothbrush missing. Frowning, he searched about for it to see if it had somehow fallen on the floor of the bathroom, but couldn't seem to locate it. Somewhat frustrated he headed down the hall and peered into Chibodee's room.

"Pardon, mon ami, but you haven't by chance seen my toothbrush anywhere?"

"Oh, yeah! Hang on a second." Chibodee stopped rummaging through some of his gym clothes and went into his own bathroom. A moment later, he returned with the toothbrush and handed it to George, who frowned. "Sorry about that, buddy, but after you cleaned up in here last night, I didn't know what you'd done with mine, so I uh, borrowed yours."

George regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "I put it in the medicine cabinent. And why didn't you at least ASK before using mine?"

"You were so out of it last night, I didn't think it would do any good."

"My friend, it's improper to use someone else's personal items without asking, regardless." He resisted the urge to ask Maxter's pilot if he had been raised in a barn. Chibodee could be a nice guy, but there were times when he was so rough around the edges and uncouth, it irritated the knight inside and out.

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry!" The Queen of Spades shrugged and backed off a little before going back to searching through his dresser drawers. "By the way, what'd you do with that old pair of jeans I had? They had holes in the back pockets. I can't seem to find where ya put 'em."

"Those? They were so old and full of holes that I tossed them out. I didn't think they'd be of much use, anymore."

"You WHAT?"

"Chibodee, they had HOLES in the back pockets," George continued, not understanding what the issue was really about. "You can't wear pants that expose your... your undergarments."

"Gawddamnit, George! You've got the nerve to give me a hard time about a toothbrush when you went and tossed out my favorite pair of relaxing jeans?" Chibodee exclaimed, feeling his temper flaring up.

"If they meant that much to you, you have my apologies," was all the other could think of to say, even though it still made little sense to him as to why anyone would want a pair of ripped up jeans.

"Ah, get outta here, ya French bastard."

George sighed and left, being used to the phrase "French bastard." But while he was accustomed to Chibodee using the phrase, it wasn't so often used in a nasty tone of voice. Irritated by all of this, he went outside to take a walk around the grounds to cool off a bit.

When he came back, however, he found Chibodee in the living room, watching TV...and wearing a pair of his expensive pants. Well, they weren't really just pants, perse, they were an expensive pair of denim jeans that flared slightly at the bottoms and were meant to be worn with boots. He eyed the boxer with growing irritation, but nothing could have prepared him for the moment when Chibodee smirked at him and then stood up to walk into the kitchen for a beer.

...the back pockets of the jeans had been torn out.

"Chibodee Crocket! Of all the childish stunts!" he raged, calling after the boxer.

"Hey, you owed me this one, Red!" came the reply from inside the kitchen.

George growled, and then suddenly noticed the three empty beer bottles already sitting on the coffee table. Violet eyes shifting back to the kitchen door, he heard the sound of a fourth bottle being cracked open. Well, fine then. If Chibodee wanted to be an ass about this, so be it. George was no pushover, no matter how proper he preferred to be, and he wasn't about to let Chibodee think he could get away with just anything. Granted, this had started with a mistake in communication earlier, but everything got rolling when George had only been trying to help out. THAT was more than irritating. It was exasperating.

Turning away, George went back outside again. Chibodee appeared in the doorway about then, fourth bottle of beer in handed. As the front door slammed, he simply shrugged and went back to watching his football game. Maybe he was being a jerk, but whatever. Let the red-head stew for now; he'd buy George a new pair of jeans later.

George came back about half an hour later, made a trip to the downstairs bathroom, and then headed up to his room. Chibodee didn't give the Frenchman so much as a glance and continued to watch his game.

Some twenty minutes later, Chibodee had gone through about five beers. Feeling that was enough for the time being, the Queen of Spades took a break when a commercial came up and headed for the downstairs restroom.

Upstairs, George sat in his room at the desk by the bed, reading the morning paper, which he'd found out by the entrance gate. As footsteps sounded in the hallway outside his room, he raised one eyebrow slightly, but didn't move from the chair, or even look up from the periodical. A moment later, Chibodee appeared in the doorway with his pants and his boxers around his ankles. Fortunately, his shirt was long in front to cover up what counted.

"You sneaky, rotten bastard!" Chibodee began angrily, pointing accussingly at the fencer with a rolled up magazine in one hand, possibly his latrine reading material. "You did this, didn't you!"

George glanced up from his newspaper and noted that the reason Chibodee's drawers were dropped was due to the fact that he had a toilet seat stuck to his ass. "Did I?"

"You know, Red, I didn't think you had a mean streak in ya, but this is crap! Thank god I had a tool kit in that bathroom so I could unscrew the fucking toilet seat just to get out! I hope your happy with your petty little revenge, because no one messes with a Crocket and gets away with it!"

Turning back to his newspaper, the Jack of Diamonds shrugged a little. "I didn't start this, Chibodee, even though you seem to think I did. I just want to know you cannot push me about when it comes to things like this."

"Oh no?" Chibodee made his way into the room and towards the bathroom. "Maybe you didn't notice, Red, but I'm wearin' YOUR underwear as well as your pants! So, if you'll excuse me, I'll use your bathroom here and make use of this great bit of readin' material!"

The other glanced up to see that the boxer was holding a copy of a smut magazine. He arched one eyebrow, not understanding what the hell Chibodee was smirking about, and then suddenly, it hit him. George got up and ran after Chibodee, but it was too late; the Queen of Spades slammed and locked the bathroom door before the Frenchman could reach him.

"Chibodee, you open this door at once!" George shouted, pounding one fist against the door, angrily. "Don't you dare do what I think you're about to do in MY clothes!"

"Tough luck, Red!" came the muffled response. "I'll see you in about half an hour!"

"ARGH!" The knight tugged on his own hair in frustration and left the room, wondering if it was too late to change over to a local hotel.

After finishing his business in the bathroom and then committing the heinous act of entering Shirley's room in order to find some nail polish remover, Chibodee used the solution to dissolve the glue and get the toilet seat off his hindquarters. Feeling sore and pissy, the boxer went to change into some of his own clothes. He wasn't sure where George had gone, but he didn't care at the moment. As it was, perhaps the guy had gotten it through his head and given up. That idea flew clear out the window, however, as Chibodee entered his room and found most of his clothes had gone missing. Red with rage, he found a pair of jeans that hadn't been taken and then started to search about for his houseguest. George was nowhere to be found. Sitting down on the living room couch, the Queen of Spades decided he'd just have to wait. All of George's belongings were still there, so he'd have to come back, sooner or later.

It was several hours before the fencer came back, and when he came in, he was wearing far more clothes than necessary. In fact, upon closer inspection, it looked like he was wearing several shirts, pairs of paints, socks and whatever else he could possibly get on. He looked ridiculous. Chibodee stared at him in disbelief, not understanding what he'd done.

"What the hell?" he demanded, although still not moving from the couch.

"You stole my underwear. So I'm doing the opposite of what you did," George stated simply and in a rather smug sort of way. "I'm wearing nearly ALL your clothes."

Chibodee blinked. "Oh my god, that is so NOT the opposite of stealing someone's underwear! ...and those don't even look like my clothes!"

"I would doubt it, since I had them all custom tailored to fit my style." George offered his infuriated host a sly smirk.

"Oh, THAT does it, you prissy little bastard!" Chibodee got up and charged forward, fists clenched. "I'm gonna knock all your teeth clean out!"

George instinctively tried to defend himself, but having on as many clothes as he did, he wasn't able to move quickly enough. The Queen of Spades plowed into him, one fist crashing into his jaw. Falling over, George immediately kicked out with one leg, catching his attacker squarely in the stomach and sending him flying backwards. As Chibodee hit the coffee table at a rather painful angle, George managed to get off a few extra pairs of pants and get clear of one shirt. Then his opponent was after him again, swinging wildly away.

One of Chibodee's fists smashed into George's left eye, and the other to his own stomach area. Bending over in pain, the Jack of Diamonds fell victim to a third blow to the side of the head. At that point, George attempted a crotch shot, and managed to connect. As a high pitched howl of pain escaped Chibodee, the other backed away and managed to get down to just one of Chibodee's tank tops. But as he was trying to get off the last pair of extra pants, Chibodee came at him again, tackling him to the floor.

The two kicked and punched at one another, George still trying to free himself from a pair of jeans that had gotten caught around his knees and then ankles.

"Kick my family jewels, will you!" Chibodee grabbed at George's shirt and got a hold of his pectoral area, giving his nipples a twist with both hands. "That's what we call a Purple Nurple, buddy!"

Roses's pilot grimaced in pain, eyes going wide. At the same time, his face flushed red for having been touched in a rather sensitive area. His retaliation came in the form of a head butt to Chibodee's forehead, followed by a knee shot to the stomach. Chibodee grabbed a hold of one of George's long sideburns and pulled back hard, earning a loud yelp from the other. He then punched the knight in the face and wound back with his right to go for a smaller version of the Cyclone Punch. Caught the descending fist as it came down in one hand, and then raised his free hand with an outcry of "Roses Screamer!"

"Ain't no flowery crap in here to save you now, Frenchie!" Chibodee retored with a smirk, but the smile quickly vanished as a dozen pieces of silverware suddenly came flying through the kitchen door and right for him. "Oh SHIT!"

He dove out of the way, the silverware burying itself in the wall beyond George. Chibodee wound up a second time and sent a second Cyclone Punch foward, this time getting the full effect with it. The churning winds picked up the fencer and tossed him against the farther wall with a dull thud, George grunting in pain with the impact.

"Ya know, I've always wanted to fight you, Red! We just never really had a chance at the last Battle Royale, did we?" Maxter's pilot said with a grim smile as he watched the other pick himself back up, again.

"True enough, I suppose," came the reply. George offered a smile in return, taking up a fighting stance. "I hate to tell you this, ruffian, but you make a better sparring partner than you do a host!"

"Ah, you stuck up snob!" Chibodee readied himself, as well. "I guess it's time we found out who's the better fighter!"

"With pleasure!" George reached down into himself and let loose with a battle cry that began low and came up to a high volume, his body taking on a golden tint.

The Queen of Spades unleashed his own battle call, body taking on a golden tint as he pushed his power level a step higher.

Then both of them rushed at one another, arms and fists outstretched...

As the car came to a stop by the front walkway, Domon got out of the driver's side and jogged around to the passenger door to open it. Rain stepped out as he opened the door for her, smoothing down her blue dress and shouldering her purse.

"I hope they don't mind us dropping by unannounced," Rain commented while Domon locked the car.

"They won't," he replied simply and then took her hand as they headed up the stairs and inside the building.

"Can I help you folks?" the receptionist at the front desk asked as the couple came inside.

"If you could direct us to which room Chibodee Crocket and George de Sand are currently in...?" Rain replied.

"Ah, those two." A look of minor annoyance crossed the young lady's face. "Room 233. You might ask them to try and keep it down when you get there. They've been the most active guests we've had here yet, you might say."

"'Active guests'?" Rain repeated, blinking. "How so?"

At that moment, Chibodee came running down the hallway perpendicular to the lobby, his arm in a cast. Right on his heels, George followed on a pair of crutches, his left leg in a cast, screaming French profanities as the American. The receptionist rolled her eyes and picked up a phone to call the nurses for the fourth time that day.

"They're STILL fighting? And in the hospital, no less?" Rain looked horrified.

Domon merely shrugged and sighed. "They're gundam fighters. What did you expect? For them to kiss and make up?"

~*owari*~

Author's Notes: Oh, I can't help, but laugh my ass off at this. I almost couldn't make it through the first part with George and Chibodee being so sweet to each other. That was a bit on the OOC side, but I had to push the issue that way in order to turn it around later. LOL Seeing as how this is things would probably end up, I think Domon's last line to Rain sums it up perfectly. Sure, these two guys are friends, and they could probably tolerate being around one another for a while, but for how different they are, there's no way they could ever share the same residence for long, much less anything else. I'm a stickler for keeping characters in character, and this fic is just meant to illustrate one of the many reasons why out of character pairings don't keep character integrity in mind. George and Chibodee... friends, but not lovers. "Two Fists, One Desire"...the desire to fight! They'd rather beat each other senseless. ;)

Special thanks to Yuy84, Sporky, Mal and some of the others who helped me brainstorm a bit on both the title and few other ideas for pranks and such in the fic. I love you guys! :D