Special Delivery

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. Any original stuff is likely mine and I'll disclaim it later if it's not!

AN: I tried… I really tried not to post this before I finished either Unstable or Replaced, but I couldn't help myself!

Warnings: My first AU chock full of foul language, rampant abuse of Murphy's Law, yaoi situations, and the potential for pathetic humor, lemony freshness, wit, sarcasm, drama, and mass chaos. If any of this bothers you, find something else to read. No one is forcing misery upon you! Otherwise, please enjoy!

Chapter 1: Murphy's Law

It's just one of those days. You know, the sort where everything that can go wrong does with great enthusiasm. My car blew a head gasket in the middle of the highway. It's going to cost about $1100, getting the bitch repaired. My best (and only) design partner quit to start a new career in foot modeling. Yes. Foot modeling. In the middle of a major project. My lunch was a soggy, inedible mess from hell. My newest client wants the entire design I just finished last night reinvented. From scratch. My latest boyfriend dumped me for a strawberry blonde bodybuilder in a g-string. Who is pretty freaking ugly, by the way, for a guy who enters relationships based upon looks alone. My precious dog Skylar devoured my favorite shoes and then puked up the laces on my recently shampooed carpet. And now I sit in my kitchen, beaten, hungry, and worn out from the past 9 hours of Murphy's Law's brutality with a stack of bills within my reach and a deceptively chipper letter in my hand inviting me to afive year reunion of all things for a high school I swore I would never return to. And the sick part is that a little sliver of me actually wants to go to see old friends and whether or not 'Duo is a homo' is still scribbled on the bathroom wall in black permanent marker, along with my old phone number and 'call if you want to have a good time'.

Okay, so I don't really want to see the graffiti bits. But seeing old friends might be nice…

Or maybe not…

I groan, slumping back in my chair, thinking of the last time I talked to my closest friend- a spunky, bubbly blond with a shitload of money named Quatre. And how I kind-of-sort-of led him to believe that I was involved in a serious relationship. He proceeded to attempt to plan my future wedding before his smoking hot husband with the equally smoking hot body finally stepped in to shut him up and save my ass from further wedded torment- I mean bliss.

The problem is there never was any serious relationship with me. I wince as I realize how close to lying I was then. I had been in a relationship at the time- lasted a maximum of a week, that one… and not at all serious- and I just let dear Quatre jump to conclusions to his heart's content. The way I let him go on, he probably assumes I'll be inviting him to the wedding any day now. So naturally, he'd want to meet Duo Maxwell's Mr. Right- his words, not mine. And I really don't want to tell him I'm single. Again. Despite living some ten hours away from me, he has this frustrating habit of trying to fix me up with eligible singles. I appreciate the effort, but please spare me the inhumanity.

With a long-suffering sigh, I smooth my hand over my face. Beside me, Skylar whines loudly, eager for attention, thumping her tail on the hardwood floor. I glance over at her through my fingers and that fluffy tail wags a little and she grins at me, tongue lolling. Well, I don't know if dogs actually grin, but it looks like she does anyway. It's cute.

Despite my day, I manage a small smile. I don't really have to go. After all, I can always see my best friends some other time. Not to mention the fact that I'd have to find someplace or someone to take care of Skylar for the weekend and I've never trusted anyone enough to do the honors.

As if she knows I'm thinking about her, she rises on her hind legs and settles her front paws in my lap, tail wagging harder than ever. She makes a snorfling whine in the back of her throat to make sure that my attention is on her. I have to laugh. Reaching down, I scratch behind her ears.

"All right, you little demon shoe-eater-puker-upper. I won't go."

She lunges forward and plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek.

I grin. "How about we go for a walk? Does Sky want to go for a walkies?" I croon in a voice I might reserve for talking to small children. Which, in my case, is my dog. She scrambles off my lap, tail wagging hard enough that I'm surprised she doesn't wag herself in half. Then she barks and spins around in a circle, staring as I get to my feet. "I'll take that as a yes."

She makes a mad dash for the front door, legs flying everywhere.

"Sit!" I shout, though I can't help but grin. Her nose is pressed to the crack between the door and the frame, her tail wagging probably ninety miles an hour. She plops down hastily, but her whole body is aquiver.

I clip on her leash and she all but hauls me out the door, leaving me barely enough time to set the electronic lock before my arm is separated from my body.

"Good evening!" calls old Ms. Ivers, my eighty-some-odd neighbor who drives me nuts because at least once a week she asks me to do her lawn or help her move her couch or weed her garden or something. And me, being me, I can't refuse her. She's a nice old lady but god! Hire a lawn service!

Damn… I'm not usually this horrible. Stupid day… Stupid Murphy!

Thankfully, Ms. Ivers doesn't ask for any favors. She knows how Skylar gets on her walks. Nobody interferes with my poochie and her daily stroll.

With a sigh, I round the corner and pick up the pace to a light jog. Skylar gives an excited bark and nearly tries to yank my arm from my socket before I rein her in. "Heel. Heel," I command. Eventually she listens and we fall into our routine- jog down the street, around a few blocks, stop to sniff the stop sign that she sniffs every single time we go out, jog around a few more blocks and head home just as the streetlights are coming on.

When I return to my tiny little house, it's nearly dark. Skylar takes care of her business on the lawn and then we head in. The alarm chirps when I enter and I deactivate the code. Leaning down, I unclip the dog's leash and she scrambles off in search of her favorite chew toy, which are no longer my shoes as she ate them already… Otherwise, there is nothing else but silence. My stomach growls at me but I find I have no appetite. I just want to curl up on the couch with a blanket and a can of beer and watch a cheesy slasher flick.

This is kind of pathetic. The highlight of my day is going on a walk with the dog. Aside from the sudden influx of bad karma today, I've decided that I need to spice up my life some. It has come to my attention that it is incredibly dull…

Heading into the kitchen, I yelp in surprise when the sound of the ringing phone pierces the silence. Pressing a hand over my wildly beating heart, I wait for the blasted phone to ring a second, then a third time before I'm composed enough to answer.

"Ye-hello," I say with an air of casualness. As if I hadn't just had the piss scared out of me. Crossing the kitchen, I open the refrigerator door in search of a beer.

"Hey Duo!" replies an overly chipper voice. Well, overly chipper in relation to my gruesome day.

But I smile anyway. I can't help it. That voice inspires a cheerful mood. "Hey Quat." I glance over my shoulder and wave at the small image of my dearest, blondest friend. "Where is Tall, Dark, and Broodingly Handsome?"

"Not here at the moment."

"Why Quat, you whore! Cheating with me behind your husband's back!" I gasp dramatically as I pull out a cold beer.

He laughs. "Only with you, Duo."

I flutter my lashes, cracking the beer open. "I'm so flattered." I take a sip, wandering over to the screen. "So, to what do I owe the honor of home wrecking?"

Quatre tosses a tuft of blond hair from his eyes. "Just wondering how you were doing. I haven't heard from you in a while."

"Ah… I've been busy," I reply. "But things are going well." Hey, I'm not starving and homeless on the street. I have a dog that loves me. I have my can of beer. I'd consider that as things going well…

"Did you get the invitation to the class reunion?"

Damn him… I try to keep up a positive face. "Yes, yes I did."

"And?"

"And what?" I reply coyly.

He gives me that adorably agitated look that only he can manage when he knows I'm being difficult on purpose. "Are you going?"

"Oh… ah… Man, I don't know…" I say evasively. "So, how are things going over there?"

"Fine, and don't change the subject." Quatre stares sternly at me.

With a sigh, I take another sip of my beer and avert my eyes.

"Duo… what's wrong?"

"Nothing you could help with."

He makes an offended noise. That's Quatre… always wants to help and hates to be told he can't. "Come on, Duo… Come out here. We miss you!"

I can't help but grin at this. "We?"

"Yes. Trowa does too. Well, I mean he would if you stopped calling him a cradle robber when we're together," he teases. "He's only three years older than me."

"Only." That's considering he started dating Trowa when he was a sophomore in high school. And old Good Lookin' was in his first year of college.

"So why don't you want to come?" he persists.

I sigh. "I don't know… I just… I'm busy… and Hilde left to start a foot-modeling career and I have to fix a lot of shit because of it-"

"Wait a minute… Hilde? Foot modeling?!"

"Who's foot modeling?" I hear off screen.

I smirk. "Hey, Cradle Robber," I tease, waving as Trowa steps up behind Quatre.

Trowa glares at me and gives Quat a welcome home kiss that I envy more than I would ever dare express.

"Hey! No canoodling on the phone!"

He simply smirks and nuzzles Quat's neck. I hate him sometimes. Heknows that I can't stand when they do that… perhaps he knows it makes me jealous as fuck… Anyway, Quat's eyes glaze over in that certain way and I know that someone is getting laid tonight. I try not to let jealousy rear its ugly head, but it's winning.

Quat shakes his head and shoos his cradle-robbing spouse away with a 'we'll continue this later' smile. His head whips back to the screen as his behavior does a complete 180. "So you're coming."

"Quatre-" I protest.

"Give me a good reason why not! And busy isn't good enough," he adds before I can open my mouth.

"Well… I am busy. But there is also affording a hotel for myself and a place that will put up Skylar for the weekend- and youknow I don't trust kennels or people in general when it comes to her. Among… other things." That I'm sure with time I can invent.

"You can stay with us."

"No he can't!" I hear Trowa shout in the background.

"Love you too, hotstuff!" I shout.

Quat rolls his eyes at our banter. "Yes, you can. Don't listen to him. Stay with us. Bring Skylar along.

"I'm allergic to dogs," Trowa's muffled voice argues.

"No you aren't, love." Quat looks at me. "And as far as those 'other' things…" he grins. "Bring them along. I've beendying to meet the man who stole Duo's heart."

I give him a weak laugh. "We're both gay so I know I can get away with saying this- that's the gayest thing you've ever said, Quat. And… I just… I don't know…" Come on man, just give it up. If I have to put up with any more cajoling, I'm going to cave. Give it up… come on Quat! For me!

"Please?" Then he pulls out the big guns.

Aw shit… Not The Expression!

The Expression is the most feared tool of persuasion Quatre has to offer. His eyes grow wide and innocently round, and his face takes on a sweet cherubic quality, which, I assure you, he is neither sweet nor cherubic in personality. Add that mop of blond hair and a pink and pouting lip and you have a man who could stop a war in its tracks. No one can resist it. Especially not me.

I once teased that it was how he got Trowa to propose to him and he proceeded to hook me up with a creepy guy who rearranged the eggs in my refrigerator into neat little patterns on a daily basis. This time I hold my tongue.

"Quatre…" I whine. He's won. And he knows it.

"Great! So we'll expect you Friday the 16th at… 8:00?"

"Sure…"

"Wonderful! See you guys in two weeks!" And the screen goes black.

I groan, smacking my hand to my face and dragging it down. Guys. With an 's'. And I don't expect that he meant Skylar with that phrase.

Dammit! I can't show up at Quat's single! He'll try to fix me up with someone and Trowa will laugh and my life will get even worse than it is now… Gah! What the hell am I going to do!?