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Nichol came from a rather close knit family. Except for Nichol himself, they all lived within thirty minutes of each other and had grown up together, spent holidays together and more or less meddled in each others lives with permission. Which all fostered the extremely withdrawn nature Nichol developed whenever a potential family gathering came and went without Betty Nichol's youngest boy showing up.
He stayed in bed that morning. Listening as Heero blew something up in the main room and wondering if the other man had remembered to turn off the fire alarm.
Heero hadn't.
Which was how Nichol ended up on the sidewalk wearing his boxers and sandals while explaining to the landlord how it had happened that the police and fire department had been summoned when there was no actual emergency. Unlike his clothing, Nichol had remembered to grab the spare copy of their lease disclosing Heero's occupation and a waiver of responsibility if reasonable efforts were made to reconcile the magical calamity if no harm had been done to property or persons.
Dorothy stood by leering and amused. Heero had somehow managed to bring his experiment outside and knelt in the grass re-mixing whatever had caused the ruckus in the first place. It looked like he was cutting mushrooms with sewing scissors.
"Paul, I know you two are great guys, but I'm fairly certain there's a limit on how many times you can use that lease as an excuse." The landlord was Catherine Bloom and while a sweet woman, her tone was terrifying. Only one thing... one person, technically, could sway her from a done decision.
Nichol shuddered realizing he'd have to call in a favor from the one person he didn't want to owe anything.
Heero's best friend. Cathy's brother. Trowa Barton.
***
"Hey." The soft voice had fooled many people many times. Trowa Barton leaned in the doorway which he'd somehow pried open, possibly with the unmistakable lock picking equipment strapped to his belt. The lanky brown-haired man had a strange assortment of talents making him capable of the most unexpected things. At the same time, if you asked him to do something obvious... Trowa often failed to comply.
"Barton," Nichol greeted, then unable to hesitate any longer said in a rush. "Have you seen your sister?"
"You're all set. Good to go. Situation solved." Trowa glided over to Heero's workbench and casually lifted a bubbling mini-cauldron. "Glad to see this was useful for you, Heero. I've got twelve more boxes I can sell you at discount."
"No, no," Nichol hurried over. "We have plenty." Their mattress was raised on the backs of boxes containing hundreds of such cauldrons.
"Twelve boxes," Trowa said again, not looking at Nichol. Heero seemed not to hear either of them as his inked quill continued to scribble along an empty page. The ink was invisible as Heero was rather protective of his secrets. Nichol was fairly certain he didn't want to know what Heero was trying to accomplish either.
"Twelve?" Nichol sighed. Glancing around, he didn't know where they would put the surplus. A new window seat? He could put them under the bookcases.
"A deal then," Trowa grinned, triumphant and almost sincere. Nichol winced, unable to tell if he was being teased or not.
"Sure," Nichol relented. "Do you want some tea? I've got a kettle that's still warm." Then giving Heero a rather affectionate appraisal added, "He might take a while. This project has been consuming his attention for several weeks now."
"Oh?" Trowa followed toward the half-wall that separated the kitchen counters and appliances. "That intense, huh?" He turned and leaned his elbows against the wall.
Dorothy stood in the doorway halfway to knocking on the open door. She caught sight of their guest and pulled her knuckles to her lips instead. Her face seemed unusually red.
"Did your AC unit fry again, Dotty?" Nichol asked, finally finding a clean mug. "Because that was definitely not Heero's fault. And Barton here has reconciled us to our landlord so you can go see Cathy about..."
"You're Dorothy Catalonia," Trowa said. He had crossed the room and was ushering Dorothy inside. "Nichol, another mug."
"Yeah, right," Nichol complied, doing nothing to hide his bitterness. Twelve cases? He would have to borrow money from his savings to cover the expense of Trowa's favor. But if he could pay back Trowa some other way... perhaps the purchase could be reversed. From the way Trowa was looking at Dorothy, either he really was interested in the girl. Or he wanted to sell her something.
Nichol handed them still brewing tea, "Here." Then he interrupted Trowa's pointless conversation about a stranded astronaut and said, "Do you two know each other? Dorothy's our downstairs neighbor."
"Charmed," she said, somewhat more collected and Dorothy-like than before.
Realizing his problem, Nichol noticed that he needed to become a necessary mediator in their blossoming relationship. In a strange series of events, Trowa had actually introduced Nichol to his magical partner of several years. But that arrangement had been a bizarre combination of absolute willingness and a pointless shotgun.
"Dorothy has a lucrative charm business actually," Nichol interjected, casually dragging his spoon around the bottom of his mug and watched the deep rich red stain the hot water. "I think she's your chief competition in that area."
"I've always wanted to break into charms," Trowa admitted. He turned away, putting his chin into his fingers his brow furrowed with an unpleasant thought.
"Business rivals," Nichol agreed. "Definitely a conflict of interest, but I might know a way around that."
Dorothy's expression became quizzical. She pursed her lips and seemed on the brink of saying something more when Heero's exclamation and triumphant punch into the air distracted them all.
"What'd you come up with this time, Heero?" Nichol left the other two to pick up the scattering of documents that had capsized during the outburst. One of the small cauldrons had busted, but Heero seemed unconcerned about the lost contents. One down, Nichol sighed.
"Love potion."
***
After coming up with an elaborate story of how it couldn't be a love potion because those were illegal, Nichol suggested to Trowa that he take Dorothy to a musical for the pardon of six boxes of tiny cauldrons.
"Excellent idea," Trowa agreed. "Thanks for the suggestion. She is rather lovely." Then the taller man whispered, "Are you sure you don't want the merchandise though? It's a bargain price."
"I'm sure." Nichol's eye twitched.
"You never told me you had such a handsome friend," Dorothy purred into Nichol's ear watching Trowa leave.
"He doesn't come around much," Nichol dismissed. "But if he asks you out, you should go. He's rich."
"What about the conflict of interest?" she reminded.
"Worry about that after finding out if you like him or not," Nichol shrugged. "But if you do hit it off, let me know."
The whole plan was going so beautifully, Nichol almost didn't mind when he accidentally picked up the phone and it was his mother.
***
Heero stared out the car window and watched the river. "For the last time, I okay," he muttered.
"I can tell that you're not happy. I'm not happy," Nichol grumbled, tightening his fingers around the steering wheel of the car they'd rented for the trip. Hopefully no one would check the surveillance tapes close enough to find which vehicle had left the wooden coins in the toll booths. Taking public transportation to most places caused them both to forget the hassle of leaving the city without emptying one's pockets. "My mother wanted us to stay the week, but I told her we'd only come for the day."
"I'll just turn them all into toads if they irritate me," Heero turned, grinning. He leaned across the car to kiss the corner of Nichol's lips.
"Hmm," Nichol said. "Don't think that's going to distract me from the other thing. I heard what you said... you know that's as illegal as love potions. Do we need to rehearse the list of things you're not allowed to invent?"
"I love your angry face," Heero said, matter-of-fact. "But we must do something about that before you see your family."
"I'm going to turn this car around."
Heero laughed.
***
"Are you hungry? Did you eat? I can make you food?"
Nichol raised his hands, attempting to calm the three females that had accosted him only a yard past the door. Heero still stood outside waiting to come in. "Ma. Aunt Eunice. Nell. We'd mostly like to sit down."
"But all you did was sit on your way here, unless that boyfriend of yours brought you here on a storm cloud."
Nichol turned to see his cousin Sally Po. She smirked at him and that alone helped Nichol relax. She was his one relation that made any sense to him, and seemed alright with letting Nichol be who he was.
"So where is the hot wizard?" Sally tossed her braid.
"Magician," Heero muttered, somehow managing to get between the small space of the screen door. But he didn't sound upset. Sally had vouched for them after all.
"We put you in the room that used to be yours and Patrick's," his mother said, her voice standing out from a rush of clucking conversation from the welcoming group of female relatives.
"Ma, we're not staying..." Nichol rubbed his neck and closed his eyes in a fake smile so as not to see her expression and the resulting barrage of protests.
"I haven't seen this room," Heero commented.
"It was left like a shrine," Sally said, conspiratorially. She motioned with her hand, "Follow me."
"We're not staying," Nichol called after them. "We didn't bring anything."
"Oh, I'm sure you can still fit something that you left behind," his mother beamed, still resisting his negative response.
Nichol decided to pick up that conversation later, and fled up the stairs after the only two people in the house he considered safe.
***
He was wrong.
"Nichol liked this underachiever?" Heero said with dismay. They'd found his yearbooks and Sally was slowly dismantling Nichol's nebulous past with horrific stories from his childhood.
"This reminds me why I left and will never come back," Nichol groaned, covering his face with a pillow from the bed. It smelled amazing. His mother must have kept up with the sheets. "I'd not like to relive my youth, Sal."
"Relax." Sally leaned back on the mattress and ruffled his hair. "You turned out alright."
"Hn," Heero agreed, absently analyzing the image. "My enemy."
"He was the prom king," Nichol weakly justified his youthful interests. Then he tried for a distraction, "I smell food. Shouldn't you be helping in the kitchen, Sal?"
She glared at him. "Do you really want to shoot holes in my escape if you want to make yours?"
Nichol swallowed, then squeaked, "No."
***
"Sally's not too bad," Heero grunted as they managed to make their get-away after Nichol explained a third time why the rental car needed to be returned on time. The cicadas mangled a full choral performance in the humid evening air. The sunlight was nearly gone.
"Bat!" Nichol ducked then standing upright grabbed Heero for an impromptu display of affection. "You're the best thing that happened to me."
"Probably," Heero agreed. Then he reached up to thread his fingers into Nichol's hair. Pulling up for a kiss, he mumbled, "Now that I know the level of competition I had to work against."
"Gah," Nichol shrugged away and got into the car.
When they were a few miles down the road, Nichol switched on the headlights. "Watch for deer."
"Okay."
"And Milliardo was the best looking guy in our class..."
***
After finding the maintenance sign on the elevator, Nichol and Heero climbed the stairs to their apartment. Heero bumped into Nichol frequently enough that he finally recognized the signal that they were supposed to hold hands.
Heero was bizarre, but easy. And way better looking than anyone else Nichol knew. Including Milliardo Peacecraft. Which only went to show that the best things didn't involve any extra magic.
They found Dorothy Catalonia sitting in a lotus position outside their door.
"Dorothy?" Nichol asked, bending at his waist to see if she was still breathing.
She opened her eyes.
"Doesn't that make your joints ache?" Heero observed.
"It's quite refreshing," Dorothy said, untangling her limbs and standing up. She was wearing a fancy black dress and her hair was still pinned into an elaborately flattering style. But her feet were shoeless and showed a small tear in the black. "However, the play was horrific. The lead actor completely paled against the original cast. Trowa stood up mid-performance and began to object to the directorial choices."
"Oh, Dots... I'm sorry," Nichol started.
"Don't be," she cut him off. "I happened to agree completely. And if the man had incurable stage fright afterward that certainly wasn't our fault. Trowa offered to take the place of the imbecile, but in the end we decided the evening was a waste and went to karaoke instead."
"Ah, I see," Nichol said, not understanding at all. He looked at his watch. It'd taken several hours drive back and to return the car. More than anything he wanted to sleep. Or possibly stay up with Heero, who still had a grip on Nichol's hand.
"You have to solve the conflict of interest," Dorothy said suddenly. "I can't give up my business. The family has had it for generations. Just like Trowa's had his."
That was a lie. Nichol knew that Trowa had done a shop-in-the-box when he set up his Lucky Charms Corporation. Anyone who mentioned the cereal was shushed. Trowa Barton's influence was that powerful. But he wouldn't crush Dorothy if he really liked her. Would he? Nichol suddenly wondered if putting those two together might inadvertently hurt Dorothy. And if one of them were to get hurt... Nichol knew which one he'd rather see get cut down to size.
"Don't worry, I've got it under control. I'll talk to Trowa first thing tomorrow morning," Nichol fought to swallow a nervous chuckle. Then his fingers burned from where Heero squeezed them. "Maybe not first thing."
"Thank you." Dorothy politely kissed them both on the cheek and went toward the stairs.
Inside, Heero briefly went to his workbench and Nichol turned down the bed. The sheets didn't smell as good as whatever detergent his mother used. When he stood upright again, Heero offered Nichol a wine glass.
"To your much improved judgment in a lover," Heero toasted.
"Uh, sure," Nichol swallowed.
***
The next morning, or afternoon rather, Nichol woke up to an incredible headache. His altitude seemed off-kilter as well. He rolled over and halfway onto Heero. Nichol peered between his eyelashes, then closed his eyes again.
"You're sparkling," Nichol slurred into Heero's shoulder.
"That'd be a side effect," Heero's voice tinkled like expertly plucked harp strings.
"Of what?" Nichol said sleepily. He sniffed and then snuggled closer to Heero, who smelled somewhat like those plastic dolls of strawberry kids.
"The love potion."
"The hell?" Nichol's eyes jerked open and he had to slap his hand over them because Heero was absolutely dazzling to look at and it hurt. "I can't even look at you."
"It'll start to calm down," Heero said, casually. "You're rather stunning yourself."
"What was the point? Was that what we drank? Heero..." Nichol tried calming himself and changing his posture nearly fell off the bed. His arms flailed until Heero caught him and pulled him back into a balanced position. "What happened?"
"It doesn't cause love." From his tone, Heero was drifting between endearment and crisp logical assessment of his own work. Nichol kept his eyes closed just to be safe. Heero's voice was causing enough reactions on its own. "It reveals love that currently exists."
"Oh," Nichol said. Then added, "I guess that's okay then. Wait... why did you experiment on us? This isn't about the yearbook, is it?"
"That might have instigated my investigation, but the effects were more than I anticipated." Heero sat up and moved to put his arms around Nichol's shoulders. "We broke the bed."
Nichol tilted awkwardly again. That explained why the mattress was off. But...
"We don't have a proper bed..." Nichol exclaimed.
***
Every single tiny cauldron was shattered. Nichol examined the mess and wondered if they should just buy a proper bed. Heero stood nearby. Nichol had insisted that Heero get completely dressed and wear a scarf, gloves and stocking cap. They'd turned the AC to ridiculous levels to get Heero to comply, but otherwise Nichol couldn't open his eyes. As it was, he still dropped sunglasses over his eyes to look at his boyfriend.
"It didn't bother you last night..." Heero seemed to drift in and out of a conversation he was having in his head. "Perhaps the initial reaction protects the lovers from the later residual effects?"
"What a mess," Nichol stood up and surveyed the cracked planks of wood and the ceramic shards that fell out of the cases and around the room in a well pounded gravel. Some of it was pulverized into ash.
"It should take a while for you to clean up," Heero agreed. "And could you order some more for me?"
"Six boxes..." Nichol sighed. "I can do six boxes." Then when he heard Heero walk away he shouted after, "For me to clean up. Heero, you helped make this mess."
"I'm going to invent a broom that doesn't need human effort..."
Nichol clutched his chest. One way or another, that enchanting voice was going to be the death of him.
***
And there was Dorothy and Trowa to consider. Nichol waited until closer to midafternoon and dialed a number he'd wanted to forget but still remembered very well.
"Barton?"
"Ah... Nichol. I don't think you've called me since you agreed to take up dating Heero," Trowa responded cheerfully. That was good, Nichol decided. He needed an amiable Trowa.
"That was a good deal," Nichol hesitated. "Heero was, I mean. Which got me thinking about those six boxes of cauldrons you needed to unload..."
"Right, the ones I exchanged for assistance in the area of Dorothy Catalonia." The way he said her name so wistfully, Nichol had to pull the phone away and stare at it. Then he heard Trowa's voice again and caught, "No problem getting rid of those, so we're all set. Thanks though."
"What?" Nichol responded, completely lost.
"I had a run of good luck," Trowa said slowly, repeated as if Nichol were very hard of hearing. "My lawyer needed cauldrons and he had some paperwork drawn up for us so Dorothy can I can merge the businesses."
Nichol wondered when the rug had been pulled out from under him. This wasn't good. He needed cauldrons for Heero and now he had absolutely no bargaining chips in his pocket. He found a short straw and tried again, "But I thought competition was good for business... with the charms."
"Dorothy and I decided to use our own lucky affair as a sign the charms of both companies work..."
"Oh," Nichol didn't know what to say to that. Then he bit his lip. "Say, Trowa. Do you have any more of those cauldron's coming in?"
The line stayed quiet for a long moment as Trowa inevitably calculated his advantage.
***
Nichol figured his savings were there for a reason. However, six cases at the cost of twelve would bruise the numbers for a while.
He walked to the window and opened the curtains. If the entire room was well lit, then he could still manage to get around with the dark sunglasses. Heero was a perpetual shimmering space in his vision. Even though he knew that was a symptom of the concoction Heero had made them drink the night before, Nichol knew that even logically--Heero was the best family he'd ever had. The family that he got to pick for himself. The family that he wanted to be around all the time.
"Might be a delay on buying a new bed," Nichol explained. "Cauldrons are coming in first."
"I see." Heero raised his gloved hands as if he would command his equipment to move from wires tied to his fingers. Nichol expected to see it, but then Heero hesitated. He tilted his head to the side.
The phone rang.
"Good grief," Nichol went to answer it.
And he would have, except like a flaming comet, Heero got between and caught Nichol's arm. "Let's not answer that," Heero said cheerfully.
"No?" Nichol chuckled. "Telemarketer?"
"Eh, they wanted us to meet them." Heero blushed, which the potion changed into a pretty flash of indigo fireworks along his cheeks. "They figured that if we wouldn't go to them..."
"Who?" Nichol asked.
"Your family's in town."