Damn. 

Zechs stared in disgust at the half-empty Styrofoam cup sitting beckoningly on the table.

“What’s the matter?” Noin asked, leaning to peer into his cup with a grin.

“I’m not supposed to be drinking anything with caffeine,” he said in frustration, pushing the mug back.

Noin gave him a look.  Resting his chin on his fist, he pondered a cup of herbal tea… hot water with lemon juice… warm milk?

“Well, the damage is done, so I might as well….” he rationalized, lifting the flimsy white vessel to his lips again.

Noin stood, pulled the cup out of his hands, and headed for the trash.

“Shame to waste it,” he muttered.

“The starving children in the colonies don’t want your lukewarm coffee,” Noin retorted.  The warm dark liquid drained out of the cup and it soon joined its contents in the oblivion of the shiny black void of the garbage bag.

“I’m bored,” Duo announced, not lifting his head from his folded arms.

“Dinner soon,” Quatre pointed out optimistically.  Zechs and Noin had rejoined the others for lunch at the conference, and the scheduled presentations dragged on.  Some of them were probably even interesting and informative.  But none of the ones Duo had decided not to nap in.

“Yeah, well, I’m bored NOW,” Duo retorted, raising his head slightly.  “You’re all boring!” he accused theatrically.

“Duo,” Trowa said, “we have ten minutes until the next presentation starts.  That’s not enough time to prepare proper entertainment for you,” he quipped sarcastically.

“Oh, the expert speaks.  Trowa knows all about show biz…  I’m sure you can come up with something entertaining to kill some time…” Duo prompted, sitting up and putting his chin in his hands.

Wordlessly, Trowa stood, approached the table laden with stale doughnuts from that morning, and selected four at random.  Seconds later they were airborne, Trowa’s quick hands keeping them aloft in a graceful ring.

“Sweet!  Show me,” Duo jumped up and seated himself on the table in front of Trowa.

“You can’t juggle?” Trowa asked, sounding surprised.

“It’s not exactly a standard skill,” Duo replied dryly.

“Maxwell only knows sit, stay, and play dead,” Heero remarked, face blank.

“Harsh…very harsh,” Duo accused, putting a dramatic hand at his heart as Hildie came perilously close to spitting her coffee on Wufei as she burst out laughing and Quatre chuckled quietly.

“Seriously,” Duo addressed Trowa, ignoring the others, “can you show me how?”

Trowa, never one to waste breath when a gesture would suffice, shrugged.

“Okay,” Duo began, taking the initiative.  “First I get some doughnuts.”  He approached the table and grabbed a stack.

“Five for your first try?” Trowa asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

“Snack,” Duo corrected, setting two of the doughnuts aside.

“Duo!  That’s just sick!  Do you know how long those have been OUT?” Hildie demanded.

Duo took an experimental bite.  He smiled.  “Long enough to get crunchy.”

Trowa blinked.  “These are the motions.  You might want to try them slowly before you add the props.”  He demonstrated, then again set the pastries afloat with his smooth fluid movements.  Duo continued to munch, looking impressed.

A few of the delegates started filing back into the conference room.  Most contented themselves with double takes, but a few felt the need to stop in their tracks and stare. Upon entering, Noin blinked repeatedly, then burst out laughing. 

“You know…I don’t think I want to know,” she remarked, following Zechs back to the table where they’d been seated.  “It’s funnier out of context, I’m sure.”

“I…think it’s pretty funny no matter what,” Quatre commented as Trowa concluded his performance by landing each doughnut squarely in the trashcan.  Duo, shaking his head at such wasteful attitudes, returned to his seat, potential props having joined the snack division.

If he could just… wait it out.  It would be over soon.  It was the coffee, and he knew it.  It would pass.  Dear God let it pass…

He’d steadied himself by placing his hand on his armrest – not realizing that Noin’s elbow was already there.

“Hm?” she responded, turning slightly to face him.  She took in his pale (well, paler than usual, anway) face with it’s slight sheen of sweat, and the intense, but glazed way his eyes were fixed on some point she couldn’t see.

“Zechs… are… are you okay?” she asked, raising her hand to place her index and middle finger at his neck, just under his jaw.  It wasn’t a medic’s practiced, businesslike gesture, but a soldier’s timid one, afraid of what she’d feel…

Apparently, his syncopated pulse wasn’t much of a comfort.

She wasn’t sure why she did it.  It was a simple, child-like gesture –

She picked up his hand and placed it over her heart.

Here, this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

Gradually, his eyes came back into focus, and he smiled weakly at her as she released his hand.

“No more coffee.  I promise.”