The Most Eligible Bachelor

by Windsor Blue

Disclaimers - I don't own Gundam Wing, nor do I own any eligible bachelors. If you do, then be happy and well in the knowledge that you make more money in a week than I have in my entire working life, and that you have much better, bigger and more important things to do with your time than hassle me.

Genre: Romantic comedy, I hope...

Warnings - None for this chapter. Overall - some swearing, some innuendo...the usual stuff.

Rating - PG-13

Pairings - The principal pairing in this is 3x4, with the set-up for a future 1x2 and eventual 1x2x5.

Note - This is the first of a planned trilogy arc of multi-part romantic comedy-style fics. They're gonna be long, and they intersect with pretty much everything else I've ever written, so over the course of the arc characters and events from the "Letters to Quatre" and "Favorite Uncle" series will poke their noses in. Fair warning!

Feedback to: windsorblue17@yahoo.com

Chapter 3

"Good afternoon, everyone," Adele nearly chirped into the microphone.

Quatre stood off to the side of the podium, working hard to keep the smile on his face. His stomach was starting to grumble about his lack of breakfast. Jaden had stayed long enough to be photographed with him, giving him a well-documented sisterly peck on the cheek as she bade him farewell. He had to give her credit - if Jaden knew anything, it was how to work the press corps.

For his part, Trowa was perfectly content to hold up a piece of the wall next to the door.

"I know it's lunchtime, and you're probably all eager to get this over with, and frankly we are as well. Mr. Winner will be available for questions for about twenty minutes, and then he has to leave for a lunch meeting, so we'll go ahead and get started. No more than one question and one follow-up, please, so as many people as possible can get a turn." She turned and gestured to him - a welcoming, acknowledging motion. "Mr. Winner?"

He turned his smile up a notch and stepped up to the podium. "Thank you, Adele. Well, let's get started then, shall we?" Hands shot into the air as he nodded firmly at a dark-haired woman in the front row. "Yes?"

"Janelle Owens, Associated Press. Mr. Winner, can you explain the decision to leave L1 and L4 off the proposed bill?"

Off to the races, eh? Quatre thought. "Representative Peacecraft feels - and I have to agree with her - that the colonies at L1 and L4 have shown a substantial amount of post-war economic growth on their own. This is not to say that the residents of L1 and L4 did not suffer as much as residents of the other colonies, mind you. Rather, we hope that the reparations packages will help stimulate the economies of L2, L3, and L5 enough to bring them up to par with L1 and L4. At that point, we think we can more properly address the grievances of the residents of those colonies." The woman nodded her thanks and sat down, and Quatre turned his attention to the next hand he saw go up. "Yes, you in the blue jacket - sorry, I don't know your name."

"That's alright, Mr. Winner. Claire Davis, Reuters. Mr. Winner, there has been some criticism about Winner Enterprises tendency to use contractors from L4 on the civic renovation projects at L2. If stimulating the economy of L2 is a concern, I have to ask why your company doesn't hire more local firms for the work."

"Well actually, Ms. Davis, if you look at the numbers, we are employing more residents of L2 than we are of L4. Generally, we're using design teams and general contractors from L4, but they are obliged to partner with similar firms on L2 and share the work in order to maintain the contract. We've been quite careful to stipulate that there must be at least a 60/40 ratio of L2 to L4 employees on each of those projects. Any L4 firm not meeting that requirement has its contract terminated. Next?" He looked around the room briefly. "Yes, third row, second from the left."

"Alan Sepulveda, New York Times. Mr. Winner, how did you and Representative Peacecraft come to work on the proposed legislation together?"

Quatre smiled easily. "Ah, well, Relena and I are old friends from school." A few soft chuckles could be heard throughout the room. "Seriously, Representative Peacecraft and I have quite a history of fighting for similar causes. When she contacted me with the idea I was more than happy to help out in any way I could. Next? Yes, fifth row, last one on the right."

"Anna Cheung, SNN. Mr. Winner, how do the other former Gundam pilots feel about the proposed legislation?"

"Oh, I wouldn't presume to answer for them - I'm afraid you'll have to ask them."

"What about Mr. Barton? He works for your company - surely he must have mentioned what he thinks?"

"Well, he's standing right there, if you'd like to ask him about it afterwards." He gestured toward Trowa with an innocent grin, which Trowa returned with a small wave to the room and a tight smile that promised no small retribution to Quatre. Quatre pasted on a more professional smile and pointed to someone in the bland sea of expectant faces. "Next? Yes, you in the gray overcoat."

"David Reyes, Sphere Magazine." Out of the corner of his eye, Trowa caught Adele stiffening slightly and wondered if Quatre had caught it, too. "Sorry to take this off-course, Mr. Winner, but I have to ask - how do you feel about your position on our magazine's Eligible Bachelor List?"

Quatre's smile turned eminently gracious. "That's all right, Mr. Reyes. I have to say I was surprised and flattered, and I had no idea I was even being considered for it." His eyes flicked ever-so-briefly to Adele and back again. For her part, Adele relaxed just a bit, but not quite enough for Trowa's liking.

"No idea?" the reporter pressed. "None at all? You think the ladies don't notice that you're up for grabs?"

"No," Quatre laughed, shaking his head a little. "No idea at all. Truly, I hardly even think of myself as a bachelor anymore - haven't for months."

Trowa watched Adele's eyes grow wide, her gaze affixing to a spot on the side of Quatre's face. It stayed there for a second as the room grew deathly quiet, before it moved on to Trowa, and something in her eyes was begging. Please, Mr. Barton, for the love of God, tell me he didn't just say that...

Somehow, inexplicably, Quatre missed it. "Next?" he asked, and suddenly the room erupted in a flurry of desperately shouted questions.

"Mr. Winner, who's the lucky girl?"

"Mr. Winner, is she someone in the public eye?"

"Mr. Winner, have you set a date yet?"

"Mr. Winner, what does your family think of her?"

Quatre took a slight step back, squaring his shoulders with a blinking look of surprise on his face. "What? I - wait a minute, who said anything about a gi - "

He was mercifully cut off by Adele's hand closing over the top of the microphone as she pulled it away from him. She shouldered in between him and the podium and quite literally shoved him aside. "Sorry," she shouted into the din. "That's all the time we have. Any additional questions can be forwarded to my office - the number is on your press kits. Thank you for coming!" She pushed the business end of the microphone down and took Quatre by the arm again, scanning the room for Trowa, who was leaping to the stage. Between the two of them, they led an irate and confused Quatre to an anteroom down the hall, and once inside Adele locked the door and fixed Quatre with a particularly put-upon sort of glare.

"I don't understand," Quatre said defensively. "What just happened in there?"

"You threw the sharks a bucket full of chum," was the icy reply.

"I only said what you told me to say!"

Her glare turned incredulous. "Right up until the part about how you don't consider yourself a bachelor any more and haven't for months!

"Well it's the truth!"

"Those people don't care about the truth - they care about the story, and you just gave them a whopper!" She made an expansive gesture with one hand. "Which headline makes for sexier copy - 'Parliament Considers Reparations Legislation' or 'Quatre Winner's Clandestine Love Affair'?"

Quatre crossed his arms over his chest. "Pah. Why should anyone care about my love life? It's none of their business!"

Adele rolled her eyes. "That's precisely why people do care about your love life - because it's none of their business." She sighed and pushed a mass of ash brown curls behind her ear before casting her grumpy gaze onto Trowa. "You know, there are going to be paparazzi all over him in the next couple of weeks trying to get a glimpse of the 'mystery girl'."

Trowa nodded. "I'll keep an eye out."

"You might want to keep tabs on the housekeeping staff, too - make sure they're not setting the garbage out on the street or anything."

"Right, right," Trowa replied, falling deeper into thought.

Quatre glanced at each one in turn. "Why on Earth would we need to worry about the garbage?"

"Because," Adele said, twisting a strand of hair around a finger, "If you're not careful they'll be digging through it looking for restaurant receipts and used condoms."

Quatre paled. "You're joking!"

She shook her head. "I wish I were. I hope I'm wrong, but in the next few weeks, you can likely expect to see yourself rumored to be dating every two-bit vid starlet that comes down the pike." Quatre went even paler as she continued. "And I wouldn't be surprised if a couple of fatherless babies suddenly got attributed to you."

"B-b-babies?!?"

"Uh-huh. Of course, there's a decent chance that it'll all die down after the auction on Friday. Cross your fingers and hope you get picked up by some lonely old widow who thinks you look like her grandson."

"I'll get picked up...? What's that supposed to mean?"

Adele snapped out of her rant long enough to look a little surprised, and Trowa thought she probably hadn't meant to say that last bit out loud. She took a deep breath before beginning anew. "It's a bachelor auction, Mr. Winner. I was trying to tell you that in the hallway. They won't be auctioning off any 'treasures' you give them - they'll be auctioning off you."

If Quatre looked surprised before, he was well and truly in shock by now. "Me?"

"You, and everyone else on the list."

Quatre cast a hard look at Trowa, who raised an eyebrow and tried not to look as amused as he felt. "Both of us? To be auctioned off?"

"For one date, yes."

Quatre's entire posture stiffened, his arms crossing over his chest again. "Well, we won't do it!"

"We won't?" Trowa asked. "I don't know - I think it sounds like fun."

"You what?" Quatre was completely aghast.

"I said, I think it sounds like fun." He pushed himself back to sit on the desk he'd been leaning on. "What charity is getting the proceeds?"

"The Colonial War Orphans Fund," Adele replied.

"There, you see?" Trowa nodded to Quatre. "How can you say no to that? Duo would be crushed."

"I'll give the damned fund whatever our fair market value is," Quatre all but hissed. "Hell, I'll give twice the amount if I have to!"

Trowa snorted. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Fun?" Quatre had now moved on from aghast to appalled. "It's not fun - it's demeaning! It's emasculating!"

"I'll give you demeaning," Trowa smirked, "But how do you figure on emasculating?"

Quatre's glares were getting angrier by the second. "I don't know yet, but when I work it out, you'll be the first person I tell."

Something clicked in Trowa's head. "You're jealous, aren't you?" he asked slowly.

"No!" Quatre bristled, almost before the words had completely left Trowa's mouth. His lips began to curl into a pouty frown. "Maybe. A little. Oh, bloody hell - yes, I'm jealous! Of course I'm jealous! Do you think I like the idea of you running off for an evening with someone who isn't me?"

"You'll be doing it, too!" Trowa laughed. "Besides - it's only one evening. What's the big deal? It's not like I'll be running off forever with a lonely old widow who think I look like her grandson."

"Well, maybe you should," Quatre snapped. "At least then you could walk down a public street with your beloved and hold their hand."

Trowa stared for a moment in open-mouthed surprise before a soft, sympathetic smile took over. His hand reached out to cup Quatre's cheek. "Oh, Quatre..."

"It's ridiculous, Trowa - the whole thing is just bloody ridiculous." Quatre's hand closed over Trowa's, clenching it desperately as he leaned into the caress. "Why should anyone care what we do?"

A soft, frustrated sigh from behind Quatre drew their attention. Their joined hands slid down from Quatre's face as he turned to look over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Adele. We shouldn't be carrying on like this in front of you."

She shook her bowed head, and Trowa thought he heard her sniffle a little. "Don't apologize, Mr. Winner - you have nothing to be sorry for. She checked her watch and straightened her blazer before lifting her eyes to them. "You're going to be late for lunch if you don't leave soon."

Trowa glanced at his own watch, turning Quatre's hand with his as he did. "She's right. Heero gave me a couple of hints on how to slip out of here quietly. We should get going." Quatre nodded and Trowa glanced Adele's way. "You go out the front entrance and take the limo back to the hotel. Try to stall them as long as you can."

"Yes, sir," she nodded.

Quatre smiled at her. "Thank you, Adele. That will be all for today."

"Thank you, sir," she replied. "I'll see you both tomorrow on the plane."

"Indeed you will. Have a pleasant afternoon."

She nodded and turned to go, then stopped with one hand on the door handle. "Mr. Winner?"

"Yes, Adele?" Quatre replied, shrugging on his overcoat and fastening the belt.

She took a deep breath and sighed it back out. "Mr. Winner, you can't keep this up forever."

Quatre blinked a couple of times before answering. "I'm aware of that, Adele."

She met his gaze evenly. "I'll be putting in a call to Ms. Winner Preston Price this afternoon. An outline of our conversation will be ready for you to look at on the plane."

It was Quatre's turn to sigh, and he did so heartily. "I'd rather not get Himeysha involved in this."

"She is my boss, sir."

"I'm your boss." Quatre's reply came out sounding more possessive than he'd intended it to.

"You're her boss. She's the vice-president in charge of corporate communications and media relations. I have to answer to you both."

Quatre's shoulders sagged, just a little. "I trust you, Adele - whatever you think is best."

"Thank you, sir." She bowed her head a little, nodded a "Mr. Barton," at Trowa, then turned on her heel and left.

Trowa wrapped an arm around Quatre's shoulders. "Let's go," he said softly.

Quatre shook his head in frustration as he moved in tandem with Trowa. "Just what I need is Himeysha buzzing around me right now. That woman is a whirlwind, and all she does is get poor Adele all stressed out."

Trowa nodded sympathetically. "Doesn't she know that's your job?"

They crossed the threshold of the back exit, Quatre still muttering complaints. "Exactly. And does she have to keep collecting her ex-husbands' surnames like that? God, they're like hunting trophies!"

******

Wufei and Zechs watched in equal parts horror and amusement as Quatre's press conference went down in a blaze of glory.

"Dear Gods..." Wufei had muttered as Adele and Trowa led him off the stage and out of the camera's range.

"Oh, did he ever blow it," Zechs replied with just the barest hint of a smirk.

Wufei frowned at the computer screen, then at Zechs. "How do you mean?"

"You don't give a room full of reporters a quote like that to play with. They'll be following him around for weeks trying to spot the 'mystery girl' they'll assume he's with."

"But he's always seen with Bar - with Trowa." Wufei was working on not addressing his friends by their last names anymore. "Won't they figure out that there's no girl to look for?"

"No," Zechs said with a shake of the head. "They never think to look for a man...Anyway, I'm sure it'll all die down eventually. What's your take on - "

"Tell me more about this auction. What do I have to do?" Wufei interrupted.

Zechs shrugged. "It's no big deal, you just get all dressed up, get on a stage and strut your stuff for a few minutes, and the women bid on you. Simple."

"What do you mean by 'strut your stuff'?"

"You know, walk around, do a couple of turns, wink...you know. Strut."

Wufei looked at his feet. "I don't think I know how to strut."

"Sure you do," Zechs replied. "All men know how to strut, it's just a matter of practicing. Stand up."

Wufei gave him a dangerous glare, which Zechs ignored. "Go on," he said, giving the back of Wufei's chair a solid whack. "Stand up." Wufei stood, grudgingly, and Zechs leaned back in his chair and began chewing on his pen. "Now, walk."

"Walk where?" Wufei growled. This was beginning to look very much like Zechs making fun of him.

"Over there and back again," Zechs said with a gesture towards the other end of the room.

Wufei stomped to the other end of the room and turned around to glare at Zechs some more.

"Not like that," Zechs admonished. "You look like you're going to kill something. Let your hips sway a little."

Wufei walked back towards Zechs, still stomping, but this time with his hips swaying.

"No," Zechs said, sounding vaguely disgusted, standing up and shaking his head. "Like this." With that, he fairly well prowled across the room. He moved like a deadly, seductive beast and when he reached the other end of the room, he turned slowly and gracefully, smiled, and gave a thoroughly lascivious wink. Then he came back, walking exactly the same way, and threw himself into his chair. "You try."

Wufei gave him a dubious look, shrugged, and tried. He didn't do half bad, and Zechs told him so, at which point Wufei decided to give the turn-and-wink bit a try as well.

"You'd better not be making a pass at my man, Chang Wufei," came a faintly irate voice from the door.

Wufei froze like a rabbit hearing a twig snap in the woods, and Zechs turned his chair with a smile spreading across his face. There, in the doorway, stood Noin and Sally, holding a bag of what smelled like muffins and a cardboard box holding four coffee cups, respectively. Both of them were grinning in the most infuriating manner.

"We thought you two would like some late breakfast," Noin began, "Since Une dragged us in here at dark o'clock in the morning to catch the speech live, but if you guys are busy we can always come back later..."

Wufei broke out of his frozen state just long enough to snarl "Get in here and shut the damned door, damn it." Noin stepped in and Sally turned to pull the door shut, and as she did, anyone walking by in the hallway could have caught her silently laughing.

******

"Do you like that one?"

Duo sighed and ran a hand through his bangs, staring at his reflection in the mirror. "It's okay," he replied.

"Here, try this one instead." Hilde shoved yet another tux at him and pushed him back towards the dressing room.

"You're enjoying this way too much," he grumbled.

"Yup!" she chirped, slamming the dressing room door on his reluctant backside. "Now, hurry up and pick one, because we've got to get home and pack pretty soon if we're going to make our shuttle flight."

"You booked us a shuttle flight already?" Duo asked incredulously as he shed the last suit's pants and dropped them on the bench. "When did that happen?"

"I didn't - the magazine did. We have to fly out tonight to make it to New York by tomorrow afternoon. That gives us time to rest and get settled in before the auction."

"Well, what about your dress? Don't we need to shop for you for awhile?" He was trying not to sound whiny, but it was difficult. That was the twelfth pair of pants he'd tried on in the last hour.

"I have my dress. I bought it a long time ago and have just been waiting for the perfect place to wear it."

"Oh," he sighed, fastening the button on what he hoped were lucky pants number thirteen. He tucked in the shirt and slid on the vest, then picked up the jacket and threw it over his shoulder before stepping back out of the dressing room. He turned to face himself in the mirror and looked at Hilde in the reflection. "What do you think of this one?"

She came up beside him and straightened the vest. "I like it," she purred. "I like it a lot. See - I told you the vest is way sexier than the cummerbund. Put the jacket on."

He did as he was told and cocked his head at his reflection. The entire ensemble was black - the jacket, the pants, and the soft, silky shirt with the mock turtleneck collar. It didn't have a tie, so that was a plus, and the vest was made from a rich black brocade woven through with threads of iridescent black and a hint of silver. It made him look like a spy - dangerous and just a little bit deadly - and Duo decided that he kind of liked that.

"So...?" Hilde asked.

Duo nodded. "This is it. This is the one."

She grinned. "Good, I thought so, too. Now go get changed so we can pay for it."

He nodded again and slipped back inside the dressing room, and he was just pulling on his boots when he heard her whisper urgently through the door. "Duo! Are you almost done?"

"Yeah, just putting on my shoes," he replied, stomping his foot to get it over his heel. "Why?"

"Remember that guy I was telling you about? The one who keeps calling me?"

He rolled his eyes and suppressed his groan. "This week's loser? Yeah, why?"

"He's here. I don't want to talk to him. Get out of there so I can hide."

He opened the door and she scrambled in and started to pull it shut, but he wouldn't let it go. "You're gonna have to tell him one way or another that you're not interested, ya know. You can't just hide from him forever."

She gave him a sheepish, hopeful look. "Well, I was kinda hoping that you'd..."

"Again?!?"

She cringed a little. "I know, I know..."

"Someday somebody's gonna figure out we're not really related, y'know."

"I know, but it won't be today, and it won't be that guy, so..." Her eyes went all watery and wide, like a Keane painting brought to life. "Please?" she sniffled.

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Wait right here," he growled, putting on his best mean face. "I'm not doing this for you again," he grumbled for good measure.

"You said that last time," she smiled, ducking behind the door.

"Yeah, well, this time I mean it." And off he stomped in the general direction of Hilde's latest hapless Romeo.

"You said that last time, too," she whispered to herself.

He got to the middle of the store and stopped, balling his fists and radiating aggression. "All right," he bellowed, "Which one of you worthless bastards keeps hassling my little sister, Hilde?!?"

******

Heero looked pointedly at his watch. "They're late."

Relena refused to look up from her menu. "They're not even ten minutes late. The press conference probably ran a little long."

"They could have run into some kind of problem."

"You worry too much."

"You don't worry enough."

She sighed and finally met his gaze. "Honestly, Heero, someday you're going to worry yourself into an early grave."

He lifted an eyebrow and grinned a little. "I don't think J would have allowed stress-related health problems to be a part of my programming."

She rolled her eyes. "You're not a robot, Heero, no matter how much you'd like people to think you are." A little bell tinkled, signaling the opening of the front door, and two young men stood fiddling with the buttons on their coats while their eyes scanned the room. Relena raised her arm and waved at them, smiling. "See? I told you there was nothing to worry about."

Heero sniffed and decided not to tell her that he thought Quatre looked pissed off.

Trowa slid into the seat opposite them in the booth and Quatre followed, after pausing to give Relena a peck on the cheek and Heero a warm, firm handshake. "You were wonderful," Relena enthused as they settled into their seats.

"Thank you," Quatre replied, the tension in his face relaxing but not quite fading. "I thought it went well, too."

"Oh, it did - I'm sure the debate over the next few days will bear that out."

"I hope so." Quatre gave a wan smile while he straightened his silverware. Heero shot Trowa a small, questioning look and Trowa shook his head in a little "later" gesture. "If nothing else," Quatre continued, "At least we're forcing Parliament to seriously discuss the issue."

Relena nodded and began to reply when Heero cut her off. "What's wrong, then?"

Quatre blinked, then sighed. "Nothing, really - just a little hitch at the press conference."

"Hitch?" Relena asked, concern in her voice.

"It was nothing serious," Quatre said with a dismissive wave, a gesture that earned him a derisive snort from Trowa's direction.

"That's not what Adele thought."

"Adele worries too much," Quatre grumbled.

"Worries too much about what?" Heero demanded.

Quatre gave Trowa a sidelong glare, to which Trowa couldn't help but smirk. "Someone asked him about that eligible bachelor list, and it got a little out of hand."

"Oh, that," Relena grinned.

Heero's eyebrow went up again as Quatre buried his face in his menu. "It wasn't that bad," he muttered.

Trowa said nothing, and did so rather loudly.

"All right," Quatre snarled, lowering his menu, "It could have gone better."

Trowa made an impressive show of quietly picking up his menu and beginning to read.

"I suppose I do owe Adele a little bonus or something. Perhaps a vacation."

Trowa turned the page to look at the lunch specials.

"A week in the Bahamas, maybe."

Trowa looked over his menu at Heero. "How's the fish here?"

"Pretty good," Heero replied.

"Oh, for God's sake - two weeks then, in an estate on the beach with no phones, no vid feeds, and a cabana boy named Paolo who's sole job is to rub sunscreen on her back. Will that suffice?"

"It's a start," Trowa smiled.

"Honestly," Quatre grumbled, half under his breath. "If it were up to you, she'd make more money than I do."

"She has a harder job than you do."

"I'm almost afraid to ask this," Relena began with a grin on her face that said she was lying through her teeth, "But have you thought about what you're going to do on your dates yet?"

Quatre and Trowa lowered their menus in tandem and blinked at her. "What," Quatre said, "You mean we have to set all that up ourselves?"

"Well, yes - it's supposed to be an expression of your deeply romantic soul, you know."

Trowa snorted and Quatre shook his head. "This damned thing is becoming more bothersome by the second."

"Wait a minute," Heero butted in, totally confused. "What date?"

"The date that you're getting auctioned off for," Relena replied a little too happily. "Remember? I told you about the auction in the elevator this morning."

"Oh, right," Heero nodded, still feeling like he wasn't quite getting the joke. He looked at her earnestly. "So, where do you want to go?"

Relena paused, leaning back with a surprised smirk. "Why, Heero Yuy, whatever makes you think I'm buying you?"

It took Heero a second to process that. "Who else would you buy?"

She looked offended, yet still amused. "Well, maybe I'll buy Trowa. I hear he's a real tiger in the sack."

Trowa wagged his eyebrows at her in a suggestive leer. "Rowwrr," he growled with a saucy wink and a long roll of the tongue.

Relena giggled and Quatre decided to play along. He reached across the table and trailed his fingers along the back of her hand and arm. "You know, Relena, with him you get two for the price of one."

"I was counting on that," she purred, batting her eyelashes a little. "Mother always said I had an eye for a bargain."

Quatre laughed, clasping her hand, and Trowa shook his head with a growing grin. Heero couldn't stand it anymore. "What the hell are you all doing?"

"We're just flirting a little, Heero," Quatre replied, stilling his hand over Relena's in a chaste, friendly squeeze and then letting it go. "It's no big deal."

"Yes," Relena said with a hint of sheepishness. "Just letting off a little steam."

Heero glared a little at Trowa, then at Quatre. "But you two are involved with each other." He turned to Relena, confused. "What good does it do you to flirt with people that you know are unavailable?"

Relena shrugged. "It's like exercising a muscle, Heero - if you don't flex it once in a while, it begins to atrophy." He considered this for a moment while she continued. "It wouldn't kill you to practice flirting. You never know when the skill might come in handy."

He harrumphed at her. "You flirt enough for the both of us. Where did you learn to do that, anyway?"

She shook her head, chuckling lightly. "I did have a life before you stumbled into it, you know. I was quite a popular girl in school, once upon a time."

"You're not talking about that kid who followed you around that school like a lost puppy, are you? The one whose ass I kicked at fencing?"

She straightened her spine with a haughty look. "I'll have you know he was a very nice boy."

"Right," Heero replied. "What was his name again?"

She turned her head a little and blinked once, twice, then fluttered her eyelashes again for a couple of seconds. "I have no idea. But he was a very nice boy, nonetheless."

"Uh-huh. Clearly he made quite an impression on you. He must have been an excellent flirt."

Relena paused, mulling over her options for just a moment before she pounced. "Maybe if he'd been a better flirt, I'd still remember his name. One would think that with this auction coming up, you'd want a few flirting lessons. After all, if you walk up on that stage with that attitude, you'll end up earning a lower price than both Duo and Wufei."

Heero's eyebrows crunched together, and Relena knew she had him. She lifted her water glass to her lips and nonchalantly sipped at it. Quatre put a hand over his mouth and Trowa's menu suddenly became even more interesting than it had been before, which was pretty remarkable, all things considered.

"I'll bet I can get a higher price than both Duo and Wufei," Heero said, a hint of danger in his voice.

"That remains to be seen, I suppose," replied Relena, doing an admirable job of keeping her smug smile under control.

"Are you daring me?" he asked, his voice both incredulous and anticipatory.

"Are you up for the challenge?" she returned with a tiny shrug.

He snorted, a derisive, boastful sound. "Am I up for the challenge...huh. You'd better believe I am." He linked his fingers, flipped his hands so his palms faced out, and cracked his knuckles. Flexing his fingers, he gave pointed glares to each person at the table.

"Okay, I'm ready. Teach me how to flirt."

Quatre's hand stayed in front of his mouth, but it utterly failed to hide his grin. From behind Trowa's menu, his voice could barely be heard.

"Looks like the day has taken another interesting turn."

******

Planted quite firmly on a park bench, Adele was happily eating lunch alone, nose stuck in a romance novel about a darkly handsome, lantern-jawed man, his tanned, fair, and equally handsome best friend, and the woman who loved them both but couldn't choose between the two, so she didn't.

It was cheesy. It was trashy. It was complete drivel. In short, it was just about perfect.

As she ate and read, she mused that this was the sort of novel one read while one nibbled daintily on some sort of salad. She paused, looked down at her own lunch, shrugged a little, shoved three more French fries into her mouth and washed them down with a generous slurp of chocolate milk shake.

She was just polishing off her double cheeseburger when a scuffed pair of familiar shoes came into her range of vision. She blinked at them and spent a moment being vaguely annoyed at straight men in general for not taking better care of their shoes before a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Hello, Adele. May I sit down?"

Adele looked up, her eyes traveling quickly over the length of his dusty gray overcoat, and shrugged again.

"It's a free country, David. You can sit wherever you please." With that, she turned back to her book, taking absolutely no pains to make room for him.

He sighed a little, shoved the bag holding her fries over, and perched on the edge of the bench. Her press kit was clutched in one hand, and he used the free hand to push her book forward so he could read the title. He raised an eyebrow and brought his hand back to his lap. "Hard day at the office?"

"Not especially," she replied, not looking up - never looking up. "You?"

"Nah. You're looking good, Adele. Whoring yourself out to the Evil Empire really works for you."

She snorted, but still managed to not look up. "Quatre Winner hardly qualifies as the Evil Empire, and you know it. Did you have something specific you wanted to discuss, or are you just trying to bait me into yet another argument for old times' sake?"

He tapped the press kit against his hand. "I see you're using your maiden name again."

"Did you think I'd keep yours forever?"

"No, I guess not." He sighed, a frustrated sound, looked down at the folder in his hands, and ran his thumb against the embossed Winner Enterprises logo on its front. "Who's the girl, Adele?"

Her poker face wavered for the barest of moments. "What girl?"

"The girl he's dating. I know there's someone - he didn't make that particular slip of the tongue by accident."

She finally put her book down and looked him in the eye. "What on earth makes you think I'd tell you?"

"So there is someone?"

"Does it matter? You've made up your mind that there is, so there will be, won't there? David Reyes is never wrong, is he?"

He shrugged. "It's not my fault I've got good instincts."

She shook her head and pulled her book back up in front of her face. "As arrogant as ever."

"It's not arrogance when it's true. Are you going to tell me who she is, or am I going to have to find out for myself?"

"Go right ahead," she replied flatly, icily. "Find out for yourself. Put your powers of deductive reasoning and your much-vaunted journalistic integrity to the task of uncovering the identity of Quatre Winner's 'mystery girl'. Keep the universe safe from the horrifying secrets of one man's personal life. If nothing else, it should be amusing to watch."

"There's no need to be sarcastic, Adele."

"That's where you're wrong, David - there's every need to be sarcastic." She put her book down again. "If Mr. Winner is dating someone, it's nobody's business but his own, and for you to be sitting here trying to fool me into giving a scoop to Sphere Magazine only shows how far away from your youthful ideals you've actually fallen."

He blinked a couple of times before standing up and straightening his coat. "I'll find out one way or another, Adele. You might as well make it easier on all of us and tell me."

"Go to hell, David."

"I probably will. But I'm still going to find out." He took two steps back and stopped. "I'm going to find out, and you can't stop me."

She snorted again and raised her book back up in front of her face, and he shook his head, sad and determined, and walked away.

"Oh, yes I can, David," she whispered to the book. "Oh, yes I can."

*to be continued*