Ho, Ho, Ho?
by Merith
Trowa held Quatre's gaze steadily, his eyes searching for the slightest change in expression. After a few minutes of staring without flinching, Trowa shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked away. The other agents had left the room at the end of the briefing, but Quatre had demanded he stay – to change into his disguise – he'd said.
And Trowa had. But he didn't like it.
He shifted again and scratched at his chin. "So, I'm only supposed to enter the room, take a seat and observe, huh?"
Quatre smiled. "If it goes as expect, that's all." Trowa frowned. There had to be more than that to this assignment. Quatre patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll be there with you." He ducked his head to the side and mumbled, "If I'm not needed elsewhere."
"How come it has to be me?" Trowa grumbled, as Quatre adjusted his hat.
"Because the disguise fit you best." The response seemed a little too pat, but Trowa let it pass.
"And I don't get a weapon?"
"No!" Quatre said loudly, laughingly. "You most likely won't need one for this mission."
They were walking towards the objective, close enough to touch, adding to their overall mission personas. Trowa heard the noise on the other side of the door, and frowned thunderously at Quatre.
"No weapon in that crowd, dressed like this, and I'm only allowed to observe?" Quatre nodded, reaching for the doorknob. "I'm smelling a whole lot of 'if' in this plan."
Blinking guilelessly, Quatre asked as he threw the double doors open, "What plan?"
It was the only mission Trowa felt his knees actually quake; hundreds of eyes turned in his direction. Quatre elbowed him in the side and he took an unsteady step forward.
"Ho ho ho!" He chanted as he'd been told.
Hundreds of voices erupted in shouts and laughter. Only the hand on his back kept him from running back the way he'd came. Step by terrified step he approached his seat of doom. only have to observe. his mantra.
As he sat, he observed the green-clad blond elf handing out candy canes, and he plotted. One of these days, he would find a way to get even. A chorus of some holiday song began and Quatre climbed on the float next to him. The float jerked to a start, beginning its progression down the five-mile route, and a hand squeezed through the thick material and padding. Maybe getting even could wait awhile longer.
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