Something about the way he shut the front door, namely slamming it so hard its frame was nearly ripped from the wall, told the other four Gundam Pilots that Heero was not in a good mood.  Duo jumped up from his seat and ran out into the hall, braid flying out behind him, to welcome Heero.  But even as the American’s mouth opened to laugh, something strange happened.

Before the cackle had the chance to escape Duo’s lips, his eyes rolled up into his head, and he keeled over backwards, foaming at the mouth.  Duo lay in the doorway, his body twitching.

The other three pilots looked at each other.  Quatre put two and two together and came up with “Heero’s perfected his death glare?”

Wufei rolled his eyes at such foolishness and got up, treading carelessly all over the prostrate Duo.  As he turned to look at Heero, the two pilots who had remained seated saw his eyes widen, and he too pitched over, and lay twitching on the floorboards of the hallway.

Trowa raised his eyebrows at Quatre, who, being able to read the stoic Latino boy like a book, knew that that look from the Heavyarms’ pilot meant he was going with the blonde boy’s ‘death glare’ theory.  They weren’t far wrong.

As Heero stepped into the room it was only Trowa’s impenetrable personality, and Quatre’s sighting of another opportunity to mother one of his fellow pilots that protected them from the look Heero was giving them.

Quatre had flushed slightly pink, and his hands were clapped to his mouth, his eyes were already brimming the sympathetic tears he kept in reserve for such situations.  And now the delicate featured pilot had figured the definite reason for Heero’s successful execution of the ‘death glare’.

It seemed that the intensity of said glare, which was unusually fierce tonight anyway, was being magnified, several hundred times by Quatre’s guess, by the inch-thick lenses of a pair of plastic-framed spectacles.

The Sandrock pilot was openly crying now, and Heero shot the Arab boy the strongest glare he could muster.  At that moment however, Quatre had buried his face in his hands, and the look went straight over his head, and hit Trowa full-force.  Trowa fought heroically to stay upright, but there was a gurgling sound, and Trowa toppled backwards off of his chair with a thud.

Quatre’s eyes glanced from his hands, to Trowa on the floor, and then to Heero, fear registering for the first time on the blonde’s face.  He steeled himself mentally and stammered a question to Heero, who stood glaring at him with one eyebrow quirked.

“T-the medical went well?” he stuttered hesitantly.

Heero grimaced. “Do you have to ask?”  Surprised that Quatre would even bother pretending to not know the answer.  But Quatre hadn’t heard him; he had thrown his head back and howled with laughter.  Then he too found himself unconscious on the floor, another victim of Heero’s double-barrelled glare.

“Teach you to laugh at my braces!” he spat at the blonde Arab, who lay twitching on the living room carpet.  Heero clamped his teeth together and sucked air and saliva through them, and the mass of grey metal and luminous pink elastic bands with a harsh “eeeesssshhh” sound.

He pushed the thick glasses further up his nose with his middle finger, and flounced dramatically from the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demon's Gate

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