Disclaimers: Don't own Gundam Wing. Don't own idea. Just writing the fic.
Oh, and don't mind the weird squiggly thing that appears throughout the story - it's a page break. :) Lame, I know, but it works.
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Light tourmaline eyes roved the streets, taking in every detail with a quick and astutely professional aire. Slightly narrowed, they watched as people slowly meandered from store to store, hefting large bags and laughing and chatting as they met with familiar people.
It was a bright, sunny afternoon in the small German village, the sunlight softly soaking the land in warmth and splendid color, the gentle breeze swirling about the buildings and down the streets to carry the fresh scent of spring-time grasses and newly blossomed flowers upon its tendrils. Beveled glass windows scattered rainbows upon the dusty ground that was stirred by the feet of passers-by, while the stores behind those windows beckoned to shoppers with their beautifully made crafts and doilies and delicious scents of freshly made bread and strong coffees.
A small, welcoming town lounging lazily under the light of a spring sun – just the thing to get a man to relax and enjoy the calm flow of an unburdened life. This was the reason the two travelers had come to this town. Striving to escape the harried, hassled life they'd led in the Americas, running away from the huge city of New York they'd previously lived in, Quatre Raberba Winner and his companion, Trowa Barton, had found themselves in this small, nondescript country village in the most remote countryside that Germany had to offer, sitting nearly two hundred miles out of the capital city of Berlin.
Smiling softly at his partner, Trowa nodded. "This is exactly what we need," he commented. "You should be able to relax here."
With a slight frown, the blonde looked up at his partner. "We'll see about that after I check out the facilities."
Trowa's smile faded as he shook his head. "I still can't believe you're intending to work."
"One of us has to bring in money, otherwise we won't be able to afford the house you insisted we rent."
Shaking his head, the emerald-eyed man simply pushed his hands into his pockets and followed his blonde partner down the dusty, unpaved street as he made his way purposefully to the lone doctoral office the small village held.
It was a small one-story building, its front windows huge and inviting, the lobby beyond a homily decorated, dark den that smelled faintly of aging fabrics and peroxide. Five plush chairs sat around a knee-height table that held a few outdated magazines on its surface, all situated near the dark fireplace.
Quatre glanced about, an arched eyebrow denoting his questionable approval of the surroundings he was in. "Interesting. A little homey for a hospital, don't you think?"
"These people are lucky to have a hospital in a village this size, Quatre. Think you could be a little less critical?"
"Sorry," the blonde snorted softly. "I'm used to home."
"That's not home anymore. This is."
Quatre shook his head. "Not for awhile, it won't be." Sweeping past his partner, he leaned against what he took to be the receptionist's desk and drummed his fingers upon its surface. "And their service is quite lacking."
"Ringing the bell might help, Quatre."
A snort escaped his thin frame as he lightly punched the bell. He arched a brow incredulously as a man in a white lab coat met him. "I take it you don't have a receptionist?"
A friendly smile took the older man's lips as he replied in thick, accented English, "No, we don't. You are new to this town, are you?"
Glancing down at the man's nametag, Quatre smirked. "Herr VonSchteik, I'm Quatre Raberba Winner. Your new doctor."
"Ah! Welcome, Herr Winner. I take it you've had time to wander the town a bit?"
"I have. It doesn't take long."
Trowa simply watched as his companion was taken behind the counter and into the rooms beyond that made up the small office's working spaces. Shrugging once, he slipped into one of the large plush chairs and picked up a magazine, staring at the words, slowly translating them from German to English in his mind as he poured over them with a slender finger leading his eyes.
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Quatre stretched as he walked along side of Trowa, his eyes closed.
"So it met with your standards, Quatre?" Trowa asked quietly.
"Primitive, almost to a fault. But I should be able to work around that."
The two of them walked in relative silence to a small coffee shop. Walking in, they seated themselves at one of the round oak tables held within its dark confines. Trowa got up a few moments later to order for them, after receiving the order for 'something dark, strong and unsweetened. And a chunk of that chocolate they serve' from his partner.
As Quatre leaned back in his chair, he closed his eyes again, listening to the conversations around him, frowning as he attempted to catch every word uttered and understand their meanings.
The people behind him were whispering in a hushed voice about the appearance of a specter just outside of town.
Turning in his chair, he cracked open one eye, looking at the two men that sat stooped over their coffee mugs, speaking to one another urgently.
"What's this nonsense about a ghost?" Quatre dared to interrupt, his dark aquamarine eyes glittering with skepticism in the faint light that flowed through the dark coffeehouse's warm interior.
The pair looked up and stared at him almost incredulously. "Are you meaning to say that you've never heard the legend of the ghost who haunts these parts?" one asked, a brow arched in amazement.
"You might say I'm new around here," Quatre replied with a shrug. "Enlighten me."
Looking to one another, disbelief dark upon their brows, they uttered, "I can't believe that he doesn't know. I thought everyone who visits this town knew of the legend…"
"I'm waiting, gentlemen," Quatre snorted quietly.
"Alright then, sir. Relax, and listen to the tale."
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"A long time ago, there was once a castle here. This land was under the rule of a small duchy whose name and influence have long been lost under the weight of time. It was a calm and peaceful land, much as it is today, save that it rested under the protection of its castle and kingdom rather than the sway of the capital which lies so very far away.
"As it was in those days, clear distinction was present between each of the classes. The peasantry farmed these lands, producing the crops and dairies that this kingdom was noted for. The merchant class that lorded above the peasant farmers traveled the lands to trade their wares. The nobility taxed those who lived in their kingdom to support their own expenditures."
"I'm aware how the Middle Ages worked, gentlemen. I'm probably more schooled in their politics than you," Quatre interrupted. "Get to the legend you speak of."
Frowning, slight annoyance taking his brow, one man sighed. "Alright then.
"The noble family acted as most nobles do – remaining segregated from the common folk, unwilling to taint themselves by breathing the same air as the peasantry that flocked over their lands. Such was the general consensus amongst the family to remain away from those who dwelled in the countryside. But, there was one exception.
"The young princess of that family, Katrina as the legend names her, loved her people and would often sneak out of her family's castle to dwell among them for days at a time. She was a gentle young lass with bright golden hair and light blue eyes, with a smile that would glow as brightly as the sun on a hot summer day and the kindest disposition any noble that dwelled upon this earth could hope to have. She brought with her pence for the poor of the villages, cheerfulness for the downtrodden, and a kind, helping hand for those who needed such.
"She was loved by many, but none loved her so fiercely as Heero Yuy, an immigrant to these lands. Some say he came from the lands far to the East, some say from the darkness below, some say from the mists that surround the lands of the fey. None really know where this young man came from, nor do any really care – he was naught but another peasant, one who toiled and turned the land. He was a lonely young man, striving alone to make a living for himself in a foreign land, working the soil and producing as every other farmer produced. Indeed, he was nothing spectacular according to history – yet, he was able to catch the eye of the princess.
"Perhaps it was his foreign looks and disjointed tongue. Perhaps it was his lonely situation, family-less and exiled to a removed square of land to toil without company. No one rightly knows why, but the young princess Katrina was drawn to this man. Soon it came to pass that whenever she left the castle that was her home, she went immediately to those lands he worked to offer him company and the cooling touch of a wet towel across his shoulders.
"It was obvious to those who surrounded them what was developing between the two young persons. The peasant and the princess were falling in love.
"When news of this development reached the castle, the young princess' family was none too happy about it. Their precious princess, their only daughter, sporting favours with a peasant? Outrageous! So immediately, her availability for marriage was spread to all the neighboring kingdoms, and she was beset with suitors for legend of her beauty and grace was quite renown.
"The young lady was quite distraught when she was quite suddenly laden with potential suitors, each vying desperately for her hand. She did all she knew to do – she fled to the arms of her peasant love.
"He comforted her as well as he could, as rage slowly built within him at her family for daring to attempt to sell her off simply because she'd let her heart have its say. And with that rage came to him the most simple and logical solution to their problem. To remove her availability, to remove her perhaps even from her family would be the only way to keep her from greedy hands.
"He proposed to her that very night. She willingly accepted.
"They married in secret, wed by pagan ritual under the moonlight, and consummated their vows in the dark comfort of Heero's home. In happiness did they live until their location was given to the noble family by their neighbors.
"Under threat of death, the princess was returned to her family.
"When they found but two months later that her belly was swollen with child, her father's rage made itself known. And when she was questioned and she replied that her babe was legitimate by virtue of marriage to the peasant Heero Yuy, a manhunt was formed.
"Her husband was brought in without her knowledge, and wrongly charged with rape of the princess. Because their wedding had been conducted by pagan hands and not legitimized by the Church, it was considered null and void.
"She was not aware until nary a week later that he had been hung.
"The lovely Katrina had flown into a bout of depression never before seen in her fair character. It is said that she tried to end her own existence, sobbing hysterically that she would under no small circumstance leave this world to be reunited with her darling Heero."
Quatre scratched his chin, frowning. "I see. Very reasonable tale, very realistically drawn out. But where does this supposed 'ghost' fit into all of this?"
The villager who's been entertaining Quatre with the tale bowed his head. "When the princess had taken knife to hand in her bedchamber, it's said that it's then when his spirit first appeared; as he'd died an unjust and unintended death, his spirit remained bound to the soil he'd tended, his memory bound to hers. He appeared beside her, his visage sad and distraught, and told her not to end her life for only the darkness of the nether realm would welcome her then. Assuring her that he'd always be with her, he encouraged her to live, to bring their child into the realm of the living, to find happiness in their defiance of her family's will.
"She did as she was told, and found joy and happiness raising their babe, accompanied by the spirit of her lover in her dreams and in the darkness of the night.
"It's said that because she lived a righteous and loving life, her death upon the onset of old age did not bind her spirit to the realm of the living.
"Thus she passed on to the wonders of the afterlife, even as Heero's spirit remains here, bound eternally to these lands and mournfully seeking her out, unaware of her death and unable to accept the passage of time that has separated them forever."
The young doctor shook his head. "Quite an interesting story you have there."
"It is more truth than fiction, I do assure you," the villager said with a nervous nod of his head.
"Right."
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Trowa arched a brow as he looked down at his lover. "So the lands are haunted?"
"So they say. If you believe in that hogwash." Shaking his head, Quatre simply hiked the collar of his jacket up, attempting to block the chill of the darkening night from colliding with the sensitive skin of his neck.
"You're saying that you don't believe it? I mean, if this area truly is haunted-"
With a snicker, Quatre looked incredulously at his partner. "I pride myself as being a man of science, Trowa. Ghost stories and fanaticism aren't going to cause me any worry."
"And if it's real?" Trowa goaded on.
"Then I'll acknowledge that it's real. It's not going to bother me."
"How can you be so certain?"
"For the last damned time, I don't believe in this crap. It's not real. And if it happens to be so, then I'll acknowledge such and move on with my life. For God's sake, Trowa, will you stop being so ridiculous! Some little farce about a ghost isn't going to drive me away from my relaxation, alright? I came here to rest, and that's what I intend to do, ghost or no ghost."
"But-"
"Couch, Trowa."
"What!"
"You heard me. You're sleeping on the couch."
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Quatre grumbled as he pulled his nightshirt on. 'That damned Trowa… why to I put up with him? All he does is frustrate the hell out of me. Yeah, the sex is good, but still! I should tell him some time that it's him that's driving my blood pressure through the damned roof, and not my choice of profession or my living environment.'
Rubbing his eyes as he peered into the large oval mirror that took the west wall of his bedroom, he frowned. 'This was a bad idea. I should be at work, back in New York, seeing my patients instead of running amuck about the German countryside and playing medieval doctor to a bunch of country hicks that blabber about ghosts over their coffee.'
He stared into the mirror at his pale, grim reflection.
And gasped as he spotted a faint flicker of movement in the background right behind him, being able to clearly make out a tall, dark-haired, thin figure walking from the slightly-opened door towards the bed.
"Trowa! Didn't I tell you that you're on the couch?" he growled angrily as he whirled on his heel.
He stared.
The room was completely empty; the door still tightly closed and chained.
tbc...
