The Best Way to Travel
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: In a fit of summer passion, I guess I'm entering a wave of writing rather consistently. I'm sure it has nothing to do with my roommate going to England for a week and leaving me the apartment to myself. I'm sure it has nothing to do with being rather bored kicking around the dishes and wondering why there's no one else besides myself to wash them. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I can watch hours of anime without feeling guilty in the slightest for hogging the television. This is a Gundam Wing fic exploring some alternate pairings I don't use to often, but have enjoyed reading at one point or another. *cheers for alternate pairings* Of course, this is alternate reality. I like cannon, but AU is the spice of life. Characters not mine. All the other trouble, I claim.)
Heero:
When I was adopted, my father gave me a new name. It's my first happy memory. The unexpected experience of being snatched from the make-shift orphanage and being taken home in his automobile. The first time I'd ever had such a luxury. I remember caressing the seat in wonder, then glancing outside of the vehicle to watch the street shops and houses, the entire city disappear behind us. On either side of the dirt and gravel road waved an ocean of deep summer green grasses, fields of corn broken by side roads, occasionally dotted by trees. The sky blue. The sun warm. I was seven.
Then, before the sun could sink much more than to turn the sky a rich crimson orange, he had turned to me. Now I wonder how nervous he must have felt. Accepting me, a dark, brooding young boy. A boy who's parents had been killed in the bombings. A boy who had only just begun to speak, and then only in one or two word phrases. Mostly, negative or affirmative guttural intonations. How of all those children had he settled on me?
Then I had felt the machine beneath me shift and slow. Nervous, I gave him a panicked look. He was still holding the wheel to steer. His left hand reaching down to maneuver another lever. Vividly, even now, I could see the determined set to his jaw. The way his light brown hair was combed back properly, only a few pieces having been blown forward.
"Son," I remember the tremble of pleasure at that word. I might have been quiet and a touch disagreeable, but I was not completely without dreams and desires. He also must have felt that confident joy of defining our relationship from then on, his voice, strong then, imprinted itself into my affections. "Welcome home. From now on, your name will be Heero. Heero Yuy."
Walking hand and hand, he led me from that magnificent vehicle toward the country estate that I would learn to call my home. Somehow, it had escaped the cruelties of the war, unlike the city that still bore scars and rubble. The impression of a flawless house, with a full porch, pillars, more windows than I could count, steps, flowers, and at the door, a woman.
My mother to be. My mother. Her hair was honey colored and long, near her shoulders. I loved her immediately as she took my other hand and then pulling me free from my father embraced me. She had fallen to her knees and wept. Later, I learned she had not come for me herself because she had vowed never to set foot into the ruined city again. Her tears of guilt and eager love made my cheeks wet. I had wiped at my face using the back of my hand, uncomfortable with what I only saw as sadness.
"He's perfect, Treize." My mother had yet to let go of my hand, but she stood tall. Regal. Angelic. Beyond my comprehension, yet perfect to me.
My father patted my head.
And while from that point I loved them unconditionally and they were good to me. It never occurred to me to think the name they gave me strange. At least, not until it was pointed out to me.
Trowa:
After going to private schools for all of my life, being sent to boarding school seemed like just another opportunity for my parents to push me away. Which was fine. I did better losing myself in the crowd of school boys rather than accommodating the aristocracy that fawned before our family name. As long as I didn't use the power behind my surname with my classmates, they were friendly enough. Being heir to the Barton estates could have taken my social standing to the highest levels. But my intention was to skirt the shadows the best I could. I was planning to run away, join the circus, hop a boat to America. Anything except put on a pressed suit, listen to another poorly played piano forte, or smile sickly at whatever docile creature had decided to attach her prospects to my own.
Sitting in first class, I had taken a seat near the back. Deciding on a window seat. That room faced the front lawn which was rather attractive. To impress the parents who were shelling over their finances to make the campus look prestigious. Those of us who were congregating were first year boys. Near the front, an anxious pale blond boy was scribbling notes frantically from a text book. I recognized the cover, more Wheelock's Latin. I was supposed to have that book somewhere in my bags, but I wasn't going to take it out until it was absolutely necessary.
Then attracted by the new movement, I saw another boy take the seat next to mine. Another back row lurker. I appraised his impeccable uniform, his books appropriately stacked in front with his hands lingering on either side. Perfect posture. Combed, but boyish brown hair. Stern forehead, long nose, pointed chin.
"What's your name?" I don't speak much as a rule. But besides over- achiever academic in the front of the room and this dark newcomer, I've recognized every other face so far.
He glanced over at me, I'd say relief washed over his features. Causing his dark eyes to soften somewhat, his brow evened, his words eager, "Heero Yuy."
I run that name through my exhaustive lists of who is who that my mother insisted that I know. One could never be too prepared to meet someone famous and influencial.
"Heero Yuy?" I paused, "Like the war hero? You're named after the war hero?"
"Named after?" His ease gone, the self-proclaimed Heero Yuy pulled back into his seat. Apparently he hadn't been asked this before. Which I found odd.
"Heero Yuy died rather young, just after taking office. That's part of the reason the war hit our portion of the country so hard." I sound a bit like a textbook. That's a side effect of being repressed by a family name. "There were no other Yuys. That Heero Yuy had a sister, but she was assassinated within a year of her brother. Her home was broken into and their soldiers not only took her prisoner, but her children as well. They didn't make it to the trial."
"I-I didn't know." His expression hard to determine, somewhere between thoughtful, horrified and realization.
I found it a bit confusing that he wouldn't know. Had he been sheltered his whole life? I could almost hear my step-sister whispering in my ear, "You are so insensitive, Trowa Barton."
Brushing that feeling aside, I asked, "Who are your parents?"
Hesitantly, almost as if the answer he had could again be a wrong answer. Or a challenged answer. Or worse. "Kushrenada. Treize and Une Kushrenada."
I went through my mental index. Interesting.
I refrained from commenting. He settled with his back against the seat, properly with both feet stationed on the floor in front of him. Knees at ninety degree angles. My legs are too long for that, and I've never accomplished anything like comfortable posture. He might have been relieved that I left him alone after that. Or not.
His dark brows expressively pulled together.
Heero:
Fall passed. Then as Christmas approached, I knew that my mother would come for me. Or send one of her representatives. Since Father died, she was hard pressed to manage his estate. Some distant cousin or other relative had put out a claim on the home and Mother had put together some legal papers with the help of her friends, the Peacecrafts. Everything was to come to a conclusion around Christmas time. A wearying prospect to face as the holidays approached. I wanted to be home, but, at the same time, the solitude of school had appealed to me.
The only one who really spoke to me much was a foreign student. Duo Maxwell made a point to call out hello to me or include me in conversation when I was near. We were not friends, but his extroverted efforts were not spared me.
Besides that, I had no other encounters. Besides the first day, when snobbish Trowa Barton had inquired about my parents. Truly, I had little cause to call him snobbish; although, it was a characteristic commonly acknowledged by the rest of our grade. He wasn't called a bastard, like Chang Wufei. Nor was he labeled a teacher's pet, like poor Quatre Winner. But the tall, aristocrat's aloof behavior won him some animosity. It was his quietness that allowed him to fly under their shunning outrage.
And I wouldn't suspect they didn't think I was an enigma as well. But no one else questioned my name. No one else really spoke to me at all. Which suited me well.
I used the freedom to study and stayed in the upper third of my class. I also used my time to write letters back to Mother. As an adopted son, there was little I could do to help her. It was the occasional guilt I felt over her efforts to secure my inheritance that drove me to maintain a consistent correspondence.
Why did she strive so hard on my behalf?
The awakened fear. I am not a Kushrenada. They had not even given me their name.
Trowa:
Holiday came and went. Then summer. The boredom of routine and the lackluster professors making it seem painfully long even as the days passed more quickly than the light of thunder's bolt.
I made a passing comrade in Chang Wufei, who was always good for a barb at the teacher or some of other faculty's expense. For the most part, we were the elite and academic foreground of the school. Wufei proud of the fact. Myself, I suffered from indifference. The lessons were dull at best. I was always well ahead on the texts. My parents had paid too well for tutors to distract me and keep me occupied during the summer. That way I had all too reasonable excuses to avoid their gatherings and outings.
The best part of the day became athletic clubs. I played a fair game of rugby. However, some of the fellows, lead by the infamous Duo Maxwell had procured some different sport. Football, or soccer as Maxwell insisted on calling it, was the unofficial favorite of our class. By third year, we had a steady intramural system unsanctioned by the athletic department.
Maxwell was a monster on the field. He would roar with rage, delight, sarcasm, fear, and excitement. That buffoon amplified everything. He captained a steady bunch including fourth year twins Philip and Nichol Walker. Philip was a good natured boy, but a fast offense on his feet. Nichol played the goal and did he turn red with fury if anyone challenged his ability to defend their end. Maxwell had also convinced Yuy to play that year. Yuy practiced with them sometimes. I saw it as I would walk from the school library back to the dorms. It was a hike across the entire campus with a good view of the playing fields. Maxwell and Yuy would kick the ball back and forth. Dribbling it with their feet and making passes to steal from each other.
Their team called themselves The Taurus Specials. And with Yuy's strategy, they intimidated, untied and ran over Oz, Alex's fairly steady team.
I played with Wufei of course. We were a more slender team that had managed to undermine Maxwell's bulkier lads with our footwork. Seeing Yuy flawlessly weave through the Oz ranks might make our game a new challenge.
"Let's all be good sportsmen." They spoke simultaneously, the pre-game ritual as Wufei shook Duo Maxwell's hand. I eyed their players tipping my chin back and putting my hands on either hip. Sizing them up. I might have been of less sturdy stalk than the Walker burliness, but I had filled out fairly well by seventeen. I stood well above the others and caught the eye of Heero Yuy.
Being tall, it was easy for me to see him. Easy for him to watch me back. Nothing about his gaze was abashed, his eyes becoming more narrowed and slanted in the last years. Hinting at some unknown Oriental heritage. Of course, I hadn't been the first to think so. But one didn't insult someone with the glare that Heero Yuy could protect himself with. Yuy left well enough alone. I don't think I'd spoken to him at any length, including our conversation the first day of classes.
Philip Walker was taking the ball down the side, Wufei at his heels. I watched, playing offense. Hoping for the chance to put the more disagreeable Nichol in his place. Yuy about seven feet from me. We don't talk. The sun is behind clouds today, keeping a brisk breeze around our bare limbs. I impatiently shifted from one foot to another.
Then, ready, I'm passed the ball. I hear Maxwell's roar over the busy sound of the wind. Keeping the game with me, I examined the field. Planning on taking a cut over to the right, attaching Nichol from there.
In a blur, I found myself running forward with no purpose. Twisting around, but stillv running the wrong way, I saw Heero passing Maxwell the ball and the action was again in the hands of our defense. Heero hovered midway again.
"What the heck." I mumbled to myself. I hadn't seen him coming, but I'd be more prepared next time. I had known the guy was good, but never had imagined what it felt like to be robbed by him.
That game I remember well because of how painful it became. We started to pile up our offense as soon as the ball crossed my way. Giving better passing opportunities, but somehow Yuy saw those as simply an additional hurdle to his perfected style. When he wasn't interrupting my drive, he was cutting off Wufei, passing the ball back to Philip or Duo or some other mediocre player on their team. They all were getting plenty of play time, except Nichol who was rather bored and so began to mock our feeble attempts against their newest player. I glowered at Heero midway.
His practice clothes hanging on him, except sticking darkly to sweat. The atmosphere's humidity putting a layer of shine across all of our brows, into our necks. Regardless, his kept his cool. He shrugged.
Then an impish grin reached across his cheeks into those unusual eyes, a pleased and delighted expression without offer of excuse.
Then, inexplicably, I figured I liked Heero Yuy alright.
Heero:
By the time of graduation, I'd learned what it was to be a graceful loser. I saw it every time that Trowa Barton played against our team in football. He started to laugh even before I would press in and take the ball. It became a bit of a game in of itself, he would try a new strategy, which I would allow just long enough to figure it out and work against it. I think the only game Barton's team won was in late November when I was taken out with a bad case of pneumonia. Which I wouldn't have had if I hadn't persisted to play every weekend up and until the campus nurses forbid me from leaving my room.
"Glad to know that even you aren't indestructible, without weakness." Trowa had said at lunch one day that spring. We'd taken to spending a fair bit of time together. He was a touch proud of his intellectual abilities, but I let it pass. He had a fairly good sense of humor once he got past his personal walls of self-defense. Not that I could fault him. I had them also.
The last semester we even fell into rooming together. An infestation of rodents took over one of the smaller fourth year buildings, and the administration moved those of us living in Sandrock Hall over to Heavyarms. Trowa had found me as soon as rumors were spreading of a mass exodus.
"If I bloody have to share my space with somebody, I'd rather it was you."
"That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard." And it was a done deal.
We made a strange two-some, but it suited us well. The reluctant son of a prestigious family and the unlikely adopted son of the scandalous Kushrenada estate. My mother had succeeded in settling the claim Marimeia Kushrenada tried. At that point, my inheritance seemed legally certain. Not that either of us were reliant on that heritage for our identity. And that mutual quest for finding ourselves gave us the understanding we needed.
"So what are you planning on doing with all this education?" Trowa asked me one night the week before graduation. We'd been given our robes and caps early and I was still trying to figure out how to get mind to fit. It was sizes larger than I needed, but, with the strict rules about how the hat must be worn, I couldn't seem to manage it.
"Education? What education?" I said, frustrated. "I swear, my head has *shrunk* since I got here."
Trowa laughed once at that. His laughter was queer like that. After we started to converse a bit, no where near as much as Maxwell liked to pry, but we did begin to feel comfortable in our own fashion. Trowa barely acknowledged comments, even if they amused him. But with few people around, and those there ones he trusted, Trowa had just an awful sharp bark that was brief and almost as loud as anything Duo managed on the field. I shouldn't talk, it's not like I laughed often. And only at the most bizarre and most twisted of unfortunate events.
I had laughed the most when we got back from Christmas holiday. Wufei had brought back a container of frozen raspberries. An exotic treat, which he refused to share. With relish, he stole sugar from the lunch room and ate them constantly. Slowly. Making them last and taunting us until we tired of it.
Trying to make his humor continue as long as possible, Wufei, near the end of the supply, had taken to biting them in half. Savoring one portion, while holding the other half in front of his nose for us all to see. After about three minutes of doing that, relishing our groans and weariness with the show, Wufei's eyes had crossed over his slanted nose. Focusing on the raspberry. Widening. And almost immediately gagging in reflex.
Pulling and tearing each berry, inside each and every one, he found perfectly frozen bugs.
I don't know which startled him more, realizing that the berries had been bad. Or the laughter that bellowed from my lungs as I held my head back like a lunatic. I even managed to startle Trowa with that one.
"I'm sure I don't want to go back home if I can help it." Trowa continued. "There's always university. I could bore myself with a few more years there, while avoiding the latest fascination of my parents. Some so-called 'duties of the son'."
I folded the rim of my hat under, so that it fitted better. Next trying to fashion what might look like a point if no one examined it too closely.
"I wish they'd just let Cathy have the whole Barton legacy. She's more suited to it."
"Would your family let you take a year off?" I set down the hat, giving up on it for now. I still had a week.
"What do you mean?" Trowa sat upright, eager for any opportunity by that point.
"Mother is sending me to study with a friend of my father's." Noticing the distaste on Trowa's features, I clarified, "Not studies like Latin and History. More practical, political and military. Strategy without the immediate social pressures. Some, but it won't be direct like at home. Simply maintaining our dignity and playing general while we're at it."
"General?" Trowa didn't look convinced, "I'd like to break free from the Barton household longer if I can, but I was thinking of being an academic. Not a soldier."
"I don't want to be a soldier either," I prompted, suddenly knowing that I wouldn't mind going so much myself if he came with me.
I could use a friend, especially in an environment that would not lend itself to my invisibility.
A quickly drafted letter persuaded his parents to the advantage of one year set aside from his immediate studies and the next chapters of our lives waited to be written.
End chapter one.
*** Author's Note: Okay, well the boys have had their fun. Next, enter the girls. Coming soon: One More Time to Live.
(Disclaimer: In a fit of summer passion, I guess I'm entering a wave of writing rather consistently. I'm sure it has nothing to do with my roommate going to England for a week and leaving me the apartment to myself. I'm sure it has nothing to do with being rather bored kicking around the dishes and wondering why there's no one else besides myself to wash them. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I can watch hours of anime without feeling guilty in the slightest for hogging the television. This is a Gundam Wing fic exploring some alternate pairings I don't use to often, but have enjoyed reading at one point or another. *cheers for alternate pairings* Of course, this is alternate reality. I like cannon, but AU is the spice of life. Characters not mine. All the other trouble, I claim.)
Heero:
When I was adopted, my father gave me a new name. It's my first happy memory. The unexpected experience of being snatched from the make-shift orphanage and being taken home in his automobile. The first time I'd ever had such a luxury. I remember caressing the seat in wonder, then glancing outside of the vehicle to watch the street shops and houses, the entire city disappear behind us. On either side of the dirt and gravel road waved an ocean of deep summer green grasses, fields of corn broken by side roads, occasionally dotted by trees. The sky blue. The sun warm. I was seven.
Then, before the sun could sink much more than to turn the sky a rich crimson orange, he had turned to me. Now I wonder how nervous he must have felt. Accepting me, a dark, brooding young boy. A boy who's parents had been killed in the bombings. A boy who had only just begun to speak, and then only in one or two word phrases. Mostly, negative or affirmative guttural intonations. How of all those children had he settled on me?
Then I had felt the machine beneath me shift and slow. Nervous, I gave him a panicked look. He was still holding the wheel to steer. His left hand reaching down to maneuver another lever. Vividly, even now, I could see the determined set to his jaw. The way his light brown hair was combed back properly, only a few pieces having been blown forward.
"Son," I remember the tremble of pleasure at that word. I might have been quiet and a touch disagreeable, but I was not completely without dreams and desires. He also must have felt that confident joy of defining our relationship from then on, his voice, strong then, imprinted itself into my affections. "Welcome home. From now on, your name will be Heero. Heero Yuy."
Walking hand and hand, he led me from that magnificent vehicle toward the country estate that I would learn to call my home. Somehow, it had escaped the cruelties of the war, unlike the city that still bore scars and rubble. The impression of a flawless house, with a full porch, pillars, more windows than I could count, steps, flowers, and at the door, a woman.
My mother to be. My mother. Her hair was honey colored and long, near her shoulders. I loved her immediately as she took my other hand and then pulling me free from my father embraced me. She had fallen to her knees and wept. Later, I learned she had not come for me herself because she had vowed never to set foot into the ruined city again. Her tears of guilt and eager love made my cheeks wet. I had wiped at my face using the back of my hand, uncomfortable with what I only saw as sadness.
"He's perfect, Treize." My mother had yet to let go of my hand, but she stood tall. Regal. Angelic. Beyond my comprehension, yet perfect to me.
My father patted my head.
And while from that point I loved them unconditionally and they were good to me. It never occurred to me to think the name they gave me strange. At least, not until it was pointed out to me.
Trowa:
After going to private schools for all of my life, being sent to boarding school seemed like just another opportunity for my parents to push me away. Which was fine. I did better losing myself in the crowd of school boys rather than accommodating the aristocracy that fawned before our family name. As long as I didn't use the power behind my surname with my classmates, they were friendly enough. Being heir to the Barton estates could have taken my social standing to the highest levels. But my intention was to skirt the shadows the best I could. I was planning to run away, join the circus, hop a boat to America. Anything except put on a pressed suit, listen to another poorly played piano forte, or smile sickly at whatever docile creature had decided to attach her prospects to my own.
Sitting in first class, I had taken a seat near the back. Deciding on a window seat. That room faced the front lawn which was rather attractive. To impress the parents who were shelling over their finances to make the campus look prestigious. Those of us who were congregating were first year boys. Near the front, an anxious pale blond boy was scribbling notes frantically from a text book. I recognized the cover, more Wheelock's Latin. I was supposed to have that book somewhere in my bags, but I wasn't going to take it out until it was absolutely necessary.
Then attracted by the new movement, I saw another boy take the seat next to mine. Another back row lurker. I appraised his impeccable uniform, his books appropriately stacked in front with his hands lingering on either side. Perfect posture. Combed, but boyish brown hair. Stern forehead, long nose, pointed chin.
"What's your name?" I don't speak much as a rule. But besides over- achiever academic in the front of the room and this dark newcomer, I've recognized every other face so far.
He glanced over at me, I'd say relief washed over his features. Causing his dark eyes to soften somewhat, his brow evened, his words eager, "Heero Yuy."
I run that name through my exhaustive lists of who is who that my mother insisted that I know. One could never be too prepared to meet someone famous and influencial.
"Heero Yuy?" I paused, "Like the war hero? You're named after the war hero?"
"Named after?" His ease gone, the self-proclaimed Heero Yuy pulled back into his seat. Apparently he hadn't been asked this before. Which I found odd.
"Heero Yuy died rather young, just after taking office. That's part of the reason the war hit our portion of the country so hard." I sound a bit like a textbook. That's a side effect of being repressed by a family name. "There were no other Yuys. That Heero Yuy had a sister, but she was assassinated within a year of her brother. Her home was broken into and their soldiers not only took her prisoner, but her children as well. They didn't make it to the trial."
"I-I didn't know." His expression hard to determine, somewhere between thoughtful, horrified and realization.
I found it a bit confusing that he wouldn't know. Had he been sheltered his whole life? I could almost hear my step-sister whispering in my ear, "You are so insensitive, Trowa Barton."
Brushing that feeling aside, I asked, "Who are your parents?"
Hesitantly, almost as if the answer he had could again be a wrong answer. Or a challenged answer. Or worse. "Kushrenada. Treize and Une Kushrenada."
I went through my mental index. Interesting.
I refrained from commenting. He settled with his back against the seat, properly with both feet stationed on the floor in front of him. Knees at ninety degree angles. My legs are too long for that, and I've never accomplished anything like comfortable posture. He might have been relieved that I left him alone after that. Or not.
His dark brows expressively pulled together.
Heero:
Fall passed. Then as Christmas approached, I knew that my mother would come for me. Or send one of her representatives. Since Father died, she was hard pressed to manage his estate. Some distant cousin or other relative had put out a claim on the home and Mother had put together some legal papers with the help of her friends, the Peacecrafts. Everything was to come to a conclusion around Christmas time. A wearying prospect to face as the holidays approached. I wanted to be home, but, at the same time, the solitude of school had appealed to me.
The only one who really spoke to me much was a foreign student. Duo Maxwell made a point to call out hello to me or include me in conversation when I was near. We were not friends, but his extroverted efforts were not spared me.
Besides that, I had no other encounters. Besides the first day, when snobbish Trowa Barton had inquired about my parents. Truly, I had little cause to call him snobbish; although, it was a characteristic commonly acknowledged by the rest of our grade. He wasn't called a bastard, like Chang Wufei. Nor was he labeled a teacher's pet, like poor Quatre Winner. But the tall, aristocrat's aloof behavior won him some animosity. It was his quietness that allowed him to fly under their shunning outrage.
And I wouldn't suspect they didn't think I was an enigma as well. But no one else questioned my name. No one else really spoke to me at all. Which suited me well.
I used the freedom to study and stayed in the upper third of my class. I also used my time to write letters back to Mother. As an adopted son, there was little I could do to help her. It was the occasional guilt I felt over her efforts to secure my inheritance that drove me to maintain a consistent correspondence.
Why did she strive so hard on my behalf?
The awakened fear. I am not a Kushrenada. They had not even given me their name.
Trowa:
Holiday came and went. Then summer. The boredom of routine and the lackluster professors making it seem painfully long even as the days passed more quickly than the light of thunder's bolt.
I made a passing comrade in Chang Wufei, who was always good for a barb at the teacher or some of other faculty's expense. For the most part, we were the elite and academic foreground of the school. Wufei proud of the fact. Myself, I suffered from indifference. The lessons were dull at best. I was always well ahead on the texts. My parents had paid too well for tutors to distract me and keep me occupied during the summer. That way I had all too reasonable excuses to avoid their gatherings and outings.
The best part of the day became athletic clubs. I played a fair game of rugby. However, some of the fellows, lead by the infamous Duo Maxwell had procured some different sport. Football, or soccer as Maxwell insisted on calling it, was the unofficial favorite of our class. By third year, we had a steady intramural system unsanctioned by the athletic department.
Maxwell was a monster on the field. He would roar with rage, delight, sarcasm, fear, and excitement. That buffoon amplified everything. He captained a steady bunch including fourth year twins Philip and Nichol Walker. Philip was a good natured boy, but a fast offense on his feet. Nichol played the goal and did he turn red with fury if anyone challenged his ability to defend their end. Maxwell had also convinced Yuy to play that year. Yuy practiced with them sometimes. I saw it as I would walk from the school library back to the dorms. It was a hike across the entire campus with a good view of the playing fields. Maxwell and Yuy would kick the ball back and forth. Dribbling it with their feet and making passes to steal from each other.
Their team called themselves The Taurus Specials. And with Yuy's strategy, they intimidated, untied and ran over Oz, Alex's fairly steady team.
I played with Wufei of course. We were a more slender team that had managed to undermine Maxwell's bulkier lads with our footwork. Seeing Yuy flawlessly weave through the Oz ranks might make our game a new challenge.
"Let's all be good sportsmen." They spoke simultaneously, the pre-game ritual as Wufei shook Duo Maxwell's hand. I eyed their players tipping my chin back and putting my hands on either hip. Sizing them up. I might have been of less sturdy stalk than the Walker burliness, but I had filled out fairly well by seventeen. I stood well above the others and caught the eye of Heero Yuy.
Being tall, it was easy for me to see him. Easy for him to watch me back. Nothing about his gaze was abashed, his eyes becoming more narrowed and slanted in the last years. Hinting at some unknown Oriental heritage. Of course, I hadn't been the first to think so. But one didn't insult someone with the glare that Heero Yuy could protect himself with. Yuy left well enough alone. I don't think I'd spoken to him at any length, including our conversation the first day of classes.
Philip Walker was taking the ball down the side, Wufei at his heels. I watched, playing offense. Hoping for the chance to put the more disagreeable Nichol in his place. Yuy about seven feet from me. We don't talk. The sun is behind clouds today, keeping a brisk breeze around our bare limbs. I impatiently shifted from one foot to another.
Then, ready, I'm passed the ball. I hear Maxwell's roar over the busy sound of the wind. Keeping the game with me, I examined the field. Planning on taking a cut over to the right, attaching Nichol from there.
In a blur, I found myself running forward with no purpose. Twisting around, but stillv running the wrong way, I saw Heero passing Maxwell the ball and the action was again in the hands of our defense. Heero hovered midway again.
"What the heck." I mumbled to myself. I hadn't seen him coming, but I'd be more prepared next time. I had known the guy was good, but never had imagined what it felt like to be robbed by him.
That game I remember well because of how painful it became. We started to pile up our offense as soon as the ball crossed my way. Giving better passing opportunities, but somehow Yuy saw those as simply an additional hurdle to his perfected style. When he wasn't interrupting my drive, he was cutting off Wufei, passing the ball back to Philip or Duo or some other mediocre player on their team. They all were getting plenty of play time, except Nichol who was rather bored and so began to mock our feeble attempts against their newest player. I glowered at Heero midway.
His practice clothes hanging on him, except sticking darkly to sweat. The atmosphere's humidity putting a layer of shine across all of our brows, into our necks. Regardless, his kept his cool. He shrugged.
Then an impish grin reached across his cheeks into those unusual eyes, a pleased and delighted expression without offer of excuse.
Then, inexplicably, I figured I liked Heero Yuy alright.
Heero:
By the time of graduation, I'd learned what it was to be a graceful loser. I saw it every time that Trowa Barton played against our team in football. He started to laugh even before I would press in and take the ball. It became a bit of a game in of itself, he would try a new strategy, which I would allow just long enough to figure it out and work against it. I think the only game Barton's team won was in late November when I was taken out with a bad case of pneumonia. Which I wouldn't have had if I hadn't persisted to play every weekend up and until the campus nurses forbid me from leaving my room.
"Glad to know that even you aren't indestructible, without weakness." Trowa had said at lunch one day that spring. We'd taken to spending a fair bit of time together. He was a touch proud of his intellectual abilities, but I let it pass. He had a fairly good sense of humor once he got past his personal walls of self-defense. Not that I could fault him. I had them also.
The last semester we even fell into rooming together. An infestation of rodents took over one of the smaller fourth year buildings, and the administration moved those of us living in Sandrock Hall over to Heavyarms. Trowa had found me as soon as rumors were spreading of a mass exodus.
"If I bloody have to share my space with somebody, I'd rather it was you."
"That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard." And it was a done deal.
We made a strange two-some, but it suited us well. The reluctant son of a prestigious family and the unlikely adopted son of the scandalous Kushrenada estate. My mother had succeeded in settling the claim Marimeia Kushrenada tried. At that point, my inheritance seemed legally certain. Not that either of us were reliant on that heritage for our identity. And that mutual quest for finding ourselves gave us the understanding we needed.
"So what are you planning on doing with all this education?" Trowa asked me one night the week before graduation. We'd been given our robes and caps early and I was still trying to figure out how to get mind to fit. It was sizes larger than I needed, but, with the strict rules about how the hat must be worn, I couldn't seem to manage it.
"Education? What education?" I said, frustrated. "I swear, my head has *shrunk* since I got here."
Trowa laughed once at that. His laughter was queer like that. After we started to converse a bit, no where near as much as Maxwell liked to pry, but we did begin to feel comfortable in our own fashion. Trowa barely acknowledged comments, even if they amused him. But with few people around, and those there ones he trusted, Trowa had just an awful sharp bark that was brief and almost as loud as anything Duo managed on the field. I shouldn't talk, it's not like I laughed often. And only at the most bizarre and most twisted of unfortunate events.
I had laughed the most when we got back from Christmas holiday. Wufei had brought back a container of frozen raspberries. An exotic treat, which he refused to share. With relish, he stole sugar from the lunch room and ate them constantly. Slowly. Making them last and taunting us until we tired of it.
Trying to make his humor continue as long as possible, Wufei, near the end of the supply, had taken to biting them in half. Savoring one portion, while holding the other half in front of his nose for us all to see. After about three minutes of doing that, relishing our groans and weariness with the show, Wufei's eyes had crossed over his slanted nose. Focusing on the raspberry. Widening. And almost immediately gagging in reflex.
Pulling and tearing each berry, inside each and every one, he found perfectly frozen bugs.
I don't know which startled him more, realizing that the berries had been bad. Or the laughter that bellowed from my lungs as I held my head back like a lunatic. I even managed to startle Trowa with that one.
"I'm sure I don't want to go back home if I can help it." Trowa continued. "There's always university. I could bore myself with a few more years there, while avoiding the latest fascination of my parents. Some so-called 'duties of the son'."
I folded the rim of my hat under, so that it fitted better. Next trying to fashion what might look like a point if no one examined it too closely.
"I wish they'd just let Cathy have the whole Barton legacy. She's more suited to it."
"Would your family let you take a year off?" I set down the hat, giving up on it for now. I still had a week.
"What do you mean?" Trowa sat upright, eager for any opportunity by that point.
"Mother is sending me to study with a friend of my father's." Noticing the distaste on Trowa's features, I clarified, "Not studies like Latin and History. More practical, political and military. Strategy without the immediate social pressures. Some, but it won't be direct like at home. Simply maintaining our dignity and playing general while we're at it."
"General?" Trowa didn't look convinced, "I'd like to break free from the Barton household longer if I can, but I was thinking of being an academic. Not a soldier."
"I don't want to be a soldier either," I prompted, suddenly knowing that I wouldn't mind going so much myself if he came with me.
I could use a friend, especially in an environment that would not lend itself to my invisibility.
A quickly drafted letter persuaded his parents to the advantage of one year set aside from his immediate studies and the next chapters of our lives waited to be written.
End chapter one.
*** Author's Note: Okay, well the boys have had their fun. Next, enter the girls. Coming soon: One More Time to Live.