- A/N - Hello, there. It's me. The fic you are about to read (I certainly you don't just waste your time opening and closing windows for entertainment) is one I wrote up on the spur of the moment. No, it's not finished, and with all of the other fics I have going presently, I don't know when I will be finished. After writing "Take Me", another GW fic (see profile), I decided that it just wasn't my place to write anything "romance" related. I simply suck at it. Though, since I slightly enjoy creating the stories in my head, I decided I would give it one more shot. Please be a good reader and review, eh? Your thoughts, opinions, flames, and critiques mean everything to me. Thank you
- Disclaimer - Need it be said, I do not own the anime title under which you have reached this document. If you thought I did, I pity you.
- Contact - IM me at Hoshichiri or e-mail me at Hoshichiri@aol.com.
- Warning - Language may be inappropriate for younger viewers, 1 + 2 and 1 + 3 relations, Themes may seem suggestive, violent, or even gory in some places. Since I know half of FF.Net people reading this are under proper age scale for the rating of this fic, I will just say: ...Whatever.
- † - Broken Glass - † -
A . Gundam . Wing . Fic
Let me teach you something about love. It dosen't exist.
That's right. It's bullshit. Every syllable and letter in the phrase "I love you" is just trash. To think of all the breath humans waste, throwing out phrases like "I love you", makes my stomach vile and soured. It sickens me.
How can one be expected to "love" someone? Don't they even know what love is? Nothing! The word is so morphed and manipulated that it no longer holds meaning. If you honestly say your emotions are so wide and deep for someone... How could you fit that into a four-lettered, two-syllabled word?
Garbage. Damn them.
Duo yawned and stretched on his bed, rolling over to glare at his alarm clock. He could feel the warm sun shining through the windows onto his bare back and assumed that he must have slept in a fair amount. The digital red letters glowed dimly, reading 1:17 PM. Time to get up.
The Deathscythe pilot lazily pulled himself from bed to his black chest of drawers. He quickly slung around some clothes, grabbing a black NIN shirt and some sagging jeans. He slipped them on quickly, with a silver cross to adorn his neck. It didn't take Duo long to prepare for the day, but it did take him longer than anyone else.
Standing before the mirror, he quickly began work on the most grueling task of all. His hair. He ran the brush through the chocolate strands roughly, untangling and straightening out the mess that was his hair. He pulled a black band from the drawer before him and began to braid, as fastly as was possible. He tied it with the band.
Glancing at his still half-awake self in the mirror, he smiled.
'Lookin' good, Maxwell.' He chided himself and started downstairs.
The house seemed rather quiet as he moved to the kitchen. He glanced around the hallway before entering, everything completely silent. He glanced into the den.
Empty.
He glanced into the bathroom.
Empty.
He took a peek in parlor.
Empty.
He sauntered into the dining room.
Empty.
He dashed into the kitchen.
Empty.
Opened up the refrigerator.
Empty.
Duo frowned and let out a heartbroken sigh. He was alone in the house; left to starve. How could things get any worse? Easily.
As the braided boy stood in silence, leaning his back against the refrigerator, a distant and silent sound was heard. It was quiet and clouded to his ears, as if a few rooms away. Duo moved out into the hall and stopped to listen.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Still the sound wasn't distinct, so he quickly darted up the stairs and edged down the hall a little ways further.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It was coming from Heero's room. In his half-awake curiosity, the braided pilot edged to glance through the cracked door.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Ah ha!" Duo slapped a hand over his mouth as Heero glanced away from the computer screen to glare at him.
"Where have you been?" The Japanese boy's monotone voice showed just a tinge of annoyance at the disruption of his typing.
"Sleeping, mother." A sarcastic reply, Duo swung the door open, walking in to plop down onto Heero's bed.
Unlike Duo, the Japanese pilot was pretty good at keeping things sanitary. Sure, he didn't feel the need to iron his pants excessively, or make up his bed and vacuum every morning, but at least it wasn't like Duo's room.
The American boy was accustomed to clothes and other items strewn about carelessly, CDs laying around without their cases, a broken bottle or two beneath the clothes on the floor, and god knows what was hiding under his bed. It was sterotypical of his character, you could say, but it was pleasing to him to know exactly where everything was in his room-- even if it meant a large mess.
Duo glanced at the only items upon the carpeted floor. A pair of shoes. He silently made his own classification on the surroundings. 'The perfect soldier has the perfect room.'
As soon as the American had seated himself on the bed, Heero shot a glare, and returned to his typing.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to touch your 'stuff'-- Oh! What's that!?" Duo lurched from the bed to pic up a small black device from the dressertop. He turned it over in his hands and looked for a way to open it.
"Put it down, Maxwell." The perfect soldier didn't turn from his work, but his voice was sharp.
"Aa! It opens!" He plessed the small triangular button at the top edge, and the top snapped open. A pannel lifted from the top to reveal a screen with a signature password field waiting to be completed. Examining the keys, Duo glanced back at Heero who was up and just about to snatch the object from his grip.
Duo jerked away and backed away a bit to continue looking. "Hey, what's your password."
"Give it to me." Heero sharpened his Yuy death glare™ on the American.
"Does this go to your gundam?" Duo paid no attention to Heero's glare.
"Give it to me. Now."
This time Duo looked up, smiling. "You'll have to catch me."
Without a glance back in Heero's direction, the braided pilot bolted for the door. He was promptly pushed to the ground, stomach first.
"Hey!" Duo shoved the device under his stomach, chuckling as Heero gripped his upper arms, with his knee digging into the braided pilot's spine. It was painful, yes, but who could deny the fun in aggrivating Heero Yuy?
When Heero spoke his voice was menacingly low, and his knee dug harder into the American's lower backbone, his grip on the arms tightening. "Get up, or I'll make you regret it."
"Ha! You're on top of me. How am I supposed to get up?" The braided pilot's smirk was wide. The only thing that kept Duo Maxwell sane was his ability to drive others insane. He took advantage of the ability in Heero, as very few, other than himself, succeeded in getting to the pilot. Heero was like the uptight older brother he had never had. "Remove yourself, filth." His tone was mocking.
"Anything to get my boots out of the mud." And like that Heero was off of him, waiting to retrieve his... device.
Still on the floor, Duo shot Heero an amused glance, "Lord save us. Heero has just learned how to joke." Quickly, he stood and ran for it again, device in hand and out of the Japanese pilot's room.
A low growl was heard from Heero as he watched Duo run. He stepped into the hallway and listened for the sound in which way the braided pilot had gone. Why did Duo always have to play these damn games? Didn't he know how much Heero hated this? Of course he did. That's why he did it.
Duo's running foot steps streaked down the stair and into the parlor. Running towards the sound, the Japanese pilot was off to destroy his opponent and win back his Wing mission log.
He was in the parlor in time to see Duo rounding the sofa, and heading- with a cheery wave of his hand -into the dining room.
When he was in the dining room, Duo was leaning with a smirk against the far wall, a table between them. He held up the black device and twirled it in his fingers, "So what is it, eh? Heero's digital little black book? What do you do on that computer all day, anyway? Cybering with naive little preteens in faroff countries?"
Heero scowled at Duo, "It's a mission log for Wing."
"How am I supposed to believe you? You could be lying." Duo stuck his nose up a bit.
"I'm not."
"Then what's your password, eh?" The braided pilot was practically beaming with delight in his little game.
"No. Give it to me." Heero extended his hand.
"Like I said before: You'll have to catch me." Now the pilot was waving the device around in a taunting manner, watching all the while as Heero slowy edged around the table. He wouldn't be fooled.
"I've already caught you." The Japanese pilot replied.
"Yes. Though you didn't retrieve your log did you?" He smirked and darted to the other side of the table, leaving Heero in the spot where he had been only moments ago. "Anyway, Hee-chan..."
01 cringed and flared up his Yuy death glare™.
Duo smirked and continued, "I thought you kept our mission logs in that computer of yours, eh?"
"Those are the mission logs for all gundams. That one is just for Wing." Heero watched narrowly as Duo began to toss the object, carelessly, from one hand to the other.
"Why? What extra information is needed?"
Heero darted around the table and the braided pilot raced back into the parlor, quickly. As Duo approached the opposing entrance to the room, he turned to glance at the Japanese boy who was racing behind him, just in time to skid on the edge of on of Quatre's many rugs. He stumbled forward, hearing his ankle pop, and feeling a sharp pain. Without warning, he hit the floor, just as Heero stumbled down beside him.
But, what was 'beside' from Duo's angle was actually on top of.
Heero caught the floor with his palms, keeping himself above in the position of someone doing push-ups, and he looked down at Duo, who's eyes were shut tightly. "Are you OK?" His voice showed no real concern, but instead it was the same monotonious low.
Duo looked up and opened his eyes. Widely. And, blinked. All he saw before him were two pools of frigid crystalline saphire. "I...I...I'm... er..." Whose eyes were these? Where they Heero's? They were so... beautiful. Like the stained glass of Our Lady's robes in the church he had grown up in. The braided pilot quickly shut his eyes again to block out the color, and instead focused on his ankle. "I...I think I hurt my ankle."
There was a brief pause before the Japanese pilot responded. "Good."
"Huh?" Duo blinked his eyes open in time to see the lovely blue disappear.
Heero had snatched the mission log and pushed himself up to look down at the American, in a low glare. "You deserve it."
The Japanese boy walked on back to his room, and left Duo to lay in pain.
"Damn you, Yuy." Duo shot a glare at the retreating pilot's back. "Damn you to Hell." He growled under his breath.
-------------------------------------------------» To Be Continued...
- Disclaimer - Need it be said, I do not own the anime title under which you have reached this document. If you thought I did, I pity you.
- Contact - IM me at Hoshichiri or e-mail me at Hoshichiri@aol.com.
- Warning - Language may be inappropriate for younger viewers, 1 + 2 and 1 + 3 relations, Themes may seem suggestive, violent, or even gory in some places. Since I know half of FF.Net people reading this are under proper age scale for the rating of this fic, I will just say: ...Whatever.
- † - Broken Glass - † -
A . Gundam . Wing . Fic
Let me teach you something about love. It dosen't exist.
That's right. It's bullshit. Every syllable and letter in the phrase "I love you" is just trash. To think of all the breath humans waste, throwing out phrases like "I love you", makes my stomach vile and soured. It sickens me.
How can one be expected to "love" someone? Don't they even know what love is? Nothing! The word is so morphed and manipulated that it no longer holds meaning. If you honestly say your emotions are so wide and deep for someone... How could you fit that into a four-lettered, two-syllabled word?
Garbage. Damn them.
Duo yawned and stretched on his bed, rolling over to glare at his alarm clock. He could feel the warm sun shining through the windows onto his bare back and assumed that he must have slept in a fair amount. The digital red letters glowed dimly, reading 1:17 PM. Time to get up.
The Deathscythe pilot lazily pulled himself from bed to his black chest of drawers. He quickly slung around some clothes, grabbing a black NIN shirt and some sagging jeans. He slipped them on quickly, with a silver cross to adorn his neck. It didn't take Duo long to prepare for the day, but it did take him longer than anyone else.
Standing before the mirror, he quickly began work on the most grueling task of all. His hair. He ran the brush through the chocolate strands roughly, untangling and straightening out the mess that was his hair. He pulled a black band from the drawer before him and began to braid, as fastly as was possible. He tied it with the band.
Glancing at his still half-awake self in the mirror, he smiled.
'Lookin' good, Maxwell.' He chided himself and started downstairs.
The house seemed rather quiet as he moved to the kitchen. He glanced around the hallway before entering, everything completely silent. He glanced into the den.
Empty.
He glanced into the bathroom.
Empty.
He took a peek in parlor.
Empty.
He sauntered into the dining room.
Empty.
He dashed into the kitchen.
Empty.
Opened up the refrigerator.
Empty.
Duo frowned and let out a heartbroken sigh. He was alone in the house; left to starve. How could things get any worse? Easily.
As the braided boy stood in silence, leaning his back against the refrigerator, a distant and silent sound was heard. It was quiet and clouded to his ears, as if a few rooms away. Duo moved out into the hall and stopped to listen.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Still the sound wasn't distinct, so he quickly darted up the stairs and edged down the hall a little ways further.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It was coming from Heero's room. In his half-awake curiosity, the braided pilot edged to glance through the cracked door.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Ah ha!" Duo slapped a hand over his mouth as Heero glanced away from the computer screen to glare at him.
"Where have you been?" The Japanese boy's monotone voice showed just a tinge of annoyance at the disruption of his typing.
"Sleeping, mother." A sarcastic reply, Duo swung the door open, walking in to plop down onto Heero's bed.
Unlike Duo, the Japanese pilot was pretty good at keeping things sanitary. Sure, he didn't feel the need to iron his pants excessively, or make up his bed and vacuum every morning, but at least it wasn't like Duo's room.
The American boy was accustomed to clothes and other items strewn about carelessly, CDs laying around without their cases, a broken bottle or two beneath the clothes on the floor, and god knows what was hiding under his bed. It was sterotypical of his character, you could say, but it was pleasing to him to know exactly where everything was in his room-- even if it meant a large mess.
Duo glanced at the only items upon the carpeted floor. A pair of shoes. He silently made his own classification on the surroundings. 'The perfect soldier has the perfect room.'
As soon as the American had seated himself on the bed, Heero shot a glare, and returned to his typing.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to touch your 'stuff'-- Oh! What's that!?" Duo lurched from the bed to pic up a small black device from the dressertop. He turned it over in his hands and looked for a way to open it.
"Put it down, Maxwell." The perfect soldier didn't turn from his work, but his voice was sharp.
"Aa! It opens!" He plessed the small triangular button at the top edge, and the top snapped open. A pannel lifted from the top to reveal a screen with a signature password field waiting to be completed. Examining the keys, Duo glanced back at Heero who was up and just about to snatch the object from his grip.
Duo jerked away and backed away a bit to continue looking. "Hey, what's your password."
"Give it to me." Heero sharpened his Yuy death glare™ on the American.
"Does this go to your gundam?" Duo paid no attention to Heero's glare.
"Give it to me. Now."
This time Duo looked up, smiling. "You'll have to catch me."
Without a glance back in Heero's direction, the braided pilot bolted for the door. He was promptly pushed to the ground, stomach first.
"Hey!" Duo shoved the device under his stomach, chuckling as Heero gripped his upper arms, with his knee digging into the braided pilot's spine. It was painful, yes, but who could deny the fun in aggrivating Heero Yuy?
When Heero spoke his voice was menacingly low, and his knee dug harder into the American's lower backbone, his grip on the arms tightening. "Get up, or I'll make you regret it."
"Ha! You're on top of me. How am I supposed to get up?" The braided pilot's smirk was wide. The only thing that kept Duo Maxwell sane was his ability to drive others insane. He took advantage of the ability in Heero, as very few, other than himself, succeeded in getting to the pilot. Heero was like the uptight older brother he had never had. "Remove yourself, filth." His tone was mocking.
"Anything to get my boots out of the mud." And like that Heero was off of him, waiting to retrieve his... device.
Still on the floor, Duo shot Heero an amused glance, "Lord save us. Heero has just learned how to joke." Quickly, he stood and ran for it again, device in hand and out of the Japanese pilot's room.
A low growl was heard from Heero as he watched Duo run. He stepped into the hallway and listened for the sound in which way the braided pilot had gone. Why did Duo always have to play these damn games? Didn't he know how much Heero hated this? Of course he did. That's why he did it.
Duo's running foot steps streaked down the stair and into the parlor. Running towards the sound, the Japanese pilot was off to destroy his opponent and win back his Wing mission log.
He was in the parlor in time to see Duo rounding the sofa, and heading- with a cheery wave of his hand -into the dining room.
When he was in the dining room, Duo was leaning with a smirk against the far wall, a table between them. He held up the black device and twirled it in his fingers, "So what is it, eh? Heero's digital little black book? What do you do on that computer all day, anyway? Cybering with naive little preteens in faroff countries?"
Heero scowled at Duo, "It's a mission log for Wing."
"How am I supposed to believe you? You could be lying." Duo stuck his nose up a bit.
"I'm not."
"Then what's your password, eh?" The braided pilot was practically beaming with delight in his little game.
"No. Give it to me." Heero extended his hand.
"Like I said before: You'll have to catch me." Now the pilot was waving the device around in a taunting manner, watching all the while as Heero slowy edged around the table. He wouldn't be fooled.
"I've already caught you." The Japanese pilot replied.
"Yes. Though you didn't retrieve your log did you?" He smirked and darted to the other side of the table, leaving Heero in the spot where he had been only moments ago. "Anyway, Hee-chan..."
01 cringed and flared up his Yuy death glare™.
Duo smirked and continued, "I thought you kept our mission logs in that computer of yours, eh?"
"Those are the mission logs for all gundams. That one is just for Wing." Heero watched narrowly as Duo began to toss the object, carelessly, from one hand to the other.
"Why? What extra information is needed?"
Heero darted around the table and the braided pilot raced back into the parlor, quickly. As Duo approached the opposing entrance to the room, he turned to glance at the Japanese boy who was racing behind him, just in time to skid on the edge of on of Quatre's many rugs. He stumbled forward, hearing his ankle pop, and feeling a sharp pain. Without warning, he hit the floor, just as Heero stumbled down beside him.
But, what was 'beside' from Duo's angle was actually on top of.
Heero caught the floor with his palms, keeping himself above in the position of someone doing push-ups, and he looked down at Duo, who's eyes were shut tightly. "Are you OK?" His voice showed no real concern, but instead it was the same monotonious low.
Duo looked up and opened his eyes. Widely. And, blinked. All he saw before him were two pools of frigid crystalline saphire. "I...I...I'm... er..." Whose eyes were these? Where they Heero's? They were so... beautiful. Like the stained glass of Our Lady's robes in the church he had grown up in. The braided pilot quickly shut his eyes again to block out the color, and instead focused on his ankle. "I...I think I hurt my ankle."
There was a brief pause before the Japanese pilot responded. "Good."
"Huh?" Duo blinked his eyes open in time to see the lovely blue disappear.
Heero had snatched the mission log and pushed himself up to look down at the American, in a low glare. "You deserve it."
The Japanese boy walked on back to his room, and left Duo to lay in pain.
"Damn you, Yuy." Duo shot a glare at the retreating pilot's back. "Damn you to Hell." He growled under his breath.
-------------------------------------------------» To Be Continued...