Holly, Ivy, Mistletoe
A little holiday piece, as is standard tradition with me. It'll probably be one of those high on the Kleenex things, but then again, I never know how my own stories will turn out until I've finished them.
Disclaimer: The meek shall inherit the earth, but I shall never inherit Gundam Wing.
Warnings: Shounen-ai in the form of 3x4 and 2x1. Hetero in the shape of 5xS and 6x9. Duo's perspective. Post Endless Waltz.
I hate Christmas. Isn't it an awful thing to say? How could anyone hate Christmas? I do, though. Not the actual holiday or the message of hope and peace that it brings every bleak December, but the fact that a war in which so many lives were lost had to end on that hallowed day. It's a fitting tribute, I suppose, that a long and arduous war should end the day the Christ Child was born. But from the eyes of someone who fought in that very war, I can't say that I find anything comforting in it. Not when all of my comrades walk about the streets this time of year with tears in their eyes and hardened hearts. No, I can't bring myself to find any joy in Christmas anymore.
I don't know if I ever found real peace in the holiday season. It was always hard on us when I lived in the streets with the other orphans. The gifts we exchanged were things we stole or found in trash heaps. I remember one year Solo, my brother in spirit if not in flesh, had managed to take a box of candy canes. He'd broken them into chunks and given a piece to every one of us.
"It'll be better someday, Duo," he'd told me. "Someday we won't have to live like this, and we'll have real Christmas. Promise."
But Solo couldn't keep his promise. He died from scarlet fever three months later, and I was sent to live in the Maxwell church. I think that was when I first realized that Christmas was something happy. Sitting in the choir loft, watching Mr. Kelley the organist play carols on the huge pipe organ while the whole of the church lit up like the stars, that was one of my better years. Before the massacre. Before some bastards took away the only family I ever really had. Before Shinigami, before Deathscythe and OZ and the Eve Wars.
God knows I've tried to be more optimistic about the whole season, I mean, I'm alive, isn't that cause for celebration? But I just can't. Not when I see how depressed the others get. And it doesn't help that Relena, Miss High-and-Mighty Vice-Foreign Minister, hauls our asses out into the freezing cold to stand on some godforsaken platform so she can prattle on about peace and the anniversary of the war. I know she tries, but she just doesn't understand the severity. Nobody does. So when I walk by stores and see women fighting over Chicken Dance Elmo or something absolutely ridiculous, like they always do about this time of the year, I have the incredible urge to run up to them and scream, "Hey! I'm Duo Maxwell! I saved your lousy asses and all you can do is worry about a jiving Muppet! Give a damn, why don't you?" But I don't.
Perhaps this year will be different, though. It's AC 200, the start of a brand new century, and maybe new starts for us wayward warriors as well. I think this will be the year that Christmas will mean something more to the lot of us than the day we finally quashed a rebellion, or the day some sort of quasi-peace was attained. If I can pull it off, if I can make this year be a Kodak Moment Christmas, then maybe everyone won't be so miserable. It would be nice, you know? If I could get the others to forget, at least for one day, how awful our lives really are. Especially Heero. Heero needs this more than anyone.
I live with Hilde, have since before the war ended, in a cute little apartment not far from the junkyard we spend our days in. No, we're not dating, not really. We're more brother and sister than anything, and I love her to pieces. She never comes home at night without a smile, and is never too tired to cook us something we can eat while curled up together on the couch watching old television shows. She likes Christmas still, and she puts up a little fake tree every year, one of those color-change fiber optic deals. I wouldn't care if it was a coat hanger with tinsel on it.
"Duo babe, what're you in the mood for?" she asked me while I was sprawled out on the floor, in a pair of polar bear pajama bottoms and a blue wifebeater, reading the newspaper. I glanced up at her, watching as she went from cupboard to cupboard, trying her damnedest to find something worth cooking.
"Why don't we just order out Chinese tonight, Hilde babe?" I replied. "Uh, while we're talking, I was wondering…what do you think about having a real, authentic, Martha Stewart kind of Christmas this year, Hilde? Get everybody together and do the whole ten yards, the big dinner, the presents, all of that yuletide shit."
Now, I'm starting to wonder if Hilde will (A) ask me if I'm on crack and remind me that Gundam Pilots and Christmas go together about as well as spoons and microwaves, or (B) hug me like a boa constrictor and whip out the Yellow Pages for the name of a good caterer. Actually, Hilde went with (C) none of the above.
"Do you want pork-fried rice or the noodle thing?"
If this were one of Heero's little Japanese cartoons, I'd fall over so only my twitching feet were visible, with a big sweatdrop hanging over me. But it's not, sadly.
"Both. Seriously, Hilde. Do you really think they'd go for it if I did do a holiday thing for all of us? Get us all together and have a traditional Christmas like normal people have?"
She ruffled her short blue-black hair. "Jeez, I don't know, Duo. Christmas is a touchy subject for most of them. And besides, even if we did manage to have this little party of yours, where would we do it? Not here, this apartment's not even big enough for you and me."
I rose, stretched, cracked knuckles and neck and arms with the loudest, most disgusting noises humanly possible, and replied, "Well, then we'll have to talk Quatre into it and get him to hold it at his house. You could fit a couple of mobile suits in there."
Hilde went off to accomplish her little tasks, and I mine. I think it would be remiss of me if I didn't mention the whereabouts of my comrades at this point, though their lives are hardly exciting. I suppose that's what comes from peace, boring jobs and long speeches about maintaining said peace.
The one person I can always count on for never changing is Wufei. It's just speculation, but I think he's managed to make his work at Preventers feel like the missions we went on as pilots, thus maintaining his adequacy as a soldier. I know that was his biggest hang-up after the rebellion ended, finding some purpose in his life since piloting Gundams was not an option. He's done pretty well for himself, especially since he and the good doctor Po are getting married this spring. For all the fighting those two do, they'll make one hell of a couple.
Quatre relinquished his power at Winner Enterprises International, turning the company holdings over to his sister Madiha. He now works within the company as the humanitarian department chair, overseeing projects bettering communities and being a positive influence on life. He's happy in his job, but he's become somewhat depressed and reclusive. The happy, innocent Quatre we all once knew went into hiding some time ago, and not even the best of us can coax him out.
Part of that may have come from Trowa's unfortunate accident. It happened last Christmastime, about a week before the twenty-fifth. Trowa was asked to do the high-wire act for his troupe, even though he'd somewhat retired from circus life. Not able to tell his sister no, he went ahead and did what would be his last performance in more ways than one. The wire broke after he'd gotten about halfway across, and Trowa had been working without a net. He mangled his left leg, so much so that it's in a brace now and it will remain that way. It's disturbing to see him like that, when all you can think about is how this was the guy who could do a triple backflip from the back of a moving motorcycle. Quatre took him in after the accident, I think more as a comfort for himself than for Trowa, who's since taken up painting and has become quite a success. I know more than a few galleries are now carrying Trowa Barton originals. There's rumors that this will be the year one of them proposes to the other, but the both of them are so screwed emotionally now that I doubt it'll ever happen.
As for Heero, I don't see much of him. He shows up for the formal functions Relena holds, stays for the speech, and then leaves without saying a word. I couldn't tell you what he's doing or where he is, because I don't know. And to think that I'm his best friend. God, it kills me that I see him once a year, twice if I get lucky, and every time I see him he looks a little more weary, a little more somber. He's lost some of that steel, but gained this aura of sorrow. I worry that one of these days he's just going to disappear forever, and I'll never get the chance to tell him that I've been in love with him since the day I busted him out of that Alliance hospital.
So that's us, the five Gundam Pilots, the five most mentally unstable young men you'll find in the Earth Sphere. This mentally unstable pilot is off to make his phone call, see if I can't coerce Quatre into cooperating with me. It wasn't until I'd hit the speed-dial marked "Barton/Winner" that I remembered the video screen on the phone still wasn't working. A pair of mechanics living together in one apartment, and the screen for the phone isn't working still, I'm amazed at how pathetic that sounds.
"Quatre Winner's office, Trowa Barton speaking."
"Is this the price you have to pay for living with that little upstart? Being his personal secretary?" I asked wryly, twisting the phone cord in my fingers. Trowa might have chuckled, but probably not.
"Hello, Duo. Video screen still not working?"
"Nope. And Howard wants no part of fixing anything. I think he's moved to Hawaii to chase bikini babes for the rest of his life or something. Quatre around?"
"Doubt it. I think he had a meeting this morning, but knowing Quatre's meetings, he'll probably be there for another three hours. Anything I can help you with?"
I suppose Trowa is a reasonable substitute, after all, it's his house too.
"Maybe. I had this idea, and…"
"Duo, the last time you had an idea Wufei needed stitches as a result."
"Very funny, Trowa. At least you haven't lost your skill for witty repartee. I was thinking about having a little Christmas get-together for all of us, nothing to do with the war or anything made with gundanium, just the lot of us having a normal, civilian-style Christmas. Only problem is, we couldn't do it at my place, since Hilde and I are cramped in here as it is."
"So you wanted to do it here instead and you wanted Quatre's permission?" Trowa speculated.
"Well, yeah."
Trowa sighed, one of those sighs that makes you cringe because you know whatever he's about to say next can't be good. I can almost picture him, sitting in Quatre's leather chair, wearing paint-splotched clothes, maybe there's an interesting shade of purple streaked in his hair or across his cheek. "Duo, I don't think it'll work. You know how we all feel about Christmas. I think this would just upset people more."
"No, see, that's why I want to do this, Trowa! Contrary to popular belief, Christmas is a time for celebration and joy, and I want us to have that. You have to admit, it'd be nice, not having to huck on over to Neo-Sanq in some itchy tuxedo and listen to Relena's annual Peace to the Earth Sphere preaching. We can just hang out at your place, exchange gifts, do a big dinner, spend time as a family."
"Well…I don't know. It's Quatre's decision, I'll leave this up to him," Trowa stated, his resolve starting to break. "But I think that you might have my vote of confidence after all."
"Thanks, Trowa. I'll catch you later."
I had a sliver of hope. I had the support of one, and hopefully that would be enough to get the support of the others. And if it isn't, then I'll still have Trowa. He and I could always blow off Relena's thing and get some Christmas coffee instead, spend time, reconnect. Even that sounded appealing.
"Duo! Come and get your wontons before they get cold! And I picked up that new part for the phone, I'll install it after we eat, so everybody can see your ugly mug next time they call!" Hilde's voice rang out.
Quatre called about ten minutes after Hilde fixed the phone. It always amazes me at how old he's starting to look. I mean, I know he's twenty, so of course he's going to look older, but really. Quatre's lost that baby-faced cherubic look and gained some pretty hard lines. He's still absolutely beautiful, though.
"You have my support, Duo. And if nobody else is willing, you and Hilde can still come over and it'll just be the four of us. I agree with you, I think it's futile for us to be so depressed this time of year, we stopped fighting a long time ago, and we need to keep that in mind. I know it's sounding a little hypocritical, coming from the reclusive Quatre Winner, but I think you're making a good point and I think this was the kick in the ass I needed. Thanks, Duo."
"Are you sure it was me and not Trowa who changed your mind?"
He laughed. "I'm sure. How about this? I have more than enough room here, why doesn't everybody stay for a few days right before Christmas? Spend time with each other beforehand, reacquaint ourselves with one another? And then we can have a big family Christmas like you want."
"It's a great idea, Quatre. I'll do all the calling, if you can put everything together at your end. And I'll give you whatever cash you need for this, I don't want you going out of your way to put this together."
"No! You're not giving me one nickel, Duo Maxwell! I wouldn't dream of taking your money. I can supply everything myself, don't worry. You just convince everyone…and I mean everyone into getting together for this. I'll take care of everything else. Don't forget, I'm the one with tactics training."
This was going to work after all. I had Quatre's espousal and his wallet backing me up. And the support of Quatre Winner was like a golden ticket; nobody can refuse Quatre. It's scientifically proven. And I was going to make sure that every last person we affiliated with during the war came to this thing, from Heero right on down to Dorothy, Lady Une, and Mariemaia.
"Hilde!" hollered I as she walked past with the laundry basket. "Hilde! We're having Christmas! We're going to have Christmas after all!"
She dropped the basket and let out a mighty whoop of exultation. For someone so small, Hilde has one hell of a voice on her. We were dancing in the hallway, treading all over the freshly cleaned laundry, singing carols at the top of our lungs until the neighbors started complaining. It was officially Christmas.
The next part of the story will be up probably tomorrow, and possibly a third part Christmas Eve. And don't worry, there will be some holiday romancing for the lonely little Gundam Pilots, that'll come in due time.
Next Time: Duo's plans come to fruition, Quatre has problems with the Christmas Tree, and Dorothy nearly sets the house on fire with a pyrotechnic pudding.