It was a quiet night, on the base. It usually was, unless there was the frenzy of activity that was routine for a combat deployment. But not tonight. Tonight, it was quiet. Tonight, the Gundam pilots and their loyal mechanics slept.
SLAM!
All but two.
SLAM!
She was driven, by need and by rage. The need required her to be working, to be fixing that which was broken. The rage…it demanded pain and blood.
SLAM!
The sound of her hammer pounding against a badly warped piece of Gundam armor was deafening. Her powerful strikes were less about fixing the piece, and more about extinguishing her rage.
SLAM!
She could destroy this piece of armor. Rarely were armor pieces mended. Most were simply replaced, and the damaged ones melted down to be recast into something new. She was the head mechanic for the Gundams, so she knew this well. She simply needed a target for her rage, for if she wasn't currently pounding on the poor mobile suit's damaged armor…she would be thrashing its pilot.
SLAM!
If only he knew what kind of a mood he put me in… She thought with a deep throated chuckle, one that was anything but happy. She sensed he was nearby, because the mighty mech that he piloted had already noted his presence. It wasn't something she was pleased with.
SLAM!
She turned, heaving the armor chunk back into the flames that burned brightly behind her, before she used a pair of tongs to dig out another battle-scarred piece. The heat was not nearly enough to melt the Gundam alloy down; it merely softened it enough for her to beat it into misshapen lumps, without breaking her hammer. Or her wrist. She placed the new piece on her anvil, tossing the tongs aside to take up her hammer once more.
SLAM!
The glow from the flames reflected across the orange and white armor, the heat not enough to make the color bleed away. The thought of the damaged Heavyarms sitting in the maintenance bay not even one hundred feet away brought her pause, for just a moment. It had barely made it back to base, this time. All ammunition had been expended, one of the optics on the helm had been blown out by a lucky shot, and the right knee was nearly unsalvageable. The torso was scarred by bullets and beam rifle shots, and the huge autocannon it hefted on its left arm had nearly been carved in two by a beam saber strike. The whole team was fortunate that the mobile suit was built to withstand anything OZ could throw at it. Its pilot was lucky to be alive, and that is what bothered her the most. She couldn't lose another pilot. Not again.
SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!
Her strikes were frenzied in her distress, and if anyone saw her tears, she would blame them entirely on the smoke and the debris. Not on the fact that she was crying, the memory of loss burning so hotly in her chest that she wondered if her heart was on fire. Not on the fact that she had fallen for him, that she cared for him far too much, far more than could be considered rational. Or sane. Not on the fact that she could almost feel the Heavyarms, could almost feel pain radiating from the badly damaged mech, could almost feel its overwhelming distress, knowing how close it had come to losing its pilot that day. The suit could be rebuilt. Its pilot…could not.
SLAM!
Finally, she stopped, her chest heaving, her body trembling as her hammer rested against the piece of armor still on her anvil. She leaned down, picking up her tongs and gently grasping the piece with them, before turning and dumping it into a bin to be transported to the smelter, so that it could be melted back down.
When she turned back around, he was there. She would have jumped, if she hadn't known he was there all along, watching from the shadows as she uselessly beat the armor to hell. He studied her, one piercing emerald eye holding her gaze, the other hidden beneath his long bangs. She narrowed slate gray eyes at him, before breaking eye contact to hang her hammer on the wall. The tongs she held followed, and when she turned back around, he was gone. She looked towards the maintenance bay where the Heavyarms sat in the near distance, and she saw his tall form illuminated in the moonlight. She knew he was still watching.
A humorless snort echoed from her chest, and she turned to look into the flames that still burned brightly behind her, letting the heat dry the rest of her tears.
A/N: Hello there! I am back from the writer's block graveyard, here to bring you...a Gundam Wing fanfic?! Blame my husband...he got me hooked on Gundam, after years of picking at me. *sigh* Anyway, this little...thing?...focuses on a female mechanic (yet unnamed) that I'm planning on fleshing out more for a possible multi-chapter fic. The pilot is obvious, to Gundam Wing/Endless Waltz fans out there. The one and only, Trowa Barton. I like the character a lot, and think the Heavyarms is a badass suit. But, that is my opinion. Hope ya'll enjoy this little one-shot, and I'll hopefully be publishing more stuff soon.
As always, love if you will, hate if you must. I will take anything that you care to dispense.
Until we meet again...
Kani