Five of Pentacles


by poe nataku and juniper triton

Disclaimer and Warnings:
We own nothing, bla, bla, bla. We have nothing, so don't bother suing or anything crazy like that. Entertainment purposes only, yadda, yadda, yadda (I'm sure you all know the drill.)
This is an alternate universe high-school fic. I know, I know, it's been done a-zillion times. But hey- it hasn't yet been done by us, right?
Pairings: eventual 1xR, 2x5, 3x4, CxD (and don't be surprised if others happen to pop up.)

hmmm. . . other warnings. . . we'll cross that bridge when we get there, ne?
Oh! Right! Summer's Gone in chapter one is property of the band Placebo.
To The Fic!


Five of Pentacles
Prologue: Upright Meaning: Loss, Lack, The Outcast

His earliest memory was a dream. Perhaps, more accurately, a nightmare. He did not know that he was dreaming, only that something was terribly out-of-place. Something was horribly wrong. There were voices. There were frightened little voices and angry splintering sounds. He often guessed by the state of his body- curled up, pulled tight around him- and by the little light streamers that pried through the slats of wood (the floor?) above him that he was hiding. He was hiding from those angry sounds and little voices though something inside insisted that it wasn't right, this hiding. Maybe, he wondered, was he supposed to be with those frightened little voices? Should he be protecting, or waning with them?

He always woke up with the explosion sound of a door having finally been broken away. Sometimes he heard the screaming, too, but not always.

Sometimes he wondered if it was a dream at all. Maybe it was his memory, surfacing in the only way it knew how- coming up for air when the rest of him was sleeping. He would shrug away the thought after only a moment and roll not-so-gracefully from bed in search of the coffee that would lend that grace back to his stiff, unwilling limbs.

No, he was not a morning person.

Coffee. Shower. Uniform. Book-bag. And then, he would nod a farewell to his almost-father and walk with his almost-sister to the Sacred-Sword Academy. She would try to engage him in conversation (as she did every morning) and he would give her one syllable answers or a simple shake of the head where he could get away with it. She would then huff indignantly and squawk about his obvious lack of people skills. When they reached the academy she would embrace him tightly, kiss his cheek lightly, and insist that he have a good day. Nodding to her, if only to pacify, he would make his way though familiar halls and to his first class trying to remember when or how his life became so predictable, so scheduled. Was he a creature of habit? Again, shrugging away thought, he would sit in his seat, not speaking, not making eye-contact or even acknowledging his fellow students.

Silence, he thought. The Silence is safe.



One: Summer's Gone

Key to your face so forsaken
Crushed by the way that you cry
Key to your face so forsaken
What a surprise

Duo groaned dramatically, he sighed with gusto, and pounded the hell out of his alarm clock. Summer was over. It was the first day of a new year, his first day at a new school, and after much deliberation he decided it best to roll over and sleep though it.

Ah, no such luck.

Duo Maxwell if you are not out of that bed and in this kitchen in 30 seconds so help me God. . .

Ah, Sister Helen.

Using the Lord's name in vain? he called back, voice thick from sleep. Obediently though, he pulled reluctant limbs from the warm cocooned haven of bed. Tucking a well-worn robe around himself he descended the stairs and stomped into the kitchen with a pout planted firmly on his features. Putting it nicely, he was not happy. New school meant new teachers who would look down snobbish, intellectual noses at him. It meant new bullies and a new head-master who would refuse to believe that the fights hadn't been his fault. It would mean a shinny new expulsion and an even newer school next term. Gods. What a World, he sang in his mind.

The good Sister, knowing him so well, hugged him with a silent comfort and heaped his plate with all his favorites. Pancakes, strawberries, bacon and eggs.

You try to break the mold
Before you get too old
You try to break the mold
Before you die

The sun was cresting, rising into the moring, beginning a ritual march through the skies. And lying perfectly still, in a small-neat-military-precise kind of room, alert, even in sleep was Heero Yui. The alarm clock always made a soft clicking sound before the buzzing began. He woke at the click and switched it to off before the harsh buzz could invade the quiet of the dawn. It was more of a precaution anyway, the alarm. He would have woken in another five minutes without it as he had instructed his body the night before. No sense in being careless, now was there?

Morning regiment completed, cleaned and dressed and ready to go, Heero grunted a crisp parting to his guardian and closed the door behind him. Though, not before Mr. Lowe could instruct him of after-school responsibilities and demand a prompt return.

Rigid, unyielding, determined, Heero Yui walked the streets that brought him to the Sacred-Sword Academy.

Key to your heart that is racing
Stung by the look in your eye
Key to your heart that is racing
What a surprise

It was the only word he had now, he said.

Sorry, Little Brother, came the strained yet honey-sweet voice from the driver's seat. You know what Father said.

He sighed quietly, leaning further into his seat as though it might swallow him if he leant just the right pressure. Sadly, no. Nothing, no one was coming to his rescue this time.

There was a not-so-disguised sound of frustration and annoyance from the front passenger seat. At least he had an ally, he thought, brightening slightly. There it was again- a growl, answered by a sad exhalation. He couldn't help but smile at that. They were all so stubborn sometimes.





He caught himself wanting to smile again, though his heart still fluttered madly in his chest- trying to get out. Iria and Aria stared each other down before him, daring the other to look away. Spooky-twin-staring-contset. It was Iria, finally, who broke the spell, seeing as though she was the driver and needed perhaps to watch the road. Aria wore a smug half-smile and turned to her brother who sat so dejectedly behind her. Cheer up, Quat, she pleaded with a soothing tone, smile and glance. I'll work on Heir Gestapo and we'll have you home in no time.

Iria made a chiding sound in her throat but left the scolding at that.

You try to break the mold
Before you get too old
You try to break the mold
Before you die

Chang Wufei woke with the sun. He was quick and precise in his pre-school activities and had time to spare when finished. Study, he thought, no sense in falling behind before the term has even begun. And so he did- stalking into the Academy's grandiose library before the rest of the household had stirred awake. They would know where he had gone. Chang Wufei, the obstinate scholar. The starchy, over-achieving educator-pet. Wisdom was a priceless thing, after all.

And so, when the first bell rang, signally the beginning of a new year, Chang Wufei closed the volume before him, returned it to its proper place and left the library.

Key to your face so forsaken
Crushed by the way that you cry
Key to your face so forsaken
Saying goodbye

Aria crawled from her seat to give her little brother a hug, a kiss and playful hair ruffling as Iria cut the engine in the parking lot of the Sacred-Sword Academy. Iria graced a hand over his upper arm in a familiar, calming gesture. It wont be so bad, she promised. You'll see. Quatre forced a smile, though it wasn't sincere and they all knew it. He hugged both twins again- Iria in a medical coat with her hair cropped short and Aria with her go-go boots and wild dyed-tresses. Their faces though, were the same as the wore tiny sympathetic goodbyes on their lips.

He turned from them then, an air of confidence about him though he could not breathe it in. At the main office he was gifted with a schedule and vague directions to his first period. Breathe in. Breathe out. He gathered little bits of courage and built them into a calm, composed pretense as he readied himself for this new beginning.

It hadn't taken long to locate the classroom he sought. Room 403 stood near the main office and was clearly marked. He assured himself that he was relaxed, he was confident and capable as his shaking hand descended upon the knob of the door.


Trowa glanced up through his bangs as the door slipped open.

He noted the boy- blonde hair, blue eyes, delicate though not overly so. He held a sheaf of dusty yellow paper in one hand as the other still clutched at the handle of the door. He's nervous, Trowa thought, though the boy moved with a seemingly flawless elegance. Practiced. Polished. Would anyone else even notice how his breathing hitched slightly on the intake or the subtle quaking of his fingers? Trowa doubted it. Apparently, observance was a lost art.

There was something there- something familiar. Shrug it off.


Quatre approached his teacher and introduced himself. She, in turn, introduced him to the class and pointed out an empty desk beside a despondent youth with a thick fall of dark-auburny hair obscuring the better part of his face. Something familiar.

He had no time to dwell in memories past though, as Ms. Noin once more requested the attention of her class.

Sing for your lover like blood from a stone
and sing for your lover who's waiting at home
If you sing when you're high and you're dry as a bone,
then you must realize that you're never alone
And you'll sing with the dead
Said you'll sing with the dead

Oh, no, Duo was not happy. The Academy was enormous, the faculty unhelpful, the uniforms were stuffy, bland and itchy, and already- he was late. Skidding into his first period classroom he had thought to make an apology, blame his lateness on something inane, offer a greeting, maybe Hey, I'm Duo Maxwell. I may run and hide but I never tell a lie, or something of the like. Immediately though, he was cut off by a very intimidating, very unfriendly looking man. Fabulous, he thought. His first day and already he was on the wrong side of a teacher, though he wasn't sure he'd want to be on any side of Mr. Barton who, with an age-gnarled finger pointed out an empty seat.

Duo ducked his head and slunk down the aisles of desks.

He found himself seated between two very severe looking students. On his right, an arrogant looking youth of (he was guessing) chinese decent and on his left, with erratic brown hair and posture so stiff it looked painful, a guy Duo couldn't quite put his finger on. Japanese? he wondered, though he had never seen anyone with eyes like that. So fierce and yet, emotionless all at once.

Mr. Barton had not waited long before diving head-first into an impassioned lecture. His scaly voice and opinionated insistence had Duo's skin crawling and mind racing. He wanted to know who the hell let a wing-nut like this teach a history course.

What a World, hm?

TBC. . . MUWAHAHA! Please let us know what you think!! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!