This Old Man...
by
Nin Tendo
~ Disclaimer ~ If I owned Gundam Wing, Quatre would have died when Dorothy stabbed him. No joke! For some reason, I always kill off the sweet guys in my original fiction. I don't own Gundam Wing. (Thank God...)
St. Teresa High wasn't what you would call a large school. It took up residence in a small town in America, and taught a total of one hundred and fifty-seven students. There were only eight classrooms, but it was more than they actually needed.
The students in this school were tightly knit. Everyone knew everyone else, and it wasn't uncommon for upperclassmen to befriend people of lower grades.
It was the year After Colony 263, and humanity had finally tasted the sweet fruit of long term peace. The children of this era were the first of all time to live without a war brewing somewhere among the earth and space colonies. These children were refered to as the Untainted, the Peace Children, and the Warless, among other names, by their elders.
The "Peace Wars" had stopped during the year After Colony 228, mere days after the unfortunate assassination of the Vice Foreign Minister, Relena Dorlain, who had led the wave of world peace. All of the rebellions had been completely annihilated by her rumored lover, Heero Yuy.
All of this was taught in History class, and the students moaned and grumbled about it. History was SO boring. What did they need it for, anyway? It wasn't like they were planning to go back in time.
The history teacher walked into the school building, depressed. Why couldn't her students be more grateful? Every day, she would stand up in front of the classroom, teaching the important lessons learned through history, and they didn't even pay ATTENTION!
She continued her snail's pace into the teacher's lounge, and saw the principal discussing something with his seretary. When they saw her come in, they became silent, then invited her over.
"Yes...?" the history teacher asked, in a monotone, uninterested tone of voice. "What did you want to tell me?"
The secretary smiled at her. "I've noticed how those kids have run you haggard. I think you need a little break."
"You got me a substitute?" she asked, hopefully.
The principal chuckled. "I'm afraid not. But we have a much better plan of action. 'Guaranteed to catch the eyes of the students', I think he said."
"And that is...?"
"We've hired a speaker to talk to your class," the secretary answered. "It's really quite strange, though. HE came to US, asking to make a presentation to our classes. Usually WE would have to SEND for a speaker, but he just appeared out of nowhere, asking to make a presentation about the Peace Wars. We accepted on your behalf."
The history teacher's eyes lit up. "Oh! Oh, thank you so much! I didn't know if I could keep it up much longer!"
"Think nothing of it," the principal replied. "If anything, I would have to thank YOU for putting up with it for so long."
Humming happily, the history teacher walked out of the lounge, and into her classroom, a smile on her face, and a slight bounce in her step. FINALLY the students might LEARN something!
A few minutes later, the bell rang, and tweny-four grade 10 students filed in, talking and laughing loudly.
The late bell rang three minutes later. The history teacher stood in front of the class to inform her students of the last minute presentation.
"Ahem."
The class continued to talk, completely ingnoring their history teacher.
"EXCUSE ME!" the teacher practically shouted. She caught the attention of a couple students, and, eventually, the rest of the class calmed down.
Spirits dampered, the teacher looked at the clock. Not even five mintutes had passed, and she was ready to rip her hair out.
"Class," she said, after regaining her sanity, "we're expecting a speaker to come in and give us a presentation today. You will be on your best behaviour."
The students either tried (in vain) to look innocent, or didn't bother with the facade, and grinned evily.
'Well, at least it's not MY funeral,' the teacher supposed.
"What's he gonna talk about?" one of the kids blurted out. Without raising his hand, much to his teacher's irritation.
"All I can tell you," the teacher answered, "is that it will be about the Peace Wars."
The children groaned in disgust. They'd probably get a quiz afterwords, demanding them to write down the exact dates of each of the rebellions' birth and demise, AND each of the rebellions' names.
The history teacher reminded herself that she wouldn't have to worry about teaching today.
The students started to talk amongst themselves again. The teacher sighed in torment.
Someone knocked on the door, and the teacher thanked God. She opened the door, and was a little surprised to see a withered old man slowly walk inside. He looked about a century old, but walked without aid of a cane.
Of course, the students were too busy to notice.
The teacher ignored this. "Are you the speaker that was scheduled to come in today?"
The old man nodded, and walked past her. Confused by his silence, the teacher followed him to the front of the classroom.
The strange old man slowly scanned the classroom of disobedient students, and shook his head in amusement.
The history teacher's cheeks burned in humiliation. Did he think of her as an incompetent instructor, because she wasn't able to control her students?
The old man cleared his throat.
Suddenly, the students became silent, an they gave him their undivided attention. The history teacher gaped at the old man in awe. 'How did he do that...?'
"You children don't seem to be taking this class very seriously," the old man grumbled, in a deep voice. It didn't seem to fit his frail looking form. The children blinked in surprise.
'They're actually listening to him,' the teacher thought, in amazement.
"I'm disappointed," the old man continued. "I thought that our efforts were worth more than that."
The room was plunged into uncomfortable silence. The walls were made of soundproof material, so 'certain classrooms' wouldn't disturb others. The only sound to be heard was the clock's rhythmic ticking.
The old man lowered his head, and chuckled.
The history teacher started back to her desk. Whatever the old man was going to say sounded intriging, to say the least.
He intercepted her. Confining her in a rough head-lock, he pressed a pistol to her temple.
A few girls screamed, and the rest of the students gasped, sitting up straight in their seats.
The blood slowly drained from the teacer's face, as she stood, frozen in terror. The 'frail old man' was all muscle inside.
"Nobody move," the old man growled, "and keep you're hands where I can see them, or I'll just have to stain this beautiful carpet. Can't have that, now can we?"
Terror stricken, the students slowly pressed their hands onto the tops of their desks.
The old man chuckled again. "You children live your sheltered lives without a thought about the people that have provided it to you. Now, where would you be if I had just stopped fighting, eh? Probaby either dead, soldiers, war prisoners, or starving orphans. Do you know what they did to war prisoners? It wasn't pretty in my time. If the war had continued, I suspect that people would have become a great deal more creative with their torture."
All of the children trembled, and a few burst into desperate tears.
"But enough of that," the old man said, glaring at the students. "As much as I want to put you all through horrific torture, that is not the purpose of my...visit."
The old man released the history teacher, but kept his gun aimed at her. "I'm here to talk to you about war."
He grinned. "The glorious battles, the bloodshed, the destruction, the CHAOS. I piloted a mobile suit in my youth. I was a soldier. I lived to fight. I fought to live. How could you pathetic 'Peace Children' truly understand the grace of war?"
He walked around the room, pointing the gun at each child in turn. "How can you comprehend the rush of adrenaline that passes through you as you stare your own death straight in the eye?"
He returned to the front of the classroom, and shouted, "How can you even begin to GRASP the feeling of protecting you home, family, friends, and cause, knowing that you would die for them, and realizing that it is entirely possible that you might very well have to?!"
By now, all of the children were in tears.
"HOW WOULD YOU FEEL, IF YOU WALKED INTO A CLASSROOM, DECADES LATER, ONLY TO FIND THAT ALL YOUR EFFORTS ARE DISMISSED BY CHILDREN SPOILED BY PEACE?!"
He glared at the sobbing children. "Don't you think that it's time to teach the 'Untainted' a little about war?" he growled, then turned his gun onto the still frozen history teacher.
A blond haired girl stood up and shouted, "NO! DON'T DO IT! PLEASE!"
The old man whirled around, aimed at the girl's forehead, and pulled the trigger.
The rest of the class screamed in terror, and hit the floor.
Click.
The old man smiled as the girl's legs gave out, and she sat back down.
The rest of the class stared up at him from the floor.
He tossed the gun across the room. "It wasn't loaded. Now, get back in your seats. I'm not quite finished with you, yet."
The student complied, numbly, as their teacher fell to her knees in shock.
The old man chuckled again, then turned toward the blond that had 'risked her life'. "You, there, girl!" he called. "What is your name?"
"R-Relena," she answered, shaking. "M-my g-grand-p-parents asked my m-m-mom and d-dad to n-name me after Relena D-Dorlain."
He smiled again. "You honor your name-sake, Relena. I'll have you know that the late Miss Dorlain did something akin to your actions when she was your age. If I remeber correctly, she stood between a gun and Heero Yuy. It was right after Yuy threatened to kill her, too. I am glad that her spirit still walks among us. She was a truely amazing girl. Anyone who could sneak their way into the heart of Heero Yuy can only be called 'amazing'. I can see that you will do much for this world, Relena."
Relena blushed from all the praise.
The old man helped the history teacher to her feet, then whispered something into her ear. She nodded, and smiled.
He turned back to the students. "I hope that I didn't tramatize anyone from my little 'display'. I was merely proving a point. War and violence only result in fear and hatred. A nation should not be led by military force, it should be led by someone who truely understands the necessity of peace." He smiled. "Someone like Miss Relena, here." She blushed again.
He paused. "When Relena Dorlain was dying in Heero Yuy's arms, she said something along the lines of: 'Heero, you always were dedicated to your missions. I have also been dedicated to a mission. Heero, please complete my mission. Please bring peace to the earth and colonies.'"
He closed his eyes. "But, in truth, Heero wasn't as dedicated to his missions as he was dedicated to her. She had made the Perfect Soldier into a human being, and now that she was gone, he couldn't bear to live without her. Before he left on his kamikaze mission, Heero asked a favor of me. He asked me to maintan the peace that would arise from his sacrifice. By showing you children the true horror of war, I know that I have kept my promise well. You children will all grow up to maintain the peace. I have travelled to nearly ever school on the earth and colonies, so I am sure of that."
He took a deep breath. "Are there any questions?"
There was a long, penetrating silence, until Relena quietly asked, "Have you ever thought about writing a book?"
He smiled at her question. "What do you think I have been doing for all these years, besides scaring small children? I have been writing all about the adventures of the Gundam pilots. I found Relena's diary, Heero's journal, (a.k.a. Heero's mission log), and while the others were still alive, I interviewed them. The best part is, by Monday, it will be published world-wide, and it has just become a required reading for high school students."
"I can't wait to read it!" a student shouted, and the others quickly agreed.
As the old man turne to leave, Relena suddenly called out. "Wait! You never told us your name!"
The old man smiled, picked up his gun, and turned to face her. "Name?" he asked, as his smile grew wider. "I have no name."
And then he was gone.
The history teacher happily walked up to the front of the classroom, noticing that her students paid rapt attention. She asked them what they thought of the presentation, and was pleased with their remarks.
She though back to what the old man had said. 'I'll be back for second period.'
She couldn't wait.
That night, the man known to some as 'Trowa Barton', peacefully passed on in his sleep, knowing that his misson was finally complete.
Author's Notes:
1. Before you rant at me about how Heero seems OOC, remember that it's from Trowa's POV, and that he had more than 30 years to fall madly in love with Relena. It's a fact of life. The longer you know someone, the more important they are to you.
2. Before you rant at me about how TROWA seems OOC, remember that about 70 years have gone by. And, by God, people CAN change in 70 years.
3. Hmmm...how many people guessed that it was Trowa? n_n
4. Did you like how I didn't name any of the made-up characters (excluding 'Relena')? It's my patented technique. If you want to borrow it, go right ahead. n_n I'm probably not the first person to use it, anyway.
5. This fanfic is dedicated to my A/V Productions/Animation teacher, who puts up with too much shit from her students. They seem to enjoy making her life hell. I suspect that she cries herself to sleep at night. If anyone reading this knows an undervalued teacher, or even causes hell for that teacher, please put yourself in their shoes, and try to stop this shit before it gets worse. Thank you for your attention to this matter.
6. Reviews aren't necessary, but appreciated. Flames are accepted, but please leave your email address, so we can establish a lengthly debate. n_n
by
Nin Tendo
~ Disclaimer ~ If I owned Gundam Wing, Quatre would have died when Dorothy stabbed him. No joke! For some reason, I always kill off the sweet guys in my original fiction. I don't own Gundam Wing. (Thank God...)
St. Teresa High wasn't what you would call a large school. It took up residence in a small town in America, and taught a total of one hundred and fifty-seven students. There were only eight classrooms, but it was more than they actually needed.
The students in this school were tightly knit. Everyone knew everyone else, and it wasn't uncommon for upperclassmen to befriend people of lower grades.
It was the year After Colony 263, and humanity had finally tasted the sweet fruit of long term peace. The children of this era were the first of all time to live without a war brewing somewhere among the earth and space colonies. These children were refered to as the Untainted, the Peace Children, and the Warless, among other names, by their elders.
The "Peace Wars" had stopped during the year After Colony 228, mere days after the unfortunate assassination of the Vice Foreign Minister, Relena Dorlain, who had led the wave of world peace. All of the rebellions had been completely annihilated by her rumored lover, Heero Yuy.
All of this was taught in History class, and the students moaned and grumbled about it. History was SO boring. What did they need it for, anyway? It wasn't like they were planning to go back in time.
The history teacher walked into the school building, depressed. Why couldn't her students be more grateful? Every day, she would stand up in front of the classroom, teaching the important lessons learned through history, and they didn't even pay ATTENTION!
She continued her snail's pace into the teacher's lounge, and saw the principal discussing something with his seretary. When they saw her come in, they became silent, then invited her over.
"Yes...?" the history teacher asked, in a monotone, uninterested tone of voice. "What did you want to tell me?"
The secretary smiled at her. "I've noticed how those kids have run you haggard. I think you need a little break."
"You got me a substitute?" she asked, hopefully.
The principal chuckled. "I'm afraid not. But we have a much better plan of action. 'Guaranteed to catch the eyes of the students', I think he said."
"And that is...?"
"We've hired a speaker to talk to your class," the secretary answered. "It's really quite strange, though. HE came to US, asking to make a presentation to our classes. Usually WE would have to SEND for a speaker, but he just appeared out of nowhere, asking to make a presentation about the Peace Wars. We accepted on your behalf."
The history teacher's eyes lit up. "Oh! Oh, thank you so much! I didn't know if I could keep it up much longer!"
"Think nothing of it," the principal replied. "If anything, I would have to thank YOU for putting up with it for so long."
Humming happily, the history teacher walked out of the lounge, and into her classroom, a smile on her face, and a slight bounce in her step. FINALLY the students might LEARN something!
A few minutes later, the bell rang, and tweny-four grade 10 students filed in, talking and laughing loudly.
The late bell rang three minutes later. The history teacher stood in front of the class to inform her students of the last minute presentation.
"Ahem."
The class continued to talk, completely ingnoring their history teacher.
"EXCUSE ME!" the teacher practically shouted. She caught the attention of a couple students, and, eventually, the rest of the class calmed down.
Spirits dampered, the teacher looked at the clock. Not even five mintutes had passed, and she was ready to rip her hair out.
"Class," she said, after regaining her sanity, "we're expecting a speaker to come in and give us a presentation today. You will be on your best behaviour."
The students either tried (in vain) to look innocent, or didn't bother with the facade, and grinned evily.
'Well, at least it's not MY funeral,' the teacher supposed.
"What's he gonna talk about?" one of the kids blurted out. Without raising his hand, much to his teacher's irritation.
"All I can tell you," the teacher answered, "is that it will be about the Peace Wars."
The children groaned in disgust. They'd probably get a quiz afterwords, demanding them to write down the exact dates of each of the rebellions' birth and demise, AND each of the rebellions' names.
The history teacher reminded herself that she wouldn't have to worry about teaching today.
The students started to talk amongst themselves again. The teacher sighed in torment.
Someone knocked on the door, and the teacher thanked God. She opened the door, and was a little surprised to see a withered old man slowly walk inside. He looked about a century old, but walked without aid of a cane.
Of course, the students were too busy to notice.
The teacher ignored this. "Are you the speaker that was scheduled to come in today?"
The old man nodded, and walked past her. Confused by his silence, the teacher followed him to the front of the classroom.
The strange old man slowly scanned the classroom of disobedient students, and shook his head in amusement.
The history teacher's cheeks burned in humiliation. Did he think of her as an incompetent instructor, because she wasn't able to control her students?
The old man cleared his throat.
Suddenly, the students became silent, an they gave him their undivided attention. The history teacher gaped at the old man in awe. 'How did he do that...?'
"You children don't seem to be taking this class very seriously," the old man grumbled, in a deep voice. It didn't seem to fit his frail looking form. The children blinked in surprise.
'They're actually listening to him,' the teacher thought, in amazement.
"I'm disappointed," the old man continued. "I thought that our efforts were worth more than that."
The room was plunged into uncomfortable silence. The walls were made of soundproof material, so 'certain classrooms' wouldn't disturb others. The only sound to be heard was the clock's rhythmic ticking.
The old man lowered his head, and chuckled.
The history teacher started back to her desk. Whatever the old man was going to say sounded intriging, to say the least.
He intercepted her. Confining her in a rough head-lock, he pressed a pistol to her temple.
A few girls screamed, and the rest of the students gasped, sitting up straight in their seats.
The blood slowly drained from the teacer's face, as she stood, frozen in terror. The 'frail old man' was all muscle inside.
"Nobody move," the old man growled, "and keep you're hands where I can see them, or I'll just have to stain this beautiful carpet. Can't have that, now can we?"
Terror stricken, the students slowly pressed their hands onto the tops of their desks.
The old man chuckled again. "You children live your sheltered lives without a thought about the people that have provided it to you. Now, where would you be if I had just stopped fighting, eh? Probaby either dead, soldiers, war prisoners, or starving orphans. Do you know what they did to war prisoners? It wasn't pretty in my time. If the war had continued, I suspect that people would have become a great deal more creative with their torture."
All of the children trembled, and a few burst into desperate tears.
"But enough of that," the old man said, glaring at the students. "As much as I want to put you all through horrific torture, that is not the purpose of my...visit."
The old man released the history teacher, but kept his gun aimed at her. "I'm here to talk to you about war."
He grinned. "The glorious battles, the bloodshed, the destruction, the CHAOS. I piloted a mobile suit in my youth. I was a soldier. I lived to fight. I fought to live. How could you pathetic 'Peace Children' truly understand the grace of war?"
He walked around the room, pointing the gun at each child in turn. "How can you comprehend the rush of adrenaline that passes through you as you stare your own death straight in the eye?"
He returned to the front of the classroom, and shouted, "How can you even begin to GRASP the feeling of protecting you home, family, friends, and cause, knowing that you would die for them, and realizing that it is entirely possible that you might very well have to?!"
By now, all of the children were in tears.
"HOW WOULD YOU FEEL, IF YOU WALKED INTO A CLASSROOM, DECADES LATER, ONLY TO FIND THAT ALL YOUR EFFORTS ARE DISMISSED BY CHILDREN SPOILED BY PEACE?!"
He glared at the sobbing children. "Don't you think that it's time to teach the 'Untainted' a little about war?" he growled, then turned his gun onto the still frozen history teacher.
A blond haired girl stood up and shouted, "NO! DON'T DO IT! PLEASE!"
The old man whirled around, aimed at the girl's forehead, and pulled the trigger.
The rest of the class screamed in terror, and hit the floor.
Click.
The old man smiled as the girl's legs gave out, and she sat back down.
The rest of the class stared up at him from the floor.
He tossed the gun across the room. "It wasn't loaded. Now, get back in your seats. I'm not quite finished with you, yet."
The student complied, numbly, as their teacher fell to her knees in shock.
The old man chuckled again, then turned toward the blond that had 'risked her life'. "You, there, girl!" he called. "What is your name?"
"R-Relena," she answered, shaking. "M-my g-grand-p-parents asked my m-m-mom and d-dad to n-name me after Relena D-Dorlain."
He smiled again. "You honor your name-sake, Relena. I'll have you know that the late Miss Dorlain did something akin to your actions when she was your age. If I remeber correctly, she stood between a gun and Heero Yuy. It was right after Yuy threatened to kill her, too. I am glad that her spirit still walks among us. She was a truely amazing girl. Anyone who could sneak their way into the heart of Heero Yuy can only be called 'amazing'. I can see that you will do much for this world, Relena."
Relena blushed from all the praise.
The old man helped the history teacher to her feet, then whispered something into her ear. She nodded, and smiled.
He turned back to the students. "I hope that I didn't tramatize anyone from my little 'display'. I was merely proving a point. War and violence only result in fear and hatred. A nation should not be led by military force, it should be led by someone who truely understands the necessity of peace." He smiled. "Someone like Miss Relena, here." She blushed again.
He paused. "When Relena Dorlain was dying in Heero Yuy's arms, she said something along the lines of: 'Heero, you always were dedicated to your missions. I have also been dedicated to a mission. Heero, please complete my mission. Please bring peace to the earth and colonies.'"
He closed his eyes. "But, in truth, Heero wasn't as dedicated to his missions as he was dedicated to her. She had made the Perfect Soldier into a human being, and now that she was gone, he couldn't bear to live without her. Before he left on his kamikaze mission, Heero asked a favor of me. He asked me to maintan the peace that would arise from his sacrifice. By showing you children the true horror of war, I know that I have kept my promise well. You children will all grow up to maintain the peace. I have travelled to nearly ever school on the earth and colonies, so I am sure of that."
He took a deep breath. "Are there any questions?"
There was a long, penetrating silence, until Relena quietly asked, "Have you ever thought about writing a book?"
He smiled at her question. "What do you think I have been doing for all these years, besides scaring small children? I have been writing all about the adventures of the Gundam pilots. I found Relena's diary, Heero's journal, (a.k.a. Heero's mission log), and while the others were still alive, I interviewed them. The best part is, by Monday, it will be published world-wide, and it has just become a required reading for high school students."
"I can't wait to read it!" a student shouted, and the others quickly agreed.
As the old man turne to leave, Relena suddenly called out. "Wait! You never told us your name!"
The old man smiled, picked up his gun, and turned to face her. "Name?" he asked, as his smile grew wider. "I have no name."
And then he was gone.
The history teacher happily walked up to the front of the classroom, noticing that her students paid rapt attention. She asked them what they thought of the presentation, and was pleased with their remarks.
She though back to what the old man had said. 'I'll be back for second period.'
She couldn't wait.
That night, the man known to some as 'Trowa Barton', peacefully passed on in his sleep, knowing that his misson was finally complete.
Author's Notes:
1. Before you rant at me about how Heero seems OOC, remember that it's from Trowa's POV, and that he had more than 30 years to fall madly in love with Relena. It's a fact of life. The longer you know someone, the more important they are to you.
2. Before you rant at me about how TROWA seems OOC, remember that about 70 years have gone by. And, by God, people CAN change in 70 years.
3. Hmmm...how many people guessed that it was Trowa? n_n
4. Did you like how I didn't name any of the made-up characters (excluding 'Relena')? It's my patented technique. If you want to borrow it, go right ahead. n_n I'm probably not the first person to use it, anyway.
5. This fanfic is dedicated to my A/V Productions/Animation teacher, who puts up with too much shit from her students. They seem to enjoy making her life hell. I suspect that she cries herself to sleep at night. If anyone reading this knows an undervalued teacher, or even causes hell for that teacher, please put yourself in their shoes, and try to stop this shit before it gets worse. Thank you for your attention to this matter.
6. Reviews aren't necessary, but appreciated. Flames are accepted, but please leave your email address, so we can establish a lengthly debate. n_n