Amorous Mort

BY: Demon Tsunami

A/N: This fan fiction was inspired by a dream, Gundam Wing, and was kept going by the help of coffee and a lot of Hershey's bars. I'm having a lot of fun writing it, and so I hope you enjoy reading it. Review please, even if you're just telling me I suck, it's nice to know.

Disclaimer: I love the Gundam characters, but alas they are not mine and are somewhat resistant to my bribes to become so .

Heero: Because we know what you'd do with us *death glare*

Author: What's a little bondage between friends?

Relena: I'm not even going to begin explaining what's wrong with that…. Let's move on to the fiction.

Author: Okay… *Sigh* here we go...

Prologue: Happy Death-Day

If words could kill, this was their moment. Each word dropped death into the casket, each solemn hymn nailed the coffin shut, and every trembling lip was another scoop of fresh earth on lacquered wood. Ugh. She couldn't stand it; she was driving herself mad, finally. She smiled wryly, finally crazy at last, how funny. The preacher was dressed in the customary black, the thin plastic collar at his throat bobbing as his Addams apple moved to each syllable. The words were pretty, the sermon was spoken in Latin, and although she couldn't fathom a meaning out of the sentences, she knew they were sad by the way the man said them. Rest in peace, she knew that much Latin, and why was it fair that the dead got peace? The living got left in pieces.

Rain was smattering against pale faces, black always washed people of color, that or it was the closeness of death. Could you taste it? Feel it? This thing that stole, claimed what wasn't it's to claim, wretched the living from the taste of life and sealed it with death's kiss, could you see it? She didn't know, there were too many tears in her eyes. Lately she'd been wandering detached, monologing her life to distance herself from reality, or so her over paid therapist claimed. She'd felt the distance long before the she began narrating however, the sad plot seemed so strung out, so day time TV. She knew the ending, the rain splattered and emotionally wrung woman left this square of melting dirt behind her, and escaped into the recesses of a formal limo hiding her sobs in the silken fabric of her gloves. She grimaced inwardly, the painted picture hitting her in slight throbs somewhere around her heart.

She couldn't think of that wooden coffin as him. No matter how lavish the silken interior (as she'd seen at the wake) seemed to make it more akin to a bed then a tomb and the chemicals pumped into his veins seemed to simulate the effect of a peaceful sleep, that body was not her Heero. Same chocolate locks spilled over a face that was more prone to scowling then smiling, and she supposed that his eyes (if they were open) might've been that same deep ocean blue, but none of those things mattered. What lay in that box was just a corpse, and only God knew where the real Heero was, if there was a God at all. She knew now she'd never be one of those stereotypical made-for-TV mourners who stood before the grave site and spoke to the dead person buried beneath the earth; the thought was too morbid, too surreal.

That dead body would never move would never hold her… She gasped, choking on her own tears as the memories flooded her, all the scenes she wished to keep locked somewhere in her heart, where they couldn't attack her. She didn't want that happiness tainted with this, this muddy rain wrecked day in this small cemetery. Forever was a very long time to wait, she though absent mindedly, because that's how long until they'd meet again. Forever.

-*-

"Happy Death Day!" Champagne glasses tinkled, their crystal vibrating noticeably even with the post mortem effects still lingering in his eyes. The metal slab he lay on was very uncomfortable, and he told them so. Two bronzed faces, perfect in every respect, peered down at him over the rims of their glasses with matching expressions of interest.

"Don't tell me you're getting soft," The first teased, his white teeth glittering in the candle light. He leaned against the mahogany dresser, careful to avoid placing his elbow onto the various weaponry neatly organized on the gleaming surface.

"Perhaps we've been too hard on him," The second agreed sadly, "He doesn't seem to be as responsive as usual, are you sure the brain wasn't damaged?" He hefted his weight up, careful of his stiffness, and examined the strength of his new hands, the grace of his new legs. In one swinging motion he had the twin pinned neatly to the wall, the glowing golden skin of his neck covered in one lean hand. The god began to laugh, his throat vibrating with the restricted sound. "No, my mistake, he seems to be in good spirits." When a sharp smile he released the jugular and stepped back examining his room with a keen eye.

"You've rearranged again." He complained, his voice was still thick with misuse, and with a grimace he began scrapping off the ruby red candle wax he'd stepped in.

"Well, dark magic is very sensitive," Rashid commented dryly, "Though I expect some of the details have gotten fuzzy, you do remember why it is you're here with us?" Domtar, his twin laughed, his bronzed body nestling close to his brother as they stared with luminescent eyes at their charge. The champagne glasses were discarded, replaced by two familiar steel rods.

"To serve my purpose," He grated, these vocal cords were horrid. "Is this my new voice?" He didn't like it, too rough. Brushing off the question as he'd never asked he continued, remembering vaguely there was a reason for the formality of this answer. Dying always left him so groggy. "To serve as guardian, protector, and right hand of Rashid and Domtar, Grand Masters of Illusion and to give my life time and time again so that those who are greater than myself may live. I am executioner of my master's enemies, my very name death to those who lay hand against them. I stand once again resurrected as a loyal servant of the Court of Memory." The twins exchanged a glance of mutual amusement.

"Such a mouthful."

"Do you think he remembers this part?"

"I think he wishes he could forget." Mouths cut into feral lines of sadistic amusement, the twins sprung as if connected by unseen strings, lunging in complete synchronicity. Twin Rods, their ends sharper than any man made weapons, sliced through flesh and bone like bread and butter, the thick squishing sound as they struck vital organs. Thus he felt immortal magic steal through his new form, a sensation like ice crawling into his heart and mind, the metal rods protruding from both his chest and skull.

"That always looks painful," One of them mused; he was too far gone to know which.

"He'll feel better tomorrow," the other pointed out off handedly. They removed their weapons, the sickening slush sound echoing inside his ear drums. One twin turned to him, his figure beginning to blur at the edges, sure signs that it had worked. "Don't bleed all over; you'll regret it in the morning." With that heartfelt sentiment the large ornate door slammed shut, and so did his eyelids.

A/N: Well? What do you think? Read & review.

-Demon Tsunami