TITLE: Returning (1/?)
AUTHOR: Tari Gwaemir
PAIRINGS: 1+6; implied 6+13/13+6, 5+13, 3+4/4+3, 2+1
ARCHIVE: Email me at tarigwaemir@hotmail.com first, but I always say yes.
DISCLAIMER: Gundam Wing doesn't belong to me, but is owned by Bandai, Sotsu, Sunrise and other big companies, whose names I do not remember. I make no money from this piece of fanfiction, nor do I intend to.
SUMMARY: A Gundam Wing tribute to the narrative style of The Dispossessed, by Ursula K. LeGuin
COMMENTS: This particular fanfic is what happens when you've been reading too much into the Heero and Zechs scenes in Gundam Wing, with a healthy dollop of Heero-fixation added to the mixture. Oh, and let's not forget a niggling little desire to become an assassin.
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Chapter 1: The Girl
She was sitting at the foot of the staircase, dressed in faded jeans and a denim jacket thrown over a dark green shirt, one long leg stretched out in front of her while the other was curled up under her chin. The curve of her long eyelashes drooped against the smoother, firmer curve of her golden cheek, and her foot scuffed mechanically back and forth against the bottom stair. It should have seemed like a nervous gesture, but it seemed robotic-too stereotyped and calculated to be simple fidgeting. In her thin arms and legs, there was the tension of someone always ready to spring into action and the self-assured air of a dangerous person. But to the casual observer, she was just a girl; a skinny, flat-chested, stick figure girl with a short boyish cut that let locks of dark brown hair fall over into her eyes. Though prettiness may have faintly overshadowed her face, she didn't have the looks of someone who would make men's eyes trail after her, who would be followed by catcalls and whoops, who would appear in their sickest and most secret fantasies. She was just an ordinary girl. Perhaps on the tomboyish side, thought the man who had stopped to stare at the strange figure curiously. Certainly not a girl who'd faint at the sight of a cockroach. Probably too sharp for her own good too, he added silently as he caught the flicker of a blue eye glancing in his direction. He continued staring at her, but the girl remained still, silent, waiting. Just an ordinary girl...or so it seemed.
They were in a darkened building, lit up by harsh fluorescent lamps that still left dark shadows in every corner. Narrow hallways branched off into even smaller corridors; it was a rabbit's warren, in which people disappeared, only to emerge nameless. Like an abandoned warehouse, its steel beams were rusty and its air full of dust that sparked gold occasionally in the bright white glare of the lamps. No one would believe that this place could be called a home, but indeed it was, for people lived here.
They were far from respectable people, of course, but few were poor. They kept themselves aloof from the scum of the streets and the back alley crowds--no, though they were in an underworld now, they were once important in their own fashion. They were the assassins, the thieves, the bodyguards, and the spies; people who had made a living off the war, being hired by the rich and faceless. Once, this too was respectable: lying, killing, stealing--as long as one did not get too involved. They were professionals; they had always been professionals--except now...they had become professional criminals.
They still made a good living, being at service to the mafias, the crime rings, the business moguls, but where they had once been recognized and accepted as part of the background to the war, they were now hidden away in shady neighborhoods like this one. Quiet, clean, but forbidding. Respectable people did not linger in these areas. Yes, indeed, they had been driven into an underworld. So what was an ordinary girl doing here?
The man watched her for a long minute, and finally said, "You shouldn't be here."
The girl lifted her head and looked into the man's eyes. He lifted an eyebrow. Normally, he wouldn't have thought her attractive, but there was a delicacy to her face, in the line of the jaw, in the slow blink of her lashes, in the fleeting flash of her profile. She gave him a cold glare then rested her head on her hand and returned to a contemplation of the dust motes floating about in the air.
"This isn't a good neighborhood. Didn't your parents teach you better than to wander into dark buildings?"
The girl gave a muffled sort of sound, almost like a snort.
The man shook his head and turned to walk away. None of my business. He gave the girl one last glance. The face was...hard, its lines firm and decidedly ungentle. But the eyes had half-closed in sleepiness, and their large steel blue irises had softened into a darker, warmer color. Like bluebells. Beautiful. The man scowled at himself for the thought.
"Eh, Inu, how've you been?" Footsteps and a brash voice interrupted the silence.
The man looked back over his shoulder. "Oh, it's you, Niko. Not doing so well. Did you get a job with His Lordship after all?"
Niko spat and rolled his eyes. "No. Lousy aristocrats won't take anyone except one of theirs. My breeding wasn't good enough for him. The former Romefeller princes think they still own the Earth and the rest of the universe while they're at it. Stupid dogs showing off their pedigree."
"Too bad. Better luck next time."
"Hey, who's this newbie?"
"Just some girl. I told her to get lost, but she refuses to speak or move. She doesn't belong here."
"Maybe she's one of those sluts from the next block. They should know better than to walk into our turf," Niko growled, giving the girl an irritated glare. "Hey kid, you hear me? Get out of here. We may do illegal business, but we're still a notch or two ahead of you folks. I don't know whether you're a street rat or a whore, but either way, you don't belong here."
She didn't stir.
"Are you listening to me?" Niko grabbed the girl's shoulder and shook her.
Before he knew it, his face was pressed against the wall, and one of his arms was twisted behind his back. "Don't touch me," someone behind him hissed, then added, "and I'm not a girl."
It was a light tenor, not deep enough to be immediately characterized as male, but certainly not high-pitched enough to be female.
The hands that were wrenching one arm out of its socket and shoving Niko's head into the wall disappeared, and Niko staggered backwards, looking faint. Inu could only stare. Niko was one of the best bodyguards in the business--it would have been impossible for a normal person to simply pin him like that.
He finally asked, "Who are you?"
The girl, or rather, boy, crossed his arms and said, "Odin Lowe. Yoroshiku."
"But Odin Lowe is dead!"
"Hn. I think I'm very much alive."
"Odin Lowe, the best assassin in the L1 cluster, who shortly disappeared after killing Heero Yuy? You've got to be in your fifties at least, if you really are who you claim to be."
He winced slightly. "No, not that Odin Lowe. His...son."
Inu spluttered, "That still make no sense! Odin Lowe looked nothing like you!"
The boy shrugged. "Perhaps I was adopted. I don't remember. He raised me; he trained me. And right now, I'm assuming his name."
Niko was rubbing his sore arm with a dark look on his face. "Why are you here?"
"Because I live here now. We're neighbors." Odin's face remained carefully blank, but the curve of his mouth gave the impression of someone who was extremely amused. It was...very condescending.
"You weren't here before," grumbled Niko.
If anything, the amused almost-smile became even more noticeable. "I moved in this morning." The unspoken words "Shouldn't that be obvious?" were hanging in the air.
The two men shifted uncomfortably, and the boy shrugged and walked up the stairs. "Hn. The professionals of L1 are losing their touch. How sad."
Niko looked furious, but was unable to think of a reply. But both men's faces were red when Odin Lowe's last words drifted down, "Especially when they can't tell a boy apart from a girl."
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NOTES: The only reason for this opening chapter is entirely due to that line in Heero's profile that says that he's "often mistaken for a girl." Yes, this is on Heero's profile not Duo's. Also, by the way, the bluebells metaphor is an oblique Diana Wynne Jones reference, from Castle in the Air.