A/N: … Hello. For anyone left who once followed this story, let me start by profusely apologizing for not updating in, um, almost 6 years. Truth of the matter is that I wrote myself into a wall that wouldn't budge, then I became disgusted with myself for both the low-class writing and the utter shortness of the chapters that I presented, as well as the characters' personalities being so out of tune to who they were. Since then, I have re-watched the show to get a better feel for the characters' personalities and ideas about where to take this story and have taken past reviewers' suggestions to heart. Although this chapter is much shorter than I feel I owe to you readers, it is as much as I can possibly give at this point. This story is still giving me many problems, but I hope beyond hope not to update again in another 6 years. Again, I am sorry for the long wait and hope that you forgive me. Thank you. Oh, and the disclaimer will now be for the rest of the story rather than repeated in every chapter.
"…": characters talking to each other
'…': characters talking to themselves
(…): extra facts about something in the story
Chapter 9: Determined Worry
Crockett residence, New York City, planet Earth, Milky Way Galaxy- December 2, FC 72, 7:55 AM
There was a pause as Chibodee's words seemed to echo in the apartment. Dr. Collins raised an eyebrow glancing at the Neo-American Gundam fighter. "You mean that your wife has not told you about her pregnancy yet?" A rather large amount of disbelief was present in his voice as the words reached Chibodee's ears, penetrated into his brain and settled into the zone that he had set aside long ago for 'things that do not make sense, aka things that will drive me insane.'
Chibodee closed his eyes and, fumbling behind him for a chair collapsed into the wooden piece of furniture. Elbows on the burnished kitchen table, he put a hand to his forehead and groaned trying to sort out what the hell was going on, brain working overtime to sort through the information it had just gained in an effort to make it make sense. Clenching his hair, Chibodee closed his eyes and concentrated on what he had just heard, his mind, for some reason creating images of a pregnant Shirley, hands on her swollen stomach, smiling gently at him. Not sure of the exact reason why his brain would show him images of such a subject Chibodee pushed it further down on his mental to-do list.
"Mr. Crockett?" Collins approached the young man, worry etched on his face. Reaching out a hand, he hesitated then withdrew the limb, knowing that as upset as he was at the moment, Chibodee was liable to attack him if his mind didn't process that Collins himself was not an enemy. "Chibodee?" Still no response; his worry grew. Over his thirty-year span as a doctor, Collins regularly did home-visits and diagnoses, preferring not to go into his office unless necessary, he had not experienced a reaction quite like Chibodee's. Gifted with an eidetic memory, Collins remembered the reactions of numerous fathers (and, for that matter mothers, siblings and so forth) upon hearing that a baby would be born in number of months. These reactions were often filled with joy and rapture, and some men even jumped on top of the kitchen table and proceeded to do a celebratory jig. Yet, in all his years as a certified physician, both on and off the Neo-American space colony, he had never heard of nor seen a husband who took the news quite like Chibodee had.
"Chibodee, you don't seem as excited as you were when Shirley was pregnant with the twins," Collins remarked after a moment of silence, looking at the Gundam fighter. Collins' eyes searched for the telltale mischievousness in Chibodee's body language that would express his playing a joke on the esteemed doctor, as he was wont to do, and yet he found nothing. Chibodee shifted and opened his eyes, staring blankly ahead and Collins was taken aback by what he saw. Chibodee's emerald orbs, usually alight with a fire of one kind or another were merely dead embers. Blatant confusion and a haunted mind seemed to swirl around the fighter, glazing his seemingly dead eyes further.
Collins clearly remembered the first time Shirley had been pregnant; Chibodee had hugged him, then Shirley, then him again before running to the roof of his apartment building and yelling the good news to the whole of New York City before being summarily dragged back into the apartment by his irate wife. Chibodee had then taken both Shirley and himself out for a celebratory dinner at the (only) five-star restaurant that the city possessed, a place that had repeatedly asked for Chibodee to dine at a number of times but which the Gundam fighter had passed up time and again for that very reason. Chibodee, after the events of the Gundam fight apparently did not appreciate being asked somewhere for purely aesthetic and fame-raising reasons.
However, that night, Chibodee had felt it necessary to treat his wife and doctor to the best dinner that money could buy, and he had indeed. The restaurant, honored at last that the Neo-American Gundam fighter had decided to grace them with his presence had affably told the fighter that the meal was on the house, owner's orders. Collins suspected that after Chibodee had proceeded to order everything on the menu the decision was harshly regretted, if not evidenced by the deep scowl that marred the owner's face upon realizing just what he had done with his effusive offer.
Now, however, Collins feared that the young man was about to go into cardiac arrest, so pale was his face. The blood's drainage from the Gundam fighter's face left him with the countenance of a child's ivory doll, and Collins began to worry that perhaps he would have to treat the fighter as well as Shirley that day.
"Mr. Crockett, are you okay?" Collins asked again, a mild sense of panic starting to set in. Just what in the world was going on with him? Collins' hands by now had come to rest on the Gundam fighter's shoulders, hoping that their weight would prove comforting to the fighter who seemed to need it and ignoring the possibility that the man would react violently towards him.
Chibodee didn't say or do anything for a few minutes, but all of a sudden he shifted his shoulders, shrugging Collins' hands off in the process. His head came up and haunted eyes turned to look into Collins' own black orbs, startling the doctor.
"Doc… I don't know what to say, that is," Chibodee tried to form a coherent sentence but he abruptly shut his mouth and buried his head in his arms, mumbling curses underneath his breath. He then turned his eyes to look out the kitchen to the living room and to the couch where he knew Shirley was resting peacefully, her breathing normal and the woman herself seemingly unconscious, though the Neo-American was willing to bet on the slim possibility that she was faking for a reason known only to her.
Collins shook his head, surprised at Chibodee's lack of verbosity – which he was well known for – and tried to think of something reassuring that he could say to the young Gundam fighter. Unfortunately for the esteemed doctor, his mind was drawing a blank.
An awkward silence overtook the two men, each lost in their own thoughts. Collins usually relished peace and quiet, and Chibodee, he knew, loathed it except for a few rare moments so this situation was very unsettling.
'It is most likely to do with his family that he loathes long periods of silence,' Collins thought to himself as he moved towards the sink. Reaching into a cabinet, he pulled out a glass and drew himself a drink. After a moment's contemplation, he drew a drink for Chibodee as well, silently placing it on the table. Chibodee reached out and without looking tossed the drink down, a singular gulp ridding the container of its liquid possession. Collins sighed. The silence was beginning to become even more oppressing.
Suddenly, Chibodee stood up, the chair clattering to the tile floor. Collins chanced a glance into the living room and breathed a silent sigh of relief that Shirley was still sleeping. Obviously, the chair's noise hadn't reached the other room.
"Chibodee?" Collins asked warily ready to move if the Gundam fighter made any sudden movements. After all, this was obviously not the Chibodee that he knew. Something was off; something important and his gut instinct was that it had much to do with the current situation. How, or why, he hadn't a clue, but his gut hadn't failed him before and he hoped it wouldn't start now.
"Huh?" Chibodee mumbled then, realizing that he had indeed mumbled something reiterated, "I mean, yeah. I'm here Doc." He paused running a hand through his now short-cropped hair. Man, did he miss the ponytail, and he'd just grown it out, damn it!
"Doc, I have a rather large favor to ask of ya," Chibodee said glancing at the doctor who had taught his crew the basics of first aid before they'd left the colony months before the Thirteenth Gundam fight. To Chibodee, he looked the same as he had when he'd last seen him a week before Argo and Nastasha's wedding for his bi-monthly checkup: coal black eyes, leathered skin tan from a combination of time spent in the artificial sunlight of the colony and the real sun on Earth, a shock of salt and pepper hair swept back in a short rattail at the base of his neck… all in all, an old, dear, trusted friend.
"Chibodee? My word, are you alright? You were spacing out again." Collins' eyes glittered with worry.
Chibodee mentally slapped himself for letting his attention wonder yet again. Taking a deep breath, he prayed that he wouldn't be labeled an insane person and tossed into the asylum. He'd heard rumors about that place, and they weren't pretty.
"Doc, I need you to get me a complete record of the twins' lives up 'till now, medical, social, anything! I just need to look at those records. Come to think of it, could you scrounge up a few history books explaining any major changes in the world since, oh, ten years ago?"
Chibodee glanced at Collins and winced to see the man suddenly pale. The doctor quickly pulled a miniature flashlight out of a pocket and shone it into the Gundam fighter's eyes once again, looking for signs that he had a concussion of some kind or the whole thing was a set-up. Oddly enough, nothing was found.
"Uh, Doc? I'm fine." Chibodee arched an eyebrow as the light moved between his eyes.
"No, you're not." Collins stepped back and, placing the flashlight on the kitchen table folded his arms across his chest. "Mr. Crockett, Chibodee. You've been living in this penthouse apartment since you purchased the building from a corrupt political machine a little over ten years ago, and since there are five floors plus a roof, each floor has an entire apartment on it. You and your crew, plus their significant others live in this building, one on each floor. This is the fifth floor." Collins paused then added, "But why am I telling you these things, Chibodee? You should remember them clear as a bell. After all, you may not have an eidetic memory but it's not as if you have amnesia!" Collins chortled at this, not seeing the gleam of mischief enter emerald eyes.
'Brilliant idea, Doc. Hide in plain sight until I figure out what the hell is going on here.' Chibodee nodded decisively and, looking at Collins said, "Doc, I seriously think I have amnesia or somethin' 'cause I can't remember anything since Argo got hitched ten years ago."
Collins started and stared until finally Chibodee twitched in nervousness. Damn it, did Collins believe him or not? At Collins' slanted gaze, Chibodee stared back, eyes meeting the doctor's steadily.
Collins took a step back and looked at Chibodee with a confused expression. "Are you joking, Chibodee? You cannot honestly expect me to buy that excuse."
Chibodee felt like slapping his forehead in frustration. "Doc, I ain't lying. I don't remember anything past Argo's getting married to Nastasha. I woke up this mornin' to find my hair too short," he fingered the locks absently, "I'm married to Shirl and I have two kids whom I know nothin' about. C'mon, help a guy out here! When have I ever lied to ya about something this important?"
Collins blinked. He couldn't be serious… could he? "Chibodee, why me? Yes, I may be your family doctor but you know that I don't have access to all of your family's records, especially not Shirley's. If I remember correctly, she goes to a peer of mine at New York Star General. As for your children, yes, I have records on them, but how in the seven hells could you forget them?"
Chibodee ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Doc. That's the thing! If I am this awesome dad that cooks great waffles or pancakes or whatever the hell their favorite food is on their birthdays, or take them out for a ride in my racer on the weekends, or even take them to that dump of a zoo in the old park then I don't remember a damn thing. I'm beggin' ya, help me out here!"
Collins eyed the Gundam fighter for a few minutes before sighing in defeat. "Very well, Chibodee. I'll help you out but you absolutely need to visit a psychologist, psychotherapist or someone along those lines in order to get your mind straightened out. I may be a doctor of many talents but even I fall short when it comes to the mind."
Chibodee smirked. "Can do. Do you doubt me, Doc?"
Collins said nothing, moving to his supply bag and withdrawing a slim, black laptop. Setting it up, he logged onto both Chibodee's internet network and his desktop and, fingers moving quickly pulled up a few context boxes, typing two words in one, five in another. Pulling up his desktop at the office, Collins continued pulling up a number of context boxes, closing some with a shake of his head or a mumbled curse and leaving others open. Chibodee watched, amazed, as the man pulled up window after window of information, many of them seemingly in code. He was about to open his mouth to ask about the codes when, suddenly, the windows of gibberish shifted to understandable words, amazing him.
'Wow… maybe there is something to that espionage stuff that Janet and Bunny yapped on about,' Chibodee thought to himself eyes quickly roving over the information appearing on the screen.
After a few minutes, Collins stopped his incessant typing and glanced at the Neo-American Gundam fighter, amused. "May I assume that you've not yet taken your crew up on their offers of hacking lessons?" He laughed at seeing Chibodee's startled face. "Oh, I know all about it, my friend. You yourself complained to me about it a few months ago."
"And," Chibodee prompted intrigued. Was this an opportunity to figure out what was going on?
Collins shrugged. "And nothing. You said that it was a waste of your time because, and I quote, 'When in the hell would I find time to hack into somebody's cockpit in the middle of a Gundam fight?'" Collins laughed again at the abashed look on Chibodee's face.
"Anyway," Chibodee said attempting to change the topic of discussion. "What'd ya find?"
Collins typed some more words into a few more context boxes before looking at the fighter once more. "Well, I was able to hack into your wife's records without being sensed by the hospital's security system, though I still don't understand why you'd need to know that she's allergic to two various types of mold in ventilation shafts."
Chibodee opened his mouth to comment that he already knew that but decided against it. No sense in doing something that would endanger his reason for not knowing his family or making Collins doubt his claim that he did indeed have amnesia. "The twins?"
"I've taken the liberty of copying everything down onto this disk," Collins responded placing a small, two by three inch, rectangular piece of plastic into Chibodee's hands. The fighter cocked his head, having never seen a memory drive this small, but closed his hand over it nonetheless. "This way, you will be at liberty to view it whenever you wish to, but," Collins paused as he took care to shut off access to all the networks that he had accessed and powered down the laptop, "do not do anything foolish with that information, Chibodee. If I find out, there will be no remains left to bury."
Chibodee involuntarily shivered. Sometimes he forgot just what the man could do, which was a bad thing as the man had once piloted Neo-America's Gundam in the Eighth Gundam tournament, coming in second to Neo-Malaysia's Gundam. The man was easily a tough opponent who, when needed, never pulled his punches. That was what made the man so valuable an ally and friend.
"Right. Got ya. No dishin' out secrets to anyone," Chibodee cheerily replied, feeling relieved to have something with which to start figuring out just what the hell was going on.
"You're welcome." Collins hesitated before plowing on, "Chibodee, if you need anything else, call me. You, more than anyone I know deserve to know who your family is and live a happy life. As for the history books, if I am not mistaken, you have an entire shelf dedicated to them in your private study."
'Since when do I own a personal study?' Chibodee thought bewildered. 'Hell, since when do I actually read books on history?' Deciding to ignore that fact, he tried to figure out some way to repay Collins for putting his job on the line in order to help him figure out just what was going on and ensure that he wasn't taken off guard; then, he had a brilliant idea.
"Say, Doc, in order to pay ya back for helpin' me out of a jam, feel like attendin' a shindig for the twins' birthday this afternoon?"
Collins looked startled before smiling. "Most certainly. I have a few more patients to visit, and then I shall return with gifts for both Shayla and Casey at a later time. Is six o'clock acceptable?" Chibodee smirked and nodded. "Very well. Until then, Chibodee." Gathering his bag and materials, Collins shook Chibodee's hand and left, nodding as he did so.
As the door closed behind Collins, Chibodee looked at the disk in his hand and vowed that he would find out just what the hell was going on before something else happened… or the kids figured out that their parents had no clue who they were and no idea what the hell was going on.