Title: I Wonder What They're Doing Now
Warnings: Er..stuff =D *blinks* Find out for yourself ¬¬
Disclaimer: I do not own the pilots or anything related to Gundam Wing ¬¬ *mumbles about injustice* If Duos Pikachu plushie were to suddenly appear somewhere in this fic, that is mine ^^
"Heero! Watch out, on your left!" came Duos voice over the intercom system. The Wing Zero veered around just in time to slash an enemy mobile suit clean in half, leaping away to avoid the explosion that occurred when the circuits were cut. Not too far off, the Deathscythe took care of another two enemy suits, attacking its next prey with deranged ferocity masking the hurt its pilot really felt for killing people. For taking lives. For being in the war.
"Duo. Suit. 4 'o clock." Heeros voice echoed for a nano-second in Duo's mind and he forcefully whipped his Gundam around, impaling the dark green mobile suit on the metal fist of the Gundam.
"That was a different way to tackle it." Heero commented, a slight smirk creasing his face. Duo grinned back, tossing his braid over his shoulder and proceeding to detonate the damaged suit in a fiery explosion.
"Mission complete." he heard Heeros voice say from in front of him, and he loosened his grip on the controls he was holding slightly, taking a deep breath. It always left him slightly shaky, however much well he did his job as a Gundam Pilot. You can never get used to killing.
"Allrighty, we're outta here then." came Duo's cheerful reply, and his Gundam engine revitalized itself in an explosive roar, and took off into the sky. Heero followed close after him, hand still firmly on the controls. You can never be too careful; what if some stray mobile suit suddenly appeared?
Yes, what if.
What followed as a blur as far as any of the pilots remembered. Explosions echoed in the air and the crimson red and hot orange flames licked the stained metal of the Wing Zero. It had wrenched itself between Duos suit and the enemy, acting as a barricade for Duo, but getting the worst damage possible itself.
The Wing Zero was mangled beyond recognition, as if it has self-detonated.
It's pilot wasn't any better off.
Heero felt the metal cutting into his spine, slicing nerve after nerve, mangling his skin, his flesh, and his spinal cord. He took as much of it as he could, but even for the Perfect Soldier, it was too much. He passed out in shock, in pain, and possibly even the sense, of defeat.
*
Heero sat up in his bed, gasping for breath. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dark room, and see the familiar bulky shapes of furniture loom up against the walls. He raised his hand to wipe some dark brown hair that clung to his sweaty skin away from his face, and noticed, that his eyes were sore from salt and his lashes had a great deal of moisture to them.
/=/ Another dream./=/ He though, taking a choked breath in relief. It didn't take him long to go back to his normal deadly calm state once more. Just as it had always been, through the war and after it. Even though he was no longer needed to be the Perfect Soldier, the trait of his emotionless exterior always remained. He still, as he always had, acted like a robot. The only part of him that proved he must be partly related to the human race was the nightmares.
Oh, the nightmares. Every night he was plagued by the memory of his very last mission. It had only been to finish up any rebel OZ bases still intact; it was, for fucks sake, not even a real part of the war. But that mission cost him, dearly. Squinting through his still clouded vision, he read off the red Westminster number on his digital alarm clock. 4 am. It wouldn't hurt him to get up now. /=/ It'll save me from another plague of a mental recollection of events, AKA nightmare /=/ he though to himself, frowning at the fact his eyes were still watery. Forcefully, he wiped his eyes on the edge of his blanket and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Stretching his tired limbs and yawning a few times, he felt ready to get out of bed.
He clumsily pulled his slouching legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed the two metal crutches at the side of the bed. With some effort, he hoisted himself up on these and slowly made his way towards the mechanically driven wheelchair that was always situated at the foot of his bed. Lowering himself into the comfortable worn leather seat of the wheelchair, he left the crutches by the bed and started wheeling himself to the door. Despite having a mechanical wheelchair built for him, he preferred to use his arms. They were the only limbs still functioning, and Heero was not about to let the go to waste for nothing.
He legs, were paralyzed.
To him, it was an embarrassment. Once a great soldier, now…crippled, and doomed to live his life without the ability to ever walk or run again. But over the years, he had gotten accustomed to this. He lived with it fairly well, doing many things that people without his disability could do. But lately, for some odd reason, his dreams had been plagued by the memory of the cause to this situation of his.
Plagued by the memory of his loss, but also, graced by the presence of someone he still, after so many years, held closest to him of all human beings in existence.
Duo Maxwell.
That joyous and happy soul, with his high priest collar and purple tinged eyes. And that long thick chestnut braid dangling behind him, and the unruly bangs across his face. And a smile that could brighten up even the dullest and dirties of missions. Duo really was a miracle of a human. But ever since his last mission against OZ, Heero hadn't spoken, seen, or even mailed Duo. He had his email address, somewhere in the depths of his file cabinet. He could easily look him up in the phone book, or ask any old veterans for his number, they would all know it.
Perhaps it was anger that held him back. Anger that saving Duo from being mangled led to his own deterioration. Maybe, it was hurt pride, shrunken like a hunchback into a small mobile chair. Maybe to be seen like this by someone he had once dominated harshly over, like the cold dictator he was, was a mockery to his self-identity and name. Or perhaps, he didn't want Duo, who most likely knew him best of all people from the moments in which his steel mask of blank cold-ness had faded, to see him like he was now. So different. So…weak.
Perhaps, it was a mixture of all those, topped off with simple fear.
Sighing heavily, and dismissing the dreams from his mind, he opened the door and slowly wheeled himself down the gently sloping metal ramp that led down to the rest of his apartment. It was a fairly large on at that, provided for him by the government, situated at the top of a huge office building to allow him access to his work, most of which was post-war stuff, or things to do with the space colonies. His room, a spare one, and a spacious and convenient bathroom were located at the top. Downstairs was a large room separated into two parts, both fairly much living rooms of sorts. An arch led off into the small but comfy kitchen. Its cabinets were all set in a fairly low position to allow Heero to reach all that he needed.
Easing the chair to a half in the kitchen, Heero retrieved his laptop computer from the counter and set it on the table. A few seconds later, the small inserted speaker blared the sound which is trademarked of all Windows systems, and his desktop picture of the Wing Zero appeared. Watching the picture, of the Wing Zero intact and functioning, hurt him slightly. Of course, it was only a machine. But still…it had saved him countless times in the war. It had also, swung his life in a completely different direction. Dismissing this thought, too, as it was an interruption to the perfection he lived for, Heero clicked on the email icon to take care of any business reports that had arrived during his sleep. A monotonous female voiced came from the computer.
"You have 10 new messages." It informed him. Heero groaned at the thought of having to go through numerous long, boring, and time-consuming war accounts or whatnot from some other old veteran. Of course he respected those who took part in the war. But he'd been in it too. He knew what it was like and needed no one to remind him of it. But it was his job, so he patiently waited for the inbox to load. Once it did, he read off the titles of the mails out loud, starting from the bottom.
"War account from an ex-OZ mobile suit pilot… Reports to be verified and corrected… Forms… forms… forms…" he sighed and rolled his eyes. Seven of the mails were forms, which usually, a large number of his mails were. He looked back at the screen to read the next message and his eyes widened.
"Happy Birthday Heero!"
It was labeled "Quatre Winner"
It only then hit him that it was, in fact, his birthday today. But that wasn't what stunned him the most. It was the fact that one of his fellow pilots during the war had taken contact with him.
"After all this time…" he muttered to himself, and hesitated as to whether he should open the mail or not. His past plagued him, and Quatre was part of it…
"Get over it, Yuy. Looking back with remorse is a fault." he told himself harshly, and double clicked on the underlined hyperlink. He was met by a smiling picture of Quatre, the blond Arab with those happy eyes and still wearing his salmon pink shirt as he always did. He was standing next to a camel, petting its tufty brown neck and waving at the camera with his other hand. He looked happy where he was, and still as if he was 15 years old even though 4 years had passed since Heero had last seen him, or any other of the pilots for that matter. The email read:
||Hello Heero! I finally got hold of your email address, and your location for that matter! More to the point, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Yes, I remembered it, who wouldn't? I'm back in Saudi Arabia, where – I belong – as some people would put it *grin* I've attempted to track some of the others down, but frankly, the reaches of human civilization is getting slightly too wide to do that successfully. *Insert oogly eyed, Quatre style sad face in this space*!! Well, I g2g for now. Have a smashing birthday, and I hope to see you soon! *wink wink face emoticon, Quatre style once more. Of COURSE he has his own emoticons, what were you THINKING!?*
PS. I'm taking a shuttle up on Friday to see you *Poke-out-tongue face* Until then, au revoir, hej då, bye etc!
Quatre||
Below that were the picture and a standard computer signature that read "Smile! The world loves you! XXX Quatre"
Heero smiled, and even if it was slight, it was the first smile that had come from him in a very long time. He soon recollected himself, temporarily dismissed the birthday letter for the most part from his mind, and proceeded to attempt to business.
It was Sunday morning.
And for a brief moment he let his mask disappear, just as he had in those moments with his friends, his fellow pilots of the Gundams.
Authors Note: I suspect this is going to be…a long fic ¬¬ I apologize if I got anything wrong, it *WAS* 2 am when I wrote this ^^;; You can flame me with long complaints on my mistake if you wish *nods* Hope you enjoyed it nevertheless, please R&R! *Skips off to finish next chapter*
Warnings: Er..stuff =D *blinks* Find out for yourself ¬¬
Disclaimer: I do not own the pilots or anything related to Gundam Wing ¬¬ *mumbles about injustice* If Duos Pikachu plushie were to suddenly appear somewhere in this fic, that is mine ^^
"Heero! Watch out, on your left!" came Duos voice over the intercom system. The Wing Zero veered around just in time to slash an enemy mobile suit clean in half, leaping away to avoid the explosion that occurred when the circuits were cut. Not too far off, the Deathscythe took care of another two enemy suits, attacking its next prey with deranged ferocity masking the hurt its pilot really felt for killing people. For taking lives. For being in the war.
"Duo. Suit. 4 'o clock." Heeros voice echoed for a nano-second in Duo's mind and he forcefully whipped his Gundam around, impaling the dark green mobile suit on the metal fist of the Gundam.
"That was a different way to tackle it." Heero commented, a slight smirk creasing his face. Duo grinned back, tossing his braid over his shoulder and proceeding to detonate the damaged suit in a fiery explosion.
"Mission complete." he heard Heeros voice say from in front of him, and he loosened his grip on the controls he was holding slightly, taking a deep breath. It always left him slightly shaky, however much well he did his job as a Gundam Pilot. You can never get used to killing.
"Allrighty, we're outta here then." came Duo's cheerful reply, and his Gundam engine revitalized itself in an explosive roar, and took off into the sky. Heero followed close after him, hand still firmly on the controls. You can never be too careful; what if some stray mobile suit suddenly appeared?
Yes, what if.
What followed as a blur as far as any of the pilots remembered. Explosions echoed in the air and the crimson red and hot orange flames licked the stained metal of the Wing Zero. It had wrenched itself between Duos suit and the enemy, acting as a barricade for Duo, but getting the worst damage possible itself.
The Wing Zero was mangled beyond recognition, as if it has self-detonated.
It's pilot wasn't any better off.
Heero felt the metal cutting into his spine, slicing nerve after nerve, mangling his skin, his flesh, and his spinal cord. He took as much of it as he could, but even for the Perfect Soldier, it was too much. He passed out in shock, in pain, and possibly even the sense, of defeat.
*
Heero sat up in his bed, gasping for breath. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dark room, and see the familiar bulky shapes of furniture loom up against the walls. He raised his hand to wipe some dark brown hair that clung to his sweaty skin away from his face, and noticed, that his eyes were sore from salt and his lashes had a great deal of moisture to them.
/=/ Another dream./=/ He though, taking a choked breath in relief. It didn't take him long to go back to his normal deadly calm state once more. Just as it had always been, through the war and after it. Even though he was no longer needed to be the Perfect Soldier, the trait of his emotionless exterior always remained. He still, as he always had, acted like a robot. The only part of him that proved he must be partly related to the human race was the nightmares.
Oh, the nightmares. Every night he was plagued by the memory of his very last mission. It had only been to finish up any rebel OZ bases still intact; it was, for fucks sake, not even a real part of the war. But that mission cost him, dearly. Squinting through his still clouded vision, he read off the red Westminster number on his digital alarm clock. 4 am. It wouldn't hurt him to get up now. /=/ It'll save me from another plague of a mental recollection of events, AKA nightmare /=/ he though to himself, frowning at the fact his eyes were still watery. Forcefully, he wiped his eyes on the edge of his blanket and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Stretching his tired limbs and yawning a few times, he felt ready to get out of bed.
He clumsily pulled his slouching legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed the two metal crutches at the side of the bed. With some effort, he hoisted himself up on these and slowly made his way towards the mechanically driven wheelchair that was always situated at the foot of his bed. Lowering himself into the comfortable worn leather seat of the wheelchair, he left the crutches by the bed and started wheeling himself to the door. Despite having a mechanical wheelchair built for him, he preferred to use his arms. They were the only limbs still functioning, and Heero was not about to let the go to waste for nothing.
He legs, were paralyzed.
To him, it was an embarrassment. Once a great soldier, now…crippled, and doomed to live his life without the ability to ever walk or run again. But over the years, he had gotten accustomed to this. He lived with it fairly well, doing many things that people without his disability could do. But lately, for some odd reason, his dreams had been plagued by the memory of the cause to this situation of his.
Plagued by the memory of his loss, but also, graced by the presence of someone he still, after so many years, held closest to him of all human beings in existence.
Duo Maxwell.
That joyous and happy soul, with his high priest collar and purple tinged eyes. And that long thick chestnut braid dangling behind him, and the unruly bangs across his face. And a smile that could brighten up even the dullest and dirties of missions. Duo really was a miracle of a human. But ever since his last mission against OZ, Heero hadn't spoken, seen, or even mailed Duo. He had his email address, somewhere in the depths of his file cabinet. He could easily look him up in the phone book, or ask any old veterans for his number, they would all know it.
Perhaps it was anger that held him back. Anger that saving Duo from being mangled led to his own deterioration. Maybe, it was hurt pride, shrunken like a hunchback into a small mobile chair. Maybe to be seen like this by someone he had once dominated harshly over, like the cold dictator he was, was a mockery to his self-identity and name. Or perhaps, he didn't want Duo, who most likely knew him best of all people from the moments in which his steel mask of blank cold-ness had faded, to see him like he was now. So different. So…weak.
Perhaps, it was a mixture of all those, topped off with simple fear.
Sighing heavily, and dismissing the dreams from his mind, he opened the door and slowly wheeled himself down the gently sloping metal ramp that led down to the rest of his apartment. It was a fairly large on at that, provided for him by the government, situated at the top of a huge office building to allow him access to his work, most of which was post-war stuff, or things to do with the space colonies. His room, a spare one, and a spacious and convenient bathroom were located at the top. Downstairs was a large room separated into two parts, both fairly much living rooms of sorts. An arch led off into the small but comfy kitchen. Its cabinets were all set in a fairly low position to allow Heero to reach all that he needed.
Easing the chair to a half in the kitchen, Heero retrieved his laptop computer from the counter and set it on the table. A few seconds later, the small inserted speaker blared the sound which is trademarked of all Windows systems, and his desktop picture of the Wing Zero appeared. Watching the picture, of the Wing Zero intact and functioning, hurt him slightly. Of course, it was only a machine. But still…it had saved him countless times in the war. It had also, swung his life in a completely different direction. Dismissing this thought, too, as it was an interruption to the perfection he lived for, Heero clicked on the email icon to take care of any business reports that had arrived during his sleep. A monotonous female voiced came from the computer.
"You have 10 new messages." It informed him. Heero groaned at the thought of having to go through numerous long, boring, and time-consuming war accounts or whatnot from some other old veteran. Of course he respected those who took part in the war. But he'd been in it too. He knew what it was like and needed no one to remind him of it. But it was his job, so he patiently waited for the inbox to load. Once it did, he read off the titles of the mails out loud, starting from the bottom.
"War account from an ex-OZ mobile suit pilot… Reports to be verified and corrected… Forms… forms… forms…" he sighed and rolled his eyes. Seven of the mails were forms, which usually, a large number of his mails were. He looked back at the screen to read the next message and his eyes widened.
"Happy Birthday Heero!"
It was labeled "Quatre Winner"
It only then hit him that it was, in fact, his birthday today. But that wasn't what stunned him the most. It was the fact that one of his fellow pilots during the war had taken contact with him.
"After all this time…" he muttered to himself, and hesitated as to whether he should open the mail or not. His past plagued him, and Quatre was part of it…
"Get over it, Yuy. Looking back with remorse is a fault." he told himself harshly, and double clicked on the underlined hyperlink. He was met by a smiling picture of Quatre, the blond Arab with those happy eyes and still wearing his salmon pink shirt as he always did. He was standing next to a camel, petting its tufty brown neck and waving at the camera with his other hand. He looked happy where he was, and still as if he was 15 years old even though 4 years had passed since Heero had last seen him, or any other of the pilots for that matter. The email read:
||Hello Heero! I finally got hold of your email address, and your location for that matter! More to the point, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Yes, I remembered it, who wouldn't? I'm back in Saudi Arabia, where – I belong – as some people would put it *grin* I've attempted to track some of the others down, but frankly, the reaches of human civilization is getting slightly too wide to do that successfully. *Insert oogly eyed, Quatre style sad face in this space*!! Well, I g2g for now. Have a smashing birthday, and I hope to see you soon! *wink wink face emoticon, Quatre style once more. Of COURSE he has his own emoticons, what were you THINKING!?*
PS. I'm taking a shuttle up on Friday to see you *Poke-out-tongue face* Until then, au revoir, hej då, bye etc!
Quatre||
Below that were the picture and a standard computer signature that read "Smile! The world loves you! XXX Quatre"
Heero smiled, and even if it was slight, it was the first smile that had come from him in a very long time. He soon recollected himself, temporarily dismissed the birthday letter for the most part from his mind, and proceeded to attempt to business.
It was Sunday morning.
And for a brief moment he let his mask disappear, just as he had in those moments with his friends, his fellow pilots of the Gundams.
Authors Note: I suspect this is going to be…a long fic ¬¬ I apologize if I got anything wrong, it *WAS* 2 am when I wrote this ^^;; You can flame me with long complaints on my mistake if you wish *nods* Hope you enjoyed it nevertheless, please R&R! *Skips off to finish next chapter*