A/n: I'm trying to find my 'Teach Me How To Be Cool' twelfth chapter, rather rebuild it after one traumatizing experience that changed the whole course of my life forever. I'm quite sidetracked easily. Forgive the clichés, if there are even any but I'll try my best to eliminate them all if that's even possible. I'm messed up in the head.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.
Pairings: 1x2, 3+4, more later on
Warnings: Way off the Richter scale OOC-ness, shounen-ai, very mild yaoi leanings and sarcasm.
Heero's POV
Genre: Romance, Humor, Angst, Drama
Other Stuff: The title has got no relation to the story. I just liked it and was listening to this track done by the All American Rejects. But said track has inspired me to write again and as I listened to it for the nth time, I thought up this story so go figure.
Dedications: White Destiny (this is mainly for and because of you. Sorry if I hadn't e-mailed you my other 1x2 fics… [actually I have only 2 left that I haven't posted here] my yahoo won't open nowadays… try shac3_xo@hotmail.com . thanks for everything! You're the best!), Jen (I miss you), (the girl with the painted wings) Angie & Claudia (meh best friend). And G (who I hope burns in hell).
Summary: Heero Yuy will be promoted to chief exec if he is able to deal with his boss' agnostic sensitive but suicidal non-conformist rebel son Duo Maxwell who dyed his wardrobe black to mourn for his generation's apathy. Easy right? You wish. | Shounen-ai/yaoi | AU | 1x2, 3x4|
Swing Swing
Chapter One: The Empowerment Of The Assertive Woman
My name is Heero Yuy, an assistant director at Scythe Corp and at some point in my career--and perhaps maybe the only-- my boss exhibited some subtle hints of promoting me, which of course meant a ten thousand dollar raise and an extra week vacation [1].
Now my boss Helen Maxwell had been one quite difficult to please as she'd been stern, if nor humorless and forward. The company name, if you ask me, suits her personality very well.
Sharp and deadly; dangerous.
If you used up too much time during lunch breaks fooling around she'd have you on a permanent leave. If you ever complain about the system, she'd have you out of the system. But I love my job to learn not to do that even if things are amuck in this place for a long time now that we've more lawsuits than the toes on our feet. Or have exercised that lie for over two years now enough to abide it.
Helen Maxwell was an intelligent agnostic hell hated pro-republican. She was every intern and employee's worse nightmare.
I'd always wondered if it had been the tight bun keeping her chestnut hair from falling to her violet eyes that caused her temperament but I'd learned earlier in my career not to make such musings for it might one day be the cause of my disemployment. At some normal days I won't bother explaining much of my workplace for all there are two know are 1: my square office and 2: my soon promotion.
Although the process at which I am supposed to earn my said promotion had been quite sub-par as to what I had expected. I'd always been a good employee, stood by the rules and never once brought the company stapler home even if I promised to return it the next day.
I had been assured that it was an easy homerun for me as long as I accomplish whatever is expected of me. I even work overtime, so I wouldn't be surprised when one morning Helen had called me over to her office. I was ready for her promotional speech.
I even wore the tie my roommate Trowa Barton said looked great on me that day but I think it's that very same reason that got me into this whole mess anyway—my listening to the great Barton I mean— because the next thing I knew I was doing things that hadn't been in my job résumé three years from now.
Helen had told me to sit on one of the seats front of her desk, as was her custom when she was addressing a constituent. Her lips had been drawn into a thin line and I noticed that her bun had been looser now as strands of her hair caught between her eyes.
She looked a lot more maternal than I've ever seen and I could've snorted at how silly the picture made. Her being maternal only flawed, if not completely diminished, her image. She seemed intent on telling me something important though but as she opened her mouth to speak, her cell phone rang and her head jerked abruptly as she reached for her cell phone next to stack of orderly stacked papers on the desk.
"Hello, Helen Maxwell speaking." She said in the professional voice I found quite chauvinist.
Her tone collapsed into that pained maternal one in the space of heartbeat, as if she had a child who'd been caught with his/her hand caught in the cookie jar.
I struggled not to walk out on her as it occurred to me that I'd been sitting around in her office longer than I'd been expecting, which is a lot of 5 minutes considering Helen Maxwell had this tendency to dismiss 'little people' to quote because according to her we 'merely disrupt the natural order of her life'.
"Duo? What the—you should have a perfectly good reason young man for calling…what? You want me to sign your petition? No I won't sign your stupid petition for animal rights. No, don't give me that. Don't even...naked in… Duo! Duo?" She had been interrupted more than once in her brief cell phone conversation so I came to a conclusion that this Duo who had been on the other line either had a lot of guts or was just plain stupid to cut Helen Maxwell like that.
On normal days, she'd toss her phone out the window, break a window or two or maybe even fire somebody out of the joy of it or sue said person who caused her dismay but like I said this is not one of those days.
Helen put down her cell phone. Her hands shook from misery or frustration, maybe both as she regarded me with violet eyes. "Yuy." I found it a surprise she remembered my name or that I was even sitting there right in front of her.
"Yes, ma'am." I said it with a period. I hated authority.
"Have I ever told you that your work performance has been the most excellent in this company? Why you're taking large strides the last time I reviewed your progress report." She went on as she praised me in her smarmy tone this time. This lady had a way with people, but hell certainly not with me. I didn't spend more than three years in Scythe Corp for nothing, and in the course of my residency I learned what's real and what's not.
But I played along and hid my snort as I nodded. "Your efficiency and dedication to your job has allowed me to see that you aim for the goal of this company: work, toil, labor and no—"
"Die?" I supplied in fear that she might actually break into a dance if I let her tirade go on any longer. She was looking a bit pleased with herself right then. When I decided to cut the chase to say that, she laughed loudly with her tonsils showing. "Yuy, your wit bites me."
I know. Beautiful, isn't it?
"But let's skip this incessant flattery," She straightened up and went back to superior mode once more. "Congratulations Yuy. You're not an assistant director anymore but a chief director, the one on top—although you remain my subordinate of course. Can't have much power struggle in this company of course."
I let out a smug grin, making a mental note to ask Chang for my 50 dollars back later on. Helen, unlike many bosses, is not one for celebration.
Any normal boss would have thrown confetti just then, or maybe throw a quaint dinner party in favor of my promotion. But Helen Maxwell is not a normal boss, and this day has not been a normal day.
Helen paused and I knew from the looks of it I was going to hate the way she wore that smirk on her face. "However this remains between you and me. The promotion of course. And I have yet to discuss it with my people," she paused dramatically and I swear she said 'my people'. "But let me assure you shall get your new job ASAP…" she trailed off and leaned down so that her breath hovered above my cheeks. She was making me claustrophobic.
"Once you take care of a little business for me."
Damn it. I gazed at her, hoping my eyes would scathe her face.
"And that is?" I asked, a tad hesitantly through gritted teeth.
"Do you have any experience in dealing with sixteen year olds?"
***
In a perfect world where democracy reigns and the clouds that roll overhead aren't grey and obscured by the polluted fumes of the big city, and where there are no bomb threats and terrorist attacks or young people starving in some part of the world, I would find it quaint and simple to take care of things for Miss Maxwell.
But as you know, the world is not perfect. It is in fact not a free world. Corruption reigns and the clouds that roll overhead ARE grey and obscured by the polluted fumes of the big city, and there ARE bomb threats and terrorist attacks and young people starving in some part of the world, even outside my own apartment actually.
I never saw Helen Maxwell's son. I didn't even know such son existed but I pitied him, pitied him because he shouldn't be put on the pan with much pressure from his godforsaken urban psychopath mother. But it isn't my place to go around and label others. I had other matters in my hands.
It never really occurred to me that I had transformed immediately into a nanny/tutor/secretary/something for my boss' son and it irked to realize how I had easily been fooled into doing this. Then again as I had said earlier, it is not a prefect world and therefore I cannot afford joblessness in the deformity of the space I live in.
I was told I could find Duo Maxwell in the streets. It was Friday. He should be in school—St. Peter's School For Boys, as I know— for the gifted and talented.
I realized I didn't even know what the kid could look like, but I supposed he may bear some semblance to his godforsaken urban psychopath mother so, finding some parking spot for my BMW at a safe distance I glanced around my surroundings in search for said kid.
I didn't have to look soon though because I eyed a *naked* boy running around the street with his long chestnut hair unbound. On a daily basis you never see such a sight, however today serves as an exception for any shred of normalcy.
The aforementioned naked boy had a sign board that reached to his knees and hung by a string of red yarn around his neck that said: "Shut Down Scythe Corp!" in big bold letters. His frame was slender, almost elfin as he paraded around and harassed some people into signing a piece of paper that was clipped to a folder. Some stared at him strangely, cursed, then stared some more and I swallowed a sigh down my throat.
My breakfast rolled around in my stomach from I don't know—swallowing my sigh? As soon as he walked near me I knew my life would never be the same again.
Then he stopped right in front of my car, snapping me out from my thoughts with his muffled yelling; and for a moment as he knocked on my window and I rolled it down, I noticed he had more piercing violet eyes than his godforsaken urban psychopath mother.
"Excuse me sir, but would it be okay if you signed my petition to shut down Scythe Corp? I mean, yeah I know I may look like deranged loon walking around town like this but this has got to stop you know? I mean Scythe Corp is using animals for their tests and I know you may think I'm too young to understand any of this but as a part of the community and owner of a dog myself; I am affected by Scythe Corp's actions. So please sir, sign if you're convinced that the corporation has violated some laws of the constitution."
I blinked at him, feeling sorry for both himself, myself and maybe quite a bit for his mother.
"Sir?"
"I'm not convinced."
"Excuse me?" he looked shell shocked.
"Look kid, I work for Scythe Corp." I explained and right then he looked like he was about to throw a rotten egg at my face so I opened my car door and stepped out next to him. "I work for your Helen Maxwell. Are you by any chance Duo Maxwell?"
"And what if I am?"
"Your mother gave me strict orders to abstain you from your one-man protests."
I watched him closely as he shifted under my gaze. He was about a head shorter and I noticed his hair reached to the back of his knees. Truth be told, I was only controlling my temper by observing things. I've had it with the Maxwells, not to mention Helen Maxwell who blackmailed me into the babysitting of her spoiled only son.
Trowa tells me I should apply to another company but I never listen to him, up till now that I had wore the tie he'd told me to.
"And the fact that your mother is the head of the corporation serves only to puzzle me more. Why do you do this kid?"
"I'm not Duo Maxwell." Now that served to piss me even more. "I'm the God of Death."
"Sure you are." I told him, a touch amused.
His brow rose defiantly as he stepped closer and poked me in the chest with a thin finger. "You'll learn not to meddle with my affairs, if you're any smarter Mister because one false step and you're dead."
"Oh that wouldn't be such a bad idea." I muttered under my breath and he seemed to have caught that and glared at me at the hardest he could which had him looking like a frustrated squirrel.
"Why are you doing this?" I found myself asking.
"I'm practicing my freedom of speech." He still hadn't stepped away nor shed his frustrated squirrel face. His hair smelled like melons. Ah, a melon scented squirrel. "This country needs an example."
"Yes, I am aware of that but can't you take it elsewhere?" I asked. "Some place where you won't cause such a controversial stir?"
He huffed and pouted a little. "Where do you suggest I take it to then? The Jerry Springer show?" He tilted his head to the side. "That show is a farce that only mocks people, if you would know! It'll only serve to defeat the purpose because either way people would just think what I'm saying is all some baloney."
I've had enough of this. "Look, Duo. As much as I'd like to stick around and discuss with you the strong impact that talk shows have towards the youth of today and democracy's demise, I don't have time. I have to get you to school because otherwise your mother will fire me."
He looked at me like I had been talking Greek. "Where would India be if not for Gandhi?"
"Where would you be if not for your mother?"
"Hell." He smiled pleasantly and stuck out his tongue like the sixteen year old he was. "And I would've loved it there."
He was good.
I shook my head and took the clipboard out of his hands, placing it on the roof of the car. "Have you ever gone to see a shrink?"
He let out a sarcastic smile.
"Where are your clothes?" The smile dropped as his chestnut bangs hooded his violet eyes and he mumbled something I couldn't catch.
"What was that?"
He blushed, which I found was an adorable sight as he looked down at his toes. "I got mugged the other night before I even started my rally."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "And you lost all your clothes and other personal belongings?"
"I have my signboards and pens!" He protested weakly.
"You haven't gone home then, have you?"
"…no…" he said more feebly, ashamed and coloring on the cheeks, of his face for pervs to know.
I let out a frustrated groan and took off my jacket. "Get in the car." I ordered as I told him to put something on, preferably my jacket. "I'm driving you home and we're getting you dressed."
His brow rose once more as he jabbed his middle finger at me. If he had been wearing any clothes I'd have closed my fists around his shirt but since he wasn't I settled for a menacing scowl.
"Do that again and you will never see the light of day again." I told him. "And please lose the signboard. People will think you're a male pimp."
"Don't you know how to read bozo?" He asked angrily but taking off the sign nonetheless and tossing it aside. "It says 'Shut Down Scythe Corp'! How in all of hell would anyone mistake it as a one night stand sign from a pimp whose dying for some action?"
"You'll never know those who've maverick fetishes."
He let out a frustrated sound. Kind of like a puppy tired of being kicked and walked away from me, his finger— the middle one preferably— raised in the air.
Little bastard.
It was only then I realized he was walking away. "Hey you! Wait! Where the hell do you think you're going with nothing on? Your mother will kill me!"
"Then good on you then." I jogged to keep with his brisk pace, glancing back at my Volvo parked at the corner with its engine running. Duo still wouldn't look at me.
"Let's get you home." I said.
"How about no?"
"Duo—"
"Do not address me by my first name!" He looked so annoyed he actually turned around to look at me. I noticed my jacket swallowed his thin shoulders and reached his knees. "God, what is so wrong with you? When in all of hell have we ever been on the first name basis? "
"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to use the Lord's name in vain?"
"My mother is agnostic and I'm leaning towards Wicca." He narrowed his eyes dangerously as if he were threatening to tear my hair out of my scalp if I didn't stop it with the comments, which amused me even more. I vaguely remember my first grade teacher giving me the same look when I told her she looked like an elk.
"You won't be coming home on your own will are you?"
"How utterly slow on the uptake, you are!"
"All right then." I mumbled to myself as I, bracing myself, swooped down around his back with my arms to hold him into place across my shoulder.
He was thin and lanky anyway and weighed very much lesser than me so it had been no problem to bring him towards my car slung across my shoulder like that except that he was kicking and screaming some curse words I was sure hadn't been on the English dictionary –unless of course mine hadn't been updated for a long time— which made it difficult for he was practically screaming in my ear.
"Someone help me! This sick pervert wants to have his way with me!!!"
"No one would buy that."
And then Duo stopped yelling. "Hey, isn't that your car being towed?"
Shit.
Tbc…
Uhm…please review? To TMHTBC readers, the 12th chapter's coming up soon. I swear. I've just been busy and… I lack ideas so.. this fic came about. Reviews are great, really. Please click that lil' button below. Please?