Disclaimer: Shin Kidousenki New Mobile War Chronicle Gundam Wing and all
affiliated characters are property of Bandai, Setsu Agency.
Title: Maximum Pulse
Authors: Switchblade003 Sanyu-Kumiko (Collaboration)
Chapter 2: Tricks of the Trade
Pairing: DuoxHeero
Rating: PG-13
Status: Incomplete, but active.
"Hiirou, I'm going to need you to run these to Main Street, okay?" Prussian eyes glanced up from the poreclain tiles of the Chang's kitchen floor to meet the much darker, almond-shaped pain that belonged to Wufeii's wife.
He'd worked for the family for almost two weeks now, and it was thwe best job he could have asked for. They paid well, the work wasn't too difficult, but above all of that, they were genuinely good people, an although he was only twenty years old he knew that a high level of moral standard was hard to come by these days.
He snatched the bag off of the counter, frowning at the address scribbled on top, and his helmet from beside the register, calling out a hasty greeting as he ducked out of the front door. His bike stood on the side of the small parking lot, gleaming in the harsh sunlight of a typical Thursday afternoon in Reno. It was really the only thing that he had anymore, ever since he had to leave to college...
Better not think about that.
Hiirou tugged his helmet on, secured his order to the back of the bike, and climbed on, and he was two seconds away from starting the engine when Wufei came running out the door in a hurry. "Yui, wait a second! That's the wrong address!"
Frowning, the Japanese youth turned behind him, looked at the scribbled instructions once more, and arched an eyebrow. "Two doors down. The garage in the next lot."
Hiirou nodded, revving his engine, and mentally balked as he pulled out of the parking lot. He'd driven by that dump more than once, and he wasn't too fond of the place. It was an eyesore, and the large, not-so-friendly rottweilers out front were more than a little discouraging.
"Work is work, I guess," he muttered as he pulled in, and glanced around with increasing paranoia as he realized that he couldn't see the canines anywhere.
Maybe he had gotten lucky and the owners had locked them up out back. He smirked.
The huge retractable doors to the main garage were open, so he decided to scope the place out. Taking his order with him, he made a cautious approach but found nothing aside scrapped cars and random parts littering the floor. "Delivery?"
There was a loud clatter of metal on cement, followed shortly by what sounded like "Fuck!", and then tires rolling. A young man approximately his own height and build came out from under an old station wagon clutching his head and muttering.
"Jesus H. Christ, buddy! You scared the shit out of me!"
Hiirou normally would have retaliated with a smart-assed comment, but he was a little taken aback by the other youth's appearance, and that bothered him. The mechanic--he supposed one would call him that--was gorgeous. He really couldn't conjure up another word to describe the guy. If he looked past the plain navy jumpsuit, and the random grease smears across his face, he was pretty damn attractive. Dark violet eyes, fair skin, and when the mechanic cocked his head to the side in a curious expression Hiirou saw a three-foot long rope of chestnut-brown hair behind him.
"Yo, you lost?" Even his voice was pleasant, and it was probably that which shook Hiirou from his eye-rape of the other boy. The last guy that he'd harbored these kind of thoughts for had ruined him, and he'd be damned before he'd give someone else that opportunity. That last thought almost saddened him, because he realized that if he wanted one, a friendship with this boy--the nametag embroidered to his shirt read "Maxwell"--was doomed from the start.
"I have a delivery for you. From next door." His own voice sounded dead, monotonous to even himself. Way to go, Yui. Why not just tell him you're autistic?
"Oh. That's cool. Just throw it on the workbench over there." The brunette pointed absently to somewhere on his left and walked back to his project, flipping his braid over one shoulder.
"That'll be eight-ten, Mr. Maxwell."
The mechanic chuckled, out-of-sight, and waved Hiirou off. "Call me 'Duo", and just put it on my tab."
Hiirou arched an eyebrow, snorting. "Your tab?"
A clanking of rusty parts nearly deafened him, and Duo cackled gleefully. "Oh, sure. Meiran won't mind. Her car's due in for an inspection this month."
Hiirou paused for a moment, prepared to retort, and then sighed. "Listen, buddy. I'm not leaving here until you pay me."
There was a snort from the back of the garage, and Duo popped up from behind the station wagon, disbelief written across handsome features. "Are you kiddin' me?"
Hiirou put on his best no-nonsense expression and waited, arms folded over his chest. Duo visably deflated. " You're serious, huh? Fine, fine..." The mechanic fumbled around in his pockets for a second, and then a cordless phone came flying across the garage.
The Japanese youth caught it deftly enough, only to realize that it was all ready dialed and ringing, and he heard Meiran pick up on the other end. "Meiran, the guy that you sent me out to is claiming something about a tab?" He watched the young man make an exasperated face and then sink down to the floor to resume his work.
"Yeah, just let it go. There's a log that we keep for him under the register. When you get back just throw the receipt in there. Duo works on our car when we need it fixed, and he keeps an eye on the girls for us from time to time."
Hiirou's eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he balked. "This is the great mechanic that Wufei's been talking about?"
Meiran laughed. "Yes. Duo can fix anything. You should let him take a look at your motorcycle sometime."
The very idea of someone touching his cycle was enough to make Hiirou shudder. "Thanks. I'll be back in a few minutes." He hung up and looked over to find a disgruntled young grease monkey glaring at him.
"Told you so." It was an immature comment, but it almost got a smile out of the Japanese youth. Instead he threw the phone at the boy, who grinned as he caught it. "What'd ya say your name was? This service is terrible."
Hiirou snorted and walked out of the garage. The sunlight hit him like a liquid wave of bright heat and he threw his helmet on as he sat down on his bike. "I didn't."
Duo raised an eyebrow and waited patiently, and finally the other boy frowned and answered.
"It's Hiirou." He saw the other youth's full lips twitch in response, and he could have sworn that his jeans suddenly felt tighter. It made him uncomfortable, but he didn't mind for some bizarre reason. "Any snide comments and I'll gut you with a Craftsman."
The mechanic's hands were out of his deep pockets and in the air in what could have been record time. "Woah, hold your horses, there, buddy! I've got no problems with Asians." He snickered. "Hell, Eggroll Chang is one of my best friends."
Hiirou turned away from the boy's grin with a shake of his head and turned his keys in the ignition. "Hey! Wait up! I owe you a tip!" He turned back to watch Duo disappear into the garage, then emerge with something in his hand. It hit the light as he approached, and Hiirou frowned.
"What are you doing?" His eyes widened a bit as the mechanic squatted down beside his bike, squinting, and he recognized the tool in the other boy's hand to be a wrench. Duo slapped his thigh with it and smiled disarmingly.
"Lift up." He instructed, and the Asian reluctantly complied. Duo spent a good twenty seconds fiddling with something on the side of his bike. Hiirou, more than a little jumpy at the boy's close proximity, and when the American sat back on his haunches, the motorcycle's engine sounded much smoother. "There."
The delivery boy was honestly impressed. Maybe he was every bit the mechanic that Wufei's had claimed him to be.... "How'd you do that?
Duo stood, stretching, and this time Hiirou couldn't make himself turn away. It crossed his mind that he'd honestly like to see what the braided boy looked like out of that jumpsuit, but he shook it off in favor of his newfound curiosity in just what Duo had done to his bike. "It's a secret."
Duo scratched his back with the wrench, that shit-eating grin firmly in place. "Can't go around advertising tricks of the trade, now can I? That's why we're the best garage this side of Las Vegas." He yawned and leaned back against the chain-linked fence that encircled the lot. "That's a Suzuki Hayabasu, right? A 2003?"
Hiirou nodded. "Right. It was a present from my parents for graduating."
The mechanic smiled. "Yeah, my bro used to ride a Hayabasu. Fastest bike I've ever seen."
The Japanese youth was suddenly interested. He'd never met another person who owned his bike and if there was someone in the area with some knowledge on it he'd have to go talk to him. "Does he really? Does he race?"
Duo's amethyst eyes grew dark, and his face lost its charming qualitiy. He looked older somehow, and a lot more jaded. "I said 'used to'."
It was obviously a bad subject for the American. Hiirou wanted to know more, but it really wasn't his place to ask. He sighed and turned back to his bike. "Well, thanks."
Duo smiled again, seemingly back to the enthusiastic youth that Hiirou had met almost twenty minutes ago, but there was still something off about him, a hard edge to his eyes. "Sure thing. Bring that bike by sometime. I've got a few hard-to-come-by parts lying around."
The Japanese boy nodded and pulled out of the parking lot. For the first time since he'd left school, he found himself watching someone in his rear- view mirror the whole way up the street.
0335EST21Oct04