Heyo, folks. I'm getting my skills together and I want to try a longer-chapter, less-chapter fic. This is actually being written for a contest on another site, and the challenge is to put the Gundam boys in an AU fic where they enter the Olympics. Whoo for AU. I've never tried it before.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters, nor Gundam Wing, nor anything else related to the company or its affiliates. Hell, I'm a college student, I own hardly anything. If you send me an email telling me you're going to sue me, it will make my day. :) Also, this contains lots and lots of man sex, so if that stuff bothers, you, GEET OUT. It's rated M for a reason - also there's some bad language (gasp) and some other things that might make you cry if your poor virgin mind can't handle them.
OTHER NON-SARCASTIC DISCLAIMER: This is an Alternate Universe fic. Meaning that the Gundam Wing universe DOES NOT exist as it does in the manga and anime! In this fiction the boys and other characters live here on earth, in present-day. Heero is from Canada, though he has Japanese parentage. Duo is a hang loose Californian like me. Heero is slightly different from his counterpart in the anime, though not by much, because of various events that haven't happened (the girl and her puppy, 'Perfect Soldier' training, etc etc etc).
THANKYOU: To Misty for betaing, because my love for you is like rain.
FURTHERMORE: I will shut up now and let you read.
It was twenty minutes into the press conference on the day before the Olympic opening ceremony. The entire city was afire, awaiting with bated breath the atheletes that promised to make this year's Olympics the best ever. Crowds of women and men thronged the area, a mass of bodies separated only by a thin strip of red carpet and two velvet-lined dividing ropes, leading up to the front door of the Chateau Noir, the best hotel the city had to offer.
People screamed, cameras flashed as car after car pulled up to the hotel and various atheletes, accompanied only by one bodyguard and their personal coach as per regulation, made their way down the carpet and into the hotel, to the fifth floor conference hall where the event was to take place.
I turned away from the car window and looked at the old man beside me, his turned-down mustache twirled between pondering fingers. "J, those people are rabid," I said, a dour expression on my face.
"You'll be great, Yuy. Keep your cool. They just want a piece of you."
I was always cool. I was always calm and collected. I returned to staring out the window, half fearful and half impatient, but none of it showing. "I just came here to board. I didn't think it would be so…crowded.
"You're professional now, Heero. Just enjoy it." This was Hilde from my left, her so-black-it-was-almost-blue hair getting longer every week. I wondered if she'd had extensions. She had it pulled up in a smart ponytail, her blue eyes large and sparkling. I'd forgotten she'd been in the car, she had been so quiet. But that was Hilde: mostly silent, always thinking, and always happy. But she was one of the only people to care about my existence for the last three years…
"They're just your fans. You think this is bad, try starring in a movie. The paparazzi would tear you apart. And look at you, all made up in sponsor's clothing. Don't tell me you're not enjoying this attention." By sponsor's clothing, I assumed J was referring to the thousand dollar jeans-and-silk-shirt set I had on. Twenty-six clothing companies had all offered various samples of items to me for free: official sponsorship in the Olympics of any athelete was strictly prohibited, but that didn't stop them from sending me things and hoping I'd wear their merchandise. But of course, I had a press manager now to manage that sort of thing. Just another perk to being a professional snowboarder.
I sighed and blew out a petulant, short breath. My bangs fluttered.
I never enjoyed attention.
The car stopped.
Once inside and through the metal detectors at the door, we were surrounded in an enclosed room, monitored with fourty-nine security cameras and numerous bodyguard staff. All around I could hear athletes, like myself, drawling in loud voices to eager camerawomen, or signing deals, or giving statements about their intentions during the Winter Games.
Nobody paid attention to me, at least not at first. Maybe this was because I kept my head mostly down and lowered my shoulders, letting J and Hilde do all the talking. People eventually realized that oh, that's Heero Yuy, the hotshot snowboarder, and tried to turn their questions to me. "Do you have any loved ones in the audience cheering you on?" One man asked, a smile on his face. I paused to look at him: balding, middle-aged. Sickening. What did he think he knew about me? Nothing.
This sudden spasm of brutality coming from my mind was odd. I'd never thought like that before about someone, but suddenly, I was angry. And in the back of my mind, her face was there...accusing, impassive, and still beautiful despite everything.
"No," I said coldly, and elbowed through the crowd, bile rising in my throat. I hate crowds, I hate crowds, I hate crowds…
I'd never gotten like this before. Not after winning regionals, not after entering the prelims for the Alpine International, one of the most prestigious competitions out there, and never in front of someone. Not even after the Whistler Championship had I been so crowd-shy, so revolted by being around so many people. When I got to the bathroom, I was glad to find it empty.
I snatched a towel out of the neatly folded pile, thrust it under the faucet and splashed some ice-cold water onto my face, wiping down my forehead even though I wasn't sweating. Snap out of it, Yuy. I prayed for the press conference to be over soon. How long had it been? Half an hour? Longer?
The meeting was supposed to last until five PM. A quick glance at the bathroom clock told me it was almost four. That meant I had an hour to kill.
The stalls in this bathroom were immaculate, perfectly arranged down the row. I chose the second to last one, slipping inside it and locking the door behind me before taking a seat on the toilet and leaning against the side of the stall. Okay. I can do this. I just need to relax a little… meditate, or something.
I closed my eyes and focused on breathing deep, keeping myself controlled. It felt like I might explode, all this pressure. Everything that had been happening… Relena… my 'parents'… God, and all at once. Relena's smile, her image appeared and I squashed it down, shoved her face away where it couldn't be seen again and where it would stop following me into my dreams.
I wasn't aware that I fell asleep. But I must have, because the next thing I knew, I smelled smoke.
I awoke with a twist of my neck, and immediately gave a sharp intake of breath: I had a horrible crick from leaning against the side of the stall. But I guess I'd deserved that. Irritated, I pushed out the stall door, and nearly tripped over someone's legs. "Hey, easy there," the person said, and I turned to give them a glare, but never got the chance.
He was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Model? Actor? No, to see the easy muscles he had on him, he was definitely an athelete, like me. But what kind? His hair was very long, a mix between gold and brown, and pulled back into a braid. It didn't look weird, though. On any normal person the hairstyle might have looked out of place, but not on him.
He was lanky, with very long legs, both of which were splayed out on the bathroom floor. He was in a sitting position against the wall, wearing jeans that were ripped at the knees and a t-shirt with the logo of some foreign band plastered on the front. A cigarette was held demurely between two fingers, a thin line of smoke trailing up to where it billowed around the ceiling. So that's where the smoke was coming from.
"You okay? I was beginning to think you were dead or something," he said, then laughed. It was godlike. "I mean, I came in here about fifteen minutes ago for a quick smoke, and you were just lyin' in the stall, but I figured you'd had it and I wasn't going to wake you up." The laugh receded to a grin. "Training too hard?"
How did he know I was an athelete? Maybe surprise showed on my face, because he waved his free hand dismissively: "You look like a competitor. Hmm, what's your name?"
"Yuy," I said, still leaning against the stall door. "Heero Yuy."
"Hey, I know that name. You were on Ten Most Successful, weren't you? Snowboard cross, right?"
I nodded, sighing inwardly. That stupid article had been Hilde's idea. She'd let the magazine do an entire write-up on my athletic history, including all of the heartbreaking trauma along the way. I knew what was coming next… the 'sympathy' look. When people spoke to me, if they'd read the article, they always remembered what it had said: recently Mr. Yuy lost both his parents in an accident. Despite this tragedy, he intends to compete in this year's Winter Olympics; see him there!
The look formed, sure enough. "Hey, man. Sorry about what happened to—"
"Yeah, my parents, everyone says that. It wasn't a big deal," I replied nonchalantly.
The man paused, then laughed bitterly. "I'm sorry, it kinda sucks when people sympathize with you, doesn't it? I mean, some people like that, but I can't stand it when they tell me that they're so sorry and they don't know what the fuck they're talking about." He looked up, eyes serious. I was slightly taken aback by the change of mood. "But enough about that. I guess I should tell you, I'm Duo Maxwell. American Ski Team. So we'll be seeing each other."
I watched him as he turned to the cigarette, taking another short drag. Smoking in the bathrooms here was against the rules, but I wasn't about to tell him that. Besides, if it wasn't for Duo's smoking, I might not have woken up in time for the end—oh, the end of the press conference! Shit!
"What time is it?"
He looked at his watch. It was a beaten up, old model."Eh, five 'till."
"I'm not going out there," I said curtly, "Until that thing's over." And then I sat down next to him, stretching my legs out alongside his. He offered me the pack of cigarettes, and I shook my head. The pack disappeared into the pocket of his worn jeans, and then he examined me very conspicuously. I tried not to wonder why he was looking at me that way, and instead focused on my fingernails for a few quiet moments.
"So, you've got one of those managers."
"Hm?" I asked, looking up quizzically.
"The press managers who slap all these labels on you. Dress you up like a doll so the companies will discreetly pay them a couple thou each. I've been there, done that, and I feel for you." He gave another one of those common grins which was nonetheless spectacular, and I shrugged, suddenly self-conscious.
"Though they certainly, ah, picked a good candidate with you," he added. I nodded, still not taking my eyes off Duo. It was the braid that fascinated me, I decided. Definitely the braid. How did one get hair like that?
Suddenly the door whisked open, and there was a fat, graying old man in a suit in the doorway with an irritated expression on his face. Whoops. I knew that man; it was J. With a start I realized that he'd probably have been searching for me all this time. "So this is where you are, Heero! I finally find you and you're hiding out in the bathroom with—" he sniffed cautiously: "It smells disgusting in here."
"Sorry," Duo said, and snuffed his cigarette between two fingers, tossing it into the trash can next to him. "You won't tell on me, will you?" he asked me, looking up at me with very blue, very pleading eyes, a wry smile teasing his lips. Almost seductive. I was staring, I realized, and blinked myself back to the present: "Um. No." I could have kicked myself. How articulate of you. "—and we'll grab the car and pick you up around front," J was finishing, but I couldn't hear him.
J shut the door again with one last irate glance in my direction, and I stood sheepishly. "I'd better go," I apologized, and he nodded. "Right. See you round, Heero. Don't work yourself too hard. Go out to a club or something, enjoy yourself a little. You made it this far, right?"
I considered what he'd said all the way out of the conference room front entrance, down the elevator, and out the side door of the hotel to the black car that was waiting for me in the drive-up area. I thought about Duo's words as I shed my clothes in my hotel room on the other side of town, and got into the shower, and stood under the hot spray, trying to let the tension in my body release itself without hurting anyone, as it had been threatening to do lately. And all the while I pictured his face. He'd been the first person I'd met in almost a year who hadn't called me Mr. Yuy or been working with me for the Olympics' sake. He'd called me Heero, like a friend, like someone who knew me well.
I didn't even know anything about him. Just his name. Duo Maxwell.
I thought about his words as I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist, going to the closet and peering in. I picked out a hanger with a pair of leather pants attached; the pants themselves were so tight I wondered if they'd fit me at all.
I looked at the material thoughtfully, draping it over both arms. I looked at my cell phone lying on the bed. I looked at the handle of the door, and I thought about his words.
Ten minutes later I stepped into a cab, heading for club Charisma.
The lights were always what entranced me. As I entered, it was pounding music, some kind of techno trance. I'd heard that the place was good, but I didn't go to clubs very often. Not as much as I should have. And when I did go, it was usually with someone; never by myself before.
The music only got louder. Not so loud that I couldn't hear myself talk if I'd wanted to, but still there, still encouraging. And I was like a moth, the way I was drawn to those lights. Everything in the club was red. Bright, crimson lights, a black-and-red floor, and what seemed to be almost pillars of flickering fire off to the sides. There were a couple of cages off to the side where dancers of both the male and female persuasion were moving within, nothing more than silhouettes against a rapidly changing background. The scene was adrenaline-inducing, and I couldn't help feeling excited, even if I had sworn to myself that this was to be a relaxing evening.
That is, until I saw the poster.
"Citius, Altius, Fortius!" proclaimed the slogan, below five interlocking rings. What a very familiar sight, and yet it made me want to run up and tear the thing down. I hoped nobody had recognized me: I didn't want any more throngs of fans today. I didn't want to have to deal with people asking me right now, interrogating, questioning, screaming my name…
Kit was the first one I saw. Kit Lorenza, a Spanish in-line skater. She was dressed in a leather skirt that came up to just there and a rather low cut top, dancing with someone who I recognized as Stefan Gnoscio, Italian lugeman. Fantastic. How many atheletes were here that I didn't recognize, and how many of them knew me by face?
I slipped up to the bar and discreetly ordered a drink. The tender gave me a double look, but handed me the glass without any remark and took payment as he would for anyone else. For that, at least, I was grateful.
I listened to the music, tried to relax, and found that I was just becoming more and more strung out. The opening ceremony's tomorrow. You should be in bed; this is stupid. Why the hell did you listen to someone you didn't even know? Right, 'go out and have some fun'. What a crazy idea. I rubbed my forehead tiredly.
Someone's hand came down on his shoulder and a figure slipped into the seat next to me. "Heero! You look homicidal," Duo said as he plucked the glass from between my hands. There was a thin hairline fracture no more than an inch long in the glass. Had I really been staring at it with that much intensity, squeezing it that tightly? I stared up at him wonderingly: "Duo? What are you doing here?"
"Following my own advice. Are you here alone?"
"…Yes," I said, unable to take my eyes away. He was wearing tight black denim and a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned to reveal smooth muscle underneath, as well as slightly defined abs. The mix of gold hair on honey-bronze skin against white was nearly dizzying. I swallowed and looked up at his face, trying not to focus on the heat that seemed to be building in my chest, and instead concentrated on his eyes.
"Come sit with us then. Bring your drink—you look good." He pulled me along behind him, giving me an encouraging wink as he turned. The tip of his braid whisked around just slightly as he turned his head. I wanted to touch it while he was looking ahead, but couldn't quite bring myself to do it. He brought me to a booth on the opposite side of the main dancefloor, ushering me into a seat before I could get my hazy thoughts around the present.
"Duo! Thought you were just running off and leaving us there for a second—oh, who's this?" The voice was a lighter tone, though still masculine, and it belonged to a lithe blonde with bright eyes and a pleasant smile. Next to him was a brunette with longish bangs swept to the side and dark green, sharp eyes. Those eyes could cut. To the far right was a third man, his straight, glossy black hair falling to just below his chin, his dark eyes upswept and exotic, with folded arms.
"Heero Yuy, snowboarder. Meet Quatre Winner, luge, and Trowa Barton, speed skater. Wufei Chang and I are skiers." He beamed at me, and so did all the others, save for Trowa, who merely whispered something to Quatre. Whatever it was, it made the blonde man flush pink for a moment. All four of them looked like models. I felt like a nobody sitting next to them.
"Er, hey," I said lamely, giving as much a smile as I could muster. Well, this was awkward. They all knew each other and I was the newcomer.
This seemed to be enough though, because after a moment I was carried into conversation between the four and found myself actually replying to things they asked me. Where was I from? Canada. Was I Japanese? No. Japanese parentage, but no citizenship. Did I have people with me- siblings, parents? No, nobody. How long had I been boarding? Since I could remember.
I was responding. I was carrying on a conversation without hesitation. Maybe it was the lights that were doing it, or the alcohol's calming effects, but I found myself drawing out of the shell I normally put up and actually laughing, smiling.
Duo looked ethereal in the lights of the club.
As soon as I thought this, I mentally kicked myself. Relena! What about Relena? You're not allowed to think things like that… you can't let yourself think that way…
"Get up for a sec, Heero, Will you?" Duo was asking me, starting me out of my reverie. I scooted out of the booth and let Quatre and Trowa out, then scooted back in, now sandwiched between Duo and Wufei. As Duo and Wufei talked about the necessary protocol for the Ceremony tomorrow, I looked at Duo, watched how his face changed when emotion flickered across it. When he was happy, his eyes got a little wider and his forehead creased. When something puzzled him, his brows came lower and his mouth made a little pouty sort of twist.
Wufei suddenly pointed across me out to the dance floor. "Aren't they just getting along well?" he asked, a slight smirk in his tone. I followed his line of sight to where Quatre and Trowa were dancing, pressed together on the dancefloor, Trowa's arms around Quatre's hips and his lips pressed to the blonde's ear, whispering things to him as the track changed from a major to minor chord. The pulsing picked up in speed and they moved faster to the rhythm, gyrating as if their bodies cleaved together naturally.
"They look sexy together. I'm not complaining," Duo said, stretching.
"You're a pervert," Wufei said, rolling his eyes.
"Nope, just a Californian. We're free-spirited. Besides, I don't see you getting out there with anybody. Go on, Chinaman, make me proud."
Wufei cleared his throat, and his barely detectable Chinese accent thickened a little as he looked out at the couple. "Not my style." But his facial expression said otherwise. It was almost wistful.
Duo coughed something that sounded like repression and Wufei gave him a sharp kick under the table. "American bastard. You have no respect," he said in a hard voice. His face then, so fired up and his eyes wide, was just so funny that I couldn't help bursting out into laughter. Duo gave me a surprised look, and then began laughing too. Wufei's tough face melted a moment later and he grinned along with us.
There I was, having a laugh with two guys I hardly knew. Maybe there was something in my drink. Or maybe you're just becoming human again, my conscience told me. I hadn't laughed since the accident. It felt good to laugh; I'd forgotten that.
Stefano Gnoscio went out the door past us, clearly beat. And it was only eight fifty. Kit Lorenza was left behind, and it looked as if she were going to leave the dance floor.
Wufei hopped up and nearly tripped over himself climbing out of the booth. "Ex-cuse me, but I feel I shall leave you two alone now," he said, then made a beeline straight for her. Whatever he said to her, it worked, because her small, dark eyes lit up and she almost floated into his arms. He took her out to the floor and they, too, began to dance a moment later, their eyes focused on each other.
"You really think he's gay?" I asked Duo.
"Nah. I used to be part of a foreign exchange student program when I was younger, and I went to China. That's where I met Wufei… I've known him a while and we've been skating together and training, so I like to kid him about that sort of thing. He knows I'm just teasing him." He smiled at me. "Actually, he's got a girlfriend back home, I think. He's a cold bastard but the ladies love it over there for some reason."
I nodded, watching him and Kit for a moment before my eyes drifted back to Quatre and Trowa, who were still cleaved, and then back to Duo. Something about his eyes… A few tendrils were escaping from his braid and framing his face, gold-red in the light.
"Do you have one?"
"Do I…" I repeated, my memory hazy. But then I recalled what he'd just said: "A girlfriend? Well… yeah, kinda," I said. I looked off towards the other side of the club, my gaze distant and vacant. I downed the rest of my drink under Duo's calm, unjudging eye. "Did she come?" he asked me.
"Well, she…" I set the glass down and stared at the light warping on its surface. "Who am I kidding?" I said with a sigh. "I don't have a girlfriend. I did. She left me a couple of weeks ago."
He winced. "Ouch. Tough, man."
My face didn't change."She had...reasons." Now what had she said that one time?
"Heero, it's not working," she'd told me. I'd been reading the paper, drinking coffee, already dressed in my boarding clothes and prepared to meet J at the slopes in an hour for a training session. I'd looked up, not sure what she was talking about at first.
"What? Something wrong with the sink?"
"No!" she'd said with vehemence. "The relationship. You can't feel, you can't even love yourself or take care of yourself emotionally for Christ's sake, how do you expect to take care of me? I don't even know you, Heero. I don't know anything about you, and we've been living together for a year now. A year. Does that mean anything to you?"
"Relena, what are you talking about? Just tell me what you want me to do!"
"I don't –want- anything from you, Heero. I want you to accept that you can't love me, and I'm leaving you, because you're a wreck. I don't even know how to help you because I don't know what's wrong with you."
She was the first person to hurt me. After that I closed up and there was no redeeming me.
"Chicks always say that," Duo said. "They always pretend like they're the victim. It's how they justify the means. At least guys are up front about that kind of thing." He closed his eyes and signaled down the waiter, ordering another drink. "Just go with it, is what I say. Shit happens." He gave my shoulder a friendly pat, looking once more to the dancefloor. Quatre and Trowa had disappeared, but Wufei and Kit were still there, closer than ever, and one of his hands had come around to cup her rear as they moved.
Suddenly I felt that same bile feeling returning, like earlier in the day. "It's not that," I said. "I'm sorry, I just don't…" I looked at his face: perfect features turned down in sadness. Sadness… for me?
"I don't need you sympathizing over me," I finished. He immediately shook his head. "I'm not sympathizing. I'm empathizing. There's a difference. At least this girl—"
"Relena," I interrupted, and he nodded. "This Relena, at least she didn't just up and leave in the middle of the night. Was she a businesswoman?"
"No," I said. "Teacher."
"See? Now my girl, she was a public-relations type. Ruthless. She left when I fell asleep one night and the bitch didn't give so much as a hey-ho. She was sleeping around behind my back, I knew, but it doesn't matter anymore. I've been scorned, as they say." He lifted his brows at me. "I'm a ver-r-ry particular guy. I have a specific type."
"What's that?"
"Mm, I don't know. Usually when I meet someone, I can kinda tell by the vibe they give off. It's just a… feeling I get. I don't know how to explain it, really." He shrugged. "What about you?"
And I, for a second, was tempted not to speak at all. That had been my agenda for the last few months. But part of me, something deep down, wanted to be paid attention to, and craved the kind of talk that Duo was giving me. Not 'I'm so sorry for your loss' talk or 'Mr. Yuy, let's talk about your assets' talk. I wanted to tell Duo things that I usually never bothered to tell people.
"Someone who doesn't pressure me," I said quietly, though not so quietly that I wasn't heard over the music. "Someone who doesn't expect things from me."
"Yeah, that makes sense," Duo agreed, and we both sat there in silence, watching Wufei and Kit together and our shoulders touching all the way to the elbow. My glass was empty, and I looked at it, then checked the time on my cell phone.
"God! It's one o'clock!" I said. "The ceremony tomorrow…"
"Yeah, that's true, we've got to rehearse again, don't we?" Duo said glumly. I sighed. "I've got to go. My assistant, she's been like a sister to me, and she'll be up all night if I don't check in with her." The screen on my cell phone read thirteen missed calls: Hilde Cell.
"All-right. I'll see you tomorrow, then, at the ceremony rehearsal."
"…Yeah," I said after a moment. See you tomorrow. Someone was looking forward to seeing me. As innocuous and normal as that was, and as often as people said it every day, it held some kind of weight for me.
As I waited for a cab outside, I looked up towards the sky. It was beginning to snow. But at the same time, it felt as if my shell had cracked, like melting ice.
Just a tiny bit.