Chapter One: Providence
Author's Note: This is something of my attempt at a humorous but ultimately plotful AU. Plotful is not something I often attempt...nor is humor. Um...there aren't any particular pairings in this (not planned, at least), but it's never a good sign when two characters whom I fancy together meet within the first chapter. Oh, and Axel fans: I'm not cutting him out at all. He's coming soon! Fate just intends a more, uh, 'meaningful' meeting between him and Roxas...yeah, that's it. Heh.
"Roxas, honey, did you make sure to check your tires for a flat?"
"Yes, mom," the boy replied dutifully, snatching a granola bar off the counter and stuffing it in his pocket.
"Do you have all your school things?"
"Yes, mom."
"You aren't wearing those pants, are you? They're five sizes too big!"
"Yes, mom, I am."
"Well, be careful!" his mother shouted, blowing him a kiss as he barreled out the door, backpack slamming against the doorframe and screen door. She sighed; her son was a walking accident. Letting him ride his brand new bike to school on the first day was probably not the best of ideas, but he'd gotten it for his birthday and waited all summer to show it to his friends today; how could she deny him if he was so excited?
With a fond smile, she hoped he'd remembered his helmet.
--
The day started badly for Luxord.
He woke to shouting outside his apartment, as apparently the girl next door was having one of her legendary fights with the landlord. This was a good thirty minutes before his alarm was set to go off, but he couldn't get to sleep, instead sitting in his dingy kitchen playing solitaire until seven o'clock rolled around.
In the shower, he found out (with a loud, dismayed cry) that the hot water wasn't working – again. He vowed to speak with the building janitor about that; it was the third time this week. This meant he had to microwave his coffee (he usually used hot water from the faucet, a coffeemaker being beyond his expenses), which was then foul and tasteless. And it burned him, so he jumped, shouting, and spilled it all over himself. Another ten minutes was wasted changing, and when he had finished the phone rang. He was harassed by 'a friend of an acquaintance whose patience was growing short' for what seemed like an eternity, before the line went dead and he moved, grouchy, into the kitchen.
A glance at the clock showed that he was fifteen minutes late (how had that happened?), so he ended up running down the stairs, coffee-less, tired, cranky, and rushed.
As he reached his car, he was almost surprised it hadn't been hijacked in the night or had its windows bashed in or the tires slit or something, just to put a perfect cap on his morning. He said a silent word of thanks to no one and patted the dashboard with vague fondness.
What Luxord did not know was that the vehicle was required to play a much more important role in ruining his day than a few dents or delays.
--
Roxas sped happily, helmet-less, along the highway. Though it was against the law to ride on the sidewalk, he decided to play it safe (for his mother's sake) because of the lack of head-protection.
Still, he felt like a rebel; he'd gotten away with wearing the pants she'd deemed unsafe; he hadn't, in fact, checked either tire; and he had forsaken the childhood restraint of a helmet, spiked blonde hair rippling in the wind. A certain somebody would definitely be impressed, with the bike and his new style. He'd show her, calling him a momma's boy. Ha!
He grinned to himself, weaving a bit and feeling the on-a-dime turn radius of his new bike. Today was going to be the Best Day of his life. He could feel it.
--
Deciding he shouldn't be driving without some sort of stimulant, Luxord pulled in to a roadside coffee hut and ordered an espresso, double shot. The girl handed him his change and drink cheerfully, wishing him a good day, and he muttered under his breath, "Maybe for you."
He joined the flow of traffic on the freeway, juggling the coffee cup which was burning his palm and the steering wheel, and took a sip.
It was good juice, the stuff from that place. He sighed a little, not at all refreshed but enjoying the taste and thinking maybe he'd been given good luck by the cashier girl's sunny attitude.
--
"Hey, Roxas! Roxas!"
A car horn honked and Roxas glanced up from the sidewalk to see Olette, his friend who'd called him a "momma's boy", passing him in her boyfriend's SUV. She waved frantically as he began to be left behind, and he tried to return the gesture. "See you at school!" he called, but it was lost in the roar of traffic.
They were off the freeway by now, heading down a more residential street toward the school, so Roxas wasn't too worried when the handlebars swerved with only one hand steering them. He grinned, until he felt the front tire give way and slip off the curb, into the street.
Shit.
--
"Damnit!" hissed Luxord as the coffee escaped his grip and exploded all over his lap. He glanced down, wiping at the soggy mess of his slacks, and mentally kissed goodbye to any prospect of a good day.
In that single moment of distraction, several things happened.
-
Roxas wrestled the handlebars, cursing a blue string that would have peeled paint or made his mother stuff his mouth with enough soap to poison a person, as his bike swerved out of the bike lane.
Into traffic.
Holy shit, he thought before a car slammed into him and he didn't think much else.
-
Luxord felt himself jolted forward as he looked up in time to slam on the breaks. A biker had just shot out in front of him, out of the blue.
"Holy mother of –!" he began, throwing open the door and rushing around to the front of the car.
"Ow, shit, fucking shit, motherfucker…" said the biker.
Luxord's first thought was, Thank God, he's alive!
His second was, What a dirty mouth.
"Are you okay?" asked Luxord, kneeling next to his victim, who was, on second glance, a kid.
"You hit me, you bastard! What do you think?" he snapped, holding his side.
"Here," Luxord said shakily, helping the boy to stand. "I'll drive you to the hospital. Oh, God…"
There wasn't any blood anywhere, so Roxas was feeling alright (with the exception of the stabbing pain in his ribcage)…until he looked over and saw the real carnage.
Still disoriented from his momentary unconsciousness, it didn't really settle in what the sight was, at first. Then it struck him: yellow and black, metal and rubber. "Roxas" printed in now-scratched, silver letters. Twisted and lumpy.
"Oh, holy fuck, my bike!" shrieked Roxas, trying to break away from Luxord's grasp to run to his prize possession, which was now a very sad pile of spokes and bent steel on the sidewalk. Whoa, he really hit me – it flew a long way!
"Don't, you'll hurt yourself more," Luxord urged. "I'll pay for your bike. Just let me take you to the hospital."
"No way, man! Look at – shit, just look at it!"
Luxord would rather not. It looked like it was worth more than a year's worth of rent on his apartment. "You need a doctor," he said firmly, quelling the hysteria that was screaming inside of him, Oh-God-I-hit-a-kid-oh-God-oh-God-oh-my-fucking-God-mother-of-sweet-holy-fucking-shit-I-hit-a-kid! Roxas limply gave up resistance and allowed himself to be ushered into the front passenger seat, still holding his side.
On the driver's side, Luxord climbed in, took a shaky breath, and sped off in what he hoped was the direction of the hospital.