Faulty Angels

Chapter 1: Pray

I do not own Gundam Wing or Sailor Moon

Warning: As you read it may seem confusing, because the timeline often switches a bit with each chapter. Just work with me, kay?

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"Do the right thing. It will gratify some people and astonish the rest." --Mark Twain Samuel Langhornne Clemens (1835-1910)

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195 A.C.

Emotions. They were powerful, and destructive, and if God hadn't made them so unbelievably fun, then they were not of much use to human beings on the whole - hell, human beings probably wouldn't be considered human at all. They'd probably have died off early on in their stages of development, at any rate...

In psychology and common use, emotion is the language of a person's mental state of being, normally based in or tied to the person's internal (physical) and external (social) sensory feeling. Love and hate, courage and fear, joy and sadness, pleasure and repulsion - these individual sensations can all be described in both psychological and physiological terms. They were a part of human beings, a part of being alive, and some may even think that it was a part of your soul - because all your soul really is, is you, a living breathing soul.

They were puzzling creatures, these emotions of the human psych, infuriating and with minds of their own. They react on their own accord, and there was simply no way anyone could help it.

But no one had told him how much they hurt. He, unfortunately, had to learn that on his own and, as always, the hard way.

It was the weight of them, these emotions, and they held him down so much like gravity, working against him. But it had been too late, hadn't it? He was already in, deep. Too deep.

And that was why... that was why he had to be careful with her.

"Tsyu..kai...noe?" The word danced around the tip of his tongue before it was left to linger in the air, painfully awkward. And his pronunciation, he knew, was absolutely terrible. It made his jaw clench, shudder, and he inwardly winced. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she did not seem pleased with his attempt - not offended, no, but she looked as though there seemed to be no hope of him ever accurately pronouncing her surname. And she had every right to think as such, he was sure. After all, he had tried to pronounce her surname five times already. It was all from the look in her eyes.

And those eyes...

They surely were something, those bright royal blue eyes. Or was it really blue? He couldn't tell. The thing about her eyes was that it reminded him of the ocean, and in the strangest way, too. They seemed to churn with life, like within the very iris of her eyes it was almost as though a sea, caught in the heat of a gray storm, was undulating and ever altering. They seemed to change, to churn with hues of blues like the coming of a typhoon. He didn't know what to make of it. It was haunting.

She was new, fresh - a breath of fresh air, he would think, considering the people he'd had to deal with. She seemed different, ethereal almost, transparent. But she didn't seem the anti-social type, nor diffident, at the very least. There was something humbling about her, something that could quite possibly disarm even those on the highest alert, something that made he himself feel... normal might have been the word. He wasn't quite sure, but he knew that it felt good.

"Well, err...Miss Tsyukainoe...the name's Duo Maxwell," he introduced none too formally, erecting his thumb pointedly upon himself in disarming emphasis. He resisted the urge to give the beautiful young woman his trademark smirk and wink, flirtatious in its innuendo, early on deciding against it. Far too much people were around, he supposed. Or maybe he just didn't want to rush into things with this girl. For some reason he didn't want her to think of him as some charismatic modern-day Casanova. The first impression he would leave with her mattered to him, and he didn't really care why it did so. Or knew, for that matter.

"Ano... you can just call me Usagi," she responded, her voice soft-spoken and unassuming, and yet altogether quietly cheerful. He had imagined her a more boisterous attitude, but he supposed she was simply wary of him, a mere campus host, to appear utterly open. He didn't think it strange that her English was perfect, smooth and precise. No, it didn't seem too important at the time, much less suspicious.

'Greeaat,' was his first impression, 'another name I'll never pronounce...just add that down to the other ten thousand.' He smiled sheepishly, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that he was obviously lost in pronunciation.

Usagi grinned, amused, the corners of her lips never quite reaching her eyes, and yet still leaving a lovely affect. It seemed almost hollow. Or did it? Again, another thing he couldn't tell about her. All he knew was that she didn't look bad with it. In fact, he imagined that she'd make the "impassive anti-socialist" look appear very fetching. If she were ever to try it, of course.

"I believe the English translation is...rabbit?" Usagi giggled, but he had mistook it for peals of bells. Her voice was silvery.

Now why didn't he believe that cutesy unassuming facade? For some reason he knew very well that she knew her name was translated into rabbit in his native tongue, and really didn't need to pause in thought. Oh well. That didn't seem too important either.

Besides, he wasn't the perceptive one. Trowa was. Duo'd leave the awkward scrutinizing to the ever-observant Silencer himself.

Duo just hoped that the Silencer wouldn't have to meet Tsukino Usagi.

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Faulty Angels

Chapter 2: Like Any Ordinary Day

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"Life is tragic simply because the earth turns and the sun inexorably rises and sets, and one day, for each of us, the sun will go down for the very last time." --James A. Baldwin

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Today wasn't really such an important day - it harbored no importance. Today was a just another Sunday, like any other ordinary day.

But, Quatre supposed, it was a good day. Not his good day. He wasn't sure what to make of today, his day. But it was certainly a good day for the world. The world would be better off with him gone, after all.

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"Tsu...Tsukino?"

She was new, wasn't she? She was a new student, and she had to go through her first day in school having to see him die.

She stared at him blankly, the layers of shadow shifting through her face making her expression seem unfathomable. She did not answer him, and the silence lingered uncomfortably, but Quatre knew it was her. She had those hauntingly deep, deep blue eyes—eyes that were impossible to forget. One look into those eyes, taking in the stunning coloration, and she'd seem far from just a face in the crowd—something, well...ethereal...and yet at the same instant strangely alluring.

Her eyes glowed like heated coals in the dark, gazing not at him, but directly into him. They smoldered with the sense of reproach, full of sympathy—sympathy that, Quatre realized, was directed towards him.

He bowed his head in shame, and the tears that had been teeming to the brim was now overflowing and rolling down his face, the feeling of disgrace added to his current self-loathing. In his left hand was his barreta, something he became so accustomed to having, feeling his fingers close around the sleek, cold metal handle that protected the vial of deadly steel bullets.

He didn't notice her walk up to him, and it was only when she took his hand did he jolt out of his reverie of personal demons and look up at her. She pried the cold weapon out of the comforts of his grip with effortless care, her movements gentle and disarming. When the steel contraption fell to the floor with an unnoticed clang, she did not let go, and instead paused, staring at his palm as though noticing something on it for the first time.

"Why does your hand bleed?" She asked, soft-spoken, her silvery voice spilling forth the tones of subtle and genuine interest. She looked up at him questionably, as if looking at his face would provide an answer, but he could only return the gesture with horrified shock. The tip of her pale fingers gingerly traced the colored lines over his callused palm, as though she was touching and seeing the hand of a murderer for the first time and was now lost in her childlike, unassuming curiosity.

Quatre's eyes had unknowingly widened at her words, and without thinking he tried to pull his hand away from hers, which seemed to close its lengthy fingers around his palm like a tight, velvety glove. "You bleed, but the blood is not yours. It reeks with the stench of misery from the innocent and evil alike, your enemies and their wives and their children…" She continued, as if in thought, bringing up his rough hands to examine it impassively.

Quatre tried in vain to move away. Her words stung with the poison of truth. It wasn't long before he became frustrated by the fact that she held him down. Let me go or… Quatre's words choked before they even left his throat, lingering in his thoughts before disappearing into nothing. He found himself helplessly blushing.

The hoary-haired girl had brought his hands to her lips and gently smoothed its fingertips against them. And, for a moment, as though within a breathless trance, Quatre was under the impression that he had just touched the feathers of an angel's wings. It felt at though she were kissing the blood away.

Pressing them to her lips one last time, and then letting go as Quatre found himself craving for her touch in sulky, miserable silence, she brought her eyes up to look into his. He could only look on helplessly into hers. But her eyes bore into him like an enflamed blade, effortlessly piercing flesh, two deep pools of fathomless cobalt-blue flames. Her gaze burned through his flesh, blood, and bones until, finally, with one last agonizing thrust forward they reached directly into his soul, prying into his secretive demons.

It was so personal, so covertly hidden under the safety mechanism that was his underestimated youth and innocent schoolboy veneer.

But she seemed to break his defenses with so little effort, staring into them as though they were pages of an open book that seemed to be of no real significance, poorly written in blood—as though his pain, his sufferings, his guilt, and the sad life that he lived overall was a silly excuse to kill himself, giving him the ugly feeling that he seemed to be crying over spilled milk...

…As though it was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to what she had endured.

And what had she endured to make her look as such? Quatre wondered this knowing that ultimately he may never receive the answer - one that was to the right amount of detail to satisfy him, at the very least.

"That's okay, Winner-san..." As if she had never known a time of darkness, or of unhappiness, a dazzling smile materialized upon her face, one that made him feel petty before someone so happily beautiful. "…I'm a murderer, too."

And, just like that, she forgave him—she forgave him for attempting suicide, as though she had every right to do so.

Placing a tender, alabaster-pale hand over his damp shoulder, she led him away—away to where, exactly, Quatre wasn't sure. Quatre didn't care. He had the strangest feeling that he was being judged before an angel and, deeming him forgivable, was now leading him into some sort of safe haven. It was silly really, but the feeling wouldn't go away.

She was drawing him away from the dark room, and toward the array of light emanating from the wide open doorframe of the classroom. For some reason, he had the feeling he was walking straight into something of a heaven. Which was a strange idea, because that was definitely the one place Quatre was sure to never gain entrance to. It was only the prospect of eternal blood-red flames for this young Winner to broil in.

It made him wonder why he wanted to die in the first place.

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Faulty Angel

Chapter 3: Like the Real Thing

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"The only creatures that are evolved enough to convey pure love are dogs and infants." --Johnny Depp

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An infinite blue sky, a public recreational area littered with plant life, buildings that soured into the air as though reaching for the clouds, and a whole lot of the damned walked by upon perfectly leveled causeways. Cars sped by as though harboring a secret right to be reckless, and the flaunting breeze mingled with sweet pine and bitter city air.

She felt as though time moved on without her, tired of her lack of punctuality—and, after all, punctuality related well with time. She did not change. In fact she did not do anything for quite a while, only watching on as her friends matured to bigger and better things… things, apparently, more important than her. Everyone else succeeded in their dreams almost immediately after Galaxia's end, everyone but her, of course. She was always behind, always left behind.

Her friends seemed to rise higher and higher, surpassing all aspects, and as they grew higher she was slipping farther, shrinking away in the distance as they rocketed pass. And what was more disturbing was that she didn't even age. She should've been happy for her friends, and in a sense she was. She always was, for it was what was expected of her, even something in her nature. But there was always that tight, ugly feeling in her chest that felt very much like isolation, and a flurrying mix of other sentiments Usagi hated enduring…

Minako Aino had moved on as a supermodel actress, Rei Hino a pop-star idealist, Makoto Kino a legendary chef in both the colonies and earth, Ami Mizuno the Nobel-prize-winning cancer-curing doctor alongside mentor Setsuna Meioh, Haruka Tenoe the world-class racecar driver, Michiru the loveable instrumentalist, and even little Hotaru who wrote bestselling books on the structure of death and war and everything anarchy—which was both terrifying and impressive considering she was only fourteen. And Usagi Tsukino was but their average untalented friend, a girl who in a near-impossible stroke of luck happened to know every one of these especially famous people. Ironic how she was destined to be the queen of the universe, someone that held an almost-forced and drastic burden upon her shoulders, and yet she was currently nothing but a petty confidence for a supposedly more important group.

Usagi kept herself occupied with a sudden interest in the flowerbeds that scattered across the park, an unidentifiable smile lingering at the corner of her lips. She felt a little disappointed after a moment, the impending smile fading sharply as she realized that they were artificial. Everything was artificial in Colony L2, it seemed. The people, the rain, the flowers, even the wind…

She hadn't bothered to dress modestly on such a hot day, wearing a candy-red spaghetti-strapped dress that pleated at the thigh-length skirt, a thin ivory puffy-sleeved blouse under said dress, beach sandals tucked over her feet, and a clean petunia-festooned straw hat over her blonde head and a tight fishbone braid trailing to the small of her back.

Usagi sighed dramatically, and decided to pick at an artificial dandelion. The wind was getting much more stubborn, she noted, fastening one hand over her hat as the breeze whipped her hair across the air with gusto. Why had they even installed a synthetic weather system in such a tedious place was beyond her knowledge. It was so pointless, and half the time the weather was annoying anyway. The colonies were like some travesty of the earth, a vain imitation of the real thing. They tried too hard, Usagi decided with faint irritation…

Something wet and very warm started at her chin, and then trailed up and down her cheek frenziedly. "Ewheww! Apollo!" Nearly consuming her sight she was met with a large, pink snout. She gasped, "Bad dog!"

A pair of huge, blue eyes stared at her with almost hysterical enthusiasm against a shaggy coat of golden fur. Apollo's eyes shimmered with that unnatural twinkle that dogs seemed to always have, the irresistible poor-vulnerable puppy-dog look. Usagi pursed her lips, "Eh, I could never stay mad at you." She pouted at the dog, who whimpered piteously as he mistook her expression for anger. She cupped her hands under his snout and gently forced him to stare at her, grinning, and scratching his neck. That immediately set him into an overzealous mood, and he leaped back and forth, wagging his tail with delight and barking as if beckoning her to play.

She did not move from her perch on the park bench, not at all enticed by the half-Shiba half-golden retriever's offer. Getting licked in the face by an adorable and yet very large dog always tickled her senses, but it always left a gallon-or-so mess of slobber too soon thereafter. She sighed as the canine bounded off, confidently expecting her to follow. Usagi reluctantly stood from the public seat, but before she could manage a step the familiar rush of wind caught her off guard. Unprepared, her straw-hat danced across the air with a sudden childish mind of its own, as though tempting her to catch it. "No! 'Ruka-chan just bought me that!" She hopped a little foolishly across the field, and every time the hat would come close to her reach it soared high away at the last second, as if mocking her.

Furious, she jumped into the air with a sudden sharp bolt and, finally, caught the stubborn straw-hat trapped in her arms. It was in mid-air when she realized she was soon going to plummet hard onto the ground, and she fell with an instinctive yelp, already her eyes closed and hugging the hat as if for dear life. "Kyaa!" She muffled.

"Look at that—haha—girl!"

"What a strange child…"

"All that for a stupid hat?"

"Pssst. Dude, if you look to your right you could totally see her downstairs…"

Usagi felt the blood teeming through her cheeks, face ready to burst from the blood rushing into her cheeks. She stood up shakily, lengthy fingers still closed around her straw-hat in one hand, smoothing away dirt and grass away from her legs and dress with the other. Plucking at some pine needles that clung to her bangs, she mumbled a flippant death wish and curtly walked towards the other more disserted area of the park. Apollo had run off into that certain area before her; the acre was crowded with wildflowers, and the air was thick with fragrant pollen, half the land eaten up by a colossal lake.

Apollo was seen near the shore of the lake, hopping and barking feverishly at a scuttling freshwater crab. Usagi fastened her hat atop her head until it nearly fell over her eyes, and walked towards her canine friend. The golden-coated dog, upon seeing her, bounded on all fours in her direction. Her immediate thought was to run for it, knowing she would get tackled to the ground if she didn't, but stopped short and braced herself. The things she did for her pets!

A few minutes later, Apollo only dashed passed her without a second backward glance. "Apollo, where are you going," she called after the retriever. Apollo only bolted faster, headed straight out of the park. "Bad dog! Come baaack!" She whined, keeping her hand over her hat as she chased after him.

She caught up with the golden canine just around the corner, almost bumping into Apollo. The dog glanced over his shoulder with a wolfish grin, and Usagi gasped to herself in mild surprise. It seems Apollo made a new friend... she realized inwardly. She grinned cutely, "Hello! I'm Usagi! Who might you be?"

"Trowa Barton."

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Author's Note: There really is no plot, because it isn't even finished. It's an unfinished fic that popped into my head. And then I had a brain fart, which induced my Writer's Block. So yeah, enjoy while you can cuz this may be the last you'll ever see of this...

But right now I'm in a bit of a pickle, (coughmycomputerisbrokenAGAINcough) and I am only able to update on this one because my The Hearts chapters are all in my dead computer and right now I'm using my parent's computer (I'm living with them for the summer, but I have to go home afterwards). So yeah, Gundam Wing! My gawd this is an old anime… as old as Sailor Moon! :D But I love it though because the Gundam Boys remind me of Sailor Scouts on steroids…ahem, I mean boy versions of the sailor scouts…

If you have any questions, or just want to express you're thoughts and/or constructive critique, simply do so in a review! I'd be happy to respond. :D

XOXO,

Moony