This is probably one time in many I wish I would have kept my mouth shut. My nose feels like it's the size of a balloon. A great, huge throbbing balloon. When those guys hit, they certainly don't waste any energy. No, he put everything he had behind that punch. Whether I deserved it or not is pretty irrelevant. But just once, I wish I could do more than only get the better of them with words. Don't get my wrong. I appreciate what Wufei did. I only wish it could have been me.
It isn't that I don't know how to fight. When you live on the street as long as I did, and then later with the Sweepers, you learn how to take care of yourself. It's a bit easier when you're facing an opponent more your size, however. Those guys happened to be two grades ahead of me, and damn near a whole foot taller. They have a lot more muscle packed into their frames. So, I suppose I'll just curse my size and leave it at that. Though I notice, size doesn't seem to be a problem for Heero and Wufei. The Hercules of the Gundam pilots.
Ah, well. All I can do is think that I'll get bigger one of these days. I'll hit my growth spurt and up I'll shoot like the stalk of a plant. After all, these long, skinny legs have to be for something. I mean, for my size, I'm almost all leg. And anyway, I have to be honest with myself. It's not my size that's really bothering me. It's the way Heero always, and now Wufei, seems to be bailing me out, unless I'm in Deathscythe. There, I'm worth my salt. I'm a damn good pilot, and that's more than ego talking.
In an effort to pull myself from my thoughts, I leave Wufei's precious chair and zero in on his bookcase. Those books intrigue me. Despite what the others may think, I like reading. Reading is entering a whole other world, where you can live the characters lives and forget about your own for a while. I even enjoy textbooks to an extent.
Learning is proving something to myself. It's showing myself that I'm worth something, that I'm as smart as the rest of them. I realize it's my fault they don't see that. After all, I play the idiot to keep them, and life, at arms length. Better to be considered stupid than to have them touch too close to the truth. And yet, I'm a hypocrite, because I'm bitter when they don't.
"Make up your mind, eh, fool?" I mutter to myself, running my fingers carefully along the worn spines of the books.
They are all very old, and give off a faint musty odor. The majority of, if not all, from what I can see, are in Chinese. That's a disappointment. I can't read Chinese. Not because I'm stupid, but because a guy like me was never given the chance to learn a foreign language. They don't exactly have classes when you live on the street, and the short time I was at the Maxwell Church and going to the Federation school, I didn't get the chance either. Besides, I doubt I was even thinking about that at such a young age.
Young... I'm young now, right? But I don't feel young. I feel old. I feel older than anyone. And sometimes, it makes me tired enough I want to sleep and never wake up.
"Too young to feel this damn old," I say, lips twisting into a vague smile as I turn from the bookcase to look at the organized mess on the floor. A contradiction, eh? It's a mess of papers and books all right, but I bet Wufei knows exactly where everything is. He's got some memory. Too bad for me, as it makes it easier for him to hold stuff against me.
One paper in particular catches my eyes. Pushing myself back across the room, noticing for the first time that my white, sleeveless undershirt is stained as well, I drop to my knees. My hands close around the paper and I stare at the characters hard, as if I could decipher them by doing that alone. Nothing else is in Chinese, so this makes me think it's a letter of some sort. It makes me wonder what kind of family Wufei has waiting for him. He never talks about anyone, so it's almost as if I've assumed he doesn't have anyone. But then, that doesn't make it true.
I'm a bad friend, and snoop. I wish I could read this, just so that I could know who Wufei leaves behind. He would appreciate neither. My interference, or the fact that I consider him a friend. Wufei has made it clear on more than one occasion that he does things alone, and expects to continue that way. Yeah, I've done things alone for the longest time too, but I'm not above help when the situation warrants it. Don't get me wrong though, I'm not a big person. My reasons are selfish. For the first time I've found people I can relate to on some level, and I don't want to let them go.
Giving up, as it's really the only thing I _can_ do, I set the paper down exactly as I found it. By now, I bet Wufei knows me well enough. The second he steps foot in this room, he's going to look for anything out of place. Since I'm injured at the moment, and at his mercy while he holds my shirt hostage, I don't think it would be wise to give him reason to be pissed at me. Not that he actually needs one. Wufei seems to be out of sorts with me at least once a day, whether he's got reason to or not. I think it's a safe bet to say I annoy him. I can't tell you how that breaks my heart.
With nothing else to occupy my interest (I'm not stooping so low as to go through his dresser), I take to squinting at the books lining the shelf, wondering how Wufei can even read them, considering most of the print is so faded. I'm tempted to take one down and open it, but with my luck, it would fall apart in my hands. Then, I'd be joining it, a pile of dust on the floor. Because I'm pretty sure damaging his precious books would earn me a spot on Wufei's hit list. So, instead, I content myself with staring at them, and playing with the vague thought that keeps floating in the back of my mind... Does Heero's butt ever get stuck to that seat?
The door to the room opens and before I can even turn, Wufei says, "Don't touch those. They are fragile."
That statement mildly annoys me. I hadn't touched them, and knowing how old they appeared, I wasn't going to. But of course, Wufei automatically assumes I will. I mean, I obviously don't have brain one in my head. I probably don't have eyes either. It's a wonder I can even navigate my way through life, what with how low my supply of intelligence is.
Slanting him a glance down the curve of my shoulder, I stuff my hands in my pockets and mask my irritation with a quick smile that even I can feel doesn't quite reach my eyes.
"Why have all these books if you can't read them?" I quip, knowing this is not the wisest choice of answers. It can go one of three ways; it'll annoy him too, he'll ignore me as he often does, or he'll assume I did touch the books. I just don't know when to quit, do I?
He stares at me for a few moments, a lumpy, white cloth held gingerly in his hands. Since his face remains without expression, I can't tell what he's thinking. Not that I ever really can. I think Wufei invested some stock in brick walls, much like Heero did. I'd lump Trowa in there with them, but Quatre seems to be able to read him. Lucky him.
I think one of these days, I'm going to flat out ask Wufei why he hates me and see what kind of response I get. Now, however, doesn't seem to be a good time.
"I don't expect you to understand," he says dismissively, stepping around the papers and books on the floor.
I've just been insulted, but I'm too fascinated with what this reveals about Wufei to care. He carts a bunch of ancient books with him, wherever he goes, for sentimental reasons. Still, to have him imply I don't understand anything about having ties to something for the memories it brings me, irks me. Unlike some, I didn't always have the option of a warm bed and a filling meal. My entire life has pretty much been the street, where I worked for what I could, and stole what I couldn't. So what few things I have of the times when I didn't matter greatly to me.
"Yeah?" I reply, my tone neutral. "You'd be surprised what I understand."
I'm bothered enough by the way he seemed to have sized me up and judged me, that when he first reaches me, I jerk away from him, earning myself a raised eyebrow and a condescending expression. Nevermind the fact that it was probably my fault given my comment, which was purposefully said to nettle him. I get tired of people assuming things about me, because of the way I dress, the way I talk, or the way I act. I learned long ago not to even attempt to disabuse them of their notions. People are going to think what they want too. Why I thought these boys were any different, is beyond me. Shame on me for being the fool.
"Hold still, Maxwell," he orders me sternly. "I have ice."
"I can put it on myself," I reply, holding out my hand for it.
Rather than give it to me, he shifts it to the other hand, reaches out, and promptly grabs a hold of my nose before I can even react. There is a loud popping sound, and my face floods with pain.
Jerking away from him, I snap, as my hands go up to cover my injured nose, blood leaking out through my fingers, "Dammit! That fucking hurt!"
While I am trying to decide whether or not Wufei did that for my own benefit, or to give himself the pleasure of causing me pain, he impatiently thrusts the towel of ice at me. I reluctantly lower my hands, glaring at him in wariness, as I take it and move away from him. A faint smile crosses his face, and he turns away, giving me such a lovely shot of the back of his head, it's all I can do to resist hucking the ice at him.
I've been hurt before, but this really takes the cake. It feels like my entire face is on fire. As a matter of fact, it hurts so much, my eyes are watering, the salty warmth leaking from the corners to trail down the sides of my face. The ice isn't doing much to help that, but I leave it there anyway, knowing it'll make the swelling to go down. I get the impression without having looked at myself, that I must be a mess. At least, my nose sure as hell feels like it's two sizes too big for my face.
When I finally take notice of something else apart from my pain, I find Wufei sitting on the floor, one leg folded under the other, as he leans over papers, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. I might as well not even be in the room for all the attention he's now paying me. I just had Deja vu. Didn't we just go through this scene about an hour or so back, down the hall a ways, and in another room?
I have to add to that comment I made about why I get out of bed. Now, I wonder why I even bother to associate with other humans at all. If they aren't ignoring me, they're trying to beat the shit out of me. Either I need new friends, or a new personality.
"Was that really necessary?" I ask Wufei around the make-shift icepack.
He looks up at me from where I stand over him.
"Do you want your nose to set crooked or not?" He asks, annoyance apparent both in his tone and his expression at my interruption of his studies.
"I'd prefer it set straight," I answer, somewhat reluctantly, knowing where this is going, but following anyway.
"Then it was necessary," he returns, eyes flickering back down to what he was looking at.
Maybe there's something wrong with me, but in the battle between explaining the mess I'm in to Heero verses staying here with the unsociable Wufei, hanging with Wufei wins. See, I'm just not in the mood to tell him the entire story, and then have to listen to him lecture me on how important it is to remain inconspicuous for what feels like the millionth time. A guy can only take so much of those 'you're an idiot' looks in one day. It starts to wear at his self-esteem. Besides, I'm hungry and I intend to convince Wufei to go to town with me to get some real food. We aren't eating the crap in the cafeteria. I suffer that enough everyday, thanks.
"Hey Wu, will you loan me one of those funky shirts of yours?" I ask.
He doesn't sigh, but I sense he wants to.
"Your shirt will be done soon enough," he tells me, not bothering to look up.
"I don't know about you, but the thought of going out in a wet shirt just isn't appealing."
He looks up this time.
"Where are you going?"
"Not where am _I_ going, but where are _we_ going," I correct, grinning.
"I am not going anywhere with you, Maxwell. I intend to study. You may not be concerned with passing your exams tomorrow, but I am."
I want to ask him why. Why do we even give a shit? This is only a cover to keep people from realizing we're those Gundam pilots who spend our free time blowing the hell out of OZ facilities and generally kicking them in the teeth.
Instead, I keep my smile.
"I've studied enough for one day, thanks. Now come on. Let's get something to eat. You can't very well study without fuel, now can you?" I add, walking down logic's path. Wufei isn't swayed by much. Logic stands a better chance of winning than pleading.
He eyes me blandly. "What you call food, and what I call food, are two different things."
I fold my arms. "Oh, let me guess, you'd rather eat that slop they call nutrition in the cafeteria?"
He's still listening to me, so I think I might actually be making some headway. I cross the fingers hidden beneath my arm. Hey, it can't hurt. If I believe in the God of Death, I've got to be a bit superstitious.
"If we do, will it get you to leave me alone?" He asks finally.
I resist the urge to make a snide remark. It's not easy. I should at least get something for the effort.
"There's a fast food joint just a block away," I inform him cheerfully, making a beeline for his closet.
He must have noticed what I was up to. It takes hardly any time at all for him to rise gracefully and beat me there. He reaches inside and hands me one of his white tunics, clearly not thrilled with giving it to me.
"Don't worry, I'll give it back," I tell him, slipping into it. It's soft. Like silk. No wonder Wufei likes them so much.
"We aren't going to a fast food place," he answers, slipping his glasses from his face to lay them aside on his nightstand.
"Oh?" I ask, quickly buttoning it up. There are a lot of buttons. "Where are we going then?"
"You'll see," he replies vaguely.
I hope it's some place good. I'm starved.
"I can't believe you did this to me," I groan, about a foot behind Wufei as I trudge along the path leading back to the school.
Wufei doesn't answer me, but the smug look he throws over his shoulder says he's pleased with himself. What a vindictive little man he is. Just because I bugged him, and got one _tiny_ little drop of blood on the tunic he loaned me... He made me walk _all_ the way to town! And back again. We're smart enough. We could have stolen a car or something. Just because neither of us has our license doesn't mean we don't know how to drive. But given the way he's practically covering a mile with every step, he considers this good exercise.
"Couldn't we have at least eaten in town instead of waiting until we get back?" I try. The smell wafting from the bag I carry has been torturing me for miles now.
"No. We can eat while we study."
It's clear I'm outnumbered here. And Wufei is only one person.
"You're not a monopoly, you know. I let you pick out the food, _and_ our mode of transportation." Silly me.
"Walking is good for you, Maxwell. It is only three miles there and three miles back."
"Only..." I mutter, glaring at the back of his head through the strands of my hair.
The only small pleasure I can derive from this entire trip, was the fact that the guy at the Chinese restaurant kept giving Wufei weird looks, like he thought Wu was the one who hit me. Not that Wufei noticed. He was too busy being his usual cool, arrogant self to realize someone was being the same back to him. I don't suppose it would matter even if he did. Wufei isn't intimidated by anything, least of all some skinny waiter who probably couldn't lift his leg above the bar, let alone as high as Wufei's face.
You know, it always amazes me how calm Wufei can be in person, and yet, when he gets in Nataku, he's like a berserker. It's almost as if he has two separate personalities. I can relate there. Only, for me, it's the opposite. In Deathscythe, I get calmer, more focused, and sometimes, downright nasty. I talk a lot though. I need to almost as a distraction from what I'm doing. Heero, however, is the silent killer. He says nothing, unless it's absolutely necessary. Wu just screams a lot. It'd be funny if it wasn't for the fact that he does that just before he kills someone.
Five young boys. Five young Gundam pilots. Five young murderers.
Sometimes, I wonder if anyone else thinks about this the same way I do. Nothing penetrates Heero's Gundamium shield. I'll bet he just looks at it as all part of the mission, and leaves it at that. I envy him that, his ability to focus only on what needs to be done and forget about the results. But then, I suppose I could be wrong. The more I think I know these four pilots, the less I actually do. They always do something that throws me off completely. I'm not any better though. It's our job to confuse and confound the enemy. But I thought that it might be different among friends...
There's a really old song. It has a line in it that always strikes a chord with me. "You've got to go through Hell before you can get to Heaven."[1] The thing is, I always wonder if this means in life, or when you finally die. Because it seems like I've been going through hell for as long as I can remember. Heaven is one of those things I don't believe in. When I die, there's no chance in hell of me ever making it to any kind of Heaven. I've done and seen too much. Father Maxwell talked about a forgiving God, about a God that loves you no matter what, but I can't see that loving God taking the lives of the very people who devoted their entire existence to Him. I mean, why believe anyway? I've pretty much screwed my chances for redemption.
The God of Death embraced me, I embraced the God of Death. I walk with the darkness, and my actions are a constant shadow behind me. But I've accepted that, so I don't do what I do now for some kind of forgiveness. I don't do it for me. Don't think I'm big because of it, however. I like the danger, the excitement. I thrive on it. Piloting Deathscythe is my fee for my services. And the outcome, is payment enough.
There's a vague memory of something that is ironic in that it brings me comfort. Father Maxwell, balancing me on his knee one time, told me of something when I criticized war and the amount of lives it took. He said that in the Bible, the God of Life condoned taking lives when it was for the protection of yourself or your country in the midst of a battle. I take lives for a cause, for a reason. I never kill more than necessary, and I don't get any joy from it. It just happens that we're on opposite sides. That happens in war. People fight for their different beliefs, all realizing that they could lose their lives for it. So I respect them, the men I kill, and soothe my conscience some with wisdom from a god I don't even believe in.
"You're lagging, Maxwell. Keep up," Wufei's voice slices through my thoughts.
I blink. I ignore the sting in his tone, because I'm grateful for the interruption. I was getting all serious on myself there again. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. The more I'm at this, actually. Maybe it's just exams. All this studying is frying my brain. If I end up unable to pilot Deathscythe because of it, maybe I'll have an excuse to throw at Heero for why I can't study anymore.
That thought brightens me considerably, and I grin as I rush to catch up to Wufei.
Falling in next to him, I bounce along lightly heel to toe, my braid swaying with each movement. I feel Wufei cast a sidelong glance at me, before he goes back to concentrating on his own path. He's probably wondering what great thing changed my mood. Or maybe he isn't. I'm the master at mood swings. Half the time, the majority of them are fake and all for someone else's benefit. But, somewhere in here, I'm actually a really cheerful kind of guy. I just like to think depressing thoughts.
"I thought your feet hurt," Wufei points out.
"They do," I reply cheerfully.
He doesn't say anything after that. Conversations with him are always sporadic at best. There are moments, however, where you can get him going and he hardly shuts up. You just have to find the right topic. Of course, first, he has to be willing to talk. It doesn't work if he's being stubborn, and close-mouthed. I always bug him until he's forced to say something. He has yet to physically throw me from his room, so I take that as a good sign.
Without warning, the school looms suddenly before us, an impressive structure of old brick and mortar. It's one of those 'catering to the rich' kind of schools. The only reason we're in here, is because Heero's hacking skills are good enough to lie and say we're from staunch, wealthy families. That really is laughable. Me, from a classy family with money. Now, in Quatre's case, it's no lie. His made up background might be, but he really does have class, and it shows. So does Wufei, actually, but if he's from a wealthy family, he isn't saying.
We walk up the path that leads into the school. Other students greet us as we go. I wave and smile, but Wufei ignores them. A few girls stop me to ask what happened to my nose. Sugar coated or not, it's nice to have someone fawn over me. Heero'll only yell, and Wufei seems disgusted. I make up some impossibly wild story to get them laughing, and apply all my natural charm. Talking with people comes easy to me. What can I say, I'm an extrovert, a people person. I like being around others. Being alone sucks. Plus it always gives me too much time to think.
I can sense Wufei is getting impatient. His dark eyes focus on me, and the disapproval there is palpable.
"Sorry ladies, gotta go. Mr. Party Pooper there is in a hurry."
Actually, so am I, but I don't tell them that, nor do I let it stop me from gabbing.
They giggle. The sound is kind of annoying, but like I said, at least they give a damn about my poor, abused nose.
Wufei turns on his heel and disappears into the school before I even reach him, forcing me to hurry again. When I catch up to him, I make a face that clearly says I think he's no fun at all.
He looks unperturbed, as usual.
Giving up for the moment, I walk the rest of the way to his room in silence. After we deposit all our food on the floor, I quickly take off Wufei's tunic and hand it to him. It doesn't surprise me that he immediately heads for the bathroom. Well, if he wants to wash more shirts while I eat, good for him. I'm not waiting.
I manage to get three of my cartons open and arranged in front of me, before Wufei comes back, his sleeves rolled up again, and my shirt in one outstretched hand. Taking it from him, I note it's still damp. Instead of putting it on, I lay it aside and watch as Wufei sits down cross-legged on the other side of me. When no forks are forthcoming, I decide it's time to do something about that.
"Hey Wu, where're the forks?" I ask hopefully.
He's in the process of dipping chopsticks into one of his cartons. Pausing, he gives me a look that clearly states he thinks I'm a moron.
"I asked for two sets of chopsticks, Maxwell."
I stare at him. Me, use chopsticks? They're just two pieces of skinny wood!
"I've never used chopsticks in my life. I'm starving to death here, and you want me to use them now?" I say with no small amount of incredulity.
"It's not difficult," he answers evenly.
Sure, not for him, who's probably been using them all his life.
Handing me a set, he adds, "Just try it."
I give a lengthy sigh, which he easily ignores.
"Okay... but I'm going to get food all over the place."
My prediction was a bit off. I didn't get food all over the place. Just in my lap.
Covered in food stains, my still damp shirt unbuttoned, and my nose swollen to the size of a baseball, I slip back into the room I share with Heero some hours later. The figures and definitions Wufei all but pounded into my skull echo dully, and I think I've got the start of a headache. Heero is just coming from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. Freezing, I blink and stare at him in a fashion that must look simple minded.
He says nothing about my state of dress or my nose. Instead, he says succinctly, "You are a few minutes from curfew."
With effort, I keep my jaw firmly in place. I can feel hurt stirring, the sting of it settling into my cheeks, but I know he can't see it. He never does. Normally, I love being right, but in this case, I'm not liking it. He didn't notice my nose, he didn't ask if I was all right, and for all intensive purposes, it seems like he could give a damn less. He's only worried about something that'll get me in trouble with the school.
Now I'm angry.
Shrugging, I say airily, "But I'm not late. So don't trouble yourself."
It goes right over Heero's head. My nasty tone is completely lost on him. I don't think he would have noticed it if it bit him in the ass.
With venom, I snatch my nightclothes from my dresser. A pair of shorts and a faded, old T-shirt. They snap against me as I jerk them, but I ignore that. Instead, I slam the dresser drawers shut, slam the bathroom door shut, and slam the shower door open. By this time, I'm feeling a bit drained and more than a little foolish. Why waste my effort? Heero never notices anyway.
Note:
[1] This line is from the Steve Miller Band's 'Jet Airliner'. Good song. ^_^ Most of their songs are.