Gundam Wing Fan Fiction / Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Somewhere I Belong ❯ Chapter 3

Somewhere I belong

 

Authors Notes

 

:Twitches in annoyance: I stayed up until almost 3am finishing off this chapter on my laptop…only to loose the memory stick I saved it on. So now, I have to re-do it all again. Grr.

 

Review. Please.

 

Oh! I almost forgot---Are there any particular pairings or characters that I have not mentioned in chapter one that you would particularly like to see? Some characters I had planned to use anyway, even briefly, but do not necessarily have them paired up with anyone yet. Just let me know if there are any, okay? : )

 

Chapter Three: Home

 

Click.

 

A pale, slim, calloused hand pushed at the paint flaking secure metal door, removing the small metal key from the sturdy lock with steady fingers.

 

Quickly, he stepped into his apartment. Closing the door behind him with one ha nd, the other reached blindly to type in the familiar, complicated code into the security system.

 

`Code recognised; system altered. Welcome back, Duo'

 

The electronic voice chimed, sounding remarkably like a certain someone he once knew.

 

He had designed the system himself, as he was sure each of them most likely would have done so for their own personal spaces. He, however, had not done it out of mere paranoia. He did not think himself important enough to warrant assassination, after all, he had no real power, and his money, in comparison to those like Quatre, Relena and other well-known people involved with the previous wars, was nothing.

 

He had more or less faded into the shadows, a forgotten war hero, as it should be; they did not need a street rat at their fancy parties and commemoration ceremonies.

 

He had never considered himself a hero, just as well, really, considering the thanks he received. He had just been trying to escape, to find something better, somewhere better. He had just wanted to find the one place where he truly belonged. But, alas, he had been sidetracked. Damned conscious, guilting him into fighting a war for people who couldn't give a damn about what was going on, who was dying, anything at all outside their perfect little bubble world, as long as it didn't intrude on their lives.

 

Why, then, had he done it? Guilt had been eating away at him for years. Those on the streets who hadn't been as lucky as him; not being fast enough to save his first and closest friend; not being good enough to live up to the promise he made to him as he lay dying a slow, agonising death, one that no child should have to suffer thorough; not good enough to save the Good Sister and Father, nor the thirty or so children lucky enough to be in their care; not strong enough to help them from that burning building.

 

He did it because it would help those few who did care, those many who, like himself, had been dealt a shitty hand by fate herself, and had little hope of a chance, even the slightest, of getting something for themselves in life.

 

Leaving a trail of water in his wake, he flicked on the light switch. Dim, florescent lights flickered to life in the blink of an eye, revealing a small, clean living room.

 

Cream and coffee colour, somewhat minimalist and surprisingly neat in design and keep, the room seemed warm and comfortable, if not a little….unlived in. not at all what one would expect from the self-proclaimed Shinigami himself.

 

Dark wooden floors, polished and clean, hid the trail of water quite well. A small, two seater couch and matching chair, both in cream, filled the majority of the small room, arranged in an L-shape, facing a fair-sized, but smaller than one would expect from the technically-obsessed and gifted teenager, plasma screen.

 

Beneath a single wall-sized locked window on the far wall stood a long, slender wooden cabinet, housing a small but well-used DVD collection that he and his best friend had spent many a night watching, when the loneliness grew too much for them both, or when they each had the same night off and wanted some form of human contact, however snarky it may end up being.

 

Quick, sharp insults may be traded, but never supported by a tense atmosphere. They were too comfortable with each other to let surface insults and banter have any real impact on what they had, on what they would always have.

 

Quickly shaking his coat, he left it to fall with a dull, wet thud. He wandered lazily towards the first of two doors. He pressed at his hair, twisting his braid to rid it of excess water. He did not bother to check his answer phone as he passed, knowing that the flashing number would still be zero. Had he have checked, he would have received no surprise.

 

He entered the tiny kitchen as he unbuttoned his shirt, letting the sodden material fall to the linonum floor with a splat. He had always hated this kitchen. The floor was vile-cheep looking and tacky. It had been the most common flooring in all of the `upmarket' stores on L2 when he had been their as a child, the others leaving the metal and concrete that they were build from as the flooring.

 

The room reminded him somewhat of a coffin. Barely any room to move; counters on all sides, a large, well-used American-style refrigerator-second and, and a built-in oven on one of the chipped, abused countertops.

 

Usually, he had no problem with enclosed spaces. Piloting a mobile suit was testament enough to that in itself. But that room…it just…got to him. He knew what it was, even though he tried to deny it, to repress it. It reminded him so much….

 

The first time he had burnt something in there, near-on set the room on fire, it had reminded him of that night-the church-the children-Father Maxwell-Sister Helen.

 

The sounds of children screaming, the heat on his skin, the blinding flames blinding him, the smell of charred, burning flesh.

 

He had frozen.

 

If Wufei hadn't been there, who knows what would have happened.

 

`Though, how he could stand to act after what happened to L5…” He murmured, as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, toeing off his boots as he left the room.

 

He made his way to the last door. Another security pad sat beside the frame, blinking regularly.

 

Again, he typed in the code-a different one to the first, longer by far, waiting for the conformation light before pushing the door open.

 

A firm flick to the light switch caused warm wall lights to flash to life, glowing comfortingly either side of his simple, single bed.

 

He hadn't seen the point in buying a double, let alone a king sized he had no one to share it with-hell, if he had, do you really think he would have chosen an apartment that seemed to be doing its best to imitate a cupboard, in what was, admittedly, not the best of neighbourhoods. He had always been accustomed to staying in small, often uncomfortable places since childhood, as far back as he could remember. The war had only served to strengthen that habit. Even in peace, some habits couldn't seem to be forgotten.

 

He made his way across the rough carpeted room, unbuttoning his trousers as he went. Pushing them down past his hips, he stumbled out of them, making his way towards his favourite room of the house, his on suite bathroom.

 

It wasn't much really. Tiled-poorly at that, with a plain, ugly bulb hanging from the ceiling as the only lighting, there being no window in the small, cupboard like space. A toilet, a sink, a towel rail, a shower; not much to most, but he still appreciated it more than one would think.

 

He had learned to cope with the dirt and grime, the filth and stench that came with weeks without washing when needs be, but had grown to appreciate a long, hot shower-especially now that he had the time to appreciate it, not having to worry about receiving a mission at any given minute, being attacked any second, not having to consider his team-mates when using hot water.

 

He still couldn't see the appeal in a bath. Soaking in a scummy mixture of dead skin and whatever dirt had accumulated on ones skin during the day - how, exactly, was that supposed to be relaxing as Quatre claimed?

 

Unravelling the last of his braid, he turned on the dial, waiting for the clanky system to adjust to the correct temperature before stepping into the small cubical.

 

He let out a sigh. As the uncomfortably hot spray pounded down upon the ever lithe short, scarred form, his entire body seemed to sag. Shoulders dropped, stiff back relaxing, head falling back, as he allowed himself a brief reprise from everything, the warmth lulling him, soothing him.

 

`Another wasted day' He thought to himself as he reached for a bottle of unscented shampoo. `I know I shouldn't think like this, but…damnit, I'm wasting my time-and theirs, just being here.

 

When I signed up, I did so because I thought I could make a difference, I thought I could be of some use. I'm not as stupid as they may think-I know I'm not the best at what I do, there's always someone out there better, but damnit, I deserve the same chance as everyone else in that building to prove myself.

 

It's not as if I expected special treatment when I went to Une-I just wanted to do what I do.

 

But what's the use? Stuck behind a desk nine till five, five days a week. I-I, I really don't think I can put up with this much longer.”

 

Long, slender fingers paused in their ministrations, still threaded through long chestnut locks. `What else would I do? I have nothing outside of the Preventors…Hildie's engaged not-not that we parted on good terms, exactly, after what happened…I cant keep running to Howard every five minutes-we'd drive each other nuts in the first two weeks, a month tops.

 

The colonies no longer have the same pull on me. The guys-well, they're all busy with their new lives. For the most part.'

 

He wrapped a towel around his waist, using another to rub at his hair. He made his way back into his indigo and cream bedroom, making a beeline for the window. He pushed it open, leaning out, looking up at the sky.

 

`I spent my entire childhood wondering, imagining, fantasising what it would be like down here. Then weather-rain, wind, snow, storms- the people, the seasons, the places. And for what? So when I finally made it, I spend my entire life cooped up in a tiny cheep apartment all by myself?

 

Is this what I really want? To waste my life away? Sometimes, sometimes I miss the war. Not the deaths or the killing. But the adventure, the unknown, the friendships and excitement…I-I want that again.'

 

He made his way slowly towards his bed. He sat down, legs crossed, cradling the cordless phone in his hands. He couldn't be bothered to go to the vidphone in the living room.

 

`I…I want to do something, before it's too late. I…owe it to myself.'

 

He typed in the familiar number, listening to the ring, as he waited for his best friend to pick up. The answer machine clicked on. He tried to hide his disappointment.

 

“Hey, Fei? I need to talk something over with you. I…need your advise on something…call me back when you get this message, kay?....Thanks”

 

To Be continued.