Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ A Different Circumstance (Arc) ❯ #1 - Going Under ( Chapter 1 )

The music thumped in sensuous counterpoint to the beat of his heart. Thump-thump. Twenty-one. Thump-thump. Twenty-two. Or was it twenty-three? Heero had lost count a couple of times now, his eighth shot of tequila empty and clenched uselessly in his hand as the fingers of his other hand tapped out the rhythm. The pub was dark and cosy, somewhat quiet for a Friday night, but it was probably just as well. If there had been more than the bartender to witness his degradation, he would probably be forced to slit his wrists. After making the headlines tomorrow. Heero could already see it in his mind: Digi-PaQ Billionaire President Drunk After Plunge In Stock Following Corruption Scandal; A Testament to His Guilt? Damn Hilde Schewhazzhername and her team of 'investigative' reporters. Heero personally considered them more of devil hounds. He forced his fingers to uncurl from their death-grip on the glass, waving dismissively for another shot. Absentmindedly, he noted that the bartender looked barely legal, a fresh-faced young girl whose posture spoke of unfamiliarity with standing behind a counter for hours on end. Yet another victim to the vicious system. Work, or die hungry and cold. Heero had always personally believed in the motto of paying his bills. It was what had kept him going for so long, what had spurred him to set up the company seven years ago. Digi-PaQ had expanded beyond his wildest dreams, and brought problems that he had surmounted and been stronger for, every single one of them. This time though, he wondered privately if he would be able to make it. The severe loss of consumer confidence, coupled with the competitors fast rising in the market, didn't bode very well. Heero couldn't even blame anyone else; he'd been the one who'd made the decision to hire Quinze, it was his own lack of judgement that had snared him.

 

The shot came, liberally dusted with salt on its edge. He took it, throwing his head back and downing the drink. His eyelids were beginning to feel extraordinarily heavy.

 

“Don't give him any more, Noin. He's trying to kill himself.”

 

The words were low and husky, and probably not meant for his ears, but they nevertheless penetrated through the faint buzz that was steadily getting louder. Heero slowly looked up, the feeling of being massively offended present but distant in the alcohol-induced haze. When had this other man appeared beside him? Was he part of the paparazzi? One of Hilde's minions? Or even worse, one of those tabloid photographers who seemed to take perverse pleasure in catching him at his most undignified and vulnerable moments?

 

In the warm orange light filtering through the upside-down champagne flutes hanging from the top of the bar, the man was...well...Heero wouldn't have called him beautiful, with that long black hair pulled tightly back at the nape of the neck and the severe black wire-framed glasses perched on the tip of a button nose. Not Japanese...Chinese, perhaps.

 

Then the man turned to him, and Heero abruptly stopped thinking.

 

Thump-thump. Forty-two. Thump-thump. Forty-three. Thump-thump. Forty-four.

 

Piercing dark eyes pinned him where he sat, looking him over, assessing him calmly. Taking in his slightly trembling hands, the slump of his shoulders, his unkempt tie and cuffs. A sense of deja vu swamped Heero's senses; he was barely aware that his whole body had begun to shake. Had he seen this man someplace before? Known him, spoken to him? There was something crazily, intimately familiar about that sharp, direct gaze, something that struck a chord deep within Heero and caught him off-balance.

 

“What about his bill, 'Fei?”

 

There was a short, heavy silence as, once again, Heero got the feeling that he was being spoken about as though he wasn't there. Which wasn't that far from the truth; the image of the room that seemed to be imprinted on the back of his eyelids had begun to spiral together in a kaleidoscope swirl of colors.

 

The man broke the glance, turning back to the bar with a short laugh that had a hard amusement about it. “Put it on my tab. He might not even be able to pay for his cab fare home, with the way things are hitting the fan. Haven't you been reading the news, Noin?”

 

At that moment, dead drunk or no, Heero really, really wished he could shoot the impertinent bastard. But the glass was slipping from his nerveless fingers, and that mocking voice seemed to be getting fuzzier. The last thing that Heero Yuy remembered was the polished marble-top of the counter coming closer and closer.