Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ A Different Circumstance (Arc) ❯ #9 - Sunk ( Chapter 9 )

Duo hadn't minced any words. The very nature of e-mail itself was that it was detached and dispassionate. The script, blank bold black against near-painful white, had seemed as though it'd been mocking him personally.

 

 

'Heero.

 

One of the tabloid reporters sent in an article about you, as well as some photographs for printing. I took it off the press because I owe you one, but you have to see me soon. Also, I don't know who he is, but I'd like to know what the hell you think you're up to.

 

Yours,

Duo.'

 

 

Heero was going to kill himself. Right after he murdered Hilde Schbieker, and fed her corpse to the dogs.

 

He'd called, and Duo had picked up immediately. His old friend hadn't sounded angry. No, furious would probably be a more accurate word. Through the snarls and the hisses, Duo had ordered him to a meeting at an obscure joint on the outskirts of the city, and then hung up on him. Which explained why Heero was currently driving through a ghetto and a thunderstorm at one in the morning, his frustration and fear clawing in his ribcage like a monstrous beast, and his hands clenching so hard on the steering wheel that he almost got into an accident at the traffic juncture.

 

Heero didn't know if it was his rage or the sheets of rain that were blinding him.

 

He turned into the deserted lot and swiftly parked, the tyres skidding slightly on the wet tarmac. It was a shady-looking bar by all appearances, and Heero froze, caught in a moment of deja vu so strong that he had to force himself not to start laughing hysterically. The last time he'd found himself in front of a bar in the rain, he'd all but signed a pact with the devil and sold his soul to temptation, put everything on the line.

 

He shook himself out of his reverie and strode towards the door. There was an annoying clang of bells that could barely be heard over the roar of thunder as he grasped the handle and pushed with more force than was necessary. And as if in a bad dream, or a bad movie, the lightning chose right then to flash overhead, illuminating the solitary patron of the joint, seated just inside the door, next the window to his right.

 

Duo looked like Death incarnate, and Heero noticed immediately the worn white envelope that the editor was twisting viciously between his fingers. His own stomach clenched, as did his fists, as he turned and made his way to the table, dropping himself into a seat opposite Duo.

 

For long moments, neither of them spoke. Duo was obviously weighing him, and Heero had to fight the urge to look away.

 

“You've gotten into a right mess this time, Heero.”

 

Duo's voice was mild and even, but Heero didn't relax. The envelope looked like it was about to be ripped in two.

 

“...I don't suppose it'd be too much of me to ask for an explanation? Considering that I was, after all, your best man seven years ago when you promised your blushing bride that you'd love and cherish her forever?”

 

Heero felt a headache coming on, throbbing in his temples. He wanted to hit himself, strike out at the table, at Duo, at something, and Duo's deceptive casualness wasn't helping.

 

“Wouldya like summat ta drink, mister?”

 

He glanced up at a fat, tattooed middle-aged waiter, whom he honestly couldn't tell was male or female. Bright red lipstick, trembling jowls, a thin scrape of gray hair pulled to one side, dirty blue overalls that smelled of grease. She—he?—was giving Heero a bored, tired stare, and it was obvious that their presence was the only thing keeping the staff from packing up for the night.

 

It was all so...normal. The irrational anger dissipated so suddenly that Heero felt weak and almost giddy.

 

“No, thank you.”

 

He waited until the waiter had flounced off, and then he looked at Duo again. This time, the fury seemed to have muted; the editor was looking at him expectantly, probably trusting Heero to have a valid explanation, to say something that would justify the faith and belief that had been given to Heero through the years they had known each other.

 

The mixed feelings were roiling in his gut, thrashing against his chest and making him feel nauseous. His thoughts were running together in a jumble and he couldn't make any sense out of them—

 

He's different.

 

He makes me feel alive.

 

He's special.

 

I lov—no. No.

 

No.

 

He couldn't help it then, the low groan of near-physical pain, and Heero had to close his eyes and force himself to stop remembering.

 

“It...was a mistake.”