Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Beautiful Dawn ❯ Chapter 01 ( Chapter 1 )

Standard disclaimers apply: I don't own Gundam Wing or its bishounen, nor am I making any monetary profit from this fic whatsoever.

Pairings: 6x1, 13+5 ( possible 13x5 later), 3+4
Warnings: AU ( the pilots are 18, Zechs and Treize are 23) yaoi, angst, sap, lemon

Awareness returned sharply, body bolting upright in a fluid rush -- the sound of his breathing echoing harshly in the furry darkness. His eyes tracked feverishly in the murkiness, confirming that yes, the barely discernable shape in the corner was in fact his battered green armchair and not the half-crouching figure it looked to be.The film of sweat covering his body evaporated in the cool, night air as the final dregs of the nightmare faded into nothingness. Every muscle was tautly-strung. Adrenaline pumped swiftly through his veins, the ominous lub-dup of his heart battering his ribcage magnified a thousand times -- the beast within still ravenous for the sport of wrestling demons....

It was a game Heero wanted no more of. Victory was impossible, and the price of losing was none other than one's sanity. He sighed softly, exhaustedly. Would the past forever haunt him? Would he never escape its soft footstep, its fetid breath bristling the hairs on the back of his neck?

He rolled over to look at the alarm clock on the side of his bed. The display blinked menacingly back it him: 4:59am. Much too early to be grappling with questions he would find no answers to.

Disentangling himself from the bedclothes ensnared about his hips, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet slapping coldly against the floor. He would find no comfort in the clutches of sleep in these sparse, gray, hours before dawn. He was awake, and there were much more important things to do besides pandering to his weaknesses. Heero padded over to the bathroom, frowning at the slight wobble that betrayed his susceptibility to the machinations of the dream. He grimaced. Unacceptable: this weakness. How was he to overcome it, when the insidious workings of his subconscious sought to undermine all his hard-won control?

There was no answer save the silvery drop of water from the leaking faucets ringing against the tiles.

He relieved himself and brushed his teeth with quick, efficient motions. Peering into the medicine cabinet, he straightened the assortment of bottles that had deviated from their precise formation, before descending into the darkness of the kitchen.

The annoyed rattle of the old refrigerator greeted him, its smooth white surface marred by numerous leprous patches of rust. The small stove cowering beside it shared in its contagion, flecks of paint and rust sloughing off it in thin, curling layers. Heero yanked the refrigerator door open and a belch of stagnant air bombarded him, ripe with the odor of festering vegetables.

K'so, the cooling had failed again.

Heero carefully tamped down the surge of annoyance he felt, refusing to surrender to the urge to kick the bloated appliance. He carefully discarded the spoiled food, automatically readjusting the week's rations in his head. He would have to do the grocery shopping sooner than he'd thought. Between that and the old man's medication, there would be little left over for anything else.

But he would survive.

He had gone hungry before and could do so again. The old man's health must take priority over everything else. Heero mentally chastised himself. This would be nothing compared to all that J had done for him.

By the time he had resuscitated the fridge, dawn was spilling softly through the half-lidded windows, illuminating every drab corner of the room. He set a small pot of soup boiling on the old stove, occasionally stopping to stir as he went about the motions of washing the dishes, retrieving the milk and restoring the battered surfaces of the table and countertops into worn spotlessness. Leaving the soup to cool, Heero glanced at the ceiling, ears trained for the tiny creak that meant his charge had awakened. Silence … and then, there, the almost inaudible squeal of the floorboards. Immediately Heero doled out a small portion of the liquid into a bowl, and then ascended to his patient.

The room at the end of the hallway was dark and forlorn, and the oppressive odor of sickness was a sharp, palpable thing as Heero approached the bed and its lone inhabitant. Setting the tray down, he opened the windows, letting the crisp morning breeze drive away the staleness of disease.

The man in the bed lay almost lifelessly against the pillows. His head lolled heavily to one side, his grizzled mane of long, lank hair fanned out against the pillowcase. His mouth hung slack, a wet trail of saliva seeping from the corner of his lips. But the gray eyes were sharp -- perceptive -- a keen mind imprisoned in the dungeon of a dying body.

Heero placed an arm behind the old man's back, supporting him so that he could feed him the carefully prepared soup and the fragile webbing of bones pressed against his forearm as he pulled the slight form into an upright position. When he brought the spoon to the old man's lips, J tried stubbornly to grasp it, but his withered right hand was useless and it flopped noisily back against the bed. The movement jarred the hand feeding him, spilling soup onto the bed and them both. But, prepared for any such eventuality, Heero merely fetched more of the meal and resumed the feeding process. Several attempts later, the man who was like a father to him had been fed, washed, and resettled into clean linens.

*

Hair still damp from his own shower, Heero examined his reflection in the mirror. The unruly mass of his hair, resistant to combing and brushing alike, was as prosaic as he remembered, the color an uninspiring murky brown. Familiar blue eyes, thin nose, the small mouth.... A face that was not unattractive, he decided, but one easily forgotton. His gaze fell to the crispness of his cotton shirt, rolled up at the elbows to expose his forearms, the comfortable jeans (a tad more snug than he would have liked, but they were his best and would have to do), and the clean, but scuffed sneakers that had definitely seen better days. He shrugged, and the young man in the mirror mimicked. An acceptable picture, if not the most appealing.

There was a brisk knock at the door and Heero ran lightly down the stairs to admit J's nurse for the day: A pretty, slender woman with a shining cap of black hair, who looked not much older than his own 18 years. She smiled graciously, extending a slender palm.

"Hi there, I'm Hilde, and if I'm not mistaken, you must be Heero."

"Hai," he replied, enveloping that hand in a short, brisk movement."Come in."

After appraising her of J's preferences, his meal times and other nuances of his behavior, Heero grabbed his books and headed out the door. For all her cheery nature and youthful appearance, the woman was sharp and efficient and appeared to take her job seriously -- which was more than he could say of the majority of care personnel that had marched through his doorway. It meant one less thing for him to worry about.

Turning the corner, he was just in time to catch his bus. Selecting a seat near the middle and to the left -- safely away from the chirping teenagers but close enough to the back doors -- Heero settled in to enjoy the ride, taking careful catalogue of each landmark en route, and filing it away for safe-keeping. No doubt there would be days he would not be able to afford even the bus fare. Memorizing the route was essential, should he have to walk.

All in all, he was off to the start of a typical Heero Yuy day.

Except of course, that this was his first day of college.

Part Two