Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Blue Lightening ❯ Ivory Keys ( Prologue )

Quatre smiled up at Trowa as the older pilot led him down the stairs towards the music room. He had been banned from playing the violin until the rapier wound in his side had healed, and it was driving him nuts. Finally, he had managed to persuade both Trowa and the maguanac doctor that he was fine, thank you very much!

He, Trowa and Duo Maxwell had been living in one of Quatre's houses on Earth once the battle had ended. Despite Trowa's best efforts, Duo had been treated badly when he had passed into the hands of the soldiers, and so the pair of musicians were surprised to see a familiar black-clad figure limping slowly along the corridor ahead of them.

They immediately froze. Trowa matched his breathing to Duo's with the ease of long practice. Quatre, less skilled than his taller friend, matched his to Trowa's. They watched in concern as Duo tentatively made his way to the end of the corridor, and slowly pushed open the door to the music room. As quietly as possible, the pair crept down after him.

Duo was standing next to the piano, an odd, unreadable look on his face. As they gazed, he hesitantly sat on the stool and rested his fingers on the keys.

`Can he play?' Quatre mouthed up at Trowa. The green eyed ex-mercenary shrugged.

A second later Quatre's question was answered for him, as piano music filled the room. Quatre identified the tune as a hymn, but Duo was doing far more than merely tapping out the tune or the chording beneath it, as was common for church music. His slender thief's fingers flew over the keys. The tune melded seamlessly into the introduction for an old rock song that Quatre couldn't remember the name of. Trowa raised an eyebrow.

“A whiter shade of pale?” he questioned in a whisper. “And that's Bohemian Rhapsody,” he added quietly as the tune changed yet again.

Unfortunately, the introduction to Bohemian Rhapsody was a lot quieter, and Duo heard him. He tensed, and the music came to a halt. Quatre, seeing no need to hide, stepped forward.

“That was beautiful, Duo. I didn't know you could play.”

“Someone taught me, long ago,” Duo replied quietly. “You want to practice; I'll go now.”

Before Quatre could protest, he was out the door and limping along the corridor again. Trowa laid a restraining hand on the blond's shoulder, a silent warning not to go after him.

“I was going to ask him to practice with us,” Quatre said sadly.

“I don't think he's quite ready for that, little one.”

*

“Stupid… stupid…. Stupid,” Duo hissed at himself as he sat on his bed. He should have realized sooner that he had an audience. He was a pilot for god's sakes! And he had been watching his own back for as long as he could remember.

The end of the war had broken down all his defenses, and he needed to get his mask back in place quickly, or Quatre would realize that his current behavior was normal, and that the jester was a fake.

Not that Duo didn't like ice-cream or board games, he just wasn't quite as vocal about things as he liked people to believe. If he was loud all the time, they would never expect him to be able to stay quiet.

But his ability to be quiet was the reason he was still here.

Solo had been quiet. Solo had taught him the same. Duo could remember the lessons.

“Git across the room wi'out makin' a noise, kiddo. Then ya can `ave some of this bread.”

The real reward had been the look of pride and approval in Solo's eyes. But as soon as he learnt to walk without a sound, Solo had begun to teach him how to walk with an obvious limp, and after that how to mimic being blind.

“The trick is ta never focus on someone,” he remembered the whispered instructions. “Ya look over their shoulder, turn ya ear to their face. An' look a few meters beyond, k?”

The lessons took place every spare moment. The rest of Duo's time was spent begging. Stealing was a last resort, because stealing drew attention. Solo used to vanish for a few hours every three or four days. He always came back with a handful of credits, smelling of beer and cheap perfume, clutching a packet of cigarettes.

It had almost killed him when G had made him give up smoking. But at least he had never made him cut his hair, after the first attempt. Probably figured that it wasn't worth the broken bones.

Duo looked at his wallet. Everything was over now, what was to stop him from walking to the nearest store and buying a pack?

Nothing. Time to find a car.

*

The valets at Quatre's place were scarily helpful. He had even been given directions. And he was sure that the female one had been checking him out.

`Sorry, lovely, I don't swing that way.'

The car handled like a dream. Duo took one hand off of the wheel to fiddle with the radio, trying to get a decent station. The name `Relena Peacecraft' in a newscast made him pause.

//Miss Peacecraft, accompanied by her new bodyguard, Heero Yuy, appeared in London today, one of the few surviving cities of the Old World. There, with the Thames River providing an imposing background through large glass windows, she continued her talks about this new Era of Peace, giving advice and encouragement to all Citizens.//

“Huh. Good luck, princess. I hope your Heero is taking good care of you.”

The car park was mostly empty, and Duo was able to find a spot right next to the entrance. Once he stepped inside, he found that the store was way more than your average supermarket.

“Figures. This is L4 after all. I might as well buy me some clothes and shit while I'm here.”

Black t-shirts, black jeans, red silk boxers (just for a change), more socks, boots? Why not, his were falling apart. Ooh, look, a pharmacy section. Painkillers. Tubigrip for his knee. Hair bands? Why not. A new hairbrush. Soap, shampoo. Did he really need to get his ear pierced?

Doughnuts. A leather jacket. A sliver shirt with a dragon design. Mirrored sunglasses…? They look cool. Apples. Mt. Dew. Was he going somewhere? Why did it feel like he was packing for a trip? Pens. Pencils. Paper. Lined? Plain? Both. Chewing gum - cool, they have cinnamon flavour. A lighter. Cigarettes. Look, Solo, they even have your brand! Deodorant.

Music? He didn't know any of these names. Matchbox 20 sounded familiar. Weren't they pre-colony? They were probably ok then. Real music. Picture frames… did he even have any pictures? Yes, there were a few. Ok then. A torch. Chocolate. Cereal bars. Wow, cool, they have novelty models of the Gundams out already. Sure, they're tacky, but they are a memorial.

Man, I could make something better than this. Maybe I will. Hey, rucksacks! Gonna need one; this'll never all fit in my duffel.

Where am I going?

Home.

Where's home?

L2. Solo.

 

And just like that it was decided.