Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Broken Wing Alternates ❯ BWA: Hope ( Chapter 1 )

Authors Notes: Welcome to the first of a series of five short fics that will introduce Mended Wing. ::sighs:: They won't make much sense right now, on their own, but once I get into the actual story of Mended Wing, they will. These will explain some of what there won't be time to explain in Mended Wing, however, I can't explain EXACTLY what's going on in these five fics, because that would be ruining part of the plotline of Mended Wing! So, here they are and I hope you enjoy them, even if you don't understand them. Hehe. Thankies to Marika Webster: Chick, you are SUCH a Stacey. HAHA! Girl-chama who TRIES to make my writing better, but so far has failed miserably. Usa-chan for whom I can't think of anything witty to say at the moment. ::sweatdrops:: Gomen. Rashaka-chan who has vanished into the mists again, maybe never to return. ::sniffles:: Come back, Rashaka-chan! And Fuuzaki-san whom I hope doesn't hate me TOO much after the end of Wayward . . .

Disclaimers: I don't own Gundam Wing. And just for kicks, I don't own Sailormoon either, though there's no SM in these short fics. Oh, no Sailormoon either. ::cackles wickedly::

Broken Wing Alternates: Hope

"Masurao-kun!"

Junsei Masurao turned to the voice, a familiar one, and waved back at the small boy who approached him. He gave his brightest, best, most winning smile and passed a hand through his dark brown hair. Shifting his books from one hand to the other, Masurao extended the free one to be shaken. Their culture demanded a respectful bow, but the younger generation preferred the handshake as practiced on L2.

"Konnichiwa, Masurao-kun!" The boy panted, eyes bright at shaking hands with this older, more sophisticated student of L1's University.

"Konnichiwa," he returned, wrangling his hand from the other's grasp. "Don't you have class?"

"Our professor had to cancel because some stupid slackers were making noise outside the classroom window." The boy scowled and jerked his head to his left. Masurao glanced that direction and noticed with a frown and a sigh the gaggle of leather clad people, most about his age or younger, who smoked near their motorcycles. One of the guys laughed and revved his bike, sending cheers along the line of his companions. "They really should do something," the younger student complained, "It's not like those people are taking classes. Those kind shouldn't be allowed anywhere near the University."

"The University police can't really do anything," Masurao sniffed derisively, "They don't really have any power. They're rent-a-cops. And the dean? What can he do? The only thing he has the power to change is class schedules." He shrugged, sending a Prussian-eyed gaze over that mass of leather once more. This time one particular figure stood out: a girl in a plastic miniskirt, black lipstick, and sporting a silver nose ring. Her hair fell in brown strands until her shoulders, where it continued down to her waist in a shade of pale blue. Her mouth moved both with the exertion of chewing gum and with yelling at one of the other bikers, who seemed intent on grabbing her shapely and tightly clad rear end. As Masurao watched, this girl finally grabbed one of the dangling earrings in the guy's ear and tugged, sending a spray of bright blood over his grey shirt and her own black vinyl. More, louder cheers echoed from their companions even as the guy howled in agony. The girl grinned and flicked the earring at him.

"You'd never know she was royalty, would you?"

"Nani?!?" Masurao blinked and returned his gaze to the boy.

"That girl, you don't know who she is?" He stared when Masurao shook his head dumbly. "I've heard her buddies over there call her Rel, but her real name is Relena. Relena Peacecraft."

"You're joking."

"Iie," the boy shook his head seriously, "She's supposedly rebelling against her brother, but considering Milliardo's standing in politics nowadays, who knows? She may only represent the real way the Peacecraft Movement is heading."

The Peacecraft Movement. For almost three generations the rulers of the Peacecraft family had stood up against the dynasty of leadership for Earth and the colonies. Once, in the distant past, there had been talk of setting up an Alliance. Instead, the Counts took up power. Since then things had been relatively peaceful, save for the occasional inevitable rebellion that arose. Masurao and his family had lived through the most recent, him only three at the time. That uprising had been the attempt of Milliardo Peacecraft's father to oust the Counts, and many people believed that soon would come the son's turn. However Milliardo seemed to be taking a more peaceful approach, through lobbying and attempted legislature instead of war. He seemed to want to live up to his name.

"That's really Milliardo's younger sister?" Somehow he'd always pictured Relena Peacecraft as a poised and proper woman, raised as a generational royal. This blue-haired, black-lipped, cackling hellion left much to be desired.

"If the rumors are true. Hey, I really do need to get to my next class. Ja matta ne, Masurao-kun!"

"Ja . . ." Masurao repeated slowly. His eyes trailed back to the young woman. She stared right back at him. Sparks lighted her blue eyes. Electricity flew across the campus yard, crackled and leaped, connecting the two of them. Masurao actually stumbled backward under this assault of pure chemistry.

Then she shook her head and grinned at him, beckoning with a bloody finger. A dare, clear and simple. And tempting. What sort of adventure did this errant soul offer him? How badly did he want it? Masurao gasped to realize that he wanted it badly, very badly. Her distant challenge echoed through his eyes, her silent invitation trembled his body.

He turned away from her quickly and scuttled into the building. Behind him he thought he heard the faint tinkling of harsh, musical laughter.

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~

He saw her again on his way home. This time she had none of her friends with her. She leaned against the brick wall of a pet shop, head bowed over her cigarette, hand cupped around a bright pink lighter trying to shield the flame. Only there were no flames, only sparks. As he approached he heard her mutter an unladylike expletive. Reaching her, Masurao lifted a hand and cupped it around the lighter as well. Her clear blue eyes, made brighter by the dark grey eye shadow smudged around them, flickered up to his face.

"Hey," she said through her now lighted cigarette, "if it isn't Poindexter."

"Those are bad for you, didn't you know?" Masurao looked on her, frightened of her intense appearance even as it excited him. A breeze blew past, as artificial as the blue tinge at the end of her hair. She gave a derisive laugh and took a mocking drag. She blew the smoke out into his face.

"So are most things, but that doesn't stop people from using them." Her voice might have been beautiful. Beneath the hoarseness already setting in from too much smoking, a gentle music sounded when she spoke.

"Are you really who I heard you are?"

She paused a good while before answering. Her face turned away from him, eyes squinting against the colony lights. Slender, tar-stained fingers reached up to take that offending cylinder down, shake the ashes off, and return it between black-painted lips. Masurao stood patiently, staring at that face, the redness on her visible cheek that might have been the remains of a bruise. His hand twitched, aching to lift to that redness and caress any lingering pain away.

"I might be," she answered at length, dropping the half smoked cigarette to the ground and stomping it out with a spiked heel. "Mostly I'm who I want to be, though." She did speak sharply, he realized as he listened, more concisely than most of those who comprised her group. "You can call me Rel. It's the only name I'll answer to."

"Do you have a boyfriend, Rel?" Masurao blinked, hoping she didn't notice the distinct gleam of surprise he knew must be shining in his eyes. His friends jaws would hit the floor to think of Junsei Masurao, top of his class at L1 University, asking ANY girl such a forward question, let alone a girl of such questionable social standing. A girl who actually burst into laughter.

"Why?" she asked through cackles, "You thinking about trying to fill the position if it's vacant?"

"Maybe."

God, he just kept surprising himself. He ran a hand through his hair, and flashed her that Junsei Masurao smile, the one that had all of the University girls swooning to get near him, all of the girls he never gave a second glance to. Those were the girls his parents kept trying to set him up with, the good girls, the ones who had futures ahead of them. He didn't care for them. This one . . . he cared about and that knowledge floored him completely.

Rel lost all traces of her sarcastic smile and looked up at him with confused blue eyes. Then she sniffed, seeming to get a hold on herself. Looking at the ground she placed her hands in the pockets of her coat, a tattered leather thing matching her black vinyl.

"Sorry, the position's filled." Her face turned away from his again, and this time Masurao couldn't stop his hand from lifting, fingers caressing that red patch on her cheek.

"If he did this, then I think it's time you found someone better. Doesn't have to be me," he amended quickly, "just someone who won't bruise you like this. Rel, you should know better if you are who they say you are. You should know a man has no business hitting a woman." She tried to brush his hand away, but he grabbed her wrist and held it close. "Why are you letting yourself be beaten like this? It's debasing, especially for someone like you." Rel pulled hard, mouth twisting, making her delicate face into something ugly for only that moment.

"Like you really know? What is all this? I don't even know your name and you're telling me how to run my life?" She struggled more, and the more she struggled the closer the two of them became until he held her fast in both of his arms. "You're completely insane, you know that?" Her face lifted, eyes meeting his. The sparks of anger that lighted those azure orbs quickly transformed into another fire, the same fire Masurao felt in himself, burning away from the inside trying to get out, to join its second half. "You're insane . . ." she repeated, voice having no strength. Crazy, he knew, but those lips, painted black against her white face, became so alluring that he had to claim them, had to press his own to them. Her arms, caught between their two chests, pushed against him briefly before the hardened Rel melted in his embrace and finally returned his lust. Oblivious to the passerbys who dropped approving gazes their way or sniffed in affronted disgust, the two remained locked into that world between worlds, the place where nothing is felt save for the lips of the one in your arms, where your life is their eyes and their soul is your heart. And when that world slid away, so slowly, and left them standing once more in front of that pink-bricked pet shop, Rel lifted her hand to gently wipe black lipstick from his mouth and he finally spoke.

"I'm Masurao."

Prussian eyes met sky blue.

End Broken Wing Alternates: Hope