Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Doctor S and Professor A ❯ A Meeting of Souls ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Doctor S and Professor A

By Elly Leaverton

Chapter One-A Meeting of Souls


A.C. 195 Month?


On the midnight shift of the Fortress Barge, one lone soldier walked the silent halls of the prisoner holding cells. Quietly, he slipped from shadow to shadow. His cover was good, but it was best to keep the information of his visits to a minimum.

He reached his destination and leaned up against the door. Quietly he tapped on it. A pair of eyes appeared on the other side of the small food window.

"Well, if it isn't No-name," said a nasal voice.

Trowa made no noise. He folded his arms across his chest.

"I've read your report of what you did to the Heavyarms. What were you thinking? That it was your own personal toy?"

"Heavyarms is fine Doctor S."

"After grappling with two other Gundam mobile suits!" scoffed the man through his nose mask, "It's a wonder it's not scrap metal! You think gundams can stand an infinite amount of metal stress do you?"

"Did you do what I asked?"

"Yes, of course." The doctor slipped a small disk through the window.

Trowa pocketed the disk.

"One more thing No-name," said Doctor S.

"Yes?"

"Take this key. It's to a locker at the star port of L3."

"And?"

"You may need it, if anyone ever asks for the `Sign of Peace'. Got that?"

"Yeah I got it, the `Sign of Peace'."

"Good." Doctor S walked away from the door, signaling the conversation was over.

Trowa slipped quietly away into the night. The disk of space modifications for the Gundam Heavyarms safely stowed in his pocket, together with a locker key.

Doctor J looked up from a cot in the cell. "Still gnawing that old bone, S?"

"Mind your own business, J."

"He'll never need that sign. Everyone who knew about it is here."

"Not everyone."

"Face the truth, old friend." Doctor J rolled over on his cot.

In the dark, Doctor S placed a hand on his chest and smiled.



AC 171 New Year's Eve.



The small cafe on L3, held very few customers. However, of the half a dozen people there, they all had one thing in common: they were working. A bored waiter served them coffee, which they barely thanked him for. A small TV in the corner showed New Years Eve parties around the world but no one was watching it.

The cafe was located in the technology district. During the year, it hosted the scientists who worked nearby. During holidays, it hosted the work-a-holics.

"Damn," mumbled a young man as he thumbed through the books he brought. "I didn't bring the right one!"

He looked up from his seat at the Cafe counter. "Anyone know Kunigisky's equation?"

The waiter snorted, and most of the others ignored him completely.

The man signed heavily. He'd have to go back to the office and get it. He really didn't want to do that. More work at the office always sucked him in.

"Here," said a quiet female voice at his side. A napkin was slid over to him buy a woman also deep in work at the counter.

He picked it up--Kunigisky's Equation was written in a clear hand.

"Thanks! You're a life-saver." He looked over at her.

"Sure," she said, her eyes never leaving her laptop.

She was a brunette, he noticed. Her hair was at that scraggly length which required her to pull it back into two pigtails at the base of her neck. Bobby-pins littered her head to keep the stray ends out of her eyes, but the rebellious ends curled up, giving her a pin cushion look. Approximately twenty-five, he judged. She had on large glasses that were almost comical in her dainty face. She was unique in this cafe by being the only woman.

"So why aren't you at a party?" he asked her curiously.

She looked over at him. "Me?"

"Yes you."

"Oh well, we have this big project coming up at the first of the year."

"Is that the real reason?"

She smiled. "Are you teasing me?"

"Maybe."

"Come on, look at me. The real reason, as you've probably already concluded, is: no one asked me. So why aren't you at a party."

"I asked my obligatory three women. They turned me down. Can you imagine?" He said in a self-mocking tone while he pulled at his rumpled shirt. His face was long and narrow, his hair bedraggled and standing straight up.

She giggled. "We're not the prettiest two colors in the crayon box are we?"

"Well, I'm not, but you. You must hang around with idiots! You're beautiful."

She looked at herself in the mirror on the other side of the counter. Her shirt was just as rumpled as his. She had the dark circles of too little sleep under her eyes as well.

"Now you really are teasing me."

"I'm not."

"Very well, I'll give you a chance to prove yourself. In five minutes, when the New Year hits, you can kiss me."

"I'd love too."

She blinked. That was not the response she'd anticipated. He should've recoiled in horror like every other man in her past. Her jaw dropped.

"I see you were just testing me," he said. "You can take it back if you like."

"No-no, it's just." She paused. "I've never been kissed before!" she said in a rush.

"You really have been hanging out with idiots."

She leaned over as if reveling a secret, "Not many men feel like kissing someone who remembers Kunigisky's Equation off the top of her head."

"Well, I do," he told her.

She smiled and her whole face lit up. She was, in actuality, quite a pretty woman, under the hair and behind the glasses. She giggled again.

"I really hope you're not just messing with my mind. It's happened before."

"When?"

"My whole childhood, high school and college, even grad school."

"You know those three women I mentioned?"

"The ones you asked out?"

"Yes, those. They laughed at me. I ask three different women every year, and I have yet to go to a New Year's Eve party," he explained. "So why would I treat you as badly as I have been treated?"

She smiled at him again. Then she looked at the television--one minute left. Her heart fluttered in anticipation--was she finally going to be kissed?

The minute seemed to drag by and at the same time hurl too quickly towards its end.

Quietly, the television played the noise of the crowd somewhere counting down: "Eight...seven...six...five...four."

Her eyes never left his. They listened to the countdown. He leaned closer and reached up to take off her glasses. He really was going to do it, she told herself.

"three...two...one...Happy New Year"

It wasn't a passionate kiss, just a simple brushing of lips, unremarkable to any passerby. But the effect on the two kissers was another story. She felt as if something had rearranged itself in her heart and taken up permanent residence. He was convinced, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this would be the last New Year's Eve he would be alone.