Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ For Myself ❯ One ( Chapter 1 )

A/N: I just wanted to say that when you see a number, like 27, it's meant to be read as "two-seven" not "twenty-seven". Also, 0 (zeros) aren't meant as "zero", they're meant as "oh"...so A0206 is "A oh two oh six"...just to differentiate why there actually are numerals in the text.

That aside, I didn't get around to explaining it in this story, but the "As" of their "As model phones" stands for "active sensor" or "active scan" something along that lines. It's one of those ones that some people have and some people don't.

I'm also using the concept of clusters when referring to the colonies—meaning that L-5 consists of 4 individual colonies where L-4 is 5 or 6 individual colonies.

As for pronunciations, "Qingfu" is supposed to be pronounced "Shingfu".

Standard disclaimers apply, (i.e. I don't own or earn money from Gundam Wing, or any product I happen to mention.

One

"Okay, so how do you make it project more'n two feet?" Duo muttered, messing with options on a program he'd had Heero make him.

"Why do you need it to be more than two feet?" Heero returned blankly. "Your head's not that big."

Duo blinked at the phone a moment. "What?" he demanded.

"I know you have an ego that's pretty big," Heero returned, sounding vaguely amused. "But..."

"You only made it for my phone?" Duo demanded, stopping as the workers turned to look at him—at least, the ones already present.

"You said you wanted a device that would keep people from hearing what you say on your phone," Heero retorted. "So I took the time to make you one."

"I appreciate it," Duo retorted, then sighed. "That's not what I meant, though. I meant I wanted it portable."

Heero snorted. "I actually figured that part out already."

Duo sighed again. "Oh well...I'll figure something out. I do appreciate it."

"Yeah," Heero reassured him. "I know...but my break is up, so I have to go."

"Yeah, later," Duo agreed, then hit the button to end the call. He fiddled again, and turned off speaker-phone. He should have just made the program himself, but he always had to try things and make sure they worked first—Heero's rarely didn't work.

"Look at you," Reg called, moving to the fence of the area. "What are you doing back already?"

"We're talking at the podium," Duo returned easily.

"What?" she asked, noting his tone was not playful.

"I need to get my gear on," Duo retorted, "then I need to look over what you all did last week, then me and you are talking."

"Did someone turn you in?" she demanded, trialing after him as the various workers gave him sidelong looks. "For that fight?"

"Fight?" Duo asked, looking back to her in confusion.

"Or did Bass decided to charge you with sexual harassment?" she added in a darker tone, her glare going to the parking lot.

Bass? Was that the guy's name? Probably a good thing to know. He flashed her a grin and shook his head. "I'll talk to you when I'm changed," he noted, then moved into the locker-room.

Reg was standing at the podium when he moved from the area. She was glaring at the big guy he'd fought with...and the guy looked confused. She looked to Duo, and he followed her focus...and stared at Duo a moment, then grinned wickedly and moved forward.

"So help me I will knock you on your ass here and now if you don't get to work," Duo informed him coolly, breezing past him. With everything that had been going on, Quatre's hair not-the-least, he'd completely forgotten about the fight. The guy probably felt proud to have chased Duo off the work-site.

The man stared at him in confusion.

Duo didn't look back, moving up to the woman and setting his phone speaker-up on the box in front of him. No one was in hearing range, and with the program Heero'd made for him, no digital means should be able to record his voice.

"What's going on?" she asked, focusing on the phone. "What are you..."

Duo reached over and pulled her head forward over the phone, making sure no one was near again.

"War..." she started, attempting to pull back.

"My name is Duo Maxwell," he said in a low voice. "I'm a Brigadier General of the Earthsphere Alliance. I fought in the Eve Wars in a gundam...the gundam Deathscythe."

She stared at him.

"And don't even give me that bullshit about making stuff up. I don't care enough to lie about these things...I thought I'd told you one of those times you stayed over and we were drinking—you were giving me enough looks the next day."

Her eyes narrowed, and her expression turned bland. "You don't remember that night?"

He thought back and shook his head.

"You're not even kidding," she retorted, pulling back to glower at him with her arms crossed. "You honestly don't remember."

Duo raised an eyebrow at her.

"You seduced me ten ways from Sunday."

He froze, staring into her eyes.

"We spent half the night in my apartment, and when I woke up you were gone. You're such an asshole!" she moved forward to start hitting his arm.

Duo started laughing in sheer disbelief, allowing her to hit him. He had a feeling he deserved that and worse...

She stopped suddenly, her eyes landing on the phone.

"What?" he asked, rubbing at his sore arm.

"What..." she started to speak, then hesitated. Her eyes moved onto his after a moment, and she crossed her arms again. This time, though, she looked toward the ground.

"Um...I'm sorry," he muttered, moving closer to her again. "I really didn't mean to..."

"You're serious," she returned, raising her eyes to his again.

It took him a moment to understand that she wasn't referring to him being a pig.

She looked back to him again, studying his face, then looked away. "I have to...get work done."

"Reg..." he started, moving after her. He stopped, though, snatching his phone up. "Regie..."

She didn't look back to him.

"Regina," he snapped.

She turned, looking him over again, then smiled slightly. "You can't just announce something like that and expect it to be received with aplomb, War. Give me some time to think."

He stopped, studying her face, then nodded, looking away.

"We'll talk at lunch," she informed him, then turned.

Duo watched her go, then focused on his phone to end the program. The phone was starting to heat up, and he didn't want to fry another phone.

"Did she say you two slept together?" the big guy asked, moving closer to Duo in disbelief.

"Evidently," he agreed, popping the battery cover off to remove the device—that bit was almost too hot to touch, but he tucked it into his pocket anyway.

The man stared at him.

"Uh...right, you need my signature?" he added, getting his mind back to the business at hand. He put the battery cover back onto his phone, then slipped the thing into his breast-pocket, meeting the man's eyes. "Sorry about last week. A lot of stuff started happening really fast."

"You're him, aren't you?" the man said in a low voice, studying Duo's eyes.

"Him?" Duo asked blankly. "You're supposed to call me Temblar, and you're supposed to be doing a job."

The man stared at him a moment longer, then nodded his head and looked around. "I'll go find the clipboard."

- -

"I need speed," Wufei returned dryly.

"Oh, you're a racer?" the man gave him an interested look. "If you are..."

"No, I need a street legal machine built for speed," Wufei gave the man an annoyed look.

"We have several models..." the guy started.

"I want that one," he pointed at the motorcycle the man kept leading him away from.

"We have much more..."

"You haven't even asked after my budget," Wufei reminded him. "I want this machine; shouldn't we do something like a credit check?"

The man studied him with narrowed eyes. "Just how much were you looking to spend?"

"How much does this cost?" Wufei retorted, indicating the thing. "Double that, because I need two."

That made the guy blink.

"Though I suppose he'll come pick up his own," Wufei noted, realizing Duo probably wouldn't appreciate it. It'd be annoying to transfer that sort of funding around, and Wufei was not going to buy him a bike. They weren't that good of friends, and he didn't really have that sort of money. His salary was a bit less than theirs, though his pay from the ESA kept the difference from being astounding.

"Well, why don't we go start filling out paperwork?"

"Did I say I needed a loan?" Wufei asked, following after. "I could have sworn I mentioned a credit check."

The man rolled his eyes, then gestured for the offices.

Wufei led the way, almost wishing he had his uniform on. That'd make things ten times simpler.

- -

"You're not kidding?" Matty demanded of Blake in amusement. "You're really switching to flooring?"

The man flashed him a grin and shrugged. "It's a step up in pay, and the hours are usually better...at least sometimes."

"The hours can suck," Matty retorted. "But whatever."

"Besides, if it worked for you, why can't it work for me?"

Matty flashed him a grin and made a gesture.

"I figure you'll train me up, and I'll work here a month or two, then find some killer guy or something and make out like a bandit."

"I don't know about that," Matty noted. "The only perfect anything I found is Max."

"Perfect?" the man asked dryly. "You're not goin' screwy on me, are you? You're not going giddy like a sixteen year old girl, are you?"

Matty laughed and bounced forward...there was a clatter behind him, and Blake looked down in confusion.

"What is that?" the guy asked, starting to bend down.

"Nothing!" Matty darted down to scoop up the flash-tab that had fallen out of his pocket. "I forgot to take them out of my pocket before work."

"What is that?" Blake persisted. "I thought it was a condom until it clattered."

"I wouldn't carry a condom in work," Matty retorted dryly, cramming the tab further into his pocket.

While Duo, Quatre, and Heero were off god-knew-where picking up...picking up the gundam...

Matty stared distantly across the carpet section, feeling a vast sort of hollowness around him. He had every time he'd thought of the gundam.

But, while the three of them were off getting Deathscythe, and Wufei was piloting the one called Demigod from space, that had left him with Trowa. Jinli had decided to hold off moving down for another week or two to make sure he couldn't salvage what he had left on that colony. Trowa had stayed with him until evening had fallen, and then noted he was leaving...and was gone.

He understood why they weren't telling him where the gundams were being held. He understood why they weren't telling him where the gundams were going to be held. That didn't mean he had to like it...let alone the reason why.

No one knew where Ranger was...let alone the rest of the rebels.

At any rate, Wufei had shown up on Thursday—truth be told, there'd only been the one night with Trowa—but that was odd enough. Matty hadn't really appreciated knowing he was sleeping a bed away and no one else in the mammoth apartment. Wufei had come back with Trowa Friday evening, and then a few hours later, Heero and Quatre had shown up.

Matty smiled slightly to himself, moving to the computer to log in. Blake seemed to have accepted he wasn't getting an answer, so Matty wasn't going to fuss about it.

Duo had come in near one in the morning. Matty and Heero had spent the earlier portion of the night together in the one room, but Heero still preferred sharing the main sleeping area. He'd said something about having the others around him that Matty assumed had to do with being accustomed to it—but he and Heero had been sleeping out there, and Duo had woke him up.

It was strange to think that he didn't mind being petted.

Matty grinned more as he started setting up a login for Blake.

Duo'd been using Heero's chest to prop himself up, and hand ran a hand through Matty's hair while Quatre stood a few steps behind. He'd smiled down at Matty and showed him one of the flash-tabs. It had made Heero guffaw—evidently Duo liked using flares and flashes.

At any rate, Duo'd given him the one tab before going off to bed, but when everyone had been awake properly, he'd moved up to Matty with a larger handful.

They were for him, so if Ranger or any of the others came too near, he could break the thing—it was a snapping motion along a middle-line—and throw it. Snapping it would cause an instant bright light, and he had to throw it into the air a certain way so when the entire tab flared up, it was a bit above head height.

They'd all noted that people couldn't look away from that sort of thing without being trained to it—and they'd also noted that no armies had used the flares consistently enough to assume Ranger would know it and how to look away. Even so, though, the initial break would give him a sunspot, and the intent was for Matty to run with everything he had to get away. They'd stressed that, all five of them had stressed that. There was no use presuming Ranger would respect cops, and they all doubted the man would respect civilians. He was to run, and not in a straight line.

It made him uneasy to know they thought Ranger coming after him was a possibility.

"There," he muttered to Blake, shifting back. "Make up a password and I'll pretend not to watch."

The man grinned at him and thought a moment before typing quickly.

"And you now have an account in carpeting."

"You aren't going to charge me, are you?" the man asked wryly.

"Depends on what you want me to train you to do," Matty reassured him, grinning wickedly. "If it's just to sell carpets, probably not if you're not stupid. If you really want me to teach you how I got Max..."

The man half giggled at that, looking around. "We can talk on that later, I think."

Matty started laughing, pulling out one of the binders of information. "Start by looking through that. You need to learn it all eventually, but it's not like it's homework until Mr. Manager shows up."

"Mr. Manager?" Blake demanded, pulling a second chair to him—the desk was long with plenty of room for one person at the computer and one with an open binder.

"Yamasotosan?" Matty offered.

"I don't speak Chinese," the man noted, giving him a look from the corner of his eye.

"Good thing that was Japanese," Matty retorted.

Blake grinned, looking up at him.

"Our super is Gore Fiarlis...I think he looks Asian, but no one knows what the origin of Fiarlis would be."

"Sounds like Sanc to me," the man noted, looking back to the binder.

Matty suppressed his urge to note that he knew the heirs of that country. Minister Darlian had been nice enough to him—even if she was a skanky bitch trying to screw Heero—and he got along well enough with Milliardo. Or was it Zechs? The others seemed to use the two names interchangeably, and the man himself responded to both without showing a preference.

If they didn't call him Peacecraft or Marquise just as much, he'd have thought it was something like first-name last-name association.

"You're as distant as the moon," Blake noted, looking up to him. "Where the hell even were you last week?" he studied Matty a long moment. "I know something happened to you, but I can't figure out what. There was a huge fuss and you disappeared before your shift was up...and were gone two weeks, then you came back and worked like normal...and one day I'm hearing about imaginary friends and a party, and the next you're nowhere to be found and don't show up for work for another week...then you do show up and you've got rings under your eyes and flash-tabs in your pocket."

Matty focused on him sharply.

"My dad was in the military," the man noted. "Why do you have flash-tabs?"

"I can't talk about it," Matty noted, looking away down an aisle. He hadn't thought the man would recognize the things.

"I don't understand what's happening," Blake said quietly. "But whatever it is, I'll do what I can to help...it's not...not Max, is it?"

"Not in a way that question implies," Matty returned, meeting his eyes with a slight smile. "I'm okay, though, really...just tired."

"Where were you?" the man asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Space," Matty returned, focusing across the section, hoping someone would come up so the conversation could end.

"Again?"

Matty grinned slightly, looking around to the man. "When you find your perfect man and he tells you in no-uncertain terms that you shouldn't do something—don't do it."

That got him a raised eyebrow.

He sighed, focusing back on the screen and pulling up the schedules. He preferred knowing more or less what time slots would be free—it made him sound less ignorant when dealing with the customers.

"Space," Blake mused, shifting back where he sat. "You hear about all the military shit going on up there?"

"I don't watch the news," Matty returned, forcing himself to remain relaxed.

"There was one or two things on the news," Blake noted. "My dad is military, though. How could you not know anything if you were in space...and you have flash-tabs?"

"Blake," Matty said with a sigh, meeting the man's eyes. "I already said I can't talk about it...and let's add that I'd rather not think about it. The flash-tabs are like a taser, only brighter."

The man grinned at that, then rolled his eyes.

"My man likes to think I'm safe," Matty reminded him almost drolly.

Blake laughed at that, then shoved the binder so it was between them. "Fine, if you don't want to think, then teach me."

"That doesn't work on so many levels," Matty noted, leaning forward so his head was propped against one elbow on the desk. "You know that, don't you?"

Blake grinned at him, then flipped back to the beginning of the book. "So tell me what this is supposed to mean...and how much an interior decorator's eye do we need?"

"I like to think I don't have one," he noted skeptically. "I don't have one."

Blake snorted at him.

That was fair enough, really—the lie would prove itself the first time someone asked him advice.

He didn't have to think about it until then though...and until Ranger was standing there staring at him, he didn't have to think about the flash-tabs...and until mobile suits started attacking, he didn't have to worry about them either.

So why was it so hard to get to sleep at night?

- -

Trowa saved the file to the server, then closed it. He highlighted the file for whichever dumbass in accounting had to look at it, and backed out to his main inbox.

He wasn't sure why, but it was a relief to have one more done.

His inbox had been a nightmare since the beginning of the year...since their colony vacation that had ended with rescuing Matty in a single-stupid act of bravery that had slapped the lower general's star back on his lapel.

He hoped Cardle, Raymond, and Ricci were doing okay. He'd had them helping him figure stuff out while he was there—and special-ops hopefuls needed more than they were getting.

He could call them down to him—have them be his wingmen.

He might have needed them if he were piloting a gundam.

The slight longing in him to see Heavyarms pulsed again, but he suppressed it. Sending the damn things to the sun would have made things so much easier.

Without even a tap, someone started to push into the office, and he glowered up...until he realized it was Tim.

"Hey," Tim muttered, closing the door carefully and moving across the room with a couple cups of coffee in hand. "I was starting to wonder if you'd died...or fallen asleep," he grinned. "No one's seen hide nor hair of you out there and some of'em were wondering if you were actually here or not."

Trowa grinned at that, taking his cup. It was still steaming up, but he took a small sip anyway—it tasted good.

"For some reason, I have barely anything to do...like...ever...anymore."

Trowa tilted his head, then focused on blowing at the hot liquid.

"When you didn't show up for work Monday, everyone started freaking out and demanding what was going on...they'd seen the news clip about the satellite interruption, and the anchor had mentioned something about possible but unconfirmed fighting. It was like, an obsession until Tuesday afternoon. Work caught up with everyone and they had to buckle down—but I'm not getting as much crap to work through anymore."

Trowa grinned at that, sipping at the cup again—much cooler, at least for that drink.

"I kept getting looks on Wednesday, then on Thursday they all seemed to be waiting for me to speak. I swear they were hanging on my every word. You only half-listening to me is almost reassuring."

Trowa gave him a look.

Tim grinned at that, then yawned. "Anyway, on Friday Anthony was pestering me about news from you...I was happy when you showed up for work this morning. Being stared at like that is kinda weird. I kept getting the feeling I had something on my face or in my hair."

Trowa guffawed at that.

"No more news?"

"News?" Trowa echoed, meeting his eyes. "Like what? I don't have a TV," he looked the office over. "I should get one, huh?"

Tim grinned at that, still studying him. "You weren't serious, were you? About that benefactor thing? You don't really want me to fill it out, do you?"

"I don't know you well enough to do it myself," Trowa retorted. "And I do need it, because I'm meeting with my lawyer tomorrow, and I'd kind of like to be able to add another name to my scanty list of next-of-kin."

"Scanty?" he asked, blinking.

"My...sister," Trowa grinned slightly. "She took care of me when we first got to earth, and then got all psycho on me when I got amnesia—and was still psycho when Dakim Barton put a bullet in his granddaughter's chest."

Tim lowered the cup to study Trowa uncertainly.

"She got over it," he reassured him, taking another drink. "This is really good."

The compliment took a moment to register, and a look of offense crossed Tim's face.

Trowa sniggered, taking another drink. "She's got a part of my will and all that, but she informed me she'd give the rest to charity if I was so annoying as to croak off...which I suppose is fine and dandy, but..." he shrugged, sitting back again. "So bring that crap to the apartment tonight and we can finish that so I can take that with me. Don't let me forget to get...War and Ian to do more updated stuff," he grinned. He was fairly certain his office was safe, but there was no point inviting trouble.

"But...you're not going to die," Tim protested. "So why bother at all?"

Trowa laughed at that and spilled coffee over the rim of the mug for the trouble. He set that quickly on the desk, grabbing a napkin he'd had from his breakfast and starting to wipe his hands.

"I'm serious," Tim protested, watching him dab the drips from the carpet. "Why go through all the troubles if...if you're not even going to fight."

Trowa looked up at him a long moment, then smiled again. "I didn't say I wouldn't fight," he noted, focusing back on the task. "I never said I wouldn't fight."

"But..."

"But nothing," Trowa cut that off. "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies—by which I mean to say if you ask, I'll lie."

"That's almost implied in the statement itself," Tim retorted. "And you were stupidly honest with me to begin with."

Trowa grinned up at him, tossing that napkin into the trash basket and looking around for one to wipe the cup off with.

Tim scratched briefly at an eyebrow and shook his head. "Why..." he hesitated. "What time do you want me to come over," he amended. It was pretty obvious to Trowa that it hadn't been what the man had been intending to ask.

"You can ride back to my place with me," Trowa suggested. "Or did you bring your car?"

"Yeah, it's here."

"Oh...well...want to go to a movie?" he picked the cup up to drink again.

"It'll be your fault if your roommates actually decide we're dating," Tim retorted, rising to his feet. "Take me to dinner and we have a deal."

Trowa snorted, watching him head for the door. "Where are you going?"

"Well," Tim turned back with a hand on the knob. "You see...there's this thing called work, and this building is where I work. Sitting down and chatting is all well and good, but I'm supposed to do things so the company can make lots of money so they can pay me. If I'm not doing my things, they aren't making my money. If they aren't making my money, they don't want to pay me. I need them to pay me so I can go do stupid things like eat out and go to the movies...and buy a different phone," he patted his pocket briefly.

"What's wrong with your phone?" Trowa asked blankly.

Tim grinned at him, then pulled the door open. "I have a real break in about a hour."

Trowa gave him a level look as he closed the door behind himself, then grinned and focused back on the computer.

See, there's this thing called work...

- -

Quatre sniffed as another of his coworkers walked by the door to his office, looking in at him. They were trying to be subtle about it, but his hair had confused them all. People had been watching him in dismay all day long, and it was only going on lunch.

Oh well, they'd get used to it after another day. He wasn't close to any of his coworkers. That made him envy Trowa sometimes...and Duo. They both had friends at work—even if the woman gave Duo more bruises than not. That was really part of Regina's charm...and Tim was fun.

He watched another woman go by, averting her eyes quickly when she realized he was watching.

He was not, however, overly upset that none of them were his friends.

He almost wanted the rebels to show up somewhere, he could leave that damned job.

The notion took a long time to work through his mind, and he sighed, saving the work he'd been doing.

It was time, then...to talk to his boss.

"Jason!" the man greeted him several minutes later. "I'm glad to have you back again...but I'm sort of in a rush."

"Keith?"

The man stopped, looking at him properly.

"I only need a moment of your time."

The man sighed heavily, resting back against his desk. "Your sisters been talking to you?"

"No," he returned, studying the man's eyes.

"So that crap they had on the news...were you fighting?"

The disapproval in the question rankled Quatre—the man was a pacifist to his toenails, and if his inheritance had been up for voting, he wasn't all that sure the man would vote for him.

"If I'm fighting, I'm fighting," Quatre returned, studying the man's eyes. "If I have to fight to protect lives, I will fight. If you disapprove, you disapprove. That's not what I'm here for, though."

"Are you quitting?" the man asked quietly. "Do you have to leave now?"

"No," Quatre returned, but went on before the man could relax. "I'm giving you my two week's notice."

The man stared at him.

"You have no idea how grateful I've been to you for allowing me this opportunity. The experience I've gained working with you for this company will be invaluable to me when I step into Winner Enterprises...but at this point, that is not my destination. On..." Quatre glanced at the calendar on the wall. "On April eighteenth, I'll clean out my office. I'll come in on the twenty-first if you really need me to, but after that, I will no longer be an employee of this company."

The man sighed heavily, looking away. After a moment, he extended his hand and met eyes with Quatre. "It's been a pleasure to have you, Quatre. I think your father would be proud of you...and I've been glad to know you were here. The Winner family is the embodiment of ethics..."

Quatre guffawed at that, but felt bad instantly. "Sorry," he muttered, pulling the man into a hug. "I appreciate the sentiment, but Fasiha is pregnant."

The man stared at him.

Quatre half-giggled, then shook his head. "You'll have to get ahold of them yourself. I'm sure she'll kill me for mentioning it...and call me Jason."

The man's eyes flashed in amusement before he nodded his head in acknowledgment.

Quatre grinned at him, then turned and left the room.

He hadn't talked to Fasiha since...probably the day she'd told him she was pregnant. He'd talked a little to Adala, and from what she'd said his sisters seemed fine, but he hadn't talked to her—she should be starting to show, if what he remembered about pregnancy was right.

. . . he needed to call Duo. He'd just quit his job.