Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Ghost Story ❯ Ghost Story ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: This story was written by a fan only for the enjoyment of other fans, without any monetary compensation. Gundam Wing and its characters are registered trademarks of Bandai Entertainment Inc.â„¢ and Sotsu Agency. All rights reserved.

This is a short Songfic, based on Sting's `Ghost Story' (and the famous `Wild Turkey' picture)

 

If you are not familiar with the song, I'd suggest you listen to it at least once if you have a chance. The slow, haunting melody is really what makes it so perfect for this fic.

Enjoy!

 

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

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"Ghost Story"

The sun is beginning to set and I'm virtually alone on the road as I follow the narrow, winding path up the mountain. About half way up I have to stop, get off my bike and push it through an especially high snowdrift. Most people probably would call me crazy for riding a motorcycle into the mountains in the middle of December. But then again, most people aren't exactly convinced of my sanity to begin with, I think with a hint of cynicism.

A series of strange screeching noises from above catches my attention just as I am about climb back onto the bike. I open the visor of my full-face helmet and look up into the sky, just in time to see a flock of gray geese passing over my head. As I watch them fly in perfect formation I can't help but wonder why anyone would name a massive and bulky killing machine after such graceful animals. After a few moments the geese fade in the distance. They are probably flying south I figure, trying to outrun the winter.  Just like me, I think. Only it wasn't the cold and snow I am running from but… Relena calls it `trying to run from myself', but what does she really know.

When I finally can't see the flock anymore I close the visor and climb back onto my bike. Night is falling and so is the temperature. I can feel the cold even through my thick leather jacket.

I watch the western sky
The sun is sinking
The geese are flying south
It sets me thinking

 

About half an hour later I reach my goal, a small cabin at the very peak of the mountain. I can still remember the day when he took me up here for the very first time. He told me that this was his little secret hideout no one, not even Une, knows about. It was probably the best tip he has ever given me, because his `secret hideout' has now become mine.

The cabin is cold and dark of course. Nobody has been up here for months. I fire up the generator. - Yes, the place has a generator. Even `roughing it' had its limits as far as he was concerned.
There is still wood stacked in the shed from my last stay. I carry an armful into the house and light the fireplace. While the cabin is slowly starting to warm up I return outside to grab my bag and cover the motorcycle with a heavy, gray tarp.

Do I come here because I miss him and the time we spent together at this place? Of course not! I have been a soldier most of my life. If I would be depressed and grieving about every relative, friend and comrade I've ever lost I would have no time to do anything else. What doesn't kill us makes us only stronger, right?  I suppose I should be pretty strong then.

 

I did not miss you much
I did not suffer
What did not kill me
Just made me tougher

 

I unpack my bag; it doesn't take long considering that I won't need much for the short time I'm planning on spending here. I brought some red wine, a bottle of Wild Turkey and a few ready to eat meals. They are actually much better and a lot more nutritious than people make them out to be. Or maybe it's just that I have been eating them for so long that I'm just used to the taste.

For a moment I consider heating the stove to make hot spiced wine, but then I remember that it was what he always used to drink, so I reach for the whisky instead. I don't even bother looking for a glass. As far as I am concerned the booze tastes just the same straight from the bottle. I'm sure he would argue about that, but then he`s always been more `sophisticated' then me.

As I settle down by the fireplace I pull out my cell phone. I had turned it off earlier because I don't feel like talking to anyone right now. Still I check my messages; there are two. The first one is from Noin. She is calling to wish me Merry Christmas. I haven't really seen her in a while and suddenly I realize that I'm not even sure where on Earth, or beyond, she is stationed right now. So I make myself a mental note to call her back later and find out. The other message is from Relena and she sounds a little stressed.

“Milliardo where are you? Call me back as soon as you get this message. The commemoration party starts at 7 o'clock. You promised to accompany me this year, remember?”

No, I didn't. I said I was going to think about it. I did, and I decided I don't want to go. It just feels fundamentally wrong to celebrate the anniversary of your own defeat. No, I'm not upset or bitter about the fact that the Gundam pilots stopped me from blowing up Earth. I'm grateful for that. I just think that the spotlight should belong to them, and to him. My presence would only generate the wrong kind of attention.

I check my watch; it is almost a quarter after seven. By know she probably realizes that I not going to show up. I'm confident that if someone should ask about me my sister will come up with an appropriate excuse. After all, Relena is a diplomat. He always told me that there is a very fine line between lying and being diplomatic, the trick was to know how to stretch that line to your advantage.

I feelthe winter come
His icy sinews
Now in the firelight
The case continues

Another night in court
The same old trial
The same old questions asked
The same denial

 

By now the fire in the fireplace is burning hot and the wood is starting to crackle. I put away my phone and stare into the flickering flames for a few moments before I open the whisky bottle. I take a big gulp and grimace. The alcohol burns on the way down.

“So, if you didn't come for the memories, why are you here?” a little voice in my head asks.

I raise the bottle and take another sip. I hate that voice, not only because it sounded so much like his, but because no matter how far I run I can never get away from it. I don't feel like answering questions now. I just want to get drunk in peace.

I really like this place, but it has nothing to do with him. I like its serenity. I bet he never even knew that there is a fishing pond no more than half a mile from here. He didn't do fishing; it wasn't considered a gentlemen's sport. Hunting on the other hand, yes that was more to his liking. He was an aristocrat through and through. His blue blood showed through even when we were stationed in the middle of nowhere. I on the other hand was raised as a soldier; I had no desire to be anything else. Although for a while it might have looked like we were walking the same path, in reality we both had our own agendas, his far more ambitious as mine as I realize now.

I throw a few more pieces of wood into the fire and watch the flying embers as my mind begins to drift off. Most people might not know it, but alcohol is like a time machine. Just a few drinks and becomes very easy to travel back in time and relive things you thought long forgotten.

The shadows closing round
Like jury members
I look for answers in
The fire's embers

Why was I missing then
That whole December?
I give my usual line,
I don't remember

 

No, I'm not saying that everything between him and I had been bad. In fact I have some very nice memories from when we were younger. He took me under his wings like an older brother and I learned a lot from him. He never was easy on me or pampered me, but I looked up to him and admired him.

And then there were other memories, like the time when he dared me to climb that old, gnarly apple tree behind the house. It was scary, but he gave me that slightly condescending look, as if he was sure that I could not do it. Of course it made me angry enough to want to proof him wrong. Yes, he defiantly knew how to manipulate people back then already.

I did climb that tree that day, all the way to the top, while he stood below and watched. On the way down I slipped; the branch I was holding onto broke. As I fell I was sure that I was going to hit the ground and break my neck. But instead I landed in his arms. “Were you scared?” he asked me. “There was no reason. I have been watching every step you took. There is no way that I would ever let you fall.”

I snort and shake my head. I'm not even sure why I remember that incident so clearly, while I can barely recall other, more important things, like my parent's faces or what I did the first few years following the fall of Sanq.

Another winter comes
His icy fingers creep
Into these bones of mine
These memories never sleep
And all these differences
A cloak I borrow
We kept our distances
Why should it follow that
I must have loved you?

 

I think I was hiding behind a mask long before I actually started to wear on. Physical scars are much easier to conceal than emotional ones, and this was the only way I could deal with the pain. Joining the military was just another attempt of trying to run from my past. It was a double edge sword as I soon realized, but what else was I supposed to do? I knew that someone like me, someone with blood on his hands had no right to ever rule Sanq. But there was still Relena, and I was willing to sell my soul to the devil in order to protect my sister. As long as I could keep her safe I didn't care what happened to me.

I take one more sip from the whisky, re-cork the bottle and set it aside. It is getting hot. I'm not sure if it is from the fire or the alcohol, but it doesn't matter anyway. I slip off my boots and socks, pull the sweater over my head and my T-shirt as well. A few moments later I'm sitting in front of the fireplace wearing only my pants.

He has always been able to look right through me, mask or no mask. He knew when something was bothering me or when I was upset, sometimes even before I realized it myself. In was in some strange way comforting. When he asked me to join Oz and be by his side I didn't hesitate to accept the offer. Back then I was willing to follow him wherever he would be leading me.

 

What is a force that binds the stars?
I wore this mask to hide my scars
What is the power that moves the tide?
Never could find a place to hide

What moves the earth around the sun?
What could I do but run and run and run?
Afraid to love, afraid to fail
A mast without a sail

 

When I turn my head and look out of the window into the sky I notice that it has stopped snowing. The heavy, gray clouds are breaking up, revealing a pale sickle-moon that is slowly starting to sink. It is almost morning. The booze doesn't seem to do what it is supposed to, and my little trip down `memory lane' didn't help either. I'm overcome by a familiar feeling of loneliness mixed with anger.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. I believed you when you promised that you would be there to catch me when I fall. Liar! I accuse. Why weren't you there when I needed you? Why did you leave me? Why did you break your promise?

“I did?” the voice in my head asked, and suddenly I realized that he was right. It wasn't him; I was the one who had walked away long before he left. Even while I was still by his side I had already begun to distance myself.

“But why?” I asked myself, as I continue to stare into the fire, as thought the answer was hidden there, somewhere between the flickering flames.

 

The moon's a fingernail
And slowly sinking
Another day begins
And now I'm thinking

That this is indifference
Was my invention
When everything I did
Sought your attention

Eventually I must have fallen asleep, on the floor next to the fireplace. When I wake the next morning I'm surprised to find the fire is still burning, and I'm covered with a blanket. I frown as I try to remember when I went upstairs to fetch a blanket. Then my gaze falls upon the empty whisky bottle lying only a few feet away, and I snort. I drained the whole bottle?! No wonder I can't remember a thing.

I scramble to my feet, get dressed and wash my face; the ice-cold water drives away the last traces of sleepiness and alcohol. I pack my bag and decide to head home. When I step out of the cabin and walk to my motorcycle I suddenly notice a trail of fresh footprints in the snow. My heart almost skips a beat, but then I remind myself that there is no way anyone would find its way up here. No, I tell myself, it's only the snow, the wind and my imagination playing tricks on me.

Because of the fresh snow that had fallen over night it takes me nearly three hours to make it down the mountain. It is mid-afternoon by the time I finally reach the cemetery. I've never been here before. I was not on Earth during his funeral and I have been avoiding visiting his grave ever since. I hesitate; perhaps this isn't such a good idea after all. But then I see his face in my mind, and he looks at me the same way as he did when he dared me to climb that tree. I know it is silly, but even now I still feel like I have to proof myself when he gives me that look.

 

You were my compass star
You were my measure
You were a pirate's map
Of buried treasure

If this was all correct
The last thing I'd expect
The prosecution rests
It's time that I confessed

When I finally find his grave it is covered in fresh flowers; Forget-Me-Nots and roses in all colors and shades. Apparently I'm not the only one who misses him; just the only one who's been afraid to admit it.

I must have loved you
I must have loved you

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The end

 

Author's Note:  I had planned writing this fic ever since I heard the song several years ago, and I always knew I wanted to post it on Christmas Eve. But for some reason I kept forgetting about it during the holidays and when I remembered it again it was too late. This year I finally got it done.

As usually, if you enjoy it (or not) please take the time to let me know; my muses thrive on feedback.