Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Jesus of Suburbia ❯ Jesus of Suburbia ( Chapter 1 )

Don't own GW. No money is being made… unfortunately. I could do with it….

 

His favourite missions were always the stealth ones, which was why he was so good at them, he supposed. Shinigami did not take over, turning him into someone else, someone who gloried in the destruction of the battlefields. G had seen this, he supposed, for the scientist had focused on infiltration. Or maybe, it was simply because, given his past, his strengths lay in that direction, rather than in out and out warfare, and simple human compassion hadn't come into it at all. Duo simply didn't know.

What he did know was that looking around at the crushed suits around him in the aftermath of battle, he felt sick. It wasn't a feeling he imagined any of the others, except perhaps Quatre, was familiar with.

Stealth missions suited him. No killing, unless in hand to hand combat, which was something he could deal with. Something he had been dealing with for as long as he could remember. Solo had believed in being prepared, and he had taught his `little brother' well. So, stealth missions = no killing. Directly, or indirectly, as far as he knew.

Except for when he got caught. Then Shinigami would come out to play. It was those times that haunted his dreams, turning peaceful sleep into nightmare filled horror. He was afraid to sleep, after those missions gone wrong. Again, it was Quatre who seemed to understand the best, occasionally allowing Duo to sleep curled up next to him. But once he and Trowa had admitted their feelings for each other, that source of comfort had ended, and Duo was on his own. Trying to cope, and occasionally succeeding.

His masks were good. No one could see the scars.

 

Duo sighed as he finished setting the pictures out on the mantelpiece. The war was over, and for the first time since ever, he had his own place. A small, one bedroomed flat, in the city of his choice; Seattle. He liked the coastal metropolis, and had chosen an apartment in Lake Forest Park, overlooking Lake Washington.

It was a small place, but it was his own. Seattle had been mostly left untouched during the war. The bay had been transformed into a military port, but the space needle was still standing. Duo planned to take a visit, just to see. After all, it would be pretty stupid to live in Seattle and not go up the space needle, wouldn't it?

He had been in the city for a day and a half, and already the number of Japanese tourists was startling. He almost wished it wasn't so… the last thing he wanted was to be reminded of Heero at every corner. But he already loved his new home, even if it desperately needed re-decorating. Pale cream walls were not worthy of the God of Death.

Humming an old rock song, Duo locked the apartment and took the stairs two at a time, heading for his car. Strapping himself in, he screeched his way out of the car park and headed towards the nearest hardware store.

Entering the large echoing building with its showrooms for bathroom and kitchen sets, Duo felt himself unconsciously slipping into what he had dubbed `mission mode'. No one gave him a second glance - he hadn't been anywhere near this city during the war, but old habits die hard. He couldn't stop himself from looking over his shoulder, and found himself unconsciously reaching for a gun that wasn't there and very glad of the knife he had secreted in his boot.

Finding the paint section was easy, and he quickly found the paints he wanted - black, of course, matt and gloss, a deep crimson and two small tubs, one gold and one white, for trimmings. He quickly made his way to the till, stopping on his way out to look at the curtain section. The apartment had rails set up already, but there were bare. Duo eyed a long set of black satin drapes, and nodded to himself. He grabbed two sets, one black and one crimson. Next he took a small detour into the bedroom section and grabbed a big fluffy duvet, and a black sheet, cover and pillow set. Satisfied for now, he then carried on towards the checkout, wishing that he had grabbed a trolley. Not that the things were heavy - well, they were, but not for him - but they weren't half awkward to carry!

The girl at the checkout eyed his long braid, but didn't comment, and didn't seem to recognise him. Duo felt a small spring of hope well up inside. Maybe there was a chance that he could live a `normal' life after all?

As Duo drove home, he contemplated the scene in the store. Now, meditation and deep thought were more Wufei's thing, but Duo found the act of reading into things strangely easy this time. No one had really noticed him, except for the girl who checked him out on his way out of the store. He got the impression that if he had stood in the middle of the bathroom section and screamed that he had been a Gundam Pilot, no one would believe him. Peace had really got a hold in Seattle. It was like another land, another world, where the war had not existed. Where ordinary people went about their ordinary lives.

Shaking his head, Duo parked his car, a small, neat, black, customised machine, and carried the paint and brushes up to the apartment. He had the photos up, the rest - clothes and a few things he had bought while he was in Sanq - could wait until he was finished painting.

A few hours later, he was looking proudly around his black bedroom. The walls were matt black, and the woodwork had been painted deep scarlet. In the living room, the cream walls had been overlaid with black, but Duo had left a thick cream stripe horizontally around the room. In the middle of each wall, the centre of the cream section, he had started drawing circles in gold, making it looks as if someone had thrown a stone into the cream section. The curves continued to the corners, where they melded into each other, but stopped abruptly at the black paint.

Duo stretched, relieving the ache in his back slightly, then grabbed his keys and wallet from the kitchen counter and headed back out to the car, ignoring the fact that the jeans and shirt he was wearing were covered in black, gold and crimson paint.

The nearest furniture store took him half an hour to drive to, but once he was there he was please to see that they had a decent selection. After enquiring at the desk to see if they delivered - they did - he began browsing, filling in serial numbers on the chart the guy at the desk had given him.

He ordered a black sofa, a glass topped coffee table and a black painted computer desk. Two bedside tables made of a dark red/brown wood caught his eye and were added to the list. A tall steel bookcase and a gold fluffy rug finished his list. He headed back to the checkout, yawning slightly and rubbing his violet eyes.

“Hey, can ya have these delivered t'morrow?”

“Uh, sure. What's your address?”

Duo reeled it off, and added his phone number, before handing the guy his credit card.

“You sure you want to pay now?” the assistant asked. “You can pay when they are delivered.”

“I'll pay ya now. There'll be hell to pay if the stuff don't show up. I've got mates in high places, y'see,” he yawned again. “Thanks, man. I'm off to get some caffeine. Bye.”

Shoulders slumped, Duo headed back out to his car and drove off, looking for the nearest drive through. He spotted a taco bell without too much of a queue, and pulled in gratefully.

“I'll have a soft chicken taco, a bean burrito and some coke, please,” he told the intercom.

As he turned onto the main road through Lake Forest Park, he noticed a video hire place with a drive through Starbucks. He quickly memorised where it was - he had a feeling that he would be visiting it a lot. It was practically within walking distance of the apartment too.

Back in the apartment, he collapsed on the floor in the living room, leaning against the duffel of clothes and watching TV as he ate his dinner and wondered what sort of job he could land himself with, seeing as he had no qualifications apart from a history of destruction, terrorism and stealth. Maybe hacking for the government? He made a mental note to call Une, or maybe Quatre. Surely the Winner foundation needed stuff `looking into' occasionally…

 

He woke the next morning with a stiff neck. “Uh… someone remind me to actually use the bed tonight,” he muttered as he dug around in his bag for his soap and shampoo. Finding them, he staggered into the bathroom, stripping as he went and ignoring the uncurtained windows. Grimacing at the horrible taste in his mouth, he turned on the shower and went to rinse his mouth out at the sink.

He was relieved to see steam rising from the spray and filling the room - at least there was hot water! Something he had been rather worried about.

The apartment wasn't exactly furnished, but it wasn't not furnished either. The furniture comprised of a bed, with mattress, a small table with two chairs (all three made of see-through plastic) and a wooden wardrobe - which he had painted red last night. The kitchen had counters, cupboards, an oven, a 4-ring hob, a fridge and a microwave. The bathroom had a shower, a toilet, a sink and a pot plant on the windowsill.

Duo had decided when he looked the place over that he didn't want to know who the former inhabitants had been… he didn't want to be freaked out.

Once he was clean, he turned off the water and turned around to survey the bathroom. “Argh! Duo no baka!” he groused to himself as he realised that he had forgotten to bring a towel in with him. Cursing under his breath and shivering in the cool air he hurried into the living room and pulled a white fluffy towel - purloined from the room he had been staying in at Sanq - out of his bag, using it to dry himself off. Still ignoring the open windows he pulled on yesterdays jeans and a fresh t-shirt, then rummaged around in his bag for instant coffee and sugar.

After pulling open every single cupboard in the kitchen, he finally noticed a kettle sitting serenely on top of the fridge. Muttering to himself, he filled the elusive appliance with water and turned it on, before walking back to his bag. He knew that he'd stuck those mugs that came with breakfast in bed in Sanq somewhere…

Feeling slightly more human on his second mug of coffee, the braided teenager walked into his bedroom and made a beeline for the gloss paint. The walls should be dry by now, he reckoned, they'd had all night, and now it was time for the finishing touch. Strange swirling patterns in the black gloss paint overlaying the matt black… once it was done, and with matching patterns in gold on the red wardrobe, it should look stunning.

Now he just had to do something about the cream carpet and he was set.

The deliverymen from the furniture store arrived at 11am, with a large truck. Duo helped them carry the stuff up the stairs, ignoring the strange looks they gave him when they realised how much he could carry alone. He wasn't that muscled, that was Heero, and he was extremely slim, but he would bet good money that he could lift twice if not three times the weight the burley deliverymen could.

He was quite glad once he had signed the form and they had driven off. The strange looks had given him the creeps.

*

Two weeks later and it was all good. Yes, the depression had kicked in, and he was probably drinking more beer than was healthy, but it was all good. He had taken up smoking too, and that helped to relax him.

There was a roller-disco in the same district as the furniture store and he got into the habit of going there a few times a week. So far there had been no jobs available - although Preventers had offered to take him as an Agent, he'd refused. No more killing - but the money he had hacked during the war and the `allowance' given by the government was just enough… well, it wasn't but he was sure he could get a job before he fell too much in debt…

Another thing that helped him relax was the group of 21-year-olds who tended to hang outside the rollerdisco with their little paper packets of white powder. Not that he ever did it himself… but the dust that hung in the air was soothing, in its own way…

But even rollerblading until he could barely walk didn't stop the dreams. Running up and down the hills, swimming `till he almost sank from exhaustion, doing press ups and sit ups on the wooden floor of the living room to loud rock music didn't help, and working out against a punch bag made them worse.

If it wasn't dreams of slicing mobile suits to bits in Deathscythe, it was beating up guards in hand to hand combat. But those dreams he could cope with. It was when the mobile suits turned to Wing, when the guards turned to Heero, that he snapped. Seeing the guy he suspected that he was in love with having his face smashed in by his own fist - for he always seemed to win - night after night almost broke him, and the alcohol didn't seem to help. Didn't stop him drinking it, but it didn't seem to help.

He was falling apart at the seams. And the worst thing was; he knew it.

 

Ankles aching from another exhaustive evening of twirling around the smooth floor of the disco, Duo slumped onto his black sofa for his nightly fix of crappy late-night movies. He was just sinking into another inane plot, when he noticed something missing. The position he was in normally made his cross dig into his chest, but as he automatically raised a hand to move it, he realised that it wasn't. Because it wasn't there.

“Shit!”

Trying not to panic, he set his beer down on the coffee table and started to search. The bathroom turned up nothing, and as far as he could tell it wasn't in or under the bed. It wasn't on the floor of the living room or behind the TV, or anywhere in the kitchen.

Finally, biting his lip and feeling incredably guilty and nervous, he sat back on the sofa and stared unseeing at the screen, trying not to cry.

Memories of Maxwell church turned to smoking rubble played through his head on repeat. Finally, he could take it no more, so he turned on his stomach and hid his face in the pillow.

After a few minutes, he realised that his fingers, which had slipped down the crack between the seat cushions and the armrest, were touching something thin, cool and metallic. Hardly breathing, he hooked his fingers around whatever-it-was, and tugged gently, breathing a sigh of relief as the gold chain of his cross slipped into view.

The clasp had broken.

Relieved, Duo turned off the TV, walked to the kitchen and poured the rest of his beer down the sink. Feeling happier than he had since he got the apartment, the violet-eyed teen headed into the bathroom for a quick shower before he fell asleep.