Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ My Shinigami, My Hamburger ❯ What a Thief You Are ( Chapter 17 )

Chapter 17

"What a Thief You Are"

Lying beneath an old egg whisk and cuddled beside the old shoelaces in the miscellaneous drawer of the Yuy residence's kitchen lay what the Shinigami had been looking for: an old deck of playing cards. He excitedly flipped open the battered paper box that it came in and let the cards slide into his hand in a neat stack of fifty-two. It hadn't been used much since Heero's last whim to play solitaire, which had been a great while ago, and there was a little trail of dust that wafted off it as it was opened. Shini grinned again, turned and shut the drawer with his hip, and trotted across the kitchen tiles over to the kitchen table in his bare feet, sitting down across from his arranged mortal husband with a very smug expression starting to fester on his face.

Heero was sitting patiently in the chair opposite the Angel of Death, his arms folded casually over his chest, slumped back into a relatively relaxed position-the most at ease he'd felt for the last few days, that was for sure-and a nondescript expression on his face. He yawned at first-a silent, inconspicuous gesture that matched the Japanese man's outward, first impression as a reserved, polite-looking young man-and glanced back at the deity across from him and watched as he began shuffling the cards expertly, separating the deck and shuffling the two halves back together with trilling series of clapping noises. He did it effortlessly. Like he'd actually been a card dealer.

After bridging the cards together a few more rapid times, the Shinigami continued to shuffle the cards in his hands, stared evenly over at the mortal.

By now he was just flaunting his skills and a mischievous smile was conquering his face slowly as he asked, bringing the shuffling to a sudden stop in a neat, rectangular deck in his palm, "What would you like to play, Heero? He's familiar with everything. He's spent much time playing in the saloon, so don't worry about explaining anything." When he took the time to deliberate on that, the Shinigami amused himself by absently flipping the edges of the cards so that glimpses of fire hearts and diamonds and coal-black spades and clubs flashed. "Two-card? Five-card? Maybe even a little Texas Hold 'Em?"

"It doesn't matter to me," Heero eventually said, sitting up straight in his chair and folding his arms again as soon as he'd adjusted. "Play whatever you're more comfortable with, I don't care."

Still fidgeting harmlessly with the deck, Shini tilted his head playfully. "What do you want to bet with?"

"You want to make bets?" Heero lifted an eyebrow at that, though he didn't know if it was because he was skeptical. "Not with money," he ruled out automatically, with a hint of that tiny, habitual scowl peeking through-what would he do with a fistful of mortal currency, anyway? He would only be staying a short while, and he doubted he'd be taking anything with him from his stay on Earth, anyway.

"Of course not, Tei-Heero," the Angel of Death agreed, his forked tail winding behind him rhythmically, in time with the flipping of the corners of the cards. "But what is a game of poker without the chips? Without competition of the gamble?"

The Japanese man leaned forward to rest his elbow on the tabletop and cradle the side of his face in his palm as well, snorting to himself in agreement. "Not much, I suppose," he said, glancing up at the Angel of Death sitting opposite him with the tiniest hint of humor shining through and watched that small spark grow contagious and make the deity unleash his own little smile, still effortlessly moving the cards back and forth between his fingers, forever shuffling. With his other hand, Heero drummed his short fingernails on the table. "Well, if you really wanted to wager, we'd have to find chips, or something to replace them."

The Shinigami lit up like a circuit. "Candy?" he queried hopefully, lifting his posture expectantly as well.

Heero shrugged, lifting his chin from his palm and folding his arms casually on the table, with a shake of his head and the thick, chocolate brown hair with hints of caramel highlights that covered it. "Sorry," he offered plainly. "Not in stock. I don't buy sweet stuff."

"Oh," came the mewling, disappointed reply. Rapping the deck of cards twice on the table to even out the edges of the deck, it only took a few seconds for another idea to go scampering through Shini's mind, subsequently spinning the hamster wheel until a light bulb glowed brightly. It was really sort of interesting to watch, because Heero could almost see the tiny mouse crawl in and the wheel starting to turn across his inhuman face, something that seemed very characteristically human.

"How about marbles?"

"Never had any."

"Coins?"

"Only my mother's collection."

That caused the idea machine to temporarily stutter. Shini's lip twisted to the side in thought, squinting at his arranged husband as if he could just make out something written on his face. "Well-it does not have to be objects, ne, Tei-Heero? Perhaps the wagers could be of some other material?"

"Like what?" Heero asked flatly, still just hoping to commence the game. Honestly, it didn't matter to him what the game was played with, what he risked in the poker pot to lose to the Shinigami, he just wanted the game to actually get played instead of just watching the cards dance in their never-ending shuffle back and forth from either hand as Shini deliberated. At this point, he was open to any suggestion that would get the cards dealt and the game on with, so when the deity suggested that they wager in kisses, the thought remained in his mind for a second longer than under normal circumstances before his mouth opened to correspond.

"No," was the assumable response.

The idea machine had taken a small setback, and it showed in his defeated, sheepish grin as he continued to constantly move his fingers around the deck of cards in his eagerness to start playing. A few seconds later he had come up with another idea, and the mischievous tint to his smile, which was what was making Heero suspicious of him in the first place, faded a little. Not that that was wholly comforting, though.

"How about he will bet on how many minutes you must spend with him until he leaves, and you will bet on how many minutes you can spend alone? That way we both will have what we want, and there will be much competition to make a good game. It's a good idea, ne?" the Angel of Death suggested brightly, as his tail started to make another sweeping, coiling motion of delight behind him, running over the wooden spokes of the back of the chair. The sound of the clock hanging on the wall with it's dutiful tick-tock grew louder as Heero sat across the table, deliberating with his mouth closed and glimpses of that tiny frown in his face as he thought it over. Eventually, he was worn down by something, either just his own nonchalance or the rapt awaiting expression on Shini's face, and just shrugged.

"Alright," he conceded casually, leaning back in his seat again, relaxing. "Just as long as you don't cheat just because you're a god, and I'm not."

"Hai," he answered, starting the game. The pot was automatically set at twenty minutes, and each of their funds unlimited, the deity settled first of all, in a very professional cadence that suggested he'd participated in quite a few more games than Heero had originally thought. He set up the rules out loud, and it fed a little curiosity growing inside of the mortal. He had mentioned that he had been taught in a saloon to play the game poker, and that he had been raised by a ranch hand, but those were just little hints to a bigger picture, one that had inexplicably started to get very interesting. It was just hitting him now just how much the Shinigami had seen in his long existence, while he himself had only been living for twenty-five years.

Shini's smile stretched eagerly and he started dealing out the first hand, issuing a pair of anonymous cards to the mortal man currently his legal husband and one to himself. He dished out the house cards into an effortless formation and then went to pick up his own hand, brushing his fingertips lightly over them, lifting up the edges professionally just enough to see the denominations and colors of his own, and pressing them back to the table with that same half-mischievous, glowing smile. Simultaneously, Heero was doing the same with his, and frowning internally at his unsuited six and three cards. Otherwise, nothing of his useless hand translated through to his face. He hated to fold before the flop and automatically give the victory to the Shinigami, and automatically earning twenty mandatory minutes with the child-minded deity, but it left him little choice.

Acting as dealer as well, the Shinigami sat smiling at Heero as he awaited his action. The mortal man sighed as he had to throw his pair of cards back into the center of the table and forfeit, therefore earning himself twenty unadulterated minutes of entertaining Shini. And he knew it too, because he couldn't hold back the grin when the six and three flopped to the table before him.

"That's too bad, Heero," the winged card dealer cooed playfully, "but that makes you the short-stack." He flashed his hand, an equally bad pair of cards below 10, or even 8 or 9, and it fed that victorious smirk. He happily raked in the cards to reshuffle them while mentally tallying his score in his mind.

Shini, one. Heero, zero.

"Nadie!"

The classically curled blonde hair of the secretary could be seen moving about through the crowd in the lavishly decorated lobby, head and shoulders, almost literally, above the rest of the assorted beings' heads. Like a glowing, fair beacon of sleek grooming amongst the more-often-than-not untidy haircuts of the many spirits and imps that passed through the foyer of the Venus Bureau each work day in the realm of Valentine. The elegantly tall apparition herself had been modeled after a beautiful Hellenic woman, one that had caught the attention of the Goddess of Love many, many years ago. The crisp echoing of her pristine glass heels was prominent even among the chattering of sirens in the corner, among the semi-casual business-talk of the group of suit-and-tie goblins in the middle of the walkway. She nodded congenially to each group as she passed and made eye contact, still clutching the manilla folder to her corseted breast on her resolve journey through the milling droves of beings to the marble wall on the other side.

The same, faint, half-strangled voice called out after her demandingly, imploring her while trying to seem sincere. The sickness echoing in it did nothing to hide that fact. Her eyes rolled gently and she let out a mild skeptical snort as she neared the flamboyant pink speaker sitting innocently on her polished, crème-white secretary desk.

"Nadie!" it called, her boss's voice crackling through. Feigning a desperate, simpering cough for sympathy, the one known as Aphrodite, or Miss Iria, asked almost pathetically, "Darling, are you there? Come on, now-"

The secretary neatly set down her files on the clean, immaculately organized desk surface before pulling the chair up behind her and sitting down gracefully, flattening out her skirt before she crossed her legs like any proper lady apparition. Her hair was primped, and her white suit-dress had been pressed that very morning. She'd had a small breakfast of toasted English muffin-style ambrosia on her way into work, but her teeth were sparkling white. Of course, she may have seemed like a very clean and proper woman, but few had seen that such qualities were mandatory if one wanted to be Aphrodite's secretary, and she would throw pink slips at anyone who dared be slobbish or ungroomed anywhere near her office. The voice continued to implore for attention, and a "shit-load of chasers" or "at least one freakin' shot of vodka or something, come on, people-have a heart" for a few more minutes while Nadette straightened up her work area and herself. She patted down a stray curl of blonde hair back into its appropriate place and stared at her reflection complacently as the voice grew more and more impatient, drawing out the agony for the Goddess of Love on the other end of the speaker.

"Nadie, please, honey, just bring your darling a little aspirin, for Heaven's sake-She's wasting away, here!"

She rarely acted with such insolence-hell, she barely had the nerve to not pick up the phone and start a blithering apology for being so insensitive in the face of her supervisor's suffering, and most likely would have dived after the phone immediately as she arrived in normal circumstances, but an eternity of drunken nights had caught up with her. No, she hadn't appreciated three vomit stains on her white dress, and the process of dragging her passed-out boss back to her own bedroom hadn't been the most pleasant, either. The incidents, separately, were nothing to start a revolution over, but collectively, they were beginning to wear on even the sweetest and most timid of apparitions, like Nadette.

It wasn't her fault that Iria's brash personality had rubbed off on her, now, was it? She only had herself to blame for drinking herself sick the night before and earning at least a five-minute cold-shoulder from her only aid. The secretary after she believed that Miss Iria had learned enough of a lesson for that morning, put her pen down on the accounts she'd been balancing, finally settled back into the chair, picked up the receiver and pressed it to her ear.

"Damn it, Nadie, why d'ya have to be so late this morning? I swear, if you're just sitting there listening, I'll-Oh, hello, darling, is that you?"

"Yes, Miss Iria," the blonde apparition answered sweetly, her more normal expression filling her debutante face again. Though upset she was to drag the same woman she was speaking with home when she was smashed, she still couldn't remain angry for too long with her employer. She'd grown to be her only close friend, in a dysfunctional but enjoyable sense. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Hardy-har-har," Aphrodite croaked from her chair, only a level upstairs from where the secretary's desk sat. "You know exactly how I'm feeling, otherwise I'd have to fire you for just being an idiot. Shit, plain and simple. I feel like the waking dead-"

"Now, now, Miss Iria, surely a glass of water might alleviate some of that discomfort?"

"Yeah, it could," the deity groused. "But is there one of those on my desk? No! And my feet are throbbing like hell-fire, I can't even move."

Beneath her thin, silver-rimmed glasses, her eyes glittered in a little smile. "I'll be right up with one, Miss Iria."

"On the rocks," she groaned, almost audibly rubbing at the headache rip-roaring through her temples. "The more water, the better."

"Yes, Miss Iria-"

"Oh, and Nadie?"

"There's something else I'll need you to do for me."

"Yes?"

"Think you could clear some time in your schedule to make a teensy-weensy trip down to Tokyo, hon?"

One hour and forty minutes loomed over the shoulders of one Heero Yuy as a seemingly inevitable load, as of the current hand of poker dictated. For an amount of time he couldn't recall, they'd been playing a game of very close and many split-pots and that mischievous smirking poker face had found that the mortal's sense of competition often took on the form of a neglected, starving dog on a chain, and he had come strolling around it's neck of town with bacon in his pocket at just the right moment. The Shinigami had won approximately twice the hands Heero had, and that meant every valiant he made to win a hand and shorten his 'sentence' had simply been overtaken by the strange prowess the deity showed with the mortal game of poker. He was lucky, and he knew what to do, and Heero was currently awaiting the flop, a neutral face to hide his increasing anxiety for a comeback chance. A chance he felt was getting further and further with each pocket queens, each suited face card, each pot that found its way to the Shinigami side of the table. A chance that seemed to be getting lost somewhere between the deck and his hand while the warm, glowing light of the kitchen around them grew more and more hazy, like a very enjoyable dream.

While stoically debating over his pair of cards, Heero kept his eyes on his cards and his ears wandered across the tabletop to listen for any needed tip-offs that might help him with a hand. Not that he hadn't gotten a very respectable share of the winning hands-Shini had played his better. If he had been mortal, it wouldn't have been as such a frustrating thought as knowing he wasn't and he had no idea what a car or a shower was, and he was still winning against him. As he listened, nothing came to him and just as he was going to make his decision, Shini stopped debating over his own hand and turned the flop over, deciding not to fold.

Shini's hair had long dried out completely, leaving it with a distinctly ordinary shine and a few unbrushed tangles at the nape of his neck. He sat, still dressed in that paint-splattered tank top with that ever-present smirk, with his knees pulled up onto the chair to keep his feet off the cold floor while he flipped the house cards over, as he'd done for the countless time that night.

Heero was so busy trying to regain something of a plan of attack, if he wanted to win back some time from his sentence to spend with the troublesome Shinigami, that he hadn't noticed the sky darkening in the kitchen windows, the lights in the kitchen seemingly growing brighter and brighter and his tea growing staler and staler. He squinted down at his cards unhappily, like a bad report card, then at Shini's face before speaking up. He tossed his cards in resignedly and leaned back in his chair. "Forget it. I've lost, and I'm getting really tired of trying to avoid it anymore," the mortal conceded flatly, and the smirk on Shini's face faded a little.

The deity leaned forward on his elbows, flicking Heero's cards back towards him with a hand. "Oh, come on, Tei-Heero!" he said smugly, leaning up on one elbow to flash his pair enticingly. "You're not losing to him too badly, at least. Don't throw in the towel just yet, partn'r. The dancing girls haven't gone on yet. You're going to miss the best part if you go now."

He was not amused. "What do you want? You've already gotten an hour and forty minutes of attention for yourself. Just stop," he groaned lowly, already shifting in his chair to find some more tea to soothe him. Before he stood up, he squinted in confusion at the darkening screen of black that was the window like it should still be dimly grey and blue of afternoon. "How long have we been playing, anyway?"

"What does it matter?" Shini purred playfully in response, lifting an eyebrow as he casually knocked on the table. "He's having enjoyment out of this. He thought you were too. Let the good times roll, like you mortals say." His lids drooped in an almost dreamy, ethereal way, beckoning him back to the timeless comfort of getting wrapped up in the game. That feeling had definitely not been there before, Heero's mind was telling him dimly in the back, behind the competitiveness spurred by his losing streak that was clouding the front of it. The light had never turned a golden, glowing peach color on the lines of the deity's young face, never pooled in his violet eyes like a melting jewel, never made the contrast of the color of his grinning teeth and his grinning lips blur together like a pastel portrait.

Heero opened his mouth to speak once, shut it, and opened it again as the coherent thought finally pulled into the station. "You're doing it again, aren't you?" he said suspiciously, craning his eyes around to see that his kitchen was, indeed, glowing in the same manner of the Shinigami-the whole room seemed like a figment of a wistful dream, and he knew he wasn't drunk. He narrowed his eyes at Shini. "You're doing that thing again. What you did in that shed in America to fool me. Stop it."

"What?" Shini piped in one last attempt to preserve the act of innocence, though he could tell that the illusion wouldn't slip under the mortal's nose. He sighed defeatedly and pulled an arm around his knees and put his chin against the top of them in a little pout. "That's no fun. You're no fun," he grumbled, though there was still a little humor in his voice from the one upturned corner of his mouth.

The dreamy world disappeared, a sheer curtain cut with surgical scissors that fell away from the air almost like a solid object, leaving his vision crisper, clearer, and definitely reality. The Shinigami smirked even though he knew he'd been caught using his born ability to impose illusions and made a sudden puppy-face as Heero stood up, realizing that he'd really neglected his daily tasks while somehow intoxicated by the Shinigami's influence. That must have been the reason he hadn't noticed the time fly, though he couldn't remember his sight going fuzzy at anytime before.

"One more hand, please. He swears he'll remain behaved if you do," he begged with that effervescent smile, his tail beseeching alongside him.

"You supposed to, regardless of whether you play or not," Heero reminded him curtly, starting to walk past the table toward the chores unattended. As soon as the game had been pushed out of his agenda, his sense of routine had come back to reclaim it's spot in his mind. "You've earned your attention-time, but I've got things to go take care, so you can go do whatever for a while. Just try and not mess anything up, alright?"

Before he could even pass by, that beseeching forked tail curled itself around a tiny bit of fabric on the mortal's pant leg and tugged hopefully, leaving the Shinigami's hands free to clap together in a begging gesture, palm flat against palm. He even bowed his head slightly, still puppy-eyed, and it reminded Heero again to think just how many deities he'd ever seen willing to plead anything from a mortal. No, every godly campaign to obtain something from man he remembered seemed to be largely by force, followed only by deceit and trickery. The image of Zeus and Io conjured itself from his dim memory of the short time spent on that particular story in his high school mythology class, and that picture of the mortal woman turned white cow awkwardly trying to speak her name and only coming out with, "Moo," frightened him in a vague sense. Shini didn't have that ability, he assumed, but he was still a god, wasn't he? They could be just as unpredictable as any mortal.

"Come on, Heero, just one more hand-" He tugged once again on his pant leg to convince him, then absently started balling the excess fabric pooled around his knees into his fist as he looked expectantly into his face, all the while trying to sway him with his eyes. "What harm does it do? One last hand, to decide it all."

"Decide it all?" Heero asked discerningly, though still making that slight frown face.

"Yeah," the deity grinned. He seemed to enjoy the thought of the final bet, winner-take-all, probably because he had a very good chance of beating Heero to it. "He'll bet all of the time he's won and you can have the chance to steal it away from him. Sounds good, right? Just one last hand, Tei-Heero, then he swears you may finish your tasks, whatever they may be."

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"Oh, come on! Is there a reason why not?"

"You'll win, I know it. You wouldn't have suggested the idea if you didn't know you could win, therefore doubling your earnings, and therefore, giving me even less time to do those tasks. I'd rather decline," was Heero's reasoning, but it didn't cut it in the Shinigami's eyes, not at all. He promptly went back to campaigning with his time-proven twin tactics of guilt-eyes and pure persistence. Hell, if he had the determination to win over someone as characteristically narcissistic as Aphrodite, then mortals were like dominos in comparison.

Heero had, in the short time that felt like an eternity since he'd first seen that divine body come crashing through the ceiling of an old, haunted tuberculosis colony, grown to predict these kinds of cycles. The cycle of Shinigami begging with him, asking him, pleading him sometimes even, to do something for and/or with him which normally Heero wouldn't have considered or just immediately refused, and using those eyes against him. First, by filling them with tears, and filling him up with a false sense of guilt-guilt that had had nothing to do with his own actions besides running in fear, which was acceptable, considering. And again using those violet eyes, by tempting him into traps to touch him, kiss him, even just tease him with that puppy-dog expression. So when Shini again asked and flaunted his weapon, blinking innocently, Heero knew better now to just give up and sit back down at the table, exhaling in a little sigh.

"Fine," he said, slumping back against his chair slightly to await the pair of cards Shini would deal to him. "The last one," he admonished sternly solely with his eyes, making sure that the deity noticed it. He was excitedly smirking as the cards shuffled showily between his hands and his wings fluffed happily, like a pigeon just spotting a splash of popcorn spilled out onto the street from his concrete perch.

"Last one, he promises you," Shini parroted contentedly back. "Double or nothing, alright?"

Heero snorted. "Why not," he grumbled to himself, closing his eyes and running his fingers once through his bangs to ruffle his hair in a semi-satisfying way. The sound of the cards being dealt silently, professionally from someone with such a mischievous smirk was heard over the mortal sighing and the deity's tail excitedly curdling the air with its constant swish back and forth, back and forth. The lights didn't grow fuzzy again, though the sky kept deepening and deepening into the late hours of night. The passage of time was not distorted by the Shinigami's ability to impose illusions, image fantasies, this time, and Heero realized just how much time he'd spent there. His right foot was starting to prickle with numbness as he received his hand.

Shini smugly glimpsed at his own, displaying that identical smirk that he'd worn each hand, and pressed them back to the table, assuring that no one else would see them. He waited for Heero's decision, and simply smirked at the mortal's face, knowing he had little chance of trumping his pocket queens with the luck he'd been having that evening. Heero was talented, that was certain, but not enough to cover the deficit created by the sheer amount of bad hand's he'd gotten.

But apparently, all that luck had been reserving itself like a tactical calvary, because Heero shifted forward into his seat in a little surprise to see that he held a king and queen side by side in his hand. It wasn't much of a tell, but it was enough for Shini. It was equivalent to a gasp and an exclamation of success, and the deity's face dropped a little. He really hadn't counted on the possibility of Heero actually getting a good hand this last round, this last crucial round, and the danger of losing that mandatory face time. Not that it would be the end of the world, but Shini wanted it nonetheless.

The game of poker continued with an outwardly appearance of calmness. The flop was turned, however, and that underlying current of emotion tied to the cards was enhanced. Heero actually had to smile, despite his better poker instincts, and stare at the one-eyed jack and nine that sat there, awaiting him, cushioned by a two of hearts. The river only needed to be a ten, and he'd have a winning hand to trump whatever two-of-a-kind or full house the Shinigami would try and throw his way. And then he could be left alone.

That thrilled him very much. Very much so. He smiled unabashedly, showing his teeth in smug victory. He was just about to mockingly ask the Shinigami what a king and queen and jack and ten and nine would make when said deity finally couldn't hold back the reddened expression and puffed-out cheeks of frustration and reached up and grabbed Heero's cards and threw them to the table.

He promptly shoved all the cards into a messy pile, exclaiming hurriedly, "Oh, whoops! How that mortal time flies here, he forgets! Too bad we cannot finish and see who wins! He's got to go, um-preen himself again. Bye!" Already a shade of embarrassed, defeated red, the Shinigami bolted up out of his chair and turned to scurry out of the kitchen under the guise of going to fix his feathers again, disappearing in his usual fashion only a few steps out of the chair. Heero, who was still a little taken aback, finally just groaned frustratedly and started shuffling the cards back together.

AN: Man, I gotta stop doing that! This is the--what, eighth? time that I've planned on covering a certain amount in a chapter and I end up going past that limit and spilling into the next chapter. Not that I really mind to have more chapters, but I wish I could plan a little better, ai-yah. Well, anyway, hopefully the next chapter will come sooner than this one, and I wholly apologize for the wait. I do have a lot of work to finish on the One-Eared Neko, but I'm not abandoning Shini, so don't worry. Thank you, and... um, have a good day?